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olympos-92 · 3 years ago

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This story is soo good. I love King/Queen stories. And I love angst obviously because I can’t get enough of this story lol. With this chapter’s ending I’m so curious what’s gonna happen? How will reader react? And most importantly how Steve will react? It’s so exciting to wonder about. I’m so glad reader interact with Bucky sometimes by the way. It feels like he is the only person that knows how she feels. I hope Steve notice and burn with jealousy. He’s gotta know what he has before he loses, that’s all I’m saying lol.

After the Rain, Chapter Four

Inclement

Pairing: King!Steve Rogers x Princess!Reader, one sided Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Chapter Summary: Spring is for new beginnings.

Chapter warnings: 18+ ONLY. Mild smut, references to menstruation and fertility issues, angst, pregnancy, a really bitchy dutchess

For series wide warnings, please look at the After the Rain Masterlist. Be warned; there are spoilers in those warnings.

Note: I am so sorry for the wait on this chapter. Life has been hectic as fuuuuck.

—

Main Masterlist

Steve Rogers Masterlist

Follow @sweetlyscared-library for updates.

---

Steve groaned into your neck as he came and you felt his cock twitch within you, followed by that ever familiar rush of warmth. A calloused thumb began to circle the sensitive bud between your legs. You gasped and your back arched.

“Please,” you whispered, and you swore you could hear the low rumblings of a growl from Steve’s chest.

“That’s it, let go,” he coaxed as your nails dug into his shoulders.

The buildup finally broke, cresting over you in waves and you let out a breathy moan. Steve’s cock was still within you, and you fluttered around it, sighing at the feeling.

“Good,” Steve purred as he stilled his thumb. He rested his forehead on your chest, looking down at where your bodies met, sighing in contentment when you ran your fingers through his hair.

It had been a few weeks since you felt pleasure in his bed for the first time, and Steve requested you to come to his chambers every night since. The initial emptiness you felt was replaced with a pragmatic relief of sorts-- it felt good, and you decided to let yourself enjoy it. It was the closest you felt you’d ever get to having your husband’s intimacy, so you relished it.

Initially, it seemed nothing but pure carnal lust fueled the King’s motivations in pleasing you, but in time, he had softened towards you just a bit. While he had yet to kiss you, he’d nip at the sensitive skin on your neck when you were close to climaxing, knowing it was often enough to send you over the edge. Or he’d watch you as you came around him, enraptured by the sight. He didn’t pull away when you touched his hair, almost holding him but not quite.

Despite all you’d done, how much he’s seen of you and you of him, there was still a wall there, an emotional barrier that neither of you tried to breach.

Steve rolled off you, sighing as his cock left your body. The ever familiar feeling of his spend dripping down your folds had you turning on your side to not soil the bed sheets. You looked at the wall, one you’d become familiar with over the months.

“How’s the school?” He asked after a moment and you looked over your shoulder, confused.

He’s never tried talking to you after. You would lay there and he’d turn away from you or go to the bathroom, where you’d be gone before he returned.

“It’s doing well. The kids are happy. As happy as they can be, I suppose.” You laid on your back, turning your head towards him.

Steve hummed. His hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. He looked at ease, so unlike the rigid man you often saw around the castle.

The crown he wore was heavy, too. You needed to remind yourself of that on days he was particularly distant with you.

“Thank you, for seeing to their needs,” he said after a moment. “Penelope requested funding some time ago, but it’s taken me awhile to get her.”

“You don’t need to thank me for looking after your people,” you murmured and Steve’s gaze met yours.

“They’re your people, too.”

It was the first time he ever acknowledged your place in his kingdom.

It was a tender moment, one you didn’t want to spoil by speaking.

Still, he didn’t stop you when you got up to leave.

---

The ground was no longer frozen solid, and the garden was replanted. Some flowers even began to bloom. Early spring in Fearann was still very chilly but the sun felt warm. You often stood on the balcony outside your study, admiring the garden from afar.

Steve would sometimes watch you from his study. He was better at reading you, especially since he started talking to you after sex. Though he still struggled to understand you at times. It was like learning a new language.

To anyone else, you would appear complacent on that balcony, silently enjoying the warming earth. He knew you enough to know the gentle and almost imperceptible slump of your shoulders when you sighed meant you weren’t happy, but the nuances of why were lost on him.

Margaret could be stone faced when needed, but he knew how to read her. There was a vibrancy to her dark eyes, a radiating strength in how she carried herself. You, on the other hand, were a very difficult puzzle. He’d seen you smile, really smile, just a handful of times, though never at him. The warmth that poured from within you in those moments made your already pretty face glow. The face he typically saw, however, was cold and distant. Even when he first met you, there was an iciness about you.

Bucky and Sam kept him aware of the court gossip. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one to think so. Several times, they overheard a noble or courtier speak about your stoicism.

You were like a porcelain doll. A pretty face, meticulously crafted, but hollow and cold to the touch.

But as he got to know you, he suspected there was far more to you than anyone knew.

Sam and Bucky caught him one day, quill in his slack hand as he focused on you through the wide windows and glass door.

“What do you suppose she’s thinking?” He asked.

Sam glanced at Bucky, a bit of shock in his eyes. Bucky was just as taken aback. Steve never inquired about you.

“She probably misses the garden,” Sam said.

“Why doesn’t she walk through it?” Steve looked back at his friend, brows knit ever so slightly.

“She used to, shortly after the wedding. But she stopped,” Bucky shrugged. He wasn’t sure why, but he remembered the first time Duchess Amelia approached you, a petty insult laced in her words. He hadn’t seen much of her since; his attention was often focused elsewhere. But Amelia didn’t have a kind reputation. “I think one of the courtiers might’ve soured the experience for her.”

“Which one?”

“Duchess Amelia.”

“Who?” Steve knew most of the courtiers, though some less than others. The name sounded familiar.

“Of Ebrauc.”

“Ah,” Steve hummed. King Joseph was rather fond of the Duke of Ebrauc, though Steve hardly knew him before he passed. Court drama was common, so he didn’t pay it much thought.

“We used to offer to walk with her, and she’d accept. But she started declining our invites a little while after,” Sam added.

“Why?”

Bucky sighed. “It’s hard to tell with her.”

Steve simply nodded. “She can be a little cold,” he said absentmindedly.

Bucky frowned, something Steve didn’t miss.

“She’s not cold,” the brunette said, doing little to hide his displeasure. His fists were balled tightly, jaw clenched.

“Buck,” Sam was stern, trying to ground the other man and Bucky relaxed his hands before shaking his head slightly.

“Excuse me,” he said and walked out, leaving Steve confused.

---

A few days would pass, and he’d see you walk out to the balcony several times, overlooking the budding garden.

He thought about what Bucky said.

It was easy to interpret your lack of emotion as coldness. In many ways, Margaret was the same. She was elegant, always kept her head high, her gaze forward. The other courtiers were intimidated by her, and for good reason. She was smart, wielding her words as strongly as he did his shield.

You were different though-- quiet, passive, almost ethereal. He never heard you raise your voice, never heard you speak an ill word. You were perfectly polite, but impersonal.

But “cold” wasn’t a good word to describe you. Not when he thought about it for a moment.

How could he describe you?

He supposed he would never know. Not unless he spoke to you more than the praises he’d whisper as he came and made your body do the same.

“It’s much more lovely up close,” he said and you jumped a little, not expecting company. Steve smiled sheepishly. “My apologies.”

“No, it’s quite alright,” you assured, smoothing out your dress.

Silence fell between you two.

“I was just about to take a walk. Would you like to come with me?”

You stood there, mouth slightly agape, before composing yourself. Steve didn’t blame you for being shocked. He almost never talked to you outside the bedroom.

“I… that sounds lovely, thank you,” you said and followed him.

Walking beside his wife shouldn’t feel as foreign as it did, especially given how intimately he knew your body. But he knew it was only physical intimacy. He didn’t know you, not like he should. Each step was one of hesitance, and you could sense it in him as well.

People in the castle looked a little perplexed, their curious eyes on the two of you. He realized it was perhaps the first time many of them saw him with you.

He watched you as you kept your head somewhat high, your gaze slightly downward. That perfect elegant mask was on your pretty face, and he couldn’t tell what was on your mind.

---

Your heart was racing, and you felt foolish. Over ten months of marriage, and it was the first time you were spotted with Steve since your wedding day. People would talk. They’ve been talking.

You knew many courtiers thought you to be severely austere. They often misinterpreted your stoic face for one of impersonal distance, your soft smiles as forced frigid offerings.

Perhaps they were right to a certain extent. You hadn’t gotten beyond chatting about the weather with any of them, though it was difficult when no one seemed to want you there. You weren’t sure if they came to their own conclusions, or if Amelia had poisoned their perception of you.

The gossip was becoming harder to ignore, and you wore your stress in the way you looked a little towards the ground as you tried to avoid the lingering gaze of your subjects.

But like a sixth sense of sorts, you saw a glint in the distance-- a manifestation of animosity. Amelia had spotted you, and she began to walk towards you until she saw Steve at your side. Her movements stilled immediately, her pinched expression turning into one of indignant shock.

You couldn’t help but smile at the smallest of victories.

---

The garden was beautiful despite not being in full bloom. After months of pure white snow blanketing the earth, any bit of green was more than welcome. Perhaps even more so. Steve had gained a new appreciation for it upon seeing what it took to actually maintain a farm.

The initiative you started turned out to be a lot more complicated than Steve was anticipating, but he enjoyed watching it unfold. The once barren land supplied a humble winter harvest of cold resistant greens and tubers.

With the success of your experiment, you were given more funding to expand the farm, and as you’d hoped, it gave more opportunities for work.

The nobles may have mixed feelings about you, but the common folk liked you. Steve may not have chosen you for his bride, but you tried to be a good Queen for his people.

He didn’t particularly care what the nobles thought, anyway. It was all politics with them, greed, power, and cruelty-- the philosophy in which King Joseph ruled, the philosophy Steve wished to change.

He glanced over to you and you seemed relaxed. There was a sad tenderness to your gaze as you looked at the young plants.

“You must miss home,” Steve murmured and you met his eye. You weren’t expecting him to speak to you during the walk, that much was obvious. He felt a twinge of guilt-- he’d truly neglected you for so long.

“Oh, yes, I do. I miss my friends,” you replied. You had a soft way of speaking, never too loud, never too demanding. Even when you writhed under him at night, you’d whisper your pleas.

“Ah, the… loud one.” He really should have known the name of your lady in waiting, but much to his relief, you laughed. He realized then it was the first time he heard you laugh. Much like everything else about you, it was soft, delicate, and perhaps a little nervous.

“Yes, Poppy. I had another who could not come, Wanda. She’s far more… composed.” You gave him a gentle smile.

It wasn’t the rehearsed ones he knew all too well. There was no performance or hollow emotion. No, it was real, the first one you ever gave him, and Steve found himself captivated.

Now he understood Bucky’s reaction.

No one with a frozen heart could smile like that.

And all he had to do to earn it was talk to you.

“You do not miss your parents?” Steve asked after a moment, not wanting to stare at you too long. He noticed you never spoke of them, though he supposed he never gave you a reason to.

You shifted a little, brows furrowing for just a second before you put your elegant mask back on.

“I do,” you said.

Steve knew that tone of voice all too well. It was the same one he used when he talked about his father.

He held little love for his father, but he knew better than to speak ill of the royal dead-- when asked about him, Steve would keep his voice even, light, feigning any affection or respect.

There was a reason you never spoke of your parents, one that went beyond the lack of familiarity between the two of you, but Steve knew better than to press it. You’d tell him when you were ready. Or at least, he hoped, should he continue to rebuild the bridge he’d burned before he even took a step on it.

The walk was short and quiet, but pleasant.

When he asked you to accompany him the following day, you accepted, surprise written in your eyes.

The day after, he asked again. And again.

It took a few weeks. A few weeks of surface level conversations, pauses, and nervous laughter.

The shock lessened and lessened until the request was no longer novel to you.

The demarcation of time was evident in the flowers that appeared by the dozen every day, slowly blooming, welcoming the warm Spring sun on their delicate petals.

A breeze rolled through his study from the open balcony window, and Steve sighed, rubbing his temples. He’d spent the better part of the morning reviewing the budget cuts suggested by Rumlow. Instead of making up the cost of city improvement by taking from the nobles, as Steve suggested, Rumlow wanted to slow down any measures that would improve the quality of life for the common folk. The man’s disregard for others was a constant thorn in Steve’s side, and he needed to think about something else.

He grabbed a worn piece of charcoal and shaved it to a point. A leather bound book sat on the corner of his desk, and he gingerly grabbed it before finding a clean page. The sound of little scratches filled the room as he mindlessly sketched something. It was sometimes a mystery to him, what he’d draw when he wasn’t thinking. Many times, he’d end up drawing Margaret. Even though he only saw her once a year when she and her husband came to court to visit, he knew her face like the back of his hand-- her dark eyes and full lips, the way she carried herself.

“Steve?” You asked, and he peered up, not realizing you’d entered the room. He shut his sketchbook and placed it back where it was. He saw you glancing at it, head slightly tilted, before quickly turning your attention back to him. “Perhaps you should take a break?”

He hummed softly. A break was certainly needed.

“I was just about to go for a walk, if you’d like to come with me?” You bit your lip slightly when you asked, a sweet hesitancy in your eyes.

He should say yes. It was the first time you asked him, and he should have said yes.

But his mind was clouded by Margaret, as though the very thought of her was bright enough to chase the shadows of your budding affection.

“I’m a little busy,” he said, his voice harsher than he intended. He saw the delicate hurt that ran over your features, though you did well to hide it.

“My apologies,” you nodded before dismissing yourself and headed towards the door.

“But thank you for the offer, perhaps later?” Steve quickly added and you gave him a small smile, the kind you gave to the nobles at court. He felt his heart sink ever so slightly.

“If it would please you,” you said.

