#god.... i hate men fr they have no fucking compassion

[bugmin]

sometimes i just have to tune a mfer out coz if i actually listen to what ur saying im going to kill u

[light-yaers]

Fools in the Darkness: Chapter One

Darkling x Reader

Warnings: Death, violence, drugs (Parem), NSFW and sexual content. This content is explicit and 18+ at some points.

A/N: I caved. I am a wildly stupid individual who has no control over her actions. I know I might come to regret posting this so fast and thus forcing myself into my third ongoing x reader fic, but I also just generally don’t care. I’m still working on No Saints and Sweet Esacpe, just as a slower pace due to my mental health, but this baby here floated out of me like melted butter. I’ll be alternating between uploading this fic and my currently ongoing others! I just had to get this shit out of my system about Shadow and Bone, fr. 

Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 3.4k

Chapter One

Ketterdam covered up your secrets perfectly. It’d only been a matter of weeks since you’d fled there, after travelling the exhausting journey across East Ravka until the Fold had stood before you; brooding, dangerous, a death-wish just to look at, let alone enter it.

Maybe you had to thank him for one thing, General Kirigan, because without him—

You never would have crossed the Fold on your own.

Maybe Ketterdam was made for a person such as yourself. Dark, danger around every corner, full to the brim with power-hungry men and women trapped behind silks. You’d never warmed to anyone yet, but that wasn’t a surprise—it was easy to hate people in the Barrel, but even easier to take their kruge and send them sailing upon the True Sea without another glance.

Kerch was a merchant port, stuffed with expensive clubs and those with no money troubles, armed and ready to open their pockets if they so wished. There were two sides of the docks—Fifth Harbour; the lavishly bright sector for the rich and wealthy—and the Barrel; a breeding ground for crime, killings and losing all of your kruge in one night.

You’d made acquaintances with the Barrel rats from the very beginning, hearing stories about the destruction they caused. You’d much rather not be on the side of the wealth, but the side of fear.

“I found her wandering the harbour, Kaz,” A petite lady in dark clothes spoke to her boss. She’d dragged you from the bustling harbour, flying you through the dark streets of Ketterdam. You tried to hear her footsteps across the cobblestones, but she left no footprints, like a Wraith in the night.

Kaz approached his desk then, stepping into the small lamp light of his office in the Slat. Kaz Brekker was a man that no one wanted to cross. With his clenched jaw and unforgiving stares, the Bastard of the Barrel was cut-throat in every sense of the description.

“She’s a rat, Inej. Not our responsibility—,”

“Do you see the clothes she’s wearing?” Inej cut over Kaz, stepping towards him abruptly. He stayed in place, looking at his Wraith in the eyes, unwaveringly. He regarded her for a moment, taking all of her in, before turning back to you.

His eyes skimmed you up and down, traversing the darkened and muddied fabrics on your body.

“A Kefta,” He whispered it, his eyes widening. “It doesn’t look like the usual Second Army attire,” He added. You perked up, trying to keep your expression as blunt as possible. After your journey, it wasn’t hard not to show anything—you’d been forced to endure a quiet and agonising journey for a month, while trying to stay in the shadows at the same time.

“Because it’s not,” You spoke up, for the first time since entering Brekker’s office. Kaz turned his attention to your face, stepping forward menacingly. His crow-headed cane slammed the wooden floorboards threateningly, but you weren’t scared—

You’d crossed the fucking Fold on your own. Nothing scared you anymore.

“Who are you?” He questioned, trying to keep his voice steady. Men like Kaz tried not to show off what they felt either, but the curiosity in his tone was undeniable. You cleared your throat.

“How much time have you got?”

Fjerda, 1 Year Ago

It was a risk to take, that was for sure. But choosing whether to go through the Fold or around it was a no brainer. Evidently, it had paid off so far, as you and your sister travelled through the barren coldness of Fjerda, headed for the Ravkan border.

“How much farther?” Your sister chided. She was older than you by a year, but on this mission, you’d taken charge. You shuffled into your pack, pulling out a tattered map and a compass. You set the point to North, calculating the miles you had left to trudge to safety.

Your sister wasn’t Grisha, no—you were. A Squaller; untrained, unenthusiastic about your power and utterly afraid of the Druskelle. But you’d had no choice in getting you and your sister safely around the Fold. There was no other way to go from where you’d first found asylum in Novyi Zem; going through Fjerda was the safest route to the Ravkan army.

You smiled at the map. “Five miles. Then we’ll be in Ravka,” An exhausted but relief filled scoff fell from your lips. You locked eyes with your sister, before the two of you embraced tightly. “We’ll be safe soon,” You whispered in her ear, enjoying the small warmth you got from her bare cheek pressing against your jaw.

“You’ll be safe soon,” She replied, bringing a hand to rest on the back of your neck. She pulled away then, as the tears began to well in her crystalline eyes. “You put yourself in this danger to keep me safe. I’m the older sister—I should be keeping you safe,”

“It was this, or through the Fold,” You spoke, furrowing your brows at her. “I’d rather take on twenty druskelle than step foot in that heaping mound of darkness,” Laughter trickled from both sisters, floating over the snow-covered trees and giving you hope.

You both continued forward tirelessly, mercilessly, trudging through inches of untouched snow and praying to whichever god out there who was listening. You prayed for your sister’s safety, for a safe life for her in the First Army. You prayed that you could stay with her—

A Squaller you were, yes, but over your dead body would you be taken to the Little Palace. You knew that’s where Grisha were trained for the King, you knew it was different. Your abilities didn’t define you; Saints, you barely even used them.

