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tharros-auris-black-asimi · 2 years

Text

Singed Daffodils (Chapter 3)

Pairing: King Bucky Barnes x Queen Female Reader

Summary: Ever since you had been young, you knew that you were in love with James Barnes. When you were arranged to marry him, you had been over the moon.

Then throughout your short-lived, doomed marriage, you realized he didn't love you. The divorce papers had been written up and just like that, the two of you weren't married anymore.

Thirteen years later, to avoid scrutiny and even more possible scandal, you're marrying him. Again.

But you've learned your lesson now. Falling in love with James will just spell trouble for you.

James however, is determined to undermine your plan. Every step of the way.

Chapter Warnings: Adopted children, Thanos being a shit father (but are we really surprised that he is), light mentions of gambling, implied murder, and angst

Additional Notes: Hello all! Apologies for the lack of updates. I took a lil break and had a small lil vaca in San Diego and LA that was a great palette cleanser for me. But, now that I’m back in my usual routine, updates should be coming soon. This chapter before my trip wasn’t flowing as well as I wanted it to, but now that I’m back from my trip, I found that it flowed better. Life experiences, I guess? Who knows.

This chapter is only update 1 of 2, because I finished chapter 3 and chapter 4 roughly around the same time. So because I felt bad for not updating and leaving this fic on a really rough note for our Boinky boy.

I hope this chapter lives up to everyone's standards! After the word vomit that was chapter two and the response of everyone jumping onto the We Hate Bucky train, I wanted to… lessen the jumping a bit, I suppose? Have Bucky be a little sympathetic but still having to deal with the consequences of his actions. So hopefully, that was done okay here!

And also yes, Peter Quill will be played by Pedro Pascal instead of Chris Pratt because Chris Pratt just gives me weird vibes. So yeah. Daddy Pedro is here to stay.

As always, if you'd like to read this chapter on the AO3, you can do so here.

Word Count: 5449

One month later...

The head of the Kingsguard, Melinda May watched as she sat in the car. The windows were rolled down a little just so she could see the palace.

It was early.

Roughly around eighty-thirty AM.

Peering her dark eyes at the palace that she had worked and was loyal to for, over the past fifteen years, the thirty-nine-year-old Chinese woman waited for her King and her Queen.

To be fair, she had gotten up a bit early. She even twisted her wedding ring on her left hand. She was married to Wong. They had been happily married for five years now. Her husband worked in the medical wing of the palace with his fellow surgeon, Doctor Stephen Strange.

Taking out her phone from her pocket, she unlocked her phone with her PIN number and opened her message app.

Nebula: Have they arrived yet?

Melinda: No.

Nebula: OMG

Melinda: Wait I think I see Her Majesty now.

You had just walked out of the huge double doors of the palace. Lugging your suitcase behind you, your hair was tied back so it wouldn’t get in your face.

Wearing a tank top and a fluffy sweater with your jeans, you mentally thanked Pamela for telling you to pack some sneakers. And heels. The sneakers you had on right now were comfy as heck.

A grimace overcame your face at the reminder of the dresses that Wanda Maximoff, the Queen’s Personal Assistant had packed for you. They were mostly sundresses, mini dresses, and some formal wear.

Considering that the place that you and James were headed to was going to be having a conference, later on, your honeymoon would consist of spending time together, and then, going to the conference and spending time with other people of power.

How wonderful.

Adjusting the little necklace that hung around your neck, you made sure the double doors were closed before making your way down the pavement that led to the huge limo that was waiting for you and James.

Melinda then saw Gamora, Nebula’s older adopted sister, and your personal bodyguard following behind you. The green-haired Black woman eventually catching up to you.

“Ma’am,” nodded Gamora.

“Gamora,” you greeted. “You aren’t bringing your baby with you on this trip?”

“No, Your Highness,” she responded back to you. Gamora and her husband, Peter Quill, just had their first baby a year before you and Pamela had come to the country for the political endeavor eight months ago.