You were gone before he could say anything else.

Steve slammed his fist down on his desk, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips.

He’d make it up to you somehow, and he knew you’d forgive him, because you were far too kind despite him having earned none of it.

Then, realization hit him swiftly, pulling an acrid laugh from him. It was like he’d just understood the punchline of a joke far too late.

You weren’t cold. You were lonely.

---

It’d been far too long since you walked the gardens by yourself. Steve had been accompanying you for weeks now, but before that it was too cold and before that, you’d stopped.

You missed having these moments to yourself-- the cool breeze and warm sun, birdsong in the distance, the gentle rustling of leaves.

It felt like home, or the place that used to be home.

As it currently stood, you didn’t have one.

“I haven’t seen you in some time, your Majesty.”

A sharp voice cut through your peace like a dagger.

Amelia.

You were almost impressed. It was like she had a sense specifically for you with how she’d managed to find you the first time you were alone in months.

“I’ve been busy,” you said cooly.

“Yes, I see the king has been spending far more time with you. I didn’t think he’d be capable of showing affection for anyone other than Mar-” she pretended to catch herself. “Oh, deary me, I’ve said too much.”

It was bait. You knew it was, and you ignored it.

“Perhaps his heart is just lonely though,” she mused and you bit your tongue. “You know, had you not been betrothed to Steve, I would have been next in line. My family is in good standing with his, and King Joseph was so fond of my father.”

Her petty cruelty towards you made far more sense.

“You’ll never be part of this Kingdom,” she whispered, the blue in her eyes shining bright. “You’re hardly a princess. There are cities in Fearann far greater than your entire country.”

Words failed you as you stood there quietly, stunned at her boldness. She grinned, wide and callous as she walked away.

You could punish her. She’d said enough to you to warrant it, but you knew the politics of it all too well. You’d be seen as fragile, petulant.

You were an outsider to this place. Punishing a duchess could never end well for you.

So you took a deep breath in, exhaled slowly, trying to rid the rising anxiety that threatened to spill over.

You kept it in until you reached your chambers where you struggled to hold your tears back.

---

Theodore wanted to show Steve the newest agriculture plans and you offered to drop them off at Steve’s study. He was gone, so you placed the parchment on his desk.

Beautiful, flowing script caught your eye.

Steve’s handwriting was elegant but stern, a sort of harshness flowed through his ink strokes, but the handwriting on the scroll was different.

Delicate, refined.

You shouldn’t have read, but your curiosity got the better of you.

My dearest Steve,

It’s splendid to hear the capitol has been thriving. I knew your bride would make a lovely Queen, and your people are so blessed to have her by your side.

Things in Keil are wonderful. The Duke has been in good health-- the cold that seemed to plague him for weeks has gotten better.

I received the roses you sent. They were lovely. We’re hoping to plant a cutting of them that will take, and perhaps they can continue to live here.

You skimmed the rest. It was mundane, friendly, but the name at the bottom caused your heart to sink

All my love,

Margaret

Something cold spread through your body, a dismal realization that Steve still spoke to her. He gave her gifts. He was interested in her life, no matter how insignificant the details seemed.

Why does it always hurt, you wondered. You knew what this arrangement was. You knew love wasn’t part of it. And yet, your heart still yearned for it.

A simple leather bound book caught your eye, and you recognized it as the sketchbook Steve was drawing in the other week.

It was a bad idea, but once again, curiosity got the best of you. You opened it.

Drawings appeared. Simple ones, but beautiful nonetheless. Steve was quite the artist, and you were surprised by that. Art seemed like a sensitive hobby, and while you knew that side to exist in Steve, you didn’t expect to see it so plainly.

The first few pages were random parts of the castle and occasionally Bucky and Sam. Steve was great at capturing the essence of each man, from the gentle and confident smirk in Sam to Bucky’s surliness.

But most prominent were sketches of Margaret. There was a certain care to those not shown in the others. The strokes of charcoal were softer, more wispy, almost dreamlike. He’d drawn them from memory, and yet, you could see her so vidily-- her eyes gazing upon you and Steve as you danced with him on your wedding night, her red lips turned up ever so slightly in a bittersweet smile.

“What are you doing?”

You gasped and shut the sketch book. Steve’s eyes were hard on you, stern.

“I’m sor-”

“Do not touch anything here,” he reprimanded and you quickly walked away from the desk, flustered.

“I apologize,” you said, a breathy whisper.

Steve sighed, regret washing over his face, softening his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, and you could tell he meant it. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“It’s quite alright,” you whispered and gave him a weary smile. You saw him sigh, and you could tell he wanted to say more, but you wanted to get as far as possible.

You offered him a rushed goodbye and excused yourself.

---

“Are you okay, your majesty?” You heard a voice call, snapping you out of your reverie. Bucky. He laughed a little at your surprise and you relaxed.

“James, you’re back,” you said and you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders lift just a little. It’d been some time since you’ve seen him. He and Sam have been in Asgard for the last few weeks, and before that, you’d been spending more time with Steve.

“I am.”

“Are you staying for long?”

“I’ll be here for a few weeks, but I might have to leave after.”

“All that travelling must be stressful,” you sympathized.

“It’s not too bad. I enjoy seeing the world. It’s Sam I have the most trouble with.”

“Oh come now, he’s a lovely person,” you giggled, and failed to see the affectionate gaze Bucky focused on you. It was gone by the time you met his eye.

“He’s not too bad, but don’t tell him I said that,” he said.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you smiled.

A moment passed.

“You seem happier these days,” he murmured and you nodded. You supposed you were. Despite the often changing moods from Steve, he was overall warmer towards you.

He apologized for the last time he snapped at you, offering to walk with you through the garden and you accepted. Perhaps he was just as stressed as you were? Stress does things to people.

“I… I think I am, yes. Not that I was ever unhappy before,” you sputtered the last part.

“Steve’s been kinder to you?”

“He has been. It’s been… it’s been nice,” you murmured.

A strange mixture of both relief and a hint of sorrow washed over Bucky’s face, but you didn’t notice.

“It’s about time he opened his heart to you,” he said.

Perhaps it was the perpetual loneliness and the constant repression of your feelings, and perhaps it was Steve’s ever changing treatment of you, but you felt compelled to say something.

“I don't think his Majesty will ever open his heart to me,” you said after a moment and Bucky looked taken aback. “But I never expected him to. He’s been kind. It’s more than I can ask for.”

“I don’t think expecting love from your husband is asking for too much.”

“Perhaps not for people who are free to do so-- love, that is. But I wasn’t meant to be loved, James.”

Bucky stared at you, head tilted, confused.

“Everyone deserves to be loved.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” you confessed and swallowed your bitter truth. “We all deserved to be loved, but I wasn’t meant to be. I was meant to be this-- a means to end a conflict.”

You could tell Bucky wanted to say something, but you didn’t have it in you to dwell on such matters.

“It’s alright, James. I’ve known my whole life what my purpose was. I suppose there’s some sort of relief in that. Not everyone gets to know what they’re meant to do. The King’s been kinder. It was more than I was expecting.”

---

“Are you familiar with Sokovia?” Steve asked you as you laid next to him, your breathing having eased. Though his moods were quick to change, he always seemed more focused in the bedroom, though you suspected it had more to do with the sex than with you.

“Yes, Wanda is from there.”

“My father… wasn’t exactly kind to them. I want to try making peace.”

While Steve was more open with you, you weren’t expecting him to talk about politics. At least, not while you were nearly naked next to him.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” you said after a moment.

Wanda didn’t have the greatest opinion of Fearann Briste. She was never shy about listing the atrocities committed against them during King Joseph’s reign, though she admitted the violence ended when Steve became king.

“It would require going there for a few months. It’s not something I can send Sam and Bucky to do. I need to reach out personally if I’m to ever be forgiven for my father’s sins.”

“That’s very noble of you,” you offered. You meant it. It was something you liked about Steve, his insistence on handling the most difficult situations himself. Your father, and many other rulers often delegated such tasks to others. Steve wasn’t like that though. It was admirable.

“I want you to come with me.”

Your thoughts immediately halted, your mind took a beat longer than usual to process his words.

“Why?” You asked and Steve smiled at your obvious shock. There was an almost affectionate look in his eye, and it drew you near him. It was dangerous, like a moth to a flame.

“You’re smart,” Steve said and you felt your cheeks warm at his compliment, the smallest of smiles gracing your lips. “You’re good with people. I feel you’d make a far better diplomat than I could.”

Of course it was a political move and nothing more.

Never get your hopes up, you chastised yourself. You will never have his heart, but you can still have his companionship.

You banished any desire for more to the furthest corners of your mind.

“I’d be honored to go,” you said. You didn’t have it in you to mask your face entirely, but you hoped Steve would mistake your disappointment for tiredness.

You didn’t catch the way Steve’s face fell ever so slightly.

---

The weeks that followed were chaos. Several members of Steve’s council were heavily against any attempt at making peace with Sokovia.

You sat in on a meeting, just to observe. Steve didn’t invite you, but you weren’t barred from taking part. Still, you kept your thoughts to yourself.

“They’ve been keeping to themselves. Why risk retaliation by stirring up the past?” Sitwell advised.

“They’re in no position to retaliate. My father made sure of that,” Steve countered.

“Never underestimate the desperation of a wronged country,” Rumlow said, and you could feel Steve trying to hold back a scoff. The two men never got along. The only reason Rumlow stayed on the council after King Joseph passed away was because he specifically requested that he remained. Steve may have held little affection for his father, but it would be wildly disrespectful for him to ignore the wishes of a dying king.

“Enough time has passed for there to be some talk of peace.” Sam was the most diplomatic person on Steve’s council. Few could match his empathy, which made countering him more difficult. “While I understand the scars of war can never truly vanish, I’m confident we can at least attempt to make amends for our slights against them. Especially since Fearann hasn’t attempted any war since Steve was crowned.”

“We didn’t do anything though,” Rumlow huffed and you saw Steve’s jaw tick.

“If I recall, you sat on King Joseph’s council during his most violent attacks against Sokovia,” Bucky pointed out, a dangerous glint in his eyes. It chilled you.

“I sat on his council. I don’t think-”

“And supported those attacks,” Sam added.

Rumlow shut his mouth, rage simmering under his dark gaze.

A tense silence filled the room, and you found yourself holding your breath at times, almost too afraid the sound would cause chaos to erupt.

Steve was the first to speak.

“For this particular issue, I’m choosing to overrule you. We will attempt peace with Sokovia. It doesn’t matter that it was my father’s actions. It’s my job to right the wrongs of the past.”

Sitwell and Rumlow said nothing.

“If there are no other matters to be discussed, we can end this meeting,” Steve said. When no one spoke up, he dismissed everyone. As you walked towards the door, Steve stopped you and gestured to the chair next to him. You took a seat, back perfectly straight, unsure what he wanted from you.

“I’m glad you decided to sit in.” Steve looked up from a spot on the table he’d been focusing on.

“I apologize for not letting you know beforehand.”

“Don’t, you are well within your rights to be here.”

Steve sighed and rubbed his temples. You’ve never seen him look so tired. So human.

“Perhaps you should get some rest?”

He looked at you, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes.

“There is much to do, and the day is still young,” he said as he leaned back, posture slumping just a bit. “What do you think we should do?”

You were getting used to him asking you for your opinions, though you still felt a hint of dread each time. Saying something foolish could cost you his trust in such matters, and he already gave so little of himself to you to begin with.

“I would try for peace, but I am not exactly versed in matters of war,” you said. “I don’t know the ramifications of such. I’m afraid my thoughts on the situation aren’t as insightful as one would hope.”

Steve chuckled quietly. He didn’t sound displeased, which was a relief.

“It is precisely your lack of experience with war that makes your opinion valuable. Fearann Briste has made many enemies over the decades before my rule. People like Rumlow don’t understand what country wide peace feels like. And if I’m to be honest, I do not either. But I wish to, and I wish for my people to know as well.

“Onsil has maintained good relationships with nearly every Kingdom on this continent, and all without force. They don’t even have an army. How has your homeland managed to continue to thrive outside of war and conquering?”

You thought for a moment, choosing your words carefully.

“I think it helps that we are of no threat,” you offered. “And… the one time in recent history we were faced with potential war…” You stopped yourself. You were the reason war was avoided, your marriage to the man in front of you. Were you to have a daughter, she could be offered for peace and you wouldn’t wish that sort of life for your child.

Steve nodded and didn’t ask you to continue, a mournful smile on his features as he breathed out sharply.

“Right,” he said in quiet understanding.

You weren’t sure if you upset him with your answer, and perhaps you were too blunt. But he didn’t seem angry, and you’ve come to realize Steve doesn’t mask his feelings well.

---

With Steve’s ruling, the castle was buzzing with the news. He sent a messenger to Sokovia and awaited their response. It could take weeks, and until then, it was business as usual.

Then one mild spring morning, you felt your stomach churn. You’d been picking at your breakfast, your appetite lower than usual. Darcy had brought you fresh strawberries, and though they looked delicious, you didn’t have it in you to eat more than a couple.

But then your stomach flipped and you rushed to your bathroom where you vomited into the toilet.

Darcy was quick behind you.

“Are you okay, my Queen?” She asked as she rubbed your back. “That was a dumb question. You’re clearly not…”

You laughed weakly.

“I… I must have caught something, I apologize,” you said as you flushed the toilet. Darcy helped you up and you washed the bitter taste of bile from your mouth.

“Would you like me to get Dr. Banner?”

“Yes, please.”

He was in your room within the hour. He only spent a few minutes looking over your vitals before he stepped back, lost in thought.

“When was the last time you bled?”

You thought for a moment. “A few months, but that hasn’t been unusual for me as of late.”

“Darcy, please get Dr. Cho for me,” he said promptly.

“Is everything okay?” You asked.

“Yes, I believe so. Dr. Cho is quite the apothecary. She’ll be able to better identify what you need,” the doctor smiled warmly.