They were unpredictable. And you were scared of hurting those around you without meaning to. Ever since an incident when you were younger, you’d almost been afraid of your own power. You kept it hidden from those who you didn’t know closely.

Those who knew you were Grisha in Novyi Zem called you zowa—blessed, in Zemeni. It also meant Grisha, so you didn’t know if they were simply calling you what you were, or if they were commenting upon how strong your Squaller abilities were.

You’d never even met another Sqauller. You had nothing to compare yourself off of.

With a mile until you hit the Ravkan border, you stopped abruptly. Plumes of smoke rose high above the skies, coming from somewhere further on before you. You stuck your hand out, halting your sister from walking any further.

You were silent, listening for any signs of breakings twigs, compacted snow, or other indications of druskelle being near.

“Saints, you look like a fentomen,” Your sister scoffed beside you.

“Quiet,” You hit back with.

“What is it?” She spoke again, quieter this time, but not by much.

“Quiet,” You hissed.

You both waited another few minutes, silently standing like statues in the garden of the Grand Palace. You let out shaky breaths as you eventually straightened yourself once more, clutching onto your sister’s forearm for dear life.

“It’s okay. We just need to be wary,” You whispered. She nodded in response.

You both set off once more through countless trees and untouched snow. But you didn’t get far—until two druskelle spotted you. Neither of you could speak Fjerdan, and you were a fucking Grisha. This couldn’t have been any worse, when you were so close to being free.

“Hje marden,” One of them spoke. They were both tall, with broad shoulders and the white hair and blue eyes of Fjerda. Neither had beards—they were in training to being full druskelle. The trainees were always worse than their commanders, you thought. They would do anything to prove themselves to their superiors.

You tried not to shake as they circled you and your sister.

“I’m sorry, we don’t speak Fjerdan,” You said honestly. The druskelle immediately changed. Their hands rested upon their guns, ready to fire if need be. You raised your hands to the sky as your expression dropped. “Please! Please, we are just travellers—uh—we are perjenger—,”

“Perjenger? Travellers? To where?” The second druskelle spat.

You glanced at your sister quickly, knowing that if you answered Ravka, you’d both be shot immediately. Ravka was at war with Fjerda—Grisha were at war with Druskelle.

“Kerch,” You said strongly. “We have to go through Ravka and Shu Han. We can’t cross the Fold,”

For a moment, you thought it had worked. The druskelle looked at each other gruffly, muttering some words in Fjerdan. You clutched onto your sister’s arm tightly, not planning on letting her go now until you’d both crossed the border.

“Wait here,” One of the men said, as he began trudging back through the snow. He disappeared in the white landscape, leaving you with one druskelle.

You stayed quiet, feeling the warmth of your sister next to you. You glanced at her then, traversing your gaze over her side profile. Her nose, which was the same as yours; her eyes, brighter and more beautiful than your own, mimicking your mother; her hair, lighter and softer than yours. She was shorter than you, smaller than you, getting a lot of genetics from your mother, while you took from your father greatly. His height, his broad shoulders, his darker hair.

But she was your only family left, your only love and focus and everything.

And you were less than a mile from getting her to safety. You were less than a mile from being free of this Saint forsaken country, full of killers and fascists and men who only cared about power.

It was one druskelle against a Squaller. One against one. You could do that. You could beat him.

That’s what made you push your sister back, falling into the snow slowly as you brought your hands together. The druskelle yelled as he saw your movements, trying to aim his gun at you between your eyes, but it was too late—

In a flash, you summoned a storm that whipped him off of his feet. It circled him, gliding him backwards through the trees as you kept pushing and pushing, ignoring the raging winds as they whipped your hair from your face and agitated the snow on the trees.

“Come on!” You yelled behind you, as your sister scrambled up from the floor to stand beside you. She held your arm sturdily, watching fearfully as the druskelle struggled against the rapid winds that you wielded.

You thought that was it—you could both run with the time you’d bought—but that’s when the entire druskelle camp rocketed through the tree line. They yelled and boomed as they came to aid their brother, pushing back against the furious winds you were trying desperately to wield.

“Drüsje!” The commander yelled, storming through the group as he set up the largest of their guns—a machine gun, aimed and ready fire. You gasped, and for a second the winds wavered—they wavered long enough for the machine gun round to penetrate the small snow snuffed tornado that you’d created—

Until those bullets trickled over the blanketed ground, moving steadily closer and closer—

Until one landed straight through the heart of your sister.

All you remembered was that time slowed, then, as you saw the bullet exit her shoulder blade. She fell to the floor, unclasping her hands from your forearm and collapsing into a shocked heap on the floor. You remembered the way her blood dyed the snow. You remembered the way her eyes stayed open—

And then you remembered screaming.

It was a blur, as you tensed all of your limbs to the point where they yelled beneath your skin. You mustered all of your strength into this one storm; one that was merciless and unforgiving, circling all the druskelle in the clearing around you. You knew that soon all of the air would fade from within the eye of the storm that whipped devilishly around them.

You knew that soon they’d all begin to run out of oxygen and pass out, or better yet—maybe their hearts would stop. Cease to beat, drained of any energy to fire more rounds of bullets or kill Grisha for no fucking reason.

