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demoisellebeauty · 6 years ago

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As Old As Song: Prologue

(Also posted here on Ao3!!!)

When a story is as old as this one, so old that it remembers when time itself was new, it’s impossible to not alter it with each new telling. However, even the most frequently adapted stories will always contain some hidden veins of truth, if not in its mutable players and setting, then hidden somewhere in its core to hold meaning for lovers of all persuasions. Perhaps here you will find nothing resembling the history recorded in textbooks, or as much similarity as you might like to the versions of this story known by heart to many, but fear not, the opening strains will remain familiar, for-

Once upon a time, in a far away land, a young princess lived in a shining castle.

Princess Cecelia had no father, for he had died when she was only a babe. Her mother had left when she was barely weaned, gone to lead her army and defend her country against greedy invaders who thought a kingless realm ripe for the taking. They would soon be proven wrong.

The battle was long and hard and although the Queen was victorious, it was short-lived, as one invading country succeeded another, and a campaign that should have taken only two years instead lasted fifteen.

In the Queen’s absence, the staff of the castle all collectively raised Cecelia in a large and loving family, her every need and desire attended to, (though perhaps in hindsight, thought her governess, the girl had been more than a tad overindulged as a result).

Despite missing her mother even as her memories of her grew faint, Cecelia, or “Cece” as they called her, grew into an excitable, playful, and intelligent child with a great fondness for music above all else.

Several years passed, and Cece’s mother, the Queen had still not returned. In order to instruct her in all of the relevant subjects a future monarch would need, a tutor was hired to teach Cece history, geography, math, the known sciences, economy, and politics.

When the tutor arrived, some of the maids whispered and giggled to each other over how handsome he was. Cece thought little of it, perhaps still being too young to think about such things, but also unable to help but think that she wished someone else had been sent, for he sometimes gazed at her too long and he always gripped his cane (a finely crafted piece, carved with pictures and symbols she wished she could get a closer look at) tightly enough to leave his hand white knuckled.

Their lessons quickly began, and from the start, Cece- no, Cecelia, she wasn’t a child anymore- her tutor said, learned that his intensity was also applied to how he taught, for he tolerated no play and laughter in their lessons. Should she ever begin to question him or attempt to debate, she found herself shut down quickly with either dismissal or outright contempt. Soon she learned not to ask questions, but to simply accept what she was told.

Eventually their lessons in politics seemed to become not so much about how to take care of her people, as how to increase her own wealth and power over them; the singular time she ever suggested otherwise, she was reminded in no further terms that she was royalty, placed on the throne by Destiny and the gods themselves. She had been given subjects who would serve and bow down to her; she owed them nothing for she was only a step lower than the divines themselves. In order to remain as such, kindness and compassion were obstacles. Only a ruler willing to be cunning and ruthless could maintain hold of her power.

Such were the unctuous words poured into Cecelia’s ears, and it was about that time that she stopped playing with her governess’ infant son, refused to offer assistance to those she had once happily aided, and only provided favors to others when she knew she would receive something in return.

However, one thing that hadn’t changed was Cecelia’s love of music, it being the one thing that brought out the softer, joyful little Cece the staff had once known. Several of the most acclaimed musicians in the land were discovered and hired by the head of the household in order to keep her passion alive and thriving and with it, the remnants of that sweet young girl.

For the first time since she’d started her lessons, the princess reacted with delight at the idea of receiving proper instruction, and when not with her tutor, Cecelia worked hard to master every instrument she was given. Over time, she came to master the harp, harpsichord, dulcimer, mandolin, violin and even her own voice. Not only that, but she even learned to sing and dance with exceeding grace. Not a day went by that Cecelia didn’t receive some form of praise, though she never returned it with gratitude or humility.

Even so, with every passing year, the princess grew more accomplished and quite fair too, for she had grown into her father’s autumn hair and tall slender frame and her mother’s narrow dove grey eyes and high cheekbones. However, where others began to notice Cecelia’s charming looks, she herself found that the sight of men did noting to excite her in return. It seemed if anything that she took more pleasure in observing the ladies of the court and maids then in watching any of the gentlemen.