Darcy returned shortly after, the doctor in tow.

“I don’t believe we formally met, your Majesty,” Dr. Cho smiled. She was beautiful, and like Dr. Banner, there was a gentle air about her.

She and Dr. Banner spoke for a couple moments before Banner excused himself with a reassuring glance.

“Is everything okay?” You asked her once he was gone.

“We think you might be with child,” she said rather bluntly, though there was happiness in her voice.

Darcy gasped, joy written all over her face.

You suspected you could be pregnant, but it didn’t stop the peculiar rush that seemed to overcome you. Your mind felt weightless, like you would float away with the gentlest of breezes, and yet the unease that pooled in your stomach felt heavier than ever.

“This may seem unusual,” Dr. Cho said before she handed you a vial with clear liquid in it. “But… the next time you urinate, pour that into the toilet.”

You blinked a few times, and she laughed a little.

“It’s a potion I created. If the water turns blue, it means you’re pregnant. If there is no change in color, you’re not. It’ll be the quickest way to find out for certain.”

“I… is it accurate?” You asked and immediately added, “Not that I don’t trust you! I just… I…”

“It’s alright, your Majesty,” she said and placed a hand on your shoulder. “I took no offense. Yes, it’s quite accurate. There has been a single case where there was a false negative, but in the few years since I’ve created this test, it’s been rather faithful.”

You nodded, dazed still.

“I can wait here with you until you get the results so we can determine next steps, should it come back positive.”

You chatted idly for an hour or so after drinking a glass of water, and finally, it was time.

As you stood over the bowl, you emptied the contents of the vial inside.

Like magic, the water turned blue.

---

Keil (the city where Margaret lives): England, derived from Englaland meaning “land of the Angles.” Angles come from the Anglia peninsula, at the Bay of Keil.

Note: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Steve is… Steve is a very emotionally confused man who doesn’t know how to speak to women.

Ebrauc (the city where Duchess Amelia lives): New York is derived from York (duh). The land that York currently occupies has gone through a series of name changes, one of which was Eburaci.

As always, reblogs and feedback fuel me!

763 notes · View notes

olympos-92 · 3 years ago

Text

After the Rain, Chapter Three

Pressure Drop

Pairing: King!Steve Rogers x Princess!Reader, one sided Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 6.3k

Chapter Summary: Winter was cold.

Chapter warnings: 18+ ONLY. Smut, references to menstruation and fertility issues, angst, a poor understanding of farming on my part.

For series wide warnings, please look at the After the Rain Masterlist. Be warned; there are spoilers in those warnings.

Note: Thank you all for waiting. I appreciate it. I’ve been much busier with work than I anticipated I would be. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this!

—

Main Masterlist

Steve Rogers Masterlist

Follow @sweetlyscared-library for updates.

🌼🌼🌼

Steve often sent Sam as an ambassador to other Kingdoms- he was level headed, charismatic, and empathetic. Through him, Steve was able to maintain rather solid foreign relations.

Bucky was often tasked to go with him, though his people skills weren’t quite as good. Steve insisted it was because they made a fine team. Both Bucky and Sam would disagree. Despite that, they’ve formed a strong, if not slightly exhausting, friendship.

A couple months after the wedding, Steve sent them to Velhavende to negotiate border disputes. Tony was amicable enough, and Steve’s relationship with him was solid; he wasn’t expecting there to be any issues. Still, Sam and Bucky remained there for a few months and didn’t return until early autumn.

“Do you think Steve has warmed up to his Queen at all?” Sam asked Bucky as they approached the castle gates, his voice tired from the journey.

“One would hope. I doubt it though. Steve is many things, but stubborn is at the top of that list,” Bucky sighed and Sam chuckled.

Bucky remembered the look on your face when he told you he and Sam were leaving for an extended period of time. You had been Queen for a couple months then, and despite the calm exterior you wore like a mask, you were distraught-- he could tell from the way your eyes went blank for a moment, as though you were carefully crafting your next response. Steve was still rather cold with you, and while most of the courtiers were polite enough, Duchess Amelia and her friends seemed to have it out for you.

The only friends you had made were Darcy, Bucky, and Sam. With two of them gone, it must have been a lonely summer for you.

Bucky shook his head slightly. If only you knew how much the people of Fearann seemed to have taken a shine to you. Shortly after Steve toured you around the city, you sat with Theodore, the head of agriculture in Fearann, and contacted a researcher in Onsil. They met and discussed ways to tend to the land outside the city limits, so they didn’t have to rely so much on trade for food. Though winters were freezing in Fearann, there were a few crops that could survive the cold weather. If they planted them in autumn, they could see if they’d take. Until then, they prepped a small portion of land to experiment, treating it with various fertilizers in the hope that it could be viable.

The need for farm hands created more jobs, and people were happy at the possibility of there being more opportunities for work in the future.

Of course, if the experiment failed, you’d be blamed.

It stressed you out more than you let on, but Bucky could tell.

Steve was no comfort to you.

As they walked through the doors into the main throne room, Steve was there to greet them. With a warm smile, he embraced each of them.

“I see neither of you have killed each other,” he smirked.

“We thought about it,” Sam laughed and Bucky rolled his eyes, though his expression was friendly.

“How are things in Velhavende?” Steve asked.

“I’ll tell you about it in your study,” Sam said before turning to the brunette. “Buck, why don’t you check on the Queen?”

“I’m sure she’s fine. I’d like to catch up with you both,” Steve insisted but Bucky shook his head.

“If I have to spend another moment with this man, I might lose it,” he nodded his head towards Sam who snorted.

It was a good enough reason for Steve, and he failed to notice the slight nod of approval Sam sent Bucky.

🍂🍂🍂

Bucky knew to check the garden first. If you weren’t there, you were usually in your study or at the boarding school in the city.

He walked along the path towards the fountain that stood in the heart of the garden. It was one of your favorite spots. He’d often catch you placing flowers in the water, watching them float away, a happy look on your pretty face. Those moments were the only few times you looked unburdened.

Normally, he could hear you before he saw you. You often hummed when you walked alone, a sweet, unfamiliar tune-- a popular lullaby in Onsil, you told him when he asked.

A few courtiers were enjoying the last summer flowers that lingered before the chill came, but you were nowhere to be found.

He checked your study, and sure enough, you were there, quietly kneeling near a potted fern where you delicately traced the leaves. The entire room was filled with plants, from ivy hanging off shelves on the wall to small trees nestled near the windows where they could absorb the sunlight. Bucky couldn’t help but smile; perhaps you were becoming more comfortable in your new home?

"I see you've redecorated," he said, and you gasped sharply in surprise.

“James! You’re back!” you said and stood up.

That's when he noticed the dress you wore.

Bucky had become accustomed to seeing you in your flowing gowns-- layers of sheer fabric embroidered with nature motifs that hung off your body. You looked ethereal in them, otherworldly. But you weren’t wearing one of those. Instead, you wore a dress that was in the style that was popular in Fearann. The bodice and sleeves were more rigid and structured, and the material was stiffer and covered more of you. Despite that, it seemed like you put your own spin on it regardless. While most women in Fearann preferred darker colors, your dress was a cream color with pink silk flowers sewn onto the fabric.

You didn’t look comfortable.

“I am, yes,” Bucky responded after gathering his thoughts. “It’s been awhile. I see you’ve… the dress is new-- it looks great, though,” he said and inwardly groaned. There were better ways to say that.

“Oh, thank you… I figured I should wear something considered appropriate here,” you kept your voice light but he could hear your unease. “While I try not to pay attention to rumors, some thought I looked… well, inappropriate. Of course, once I had a few new dresses made that fit the style here, people then complained I was wasting money on frivolous expenses,” you sighed, and for a moment, Bucky saw how tired you really looked under the serene expression you crafted and carried so well. “But I suppose there is no winning in politics.”

“You shouldn’t have to change, though,” Bucky said after a moment.

“It’s not too bad. It’ll get colder soon, and I figured my old dresses would have been far less warm,” you tried to downplay your discomfort. “Onsil never got cold, so I don’t really have a winter wardrobe.”

“The castle is heated during the Winter months,” Bucky countered and you looked down slightly. “I apologize. I don’t mean to sound so argumentative. You should feel comfortable here, is all.”

You glanced back up and gave him a tender smile.

“Thank you, James. I appreciate it,” you said.

There was a beat of silence before he had to ask.

“What’s with all the plants?”

He didn’t fail to catch the hint of sorrow in your eyes. Your eyes always gave away your inner thoughts.

“Oh, well, the groundskeeper told me most of the garden dies in the winter. Almost everything gets replanted once the ground thaws. It seems like a waste, so I’ve relocated some of them here.”

“I think this is a fair bit more than ‘some’,” Bucky laughed and you giggled.

“I got a little carried away,” you mused as you looked around.

The room was nearly a greenhouse.

"Is that the only reason?" He pressed, and you nodded, biting your lip. There was more to the story, he could tell.

“But enough about that," you said, brushing off whatever it was you were holding in. "Tell me about Velhavende! How was your trip?”

🍁🍁🍁

Bucky spent the next few hours telling you about what he and Sam had been up to, from dealing with Tony’s ego to nearly starting a war when a misunderstanding between the two of them escalated-- he thought Bucky was involved with the death of his parents but he couldn’t have been. He was fighting in a war alongside Steve when that happened. Pepper was there to break up the shouting match, and the night ended with more wine than was probably necessary.

Steve came in, needing Bucky’s presence for something, and you were alone again.

Still, knowing both Sam and Bucky were back put you in a brighter mood than you’d been for some time.

It wasn’t that Darcy wasn’t good company. She was, and you appreciated her very much.

She was simply your only company.

Most of the courtiers gave you the respect expected of them for their Queen, which also meant a polite distance.

Duchess Amelia and her group of ladies were far less graceful.

They were clever in their cruelty towards you, always making sure not to say anything outright rude. Instead, they dusted their insults in sugar laced with poison. You would have been impressed if you weren’t so wounded.

At one of the high teas you hosted, you had mentioned you liked fruit tarts, and Amelia grinned, her smile like a knife.

“You’d know all about tarts, wouldn’t you?” Amelia said as her eyes raked up your body, focusing on the thin fabric that draped off you. “Oh, I just meant, Onsil has a lot of fruit.”

You simply smiled at her, not wanting to give her the reaction she was looking for.

A lady cannot react, your mother’s voice echoed in your mind.

“Of course, Duchess.”

She’d made remarks before, snidely commenting on the style of dress you wore. No one else seemed to say anything, but you weren’t sure if it was because they felt like they couldn't, given your title.

While the overlaying fabric could be sheer at times, there was always an opaque slip underneath, so you were completely covered where it counted. Though you did show more of your arms and back than the ladies in Fearann.

Still, it weighed heavily enough on you that you asked Steve. Rarely did you speak to him outside of topics pertaining to your farming initiative, but Sam and Bucky had been in Velhavende for a few weeks and you were feeling particularly lonely.

It was a midsummer afternoon. Steve’s study was well lit, and spacious, but his presence still filled the room and suffocated you. He was skimming over the document you gave him-- a detailed plan and breakdown of what you wanted to achieve by next Spring. He said nothing as he read through it.

“It sounds like a good plan” Steve mused after a moment, signing the scroll before handing it back to you. It was probably the nicest thing he’s ever said to you. “I’ll be sure to thank Theodore.”

You realized with mild disappointment that Steve didn’t know you’d lead most of the initiative.

A lady mustn't brag, you heard your mother’s voice again and stayed quiet.

You held the scroll in your hands, where you fidgeted with it slightly. Steve looked up from his desk when he noticed you hadn’t left.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked.

You bit your lip.

“Is… is what I wear, the type of dresses I wear, are they… indecent?” You managed to get out. Steve tilted his head, his eyes narrowing.

Before he could respond, Clint, one of the generals, interrupted-- the King was needed at the barracks.

You didn’t want to ask again, so you simply had the royal tailor create for you a handful of dresses.

Steve never noticed the change, or if he did, he didn’t say anything.

The new dresses were beautiful, and you knew they still stood out in color and pattern, but you didn’t care. You wanted some of yourself to remain.

You hoped that would be good enough for Amelia to stop her quest at making your life miserable, but you sorely underestimated the extent of her petty cruelty.

You looked around your study, the near hundreds of plants that filled the space.

What you told Bucky wasn’t a complete lie: you did want to keep some of the plants through the winter, if possible. But more than that, Amelia knew you frequented the garden and would often specifically look for you there, if only to make a snide comment or two before walking away with a smug expression on her pinched face.

“Oh how quaint,” she remarked in her saccharine sweet tone when she saw you weaving a few daisies into your hair. “I used to do that-- when I was a child.”

She smiled at you, contempt ever present in her sharp features.

“Though I suppose you miss your home. Here, flowers are more novel-- like a travelling circus.”

You hardly paid attention to whatever she said after. Instead, you felt your heart break. The garden was one of the few places outside the castle where you could enjoy yourself. Amelia frequented the courtyard with the other noble ladies, so you avoided it, which unfortunately meant you had less time to build friendships and connections with others.

One of your few sanctuaries no longer felt safe, so you stopped walking through the garden and ceased to put flowers in your hair.

The next day, you asked the groundskeeper if you could transfer some plants inside.

Part of you knew that by reacting to her comments, it only provoked her to continue, but you didn’t know what else to do. You were taught to be passive, and you didn’t think Steve would care so you never brought it up.

You sighed inwardly. There was no use dwelling on your gilded misfortunes.

It had been a lonely summer, but Sam and Bucky were back. For that, you were grateful.

❄❄❄

Autumn was more of the same-- parsing through the information gathered from your farm experiment, requesting funds from the council, visiting the school, and occasionally laying with Steve at night.

There was one small difference-- Bucky often walked you through the garden. The flowers were gone, but there was still much greenery before the frost came in.

Amelia and her band of harpies were less likely to bother you if Sam or Bucky were around.