The storm was the largest you’d ever summoned, engulfing the entire druskelle camp and uprooting trees from their homes in the cold, hard Fjerdan ground. You saw them get sucked into your whirlwind, flying high, high, high until they eventually slipped out of the storms’ gusts; then they fell back down to earth, landing aggressively and dangerously on the ground below and being spat out at any random location.

You didn’t stop the storm, not even when you saw a tree fall atop a druskelle, crushing him where he’d stood moments before. The commander was the last one standing, rising above his suffocating men to look at you, face on, menacingly.

“Drüsje like you deserve to lose that which you love,” He boomed, using his remaining energy to cast you to Hell.

You wasted no time when you adjusted your stance, focusing the brunt force of the storm onto him—you decreased the eye of the storm until it flowed over him, and only him, grunting all of your strength into the circling winds that now surrounded him utterly and completely.

You collapsed at the same time that the commander did, falling into inches of snow and crawling exhaustedly to your sister. She was motionless, cold, her lips turning blue by the second as her blood continued to flow on Fjerdan soil. Dead. Gone.

Tears cascaded down your cheeks without any indication of stopping, but you couldn’t sob. It was impossible when you were already holding your breath, too afraid that if you were to breathe, only screams would pour from your coarse lungs.

The clearing was deserted, now, as druskelle bodies laid motionless on the snow-covered ground, their camp up ahead completely destroyed. Broken branches, twigs, tree trunks were dotted around, acting as just another indication of the destruction that you were truly capable of. Saints, you wanted to know if you were a normal Grisha, a normal Squaller, since those old women on Novyi Zem had looked at you like a weapon from the first day you could summon and control hurricanes and tornados at will.

Your fingers found your sister’s forehead then, swiping the hair off of her face. You cupped her cheek, laying your other hand upon her stomach. “Vaarwell,” You whispered shakily. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—,”

“Who’s there?” A voice spoke up from just beyond the clearing. You got up from the floor immediately, feeling a strange sense of power surrounding you. You waited silently, until First Army soldiers made their way to the clearing. A few stopped and checked the pulses of the druskelle upon the floor, before continuing forward until you were finally spotted.

A young man approached you slowly, holding his gun tightly, draped against his shoulder. “Was this... you?” He asked, looking you in the eye. His gaze dropped to the ground by your feet, seeing the blood-stained snow where your sister lay dead, before he looked back up to you.

He was joined by the rest of his crew. They slowly approached you, almost as if they were trapping you within a circle of their bodies. You stepped back once then, keeping your chin high and proud. The young man at the front was trying everything to keep you calm, you could see it in his eyes, but what he didn’t know was that you were seething—

And nothing would stop that.

Without your sister, you’d be taken to the Little Palace. Without knowing she was safe in the First Army, nothing would get you through the rest of your life—

You were dead. Inside and out. Nothing would change that.

Without a word, you brought your hands together, far too quickly for any of the soldiers to raise their weapons in defence. You ignored their begs and pleads as you circled them within in your storm, slowly suffocating the air out of their lungs and seeing the way their eyes bulged uncomfortably in their skulls.

“General!” The young man shouted, clutching at his throat as he tried desperately to suck air into his lungs. His voice echoed throughout the clearing, travelling through the trees slowly, until an eery type of silence settled into the air around you.

That’s when he arrived—his horse just as black at the Kefta on his frame, the stubble on his chin and the irises of his eyes. He dismounted, ignoring the cries from the soldiers within your raging storm as he began to approach you, step by step by step, crunching through the snow broodingly.

You knew who this man was; General Kirigan of the Second Army.

The Darkling.

He got ever closer, walking around the circular storm. The gap was beginning to bridge, and the more it did, the more you faltered. He took one more step, and you lost it.

“Stop!” You yelled. “Don’t come any closer, Darkling,” He stopped on command, keeping his arms by his sides, but the corners of his mouth upturned into a smile. “You find me amusing?” You spat.

“By the looks of this,” He gestured to the druskelle. “You were trying to get to Ravka. We’re here to help, yet you’re trying to suffocate my men,” You ignored his words, but you found your energy waning slightly—or maybe your heart was finally giving in. It didn’t really want to hurt anyone else, didn’t want to cause more damage than was already on your hands. “You’re a Squaller?” Kirigan asked, and that surprised you.

“Isn’t this how all Squaller’s are?” You asked in reply. Kirigin raised a brow at you.

“Not usually,” He said honestly. “You’ve never met another Grisha before?”

“I know what you’re doing,” You furrowed your brows at him. “You’re trying to distract me, to make me let my guard down and go with you willingly. I’d rather die than work for the King at the Little Palace,” Your breaths were getting more laborious the longer you held on to the storm. You were losing energy rapidly.

“Interesting,” The Darkling muttered.

There were a few moments then, where he was simply staring at you. Regarding you, analysing you, or perhaps— waiting for you to lose all of your energy. You were in a somewhat sticky situation, losing a grasp on your power with every passing second and feeling the intense gaze of Kirigan to your left.

“Let go,” He spoke softly. “I can see you’re tired, you don’t truly want to kill these men,”

“You don’t know anything about me,” You forced your eyelids to stay open as a wave of exhaustion flowed through you.

“And you know me?” He chided. You moved your gaze to him then, as your limbs finally lost momentum. Your hands dropped to your sides, your storm dissipating into the cold air at the Fjerdan border. Soldiers sucked in breaths noisily, gaining back their vision.