By the time Cecelia reached the age of sixteen, word had spread of her talent and loveliness, and suitors begun to flock to the castle to heap love letters and tokens and still more adulation at her feet. Unfortunately, none of the men had Cecelia’s interest, and although she now had inklings as to why, they were not thoughts she could entertain. After all, she had to consider the political benefits that would come with her match. But no matter how much she wished she could send her unwanted suitors away with a lash of her tongue, she also could not risk creating conflict. However, she still wanted to prevent or at least delay any chance of a wedding and so she thought and plotted and schemed until she came up with a plan that ensured no man could lay claim to her.

The next day, Princess Cecelia made a proclamation to her suitors:

“I shall only give my hand in marriage to one that brings me three gifts. First, a rose of everlasting beauty, second, a mirror that will show me my heart’s desires, and third, a cloak made only from shed snakeskin.”

Although the suitors eagerly rushed to fulfill the requests the moment she finished speaking, one man remained behind whom Cecelia was surprised to recognize as her tutor. At her stare, he gave her a smile that seemed too wide for his face and a shudder raced down her spine at the look, so similar to the one she had received at their first meeting so many years ago. It was not soon enough that he left with the others.

For several months Cecelia waited, and was pleased when none of her suitors returned, all of them having eventually given up and returned home when they realized that all roses wilted only two weeks at the longest after being cut, magic mirrors were incredibly rare, and even should the first two items be found, a snake shed cloak would be impossible to make due to the brittle nature of the material.

However, not all of them were so easily discouraged, and a year and a half later, in the middle of a blizzard there was a knock upon the front doors. It was none other than the princess’ former tutor, claiming to have fulfilled her tasks.

Although greatly concerned and even angered at the idea of someone outwitting her, Cecelia was curious to see if he told the truth.

The tutor was brought into the throne room where she waited for him to present his gifts, and there on a table set out for him, he laid out three items.

Out of his satchel, the tutor pulled a single perfect rose, red as an open wound, suspended in a small bell jar, seemingly preserved in perfect condition.

Next he took out an ornate hand mirror and offered it to Cecelia. Taking it, she asked to see her mother. With a flash, the mirror showed in its surface an image of the Queen on horseback, riding home now that the fighting was finally over and eager to see her daughter again for the first time in fifteen years.

Finally, with a flourish the tutor pulled a white cloak out and upon closer examination, Cecelia was astonished, for as impossible as it seemed, the material truly did appear to be translucent scales; several hundred or even thousands of shed snakeskins sewn together, but it felt and draped more like fabric than the fragile material she knew it to truly be. Marveling at the cloak, she put it on and found it to be perfectly serviceable, if not as warm as any of her fur and wool cloaks.

“Now then, if you are satisfied, your Highness,” said the tutor, eyes glittering as he gave a bow. “I believe I have won my bride and that there is now a wedding to plan.”

While objectively the tutor was a man with fine features, Cecelia’s heart and stomach sank as she looked at him, and his smile made her only feel disgust and fury.

“You did bring what I asked for, but the fact remains that while you have fulfilled my terms, you must also earn my mother’s blessing before we can be engaged,” she said coldly. “But I hope it shall not come to that, for truthfully I do not wish to marry you and would rather have you take your gifts and be gone.”

The tutor’s eyes seemed to flash at that and he gripped his cane tighter. “Is that right? And just what about me do you object to?”

“Your age, for one,” Cecelia drawled. “You are pleasing enough to the eye, and have many more years left to be handsome but I would rather have a companion of my own age with the energy to keep up with me through the years. For another, you have no great wealth or political alliances to offer me, but expect me to wed a mere commoner. Additionally, you speak of winning my hand as a hunter speaks of catching a prize stag. Promise or no, I will not marry a man who sees me as a reward rather than a partner worthy of respect! Lastly, you yourself have told me to never accept an offer when there is no or little benefit to me. By your own terms, I have little reason beyond your trinkets and your few remaining years of youth to accept you as a husband and you are a pathetic fool to think you could capture my heart or my hand!”

