#7649 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peachyteabuck · 2 years ago

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cross the line (peggy carter x reader)

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

commissioned by someone who wishes to remain anonymous

pairing: peggy carter x reader

words: 7649

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

divider by @firefly-graphics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you all right, your majesty?”

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

“That’s what I thought.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what would the queen mother think?”

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

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

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

“Are you okay, your majesty?”

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

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

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

“May I?”

You nod.

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

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

“An orchid?” Peggy asks, that same smirk as before teasing at her lips.

You nod. “It represents love and thoughtfulness. My mother’s favorite.”

Peggy hmms, turning it in her hands again. The gold shimmers in the low candlelight, catching as the fat flames flicker. “It looks like a cunt.”

You just shrug, unable to comment on the likeness. Many of the knights were crude, almost alarmingly so, but the only experience you had with your center had been your monthly bleeding and the occasional anatomy lesson from an exasperated nanny.

“Yours looks prettier, though.”

You blink once, twice; bewildered by her comment. Any witty retort you might have made drowns in the confusion, your brow furrowing and heart racing.

“Wh…what did you just say?”

“I said,” she moves to where you are, her nose brushing against yours from how close you are. “Your pussy is much prettier than any gem you could put in front of me.”

You’re not sure what to say—mouth agape as you attempt to process what she’s said. Though neither of you had addressed whatever it was that crackled between you, neither of you had done much to dampen it, either.

“What would your royal friends think, hm?” Peggy moans, a slight laugh coating her teasing. “I wonder how the rest of the court would react to you defiling the good name of your foremothers.”

She knows what she’s doing—poking and prodding at the sense of duty you’ve shared since you were old enough to understand the importance of longevity to the royal lineage. You’ve spent your entire life dedicated to the well-being of the crown, allowing your family and their most trusted allies to contort you into the perfect royal to lead your kingdom. It’s your purpose, it’s your only skill, it’s your only option.

If your mother had remained queen, she would have picked out some nice man for you to marry. A younger brother perhaps, whose power wouldn’t rival your own but still allowed your kingdom to gain some sort of leverage or asset. Normally these are done in childhood, sometimes they’re signed as soon as the sex is confirmed in the birthing room. You had escaped such a fate, in contrast to your sisters. Escaped only to find yourself in another possible trap.

“Retiring for the night?” Your head shoots up to see your mother’s lady-in-waiting, a much older woman who’d been in the castle since your mother’s teenage years, standing in the doorway. It’s then that you realize that you are tired, and move to rub at the dark circles under your eyes, not unlike the children of various royals whose bedtimes were hours ago. The rush of emotions, the pounding heartbeat, the awareness of your entire body…it feels as though you had been running through a field with reckless abandon and very suddenly met the kingdom’s sturdiest oak tree.

“Yes, I believe so.”

Her face softens, memories of your mother’s coronation rising. The woman has always said you look just like your mother did at your age, something you’ve never been able to fully process. “I understand. The queen requests-“she pauses for just a second before correcting herself. “The queen mother requests to see you before you disappear.”

You smile, nodding in affirmation. Before you can dust off your dress and stand, Peggy offers you her hand for stability. Your refusal dies into a hesitation when you realize a witness remains.

As you stand, she pulls you to her quick enough to make it look as if you had fallen. “I’ll meet you in your room, your majesty,” she whispers lowly into your ear. Before you can react, she straightens you into a standing position. Louder, she speaks again. “Now come along so we can find your darling mother.”

Lucky for you, no one has become caught in one of her famous conversations that can last for an hour or more.

“He and his guard will be staying for the next week or so,” she grins. It’s that real kind of smile, one that hasn’t graced your mother’s face in a long, long time. It stings, just a little.

You attempt to mirror her face, but you can feel how vacant your eyes look. “That’s wonderful, Mother. I’m glad such a close ally of the family will be our first guests after our coronation.”

The older woman pointedly ignores the flatness of your tone. “He’s wished to speak with you before he leaves.”

Great, you think. Lord Rogers is…an interesting man, certainly. Famously easy to anger and hard-headed, he only seems to care about women and ale. More accurately, he cares about women who are willing to put up with him while he drinks ale. Neither are hobbies of yours and so he has decided you are not worth respecting.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Your hands shake ever slightly as you find your way back to your quarters, the ringing in your ears drowning out the harshness of your steps. You nod to the two guards—Natasha and Valkyrie—who open the hefty door for you. There, sitting in your vanity chair, lies your loyal knight.

You’re unsure of what you should say, and so you say nothing.

“I’ve wanted you for as long as I’ve known what it is to want,” Peggy says, still seated.

“My reputation would never recover if anyone found out,” is all you can reply. Maybe the thought of your legacy crumbling would knock some sense into her.

The woman across from you just smiles. “That was when you were simply a princess. But you are queen now, so we’re free to do as we wish.”

You step back, watching with wide eyes as she moves to undo her ceremonial armor. Each time the metal pieces hit each other, you flinch at the small clang. The sound of metal reminds you far too much of violence, and you’ve never been one for that.

“Queens still have reputations, Peggy,” your protest is weak…but is a protest, nonetheless. Affairs like this could ruin a royal, send them tumbling into a well of scandal that would threaten the power your family had held for generations. If anyone learned of what was happening, you could be dethroned, excommunicated, possibly even executed. “Big, consequential ones.”

You can feel your mouth dry when she removes her undershirt, revealing her bare chest. Bruises, scars, and scrapes litter the skin, but it only adds to her natural allure.

When all you do is stare, she smiles ever-so-slightly. “Has no one educated you on matters of the flesh, your majesty?”

Part of you wants to deny you understand what she asks—but the rest of you is just confused. Most of the eligible bachelors in your court steered clear of your bath, too terrified of your mother to make any sort of romantic gesture. The allure of bedding a royal was far outweighed by your mother’s ruthless reputation. When a man was found kissing up the neck of your younger sister, one of his hands at the small of her back, he was sent to work at a proxy farm hundreds of miles away, rumored to be herding sheep with just one hand.

No one ever seemed worth the risk of losing them.

She speaks as she removes the cloth pants, your eyes drawn to the slight bulge at the apex of her thighs that the harder armor covered. “It’s an honor to be your first, your majesty.”

As her pants hit the floor, you can feel the air being knocked from your lungs. There, between her legs, rests a sort of…toy. Long, thick, tapering a little before flaring out again. It looks like what the other ladies of the court had described after their nights of passion with visitors from other kingdoms.

“You’ll take me in your mouth soon, my queen,” she reaches into the bag at her side, producing a small, unlabeled jar that reminds you of the potions witches sometimes sell at the markets held near the castle. She pops the cork, spreading the thick, clear substance over the bulbous head between her legs. You’re not sure what she means, but the heat in your belly spreads along your spine, nonetheless. When her length is fully covered in it, she takes your hand, the scented oils from the morning having soaked beneath the surface, leaving only supple, perfumed skin in its wake.

“Here,” she practically whispers, her voice quiet but filled with what sounds like excitement. “Wrap your hands like this…”

Your knight guides you, her hand over yours as you wrap your fingers around it. It’s a strange feeling, but certainly not unwelcome. You follow her motions, moving up and down and twisting your wrist right before you reach the top. Peggy watches enraptured, her eyes locked on where your hands meet. It’s easy for you to presume she can’t feel what you’re doing, certainly not even witches could combine this material with the flesh of a human. But, with the way your knight’s lips part, the way her breathy moans fill the room…you’re not sure.

Her other hand, once curled into a fist at her side, now cups the back of your head firmly. “Lick the tip, your majesty,” she instructs. At any other time, you’d hesitate, but the lightheadedness that’s come over you silences your protests. Ever so lightly, you lick over where your hand had avoided. Your open mouth gives Peggy the opportunity to buck her hips, pushing the object past your lips. She takes care not to push it too far, merely pressing it onto your tongue so you would become used to the weight.

She’s been waiting for this day since she first saw you, since her mother told her of the duties that were passed down their family line for generations; since she had seen you studying French in the garden in your pink spring dress. She’d loved you for years—decades, even. Though she’d never wish it, if the Goddess took her tomorrow, she’d die a woman fulfilled.