You stumbled back once, forcing yourself to stay standing despite the immense urge to pass the fuck out. Kirigan stayed still the entire time, a softness on his jaw that you hadn’t been expecting.

“Everyone knows you,” You mumbled. “I never wanted to meet you, though,”

Your heart jolted then, when the General let out a scoff. You forced yourself to move. Step by step through disturbed snow, until you were back where your sister lay on the floor. You collapsed to your knees unwillingly, as your body threatened to blackout at any moment.

You laid a shaky hand on her collarbone, curling your fingers up to her jaw. Kirigan moved slowly in your peripheral, turning towards you but staying at the distance he’d always been.

“Don’t take me to Os Alta,” You muttered. “Please, don’t take me,” You looked up at the General with pleading eyes.

“Why?” Kirigan whispered with furrowed brows, as if he was trying to work out why on earth you didn’t want a life within the royal Ravkan walls, living in luxury, fighting with other Grisha and honing your power.

Your vision began to blur then, as black spots dotted the white snow that surrounded you.

You never answered the General, your body gave up before you could—

And all you saw was black.

Tag list of those who were interested from my earlier post (tell me if you want off/on the list): @notawritergettingtherethough @rbg1993 @mayallyourbaconburn @luminous-99 

[sylver-drawer]

Nah fr tho what was up with Lucas casually being like “yea I let thousands of people die to spite the world tree! What of it?” Like ???? What am I supposed to like his character after hearing that? Are they going for cool points or smth lmfao? Sorry to say but if athy marries and puts someone like him on the throne the whole country is fucked 💀

Yeah??? I know Lucas lovers love that deranged child to the point they genuinely think there’s nothing wrong with him, but like??? At this point, Spoon is quite literally going “this man has no moral compass at all and would/has let the world burn just because he doesn’t care” in bold letters on a sign and majority of the Lucas lovers/Lucathy shippers genuinely just,,, ignore it???

Like it isn’t old information we’re going off of. This happened like four chapters ago, and the story’s Deus Ex Machina admitted it himself without a single ounce of guilt, literally complaining that the world tree asked it of him.

A while ago I fought with an avid Lucas stan who absolutely refused to believe Lucas was a bad person. I brought up that one scene where he literally went “If Athy dies, I will blow Obelia and the world up” and they went “but he only thought about it so he didn’t do anything wrong :(((“

And I could literally only stare at the screen. Blinking my shock away. Like ok, if I think of committing mass genocide, it’s ok? Not a single thing about me is flawed or a heavy red flag, I’m the purest bean in the world?

I pray to the gods that Athy doesn’t marry Lucas because he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about Obelia or the world. All of the men in the story suck, but please don’t give the throne or shared title of the throne to a man who openly admits and bemoans about how their parent told them to save a civilization from perishing from a slow, painful death giving disease. If you’re going to marry anyone, meet a new person idk, just someone who’s a decent person? Especially when lately. Athy has been so serious and focused about becoming a good empress and ruler. Like she’s actually serious serious, I don’t think she’s ever been so determined about something other than living. The first step would probably be to make sure your partner at least cares about humans.

I feel like avid Lucas and Claude apologists would acknowledge how terrible the two are if the story actually framed their actions seriously. Claude’s done so many things people love to ignore and/or forget about I could practically write a book, and we’ve already mentioned the thing about Lucas. The story mentioned it so quickly and almost like an offhand comment. When you’re scrolling really fast because you’re reading or mostly look at the pretty art, you don’t notice the heavier, more implied and intricate details.

There was maybe three panels of that one scene. Him going “oh yeah, sometimes the world tree would tell me annoying stuff like ‘go save these people suffering’ and I was like nah that’s stupid because you’re annoying”, and then Athy making a face. But that was literally it.

I’m honestly kinda?? Lokey disappointed it didn’t focus on that fact more? Like Athy was an orphan, she had to fend for herself just to survive. And this man just admitted to her. This all powerful, practically godlike plot device. He just admitted he has the power to save multiple countries suffering all over the world. But simply doesn’t because it’s annoying. It honestly reminds me of billionaires, officials, and etc in our modern world? Like you have all this money and power, and you use it for either luxury or proffit or just plain old selfish hate when you could end poverty and world hunger. We are literally taking our steps into a world war three, people are dying and suffering everywhere, and people who have the power simply choose not to use it.

If people liked Lucas because of his looks and personality, Athy could easily just find someone similar to Lucas. There are so many handsome men in the world of WMAMP who have a sarcastic, teasing nature that I’m pretty sure her options aren’t limited to the Apathetic Plot Device Who Would Definitely Call Me Slurs If He Found Out I Was Gay and The Kid Who Walked Into Her Private Library Once. We literally have Helena’s brother and ‘the lone wolf’ as potential interests right there. Or hell, what about Cabel or the Arlantan Prince? Siodonnan Royalty??? Why doesn’t anyone make self insert OCs to ship with Athy, because honestly any option is better than the two we have.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Rise Up*

Chapter Thirty

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader  |  Word Count: 4432 Warnings: smut, swearing, NSFW, fluff 

Songs: I Choose You by Sara Bareilles,  At Last by Etta James

Steve could only stare in utter shock and awe at the vision before him and swallowed the thick lump of emotion threatening to choke him. “I… that’s… I…”

She pressed her hands to her abdomen. “Is it horrible? I never got a chance actually to see it, what with it being online. Buck said you’d shit and the girls said you’d like it, but do you hate it? Steve? Steven?”