Unfortunately, early whispering of some sort of illicit connection between you and Bucky made you decline more of his offers to walk you around the castle.

That was one rumor you didn’t want to spiral.

Winter had arrived sooner than you were expecting.

You haven't experienced snow before, and it amazed you how it could change the entire landscape. It was the exact opposite from Onsil. Onsil was bright, vibrant, and colorful. But winter in Fearann was pure white, like a blank slate. It was beautiful in its own way.

The winter harvest was planted. It was a matter of time before you’d see if there would be fruit of so many labors, or more disappointment.

The garden in your study was thriving, much to your enjoyment. The castle was warm enough, and the room had so many windows, sunlight was plentiful. As much as you disliked Amelia, you were at least grateful she’d compelled you to bring so many plants inside. It wasn’t her intent, of course, but you were looking for anything bright in your world.

A handful of various flowers had even continued to bloom.

You were going to visit the school, so you plucked as many as you could and put them in a basket along with a small potted Pothos. You wanted to give it to Headmistress Penelope, the woman who ran the boarding school.

It was called a school, but it functioned as an orphanage of sorts too. Some of the kids had parents that travelled too much to oversee their education but couldn’t afford a private governess. Some of the children didn’t have family, and had no choice.

You learned from Penelope it was Steve’s idea to make the school, feeling his people needed to be educated and finding out some of the children didn’t have access to that for whatever reason. While you knew he cared about his people, you didn’t know he was that compassionate.

Those were the few moments that lingered where you felt a twinge of sorrow in your heart, where Steve revealed the man you were told he was-- kind, warm, giving-- but never to you.

He wasn’t mean to you, and you almost wished he was. You could handle his hatred had he had any-- he meant he felt something for you. As it stood, you weren’t a consideration at all, which hurt far more.

The children at the school loved you, and you got along with Penelope, so you enjoyed going. Part of you felt guilty because you felt as though you were taking advantage of them, using a typically dower place as a type of sanctuary. But you loved the kids there, and you wanted to see to their needs. Still, guilt was easy to fester in you these days.

Darcy helped you secure a heavy cloak around your shoulders. The outer layer was a type of velvet, blue in color, and the inside was lined with soft fur.

“It must feel like you’re trapped in a kitten avalanche,” she said as she closed the clasp at your neck.

You giggled.

“I don’t think this is kitten fur.”

“Well, it’s soft and fuzzy, so same thing,” she rolled her eyes playfully.

You liked that about her. Like Poppy and Wanda, she wasn’t afraid to treat you like a normal person.

The formalities got tiresome in their empty politeness. Winter was cold enough.

“Which crown do you want to wear?” Darcy asked after the cloak was well secured. “Maybe something a little different today?” She urged, knowing you always defaulted to the gold leaf tiara you wore as a princess.

You had yet to wear any of your queenly crowns.

The one that was commissioned by your parents was a heavy looking thing that didn’t suit you at all. Then there was the one given to you by Steve. It truly was beautiful, and you admired the delicate skill and artistry it took to create it.

Where Onsil was rich in fertile land, Fearann Briste had ore and craftsmen. There was nowhere in the world that created finer jewelry.

But you didn’t have it in you to wear it.

You didn’t feel like a queen.

“Just the usual one,” you told Darcy, and she sighed as she glanced at the delicate crown Steve gave you.

“It would look quite beautiful on your head. The one with the moon, that is. The other one is kind of ugly,” she said under her breath as she gestured to the crown your parents gifted you. “No offense.”

You laughed.

“None taken. It’s… it’s not very me, is it?”

“It’s not very… anyone,” she exclaimed and you smiled at her.

She didn’t press the issue any more and placed the tiara on your head.

“Beautiful!” She beamed at you.

❄❄❄

Some of the younger kids were already playing outside when the carriage arrived, and they immediately ran towards you as a footman helped you out.

“Hello,” you laughed as they all but swarmed you, each of them telling you different stories at the same time-- updates since the last time you were there, adventures they had gone on, gossip.

You were relieved to see they were wearing their winter coats. You had them made for them when you were told not all the kids had warm clothes. Penelope was grateful. She’d requested more funding, but Steve had thousands of requests and it was difficult for him to see to every single one of them.

“Children, let the Queen breathe,” Penelope shouted, and they immediately stepped aside. She was kind and doting, but she could sense mischief from a mile away, which made the kids fall easily in line with her.

“Thank you, Penelope,” you said as you walked down the path, basket of flowers in hand.

Prior to your visits, many of the kids hadn’t seen flowers as vibrant as the ones you brought. An occasional weed would grow between cracks in the ground, but nothing like the flowers that came from the castle garden. You had them in your hair the first time you visited the school. Since then, the kids had been fascinated with them, and so you brought them frequently.

“How are there flowers in the snow?” one of the girls asked as you placed the basket on a countertop.

“I brought a few inside, so they could keep growing,” you told her and the kids gathered around. “I should have enough for most of you-”

Before you could finish, most of the girls squealed and formed a line.

“I apologize if I run out before I can get to everyone,” you murmured.

Penelope gave you a stool, and you sat down, the fabric of your dress pooling around you. One by one, you weaved the assortment of flowers through the childrens’ hair while they talked to you-- Brie hated math, Matilda liked Danny but you can’t tell anyone, Paul got into a fight with Henry because Henry insulted Paul’s mother-- at least, according to Paul.

The kids who hadn’t lined up groaned, bored, and asked where Bucky or Sam were. They’d occasionally accompany you and would regale the kids with toned down war stories.

You didn’t mind the kids’ vocal disappointment, though Penelope chided them-- flowers weren’t for everyone and you felt bad you didn’t have something for all of them.

You expressed that before, and Penelope told you your presence was enough. It warmed your heart.

You sighed, “I’m afraid they-”

“Sam’s off doing God knows what, but I’m here,” a voice called from the doorway. Bucky stood there, a bright smile on his face.

The kids ran towards him but stopped when Steve stepped out from behind him.

A hush fell over the room.

“Do we curtsy?” Nora asked before she did it anyway, many of the girls following her lead, with some of the boys bowing.

“We don’t bow for the Queen,” Thomas responded.

“We did at first, but she’s our friend now,” Brie whispered.

You couldn’t help but smile.

“There’s no need to bow,” Steve said kindly, and the kids relaxed.

You weren’t sure why Steve was there, but you didn’t have room to ask when Bucky gathered the kids for a story.

They sat, enthralled, as he described a battle with a group of renegade bandits called Hydra. Steve would sometimes take over, and you were surprised at how good he was at storytelling.

You saw that version of him again, the one he never was for you. There was warmth in his features, a softness in his voice that felt almost soothing.

Perhaps months ago, you would have felt bad, but it hardly registered to you anymore.

❄❄❄

You handed Penelope the pothos, so the kids had something green to look at throughout the winter.

“I don’t know I’ll be able to keep it alive, but I’ll certainly try,” she smiled and hugged you before you left.

Steve and Bucky left a little before you. Bucky offered to stay and escort you back, something Steve should have done, but you declined. You’d learned to be lonely, and quite liked the quiet solitude in the carriage on the way back to the castle-- you didn’t have to pretend to be happy when you were alone.

❄❄❄

Steve saw you leave with a basket of flowers in hand.

He’d seen the greenhouse you’d turned your study into and was rather impressed you managed to grow flowers in the Winter.

You looked warm in the heavy cloak you wore-- he wasn’t sure when you had gotten that, and he probably should have warned you just how cold Fearann could get. You knew, of course, but there was much he should have told you anyway, if only out of courtesy.

“Where is she going?” Steve asked Bucky as they watched you climb into the carriage.

“Penelope’s school,” Bucky said. “She goes there at least once a week.”

Steve wasn’t aware of that.

“Are they in need of anything?” Steve was fairly on top of how the city fared, and he knew the boarding school was usually funded enough, though it’d been awhile since he last reviewed them.

“Some of the kids needed coats, but she had some sent over-- she just likes going.”

“Why?” He was genuinely curious. It wasn’t common for nobility to interact with the common folk, at least, not in Fearann.

“She likes the kids,” Bucky said before sighing. “And she probably feels wanted there.”

Steve stayed quiet.

He knew he hadn’t been kind to you. He wasn’t cruel either, though when he thought about it, there was a sort of cruelty in his indifference.

Truth was, he spent so much time mourning the life he could have had, he hardly noticed you, even during the nights he asked you to come to his chambers.

It wasn’t until the farmland you were experimenting on actually yielded a crop of winter-hearty greens that he really noticed you.

At first, he congratulated Theodore, but the head of Agriculture informed him it was you who organized most of the experiment.

You may not have concocted the fertilizer that helped stabilized the land, but you still oversaw the initiative.

He wasn’t expecting you to be so… involved with his Kingdom or his people. He was expecting you to be more passive, a pretty face the Kingdom could gawk at.

There were times he wanted to get to know you more, but he didn’t know how to go about that. He’d try to ask you about your day, but whenever he’d start, he’d see your distant expression as you glanced at him to continue and would back out and simply ask about the farm instead-- you were polite with him, but nothing more, and he didn’t blame you.

He didn’t know how to close the gap he made. The way he treated you became so much of a pattern, he wasn’t sure how to stop it.

How do you tell your wife of nearly nine months you’re finally ready to get to know her? He often thought.

“I want to follow her,” Steve said and Bucky eyed him.

“Why?”

“I want to see.”

Steve didn’t know what to expect, but of all the things he could have imagined, seeing you sitting on a humble wooden stool while you placed flowers in the school children’s hair hadn’t even come to mind.

Many of the nobles turned their noses at the commoners. The thought of touching one of them was vile. It was an old sentiment, back when his father was King and cared little for his people, and most of the nobility followed suit. Since Steve took over, he wanted to focus on what he already had, not take more. He wanted his people to thrive.

When Bucky made his presence known, you looked so happy to see him. It was so unlike the rehearsed politeness you gave Steve. But that joy faded when you noticed he was also there.

He felt his stomach drop so slightly.

🥀🥀🥀

It had been months, and despite laying with Steve a couple times a week, you still hadn’t gotten pregnant.

Courtiers whispered, and Amelia would pointedly stare at your stomach when you crossed paths with her.

Is she barren?

Are she and King not intimate?

Why would he? She's so frigid.

He loves Margaret, after all.

The gossip was becoming overwhelming.

While you knew most of it was idle chatter and you ignored it, you did learn one bit of information. The woman Steve was staring at the day of your wedding was named Margaret Carter. She was rather popular in court before she married a Duke and moved far away.

Steve was in love with her and had been since he was a teenager. You understood why he despised you so much.

He was forced to marry you instead of the one he loved.

You couldn’t imagine how that must feel-- you never loved anyone in that way. For that, you were grateful. It meant your heart couldn’t break in that way.

Still, the rumors made your heart race, and you found yourself having more frequent panicked spells. Darcy had learned how to get you out of them, and you begged her to not tell anyone it happens, not wanting more ridicule sent your way.

“I never would, my Queen,” she said one summer morning as she rubbed your back after finding you huddled near your bed where you tried to ground yourself. You saw blood between your thighs, indicating the start of your cycle-- you weren’t pregnant and it had been a couple of months into your marriage at that point. She coaxed you back to a steady breath and stayed with you the rest of the day.

Winter was coming to an end, and while Steve hadn’t mentioned anything regarding your lack of heir, you spoke with Dr. Banner, the court physician.

“Stress can cause your bleeding cycle to be unpredictable, making it harder to conceive. You must take it easy, your Majesty,” he said softly while he listened to your heart. “Our people are so grateful for all you’ve done to help our kingdom, but you must take care of yourself first.”

“That’s what I keep telling her!” Darcy exclaimed, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Very wise, Miss Lewis,” Dr. Banner laughed. “I’m glad she has you to keep an eye on her.”

You were too.

“There’s nothing else wrong with me?” you asked him and he shook his head.

“Not from what I can tell. Stress can make these things harder,” he explained. “Try to relax, though I know that’s far easier said than done.”

🥀🥀🥀

You had long since gotten used to the walk to Steve’s chambers whenever he requested your company at night.

It was routine, though the added layer of your lack of pregnancy made the walk more dreaded as of late.

You’ve done this many times before, you told yourself, steeling your nerves.

You’d knock, he’d tell you to enter. You’d lay on the bed and he’d shove himself inside you and thrust for a few minutes before spilling.

Dr. Banner suggested you continue to lay down for a few moments after, to help with conception. So you did while Steve ignored you, and then you’d leave.

So you were expecting more of the same when he beckoned you inside.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the dark stone floor.

As you walked towards the bed, Steve stopped you, his hand gently grabbing your arm, and you glanced at him, brows furrowed.

“Is there something wrong?” You asked.

He gingerly moved you so you stood in front of him.

“It has been brought to my attention… that perhaps if you were to enjoy yourself during the act, it might help with…” Steve mumbled, and you could see the pink flush on his cheeks, even in the low light of the room.

“I’m… not sure…” You didn’t know how to enjoy yourself in the act.

“Just… let me,” Steve whispered as his hands ran up your sides-- you nearly forgot how to breathe. They moved to your back where he tugged the satin ribbon behind your neck that held your gown together. As the ribbon slipped undone, your nightgown cascaded down your body and you gasped, trying to cover yourself.

Before you could, Steve pulled you into his lap so your knees straddled his thighs, and you felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

Despite how often he’d been inside you, you had yet to be completely nude in front of him.

“Steve…” you whimpered, but quickly went quiet when you felt his fingers brush your sex.

He’d touched you there before, to prep your channel for his cock, but he never lingered, not like he was doing now.

The rough pad of his thumb brushed against the little bud at the apex of your folds and you keened.

You touched yourself there a few times, knowing it was meant to feel good, but you’d never brought yourself to climax. The feeling became too intense, and so you stopped before you could.

Steve gave you no such mercy, fingers dancing across your clit in different patterns, finding what made you squirm the most.