Peggy grabs at your hair, pulling you until you stand. She takes the position you just had, falling to her knees before burrowing herself under the hem of your skirt. Before you can ask what she’s doing, she unbuckles your shoes and pulls down your chemise. Too stunned to do anything else, you step out of them on instinct.

“Good girl,” Peggy purrs, leaving kisses along your thighs before standing back up. “My perfect girl.”

You lock eyes for a moment, expecting the other to say something, anything. When nothing comes, Peggy locks her lips with yours, leading you backwards until you’re pushed onto the bed. She’s practiced this many times, an old pillow covered in one of your nightgowns folded in half so she could smell your signature perfume as words of praise and promise tumbled from behind her lips. Just as she imagined, she parts your legs to find the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

I was right, she thinks. Much prettier than any crown.

“Oh Godess,” Peggy groans as she finally pushes inside of you. “You cannot imagine how long I’ve waited to do this-“

You moan as she enters you slowly, purposefully. Blood drains from your fingers as you grip the sheets with all you have, Peggy holding your legs open as you adjust to the feeling of her inside of you. She gives you a moment, tracing the calloused pads of her around your nipples, down your quivering stomach, and back up again.

“I-“ you’re not sure what you’re supposed to say, or if you’re supposed to say anything at all. “I-“

“Shhh, your majesty, Shh,” she reaches around to cup one hand over your mouth, the rough palm pressed against your lips. “Not all the servants are asleep. I don’t want anyone else to hear you sing for me. Not just yet.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what she’s saying. Each frenzied thought is broken as she pulls back before entering once more. Every time she retreats and leaves you empty and wanting, her pace quickening steadily.

“Wh-what do you-“

Peggy just smiles, watching as your eyes roll to the back of your head. It’s as though she’s watching your thoughts leak from your ears, your head falling onto the covers as pleasure overtakes you. She thought about flipping you over, about grabbing you by your hair and fucking you until you couldn’t walk. But she knew she had to start you off slowly, carefully as to not scare you off. Soon enough, though, she’d be able to fuck you in all the ways she’d fantasized; with her fingers inside you right next to her cock, with her hand around your neck, with her telling you the ways she’d fill you and how beautiful you’d look round with her kin. You were both young, and with your newfound power, had plenty of time to learn what you both liked best.

“Don’t worry, my beautiful queen,” she murmured into your neck. She had also imagined fucking you front of all the other knights in her tight circle of guards, showing the rest of them what they could have if they continued to pledge their loyalty. They’re all just as protective of you as she is already, but with queenhood comes increased threats that require increased vigilance. “I’ll explain in due time.”

It's then that she reaches down, moving to rub small, staccato circles at the most sensitive part of you. It’s a part you’ve explored before, under the thick covers and once everyone had presumed you asleep. That, though, was nothing like this—none of the fireworks, none of the way she grips your thighs to pull you back after each thrust.

This is what you imagine being struck by lightning feels like, the way your skin crackles every time she touches you. The difference, though, is that you’ve never heard of survivors wanting more. You’d never imagined anything feeling as good as this, as though those late-night explorations and giggles shared between princesses could feel so magnificent. Had everyone else felt like this, when they had indulged in matters of the flesh? Why had everyone kept such a thing from you?

“I’m, I’m-“ You’re not sure what’s happening, coil inside of you tightening with every passing second. Every muscle in your body tenses as you silently plea for Peggy for…well, truthfully, you don’t know what you’re pegging for. All you know is that you want it.

“Oh, your majesty,” Peggy smirks as she continues to pound into you, continuing to rub at the apex of your pussy. “Do it, baby, let go for me. Allow me the gratification of seeing you let go.”

You’re not sure what’s supposed to happen until it does, and a white-hot pleasure explodes inside of you. It reminds you of rolling down a hill, or being on horseback while it gallops. This is different, though, a nearly indescribable feeling lighting your skin ablaze. The feeling inches away little by little, your legs beginning to twitch. Peggy slows before pulling away completely, collapsing next to you as the toy prods at your leg.

“I’ll always watch over my queen,” she says as you pant, looking up at the ceiling of your room you had looked as a thousand times before. The mural your mother had painted for you hadn’t changed at all, but you…you were transformed. “No matter what.”

A week or so passes without incident. A week of your entire body on edge, of watching your personal knight as she stood in corners and examines perimeters. It’s a small part of you, but nevertheless, a quiet voice in the back of your brain shamed you in the way you’d imagine your mother would if she found out.

How did it end up like this? You, the most powerful person in your kingdom, bending at the will of your closest guard as though she had the magic to move mountains. A shudder ripples its way through your muscles as you imagine a world where she was blessed with the connection to the Mother Goddess. She was the only one who could grant the special few the ability to harness the magic found in the soil of your land, and it was a gift to you that she hadn’t given Peggy that power.

“Your majesty,” Peggy says from across the room, her affect flat in the proper way staff are meant to address members of your family. “Lord Steven Rogers is here to see you.”

She steps into the room and to the side, making room for the man and his personal guard. James, if your memory is correct, watches over the interaction with the same stoic silence as Peggy. He’s large, much different than the leaner bodies of the women who make up the castle’s defenses. James fills the doorway, nearly having to duck just a tad. What really scares you is the way he stares, his jaw set and his eyes bearing into you. You make every effort to avoid his gaze as Steve sits down.

“I have something to share with you,” he says with a boyish smile. He slides a small, wooden box across the desk that you make no move to open. “But I’d like for us to be alone. No guards.”

As if he can sense your trepidation, he adds, “Just to put us on even footing.”

“If my security cannot be in the room while this information is shared,” you tremble, ever so slightly, as you push the box back towards him. You hope he doesn’t notice, but something in his keen eyes says there’s very little he doesn’t see. “Then I don’t want to hear it at all. And I certainly wouldn’t want your security here as well.”

“Oh, princess,” his words are tinged with a low, condescending chuckle. It reminds you of your father when he knows he’s bested you at chess—the same stupid, smug look painted across his face; the same infuriating smile playing at the very corners of his lips. As a child, you thought he was at least trying to hide the fact he had such a large competitive advantage, saving your young ego from being crushed too early.

As you stand here, though, a single eyebrow raised and the inside of your cheek between your teeth to keep you from lashing out…you understand it is merely a poor attempt to hide the glee of besting a person one views as deeply and utterly inferior.

You grit your teeth, clenching your fists as your side as you resist the urge to slap him with the back of your hand. As a royal, your mother had never expressed herself in such a rash manner. You hadn’t even held the crown for a week and were on the brink of putting the entire royal reputation in jeopardy.

What a failure.

“I am queen now and you know it,” you eventually bite out, face red hot with the knowledge you’d taken much too long to respond.

Lord Rogers smiles in the same way you imagine snakes or wolves do when they’ve spotted injured prey. “Let’s have this conversation again when you’ve calmed down. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

You paint a tense smile over your face, attempting to hide your distaste. “Tomorrow it is. I look forward to seeing you then.”

Peggy watches as your lady-in-waiting undoes your corset, her nimble fingers freeing you from its confines. Normally you liked your corsets—they improve your posture so much even your mother doesn’t comment on it—but that and the coronation dress weighed on you in an unfortunately literal way.

“My queen,” she nearly whispers. You expect her tone to be light and airy, and are startled by the more somber tone. “I need to speak with you.”

You blink once, twice. Why not here? Your face says, gesturing towards the lady-in-waiting as subtly as you can. Peggy’s stoicism remains unchanged.

“Give us a moment, Katherine, please,” you tell her, keeping your eye contact.

The dark-haired girl nods once, bidding you goodnight and curtsying before dashing away. She’s odd, that one, but so charming you choose not to comment when she’s around.

When the door shuts behind her, you turn to your knight, nodding just a little to prompt her.

Instead of speaking, though, she remains quiet, an obvious discontent washing over her face. A nagging feeling at the back of your heart wants to go to her, comfort her, bring out all the bad feelings so you can tame them. But you’re a queen, and she’s not a child, so you stay where you are—silent, stoic, painfully waiting for her to open her mouth and tell you what’s wrong.

