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mickandmusings · 10 months ago

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sincerity & sonnets

pairing: anthony bridgerton x f!reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: anthony bridgerton is blessed with many things-a warm, loving family, a well-funded lifestyle as a viscount, a beautiful wife. more notably, he is cursed with a short fuse and a sharp tongue, which might lead to his demise.

(based off of this request! to the anon who requested, I sort of wrote the argument as more of a sharp remark, but i hope it is still angsty enough for your liking! <3)

warnings: angsty->fluffy, no other warnings

As Anthony sat at his desk, scribbling away at his numerous piles of papers stacked in front of him, he noted the unusual quietness that had fallen on his study. He first thought that he had shut the door, but one quick look at the doorway contradicted his beliefs. Anthony's eyebrows furrowed in confusion-his home was never quiet.

Between his own family, and the families of his four sisters and three brothers, his home was full of life: laughter bounding off the walls, his wife and sisters' voices chatting over tea, the stampeding footfalls of his hoard of nieces and nephews assured his ears would never grow accustomed to utter silence. Even in the rare occurrence that the house was empty save for Anthony and his beloved wife, he'd often hear her humming to herself as she attended to her own business in their home, or she would join him in his study, writing her own correspondences at the smaller desk next to his own. Which is why, now, as he sat at his desk this afternoon, the silence stunned him. Anthony frowned, lifting his pocket watch to assure himself he was not entirely losing his mind. As the gold clock stared back at him, the small hand signaled it was midday.

He chuckled to himself, his wife must have chosen to sleep in entirely too long. Y/N was a chronic night owl, often keeping Anthony awake with her bedside chatter and comments on the appearance of the night sky through the window that faced their bed. Anthony would indulge her, but would still wake before the sun. His wife, however, would not budge for several more hours. He grinned and pocketed his watch, pushing himself up from his chair to wake his sleeping beauty of a wife.

Anthony bounded up the stairs two at a time, nodding curtly at any house staff before reaching their shared bedchambers. His dark eyes peer into the empty bedroom-his wife certainly was not here. He noted the dutifully made bed, the open curtains allowing the sunlight in, and, most importantly, his wife's absence. Anthony shook his head briefly before dashing back down the stairs, nearly stumbling into one of his wife's handmaidens.

"Pardon me," he addresses the woman with a sigh, a bit breathless from the unexpected goose chase his wife has taken him on. "Do you know the whereabouts of my wife?"

The younger maid looks at Anthony almost confused, but quickly takes on a professional tone:

"The Viscountess is reading in the garden, she's only just gotten back from tea with the Dowager Viscountess and the Duchess."

Anthony nodded in thanks, hastily departing for their expansive garden, his mind racing. Seeing his wife was an afternoon ritual-she would come bounding into his study after tea with his mother and respective sisters, spouting off all of the new ladies' gossip as he listened intently, all while pretending he was entirely disinterested. He enjoyed seeing her eyes grow wide with the shock of scandal, or her smile at a sweet interaction she witnessed at the park. If you were to ask Anthony Bridgerton, there was no sight more splendid than his wife in all of her extraordinary, everyday beauty. Not that he would admit that aloud, at least not to anyone but her.

Frankly, he was missing her presence today more than he cared to admit. He spotted Y/N almost instantly, her periwinkle gown shining in the sun. She sat in a chair politely under a shady tree, the book on her lap seemingly forgotten. Her expressive eyes locked onto the treeline in the distance, her face solemn. Anthony's heart seemed to fall in his chest, the sinking realization of why his home had been so soundless for the entirety of the day. His chest felt tight as he thought of his actions last night...

It had been a very, very long day for Anthony. With Francesca's upcoming debut to society, his mother had been harping on Anthony for nearly a fortnight about every minute detail. His patience for his mother was infinite, but sometimes she did manage to test its limits. Atop this hurdle was the never ending stacks of paperwork littering his desk, waiting to be looked over and signed off by his barely legible scrawl. He had neglected to write Colin back for weeks-his younger brother writing about his travels in Greece. The house staff had been in and out of his study all day, the incessant knocking severing his nerves. The heavy weight of life as a viscount was falling on Anthony, making him irritable and exhausted. His dear wife had settled his discomfort around lunch, bringing his nearly-cold meal into his study to make sure he ate. She had left him with a chaste kiss and a better mood, but Anthony had returned to her worse for wear.

Dinner in their large dining room had felt unnaturally dreary, only the sound of utensils clanking against china plates filling the air, only to be stifled by his wife's chatter. Normally, Anthony would've listened attentively, enjoying hearing about trips to the modiste or how Portia Featherington had driven his wife to near madness. Today, however, her voice had him pressing his nails into his palms to aid his irritation. He sipped his wine and shuffled his food on his plate to avoid making eye contact, he would not want her to see the frustration lingering in his eyes.

"Eloise was completely beside herself, I had never seen her so embarrassed! Madame Delacroix-"

"Must you talk so incessantly?!" Anthony's voice spat out in a low growl, dripping with fierce vexation.

Y/N's eyes grew wide, looking at her husband as if he had sprouted an extra arm and slapped her with it. She said nothing, only cowering in on herself, staring down at her lap as she fidgets with her hands. After several moments of Anthony's intense silence, she lifts a shaky hand and wipes the tears forming in her eyes as she hastily made her way out of the room, attempting to put as much distance between her and Anthony as possible.

Anthony followed suit moments later, feeling angry at himself as he slammed the door of his study shut, falling asleep at his desk hours later. Y/N had slept on her side of a bed far too large for one, her eyes tender and cheeks splotchy, her mind racing. Did she truly talk too much? Had he been annoyed by her daily talks for all these months? Her mind weaved small details into a full blown breakdown, and she quickly settled on being Anthony's perfect, quiet wife as she caved to her drowsiness.