Tighter and tighter you felt your core clench.

“Steve,” you gasped, the feeling becoming too much, well past the point where you’d have stopped your own hand.

And then he pushed two fingers inside you and you moaned, far too lost in the feeling to be embarrassed by the wanton sounds you made.

Your nails dug into his shoulder where you held onto him until finally, that band that was pulled in so tight within you snapped, and you felt a release unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

You felt your inner walls flutter around his fingers in waves, and you let out a tense moan as the feeling washed over you.

Steve only stopped his ministrations on your clit when you pushed his hand away when the sensation became nearly painful.

“What…” You looked at him, your eyes dazed. The blue in his irises were gone, leaving them nearly black in lust. Your breath wavered under the intensity of his gaze.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, lust and confusion molding together into something unknown.

He leaned forward a bit and you backed away, unsure what he was doing. He swallowed and shook his head slightly.

“On your stomach,” he rasped as he moved you out of his lap and onto the bed.

You were confused. You’d only ever laid on your back so he had easier access to you. Still, you did as he asked.

He lifted your hips so you were on your knees, and you pushed yourself up so you were on all fours.

You couldn’t help but feel humiliated, knowing he could see so much of you from that angle.

“Steve?” You asked hesitantly before you looked over your shoulder.

Before you could meet his eye, you felt the blunt head of his cock prod your entrance before he thrust into you quickly.

You yelped, not expecting the intrusion so soon.

Vaguely, you noted he didn’t need to use the oil-- you had grown slick enough on your own for the first time.

You hardly had time to contemplate that due to the sensation that exploded within you as he moved, his cock running over a spot within you that made you see stars.

It was a different feeling than what he had just done with his fingers. It felt deeper, more steady but equally as intense.

You felt that band within you tighten once more, and you gripped the bedsheets, fisting them tightly.

You gasped when you felt his hand leave your hip only to cup a breast, his fingers rolling a nipple to a stiff peak. You moaned a little and he repeated the action.

“I’m close,” he grunted and you nodded, knowing what to expect.

Soon, his thrusts became erratic and you felt the first flood of his spend filling your cunt.

You were close to another release, he could tell. His hand left your breast and harshly rubbed at your clit once more.

It didn’t take much for that band to snap once more, and your pussy clenched around his cock in rhythmic waves, pulling another moan from you.

“Fuck,” Steve groaned at the feeling of your cunt somehow becoming even tighter as the last of his cum pumped into you.

Slowly, he lowered you so you were flat on your stomach, making sure not to crush you by holding himself up on his elbows, which were planted near your shoulders. His softening cock stayed inside you for a moment, to keep his spend in you a little longer.

He heard your breath settle, and he felt his cock twitch-- he could take you again, and he nearly wanted to, but he also knew you were likely exhausted.

So he pulled his cock free from you, and you both sighed at the feeling.

He kneeled behind you, admiring the way your ass looked. Your slick and his cum were smeared along the soft skin of your thighs, and it unlocked something primal in him-- he nearly growled at the sight.

You had a beautiful body, he noted, regretting he hadn’t enjoyed you sooner. Another thing to add to his list of growing regrets.

Quietly, you got up and without looking at him, slipped your nightgown back on before leaving without another word.

It felt so surreal to Steve that he hadn’t truly understood what happened until you shut the door.

He wasn’t expecting you to stay, not after he let you walk away from him so many times without another glance. But somehow, your departure didn’t settle well within him that night.

🥀🥀🥀

You collapsed on your bed, your mind racing.

Now you understood why some of the ladies of the court would giggle about their nightly escapades-- it was supposed to feel like that.

But despite how good it felt physically, you’d never felt more empty.

The sex was passionate and intense. You felt a wave of arousal flow through you, recalling the feeling of his fingers on your bud, his cock in your slick cunt. Yet, there was no intimacy in the act, no emotion. He couldn’t even be bothered to look you in the eye while he brought you over the edge, instead turning you away from him completely.

Worse, you slowly realized Steve was capable of pleasing you all along and chose not to.

Somehow, you felt even more empty than you did on your wedding night.

🥀🥀🥀

Note: Was that too rushed? I feel like I rushed through a lot of things. This ended up being a lot more boring than I was hoping but there's smut??

Anyway, that was chapter 3!

Here are examples of the dresses I used to reference the different styles of fashion between Fearann and Onsil.

This is what the fashion in Fearann Briste looks like. It’s more or less 18th century inspired, typically in darker colors.

This is what the Reader wears-- more modern looking with nature motifs. Onsil is warmer, so this isn’t seen as scandalous there. I know for one of these pictures, you can see the model’s nipples, but just pretend that part of the dress is opaque.

Lastly, these are the dresses the Reader wore after Amelia shamed her. They’re the same style style as the fashion used for Fearann Briste, but in lighter colors.

As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated! Thank you for reading!

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olympos-92 · 3 years ago

Text

Control: Dark Steve Mini Series

Points of Authority

After failing the required self-defense class Captain Rogers offers to give you one on one lessons. His methods are not what you expect and an impromptu session reveals his true intentions. [Violence, noncon, bullying and fat shaming, 18+]

One Step Closer

Three weeks after your training session with Steve goes horribly wrong, he brings you to his office to remind you who you belong to. [Noncon and explicit sex, 18+]

Bleed It Out

When a probationary agent asks you out on a date you learn Steve’s intentions for you have evolved. He doesn’t take kindly to someone touching what’s his. [Noncon, physical violence (biting), grooming behavior and explicit sex, 18+]

Lost in the Echo

Tony’s party reveals Steve’s true motivation and one of the Avengers notices things are not as they seem between you and Steve. [Dubcon, controlling behavior, gaslighting, past mention of physical violence (biting), and explicit sex. 18+]

Breaking the Habit - COMING SOON.

–

690 notes · View notes

olympos-92 · 3 years ago

Text

Reckless • P5

18+

A conversation with your kids ends sourly. Luckily, Steve is there to remind you of the sweeter things in life.

Content Warning: Widower!Steve x Divorced!Reader, Ex Husband!Bucky, Dead!Peggy, mature themes, angst, argument, yelling, hurt/comfort, smut (live sex show, public sex, fingering, penetrative sex, soft dirty talk, soft dom!steve), forbidden romance, more angst, mentions cheating, wholesome fluff.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You're trying not to make it obvious that you need a lot of wine to get through this dinner, but when Blake nudges your arm after you pour your fourth large glass, you know you haven't been trying hard enough.

"Calm down," She hisses under her breath, frowning at you. "You know what you're like when you're drunk."

A little sore from her harsh words, you bite your cheek, staring down at your food. You feel Steve comfortingly stroke your arm with his thumb under the table, alleviating at least some of your discomfort.

Thankfully, the others are too busy laughing at Grant's anecdote to notice the tension on your side of the table. You try not to stare at Kaya for too long at a time, but you can't help it. Her beauty is the kind that makes you want to look at her forever, like a painting in which you can discover intricate details the longer you stare at it.

Kaya's nice. You hate to admit it, but she's a wonderful human being. Never once has she been malicious towards you, or expressed any sort of jealousy for your odd friendship with Bucky. She hasn't tried to replace you; hasn't asked the kids to call her Mom. Has never once disrespected your authority or overstepped any boundaries.

She's absolutely perfect.

Her and Bucky met on a dating app four years ago. He told you straight away, as he did with all the women he dated after the divorce. You didn't expect it to last as long as it did, let alone result in him getting married again, but you're genuinely happy for them both.

That's what makes it so difficult to be around her. She's so lovely and kind that you have to try extra hard not to seem like the villain. If you complain about anything, you'd look crazy because Kaya is amazing.

"I'm really glad we could all do this together," Bucky says with a warm smile. "Like a proper family."

You really do love seeing him happy. It's been a long time since a relationship has lit him up this way - you don't think you've seen him this happy in love since you were sixteen.

"Blake, are we still on for tomorrow evening?" Kaya asks once Steve, Bucky and Grant fall into their own conversation.

Frowning, you turn to your daughter. "What's tomorrow evening?"

"Oh, it's the second round of Battle Of The Bands," Blake tells you nonchalantly. "Kaya's been coming to watch us play."

You can't help but feel offended. "Really? You didn't tell me you had entered." Blake and Grant have been in a rock band since high school with a couple of their other friends, and whenever they've entered competitions or performed gigs, they've always informed you. Until now.

An awkward silence sits between the three of you. Blake rolls her eyes and sighs. "It's not a big deal. Kaya's really into music; she'd enjoy it more."

"Besides, you're always busy at work," Grant suddenly interjects.

You feel attacked by both sides, and it throws you into defense mode. "I could have taken a day off, if I knew about it," You state with a frown.

"But Kaya can take any day off because her job isn't that intense," Blake says, while Kaya looks like she wishes the floor would swallow her up. "For you, it's a huge problem and causes issues at work."

"That isn't true!" You say, scoffing.

"Mom, it's fine," Grant claims. "You put work first, and that's fine."

Your lips part, but you're speechless. You put work first? Above your kids? "Do you really feel that way?" You ask them, feeling completely sober all of a sudden.

"You make us feel that way!" Blake suddenly yells, making you recoil. "You're just jealous that Kaya is doing the mom things that you should have done for us."

The entire table is silenced, everyone's eyes on you. With a shaky breath, you stand up and rush to the bar, trying to calm yourself down. All your life, you've pushed yourself in your career in order to be able to give the twins the life they deserve. You took barely anything from Bucky in the divorce, adamant to be independent, but now they're throwing that right back in your face.

Rolling your eyes, you look over at him. "Not now, Bucky."

Sitting at the bar with your head in your hands, you feel someone sit next to you. "Rough night?"

He just gives you a smile before waving down the bartender. "Two shots of tequila, my friend!"

"Absolutely not," You say with a grimace.

"Come on, why not?" Bucky asks you.

"Because," You begin, sitting up. "Last time you and I took tequila shots, I woke up the next morning with two babies inside me."

He narrows his eyes. "Not sure that's how it works, but you're the mother, so I'll go along with it."

The bartender slides the shots over, making you grimace. "Please, Bucky, just let me wallow in peace."

For a few moments, he complies, saying nothing. After staring at the shot, you roll your eyes before grabbing it and drinking it in one go, making him cheer before doing the same.

"I'm not jealous of Kaya," You mutter once the burning in your throat alleviates, hoping he believes you.

"That was a low blow. They were upset, and said what they knew would cut the deepest," Bucky replies softly. "I guess they learnt from a young age how to really hit someone where it hurts. We were always so good at it."

You wince at the reminder of the times the kids would witness the toxicity of your marriage. They were only 11 years old when you got divorced, and daddy and mommy hating each other had been the norm for most of their life.

"They love you, you know," Bucky says, leaning closer. "They just miss spending time with you."

You glare down at the bar. "What am I supposed to do? They're away at college. I do my best to visit them. How can I be a better mom?"

"This is not about your competence as a mother," Bucky says sternly, placing his hand on yours. "You have been nothing short of incredible when it comes to raising our kids. Every time I look at them, I am so proud of what we did. And there is no way they'd have turned out so great if it wasn't for you."

You let out a sigh, nodding, knowing he's right.

"Fuck, why am I tearing up?" He mumbles to himself as his eyes gloss over. "I just- fuck, I'm just so grateful to you, sweetheart. Our babies are all grown up and they're doing so well in school. Oh, fuck."

Turning to him, you see the tears streaming down his face, the sight making your own tears build up. "Don't you fucking cry on me, Buck, I swear to God."

"I'm so sorry for ever hurting you," He sobs, leaning his forehead against your shoulder as his warm tears run down your arm. "Through everything, you're still my best friend. And you always will be, no matter what."

"I'm sorry, too," You say, your breaths quick and shallow.

"I love you, sweetheart," Bucky utters, wrapping his arms around you.

"I love you, too," You reply, rubbing his back.

"Everything okay here?" You hear Steve ask from behind you.

You pull apart from Bucky, turning to look at the blonde with a pressed smile. "Yeah, we're fine."

"Tequila, brother," Bucky says, palming his eyes before sighing. "Ah, fuck."

"I, uh, I think it's home time," Steve says, patting Bucky's shoulder who laughs up at him.

"Yeah, I think you're right," He says, standing. He gives you a quick hug, does the same to Steve and walks back over to the table. Kaya gives you a wave which you return, but Blake and Grant just storm out the restaurant, breaking your heart.

Steve takes you to his car, the both of you letting out a long sigh once you're settled in.

"That was... a lot," You breathe out, pulling down the sun shield to look at yourself in the mirror. Your mascara has smudged, your lipstick has disappeared and your eyes are puffy.

"Yup," Steve says, driving out of the car park. "What were you and Bucky talking about?"

A small smile plays at your lips as you look over at him. "You jealous that he can still make me cry?"

"Something like that," Steve mumbles, biting back his own smile.

You lean your head back and let out a sigh. "The kids. He always gets emotional when he talks about them."

He hums, placing his free hand on your thigh. "You know they love you. Kids are bound to forget how great their parents are sometimes, but you need to remember just how incredible you are as a mother."

A smile blooms on your lips. "I am pretty incredible."

Your words make him grin and when he gets to a red light, he looks over at you. "Do you trust me?"

You narrow your eyes, slightly offended that he even has to ask. "Steven, you could tell me your shit smells like roses and I'd believe you."

He chuckles before taking an odd turn into a quiet country road. "You're not scared of the dark, are you?"

"Not when you're here to protect me," You mumble, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. "What's with all the questions, Rogers?"

He doesn't say a word and continues driving down the vacant road until you reach a small clearing. After parking the car on the grass, Steve turns off the engine, making you snort.

"Seriously?" You ask him with a raised brow as you look around the forested area. "You brought me to a quiet spot in the woods so we could make out like teenagers?"

"Make out? Oh no, you've got me all wrong," He says, leaning over to you and lowering his voice. "I brought you here so I can kill you."