When she does, though, you wish she hadn’t.

“I don’t like Lord Rogers very much,” is all Peggy says. She looks you dead in the eyes, jaw set. You wait for her to continue—to rant and scream and scowl.

You allow yourself a moment to sigh, the exhale ending in a dry laugh. Peggy narrows her eyes as you do so, tilting her head ever so slightly. “I’m not joking.”

It certainly sounds like it, though. She knows just as well as you how court politics works, how every single person in this castle has every single one of their decisions shrouded in a cloak of constrictive diplomacy. In a country situated at the center of the continent, a smile and a few lines of small talk are sometimes all there is between economic prosperity and absolute devastation.

Speaking ill of Lord Rogers would effectively be the same as threatening to banish Lord Rogers from your castle. And banishing Lord Rogers would be the same as slitting the throat of his wife in their marriage bed. War? Guaranteed. Your chances of winning? Slim.

“Well, you certainly can’t be serious.” You’re outwardly scoffing now, rolling your eyes, and turning away from her without so much as a half-hearted excuse. There’s nothing in you that wants to fight; who wants to risk it all, fight the status quo, and make a new world from the ashes of the old one. You have never been very rebellious, and that instinct for conflict avoidance will serve you well if you want yourself, and your kingdom, to survive.

You expect your beloved knight to deflect. You expect her to do as you would’ve done: assume someone with loose lips was listening and you’d need to immediately play it off as some kind of nightmare and distance yourself from any ounce of culpability.

She doesn’t, though. She doesn’t move an inch.

“I’m serious, your majesty.” Peggy continues to meet your tense gaze, her own eyes free from any regret, or fear, or anything. Strong as a stone, and just as agreeable. Her face remains stoic, her sharp jaw set. “I would never lie to you.”

Red bleeds into the edges of your vision, the vision of your delicate legacy crashing to the floor like an antique teapot, crashing into a million, unfixable pieces and cutting into the bottoms of your soft feet. “Absolutely not,” you growl, your fists clenching in the light fabric of your underdress. “You know why that’s impossible, so certainly you wouldn’t be foolish enough to entertain the idea of saying it out loud.”

She still doesn’t budge. “I can’t lie to you, your majesty.” She repeats. “I have a duty to protect you-“

Now you bark out a laugh, the sharp descending into something darker quickly as you continue. “Protect!?” You reach across your abdomen to hold your sore stomach, glad you were able to get out of your corset before she opened her mouth. It feels like ages later when you’re able to catch your breath, the words still breathy as tears fall down your cheeks. “If anyone heard you, they’d have my head under a blade fast than you can cut the limbs off of any one person. You believing this is some roundabout way to fulfill the oath you took when you were given your sword is such horseshit you should be back shoveling it in stalls.”

You’re ready to continue—to bare your teeth and tear at her skin until she heeds your warning. Fangs—you wish you had fangs—so she’d know how ready you are to tear flesh from bone just to keep her from continuing. So that she’d know you’re also dangerous, and willing to fight if it meant you remained in power.

“Get out of here,” you snarl. “Tell Katherine to come back in. I don’t want to see you until I need escorting to the chancery tomorrow. Do you understand?”

Peggy’s face doesn’t change as she responds before turning and leaving. “Yes, your majesty. I will see you in the morning.”

Neither of you speak, you following just behind her in silence. The blanket of quiet remains as you enter, a servant having already lit the candles that illuminate the room. As you requested, Peggy remains just outside the thick door, only entering when Lord Rogers does.

He seems pleased you’d followed his directions, and it makes your skin crawl. If you had your way, you’d never deal with him at all—outsourcing all communication through a third party. Unfortunately, the Rogers name is powerful in this region, and a queen is nothing without her allies.

“So,” he sits across from you, separated only by your desk. You move to stand near him, eyeing the same box he had yesterday. “I’ve come to talk about the land deeds your mother signed over to me at the very end of her reign.”

Your brow furrows as you reach forward to grab at what he brought with him. Inside are…bones? They’re small but thick, with etchings in an alphabet you do not understand. “What are these?”

He scoffs, as though you should understand what riddle he’s piecing together. You resist the urge to remind him you can speak five languages, and read even more. If there was a language you didn’t recognize, you’d be going to the royal translators…not a man who’s been trying to de-throne your family since the day he could ride a horse. “They’re proof my family has had ownership over the lands I’m asking about since before your family name ever existed. You simply raise both your brows, still looking through the box.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

But you don’t, you really don’t. There’s nothing anyone’s ever told you about Lord Roger’s land deeds besides the fact he has a lot of them. His family’s been around for as long as yours has and has amassed a similar amount of wealth and power. He controls several important ports, his castle is nearly as large as yours.

It hits you then, what he’s doing.

Originally both lineages were at war for the last few thousand years, moving borders and people and livestock as their whims changed. They’d both fought to control the kingdom that’s encompassed the land it had for centuries, the deciding factor being one last territory that a woman four or so generations ago had seized during a tense buyout the Rogers lineage had always claimed was faked. That’s the only territory his family had ever asked for, something your mother had spent many nights telling you about. They’d tried everything to get it back, from raids to paying witnesses to give false accounts of the treaty signing. This was another, even cheaper shot at their goal—to overtake what your family had held so dear.

It’s easy to see now that the markings on the bones show tallies of cattle losses in a shorthand developed by farmers, indicating his family would’ve been working the land after the year the agreement had gone into place. This, of course, means absolutely nothing.

You chew your lip as you examine them, building up the courage to speak. “Lord Rogers, I am not sure this indicates anything meaningful. Many families work on land they do not own. This isn’t proof at all your family has any right over the land, or over the kingdom”

As you look closely at the engravings once more, “You stupid little bitch!”

You don’t have time to turn around; to slap him across the face, or find a letter opener to remind him of your years of self-defense training. All you have time to do is cry out as his palm meets your cheek, your screams becoming muffled as he grabs the back of your neck and turns you around so he can pin you against the desk.

“Peggy!” you try to yell, but all that comes out is a choked sound.

“You will give my family what we are owed. I will kill you if I have to.” His words are practically growls, holding you with one hand as he reaches into his coat. As you struggle, he flashes a thin, sharp knife in front of your eyes.

“Please-“ you kick at him, figurines your mother had collected (and you hadn’t yet had the heart to have a servant collect and placed in her quarters) fall to the hard ground. Some shatter immediately, others skidding across the floor. “Please don’t kill me I-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He flips the weapon in his hands, as if he was showing it off. “Now hold still, this doesn’t need to hurt. There are a few spots I can hit that’ll have you bleeding out in seconds. But if you want it to hurt, I can-“

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before he’s thrown off of you, slammed into the nearest wall. You’re partially thrown with him, but Peggy’s arms keep you from traveling the same distance. One of the other guards, Valkyrie, holds him against the wall as Peggy drops to the floor to hold you. Other guards you can’t remember the names for flood in behind her, holding his arms behind his back and dragging him away.

“You’re okay, my queen,” Peggy whispers. “You’re going to be okay.”

She scans you for harm, eyes wide as she checks for broken bones or open wounds. A few spots are tender. One, most notably, at the place the table made contact with your abdomen. Still, nothing that can’t be healed with a few days of rest and (most important) nothing that will leave horrific and long-lasting scars. Katherine comes in soon after, taking you from Peggy and ushering you across the castle and to your bed. She fetches you something to drink and a cool cloth, fluffing your pillows once your heart has slowed enough that exhaustion replaces adrenaline.

It all happens so fast, you don’t have time to question why all of those women were close enough to help in the first place.

Peggy stands behind Katherine, watching as she comforts you.

As your eyelids grow heavy, she moves to pet your hair, leaning down to murmur into your temple. “I’ll be back, my queen.” You don’t hear it, sleep long since having pulled you into its arms. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

She slips out of the room, silently exiting out of your area of the castle before finding a door hidden behind a tapestry depicting a field of poppies, your grandmother’s favorite flowers. The secret paths had been built the same time the castle was, meant to be a way for those that served in the castle to enter the servant’s quarters without disturbing the royals. Fifty or so years ago, though, too many servants were living there, and in an effort to stave rebellion, an addendum to the castle was built. Now, where some had lived, slept, and ate, lay abandoned rooms far from the eyes of royalty.