“Peter said he wanted to spend time with the baby,” she explained to you. She and her husband, who had been born in Chile before immigrating to this country had decided other than the national language spoken in the country, that they would be teaching their daughter Spanish.

“He’s been busy lately for the past year,” she continued. “Working for His Highness. He stepped down from his duties as a personal bodyguard for this trip, in order to spend time with our daughter. Erik Killmonger will be coming with us on our trip.”

You had seen the cousin of King T’Challa from Wakanda around a couple of times in passing. He looked a lot more like his deceased mother than his father. Because his uncle, the previous King of Wakanda wasn’t fond of him due to a spat between the two brothers, Erik wasn’t really allowed to have the title of King passed down to him in case of anything happening to his cousin. Which had led him here, to this country. Serving under King James. And unlike his cousin, Erik wore his hair in dreadlocks and chose to wear more battle-friendly clothes. Compared to the way his cousin brushed his waves back and wore traditional, regal clothing. Although, he didn’t miss the opportunity to wear a simple t-shirt and jeans now and then.

Speaking of Erik, the African-American man happily made his way out of the palace, followed by His Majesty. The Black man was practically grinning from ear to ear when he saw you and Gamora.

“Hey Your Majesty,” Erik spoke with all the suaveness that oozed out of him. A very charismatic man by default. A shit-eating grin was on his face when he fist-bumped Gamora.

“Gamora! How’s my favorite lil goddaughter doin?” He asked the Dominican woman.

“She’ll hopefully not rip my husband’s hair out,” was Gamora’s cheeky reply to him.

Erik laughed all the way into the limo.

“You’re all late.” Melinda looked through the mirror at all four of them.

“The plane doesn’t leave until nine-thirty,” Erik reminded her cheerfully.

Melinda just rolled her eyes at him.

Some hours later, in Paris, France…

The sounds of Parisians down below you on the streets filtered their way above into the hotel suite that James and you had booked together.

The smell of coffee from the streets was also making its rounds.

You were feeling a little bit jet lagged, so you had opted to nap for a while.

Now that you were awake from your nap, you were overlooking some emails on your iPad with a critical eye.

James on the other hand was on his phone and standing in the hallway, on the phone with his Attorney General, Antonia Dreykov.

You could hear bits and pieces of their conversation, but nothing more than that. Finishing up typing your last email, (for now, at least), you clicked the arrow button that would send it. Satisfied that you would be receiving no emails in the near future, you locked your iPad and put it back on your little table.

Hearing your stomach growl a little, you realized that yes, you were, indeed hungry. Fumbling around to find your phone, you scoured for it a little. Finding it in your purse, you fished it out and unlocked your iPhone with your thumb.

Pulling up your iMessages, you quickly shot a text out to Gamora.

You: I’m going downstairs to get some breakfast. Would you like to accompany me?

Gamora: Of course Your Highness.

Getting up from the huge bed, you found your shoes. It was within range of James, who had noticed that you had just put on your shoes, and you were slipping your phone back into your purse.

“I’m going downstairs for breakfast,” was what you mouthed to him silently, knowing that he was still on the call with Thor.

A discreet nod was thrown your way as you walked past him, grabbing one of the hotel keys for yourself, so that way you wouldn’t be locked out later when you came back.

Just as you got out of the room, so did Gamora. The green-haired woman looked a little tired, and she didn’t have a drop of makeup on her face. She elicited out a little yawn, even stretching a little bit before she greeted you.

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

“Good morning. Did you and Erik sleep well?” You asked kindly.

“Well,” said Gamora, “Erik doesn’t snore. He’s not very much a heavy sleeper either. He was up before me. He got up an hour ago. Said that he needed to call his cousin and his wife. King T’Challa and Queen Ororo arrived here three days ago, Your Highness.”

“Oh. It’ll be lovely to see them again. Isn’t she still pregnant with their first child?” You inquired as both of you started to walk toward the elevators.