The wind blew his wife's curls against her shoulder as Anthony approached her in the backyard, her back still facing him. He wasn't sure she had even heard him approach, her eyes still focused on the landscape sprawled before them. Anthony shuffles nervously, his hands behind him as he stands at her side, only the wind and birds chirping aiding the suffocating silence.

"Splendid weather we're having," Anthony's voice finally spoke, awkward and fumbling into casual conversation as he sank into the chair across from him. Y/N said nothing, only blinking in the same direction she had been staring at the entire time. Anthony nodded, mostly to himself, resigning himself to her silence, it was what he deserved at the moment.

After several moments of dead silence, Y/N turned her attention back to the book perched in her lap, and Anthony sat silently, wanting to spout out his apology in a hurried, bumbling manner, but he knew his wife, she would simply nod and continue reading, allowing herself to stew in prolonged silence.

He rose quietly, leaving with a small kiss landing atop her head-a touch that burned Y/N's skin. She watched Anthony leave out of the corner of her eye, sighing heavily as his presence was back inside their home. She was a myriad of feelings: angry at Anthony for being so blatantly cruel, his words had stung and left her reeling for hours. She was sad, as much as the words had fired her up, they had torn her heart, leaving her chest heavy with dejection. Y/N was nearly bursting at the seams to just apologize-even if it wasn't her who needed to apologize-just so the awkward encounters would come to an end. She wondered if Anthony even felt remorse at all.

In his study, Anthony ran his hands through his hair for the hundredth time, attempting to focus on the business papers in front of him. His efforts were fruitless-all he could think of was the empty look on Y/N's face. He had never seen her this lifeless, like her glow had been snuffed out, and it was entirely his fault. Anthony's mind raced with a million different scenarios of how he would make this up to her, ranging from flowers to begging on hands and knees, but despite his blunders, he knew his lady well. His Viscountess had never been one for showy things or frivolous purchases, she would only want his sincerest apologies. He would do it tonight, over dinner, he decided. He only hoped when the time came, she would at least spare him a glance.

Hours later, at the dining room table, Anthony found himself sitting in his chair at the head of the table completely alone. The kitchen staff came and left with plates and glasses, but his wife had yet to make an appearance. Anthony's foot tapped against the floor in anxiety, his eyes shooting up to the closest staff member, nearly shouting:

"Where is the Viscountess taking her dinner?"

The head of the kitchen staff looked at Anthony wide-eyed at his outburst, replying politely:

"Viscountess Bridgerton took her dinner in the library tonight."

Anthony said nothing, rising from his seat and walking down the hallway, coming to the door of the library and knocking lightly.

"Come in."

Anthony nearly burst into a fit of tears, happy to hear her voice.

He pushed the door open, Y/N's eyes meeting his before they dropped back down to the open book in her hands. Anthony felt guilt press heavy on his chest. He settled into the plush chair opposite her, separated only by a small end table. Anthony looked over at her, his brown eyes all but practically begging her to say something to him.

"Y/N..." Anthony's voice is small and timid, trying to coax her into at least hearing him out. Y/N's voice came out a whisper, cutting him off.

"I am sorry."

Anthony furrowed his brow, that was certainly not what he was expecting to hear. He looked over at her, her gaze locked on the moonlight coming through the window, her eyes glassy with tears.

"I am sorry I have become a burden, Anthony. I did not realize I irritated you with my ramblings. I thought you wanted to hear of my daily activities. I know my day as a woman is not nearly as riveting as yours as a Viscount, but-"

"My dear, your apologies are not necessary," Anthony's voice dripped with sincerity, his eyes warm as he looked at her, ready to grovel for forgiveness. He stuck his hand out for her to take, which she did. He pulled her towards him softly, his gentle touches coaxing her into his lap. Y/N's eyes grow soft under his gaze, her limbs melting in his strong hold. "I am the one who has been a fool. I look forward to your ramblings, no matter if they hold what you consider to be valuable or not, they brighten my day. I wait most ardently for news of trips to the modiste, or my mother's ramblings over tea-" He pauses, tucking a stray curl back behind her ear, his thumb wiping away the stray tears on her cheeks.

"I don't want you to be silent. Your voice is more pleasant than any other sound," Anthony cuts himself off, sighing, before starting again. "I should not have spoken to you in such a manner. I should not have raised my voice at you. You have my word that it will never happen again, I cannot go another day surrounded by your silence, it is torture."

Y/N smiles slightly at her husband's words, his transgressions forgiven with his sincere words. His face is close enough to hers to brush her nose against his, their lips close enough to meet.

"Are you certain you were not a poet before we met, Lord Bridgerton?" Y/N's voice is a whisper, the moment feeling far too intimate for anything else.

Anthony chuckles as his hand grasps the side of her face lightly, bringing her closer, speaking before he kisses her deeply:

"Only for you, my beloved...you inspire sonnets."

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #request #bridgerton x reader

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brunchable · 3 months ago

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It's not a Meet-𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆, it's a Meet-𝗨𝗴𝗹𝘆.

《 Chapter 5: Your Crying Shoulder. 》

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: It's not a meet-cute, it's a meet ugly, Grumpy Meets ✨️Sunshine✨️, Opposites Attract, Sassy Pet Matchmaker, Enemies-to-Lovers (Lite), Destined to meet again, Bucky is a hidden softie. Summary: When everything falling apart, you found yourself in the arms of the person you least expected. A/N: This story will be OUTSIDE of MCU but Bucky's traits will be mixed comics/mcu. This will be updated every FRIDAY(AEST). I can't help but place a TikTok meme in here somewhere lmao. Credits to me for the Banner lmfao. credits to @ khaer for the divider.