Loki laughed. “Oh, darling. That is not the silence of a man who hates what he is seeing. It is one stunned into incoherent stuttering.” He snapped his fingers and flicked them at Steve. “There. I doubt you wish to spend the rest of the night in your armour. This is more in line with your Midgardian traditions I believe.” He turned and began to saunter away. “Do not take forever, lillesøster. There is celebrating to be had.”

“Steve?” she whispered, and he gave his head a shake.

“He’s right. Jeez, baby. This was your surprise? I can’t even…” He had no words to express how stunningly gorgeous she looked to him in that moment.

The incredible dress had ropes of tiny pearls and gems to hold it on her shoulders. A low bodice with a heart-shaped neckline lined with more tiny pearls. Lace, crystals, pearls, all graced the bodice, making pretty patterns in dips and swirls and flowers down to her knees where the dress fell away in a layer of unadorned tulle.

“Can… can you turn around?” he asked, his voice breathy and not at all sounding like him.

She smiled, evidently hearing the desire and awe in his words and turned to show him her back. The deep v went to just above her waist, more rows of draped seed pearls dripped down her shoulders, coming to a point where a satin bow sat in pride of place just above her waist.

Loki had taken her hair up, twisting it into a knot of curls and braids while leaving the moonstone crown glowing on her brow. Her gauntlet reflected silver and gleamed against the dress. Her ring shone. She just sparkled, a moon goddess granted to him by the hands of fate.

“I… I think… I may need to sit down,” he finally choked out but took the three strides he needed to reach her, step into her spine, and lay his lips on the bared nape of her neck. His fingers latched around the locket resting on her chest, and he held it in his fist, his hand against the beat of his girl’s heart. Tears burned his eyes as he held her tight to his chest.

“I take it you like it?” she laughed a little, but her voice was hoarse.

“I fucking love it,” he whispered against her skin. “It’s… I guess you’d call it a modern take on a forties era wedding dress. Buck… shit… he did good. But you make it perfect, baby.”

“Steven,” she gave a half sob and held onto the arm he had locked around her waist.

“Thank you,” he sighed and kissed her bare shoulder. “Thank you, dollface. This is… you didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did.”

“I hated the fact I felt like you didn’t have a say. Rushed you into the wedding, forced you to follow our traditions, disregarded so many of your own. This is our wedding. You should enjoy it, too.”

“Sweetheart,” he sighed and kissed her throat before allowing her to turn around and lift her arms to his neck. “It was enough to see you walking toward me wearing this.” He gently touched the locket. “It was like having my ma here, even if I know she couldn’t be.”

“She’s here, Stevie. I believe she’s here, watching. I hope she’s happy for you.”

“She would be,” he murmured, caressing her cheek. “She’d only have to meet you once to know how right you were for me.”

A flush darkened her cheeks to go with her pleased smile. “And look at you, all cleaned up. Got to admit, you’re looking pretty snazzy yourself, Rogers. What colour is this suit?”

He looked down and gave a bark of surprised laughter, having not even noticed the missing armour. “Dark grey I think. Hard to tell in the dark.”

“Well, Captain. Whatever the colour, I’m looking forward to leading you around by that tie later tonight.”

“Oh? Kinky. You gonna save that stuff for the honeymoon?” he teased.

She stepped into him and forced him to step back, step by step until he sat down hard on a padded bench when his knees connected with it.

***

You stepped between his spread legs. “Captain, if I didn’t know damn well one of these nosy as fuck Avengers would come looking, I’d show you just how kinky I can get with that tie,” you purred.

His hands were on your knees, drawing the bottom of the dress up slowly. “Yeah? I bet we’ve got at least ten minutes before someone comes lookin’,” he snickered, his grin broad.

His hands went beneath your skirt, skimmed the backs of your thighs and drifted up to close big hands over your ass cheeks. A rather loud groan escaped him when he pulled you closer. “Why are you commando?”

“What?” you squeaked, only to have his fingertips drag over your completely bare skin. “Fucking trickster! Had to get his fun in somehow. Big jerk!”

“Bless him,” Steve groaned. “I one hundred percent forgive him for making me think I wasn't your sjelevenn with this one act of compassion.”

You laughed even as his fingers pressed hard against your flesh. “How is this compassion? Now you get to live with the knowledge I'm commando for the rest of the night?”

He froze, then his forehead dropped to your belly. “Dammit. You're right.”

“He's the God of Mischief for a reason, Steve,” you snickered while running your hands through his hair.

“I don't wike it.”

He was pouting, but the fact only made you giggle-snort. “Just think of it as a time saver later.”

“True.” His fingers skimmed your hip and over your belly before slipping between your legs and rubbing the gradually growing slick waiting there.

“Steven,” you sighed, both want and regret in his name.

“So, you never did tell me how this… mark comes about,” he said as he sought and found your bundle of nerves.

“You...expect me to talk while you do that?” you whined softly, loving how precise he was when he touched you. It took only seconds for him to have you hovering at the brink.

“Is a Valkyrie so easily distracted?” he teased. “I'm shocked!”

Your talons raked gently over his scalp, and he moaned, losing his rhythm for a split second before continuing the swift circling.

“Gods, Steven.” You couldn't stop your hips from rocking into his hand if you tried.

“Tell me about my mark, baby.”

A quiet moan saw you shifting toward him. You clenched your hand on his shoulder and continued to sift your fingers through his hair. The intense pleasure was quite thoroughly fogging your brain, but you fought past it to give him his answer. “It starts with us, together…” a small gasp escaped when his fingers sank deeper.