For a moment, the tutor stood stunned in his place, but then he grinned once more as before Cecelia’s eyes he seemed to shift somehow until he stood before her even more handsome than before, but unsettlingly so, his face so unblemished and symmetrical it reminded her more of a doll than a human face. Before she could blink he was suddenly far too close to her, and she found herself trembling, frozen in her spot.

“I’ve taught you well,” he laughed as he clapped his hands. “Too well it seems. Ah, dear little Cece you’ve grown into quite a remarkable young woman. Beautiful, talented, haughty, ungracious,” he reached forward and grabbed her chin. “And so cold blooded.”

Pulling away, Cecelia backed away in terror, calling for her guards as whatever the thing was that had once been her tutor banged his staff against the floor and the bell jar with the rose flew into his hand.

“I give you one last chance Princess Cecelia. Marry me and fulfill your promise, or suffer the consequences and loose what little you hold dear.”

Cecelia in response merely glared back, and spat in his face, turning his smirk into a snarl as the royal guards rushed at the sorcerer.

“Just for that, your entire castle will suffer with you,” he snapped and once more he banged his staff on the ground, causing all of the guards to suddenly drop to the ground, armor empty but still somehow moving on its own.

The rose in the sorcerer’s hand began to glow. “Your ugly heart, so scornful of my affection and gifts will now be revealed for all the world to see, with none of your talents and charms to aid you. This rose would have bloomed forever, but now it will only bloom until your twentieth birthday before it begins to wither. You have until the last petal falls to find true, enduring, and selfless love that is returned. Should you fail, your curse will be permanent. I hope you like your new cloak, you’ll be wearing it for a very very long time.”

Before Cecelia could ask what he meant, the cloak wrapped tightly around her and her body was overcome with intense agony. How long it lasted she couldn’t tell but when she first opened her eyes afterwards, she was relieved to see that the sorcerer was gone.

Then she saw what had happened around her, and upon seeing herself she wished she’d never opened her eyes at all, for she had been transformed into a hideous beast.

It was in this state that the Queen found her daughter and castle when she returned home a few weeks later. Saddened at what had become of Cecelia but unable to abandon her royal duties, her reunion with her daughter was short and frigid as having been separated by the years, they were strangers to one another. They also both knew that the Queen was repulsed by the sight of the beastly princess, whether she wished to admit it or not, though she did make a brave effort to pretend she wasn’t.

As soon as the Queen left the castle and traveled to the Capitol, she told everyone that her daughter and the other inhabitants of her castle had fallen victim to a plague, and passed laws that forbad travel to their castle and the forests around them.

Inside the castle, the Beast hid the damned rose away in her room, mourned for all she had lost and lamented her loneliness, for all of her servants had become little more than furniture and trinkets, able to move and perform their duties, but not to speak.

The magic mirror, her cruel suitor’s other gift, became the Beast’s greatest comfort and torment, her only connection to the world she could no longer be a part of, and as days turned to weeks, and months to years, she resigned herself to a life of eternal anguish.

For who could ever learn to love a beast?

#IT'S HERE IT'S FINALLY HERE #ENJOY MY LOVELIES #As Old as Song

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adrinktostopyourthirst · 3 years ago

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Stucky | One Shot | Apologies

Part one to Cold

Pairing: Mob!Steve x Reader x Mob!Bucky

Plot: You have no idea how you got here and whether they have captured you, or it's you who has them captured.

Warnings: 18+. Smut and mentions of violence.

Words: 3,OOO

Rubbing your slightly sweaty palms down the soft fabric of the dress that is draped over your thighs under the table, your body freezes completely when you feel a cold sting to your spine and a strained gasp leaves your lips. As much as your brain is praying to you that it can’t possibly be what you think it is, you scold your naïve self for thinking it’s anything other than what it really is.

A knife.

Pressed to your spine with significant pressure, enough to know it could draw blood if you relax your posture. And you know he never leaves his knives to get blunt, the sounds of him sharpening his knife a fresh memory that pierces through your frazzled brain.

It’s a warning.

Laughter travels through the room, breaking you away from your thoughts, and you instantly join in to try and blend in with the situation. You assume that is what is expected of you when in reality, you just want to scream and run. No one can see you though in the back of the dark ballroom as a bright spotlight brightens the stage where people speech away the night as if the room isn’t filled with criminals.