The staircase is narrow, so narrow she has to hold her sword in front of her. She’s silent as she navigates the maze-like corridor, the path to her destination an easy show of muscle memory. The door, unassuming and identical to the rest of them, opens to a scene she’s been wishing for since she first saw Lord Rogers look you up and down all those years ago.

Five women, two on each side and one immediately behind, flank the man that sits tied to an old chair from the servants’ quarters. It’s been used for these sorts of nights before, as evidenced by the scuffed wood that marks where pieces of leather kept one’s limbs in place. They fight, they always do. For Peggy, it’s part of the fun. No sense in killing something without a desire to live.

She stands as the man sits, his face already bruised and bloody. Split lip, a cut through his right brow. Every time he spits it’s tinged pink. Even though she wishes they had held off until she arrived, Peggy wishes it was redder. Nothing matters more to her than the fact he remains in pain.

“Do you know what the punishment is for laying a hand on Her Majesty?” she asks.

He looks pathetic in the low candlelight, she thinks. He’s over six feet, covered in lean muscle and scars. She can see every pitiful inch of him—she instructed the other royal guards to strip him down when they grabbed him from his plush bed once all the royals had retired for the night. He was surprisingly easy to overpower, according to the message she received from the guards, delivered via a squire who had an affinity for staying up much too late. He was fast and, more importantly, quiet on his feet. Both necessary to avoid being caught. While many of the knights in this kingdom were women, it’s easy to see how his skills would do him well in the profession.

“You’ll never get away with this,” he spits out.

Peggy smirks, small laughs escaping from behind the others’ hands. She takes a moment to allow the others to collect themselves (and to give herself some time to savor the rage that washes over his face as he realizes they’re all laughing at him.

“Well,” she says eventually. “One of us tied to a chair right now, and it isn’t any of us, so…”

He snarls, reminding Peggy of one of the guard dogs that roam the farms around the castle. They look very similar, in a way—strong jaw, barred teeth, a little grimy from their misadventures. Lord Rogers lacks something that would shrink the gap between them. Those dogs, as innocent as they sometimes look, would defend their flock with their lives; she’s seen them ward off mountain lions to protect the sheep they’d grown up with.

Peggy doesn’t think he’d defend anyone other than himself.

Lord Rogers doesn’t know it (and, given his condition, he may never found out), but his personal knight was given an option: either leave, change his name, and abandon the Rogers lineage…or die trying to defend the bloodline he swore to secure.

Needless to say, he chose the latter, and his various body parts are being fed to pigs at the far end of the castle’s main farm. Kamala offered to do that, the young girl eager to be involved but not old enough to secure herself to the heart of the action. Truthfully, Peggy found the entire endeavor useless given they sent his head to Lord Rogers’ wife in an unlabeled box. It should arrive by the end of the month, giving them enough time to do what needs to be done.

“Do you confess?” Natasha asks, her sword secured in her belt. Peggy only enlisted the guards she believed were level-headed enough to follow her lead. Normally, she’s all right with those she relies on going rogue—she trusts them for a reason—but tonight requires a very specific form of precision.

Steven just scoffs. “Confess to what, exactly?”

“We know what happened with the Queen,” Jane says, her tone flat. “We know what you did to her.”

The man laughs the kind of fake, sarcastic laugh Peggy had come to loathe from him. “That bitch had it coming. She’s hiding something from me, just like her cunt m-”

He is interrupted quickly by the back of Peggy’s hand. It throws him off, stunning him

“Confess.” One of them say, calmly.

“Fuck you!” Lord Rogers will scream back. Unfortunately, it seems to have only quieted him for just a moment.

Each denial is met with a similar reaction.

This time, it’s Carol punching him so hard that he starts to spit out blood afterward. The time after that, it’s Monica carving out leg muscles with a farrier’s knife. After that, it’s Wanda flattening his fingers with a hammer. His body, morphing into some monstrous, destroyed thing, is tormented with every broken breath he takes. A slight wheeze tinges each exhale.

Peggy watches him, watches as the women she trusts with your life take him apart piece by piece. At the end of the night, long before the morning rises, he will be mangled to the point of no return before one of them gives him the undue mercy of ending his life. This was the plan, even if she had no desire to watch him receive such an undeserved gift. Originally, she’d wanted to keep him alive for days and show you her handiwork…but a stern conversation with Gamora had ended that conversation. Her magic gave her the kind of sense a brutish knight lacked, Peggy thought.

She steps back, tossing the hefty stick to Carol, who catches it. “Do what you need to do,” she says to no one in particular. “I’ve got what I need.”

Steven tugs at his restraints, the panic in his eyes palpable despite being nearly swollen shut. “You bitch! Let me out of here!”

Peggy just laughs, not bothering to face him as she walks away. The Lord’s pleas silence as she shuts the door behind her, deep screams becoming fainter and fainter as she sneaks down the corridor once more. She retraces her path, fire in her veins making the trip much shorter this time around. Before she knows it, she’s back in bed with you, tracing the indents your pillow’s creases have made on your cheeks.

“Peggy?” you murmur, your tired brow furrowing. Sleep rests heavy on your slurred speech, exhaustion still wracking your bones.

She shushes you, tucking herself under the covers. When you move over to give her unnecessary room, she merely grabs your hips to pull you back. When you return to your original spot still deep in the throws of sleep, Peggy lets a small smile escape from behind her teeth.

“Got a surprise for you when you wake up, baby,” she whispers. “Just go to sleep for now. Everything will be okay when you wake up.”

#peggy carter x reader #peggy carter fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel ladies fanfic #peggy carter smut #lukis writes stuff #lukis does commissions

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angelwheat · 1 year ago

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2.0 Edward Richtofen X Reader (One-Shot)

Catastrophe arises through the dimwitted actions of a certain American, unearthing tension of all sorts, stress, a heap of vulnerability, and an eye-opener to the cold, hard truth.

Tags/Warnings: Injury, Blood*, Guns*, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Pining

Pronouns: Female (She/Her)

Words: 7649

Read this story at a gentle pace. Picture and absorb the words as you read to really get a deep insight to the atmosphere created in this story.

(my gif)

Location: Der Eisendrache

Out of the blue, an intense wave of the undead overrun the facility, sparking greater panic for the crew than ever before. Edward, while remaining nearby his team mates, tried his hardest to keep himself from being ambushed from all angles by shooting and slashing down any undead creature that threatened to block his path. However, with his movements becoming increasingly restricted from the hordes, Richtofen unknowingly wound up staggering backwards into a tight corner, almost slipping on a sheet of ice that blanketed the grounds.

With zombies closing in rapidly, his heart thundered beneath his heaving chest. Edward sweat profusely as he desperately drew in rapid breaths of air, utter terror-struck as he realised that the number of bullets in his gun was decreasing quickly, although in his panicked state he missed his shots terribly. The Bowie knife strapped to his side was no match for the mass of this horde that was surrounding him.

The clicking of Edward’s weapon practically taunted him once it ran dry. He cursed in his native tongue and threw the gun to the ground, landing it in a heap of snow. Instinctively, his hand darted for the Summoning Key that he kept on him at all times, almost like he was trying to reassure himself that it will miraculously save his life in this moment. But now he was entirely lost for ways to save himself, the only thought was to embrace his gruesome fate.

He hissed as his back connected with the bitter cold stone wall, his eyes wide and panting heavily as the zombies teetered closer. Edward braced himself, shutting his eyes tightly and bowing his heavy head. Every thought of shame and failure crossed his mind as he knows that he’s about to let his team mates down.

Unexpectedly, a gruesome cracking sound drew his attention back to reality, He snapped up with squinted eyes, seeing the undead fall limp to the ground one-by-one, their heads being blasted from their rotten bodies by someone he couldn’t locate through the horde. The crimson mist from the gun blast sprayed droplets of blood all over Edward, but he had no time to react as a hand grasped his arm with a mighty grip, dragging him carelessly out of the trap he lead himself into.