“Together? Together how?”

“Don’t be dense, Rogers,” you quipped and locked your knees to keep your legs from shaking.

“Ah, that way,” he chuckled and wrapped his arm beneath your buttocks, giving one a firm squeeze but helping hold you up.

“Such a gentleman,” you teased and tugged his hair. “While you are relaxing, letting me do all the work like the lazy slug you are-”

“Hey!” he huffed.

“-I’ll be working a bit of Valkyrie magic.” You tugged on his hair, pulling his head back to force his chin up. Holding him there, you lightly brushed your nails down the cords of his throat. “Right here, Steven. I’m going to work you up, drive you so wild, and when the time is right, I shall place my mark here and seal it, making you mine for all to see.”

“And what,” he breathed out on a shuddered when you scratched him with your nails, “does the mark mean?”

You closed your eyes, the flood of pleasure throbbing through your veins as he began to plunge his fingers through your walls with vigour, sending sensation slamming outward. The grip he had on your thighs tightened when your legs grew weaker. “Wings… wings of the Valkyrie…” you whimpered.

“And?” he growled, knowing precisely what he was doing to you.

“The rune… means… Rekker.” You threw your head back, so close to coming on his fingers you could barely breathe.

“And what does Rekker mean?”

“Steve…” Your hand closed spasmodically on his shoulder. “Stevie, please…”

“Tell me what Rekker means, and I’ll finish.”

“It means…” you sucked in a breath, “Warrior Man!” It was nearly a scream when the wave you’d been riding crested and poured through you, sending you sliding into bliss and profound pleasure as you fell against him. Panting softly, you rested your forehead on his and waited for your system to steady. “Oh… damn… Steve.”

He drew his hand from your core and out from beneath your dress. His fingers went into his mouth, and he sucked on them.

It was incredibly sexy and set you squeezing your thighs together.

He stroked his other hand down your leg and helped you sit on his thigh. “You’re so beautiful, baby.”

You chuckled softly and let your arms drape around his neck while he cuddled you close. “And you’re not at all biased.”

“Not at all,” he laughed, setting his chin on your hair. “So, warrior man, huh? There’s a special rune just to say soldier?”

“It doesn’t mean soldier. It means Warrior Man. Men who are warriors in the sense of their courage, bravery, deeds, and feats.” You set your hand on his cheek. “You’re a warrior, Stevie. It’s not just a job, but who you are in your soul.”

“And are all sjelevenn Rekker?” Steve asked.

“Usually,” you nodded. “They tend to join us in battle.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “I want my mark, sjelevenn.”

You laughed softly and ran your talons over his scalp with barely there pressure. “Oh, Steven. You’ll have it, but I promise you there isn’t nearly enough time to do all the things I have planned before someone comes looking for us.”

He growled and made you giggle. “Woman, don’t tease me. I’m already strainin’ these pants.”

“Are you now?” you asked, arching a mischievous brow as you let your hand trail slowly down his tie.

“Don’t start,” he huffed, grabbing your hand. “Let’s go before you get any friskier.”

“Me!” you laughed. “Who had whose hand up whose skirt but moments ago?”

He stood to his feet, taking you with him. “Yeah, well. I didn’t hear you complaining,” he smirked and kissed the end of your nose.

Snickering softly, you linked your arm through his and let him lead you toward the compound. The crunch of gravel beneath your combined feet filled the air, and you gave it enough time to reach the bridge before asking, “So, what did Sharon do?”

He stumbled and grabbed the railing to right himself. “Uh, why would you think she did anything?”

You arched a brow and threw him a sarcastic, “Really, Steven? This little interlude wasn't part of a distraction?”

“No, I, she… um… nothing?” His voice went up an octave.

“Sjelevenn…” you sighed and lifted your hands to his chest. “Just tell me. Not telling me is only making me think the worst.”

“How did you even know she’d done anything?” he asked.

“Between the way Bucky and Nat quick-marched her outta here practically at sword point, the nasty scowl she had on her face, and the way she glared at me? It was hard to miss. Now, quit stalling and just tell me.”

He sighed and linked his fingers with yours. “We figured out who the leak was.”

“Sharon!?” you gasped. “That seems… unlikely.”

“Not so much Sharon, but Eric. I guess he’s been listening in on mine and Sharon’s conversations. Tony figures he’s the one who sold us out to Ross.”

You frowned. “Okay, so he managed to piece together your generic conversation and pass along possibilities to Ross?”

“Yeah, and they’d put a transmitter on her phone.”

“Shit. No wonder she was angry. But what does that have to do with me?”

He sighed. “You know how she was engaged?”

“I’m assuming she isn’t any more or won’t be for long after this.”

“Apparently, she hasn’t been for weeks. He accused her of… well… of still having feelings for me, and they… broke up.”

“Oh,” you whispered. “And she does, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah. She was rather vocal about her… disagreement with our “rushed” wedding.”

Anger surged but quickly faded. “Well, you always want what you can’t have. If she’s jealous, that’s her problem, and there is nothing she can do about it now.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re taking this better than I thought you would.”

“Getting upset over someone suddenly coming face to face with the reality that they’ll never have you is silly. Now, if you’d said she made you have second thoughts, I’d be stabbing you both,” you chuckled.

“Definitely not. After Bucky told her to plant her ass and keep her opinions to herself, all I could focus on,” he tugged you closer, “was you.”