A small smile pulls at your lips. "Fuck, really? Damn it."

"Mhm," He hums, stroking your cheek as his eyes burn into yours. "But, I'll tell you what- if you let me cum inside you, I'll let you live."

His proposition makes you snort before you straighten your face. "Uh, sure. Seems fair."

"Yeah?" Steve asks, leaning closer. "Gonna let me fill you up?"

Your cunt throbs at his words, your thighs squeezing together. He notices straight away and looks down before slipping his hand between your legs and tutting.

"Oh no, baby, don't try and hide from me," He coos, kissing your cheek. "Let me take what's mine."

"Fuck," You whisper as you feel yourself get wetter by the second.

Without a warning, Steve lifts you up and sits you down onto his lap, attaching his lips to yours before you get the chance to react. He immediately groans into your mouth, using his grip on your hips to push you down against his boner.

"Shit," He utters, throwing his head back. "So fucking hard for you, baby."

"Just for me?" You ask him teasingly, resting your hands on his shoulders.

"Only you," Steve promises desperately, looking into your eyes with a clear certainty. "I'm all yours, sweetheart."

You fiddle with his belt while he pulls up your dress, and when pull out his erect cock it immediately slaps against your panties, making you gasp. Steve kisses you deeply, moving your panties to the side with one hand and guiding his cock to your slick cunt with the other. After rubbing his shaft in your juices for a few moments while you squirm, he slowly pushes it into you as you hold your breath. The sensation of him stretching you out is one you know you'll never get used to, and it takes you a few moments to grow comfortable with his invasion.

He lets out a low groan, his Adam's apple bobbing as he watches your face contort. Bringing his lips to your ear, he whispers, "You gonna be a good girl and ride me, baby?"

You can't help but want to please him, and with your grip on his biceps, you slowly begin to bounce on his cock. Steve kneads your ass with his right hand and gently holds your throat in his left, letting out weak groans as your pussy envelops his length.

"So fucking good, keep going," He mutters, slapping your ass. "Just like that. You're doing so well for me, pretty girl."

Letting out moans and cries, you ride him faster, your body twitching when he starts playing with your hard nipples through your dress. He pulls the neckline down, allowing your boobs to fall out, before grabbing them both and pressing his face to your chest. Soft grunts leave his mouth as he flicks his tongue over your nipples, sucking and slobbering all over them.

"Oh, Steve!" You cry out loudly, your eyes rolling back. "Steven, please, I'm gonna cum."

The windows steam up and the car is filled with the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as his cock pounds in and out of your pussy. He takes holds of your hips and assists you, thrusting up into you harder as you feel the knot tighten in your core.

"Steve," You whine, pulling on his hair. "C-cumming." The knot is undone and you cum all over him, a harsh jolt of pleasure and relief hitting every inch of your skin.

He groans loudly, growling as your cunt milks him of his cum. Shooting his load into you, Steve lets out a repetitive chant of your name, thrusting into you a few more times as his eyes roll back.

You let out weak whimpers, your head falling forward to rest in his neck. He strokes your hair while the two of you recover, breathing heavily. Steve cracks open one of the windows, allowing some fresh air to fill the heated vehicle.

"Baby," He whispers, wrapping his arms around you. "Baby."

Lifting up your head, you look up at him. "Yes, Steve?"

A look of conflict grows on his face, as though he's trying to decide on whether to say something or not. His eyes scan your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, and when he lets out a soft sigh it's almost like he has given up with whatever he was contemplating. "Kiss me," He mumbles, to which you immediately comply.

The moment of bliss swallows you hole, but a small part of you can't help but wonder whether he had something more to say.

"So, it's Steve."

You look up at your office door to see Shuri standing there with a raised brow. Gesturing for her to come in, you wait until the door is closed behind her before you reply. "It's Steve."

"I can't believe this!" She exclaims, a shocked grin on her face. "I mean, I've always thought you would look good together, but I didn't think you'd actually go through with it!"

Leaning back in your chair, you shrug with a soft smile. "I didn't, either."

She walks further in and sits on the chair opposite you, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "Does Bucky know?"

"God, no," You answer, shuddering at the thought of him finding out.

"What about the kids?" She presses with a frown. "Have you thought about how they might feel about it?"

"Of course I have. I never stop thinking about them; they're my kids," You say, slightly offended that she even asked. "The thing is, I didn't expect it to go this far. I thought we'd sleep together and that would be it. We'd get it out of our systems and move on. But... fuck, I don't wanna move on."

Shuri presses her lips together, and you can tell that she's loving the drama. "So you like him? Are you like, together?"

Her question makes you stop and think for a second. "Uh... I don't know," You admit. "We haven't really had a conversation; we're kinda just going with the flow."

"He isn't sleeping with anyone else, then?" She asks with a frown. "Because that chlamydia scare last year has scarred me for life-"

"Steve is not that kind of guy," You insist, but there's a small glint of fear you can't deny. "And I thought you swore to never bring up Chlamydia 2020 again."

She holds her hands up in surrender, her eyes wide. "Sorry, sorry. But are you saying that it isn't just sex?"

"Of course not," You answer her. "It... we have feelings for each other."

"You don't sound so sure-"

"We have feelings for each other," You state firmly. "We do."

"Okay," Shuri says carefully. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"

You stare her down, contemplating her words. There's no way Steve doesn't have feelings for you. He said you were more than a soulmate. He looks at you like he hasn't seen a single thing more beautiful. He's risking his lifelong friendship with Bucky to be with you.

"I don't need convincing," You tell her calmly. "In fact, I'm pretty sure he's in love with me."

A full week passes before you see Steve again.

Between the renovations at his gym and the new budget schedule you've been working hard on, neither of you have had a single minute to spare. On Sunday evening, though, he is finally able to come over to see you.

"Missed you so much," He mumbles against your lips as your legs tangle with his. There's a shitty soap opera on the television but your focus is purely on him.

"Missed you more," You reply before giving him a sweet kiss. "Can't believe you stayed away for so long."

"It was horrible. Terrible," Steve groans, rubbing your arm. "I thought of you every single minute, you know that?"

"Every single minute?" You repeat with a teasing pout.

"Every single one," He whispers back to you. "You make me fucking crazy. I don't think I've ever felt like this before."

His words make you snuggle closer to him. "Do you really mean that, Steve? Or are you just saying that?"

He frowns, taken aback. "What are you talking about, baby? Of course I mean it."

"No, but..." You trail off, feeling stupid. "Do you like me?"

Steve raises a brow, moving his head back as he stares down at you. "Honey, are you high?"

Snorting, you hit his shoulder. "Steven, I'm being serious. Is this just sex to you?"

"Just sex?" He sputters, utterly baffled. "What put that thought into your head, baby?"

You shrug meekly. "I don't know, I just-"

"Look at me," Steve cuts you off curtly, grabbing your cheeks and forcing you to stare up at him. His bright blue eyes burn into yours, his gaze both soft and firm. "I care about you more than anything. You're the first thing I think of when I wake up, the last before I sleep, and the only thing I think of in between. It's like I was half-alive before you became mine- like I hadn't experienced what it was to truly live yet. Baby, I love you."

His admission makes your heart flutter. "Steve," You whimper, feeling your soul burst with joy. "I love you."

It feels like you've both broken free from shackles that you didn't even know you were bound to. He meets your lips with his, tugging on your hair as he kisses you deeply.

"Mmm, fuck," He groans into your mouth, his hand roaming up and down your body. "Need you so badly, baby."

"I'm yours, Steven," You swear to him. "Forever."

He lays you down on the couch and spreads your legs apart before nestling himself between them. Just as you feel your heart begin to pour with raw excitement and need, you hear someone knocking on the front door.

Your eyes shoot open and it takes all your strength to push Steve off of you, who looks dumbfounded as his eyebrows furrow.

"If that's Buck, I'm gonna fucking kill him," He growls while you stand up and smooth down your hair.

Rushing out into the hallway, you open the door and are surprised to see Grant. He looks utterly distraught as he sobs into his hands, the sight making you want to die.

"He was cheating on me," His muffled voice comes through the gaps in his fingers. "The whole time, he was cheating on me."

"Oh, my baby," You whisper, pulling him inside and enveloping him in a hug. "I'm so sorry, my angel."

Grant lets out a weak whimper before removing himself out of your grip and walking further into the house. "Can you believe it? Franco. My Franco. He was so sweet, and nice... and the whole thing was a lie."

He strides into your kitchen, where Steve is already standing at the island with a look of concern on his face.

"Do you know what it's like to be cheated on?" Grant asks him hysterically, before huffing. "Of course you don't. Look at you."

At a loss for words, Steve stays silent, giving you a shrug.

"This has nothing to do with your looks, angel," You promise him, walking closer to him and rubbing his back. "Him cheating is not a reflection of who you are as a person; remember that."

Grant sniffles, resting his hands on the island. After a few moments, he looks up at Steve, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Wait. What are you doing here so late?" He asks him, before looking at you. Grant's face drops as cold realization hits him and he takes a few steps backwards. "What the fuck? Does Dad know?"

Shit.

You take in a shaky breath, doing your best to remain calm. "No. Your father doesn't know."

A look of disgust and confusion grows on his face. "What the fuck, dude?" He yells at Steve. "I'm named after you and you're fucking my mom?"

"Hey," Steve says sternly, frowning. "Do not speak about your mother like that."

"Screw you!" He retorts bitterly. "You're not my dad."

"Grant, calm down," You order him lowly, your heart beating erratically.

"If Dad knew about this, he'd punch you right in your face," Grant says angrily, and in a second his fist is raised as he prepares to sock Steve right in the jaw.

You grab his arm before he can make contact, appalled. "Grant Buchanan Barnes, you watch yourself," You boom sternly.

With a sigh, Steve meets your eyes. "I should go."

Nodding, you know he's right. "I think that's a good idea."

"Okay wait," Grant interjects, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry for overreacting, I just... my life is crazy right now, and this is just weird."

"It isn't that weird," You mumble defensively.

"He's Uncle Steve, it's weird!" He retorts with wide eyes.

"Okay," Steve holds up his hands. "I'm gonna go." He makes his way over to you and is close to giving you a kiss goodbye - but when he sees Grant's glare, he opts to give you a quick forehead kiss instead and a mumbled goodnight before swiftly escaping your tense home.

A silence falls between you and your son. You take his hand and lead him to the island, both of you sitting down opposite one another. His cheeks are still flushed from earlier, his eyes wet with his previous tears.

Taking in a deep breath, you speak calmly and with a control you didn't know you had. "When we got divorced, you know that Dad started dating around pretty soon," You begin, recounting the worst time of your life. "I was angry. I wanted to get back at him, so I did what I thought would piss him off the most."

Grant raises a brow. "What'd you do?"

You let out a dry laugh. "Took his worst enemy, Sam Wilson, out to dinner. I felt so guilty that I cried when the starters came out."

"Did you stay for dessert?" He asks you with a hint of a smile.

Snorting, you shake your head. "No, I did not. Ever since then, for the last 9 years, I still felt that guilt. Even if it was just flirting with a stranger at the store, I got this weird pit of dread in my stomach. Like I was betraying your father. It wasn't his fault that I felt that way; it's just how I felt. It was like every guy I dated was just to prove Bucky a point. To rub it in his face. To get one over him, and prove that I could move on, too." Looking down at the counter, a small smile grows on your face. "But with Steve, it isn't like that at all. For the first time, I feel... safe. Safe to be with someone without caring about what your dad will think. For the first time, I've finally let go of being your dad's wife. I can finally just be me again, and that's partly because of Steve."

Frowning, Grant tightens his grip on your hand. "Then why haven't you told him yet?"

You swallow thickly, letting go of your fear. "You're right. I have no excuse. In fact, you're so right, that I'll tell him first thing tomorrow."

To your surprise and utter joy, Grant smiles at you. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you in love before, ma."

Your cheeks heat up at the word. Love. It was so recent that Steve said that word to you, but it feels like you've been in love with him forever.

"You look happy," He goes on to say warmly, before sighing. "Enough about you. Can we watch movies and eat ice-cream now? You know I just got cheated on, right? Tonight's about me."

Grinning at his dramatics, you stand up. "Of course, bubba. But first: what's Franco's mother's number? I'd like to have a word with her."

"Oh, please," Grant groans, getting up and pulling you through to the living room. "Just turn on Netflix while I peruse through your frozen treats."

"Wait," You say, grabbing his arm and looking up at him. "You came all the way from Raleigh tonight?"

"I caught the red-eye," He explains. "I just wanted to come straight here the minute I found out what he did."

"Here as in New York?" You ponder out loud. "Or here as in my house?"

"Straight to my mom, of course," He says as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Really?" You press with wide eyes. "You didn't wanna... I don't know, go see your dad?" Or Kaya?

"I've just been through a tragedy, Momma," Grant tells you. "There's nobody else I need more than you right now."

"Oh," You whisper. "I just... I just thought-"

"That I'd rather go to Kaya?" He finishes with a scoff.

You shrug. "The last time I saw you, we had the worst argument we've ever had."

"And you suddenly stopped being my mom?" He questions you incredulously. "Mom, you're my mom."

"But you've been spending a lot of time with her- which is fine and all, but I just figured you'd wanna go to her with this kind of thing," You mumble, even though you know you'd be pissed if he went to Kaya instead of you.

Sighing, Grant rests his hands on your shoulders. "Ma, she's Dad's wife. That's all. And sure, I have fun with her, and she's great to hang out with, but that's it. She's pretty much just a friend to me. And if all I needed was a friend tonight, I'd have stayed in Raleigh."

His words soothe you, and you almost feel stupid for getting envious in the first place. You're their mother. Get a fucking grip.

"Okay," You utter, giving him a smile. "I have butterscotch ice-cream and Oreo ice-cream sandwiches in the freezer."

A wide grin spills out on his face as he pulls you in for a hug. "And that, you wonderful creature, is why nobody could ever replace you as my mom."