When Edward was freed from the virtual imprisonment, the numbing grip on his arm that he felt from his saviour disappeared as they let go. Shaking away his cloudy vision, Edward took in a deep breath like he was starved for air, but suddenly, he felt the same person shove him harshly on the back, causing him to grunt and topple, losing his footing on the slippery ice.

“Move it, Doc!” The American bellowed over the deafening gunfire.

Edward smacked the snowy ground with a thud, cracking the ice below him when he landed on something solid by his hip that caused him to cry out in agony. He felt the frost nipping at his hands immediately as they got buried in a pile of snow as he somewhat broke his fall. Almost frightful to examine what he had painfully landed on, he glanced down expecting to see himself impaled, and ghastly amounts of blood seeping from his body. Instead, he notices a metal component by his side, and realisation struck him immediately...

One last bullet was fired and the atmosphere stilled. Unfortunately, the silence didn’t last long when a gruff American accent piped up.

“What the hell was that, Doc?! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” He scolded in fury.

Edward was urged to retaliate furiously, but instead huffed loudly, his shoulders visibly rising up and down. He remained on he ground, his eyes glued to the scattered metal beneath him. He wanted to bellow at the American for his dimwitted actions that caused him to tumble and land on the Summoning Key, shattering half of it. But how could he? If not for Dempsey’s stupid idea, he would certainly be dead.

Nikolai and Takeo stood nearby, overlooking the situation and keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings while both cautious of their every move as they sensed the hostility. Dempsey’s typical hard-faced expression subtly changed to a look of concern when Richtofen groaned as he shifted position on the ground to sit up slightly, never looking up to met the trio of gazes. He felt every bruise on his body pulse at once, and for a second, Dempsey felt a pang of guilt that he may have injured him.

Altering and alleviating the weary atmosphere in the central courtyard, the girl appeared in the doorway to the castle’s communications centre., grasping an ancient bow with an arrow readily in place on the string. She appeared a tad windswept, her hair askew in the messy way she had pinned it up. Nikolai and Takeo seemed relieved that she had finally shown up.

The blistering wind and snowfall caused her to visibly shudder, but she took no notice of the freezing temperatures when she saw the German slumped on the ground. The girl immediately assumed that Richtofen was wounded as he was caked in blood splatter from head to foot, and had a hand pressed to his hip. She couldn’t see his face which only provoked more worry.

“You’re late to the party, princess.” Despite the demeaning nickname, Dempsey sounded agitated. His brows knit tightly together as he bowed his head ever so slightly, glaring at her through his eyebrows.

“Hey, without me, you wouldn’t have access to this.” She snapped, already feeling anger bubbling up inside her while she motioned to the bow in her hands.

Dempsey huffed at her statement, but she was right. While they had been defending themselves outside, she had single-handedly undergone the steps to acquire the ancient bow Richtofen had spoken of.

Ignoring Dempsey by briskly walking out into the open, she looped her bow over her shoulder so that it rested on her back, and tucked away the arrow as she approached Richtofen hesitantly. He never dared to lock eyes with anyone around him, both in raging ire and and embarrassment, but when she knelt down to his level she could see the vengeful fire burning in his eyes. She could tell that he had sat put where he fell for so long as snowflakes had nestled on his jet black hair.

“Are you alright? You’re not injured, are you?” She quizzed in a fret, reaching out to touch the blood staining his face.

However, Edward was quick to swipe her hand away and his eyes snapped to her.

“I’m fine.” He told in a monotone.

She nodded, knowing better than to prod him with questions. She rose to her feet and offered Edward her hand. Just before he stood, the girl watched as he scraped up pieces from the ground, staring in shock when she realised just what he was collecting.

Edward took her hand and she aided him to his feet. He fought to restrain a yelp on his way up as a fiery pain shot through his right side, but she noticed the way his face scrunched up in agony. Richtofen pat her shoulder and thanked her quietly, but she could not peel her eyes from the shattered Summoning Key in his palm.

He gave Dempsey a deadly glare, so unwavering that it brought a sudden fearful expression to his face. Edward then turned in the opposite direction of the communications room. The girl watched him limp away from the crew with a sorrowful look, unsure whether to follow him. Something about the situation she stumbled upon wasn’t settling well in her mind, but when he was a fair distance away she faced the trio standing awkwardly.

“None of you guys thought to help him up?” She asked, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

She observed each of them individually and Dempsey seemed the most guilty of all as he never looked up from where he kicked the snow beneath his boots.

They had all noticed what Richtofen held delicately in his hand, but just how did that happen before she showed up?

-X-

The night had settled in hours ago, and the silvery moon was high in the starry sky. The blistering winds battered snowflakes against the windows, and whistled an eerie song through the cracks in the building.

Isolating himself in a dingy, candlelit room within the castles’ wilted walls, hiding away from his allies, Edward stood hunched with his hands pressed to the tattered workbench before him with the half of the Summoning Key still intact, the rest scattered in numerous pieces across the tabletop. With utter annoyance coursing through him. Edward huffed, shutting his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose while he recalled the previous events from today, that resulted in this current frustration of needing to fix the one tool he was greatly depending on.

He had made countless attempts to repair the device, but none of the pieces would match up perfectly, so he would take it apart and start again. Edward slammed his fists to the table in anger but instantly regretted jolting too quickly when it sent shooting pains through his abdomen. He clutched his hip, applying light pressure and cursing under his breath as the pain seemed to worsen as they night dragged on.

It’s a rarity to get such a long break from the hordes. Plenty of times the crew had battled hordes throughout the night, with less than an hours break in between waves.

But Edward couldn’t rest. His stubbornness would not allow himself to take this rare opportunity to sleep until he had fixed the Summoning Key. He propped himself up against the table yet again, practically relying on it to keep him on his feet. He rubbed his tired eyes before reaching for a piece of the device.

Startling Richtofen, a pattern of knocks emitted from the doorway he had turned his back to. Attempting to spin himself around, he winced at the slightest movement, instead resorting to calling over his shoulder.

“I’m busy.” He tried his hardest not to let his words sound strained.

“Richtofen, it’s me.” She told, opening the door fully and meekly stepped inside.

He turned as much as he could without over-exerting himself, and instantaneously noticed her bow in hand, and the look of concern on her face.

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” She admitted, her eyes quickly glancing around the messy room he had cooped himself up in. “Is everything okay?”

Richtofen’s shoulders slumped. “Everything’s fine.”

He hoped his words didn’t sound bitter. Edward knew that he had no reason to be agitated with her, but his current situation was certainly not sparking any joy. He reverted his attention to the device he was trying to repair, and little did he know that she followed his gaze. She returned her bow to where it sat comfortably over her shoulder.

The girl walked over to the table to observe the broken Summoning Key. Fear washed over her after seeing the state it was in.

Despite his suspicious antics with regard to his plans to “secure a better tomorrow”, he had always preached that the Summoning Key was the literal key to saving the universe, and without it their destiny might just be disastrous.

The girl believed in him from the beginning. She was loyal and devoted her every action to his plans, and wholeheartedly trusted that he knew what he was doing, despite how the other men despised him. So far everything had gone according to plan. With the Summoning Key now destroyed, does this mean that everything was doomed to fail?

“Can this be fixed?” She asked, watching his hands as he fiddled with two pieces and hearing him grumble in annoyance when they didn’t fit together.

Edward placed the components down, lazily wiping a hand over his face.

“I hope so.” He sighed.

But he didn’t sound hopeful at all.

Richtofen shifted his weight from foot to foot, wincing in pain from both his bruised hip, and from standing for too long. He grimaced, which unfortunately did not go unnoticed. She unhooked the bow she carried on her back and propped it against the wall.

“You got hurt earlier, didn’t you?” She worried, instinctively reaching out to support him when he wobbled.

“It’s just a bruise.” He tried to assure her with a smile, but the way she stared at him seeming unimpressed at his feeble attempts at easing her concern immediately told him that she didn’t believe him.

“Edward you can hardly stand!” She didn’t shout, but her voice was louder than her usual soft tone.

Richtofen turned his head away sheepishly.