Sat in the back with Barnes behind you and Rogers next to you behind the table as you’re twisted on your chair towards the stage, you bite your lip to the point where the taste of iron explodes over your tongue when you swipe it over your burst lip. You want to run so badly. You want to fight for your freedom. You’re feisty and powerful, what do you have to lose? They kill you? No. They’ll torture you. You can’t run. They won’t let you get away with it. These people are serious – you have seen them work.

You’re not one to judge. Criminals will always be there and you won’t stop them, knowing you quite simply can’t. But to be part of this organisation against your will and be their prisoner? Why on earth would you be okay with that? But you can’t run. Not in this ridiculous dress they put you in. Or with that knife pressed to your exposed spine.

Applause clatters around your ears and it makes you flinch and clap along instinctively. The large chandeliers above you slowly brighten up and the dinner party continues, loud chatter mixing with the swing band playing from the stage. You feel a sharp sting in your back, making you arch forward before quickly spinning in your chair to face the round table again.

From the corner of your eyes, you notice Bucky slip his knife into his chest pocket where he undoubtedly has a holster hidden, like most of the people attending this feast probably do. After running your fingers over the table cloth in deep thought, you suddenly quickly shoot up from your chair, feeling about seven pairs of curious eyes on you and two pairs of eyes burning holes in your dress as a warning.

“Excuse me.” You blurt out, eyes darting around frantically as you snatch your purse from the table “R-restroom.”

Quickly making your way out of the reverberating ballroom, you push through the heavy golden doors and almost stumble into the quiet hallway. You hadn’t noticed your shallow breathing yet, but you can’t stop moving. Not sure what it is exactly you are looking for, you wane your way through the classical building in search for anything that could help you.

Why you settled for the actual restrooms, you’re not sure.

Your heels click onto the clean marble and the door falls closed behind you, the soft sound of jazz music playing through the gracefully decorated ladies’ room. It’s beautiful. Golden decorations climbing up the walls to direct your eyes to the ethereal paintings on the ceiling, expensive soaps, towels and furniture making it seem like you could stay the night in the restrooms if you had to.

The building is like a castle in Versailles and you wish you could enjoy it more.

The sight that reflects back to you in the wide bathroom mirror shocks you. You barely recognise yourself. You had no idea you could look this much like… you belonged here. Draped with expensive jewellery, heels strapped to your ankles, a dress that looks more expensive than most buildings in the city and somehow you don’t drown in it. It suits you. It scares you how much it suits you.

You slowly twist and turn in front of the mirror to try and get used to this image of yourself, halting when a thick line of red on your exposed back catches your eye. You step in closer and realise that it’s a thick stripe of your own blood running into the back of your dress from where Bucky had pressed the knife into your skin. Your blood doesn’t quite get to reach its boiling point when two large men step inside of the ladies’ room.

Quickly pressing yourself into the counter and wishing upon any star that you could just disappear, part of you wants to grab them by the hair and slam their gorgeous faces into the mirror until all you see is blood.

“Jesus, Buck. You’re not supposed to actually hurt her.” Steve bellows angrily and strides over to you, roughly grabbing your arm and turning you sideways to inspect the sliver of blood on your back. Your eyes lock with Bucky’s and you can’t help but scowl at him, finding the courage to stand up for yourself after finding out Steve is pissed at him too.

“It’s just a scratch.” Bucky defends himself poorly and you lose it.

You dive forward, ready to strangle the broad man with anything you could get your hands on, but two strong arms grab your wrists and pull you into a big wall of muscle, locking your wrists in front of your chest. Steve’s breath tickles your neck as a deep chuckle leaves his lips, melting the ice-coated attack you had planned on his partner.

“I know, I know.” He coos, his temple attached to yours as both your eyes settle on Bucky, yours in fury, his in annoyance “You have every right to be pissed. So am I. This wasn’t the deal.” He directs his last words directly to Bucky, making him roll his eyes and huff as he crosses his arms over his chest. You grit your teeth at his dismissal and struggle in Steve’s hold again.