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olympos-92 · 3 years ago

Text

Before the Storm

After the Rain: Chapter One

Pairing: King!Steve Rogers x Princess!Reader, one sided Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: The day you were born, you were betrothed to Steven Rogers, the prince of a neighboring kingdom. Now it’s time for you to take your place as Queen, and you truly feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Dubcon smut (consummation of an arranged marriage, loss of virginity, uncomfortable sex, no aftercare, seriously, Steve is kind of an asshole), angst (panic attacks, general sadness all around). The Reader is described as "small" but only in comparison to Steve. No one comments on her height or size.

Note: Here I go attempting another series. This AU doesn’t take place in a specific time period. I envision it being somewhat steampunk-like. Fashion is pulled and mixed from different eras. Also, I made up a lot of rules regarding Royal etiquette because I did an hour of research and decided I was too much of a barbarian to understand any of it.

I included a moodboard with the dresses I referenced for this chapter, but I’ll put it at the end so you don’t let it influence your imagination.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

Steve Rogers Masterlist

After the Rain Masterlist

I hope you enjoy! Follow @sweetlyscared-library for updates.

The reflection in the mirror betrayed the emotions that truly lingered in your soul. The pretty face staring back at you looked at peace, serene and regal. Internally, you were screaming and had been since the moment you stepped upon the harsh soils of Fearann Briste. The Kingdom you would soon call home was so different from the one you were raised in. While Fearann Briste was cold and dreary, Onsil was warm and lush. You could practically taste the nectar in the Spring air, the ripening fruits in Fall.

In a few hours, Onsil would no longer be your home.

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, ones you refused to release.

This was the life that was forced upon you from the day you were born. There was no point in crying about it now. You sighed to yourself, willing the hurt away.

You fussed with your hair, which was styled back to not obstruct your features. Minimal cosmetics were applied; your attendants insisted on showing off your natural beauty.

The wedding dress you wore was far nicer than any you'd wear and likely would ever wear. Delicate gold patterns were embroidered onto the full skirt and bodice, which was cut low enough to show the swell of your breasts, but not so much so, people would consider it lurid. After all, you were a virgin and the white silk that flowed around you was a symbol of your purity, of being untouched so that one man and one man alone could claim you.

Attempts were made to breathe in deeply, but it was impossible with the tight laced corset pushing against your ribs. You wished they had selected one meant for daily wear, but your mother insisted on getting your dress measurements with it laced as tightly as possible.

First impressions are important, my love, you heard her voice chime in your mind.

“Are you ready, your Highness?” A young woman stood by the door, her hands neatly folded in front of her.

“Poppy, there is no need to address me by my title,” you mused.

Poppy was your closest friend, and her penchant for gossip and fashion made her the perfect lady in waiting. If trouble was stirring up within the castle, she knew about it.

She was usually more relaxed in your presence, having nearly grown up with her, but the number of Royals and Nobles that swarmed the castle had her on edge.

“I just want to leave a good impression. Maybe my obedience will attract a man who fancies a well behaved woman.”

"You? Well behaved?" You smirked and she gasped in mock offense.

The two of you laughed quietly, enjoying each other’s company in the calm before the storm.

You glanced at the mirror one last time and stood up.

“How do I look?” You asked.

Poppy opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Her eyes became glassy, and she tried to maintain her composure.

“Stunning,” she smiled after a moment. “He’ll love you.”

Your stomach twisted at the idea of it. Love.

“Love isn’t part of the plan, Poppy.” You kept your eyes down, trying to hide the ever present disappointment with your predicament. You masked it well.

“Yes, but you never know!”

She was always an optimist, which you appreciated greatly since your moods tended to lean more towards blue than anything else.

From the moment you were born, everything you did was in pursuit of this day. Every lesson in etiquette, how a Queen carries herself, how a to be a good wife, how to drift through a life that never felt like your own.

Poppy was one of few people who made you feel the sun.

Like an artist, you forced a demure smile on your face with the paint of your concealed emotions, ready to impress a king you never met, to live in a land you’ve never stepped foot in until a few days ago, to ensure your kingdom’s survival.

You sighed once more, closing your eyes.

“I suppose… I suppose I should get married then?”

---

There were more guests than you had ever seen at the celebrations that took place in Onsil, and you felt increasingly more uncomfortable. Between the pressure to save your Kingdom, the multitudes of eyes that would be judging your every move, and the layers of silk and the tight confines of the corset, you were feeling more and more trapped.

Heart racing, a primal desire to run filled your thoughts. Where, you weren’t sure, but you needed to get away.

“Your Highness?” Poppy asked and noticed your labored breathing and trembling hands. “Oh, your Highness, please breathe. Slowly, in, slowly out.”

She soothed you, her hands on your arms, stroking them gently, while guiding you through the panicked spell that would overtake you from time to time. It had been worse as of late, which is why you requested only a few attendants and Poppy to prepare you for your wedding.

You didn't want your mother or any courtiers to know the extent of your worry.

With Poppy’s gentle words, you felt grounded again, the world no longer closing in on you.

“Is everything okay, your Majesty?” You didn’t recognize the voice.

Upon looking, you were slightly taken aback. A man was standing in the threshold of your waiting room. He was handsome, that much was immediately apparent. His brown hair was pulled back, letting you see his chiseled jawline and dark blue eyes.

“Yes, my apologies. I seem to have some wedding day nerves,” you replied, your voice even, not too loud, not too quiet. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

“Ah, forgive my ill manners. I’m James Barnes, one of the King’s advisors.” He bowed, and nodded your head slightly in silent permission for him to get up. “You can call me Bucky.”

“Perhaps one day. Would it bother you terribly if I were to refer to you as “Sir” until then?”

“Of course not, your Majesty.” He smiled, his lips a pretty shade of pink. “I must take my leave, but it was a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“I share the same sentiment.” You returned his smile and he bowed once more before excusing himself.

“You don’t suppose he likes an obedient woman?” Poppy whispered when he was out of earshot, and you both giggled a little.

“What would I do without you?” You said as you brushed a stray hair from her face.

Steve stood tall, jaw clenched and face unreadable. He wore dark blue trousers with a matching overcoat adorned with silver cords along the front. They weren’t his best garments, but his wife to be didn’t need to know that. His best was tucked away, having meant to be worn should he have been able to marry his love.

“Steve, keep scowling like that and you’ll scare your bride away."

“Just because I’m getting married doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Steve glanced towards the man who leaned against the wall.

Before Sam could respond, Bucky returned.

“How’s it looking out there?” Sam asked.

“Crowded,” he said before looking towards his king. “How are you holding up, Steve?”

Silence.

“I saw the Princess,” Bucky added when Steve refused to answer. His storming blue eyes snapped towards the brunette man.

“And?” Sam asked.

“She’s pretty. Very proper, but she has kind eyes.”

“See, at least your future Queen is pretty,” Sam patted Steve on the back, earning an eye roll from the blonde.

“It doesn’t matter either way. I don’t plan on spending any more time with her than necessary,” he grumbled.

Bucky and Sam exchanged concerned looks, a mixture of pity and frustration for their friend’s predicament.

Steve knew this arrangement would take place. He’s known since he was on the cusp of adolescence, getting into fights with other boys. Still, he had his fun with various ladies once he outgrew his small frame. Those trysts were never important, and he was prepared to settle down once it came time to marry his promised bride.

He never anticipated falling in love before then.

So he stood tall, jaw clenched and face unreadable, because even the smallest crack in his visage would hemorrhage the anger that festered within him.

---

Steve stood at the altar, posture as pristine and commanding as a King’s should be. The music swelled and the crowd looked back at the massive ornate doors, which groaned as they were pulled open.

From the shadowy atrium, a figure in white slowly emerged into the golden light of the cathedral.

You stepped down the aisle, back perfectly straight, hands holding a bouquet of white flowers. A sheer veil covered your face, so your King could be the one to reveal you to the world.

Steve scowled all the same.

It wasn’t supposed to be you.

The woman he was meant to marry was in attendance at the court, watching him swear his life to someone he never met.

The music was far too delicate for the discontent that consumed him.

So engrossed in his own misery, he hadn’t noticed you had reached the altar until you were before him and the priest was urging him to say his vows.

Steve didn’t write his, and he wasn’t sure if you wrote yours. It didn't matter to him either way.

“Today marks the beginning of eternity, where my soul lay intertwined with yours…” He probably sounded bored, and he couldn’t make out your features to know if you’d picked up on it.

But off the side, he heard Bucky cough, and he knew he needed to attempt sounding at least a little happy.

When he was done, the priest prompted you to say yours.

He tuned you out and hadn’t noticed you stopped talking until the priest spoke once more.

“Do you take this woman to be your wife, your Queen, to rule beside you from this day forward until the end of her days?”

No.

“Yes,” Steve said, imagining another woman was under your veil.

“Do you take this man to be your husband, your King, to rule beside you from this day forward until the end of his days?”

“Yes.” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“You may unveil the bride.”

He could have been more gentle when he lifted the veil, and he didn’t miss the slight furrow of your brows once he could see your face. You were prettier than he was expecting, even with Bucky’s initial assessment. But you were far too sweet for his liking. He liked his women strong, independent.

You looked like you knew nothing of pain, nothing of misfortune. An innocent soul, raised without a care in the world in the rolling hills of Onsil.

For a moment, just one moment, his heart skipped a beat, a desire to guard you flickering into his mind, entertaining a life where he needed to protect you, his fragile Queen.

The feeling was gone before it could take hold.

It didn’t matter how pretty you were, how naïve you looked. You weren’t the one he loved.

It wasn’t supposed to be you.

The feast was lavish, guests happy and entertained. Bouquets and arrangements of deep red roses were placed on every surface, making the whole hall smell wonderful.

Before food was served, you met those most important in the King’s life. Like Samuel, another advisor to the King. King Anthony and Queen Pepper of Velhavende and their advisor Natasha. Bucky greeted you once more. All were very charming, and so far, people have been kind to you.

The only person who hadn’t regarded you with any warmth was your husband.

You had long learned how to hide what you were feeling behind a perfectly crafted expression that breathed elegant contentment. It did well to hide how rapidly your heart was beating, the frenzied thoughts that consumed you.

This was your purpose in life. Everything you’d been taught, everything you were raised to do, was for this moment.

The fate of your kingdom depended on it.

It was a lot of pressure, but you were told King Steve Rogers was a kind man, a more gentle ruler than his father. You wouldn’t have guessed based on the way he lifted your veil and his general avoidance.

But after the initial shock, you nearly gasped at his beauty. He was stunning, far more handsome than you were told.

He was beautiful, surrounded by beautiful people, and you couldn’t help but feel small.

“Excuse me,” your King said, not sparing you another glance.

“Of course, Sir-” But he was gone before you could finish.

Those were the first words he said to you that weren’t his vows.

“He’s like that at times,” Natasha smiled. She was beautiful, and you couldn’t help the iota of worry that seeped into your stomach. From your understanding, she was long time friends of the King. If this what was the type of woman he was accustomed to, perhaps that’s why he seemed so disappointed with you.

“I don’t think his Majesty likes me very much,” you admitted shyly. It wasn’t proper express such feelings, not how you’d been taught. No negative emotions should ever be seen from a queen, just graceful serenity. But you felt overwhelmed.

“He will, I know he will,” the redhead assured you. “You’re far too precious to not be loved.”

You felt your face heat at the compliment.

Love wasn’t something you were encouraged to expect from this marriage. A happy conclusion perhaps, but unnecessary. Still, you hoped your King would at least be interested in your companionship.

“I hear you’re quite accomplished,” Bucky mused.

“No more or less than any other Princess.” You kept your back perfectly straight, your eyes slightly downcast.

“I doubt that,” Natasha added. “Your vows were beautiful. I take it you’ve written them yourself?”

“I did, thank you.” You don’t think Steve even heard them.

“It was very poetic. And, I do hear you’re quite popular among the common folk in Onsil,” Bucky added.

“I care for them as I would anyone,” you said but your thought was cut short when Sam approached and whispered something into Bucky’s ear. Both looked off to the side, your eyes following their gaze. Steve was walking off with someone, but it was hard to see who.

“Please excuse us, your Majesty,” Sam gave you a warm smile.

“Is something happening?” You asked.

“I’m sure it’s something stupid. You know how men get. Best not to fret about it, your Majesty” Natasha brushed off your concerns.

You didn’t press the issue.

“She seems lovely, Steve. I’m happy for you.” A woman with dark eyes and red lips walked next to the King, nearly glowing under the pale moonlight. “The roses are beautiful as well, decadent. I’m sure she loves them-”

“She’s not you,” Steve sighed, the disappointment he’s felt in the past several months of planning finally catching up to him. “I requested the roses for you. I know they’re your favorite.”

Peggy placed a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned into it, yearning for more, for the nights they spent tangled in each other's arms, skin pressed against skin, lips crashing together.

“Oh… Steve, you must move on,” she whispered and he clenched his jaw.

“I can’t. You were the one for me, Peggy.”

When she didn’t respond, he glanced over to her where her eyes were staring into the distance, contemplative in her thoughts.

“You are not the one for me,” she said at last and Steve was taken aback. “Steve, I love you. I will always love you. But I am married to someone else. I’m happy with my husband. I love him,” she continued, and Steve could tell she meant it.

He felt as though a dagger had lanced his heart.

“Your wife, your Queen to be, she’s beautiful. She’s kind, she’s compassionate. I’ve heard nothing but good things about her, her empathy, her wit. I’m sure you can learn to love her in time.”

Steve shook his head, “I can’t. I won’t.”

She sighed, but before she could say anything else, Sam and Bucky approached.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Bucky said under his breath as he got near, his blue eyes burning into Steve’s.

“Apologies for the language, Peggy,” Sam said and she laughed.

“What if someone saw you two? The King walking unsupervised with another woman on his wedding day? What if the Queen saw.”