“Yes, Your Highness. I believe she is almost five months in. Still not showing, but I have heard that two of the Dora Milaje have accompanied them on this trip. Ayo and Okoye, ma’am.” She answered you.

“Ayo and Okoye! How wonderful. They’re very lovely.” You commented giddily as you pressed the second button to go down to the lobby.

You had met both personal members of the King’s Guard once on an occasion. A meeting at the UN, where you had excitedly for a lack of a better word, fangirled.

You had apologized to King T’Challa afterward for your expressive outburst though.

But still! It had been amazing to see (and meet), two members of the Dora Milaje. You could scratch that off of your Bucket List for sure.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened.

Stepping inside, Gamora pressed the button for the lobby. Then, after a couple of seconds, the doors closed.

Inside your back pocket, your phone chimed with a text.

Reaching into your back pocket, you pulled out your phone.

James: Should we go somewhere after breakfast?

His text made you think.

In front of you, the elevator doors chimed and opened, revealing a small little family of four. The two children looked up at you and whispered amongst themselves as their mother quietly shushed them. Because you and Gamora were lingering around in the back, it gave the family enough space to be in the middle, or at the front.

Did you want to go anywhere after breakfast?

The beach sounded nice. Sightseeing sounded nice too.

There were many things to consider doing in France.

Unlocking your phone with your thumb, you started to text him back.

You: Depends.

You: You got anything in mind you want to do?

You: Go to the beach, or…

You: Maybe go to a museum or an art gallery maybe?

And these were all great ideas. Great suggestions, even.

But you were still pondering your options. The elevator dinged again, and the doors opened.

You saw the lobby room, with the breakfast place on the right side. It wasn’t all that busy, considering it was still early in the morning. French and English floated around in your ears as the family in front of you walked out, followed by you and Gamora.

Hearing the elevator doors close, you and Gamora walked over to the place.

You desperately tried to make eye contact with no one, considering the fact that a few people had begun to look at you. Whispering amongst themselves, you grabbed a plate and started to pile it up as if you were someone who lived in the Americas. When you were satisfied with the amount of food on your plate, you found a little table with four chairs and plopped yourself on one of them. Gamora, after she had fixed her plate sat across from you.

Pulling your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans, your phone pinged with a new notification.

James: We could go to the art gallery later if you like?

You: That’s fine. I’ll look at my maps for a nearby art gallery and we’ll decide later.

Shutting off your phone and putting it face-down on the table, you started to eat your food.

Gamora on the other hand was holding her fork and putting food in her mouth while scrolling on her phone, and looking at her social media. People who worked for the Royal Family were permitted to have social media but signed an NDA stating that while they could say that they worked for the Royal Family, they were not allowed to discuss private matters that involved members of the Royal Family to friends or family. Even to their work colleagues. No one. Nada.

She followed some people, mostly friends and family. Other work colleagues. But that was mostly it. She was currently texting the Guardians Gang, keeping them up to date and up to speed with what was happening on the honeymoon.

The Guardian Hoe Gang

Nebula: Why do we still have that as the chat name?

Peter: … because it’s awesome?

Mantis: It’s trash.

Peter has sent a GIF from the GIF Keyboard

Drax: I think it’s a fine name

Peter: See!

Peter! Drax thinks so

Mantis: Drax has no taste

Drax: I have amazing taste!

Gamora couldn’t help but let out a very unladylike snort. It was a snort that her now deceased adopted father would have disapproved of, wholeheartedly. She knew that much.

Thanos had been a shit father. A rich man who had hailed from the upper elite side of society, he ruled his household with an iron fist. Always pitting Gamora and Nebula against one another. Always trying to compare the two, and always praising Gamora as his favorite daughter and ignoring Nebula’s attempts to try and let him see her. To see her like how he saw Gamora. Like his own daughter. Instead of pretending that she merely just didn’t exist.