“Good.” You patted and smoothed down his tie. “I’d hate to ruin this suit with a sword.”

“To say nothing of me?” Steve asked.

“Rogers, if you’d had a single doubt, you would have deserved it,” you grinned brightly, turned on your heel, and sauntered away.

He burst out laughing and caught up quickly. “Guess it’s a good thing the only girl for me is you then, huh?”

His arm went around your waist, and he scooped you up against him, spun in a circle, and made you laugh. “Put me down, sjelevenn!”

“I don’t think so.” He held you tight to his chest and let your feet dangle.

“You keep this up, we’ll never make our own party,” you scolded but you wrapped your arms around his neck and held on just as tightly.

“I can’t help it. I’m so happy!” he laughed and lifted you up in the air. “We’re married!”

You squealed and held onto his biceps, his incredible strength a huge turn on. “Steven! Put me down, crazy man!”

He dropped you gently to your feet and held your face between his palms. “I love you so damn much. I don’t care if people think it was rushed, or other stupid reasons, you make me happy. This makes me happy. I can’t believe how happy!”

He sealed his mouth to yours, sank in, and wallowed. The kiss stole the bones from your legs and had you leaning into him when you knees gave out.

“Oi! Lovebirds! Shake a leg!” Scott’s voice broke the two of you apart.

“Lang! Don’t make me hurt you!” Steve bellowed.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Cap! I pulled the short straw,” Scott turned and darted back the way he’d come.

Taking Steve’s hand, you tugged at it. “Come on, Cap. You gonna dance with me tonight?” you asked coyly.

“At least once,” he teased.

“Oh, Stevie. It’s going to be more than once,” you stated, and it was a promise you intended to keep.

***

Steve walked into the lounge and stopped dead. “Wow, and I thought the ceremony space was something.” He turned to look behind him, and then back into the hall. “We did come inside, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” you snickered. “Don’t tell him I said so, but Loki’s a bit of a romantic at heart.”

“I would never have guessed,” Steve chuckled, taking in the woodland setting.

Trees grew along the walls, and vines lifted toward the roof as living centrepieces to cover the ceiling with dripping leaves and flowers. Round glass lanterns flickered with candles. More candles and greenery decorated the tables; a ‘U’ shaped one sat at the head of the room, all your friends - your family - waited for you there.

“Is it as magical as it seems?”

“Baby… it’s stunning.” He took your hand and stepped over the threshold causing applause to erupt and wild cheering to thunder through the room.

On a stage to one side, Tony tapped a mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, Captain and Mrs. Rogers! How about that first dance, Cap?”

You laughed and pulled Steve toward the open space with the wooden floor. “I had Bucky brush me up on a dance lesson.”

“Yeah?” Steve chuckled and spun you under his arm. “You gonna show me some moves for our first dance?”

“How about I just don’t embarrass you when you lead?” you laughed and placed your hand on his shoulder.

“And what song did you pick, baby?”

The first strains of the song poured from the speakers.

“You did hit all the high points for makin’ me sentimental,” he smirked and shook his head.

“Well, it's also fitting.”

As Etta James sang, you swayed together, happy and relaxed. Steve eventually coaxed you into a few dance steps, leading you around the floor with rather suave grace before returning you to the center to sway again.

Your arms snuck up around his neck, and he dropped his to wrap around your waist. You rested your head on his chest and felt his cheek settle against your hair. It was sweet and tender, exactly what you'd come to expect from your sjelevenn, and when the last strains of the music died, he dipped you low and kissed you deeply to the clear approval of your guests.

Laughing together, you made your way toward the head table where there was a continual stream of hugs and tears.

“Hey, (Y/N)?” Tony called from the stage, causing everyone to quiet down.

“What you want, Stark?” you shouted.

The smile on his face was wide, wicked, and full of amusement. “Damn, girl!” The group as a whole burst out laughing, but he waved his hand to get everyone to quiet down a second time. “I know your Queen now, but I never expected you to be such a diva as to require a wardrobe change!” he teased. “And to drag Cap along with you? Talk about bridezilla!”

“Hey!” you barked and held out your arms. “When you’ve got it, flaunt it!” You shot him a wink and took your seat, Steve laughing at your side.

Tony chuckled into the mic. “It appears I’ve been roped into emceeing this shindig,” he shot Pepper a look, “thanks, dear.”

“You love it!” Pepper shouted. “We all know you like hearing yourself talk!”

He didn’t bother to deny it. “Be that as it may, I have something to say.”

“When don’t you?” shouted Sam.

“Bite me, Wilson!” Tony barked, and everyone chuckled. “As I was saying before I was so rudely heckled, this last year I’ve watched two people stupidly in love dance around each other like idiots.”

You scoffed, and Steve scowled.

“But then they got the nudge they needed,” he waved his hand behind him, “thanks to an even bigger idiot.”

You frowned when everyone whistled and cheered loudly until Steve leaned over and murmured, “You remember the video of you kicking Garry’s ass that night we got together?”

“Oh, shit,” you sighed and covered your eyes.

“That’s our girl!” Tony laughed, the sound of Garry connecting with the window thudding loudly through the room. Again he waited for things to quiet down before speaking. When he did, his voice was softer, still full of amusement, but also heavy with affection. “I know you two have had tough times together. There’s been pain and tears along the way, but you’ve triumphed because of the deep love and faith you have in each other. I’ve never seen two people more suited to each other than the Captain and the Valkyrie. So I invite those gathered to raise a glass in toast-”

“Wait!” Thor bellowed, surging to his feet.