“Show me.” She demanded, softly adding, “Please.”

Edward snapped his attention to her, staring almost dumbfounded for a minute. The wound was just below his belt, but the way she glanced quickly from his eyes to his hip demanded him not to protest.

Feeling embarrassed, Edward gulped nervously as he reached to unbuckle his belt. The girl averted her gaze sheepishly as she listened to his belt clink and then heard him hiss through gritted teeth as he slowly dragged his pants down diagonally to reveal his wounded side. When it went silent she turned back to him and gasped loudly as her eyes were automatically drawn to the massive purplish bruise that darkened his hip bone, and it appeared to be spreading lower. Even Edward stared down at his body in astonishment.

She bent down to examine the bruise closely, making Edward’s face heat up in a fluster as she neared his crotch.

“You’ve cut yourself too.” She told, not peering away from the gash on his skin.

The girl stood upright and Edward instinctively moved to pull his pants up. Taking him aback, she was hasty to grab his wrist before he could conceal his wounds. Edward met her eyes, utterly stunned.

“There’s no way I’m letting you go about with that cut untreated. I know what you’re like.” She told, her voice stern. “It’ll get irritated.”

Edward opened his mouth to object but she silenced him by talking before he had the chance to.

“You’ve done a lot for us so far.” She pleaded in a hushed voice, stepping closer to him. “For once, please just let me do something for you.”

He found himself struggling to find the words to argue when she stared at him with round puppy-like eyes. Edward swept his hair back with his hand before he shifted to slouch back against the table. The girl dismissed the broken Summoning Key, shoving the parts aside before she patted her pockets in search of something, soon pulling out an array of medical supplies like a small reel of bandage and some band-aids.

She raised a brow, holding up the supplies. “You’re lucky I picked these things up. I figured they’d come in handy at some point.”

Edward half-smiled, admiring her thoughtfulness. She walked around to stand in front of him, unrolling the bandage, but before she cleaned up the cut he was sporting she locked eyes with him again.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” She wanted his confirmation, verbally.

His eyes fell shut sleepily for a second as he nodded. “I’m sure.”

With a deep breath, she bent down slightly to better observe the wounds she was treating. Taking the bandage she held, the girl gingerly pressed it to the weeping cut in the centre of the bruise.

While one of Edward’s hands held his pants to keep the wound exposed, the other gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white from how he grasped it fiercely. She muttered a series of apologies when Richtofen flinched and whimpered as she continued to clean up the blood that spilled from the slice on his skin.

Despite her feeble efforts to remain focused on aiding him, the girl knew her eyes would wander to his partially exposed crotch. The dark trail of black hair that ran down the middle of his stomach and past his belt line, contouring his toned physique, only teased her imagination. She hoped Edward hadn’t noticed the way she was glancing at him provocatively. But unbeknownst to her, Edward kept his head up in to avoid her seeing his flustered face, as he fought with rather suggestive thoughts of his own.

He’s uncertain as to what reeled him in so keenly when the girl pleaded that she tend to his injuries. Edward convinced himself that it was solely her selfless nature to always put others before herself. Maybe it was the compassion and gentleness she showed him, especially at times when he had his bouts of insecurity and uncertainty, about himself and the world. Or perhaps it was the way the candlelight tinted her complexion with a warm and cosy orange hue, her eyes captivating as they shimmered magically.

His contemplations could have him dazed for hours if it weren’t for the rustling sounds of the band-aid she was opening that pulled him away from daydreaming. Richtofen peered down subtly, watching and feeling her delicate hands place the large band-aid across the sensitive wound she had cleaned up.

“There.” She overlooked his patched up injury, wiping her hands together. “That’s better than leaving it to get infected.”

She placed her hands on her hips with a satisfied huff. Edward seemed mesmerised by her work on his hip, resisting the urge to put his hand where she touched him. He watched her every move as she collected the bloodied bandages and stashed them beside some other junk within the room.

The girl noticed how his hand hovered over the band-aid and she lazily smiled.

“Don’t you start messing with it, Edward.” Her tone was playfully stern, earning a meek smile from him.

He gave it another once over before moving to pull his pants up, swallowing hard when he grazed his skin. Once he buckled his belt, Edward caught sight of the smashed Summoning Key, just knowing that all the stress he was feeling from his previous attempts to repair it the first time would only arise if he tried once again. He buried his head in his hands.

“One problem solved, another one to solve.” She surmised, leaning against the table and picking up a piece of the device.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to solve this one.” Edward sounded defeated.

She smiled warmly at him. “Mind if I help?”

Edward gladly accepted her help. The girl pulled up a chair beside the table for Edward to sit, doing the same for herself.

Together they sat in the tranquillity of each others presence, kept warm by the light of the burning candles dotted about the room as they figured out just how to restore the Summoning Key to its working order. Richtofen fumbled with a few pieces, dropping them to the table with a sigh when pieces didn’t fit correctly, but the way she would beam with delight when she precisely fit two components together made his bitter feelings clear instantly. She said that it seemed strange that the key to saving the universe fit together like a children's toy, earning a chuckle from Edward.

The Summoning Key was being repaired much quicker than anticipated. Richtofen placed a piece he held to the table, allowing himself to stretch his aching arms. He turned to the window, watching the snowflakes wisp briskly in the wind. It certainly had to be early hours of the morning by now as he knows he’s been cooped up in the room since sunset. He felt selfish that he hadn’t interacted with the others since storming off earlier that day. Edward was lead to question if they were even worried about him.

“Where are the others?” He asked as he turned his attention to her.

“Sleeping.” She bluntly replied, entirely focused on the task at hand as she locked another piece together.

Edward wanted to scold her for not getting any rest, but he knew that she would only call him a hypocrite for not doing so himself. While he had been making sneaky glances at her throughout, he noticed how her eyes were drooping sleepily and her posture hunched more when she propped her elbows atop the table while she worked. She spoke less too. Edward slumped in his chair, feeling somewhat guilty that she was with him instead of getting some well deserved sleep.

His hushed voice broke through the silence. “You can get some rest if you like. I’m sure I can finish this by myself.”

Richtofen’s statement came across as a demand. Her actions faltered as she stared at him almost looking offended, before returning to the task.

“We’re in this together. Your problems are my problems.” The immense tiredness she was feeling only made her speak honestly, and Edward was astounded to hear what she blurted out.

“I think that statement can be interpreted in many ways- not just mutually.” He countered, never taking his eyes off her.

“Then interpret it as you will.” She interjected quickly, her hands froze as she locked eyes with him.

Sensing the sincerity in her voice, Edward contemplated expressing his deepest feelings for her right then and there, but as he would typically surrender to his nerves and doubts, he would normally let such an opportunity pass him by. However, taking into consideration the current decomposing state of the universe, Edward surmised that any time can be the right time.

Awkwardly, he chewed the inside of his cheek while he nonchalantly tapped a piece of metal on the table, mentally trying to put his messy confession into somewhat tangible sentences.

Reeling Edward out his own mind, the girl piped up.

“Are you ever going to tell me how you wound up with an injury like that?” She asked, directing a nod to his side.

Richtofen scoffed immediately, replying bitterly with, “Ask Dempsey.”

She laughed at his childish response. “Perhaps I will. I’m sure I’ll get an exciting story from him.”

Edward breathed a laugh, reaching out to take two components in his hand again, now eager to finish the task now that only a handful of pieces remained. He fiddled with the components, turning them in his hand and trying each side until they clicked together, almost like puzzle pieces.

He shrugged, remaining focused on what his hands were doing. “But I can’t hold my bitter feelings against that dimwitted American. I’d be dead if it weren’t for him...”

The girl froze and turned to stare at him with wide eyes. Every possible situation flashed through her mind, plenty of which were so gruesome she almost panicked. The pieces to the Summoning Key slipped from her fingers, clanking to the counter-top. Was he serious?

“What happened before I got to the courtyard?” She demanded to know, her voice toneless.

Side-eyeing her anxiously, Edward swallowed hard, regretting ever opening his mouth. His lips set into a hard line as he recalled the events in the courtyard. He was terrified of her reaction if he confessed just how found himself in a near death experience, but the way she sternly spoke his name advised that he didn’t keep her waiting.