Then, when Gamora and Nebula graduated from high school, they ran away. Moved from their home country and took two tickets for a one-way trip to this new country. Their father tried to follow them, but considering he had a big gambling problem, the people he owed money to was not very happy with him. Somehow, the news had traveled down that Thanos was dead.

Deep inside themselves, the sisters felt some sort of relief. Now they would never have to see or hear about their adopted father again.

It was the comforting thought that Gamora allowed easing her mind as she texted back in the group chat, telling her husband and their friends that yes, His Majesty and Her Majesty, along with Erik had arrived safely in Paris, but she had no clue on what the two royals wanted to do today.

Three more pings suggested sightseeing, the beach, or just walking around.

Another ping from Peter made Gamora just roll her eyes in fondest.

Because once again, her husband was talking about their pathos plant that he lovingly called Groot, and their baby raccoon that he named Rocket.

A baby raccoon! Peter had found the poor baby shivering wet and alone in an empty alleyway a few months ago. Bless his huge heart, he brought it home. Much to Gamora’s surprise.

“Peter! Is that a raccoon?” she nearly shrieked.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

“Yes…?” Was his only reply to her, still cradling the poor thing in his jacket in an effort to keep the poor thing warm.

“Why the hell did you bring a raccoon home?” she exclaimed, rushing over to him. It was dinner time and she had just put the vegetables in the oven. The chicken thighs were in the pan with a lid to cover them so that way she wouldn’t be setting off the smoke alarm in their apartment.

“He looked lonely, Gamora,” Peter protested to her, the dark-haired man holding out the raccoon that was indeed, giving her the biggest puppy eyes ever. The raccoon was a gray-colored one, with their eyes having a thick black color around their eye socket. Their brown eyes looked so sad, it even warmed Gamora’s own icy heart.

“Peter. I don’t know how we’re going to raise a raccoon.” Was all that Gamora could say to him right now.

Because for the life of her, she didn’t know jack shit about raising a pet. Forget a freaking raccoon!

Nebula and she never had pets growing up. Thanos had forbidden it. No dogs, no cats, not even a flipping goldfish.

“We can learn! I’ll even buy books!” If it were heavenly possible, Peter had perked up and given Gamora such a dorky smile she couldn’t help but smile herself.

“Alright. But you’re going to be the one to tell Katy’s grandma why we’re housing a raccoon in our apartment. I’m going to need to make so many dumplings and homemade chili oil just for her to forgive me…”

Peter informed the group chat via voice message that not only was Groot growing, thriving, and basically living his best life, but Rocket was living it up with their baby. Apparently, their son really enjoyed being around the raccoon. Rocket was affectionate and loving, and enjoyed cuddling the toddler whenever Peter went out to buy groceries.

More pings from Gamora’s phone to the group chat were cheerful, as Drax and Mantis were suggesting a little get-together at the apartment once Gamora came home from the honeymoon with His Majesty and Her Majesty.

Around the time that Gamora finished typing her response back, stating that she would be overjoyed to have a get-together that included her sister Nebula and her girlfriend Sharon— you had finished eating your breakfast.

Gamora really wasn’t a huge breakfast person, so she had settled for a croissant and a glass of milk.

Sudden footsteps and little whispers made her turn her head back.

His Majesty the King, James Barnes along with Erik had finally lugged their asses downstairs to grab some breakfast. Erik’s plate was full to the max, while James had been less liberal on how he had fixed his plate this morning. Erik had a glass of orange juice, while James just had a glass of water.

You were drinking your glass full of the beverage of your choosing when James sat next to you, not saying anything.

Not that you were surprised by it or anything. Even when the both of you had been younger, he didn’t speak much. A man of little words, he was.

Erik on the other hand greeted you politely before sitting down and putting his plate on the table. He even pulled out his phone and happily showed you a picture of the Wakandan Royal Family portrait, which he was in.