Mission Report - J. B. Barnes To: N. Fury Subject: Family Dynamics

Key Findings

1. Family Structure

Y/N Y/LN: CEO of The Emporium NYC, handling New York operations, public relations, and key corporate responsibilities.

Jonathan [Half-Brother]: Oversees Miami branch expansions and operational strategies. Professional but distant relationship with Y/N, characterized by mutual respect and a clear division of responsibilities.

2. Operational Observations

Financial Irregularities: Offshore accounts linked to Emporium subsidiaries display significant fund transfers with unclear purposes. Investigating their potential connection to Hydra-related activities is a priority.

Board Affiliations: Certain board members are linked to political figures and tech firms specializing in advanced security technologies. Their involvement requires further investigation for possible ties to Hydra.

Employee Turnover: Leadership restructuring followed Y/N’s promotion. Several former executives now hold external consulting roles, potentially redirecting focus from Emporium’s internal operations.

3. Personal Relationships

Rhys: Y/N’s boyfriend and the son of a global luxury hotel mogul. While not directly involved in Emporium operations, his influential family ties and potential connections to Y/N's network merit attention.

4. Behavioral Insights

Y/N demonstrates dedication to her role but shows signs of frustration with corporate pressures. She appears unaware of financial irregularities within the organization, suggesting compartmentalization of information.

No evidence connects Y/N directly to suspicious activities. Monitoring her relationship with Rhys could provide additional context, as his background and resources may intersect with Emporium’s broader dealings.

Recommendations

1. Background Checks: Investigate board members, financial consultants, and Rhys’s family business for any links to Emporium's offshore holdings and potential Hydra connections.

2. Monitor Relationships: Subtly observe Y/N’s interactions with Rhys and board members for indirect insights.

3. Enhanced Financial Scrutiny: Deepen analysis of offshore accounts to establish potential links between Emporium funds and Hydra-backed projects.

End of Report

× × × ×

Figaro pranced confidently into Bucky’s apartment, his tail held high, a familiar item clamped between his teeth. Alpine looked up from her spot on the windowsill, tilting her head as she watched him strut across the room.

“Alpine,” Figaro greeted, setting down the item—a soft, worn scarf that unmistakably carried your scent.

Alpine sniffed at the scarf, then looked at Figaro, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “Your human let you out with… that?”

Figaro settled down next to her, casually licking a paw.

“Oh, she doesn’t know I took it,” he replied with a lazy flick of his tail. “But I thought you might appreciate a little reminder of her.” He gave her a knowing look, lowering his voice. “She was patching up your human’s busted lip the other night, by the way.”

Alpine’s eyes narrowed with amusement. “Did she now? And did you happen to notice the way he was looking at her?” she asked, her whiskers twitching.

“Oh, I noticed. He was all ‘I’m tough, but not too tough for you,’” Figaro said, imitating a dramatic swoon, then rolled his eyes with exaggerated flair. “Honestly, he’s got it bad. She was fussing over him, and he was eating it up like a kitten with a saucer of cream.”

Alpine purred thoughtfully. “Well, it’s about time. But he won’t admit that to himself.”

“Yeah, well, the issue,” Figaro continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, “is that there’s another guy in her life. Rhys.” He spat out the name with as much disdain as a cat could muster. “Total bore. Calls her ‘baby’ like it’s some kind of magic spell. And he smells like cheap cologne. Honestly, his existence is an insult to felines everywhere.”

Alpine’s ears perked up. “So he’s competition?”

Figaro scoffed.

“Please. He’s like the knockoff toy they keep at the bottom of the discount bin. My human doesn’t even smile around him anymore; she just tolerates him. But every time your guy shows up, she lights up like it’s Christmas morning.” He stretched, his claws extending as if to make his point. “I’m telling you, we’ve got to get rid of him. For the sake of all that is right in the world.”

Alpine let out a thoughtful meow, eyeing the scarf Figaro had brought. “You know, if we could just keep nudging them together, maybe they’ll take the hint. They’re not too bright, but they’ve got chemistry.”

“Exactly!” Figaro said, his eyes gleaming. “Our owners are hopeless without us. This is a mission, Alpine. A noble mission. A mission to save her from that pathetic excuse for a partner.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “And frankly, if I have to listen to him call her ‘baby’ one more time, I might cough up a hairball on his shoes.”

Alpine let out a low chuckle, nudging Figaro with her paw. “Well then, Mr. Matchmaker. What’s the plan?”

“Oh, I’ve got ideas,” Figaro said, eyes narrowing as if deep in thought. “Plenty of ideas. After all, I’m doing the world a favor.”

× × × ×

There was cold silence since that tense encounter with Rhys, and though you’d pushed it to the back of your mind, his apology text had come through late tonight, begging you to talk. You decided, almost against your better judgment, to go. Maybe it was a habit, maybe just closure. But as you reached the hotel and made your way up to his office, a cold, uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach.

The hall was dimly lit as you approached, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Then, as you neared the frosted glass door of Rhys’ office, you stopped in your tracks. Two silhouettes were visible through the blurred glass, close, intimate. You watched as Rhys pressed a woman—with a golden hair clip—against the glass, their forms locked together in a kiss that left little to the imagination.

Your throat tightened, a dull ache building in your chest as the weight of the betrayal hit you. To be honest, I felt like I already knew it, you thought, the silent admission somehow worse than the scene unfolding in front of you. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. You tried to swallow down the emotions swirling within you—anger, sadness, and that unmistakable pang of disappointment. Being cheated on hurt, even when you’d mentally checked out of the relationship. It chipped away at something deeper, a quiet part of your self-worth you hadn’t realized still cared.

Water rimmed your eyes, but you blinked it back, refusing to let him take that from you too. You inhaled deeply, straightened your shoulders, and turned away from the office door, leaving as quietly as you’d arrived.