He rambled every detail he could recall. From the moment he was trapped in the centre of a horde and feared for his life, to the careless rescue made by Dempsey which thus resulted in dreaded injury, and the currently damaged state of the Summoning Key. Mimicking her, Edward kept his eyes glued to the table while he rattled off his frustrations, not wanting to further embarrass himself by catching a glimpse of her expression. But little did he know, she only continued working on the device to avoid looking at him, fearing that he’ll notice her eyes swimming with tears.

Edward exhaled deeply once he went silent, but a sniffle made him turn his head to her instantaneously. She popped two pieces of the device together and placed them down to bury her face in her trembling hands.

Dismissing everything, Richtofen weakly directed his body to her, outstretching his arm to reach and uncover her face. She flinched upon feeling his hand gingerly touch her wrist. Edward retracted swiftly when he observed her wiping away tears. She then rested her hands atop her knees, breathing a juddered sigh as she tried to recomposed herself.

“I’m sorry.” She choked out, pressing her palm to her forehead, feeling a dull headache beginning to throb.

Then, she looked at him with blood-shot eyes. “It’s just the thought of losing you...”

Edward felt his heart sink at the sight of her snivelling, unable to refrain his eyes from glistening with tears of his own as she cried quietly. However, he was quick to blink them away before they ran down his cheeks. If not for his pained, restricted movements, Richtofen would have engulfed her in his arms already, although, he sought it best not to overwhelm her.

Truthfully, he was speechless. Up until this tender moment, Edward’s own stubbornness could not allow himself to be convinced that anyone had but an ounce of care for him. He knew that the girl showed a fondness for him, but Edward falsely believed that it was only natural for her to be so considerate, as she had also expressed it to her allies. But as Edward thought much deeper about it, she almost never spent time with Dempsey, Nikolai, or Takeo. He had been so naive when he realised that it was typically him more so than anyone else.

“Edward?” She called timidly.

He leaned towards her, brows raised. “Yes, dear?”

Edward caught himself by surprise when he intuitively answered her so endearingly.

“Can I hug you?” She whimpered softly, her rounded eyes utterly pleading.

Giving himself no time to think, Edward nodded quickly. The girl swiftly pulled her chair up to close the gap between them, to keep him from standing and straining his injuries, cautiously wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

She felt Edward briefly tense up, although he eased the very second she rested her head on his shoulder, his brawny arms linking gently around her waist. Her breathing steadied when she felt his soothing caress on her back. Edward heard her faintly hum in content. Nothing could come between them at that little moment of serenity.

Confusing Richtofen, the girl reeled herself back, immediately longing for her touch. She dried her eyes, feeling somewhat calmed as she sat back in the chair.

The tender moment ended so soon as doubtful thoughts flooded back to Edward’s mind. He breathed an exasperated sigh, averting his eyes to the dirtied floor.

“Edward...” Her voice sounded pitiful when she spoke his name.

She remained close to his side. Her hand reached to neaten a few strands of his hair that had fallen out of it’s slicked style. Upon observing him, the dark rings supporting his drooped eyes were prominent. Dots of blood covered his face, clearly he had attempted to wipe them away as the stains faintly remained. Like a permanent feature on his face, his frown was everlasting. He slouched as he fiddled with his hands that rested in his lap.

“You look exhausted.” She thought her statement sounded insulting, but Richtofen lazily nodded in agreement.

Appearing to have a moment of realisation strike him, Edward leaned towards the table, instantly regretting his brisk movements when he hissed and clutched his abdomen. The girl shook her head disapprovingly, though it went unnoticed. He waited for his hazy vision to clear before grasping the remaining fragments to repair the Summoning Key.

The device was nearing completion. Half of the sphere had been partially restored, with only a few pieces left to fit correctly. The girl grabbed the half that had remained entirely intact during the fall, awaiting Richtofen to click the last components together.

Edward turned to her with the shell of the device in his hands. She gripped the other half that encased the mechanism inside the sphere. Exchanging a hopeful glance, their hands shakily neared each others until the sphere connected impeccably. Richtofen was visibly relieved to witness the swirl-patterned lights on the Summoning Key flicker back to life with a bold sapphire colour.

Delicately taking the device into his hands, Edward raised it up to examine it closely, spinning it carefully. Caught up in his own triumph, he missed the way she ogled at the way his eyes lit up like Christmas lights. The girl hadn’t witnessed him so generally uplifted for weeks. She felt her heart flutter at the sight.

“It’s like it was never broken.” She remarked in a gentle tone.

The sweet chime of her voice made Richtofen turn to her with the same look of awe on his face. Placing the Summoning Key onto the workbench, Edward surprisingly took her hands in his own and gazed deeply into her eyes.

“I owe you my gratitude.” He breathed. “For everything.”

She resisted cooing in adoration, truly touched by his sincerity.

“How can I repay you?” He asked genuinely.

Taking her aback, the girl stammered a response. “Oh- No- Edward, I don’t expect anything in return.”

She looked away, laughing sheepishly. “It’s just what I do...”

Every thought Edward had of confessing his feelings flooded back to him, but he had a strong sense of apprehensiveness. He feared that he would likely make a fool of himself, or potentially bring an awkward barrier between their friendly relationship if he blurts out his deepest feelings. But never had their interactions become this cozy before. Something felt different than any other time they had been together.

Edward’s hands slipped away from hers, drawing her attention to the nervous look on his face. Averting his eyes sheepishly, Edward adjusted his shirt collar and fiddled with his sleeves, like he was neatening up his appearance. His face was noticeably flushed red, even in the fiery hue of candlelight.

“You’re looking a bit flushed.” It sounded teasing, given the way she laughed lightly, but it was entirely genuine.

The way he meekly fumbled with his sleeve came to an abrupt halt upon the girl place her hand on his thigh reassuringly, only intensifying his awkwardness. Edward’s body stiffened when he locked eyes with her, his thundering heart threatening to burst through his chest.

A mutter of her name fell from his lips, and he stuttered, “I have something to tell you.”

Despite the way she gulped nervously, the girl leaned in a fraction, making out she couldn’t quite hear him.

“Forgive me,” He began, his voice low. “I’m not the best at expressing my feelings, but I can try to explain myself as simply as possible.”

She didn’t react; only staring at him in wonder. Although, her attentive gaze only aided in heightening his anxiety.

Edward swallowed his nerves. “I’ve been thinking about our relationship.”

A pang of fear went through her. She didn’t know how to interpret his statement. Only hoping he would elaborate before she professed every negative idea racing through her mind.

Richtofen thought to himself momentarily. “And I think I’ve neglected to tell you just how much I appreciate you.”

She wanted to interject but was cut off the second she opened her mouth.

“What you said earlier has stuck with me all night.” He admitted with a sheepish look on his face.

The girl chewed her lip as she thought. She knows that she’s confessed a lot due to her tired state of mind making it easier to speak freely about her most heartfelt thoughts and feelings, but was she thinking along the same lines as Richtofen right now?

She blurted out. “About losing you?”

Her expression alone pleaded that Edward nodded, bringing her hands up to her chest apprehensively. She awkwardly hid her face behind her hands when Edward nodded in agreement.

“I didn’t think you paid much attention to that.” She mumbled.

Quickly, he interjected. “How could I dismiss something like that?”

She shrugged, slumping back in her chair now feeling embarrassed. “I don’t know... Maybe I thought you were too tired to be listening.”

Edward looked her over, observing her as she wiped a hand over her face, then looking down at her lap.

“But to answer the question that I know you’re dying to ask,” She manoeuvred to face him, gazing into his gentle eyes. “Yes, I meant it.”

The moment of silence was piercingly loud, sparking an uncertain atmosphere when she turned away. Edward didn’t know what to do, what to say. If it weren’t for the sound of heavy snowfall pattering the window, his mind would be utterly blank. He looked back at the Summoning Key sitting on the table, stewing on one particular thought as it came to mind.

“No one’s ever said that before.” He muttered. “It surprised me.”