“Uncle woulda been hella pissed if he was still here to see this,” the Black man snickered. Gamora expressed her support by giving a snort. The two even fist bumping in amusement.

Still, James said nothing, not even giving the barest hint of a smile as he picked up his fork, beginning to eat his food.

“So,” you said, trying to break the tension.

Even now, you could see some stares from adults and children alike, some whispers in French that you could catch, or even hushed whispers in English from tourists. Things that you tried your damnedest to try to ignore.

“Do we still all want to… go to the museum today?”

It had come out a little awkward.

Back when you used to be a young child, you were very shy. Your tutors said that you would have your head in the clouds most of the time, always being distracted.

“Yes,” was James’s only word that he spoke. It was low. Hushed. Only the one word that you could hear, because you were sitting next to him. If you had been sitting across from him, then you probably wouldn’t have heard him at all.

“Yes. That sounds fine,” he assured you lightly.

To his credit, that did assure you.

His answer even made you give him a nod.

Which was enough for him.

At the art gallery…

James was squinting his eyes.

He was confused. Puzzled. Baffled, even.

“What even is this?” he asked you, speaking in his native tongue, so only it would be just him and you talking.

You were standing next to him, looking just as confused and bewildered as he was.

Really, it seemed like the two of you was in the same boat. You also couldn’t believe what you were looking at either.

The portrait of the painting was certainly… something.

“It looks far too cold,” James commented to you. Seeing the portrait of painting of a soldier, dressed in his uniform. The soldier appeared far too stiff-looking, and there wasn’t any evidence of warmth on the subject’s face.

“He isn’t even smiling. I agree.” You remarked lightly.

“Even the background is bland,” James said, picking up on the earthy colors in the background. Instead of possibly painting the soldier in a forest or anything of that nature, it was just a mix of brown, green, and gold. Nothing that really resembled a proper true background.

It didn’t really leave anything to be desired if both of you were really honest.

“I think I’m going to move to a different section now,” you spoke with a designated sigh.

He watched you go, turning to the left and walking out of the section that both of you were in. As he continued to watch your retreating figure, he saw some people looking at you and whispering.

Some people were even looking at him and whispering too. He couldn’t really pick up what they were saying about him, but whatever it was, he paid it no mind.

Turning back to the painting, he couldn’t help the scowl that appeared on his face.

Bland indeed.

You needed to get the hell outta there.

There were too many people in the room with you and James.

There were too many people who kept looking at you and your husband, whispering amongst themselves. It made the bile rise up to your throat at what people were whispering about you.

Escaping to another part of the gallery, you found that it was empty. Emptier than the room you had just been in, surrounded by all the other people.

You really should have read through the entire pamphlet you had received when the four of you had walked through the doors.

Inwardly, because you were alone and by yourself, you cursed.

Where the hell had you put that damn pamphlet?

Rummaging through your purse, you searched for it.

And you searched for it.

You really did.

Eventually though, you still could not find it.

Seriously! You didn’t keep a shit ton of things in your damn purse anyway!

However, you suddenly heard a noise.

Said noise made you turn to where the source came from, revealing James who was walking from the entrance.

“I needed to get out of there.” Was what you told him in a defensive tone.

“So did I,” he said with a shrug.

“That included you.” came your sharp comeback.

“Charmed,” James still retorted, although the slight joyful tone he had previously had dulled a bit. It didn’t have much bite.

You might have also been possibly seeing things, but you could’ve sworn that a flash of hurt appeared on his face before it vanished completely. You did however, see clearly that his jaw ticked.

But then, his gaze came up to the painting that hung in front of you both.

“Now that is one painting I can say I approve of wholeheartedly,” James commented quietly.

It led you to also look up at it.

In truth, if you had never looked up, you probably would have never noticed it. It was a painting of the country, painted to reflect the countryside on the cusp of a sunrise.

“These paintings in this part of the gallery are donated. It’s why I suggested this place back in the hotel room when you were looking on Google Maps,” he continued to explain to you, his gaze never wavering from it.