“I don’t care,” Steve muttered.

“Steve,” Peggy sighed. “It’s time to stop living in the past.”

It didn’t matter what the others said, nothing could change how he felt about Peggy.

Dessert was a custard tart with strawberries on top. They were your favorite, and you wonder if someone told the King. But you needed to keep your expectations in check. A coincidence more likely, and you doubt the King had any direct handling of the wedding.

“Do you not like the dessert, my Queen?” Natasha asked.

“Oh, I do. I love strawberries,” your voice was light. “I’m waiting for his Majesty to retur-”

The chair next to you was pulled out rather ungracefully and you jumped a little in surprise at the sound of metal grinding against the marble floor. You quickly composed yourself, and Steve sat down, saying nothing to you.

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him.

“Did you enjoy your walk, Sir?” You asked.

He said nothing as he ran a fork through the dessert.

At least you could eat yours now.

You allowed yourself a modicum of real joy on your wedding day, a smile gracing your features. Small, but genuine nonetheless. You placed a slice of strawberry in your mouth and closed your eyes and you chewed, enjoying the sweet juice that burst out of it.

The night went on, until it was time for the last event of the evening; the dance between the newly married King and Queen.

Steve was ever quiet as he led you to the center of the ballroom and a slow melody played. One hand held yours and another was on your waist. He took the lead, never sparing you a glance.

He’s had practice, you could tell. But so have you, and you kept up with the quick pace he was determined to take, as though he wished it to be over.

“My King, must we rush it?” you whispered.

“I’m not your King,” he nearly growled. You’d have stopped moving if it wasn’t for his continued pace. It was the most he’s spoken to you all night.

You knew what he meant. He was your King in that he ruled the kingdom you now lived in, but he wasn’t yours.

“My apologies, Sir,” you managed to whisper loud enough, hiding the hurt.

He didn’t respond, his gaze focusing everywhere but you. It wasn’t long until you realized his eyes were trained in the same spot in the crowd. Glancing over, you noticed a beautiful woman with dark eyes and brown hair that framed her face in waves. A picture of elegance.

Her red lipstick seemed to match her red dress, which matched the roses scattered throughout the hall. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

You didn’t know who she was, only that she captivated Steve, and you couldn’t help but feel wounded. You knew love wasn’t in the cards, but you didn’t think he wouldn't even give you a chance.

None of that mattered. You pushed it down and focused on the larger picture.

“She looks miserable,” Bucky said.

“I’d say she looks more bored than anything,” Tony mused. “I wouldn’t blame her if she was. Bless his soul, but that man can be quite the mood killer.”

“Tony!” Pepper chastised.

Your expression was neutral, if not a little happy, but that’s not what Bucky was looking at. It was your eyes, the slight sheen, the way they’d occasionally flicker down or to the side. Few would notice, thinking you were ever calm.

“I see it too,” Sam whispered. “We can only hope Steve gets his shit together.”

The festivities dwindled down, and both you and Steve were ushered into your respective chambers.

It wasn’t unusual for Kings and Queens to live in separate quarters. After all, most arranged marriages never evolved past a contractual obligation.

Poppy quickly unlaced your dress, the silky material cascading down into a delicate pile on the floor. You stepped out of it and she draped it over a chair.

Laid out for you was a nightgown. The sleeves were short and ruched, and layers of lace decorated the neckline. A satin ribbon secured the dress from behind, where it dipped just low enough, exposing some of your back. It was made of a thin material leaving nothing to the imagination. It was entirely impractical to wear to bed, but you knew that’s not why it was selected for you.

Your heart started to raise again and the room began to collapse on top of you.

In the distance, Poppy called your name and you felt yourself fall against the plush downy comforter on your bed.

“Please breathe, like Wanda taught you… slowly in and out.”

You followed her sweet voice until you felt like the world was no longer ending.

“Poppy, I don’t know if I can do this,” you choked out once your heart settled down.

“Oh, my sweet honey bee,” she cooed and rubbed your back. “I don’t envy the position you’re in, but I know you’ll be a wonderful Queen.”

“The King doesn’t like me.”

“Perhaps he’s just nervous?”

“It’s not that. He hardly looked at me, let alone spoke to me,” you sighed and remembered the way he seethed at you, venom nearly dripping from each syllable.

I’m not your king.

You bit your lip and wondered if you should admit your next thought.

“His… his attention was focused on a woman in the crowd, when we were dancing.”

“What?” Poppy nearly shrieked. “Who?”

“I don’t know. She was beautiful though. Closer to his age.

“I’m sorry, bee. I can fight him for you,” she whispered and you choked out a small laugh.

She held you in her arms and you rested your head on her shoulder.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before she pulled away. The look in her eye was sympathetic and a little regretful.

“Okay, let’s get you out of this corset,” she whispered. “Put your nightgown on, and I’ll make you some of the tea Wanda blended, for your nerves and... to dull the pain.”

The Queen would be arriving any moment.

Steve removed his coat and his boots, leaving only the loose white shirt undershirt and his trousers. He placed his hand over his heart and felt the pendant that rested there.

He rarely took it off, so much so, it felt like a part of himself. Peggy gave it to him nearly a decade ago, at the end of the first Summer they shared together. It was meant to represent the two of them: a ruby for Peggy, a sapphire for himself, and a diamond to represent their love, clustered together in white gold.

Should he remove it when he consummates his marriage to another woman?

He should, he knew that. But upon attempting to undo the clasp, he couldn’t go through with it.

You didn’t know what it was, and he was never going to tell you.

So it stayed, resting over his heart, a reminder of the love that was never to be.

A deep sigh escaped his lips when he sat at the edge of the bed, waiting to get this next part over with.

He didn’t have to wait long. A quick rap on his door, and he was breathing in deeply.

“Come in,” he commanded.

The door opened, and you took a couple tentative steps inside. You wore a white robe with the same gold embroidered patterns that decorated your wedding dress, a detail he might have noticed had he spared more than a glance at you during the night. The robe was likely to keep you modest as you walked from your room to his. There was no need, the royal living spaces were sequestered in a private wing of the castle and the servants were asked to give you two privacy. But, he supposed he couldn’t blame you, not when he could see the sheer material of your nightgown with every small step you took.

You paused when you had made it to the half-way point between the door and the bed.

It was a lot to take in.

The furniture in your room was a mixture of very light greys and whites with silver accents, giving off an airy, delicate feeling. You supposed they picked neutral colors, unlikely to offend anyone. The King never asked you how you'd like your room arranged.

Much like the man who resided within, Steve’s room demanded subordination from those who entered. It was the way the dark reds and blues of the upholstery and tapestries that seemed to want to swallow those who came near. The fire was the only source of light in the room, making shadows dance along the walls in a dizzying spectacle.

“I don’t have all night,” Steve sighed when you hadn’t resumed walking, and you did your best to compose yourself, recalling all you’ve been told for this moment.

Queens shouldn’t express negative emotions, only serenity.

Allow the King to do as he must to both consummate the marriage and to give him an heir.

It will hurt, but you must continue.

Poppy told you if a man cared enough, he’d make sure sex was a pleasant experience, especially for virgins. She didn’t know herself, having her maidenhead intact, but she heard some of the older women speak about it.

You knew Steve wasn’t going to do that for you.

So you walked ahead, steeling your nerves, doing what you must for your Kingdom.

A few more steps and you stood in front of him, only inches away from his knees. Even though he was seated on the bed and you were standing, he was still so big in comparison. Most people would look small next to him.

You could see the tendons in his neck flexing under his skin, but you knew it was out of irritation and not desire.

“Take off your robe,” he said, calmer, but still impatient.

Trembling hands undid the satin blow around your waist, and the split in the fabric widened, exposing your nightgown underneath.

Steve could see your skin through the sheer silk, exposing all of you to his eyes as the robe fell off your body and onto the ground.

He wasn’t expecting his cock to twitch to life, but he was only a man and you were easy on the eyes.

“On the bed,” he said, his voice rough.

You did as he asked, nervous, unable to remain the calm and composed Queen you were taught to be. Steve didn’t seem to mind, though. Or rather, it wouldn’t have mattered what you did; he wasn’t going to care.

You laid on the bed, your arms at your sides. Steve couldn’t help but admire the way your nipples showed through the fabric as it draped over your body and hugged every curve. You weren’t expecting any reaction from him, but your relief was short lived when he pulled your gown up, fully exposing your lower half to the fire warmed air of his chambers.

He unceremoniously pushed your thighs apart with his hands, and he felt his cock harden at the sight of your untouched cunt.

Was he the first man to ever see it, he wondered.

It mattered little to him either way. You were there to fulfill an oath and give him an heir.

You watched as he untied his trousers and pushed them down. His cock sprang free from its confines and you nearly gasped.

You knew the mechanics of sex, and you didn’t know how he was going to get that inside you.

So engrossed in wondering how he was going to fit in you, you didn’t notice his hand moving towards you until you felt a finger prod your entrance.

A sharp yelp was pulled from you as he shoved a finger inside your unprepared channel.

“Fuck,” Steve mumbled, but it wasn’t out of lust. It was out of frustration.

Did he really not want anything to do with you?

Quickly, he climbed off the bed and walked off.

“S-Sir?” you stammered out and leaned forward on your elbows, failing miserably at trying to keep yourself composed.

What if he decided he didn’t want to bed you? An unconsummated marriage would be a violation of the oath your father and his made over two decades earlier. It would mean war, should Steve wish to pursue it, even if he was the one that broke the oath.

The thought of failing at the one thing you were raised to do made your heart race faster than it already was, and you began to feel the room constrict around you, and you collapsed back onto the bed. Poppy wasn’t around to talk you through it so you did your best to ground yourself, like your nurse taught you.

Five things I can see.

The dark blue canopy above you, the blood red drapes that fell off the sides of the posters, the flickering fireplace on the other side of the room, a plush chair in front of it, and your feet.

Four things I can feel.

The soft bedsheets under you, the thin silk nightgown bunched at your waist, the downy pillow under your head, and the throbbing ache Steve left when he pulled his finger from your body.

Three things I can hear.

The crackling embers in the fire, the creaking of the bed, and your own heartbeat.

Two things I can smell.

Burning wood and an earthy scent that must have been unique to Steve.

One thing I can taste.

The bitter tea poppy had you drink before she ushered you down the hallway to the King’s bedchambers.

Slowly, your breathing evened out and you fisted the bedsheets, trying to remain grounded.

Steve returned with a bottle in hand, not knowing the mental journey you had just taken nor did he how tired you looked because of it.

Without missing a beat, he poured some of the liquid in the bottle onto his hands and stroked his length with it. Then he ran his fingers through your slit, making you gasp. You’d have snapped your legs shut had his knees not kept them apart.

Leaning forward, he lined his cock up to your entrance.

“What-” you meant to ask him what the liquid was, but he gave you no room to speak when he forced his length within you in one swift thrust.

There was no warning, no kind words, nothing.

You cried out at the feeling of your walls stretching to their limit to accommodate him, and Steve didn’t give you time to become accustomed to his girth.

He started a fairly hard rhythm, his hips meeting yours with every forward thrust, making you quietly grunt as you felt the air being pushed from your lungs.

It was uncomfortable and painful. You suspected it would have been even more so had Poppy not had you drink the tea, or if Steve didn’t coat his cock in that slippery liquid.

There was nothing you could do other than close your eyes and wait it out.

Steve looked at you underneath him, a small creature in comparison to his large frame. He saw the pained expression on your face, the way your brows furrowed, the little gasps you made, your fists tightly balling his bedsheets.

He should have made it easier for you, pleasurable even.

But he didn’t care.

You weren’t Peggy, and he wasn’t going to give you that part of himself.

So he imagined her in his head, imagined she was the one under him.

After several more thrusts, you felt Steve’s pace become even rougher, and a few tears fell down your cheeks at the rising agony.

In an act of mercy, Steve groaned above you and you felt warmth erupt within you. His hips finally stilled after a couple more thrusts.

Both of you were out of breath, and Steve pulled away from your body, earning a small whimper from you. He could see his spend leaking out of your ravaged hole, and your virgin blood coated his cock.

“You’re dismissed,” he said as he tucked his cock back into his trousers and rolled to the side, his back to you.

You knew this would happen. You were warned extensively. Your marriage wasn’t one born from love. It was born of duty.

Still, you felt your heart break all the same.

Nothing could have prepared you for the coldness from your husband when he took your innocence. Nothing could prepare you for the emptiness you felt after feeling used.

Sitting up caused fire to shoot through your core and you whimpered at the feeling. It helped mask the wet mess between your legs.

You said nothing as you gathered your robe and hastily put it on, trying to ignore the sharp pain that pulsated between your legs with every step.

It was almost like you were disconnected from reality, because you found yourself in your room without realizing you had moved at all.

You had dismissed Poppy after she walked you to the King's chambers, wanting to be by yourself when the consummation was over.

Queens weren’t allowed to cry and so you never allowed anyone to see you when you did. But when you were alone with nothing but the walls to witness you, you weren’t a Queen. You were just a girl who never got to dream.

Your knees buckled under you and you sobbed, unsure if you could handle the days that were to come.

---

Notes: I missed angst.

Fearann Briste- “Broken land” in Gaelic. Brooklyn is derived from the Dutch city Breukelen, which means “broken land.”

Onsil - “Greenhouse” in Korean.

Velhavende - “Wealthy” in Danish. Why Danish? I dunno, I cycled through European languages in google translate until a translation for “wealthy” looked cool.

How I envisioned the various dresses the Reader wore. Also, you can kinda see a sliver of arm in the picture of the white bouquet. Please ignore that. I tried to get as much of the bouquet in the pic as possible, which resulted in some arm showing. The intent of that photo was to show the flowers and nothing else:

Please leave a comment or reblog (or both!). They’re incredibly encouraging and motivating. Like for real, I'm far more likely to want to work on something if I know people like it. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy this series!

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