Was he scared to admit that? Richtofen wasn’t sure, but his heart was racing. Although with his own insecurity getting the best of him, he regretted telling it.

“Edward, listen...” She frowned. “I think it’s about time I confessed something, since we’re both being honest here.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, wincing as he shifted in his seat to get himself comfortable. The girl instinctively went to reach out and aid him, but faltered when he sat still, reassuring her with a weak half-smile.

God, how he worried her sometimes...

Where could she begin? It certainly wasn’t something she had rehearsed, nor ever thought it would be spoken of. Her mind was a jumbled mess, utterly fearful that she would choke on her own words. She hoped Edward couldn’t hear her heart pounding like a drum. Clasping her hands together in her lap, she exhaled and turned to him anxiously.

“Since day one, I’ve believed that you have only good intentions.” She eyed his attentive look. “Now I can’t speak for the others, but I have faith in you, and trust that you’ll bring us that better tomorrow you’re promising. I just want to let you know that you’re doing a great job, and I will always stick by your side.”

Forgotten memories flooded back to him. From his early days as a scientist, working alongside Doctor Maxis. Being stationed in numerous locations, one of which the castle they found themselves at currently. All the researching, crafting, and exploring new possibilities within the medical and tactical field flashed in his mind like it all happened yesterday. But not once did he think of a time he was praised, or sometimes even, trusted for his research or crafts. Only thinking of the times his input was countered with something better, something more thoughtful, and something they could have faith in.

Never had Richtofen ever been so astonished in his life. He didn’t realise that she was staring at him in concern, until she placed her hand on his. Richtofen turned away, his eyes glistening with tears, covering his mouth with a trembling hand to conceal his lips that threatened to quiver.

“Oh my God, Edward, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean t-” She panicked, cutting herself off when guilt washed over her.

Mentally, Edward was berating himself. Embarrassed and utterly ashamed for displaying such weakness. He tells himself to remain composed, and keep that typical stone-faced, cold-hearted persona that he puts up around his allies. He was not a weak, emotional man and it needed to be proved. He was so certain that he would never crack, and never let his mask slip off and cave into his real emotions. But he had...

Edward felt helpless. How could he redeem himself after this? He began to fret that it would alter the way the others view him. Would they mock him? Turn their backs on him? God forbid they perceive him as the weak, broken, and vulnerable man that he believes he is...

Knowing Edward’s mind throughout, she was practically listening to his entire negative thought process. She felt sorry for him, knowing that he had naturally built up virtual walls around himself throughout his life, as to keep him from exposing his truest thoughts and feelings. But during desperate times, those walls have crumbled entirely. No one had ever gotten so close to him before in his life. Nor shown him such compassion and empathy. Typically, he would push people away when he felt exposed, leaving him alone and afraid.

Sensing how vulnerable his state of mind was at that time, she muttered, “Don’t beat yourself up for this, alright. We’ve all got emotions...”

Edward didn’t realise it, but he nodded softly, finding some clarity in her words, but not enough to fully take away the weight of despair still crushing his shoulders.

Locking eyes with the girl was almost painful, finding it much easier to focus on the ground. He feared her perception of him now; in ways believing that she’ll simply leave him by his lonesome now and possibly forever.

“I’m sorry...” His voice was low, almost inaudible when he choked out his apology, sought as feeble and utterly pathetic in his eyes.

She shook her head nonchalantly. “Don’t apologise.”

Edward ran a hand through his hair, a shaky breath slipping past his lips . What was he to say? Part of him wanted to profess everything that plagued his hectic mind just then, while on the other hand, he wanted to shrivel up and hide himself away from the world.

“We’re all bound to break at some point...” She hoped Edward could feel reassured, but his dead-pan expression said otherwise.

The girl side-eyed him when he shook his head vigorously.

“Not now. Not so soon...” Richtofen sounded like he was talking to himself in a fret.

A throbbing ache shot through his side, worse than ever before. Edward groaned, squinting his eyes as he turned his head away, almost curling up on himself while his hand reached to soothe his flared up wounds.

“Easy, Edward...” She rested her hand on his own that held his side. “You’re stressing yourself out.”

A long exhale slipped out when he felt the pain subside, only then taking notice of her gentle touch. But he was too engrossed in his own mind. Edward let his head rest against the back of the chair, holding his hand to his forehead as he let his eyes rest for a moment. Tiredness had been creeping up on him all night, now crashing upon him like a wave.

Edward’s gruff voice broke the silence. “Does this change anything? Have your... perceptions of me changed?”

Edward wanted to do nothing more than surrender to sleep. He was drained entirely. The sophistication in his voice was slipping away as his words were nothing more than drowned out lazily at this point.

The girl felt his question virtually knock her side-ways. Questions about him rattled around in her mind, but she could read him like an open book in the ways he always thought so low of himself, or denied any qualities beyond just his intelligence. Insecurity shined through his mask when he pleaded for reassurance in subtle ways, or would fret and repeat consoling phrases to himself when he got too stressed.

“Yes, it does.” She told surely. “My perceptions of you have changed.”

Edward slumped, believing the worst. He belittles himself. Mentally scolding and tearing himself apart on the inside for saying something so profound, and for allowing himself to be so vulnerable. He didn’t want to open his eyes, only wishing sleep would envelope him for an eternity. He knew that if he looked to the chair beside him, it would be empty, and the loneliness that he’s grown so accustomed to would be the first thing to greet him.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and his eyes shot open.

“It proves to me that you’re human. Up until now you’ve seemed like...” She paused, thinking to herself. “Like a shell of yourself. Almost like you are actually soulless.”

Richtofen shifted to face her, utterly astonished. He was berating himself for being so blind, so careless about the others, especially her. Had he not noticed that the others were looking out for him? That it was Dempsey to save his life today? That she helped repair the Summoning Key and patch up his wounds? Of course Edward hadn’t noticed. He’s been too selfish to consider any of it.

“And I know you’re not soulless.” She was assertive in her tone. “You have a heart, Edward.”

Richtofen bowed his head in shame. “I’ve been so selfish... I’ve neglected to see what’s really going on in front of me.”

Edward didn’t see the way she nodded slowly, gazing upon him sadly. Was there any chance at redeeming himself?

“Throughout my life, I’ve always convinced myself that I’m alone...” He confessed, his voice brittle.

“And that you should only rely on yourself, right?” She asked.

Edward nodded. He had never felt so prone in all his life. His mind so naked and exposed. No one has ever explored the deepest crevices of his heart. It sparked such uncertainty and fright that she would unearth something that he had buried away in the blackest part of his heart. He avoided locking eyes with her, fearing that she’ll be able to flip through the pages of his entire back-story through his sorrowful eyes alone.

“That’s not going to work in this case, Edward. We all need to be able to depend on each other.” She took his hand in hers. “It’s all we’ve got left.”

Her words virtually slapped him in the face, an utter eye-opener to the harsh reality of the world, and it scared him something profound. Silence consumed Edward as he stared at his hand in hers, so lost in her delicate touch. In ways he was convinced that nothing around him was real; not even her.

“Edward...” She spoke, her voice small.

Richtofen peered up from his lap, observing her worried expression.

“Is there anything I can do for you to see that you’re not alone?” Her question was so genuine, yet so full of pity.

Shaking his head was his first instinct... but he didn’t. He couldn’t and he didn’t know why. Edward’s mind was blank, strangely.

Driven by his hearts desire, Edward suddenly engulfed her in an embrace, almost pulling her onto his lap through the severe desperation channelled through his every motion. From the snug hold on her waist, to the way his eyes clamped shut when he nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck; caving nothing more than gentleness, warmth, and serenity. Edward was petrified that if he did not clutch onto the one person providing him some form of sanity, he would simply lose everything.

The girl looped her arms around Edward’s shoulders, her tired eyes falling shut when she rested her chin atop his shoulder. Each of them felt entirely comforted by the closeness of the other.

Edward breathed a long sigh, not uttering anything in the moment, but his actions conveyed everything that he wanted to plead.

Stay.

#edward richtofen #cod zombies #codz #call of duty zombies #call of duty #tank dempsey #nikolai belinski #takeo masaki #one shot

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