“And the Royal Family donates to this museum?” You sounded interested, but there was a lingering undertone of a tease.

“We are considered patrons, yes.” James gave you a nod. “My mother loves coming here whenever we come to France as a family.”

“Oh. How nice.”

Unlike James’s kingdom, your kingdom hadn’t necessarily been ruled by authoritarian men in the past, like Steve’s. However, there had been some bad apples in the basket. Your father, being a prime example of that. It was very much described as “Our Lord and Savior would toss a coin in the air, and the king would be determined as kind or mad.”

James’s kingdom, on the other hand, had been ruled by benevolent kings in the past. It was nothing new when James had been crowned and praised as benevolent, just like the kings before him. Scandals aside, obviously.

Growing up, your father had definitely taken your little family of three on vacations whenever the school term ended for you but considered art galleries to just be boring. And considering the fact that when you had been appointed as the King’s Advisor a few years back, being the top advisor to your sick and bedridden father despite what you thought about him, going to meetings abroad left nothing to be desired when you were busy all the time.

Even now, after being crowned as Queen, it left little to be desired or wanted, because you were just so goddamn busy all of the time.

So moments like these where you really didn’t have to wonder about the stack of paperwork you needed to look over were a blessing in disguise for you.

“So, how does this painting make you feel?” You asked causally, wanting to change the subject. Catching the subject change, James didn’t look at you. But, he did raise an eyebrow in consideration.

“It reminds me of waking up in the country,” James admitted to you truthfully.

You were curious.

But you let him go on.

“A moment of peace,” he continued as he gazed at the painting, a soft expression in his eyes.

“I imagine myself waking up in the country. I am alone. For a moment, fleeting may it be. But I am allowed a moment to myself, to gather my thoughts. Perhaps I am still half-asleep. Perhaps I am already awake. The first one awake. Perhaps I am drinking a cup of coffee. But it is only me. Just me, by myself. And I have this moment of peace.”

In this quiet, confessed intimate moment— something quite odd happened.

Your hands started to reach out. Maybe it was a subconscious thing. But either way, your hand brushed over his. It sent an electric current down your spine. Your breath even caught in your throat.

So did James.

Quietly, without making noise, he swallowed thickly. His breath caught in his throat as he felt your hand brush over his. It was so intimate, but it felt so much more than that.

And then—

Someone screamed.

The two of you jumped up at once in shock.

Pulling out your phone, you quickly dialed Gamora’s number as you and James ran out of the room back into the hallway.

“Gamora! What happened?” Your voice was frantic, worried.

“Someone fainted, Your Majesty! Someone else dialed nine-one-one.” The sounds of Gamora running and the sounds of people screaming echoed on her side of the phone.

“Meet us back at the car. I think this is enough for us.” You spoke firmly.

One week later, at the beach…

Somehow, James knew.

Deep in his bones.

Growing up, his mother had joked to him that her eldest and only son had a special ability, a special gift for knowing that things were going to happen before they actually happened.

Kinda like a nicer version of Alice Cullen’s I-can-see-the-future power from Twilight.

Really, it had started nicely enough.

You were laying down peacefully on your well-laid towel, on the sand.

James was sitting down next to you, typing something back to Nebula.

Gamora and Erik had gone down to the boardwalk, to buy some ice cream.

Gulls screeched.

The waves crashed against the sand.

A nice pair of black sunglasses covered your eyes from the sun. You had packed your swimsuit in your suitcase, just in case this happened.

Going to the beach, obviously.

Soaking up the sun felt so nice.

It had been a while since you had actually gone to the beach.

You even packed a book to read for this kind of trip.

Said book, was in your purse. Sometimes, James wondered what else was in your purse. You seemed to have a lot of stuff in it, despite you telling him with an eye roll that you didn’t carry a lot of things. Just your personal belongings. Your passport, your ID, your wallet, money, debit/credit cards, pads, tampons, breath mints, breath strips, and your book.