× × × × Fews days after

Bucky squinted, utterly baffled.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he muttered. He scratched the back of his neck, feeling absurdly judged by a cat.

Alpine huffed, letting out a short, dismissive meow, clearly unimpressed with whatever answer she’d decided on. She trotted off toward her food bowl, pausing just once to throw him a final, critical look before bending to eat.

“Alright, sure, just go back to ignoring me,” Bucky grumbled, watching her. But as he leaned against the counter, glancing down at the faint trace of your scent still on his sleeve, he couldn’t help feeling like Alpine had silently decided something about him that she wasn’t going to share anytime soon.

Bucky watched Alpine chowing down on her food, her tail flicking in satisfaction as she devoured each bite with gusto. He allowed himself a moment of peace, but then came the unmistakable sound of someone struggling with his lock.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, his mind flashing back to the night you’d drunkenly tried breaking into his apartment, mistaking it for yours. Swinging the door open, he was prepared for a repeat performance, only to be met with Sam, frozen in mid-action, his hand clutching a spare key. Behind him stood Steve, holding two large bags of takeout, and Nat, arms crossed with a smirk.

“Uh… hey, Buck,” Sam greeted, attempting a casual tone while quickly tucking the key behind his back like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed.

“Why are you trying to break into my place?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms.

Sam cleared his throat, glancing at Steve and Nat for backup.

“We’re, uh… your backup! Sent by Fury.” He flashed a grin that looked anything but innocent.

“Backup?” Bucky repeated, deadpan, as the three of them filed in with the casualness of seasoned intruders. “Fury said it was a simple assignment. Barely a mission.”

Steve rolled his eyes, giving Bucky a pitying look as he passed by to set down the bags on the table. “You really believed that? Seriously?”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but before he could get a word in, Nat had already made her way over to Alpine, who blinked up at her with the smug satisfaction of a cat who’d been expecting her. Nat scratched Alpine’s ears as Alpine purred, looking even more at ease than Bucky had ever seen her.

Just as Nat leaned down to pet Alpine, her gaze flicked up, catching sight of Bucky’s busted lip. She raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Nice lip, Buck. Trouble on the way to the door?”

Bucky’s hand instinctively went up to his mouth. “Oh, that? I… tripped over Alpine.”

Steve’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing as he tried to keep a straight face.

“You tripped… over Alpine?” He looked down at the serene, not-at-all-menacing cat sitting contentedly by Nat’s side, then back up at Bucky, clearly struggling to hold back a laugh.

Bucky crossed his arms, his expression turning defensive. “It’s possible, alright? She’s tiny but lethal.”

Sam let out a snort. “Yeah, sure. I’m sure the Winter Soldier can handle a battalion of Hydra agents but gets taken out by a house cat.”

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do?” Bucky just rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as Sam already raiding the fridge like he owned it.

“Oh no, please, make yourselves at home. I’ll just find somewhere else to live, shall I?” Bucky’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he watched the scene unfold.

“Buck, you have got to keep better beer in here. This stuff is practically water.” He settled on a bottle anyway, taking a long swig before glancing back at Bucky. “We’re just here to help, man. Think of us as… extended housemates.”

Bucky crossed his arms tighter, a look of utter disbelief on his face. “Extended housemates?” He gestured at the room. “You act like you already live here!”

Steve, entirely unbothered, started setting out the food, carefully placing burgers on plates and arranging napkins. “We thought you might need a little company. I mean, it’s a Friday night, after all.”

“I’m perfectly fine alone, thanks,” Bucky replied, his gaze narrowing as he watched Sam polish off half a beer in one go. “How about you go keep each other company?”

Steve chuckled, handing a plate to Nat. “You said the same thing last time we showed up. Yet, here we are. Again.”

Nat, now comfortably settled on the couch with Alpine, flashed him a wicked grin. “Let’s not be dramatic, Bucky. Just think of us as… spontaneous visitors.”

“Visitors don’t usually come with their own keys,” Bucky grumbled, his gaze settling on Sam, who was busy rifling through his cabinets for snacks. “And they certainly don’t bring takeout to make themselves at home.”

Sam shrugged, unfazed. “You think of it as invading your privacy; I think of it as improving the vibe around here.”

Bucky let out an exasperated sigh. “I swear, one of these days, I’m changing the locks.”

“Good luck with that. We’ll just get new keys.” Nat smirked, scratching Alpine’s head as if she were orchestrating a coup.

Bucky glared, but Steve was already setting a plate piled with ribs and a burger in front of him. “Eat up, Buck. Before Sam devours everything like the human garbage disposal he is.”

Sam waved his beer bottle, looking completely unbothered. “Hey, I resent that. This is strategic eating. Besides, with your ‘barely-a-mission,’ we need all the fuel we can get.”

“I’m starting to think Fury set me up.” Bucky rubbed his forehead, exasperated but clearly losing the battle.

Steve just grinned, popping open his own beer. “I’m sure Fury thought you’d appreciate the backup.”

“Or at least tolerate it,” Sam added, grabbing a handful of fries and popping them into his mouth.

With a resigned sigh, Bucky sank into a chair, shaking his head. “You guys are impossible.”

“Impossible is our specialty,” Sam shot back, raising his beer in a mock toast. “To back up, and to Buck finally admitting he likes having us around.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” Bucky snorted.

Alpine purred louder, clearly pleased with the lively atmosphere, while Nat smirked at Bucky. “See? Even Alpine agrees. You’re just a grump with a soft spot for us, admit it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fine. But next time, bring your own key.”

“Oh, we will,” Steve assured him with a smirk. “And maybe a couch, a pillow or two.”