“Bucky…” Steve starts again, his voice an octave lower and thus making him sound a lot more threatening, making you stop struggling “If you don’t control yourself, you’ll be the one feeling my wrath with your own goddamn knife.”

His face turns to you again and you stiffen when his soft lips press to the shell of your ear “But he did break our rules about you, so I think I still get to punish him, don’t you think?” You stay quiet, terrified to say the wrong thing “And how about he makes it up to you with his punishment?”

His grip gently slips away from you and only now do you realise how comfortable it was to have the large, muscled man holding you so tightly. Goosebumps rise over your skin at the lack of his touch and your brain scrambles to puzzle together what is going on.

Slowly stepping around you and facing you, Steve gently takes your chin between his calloused fingers, making your eyes connect. His eyes are warm and gentle and for now, you trust him. But something tells you he’s the one to look out for in the long run.

As he steps forward, you have no choice but to follow his steps, walking backwards as you anticipate the marble counter hitting your behind. Not breaking eye contact with the large, blond man in front of you, you find yourself admitting you would comply to anything he orders you in this moment.

“I know you must be scared. I don’t think you’re wrong for that. You’re a clever girl for being scared of us.” His voice is low and his words come out like a promise. You’d recognise it for the threat it is, if you weren’t so completely lost in his essence.

Only now do you realise they have both shed their suit jackets and are standing in this beautiful bathroom with you in their tuxedo pants and their white, dress shirts with sleeves rolled up to below their elbows, exposing their tattoos and Bucky’s metal arm. Both of them are the perfect picture of their job description. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you are their next victim and they will strap you too a chair and torture you beyond sanity.

“But there’s a secret we haven’t told you yet, sweetheart.” Steve speaks again and you eyes dart to Bucky briefly, who is catching up to his friend, the two of them cornering you against the counter. If you turned around now, you’re sure the sight of you between these two powerful men would shock you even more than the previous image “You don’t know this yet, but you’re the only person that can bring us to our knees.”

A frown settles over your features at his words and you look at Bucky again, not finding an ounce of confusion on his face, or on Steve’s. You bite your lip and turn back to Steve with curious eyes. Your heart is pounding in your throat and you feel the earlier alcohol creating a red glow over your cheeks and neck. A fever runs through your body at the close proximity of the intimidating men and the million potential insinuations of their words. His next actions confuse you and you can barely comprehend them.

Steve’s left hand reaches up and grabs the back of Bucky’s neck, making Bucky face him “How about you make it up to our girl, huh?” Are his words before roughly forcing Bucky to his knees right in front of you.

Bucky smirks up at you, his hands wrapping around your firm legs before moving your dress up and grabbing your bare thighs in his hands, massaging your flesh with his strong fingers. You look down at him in anticipation, the sight of Bucky’s beautiful, perfect face so close to where you want him sending your heartbeat to throb between your legs.

It makes you feel powerful.

Steve’s fingers are still knotted into Bucky’s hair, taking reign of any movement of his head. You watch Bucky’s tongue run across his lips hungrily as his eyes settle on your black, lace panties. A warm hand on your cheek makes your eyes snap upwards to Steve’s as he smiles at you with mischief glimmering in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. Bucky will apologize for his terrible manners.”

You barely get to process Steve’s words before Bucky’s face is shoved between your legs with so much force, you almost jump to the ceiling. His warm mouth engulfs your pulsing clit through the lace of your underwear and you let out a broken whimper at the delicious intrusion, the warmth spreading from your core sending goosebumps over your skin.

As his mouth starts moving and lapping at you slowly, you feel your arousal pool through the flimsy fabric. It’s like he’s buried in a passionate kiss with your dripping pussy and he’s never had a kiss like that in his life.

Your hands fly to his thick hair as you hold him in place, a deep groan rumbling through Bucky’s chest at the action. You’re not entirely sure forcing a mob boss between your legs is very safe, but Bucky moves against you so expertly, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself if you wanted to.

Which you don’t -you don’t want to at all.

Steve’s deep chuckle at your actions riles you up even more, the realisation of the two dangerous men watching you as you get yourself off on one of their faces makes another gush of slick pour from your core.