… and a dual taser and pepper spray. You couldn’t forget that.

Just the necessities.

The sun bared itself down on James, making him feel hot. Even though there was a light, cool breeze. He still felt hot. But not itchy though.

Next to him, you were looking up at the sky through your shades.

You were in deep thought.

Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

Always thinking, you were. Pretty much. It was truly the understatement of the century, if you were going to be honest.

And as James finished typing his email to Nebula, you finally broke the silence.

“I don’t think we should be together anymore.”

It was enough to catch him for a loop.

Really, he was truly surprised.

As the kids these days said: “His wig was flown.”

… or something like that. Maybe he’d ask Rebecca to brush up on that Gen Z slang.

He was at a loos for words as you suddenly sat up from your laying position.

“We should just be separate from now on. Separate bedrooms. Separate schedules.” You were quick to explain to him, in order for him not to get the wrong idea.

Because you already had suffered one scandal that involved him already. You didn’t want to suffer another one.

“We already have separate schedules…” were the only words he could bring himself to say to you.

“You know what I mean.” You sighed. As if that would resolve everything.

And it wasn’t that James was angry at you for making a boundary. Because that was what this was. A boundary. And that was okay that you were making one. This marriage was vastly different than his first one to you. This time, it was different. The dynamics were different and James was okay with adapting to change. He had done it after your divorce, and his second divorce with Dot. He had done it when his parents announced that they were stepping down and he had been crowned King without a ruling Queen by his side.

Change was okay. Change was fine. Change was apart of life. He could handle change.

But this?

This?

This made him feel a deeply unsettling feeling in the pits of his stomach.

Deep inside himself, he knew that this was karma getting back at him. How many nights had he imagined being remarried to you again? To get a chance to start over with you again? To get a chance to call you his wife properly? To revel in the joy that he was once again, married to you? That he could be happy to tell people that you were his wife?

Somehow, someway, he knew that was laughable. You? Willingly be his wife again?

Please.

He knew you had to deeply convince yourself to even agree to marry him after his proposal. You even fought with your mother over it, telling her that you needed to marry James. That way, Pamela would be able to have both parents instead of being bounced around for half the year. You certainly as hell didn’t want to fucking do that. That was off the table for you.

“You have to know James. I married you for duty. I married you for comfort. I married you for our daughter. I married you for the sake of our daughter.” You said, but James felt as if he wasn’t here. Not in the present moment. He was off somewhere else, deep in his mind. But those last two words stirred him back.

Our daughter.

He loved his daughter. He loved her immensely. He would never be able to wash away the guilt that he felt, every time he looked at her, or even glanced in her direction and remembered that he lost over a decade of her life. He hadn’t been able to hear her first word, see her walk her first steps, or even see her taking out her baby teeth.

James would never be able to experience those things ever again. He couldn’t just magically wave a fucking magic wand and experience those precious moments. Even though some part of him, a greedy part of him wanted to desperately do that. If he was given the chance, he would jump at the opportunity if it presented itself.

And he knew deep in his heart that you had every reason, every jurisdiction to say and do what you did. If the roles were reversed, he still would’ve felt the same.

It just… it just hurt too much.

So he couldn’t muster up the words.

Instead, he said nothing.

You had taken his words as him agreeing. So, like him, you also didn’t say anything. The subject was already discussed. There would be nothing else to discuss.

But still… there was that deep part of you. That deep achy part of you that screamed that this was wrong. That this was totally wrong.

You squashed that part of you. Silenced it utterly and completely.

This was the right thing to do.

So why the hell didn’t it feel right?

For once, you didn’t have a straight answer to that.

Taglist: @bxnnywriting, @greeneyedblondie44, @hawsx3, @sunflowerfive

#king!bucky barnes x princess!asian!reader #king!bucky barnes x princess!reader #bucky barnes x asian!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

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