Sam, now munching contentedly on fries, raised his beer again. “To crashing Bucky’s place—where every night is a mission, and the food’s free.”

Bucky took a reluctant bite of his burger, trying to ignore how comfortable his “guests” had made themselves. Just as he was starting to think the worst was over, Steve casually leaned over to Sam, as if sharing a quiet plan.

“We’ll grab the rest of our stuff from the car when Buck’s asleep,” Steve said, completely deadpan.

Bucky nearly choked on his burger, staring at Steve like he’d lost his mind. “The rest of your stuff? What are you talking about?”

Sam, without missing a beat, grinned. “Perfect. Nat can take the bedroom, and the three of us can crash in the living room. It’ll be like a sleepover.”

Nat raised her eyebrows, feigning delight. “I called dibs on the bed, anyway. I always knew Buck had the fluffiest pillows.”

“Hold on, hold on! This isn’t some youth hostel! You all have your own places!” Bucky’s face twisted in horror as he looked around the room.

“Yeah, but none of our places have a view of you panicking about your personal space.” Steve looked unbothered, casually unwrapping another burger.

Bucky glared.

“I’m not panicking! I just—” He waved a hand in utter frustration. “This is my place! You can’t just... commandeer my bed!”

“Don’t worry, Buck. We’ll all be snug as bugs on the floor, reliving those good ol’ days in the barracks.” Sam leaned back, looking way too comfortable for someone who’d apparently just broken in.

“Except Nat,” Steve corrected, “who will be enjoying Buck’s luxurious mattress.”

Bucky looked to Alpine, almost pleading. “You see what I deal with? Even the cat respects my space more than you three!”

Alpine simply blinked, looking rather indifferent to her owner’s plight as she happily settled on Nat’s lap.

“Oh, come on, Buck,” Sam said, reaching over to ruffle Bucky’s hair. “We’ll make it fun! Popcorn, ghost stories, some embarrassing truths about Fury… just like old times.”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve added, grinning. “Think of it as team bonding.”

Bucky threw his hands up. “This isn’t bonding! This is trespassing! And I don’t want to hear any ghost stories or truths about Fury. I want my bed, my couch, and my fridge not raided!”

Nat sighed, patting Alpine who purred louder. “Look, Buck. Clearly, Alpine’s on board. You’re outvoted.”

“Traitor.” Bucky narrowed his eyes, looking at Alpine in betrayal.

Steve chuckled, leaning back with a smug grin. “Face it, Buck. Tonight’s already decided.”

Bucky let out a resigned sigh, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath. “Next time, I’m leaving the country.”

× × × ×

You strode into the dimly lit restaurant, greeted by a chorus of cheers and mock applause as Serena, Mei, and Jane raised their glasses, voices rising in unison. "Woooo, here comes the CEO!"

You shook your head, laughing as you took your seat, subtly glancing around the table. Your gaze caught on one unfamiliar face, though it took a split second longer for the memory to click into place. Carly. She was Rhys' new assistant, a realization that caused your brow to lift just slightly. You’d thought she looked familiar from somewhere else, but with her new polished appearance and newfound confidence, it was hard to tell right away.

Chloe, ever the instigator, nudged Carly forward with a smile that held a hint of challenge.

“Ladies, meet Carly. You might remember her, Y/N. She used to work at The Emporium,” she said, her words smooth but her gaze pointed.

You kept your expression cool, a practiced smile settling on your lips. “Ah, that explains why she looks familiar.” You gave Carly a nod, and she responded with a forced smile, her eyes holding something less friendly beneath the surface.

The evening moved along, filled with laughter and a few rounds of drinks. Serena, Mei, and Jane offered congratulations, and Sarah, as always, played the role of your unwavering cheerleader, throwing a few enthusiastic compliments your way. But as the night flowed, it was Mei who leaned in, her voice dipping into a sympathetic tone.

“So, I heard Rhys de Armande cheated on you.”

You blinked, not expecting the topic to surface so bluntly. You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, though a subtle flicker crossed your face.

“You forced a light laugh, though your jaw tightened beneath it. “Oh, it was probably because I told him to take his bare minimum and keep it out of my sight. Pretty sure he wanted to vanish into thin air after that, especially since his entire office got to witness it.”

Jane, Mei, and Serena burst into laughter, clearly picturing the scene as you animatedly relayed the story.

“Oh my gosh, that’s incredible,” Serena giggled, shaking her head. “He absolutely deserved every bit of that.”

You let out a faint laugh, flipping your hair back and letting it settle over your shoulder as you raised an eyebrow. “Ugh, I’m too busy with work to be hurt by this kind of stuff,” you replied, feigning a casual air as you took a sip of your drink, though the words had a hard edge underneath.

“Do you know who the woman was?” Serena leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

Chloe’s lips curled into a faint smirk.

“I mean, with Rhys’ type, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s someone… eager to climb the ladder, if you know what I mean,” Mei said.

Sarah’s eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth, ready to retort, but you discreetly squeezed her hand under the table, keeping your expression smooth. You didn’t need her stepping in right now.

“You should’ve grabbed her hair!” Jane piped up, half-laughing, her fist in the air as if she were ready to throw a punch herself, “I respect the way you’re so laid back, because honestly I would’ve gone apeshit.”

“Oh, forget it. He’s the one who cheated. I couldn’t care less about her,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “She’s probably no different from him—anyways! Enough about him!”

As the words left your mouth, Carly’s face visibly tightened, her forced smile slipping as she pushed back her chair, muttering under her breath as she walked off toward the restroom. Her eyes flickered with a glare that lingered on you as she departed, barely concealing the frustration bubbling beneath her cool facade.

Serena raised her eyebrows, catching the shift in mood. “What’s with her? She was glaring at you the whole time.”