Wide hands gripping your thighs, Steve’s and your hands forcing Bucky between your legs, Bucky humming against you as he moves your panties aside with his teeth and moves his mouth over your dripping pussy with so much fervour you almost buckle over -all of your thoughts leave your head.

Not sure if it’s you or Bucky that drapes your thigh over his shoulder, but it allows his tongue to delve into you as his nose nudges your clit and he hums in delight. Tugging at his hair to keep him close, your jaw falls slack and your breathing becomes more and more shallow.

“Oh God, Oh God, yes yes yes…” Your moans echo against the marble as your head falls back and your stomach tightens.

His flattened tongue licks up and circles your clit, followed by some harsh sucks that pull your muscles tighter. You can’t even follow Bucky’s movements anymore and if it wasn’t so goddamn good, you’d think he wasn’t even trying his best. He’s just licking and eating you out like it’s his last meal -like he is the one getting pleasure from this.

A large hand around your neck pulls your jugular to a pair of soft and scorching hot lips that belong to Steve and your body launches into overdrive, your hips bucking wantonly against Bucky’s skilled mouth and moans and whimpers rolling off your lips.

Clenching around his Bucky’s warm, wet muscle as it plunges into you and his thumbs rubbing into the apex of your thighs, you don’t know how much longer you can last. Not an ounce of you wants the two men to stop pleasing you, the weight of their bodies holding you in place as they pleasure you making you feel so desired, you want to explode.

“Fuck… I’m gonna- Gonna-” You interrupt yourself with a loud groan, pressing your hips to Bucky’s mouth roughly to chase the pleasure of your impending high.

The two men chuckle and you realise it’s all you and Bucky between your legs now, Steve’s hand having moved to play with your nipples through the fabric of your dress.

“Hmm, this dress was a good choice, huh?” Steve mumbles and leans in, pressing his hot mouth to your exposed chest “How does she taste, Buck? As good as we imagined?”

Bucky nods ardently against you, sending shock waves of pleasure through your clit and making you whimper “You have no idea. Now shut up, I want to make her come.” He growls against you and you didn’t know it was possible, but his actions accelerate so much, the way he devours you now has your knees buckling over. Which is exactly how you find out how strong he is, because you’re sure your feet aren’t even touching the floor anymore.

Gasps and whimpers leave your lips as you try to form words. But you simply can’t. Your muscles tense and tighten as your thighs tremble around Bucky’s head. Grinding yourself against Bucky’s face carelessly, Steve’s mouth is suddenly pressed against the shell of your ear again.

“How about you be a good girl and gush all over Bucky’s face, huh?” You don’t need him to tell you twice, because Bucky sucks at your clit so hard, he sucks the orgasm straight out of you and you sink down into him as pleasure crackles through every disc in your spine. It’s like a hot glow of sunlight bursts through your body, Bucky’s tongue working you through your high so well, you feel like you’re shaking and sobbing for a solid two minutes as your orgasm washes over you, two pairs of hands seemingly covering every inch of your skin as you spiral into insanity.

Bucky’s hums against your pussy and Steve’s praises of ‘good girl’, ‘just like that’ and ‘oh, look at you’ intensify your orgasm and you keen before your body grows pliant in their hold. Bucky slowly moves to a stand, making sure his grip remains on you to keep you up as you catch your breath.

All of a sudden, it’s Bucky standing in front of you, his chin glistening with your arousal.

“I’m sorry, pretty girl. Won’t hurt you again.” He mumbles and presses his lips to yours, the daze of your orgasm making you kiss him back with a slack jaw and a dazzled hum. You taste yourself on his lips, but he’s such a fantastic kisser, you can’t help but chase his lips. When he pulls away from the kiss and leans in to whisper in your ear, you’re sure Steve doesn’t hear his next words “Unless it gets you to ride my face like that again of course.”

You don’t really get to process his words at all, before Steve butts in again, tearing your eyes from Bucky’s intense, blue ones to the darker blue, but kind ones.

“Let’s get you home, alright?” He gives you a warm smile as he caresses your flushed cheek. The two men stare down at you with admiration and promise “If we’re going to make you come all night, you’ll need a bed.”

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