“It’s kind of too late, big guy. You can’t protest the wedding now, especially as you married them,” Tony huffed.

“Not that!” Thor huffed. “Heimdall, the cask.”

The big guardian stood and hefted an oak barrel to his shoulder.

“Thor, you didn’t,” you sighed, then groaned when he nodded.

“You can’t disregard this tradition, Sváfa. I won’t allow it,” Odin said, a smirk twitching his lips.

“Baby?” Steve asked as Thor tapped the cask.

“The brought the Bridal Ale,” you sighed. “It’s… potent.”

“How potent?” he asked, slight concern in his voice.

“You’ll see,” you muttered and got to your feet, muttering about asinine and archaic rituals.

“In our culture,” Thor was explaining, “The Bridal Ale must be served and shared together for the marriage to be considered valid. The lovely bride must assume the foremost of her duties as the wife in the ceremonial serving of drink.”

“You mean, the marriage is… not accepted if (Y/N) doesn’t do this?” Vision asked, sounding intrigued. “The entire process can be voided because she did not play the servant?”

“It is a compact,” murmured Odin. “A wife’s agreement to care for the household. It is only a formality, but she is Queen. We will have no one contesting the validity of their marriage because of one missed step. By drinking together, the bride and groom are made one in the eyes of the law and the gods, symbolically affirming their new kinship.”

“Darling,” Loki said as you passed, his hand out holding the kåsa.

“Thanks, Loki.” You plucked it from his palm and rounded the end of the table to where Thor stood waiting.

He and Heimdall hoisted the cask, and you shook your head at their theatrics. “Just gotta show off all those muscles, hm?”

“My queen. Would I be so prideful?” Heimdall asked while Thor only grinned.

“Yes, I believe you would,” you chuckled and reached for the tap. You filled the wooden bowl to half full and turned off the tap. “You better not have brought enough for a month, Thor.”

“Of course not,” he huffed. “You won’t be here for a month. I’ll have it sent to the Hall once we return to Asgard.”

You groaned softly, knowing he would expect you to indulge in the ale at every opportunity. “Thanks,” you muttered sarcastically and turned toward Steven.

Walking toward him, you held the bowl outstretched and presented it to him with a short bow. “Ale I bring thee, thou oak-of-battle. With strength blended and brightest honour, mixed with magic and mighty songs, with goodly spells, and wish-speeding runes. I bid thee drink, husband, so thy health and strength are assured.”

“Shakespeare in the park,” Tony coughed into the mic.

You ignored him, focusing on Steve who reached to take the bowl from you. “Make motion with the kåsa toward Thor, then offer a toast to Odin, drink and hand it back,” you whispered so he could complete the ritual.

“Do I have to make it sound so formal?” he asked, and you shook your head.

The bowl left your hands, and you stepped out of the way. Steve lifted it to Thor and offered a tilt of his head, before looking at Odin. “A toast to the All-father. May he bless this union between the daughter of his heart and a man who vows to love and protect her with everything he is.”

Odin appeared pleased and nodded when Steve lifted the bowl to his lips. He drank, and you tried not to laugh when he wheezed after swallowing.

“Damn!” he gasped and passed back the bowl.

You smirked but lifted the bowl. “To Freyja, wherever she may be. Bless the union you've been meddling in for years. Strengthen the ties that bind us.” The ale went down smooth as silk until the tail whipped you in the tonsils and the burn of alcohol scorched your lungs. “Woo, good stuff!”

“Can I continue now?” Tony asked.

“Have at it, Iron Man!” you called, waving him on as you returned to your seat beside Steve.

“Then I ask those gathered to lift their glass in a toast to the bride and groom!”

While the rest here-here’d and cheered, you did a quick search of the room with your senses before turning to Steve and lifting your chin for the kiss you knew was coming. He tasted like the ale, and you hummed appreciatively.

“Tasty, sjelevenn,” you purred against his lips so only he could hear.

“Not bad yourself,” he chuckled.

“Alright, folks! Let’s eat so we can get this party started!” Tony called out and motioned to the caterers.

You had no idea how he’d pulled it off, or what he’d paid for the short notice, but when the servers began coming around with giant platters of food for the tables, you shook your head. Only Tony could pull off something like this.

A young girl placed a basket of bread on the table and smiled nervously. “Congratulations,” she said, hands shaking a little.

“Thank you,” you smiled, and Steve nodded.

“I can’t believe… Captain America… married.” She shook her head and moved on before you could say anything.

“News is going to break like wildfire,” Steve murmured, laying his arm over the back of your chair as he bent closer. “There’s gonna be a lot of love, hate for a while I think.”

“Guess that’s what happens when you steal Cap away from the women of the world,” you snickered softly.

“That’s okay. Tony’s got pictures of you from when you threatened to beat Ross. Once those get out,” he snickered softly, “the men of the world are going to hate my guts.”

You laughed and reached for your glass of wine. “Maybe it’s a good thing we’ll be gone for a while. Give people time to get over themselves.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, glancing toward the other tables. “Probably a plan.”

You knew exactly where his eyes had drifted having searched her out yourself. Sharon sat with a few of the tactical response boys in the back. Apparently, she hadn’t left after all.

The hand coated in metal slowly clenched in your lap.

Things were about to get interesting.

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