“Oh, who knows,” Sarah murmured, watching Carly’s retreating figure with a slight smirk, her hand still entwined in yours beneath the table, a sign of solidarity.

Chloe glanced after Carly, a subtle, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Probably just adjusting to her new… surroundings.”

You glanced down at your phone, barely containing the irritation rising within you as you took in the image on the screen: Rhys and Carly, cozy on a beach, his arms wrapped around her as if he hadn’t been apologizing to you just days earlier. It was from an unknown number, but there was no doubt in your mind who had sent it.

With a measured breath, you slipped the phone back into your bag and stood, offering your friends a polite excuse before following the path Carly had taken. You found her just outside the restrooms, leaning casually against the wall with a smug smile, almost as if she’d been waiting.

“Why did you send me that?” You stopped in front of her, gaze steady.

She didn’t bother hiding her grin, crossing her arms as she looked you over. “Because I wanted you to know.”

“Know what?” You raised an eyebrow. “That Rhys cheated on me?”

“No,” she replied with a sickeningly sweet smile, crossing her arms tighter. “That I seduced your boyfriend. You seemed completely fine with it.”

A scoff escaped you as you let out a dry laugh, crossing your own arms.

“Did you expect me to crumble just because I was cheated on?” You tilted your head, studying her. “Alright, let’s say you two ‘fell in love.’ Then you should be apologizing to me—”

Her smile faltered as she cut you off, her voice raising a fraction. “I felt guilty at first. But then you acted like it wasn’t a big deal. You weren’t curious about me, didn’t even acknowledge what I did. So my self-esteem? It just kept plummeting.”

You looked at her, incredulous, and chuckled coldly. “Wow—seriously? You’re such a loser—You’re blaming me for your self-esteem issues?”

Her lips pursed in irritation. “Why shouldn’t I? Why do you think I can’t do what you do? I can seduce your man and be just as successful—be just like you. But you never gave me the chance. Not only that, you took my opportunity at The Emporium away from me.”

“Ah,” you murmured, amusement in your voice. “So this is about me firing you?”

Her jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t deserve to be in that position. You act so high and mighty, like nothing can shake you. You have it all, don’t you? The job, the influence, the respect. But guess what? I can take what’s yours. I already did, didn’t I?”

You laughed, unbothered, shaking your head slowly.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” You stepped closer, gaze locked on hers. “If you couldn’t handle the job, that’s on you. Throwing this little tantrum only proves I was right about you. As for Rhys…” You shrugged, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You can keep him. My ex cheating doesn’t affect my work—but you? You do. So maybe I’ll have a word with his parents and see how your career fairs then.”

You turned to leave, but her voice came out sharp, dripping with venom. “You can’t pretend you’re not bitter about it. That’s why you’re here, right? To confront me?”

Pausing, you glanced over your shoulder, an icy smile on your lips. “Ever step on something nasty on the sidewalk? Hmm I don’t know like shit? It’s a pain, but you don’t let it ruin your day. You wipe it off and move on. That’s what you and Rhys are to me—Shit—something I’ll be glad to scrape off my shoe.”

Without another glance, you strode back to the table, your head held high. Your friends glanced up as you approached, a few eyebrows raised.

“Everything okay?” Sarah asked, eyeing you with mild concern.

You forced a polite smile, nodding as you picked up your bag. “Actually, I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. I should get going.”

With a few quick goodbyes, you left, satisfaction settling over you as you stepped out, knowing you’d left Carly exactly where she belonged—behind you.

× × × ×

“Sarah! Open the noor! I know you're in there, Sarah! Open the noor!” Your drunken voice slurred through the quiet hallway, louder with every knock.

Inside, Bucky froze, instantly recognizing your voice. His eyes widened, and he shot a panicked look at the mountain of files scattered across his coffee table—the very files on you and The Emporium that he’d been piecing through with Steve, Sam, and Nat.

“Everyone! Gather the files, now!” he hissed, immediately jumping to action.

“What? Why? Relax, man, we’re not under attack or anything.” Sam raised an eyebrow, lounging on the couch with a half-eaten sandwich.

Bucky shot him a glare, practically yanking the files out from under Sam’s plate. “One of our ‘subjects’ is outside the door, Sam! Now MOVE!”

“Wait, you mean her?” Steve asked, eyes widening as the banging on the door got louder.

“Yes!” Bucky hissed, shoving an armful of files into Steve’s hands. “Now stop talking and start hiding!”

Nat rolled her eyes, stacking papers hastily. “Isn’t this a little dramatic? She’s probably just lost.”

“She’s not ‘lost,’ she’s drunk!” Bucky snapped. “And I’d rather not explain why I’m reviewing her life story with three nosy intruders!”

“Oh, we’re the intruders now?” Steve muttered as he clutched a bundle of files to his chest. “Could’ve sworn we were here for your mission!”

The banging grew even louder.

“Sarah! Don’t you ignore me, woman!” Your voice was muffled but determined, sounding like you were one step away from kicking the door down.

“Go, go, go! Get in there!” Bucky herded them like sheep, arms waving wildly as he tried to push them toward the bedroom.

“Ow, Bucky, stop shoving!” Sam complained, elbowing Bucky back as he tripped over a rogue sneaker. “Seriously, why are you acting like we’re about to be raided?”

“Because she’ll see this mess and ask questions!” Bucky shot back, pushing him forward again. “Just get in and be quiet!”

Nat stumbled as Bucky prodded her toward the door, muttering, “Why are you so panicked? Did you do something wrong, Buck?”

“Would you all just move?!” Bucky whispered furiously, practically bulldozing them all through his bedroom door. “I’ll explain later. Just don’t make a sound!”

Steve stumbled, catching himself with a loud “Ow!” as Bucky finally got all three of them behind the door. He shut it firmly and leaned against it with a sigh, only to hear a loud “Shh!” from Nat, Sam, and Steve bickering in hushed whispers.

“Move your elbow!”

“Steve, that’s my foot—ow!”

“Could you three not sound like an entire stampede?”

Outside, your voice grew louder, slurring but stubborn as ever. “Saarah! Come on, I brought sushiiii!”

Bucky took a breath and opened the door, his expression calm yet barely holding it together. There you stood, wobbling slightly, hair slightly mussed, and an unmistakable grin on your face when you saw him.

“Oh! Sarah, you changed! You look so much taller… and more... Bucky-like.”

“Uh, hi,” he said as he steadied you. “I think you might have the wrong door, trash panda.”

You blinked, frowning, and swayed a little closer. “Wrong door? But I brought sushi! And, wait—” You squinted at him, leaning in. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” he confirmed, holding back a chuckle as you gave him a suspiciously scrutinizing look.

“Ohhh…” you drawled, clearly trying to process it all. “Well, if you see Sarah, tell her the sushi is... sushi-ing.”

He nodded, keeping his tone light, even though his friends were probably eavesdropping as best they could.

“Will do. And, uh… maybe we should get you home?”

“Good idea. But you keep this. Looks like you could use some fish.” You nodded, albeit unsteadily, handing him a stray piece of sushi.

You gave Bucky a wobbly smile, one that looked a little too determined for someone in your state. Before Bucky could stop you, you swayed forward, making a beeline past him and into his apartment.

“Wait, Y/N—this isn’t… Sarah’s place!” he said, barely catching up as you staggered into his kitchen.

“Close enough,” you slurred with a grin, swaying dramatically from side to side as you reached for the fridge handle. Alpine, sensing a new friend in distress, trotted over, rubbing against your legs with enthusiastic little chirps.

“Oh! Hey, kitty!” you cooed, reaching down to pet her, then looking up at Bucky with wide, innocent eyes. “Sarah’s cat never welcomes me like this. See? She gets me.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, half-amused, half-panicked. “Right. Because Alpine just loves guests raiding the kitchen.”

You opened the fridge door, inspecting the shelves as if on a mission.

“Where’s the… the ice cream?” you muttered, voice muffled by the refrigerator door. “Sarah always has chocolate fudge swirl, and I need it.”

“Seriously, you’re in the wrong apartment,” Bucky tried, sounding both exasperated and entertained as he reached out, but you sidestepped, one hand still on the fridge door, the other now waving vaguely in the air.

“Shhh, Bucky,” you chided, squinting as you leaned in further, peering deeper into the fridge with a sense of deep concentration. Alpine padded around you, her tail curling around your ankle, clearly thrilled to have you there.

“Listen, Bucky,” you slurred, not even glancing up, “all I want… is chocolate ice cream and maybe… maybe a good laugh. Do you have tissues? I feel like I’ll need them, like, a lot of them.”

Bucky couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He tried his best to guide you away from the fridge gently, but you shot him a mildly annoyed look, shoving a stray pack of carrots aside as if they were personally offensive.

“Don’t you dare hide the good stuff behind the veggies,” you said, mock-scolding him as Alpine hopped onto the counter, watching the scene with wide, curious eyes, tail twitching.

“Really, Alpine?” Bucky muttered at his cat, who was clearly rooting for you and even pawed at Bucky’s hand as if to say, Let her have the ice cream!

“I knew you’d understand me, Alpine,” you cooed at the cat, as if she were your personal support group. “See, Bucky? Even she gets it. She knows.”

Bucky sighed, half-heartedly resigned. “You know what, fine. If Alpine says so, who am I to argue?”

Finally, you pulled out a random tub—yogurt, not ice cream—and peered at it in disappointment.

“Greek yogurt? Bucky, are you… are you okay?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, perfectly fine, thanks.”

You blinked at him, still clutching the tub. “Well, clearly, you’re living a sad existence if this is all you’ve got.”

“Or I’m just not prepared for unexpected trash pandas who raid my fridge,” he replied, crossing his arms, trying not to burst out laughing as you clung to Alpine for support, who purred loudly, delighted with the chaos.

“Fine, then!” you declared dramatically, patting Alpine’s head. “Alpine and I will fend for ourselves.” You turned on your heel (or tried to, at least), your balance giving out just slightly as you wobbled with an exaggerated sway. Alpine gave an encouraging “mrrp!” as if saying, Yes! Go forth!

Bucky finally took pity on you, grabbing a pint of actual ice cream from the freezer, waving it like a peace offering. “This? Will this make you happy, your highness?”

You lit up, the joy on your face as radiant as if he’d handed you a crown. “Now that’s more like it!” you cheered, taking the tub, your steps still swaying as you made your way to his couch.

Bucky followed you over, shaking his head as you sat down, giving Alpine a spot next to you. He sat down nearby, stifling a chuckle as you dug into the ice cream.

“So… just gonna crash here tonight, then?” he asked, leaning back with a smirk.

You waved the spoon dismissively, barely even looking up. “Obviously. And you, Bucky Barnes, need to get more ice cream. Greek yogurt’s just… depressing.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “Noted.”

You tore into the box of tissues, your frustration boiling over as you whipped open the plastic bag for trash with the precision of someone handling a life-or-death task. In one hand, you wielded the spoon like a weapon, in the other, a tissue you’d already shredded halfway. Bucky sat a few feet away, wide-eyed, clearly out of his depth. Alpine perched on the coffee table instead, her tail swishing in judgment, shooting Bucky a look that all but screamed, Fix this.

“You good there?” Bucky asked cautiously, his voice hesitant, like he wasn’t sure whether he should move closer or start looking for an escape route.

You let out a short, sharp laugh—bitter, too loud for the small space. “Good? Oh yeah, I’m great! I mean, how could I not be? My ex-boyfriend cheated on me with his assistant, who, surprise, also happens to be the same girl I fired for being utterly incompetent.”

Bucky, sitting stiffly on the couch, could only blink as you laughed. Not a gentle laugh, but one that bordered on hysteria, punctuated by short, sharp breaths. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that came from something funny; it was the kind that cracked through the tension when words couldn’t quite hold the weight of everything you were feeling.

“Oh, my God!” you exclaimed, raising your spoon as if to make a toast. “It’s just perfect, isn’t it? Fired her for being terrible at customer service, and what does she do? Rebounds as my boyfriend’s personal assistant. Like, how poetic is that?” You gestured with the tissue, accidentally flinging it onto the coffee table, but you didn’t stop.

“And then—get this—she blames me for her low self-esteem! Like, excuse me for not sending her a gift basket after she slept with my boyfriend. I mean—” You let out a bark of laughter, shaking your head as tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You can’t make this stuff up!”

“And then tonight?” You gestured wildly with your spoon. “Tonight, I had to sit there, all smiles, pretending like everything was fine, because God forbid I let anyone think I’m not. And Carly—oh, Carly—had the audacity to act like she’s the victim. She felt bad about it! Isn’t that just hilarious?” You scooped another bite of ice cream, your laughter spilling out, sharp and brittle, filling the air like broken glass.

Bucky sat frozen, his jaw slightly ajar, his heart twisting as he watched you spiral. You leaned forward, still laughing, the sound echoing unnaturally in the quiet apartment. You looked absurd, sitting there with a tub of ice cream and tissues in hand, trying to force humor into something that was clearly tearing you apart.

“Y/N,” Bucky said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t seem to hear him, your laugh rising in pitch as you tilted your head back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “It’s hilarious, really. Just the perfect little tragedy. I kind of saw it coming, you know? Rhys was always—”

“Y/N.” Bucky’s voice was firmer this time, cutting through the haze of your spiraling thoughts like a blade.

He moved off the couch, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his steady blue eyes locking onto yours. The laughter caught in your throat as you met his gaze. There was no judgment in his expression, no pity—just an unwavering presence that felt like a lifeline. His gaze softened, like he was offering you something you weren’t sure how to accept.

“Just cry,” he said, his voice calm but resolute.

Your lips parted as if to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. The lump in your throat tightened, and for a moment, you thought you could hold it together. But the way he was looking at you—like you were the only person in the world—broke down every defense you’d spent the evening building.

“Don’t force yourself to laugh,” he added gently, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s okay to cry.”

Your smile wavered, trembling at the edges before fading completely. You looked away, the dam bursting as tears spilled over, hot and relentless. A shaky breath escaped you, and your hands fumbled with the tissue box, but they were trembling too much to hold anything.

Bucky let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced toward the closed bedroom door. He rarely, if ever, allowed anyone to see this side of him. Vulnerability wasn’t something he was used to sharing—especially not with his friends only a room away. But for you? He didn’t hesitate.

“Ah, screw it,” he muttered under his breath.

Alpine let out a soft “mrrp” of approval, watching as Bucky leaned forward, wrapping a careful arm around your smaller frame. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, letting you bury your face against his chest. His touch was gentle but grounding, the steady rhythm of his breathing anchoring you as you finally let yourself break.

He rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his other hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back. The weight of your head against his chest grounded him as much as he hoped it comforted you.

Alpine, perched on the coffee table, watched with what could only be described as smug satisfaction, her tail flicking contentedly.

Bucky’s awkwardness melted away bit by bit as he felt your breathing begin to even out against him. He let out a soft sigh, glancing down at you. Alpine’s watchful gaze was fixed on him, as if daring him to get this right. Bucky cleared his throat, searching for the right words, feeling more vulnerable than he’d admit.

“You know… you’re stronger than you think,” he said, his thumb grazing your shoulder without him realizing. “You take on so much, and you do it with so much grace. Even when you don’t have to.”

Your breath caught, and you lifted your head to meet his gaze, his blue eyes soft but unwavering.

“I know you don’t need me or anyone else to tell you how incredible you are. But, just… let someone see it, will you? Because you… you deserve that. And I mean every damn word.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you felt a rare sense of peace, your heart light in a way it hadn’t felt in so long. Bucky looked at you, his expression softening further as he took in the sight of your smile, his own heart skipping a beat.

Just as the warmth of Bucky’s words started to sink in, your phone erupted with an insistent buzz, breaking the peaceful moment. You glanced down to see Rhys’ name flashing on the screen. You groaned, but before you could even react, Bucky had snatched the phone from your hand, holding it up as it vibrated relentlessly.

On the fourth ring, Bucky pressed "answer," bringing the phone to his ear with a calm confidence that sent a thrill through you, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm.

“Rhys right? You know, she’s a little busy right now…” he greeted, the single word laced with a tension that could cut glass. “Here’s the deal: you’re gonna stop calling her. Got that?”

You watched, wide-eyed, as Bucky ended the call without waiting for a response and promptly shut off the phone. He set it down with an air of finality, his gaze meeting yours. Before you could form a coherent thought, a loud knock echoed through the apartment, making you both jump slightly.

“Y/N? I know you’re in there.” The voice outside was unmistakable—Rhys.

Your stomach churned as Bucky’s eyes flicked to the door, his jaw tightening.

“What the hell?” he muttered, standing up, his posture instantly tense.

“Bucky…” you started, but he raised a hand, silencing you with a look.

The knock came again, harder this time, followed by Rhys’ impatient voice. “Come on, Y/N, open the door! Let’s talk.”

Alpine, perched on the coffee table, let out an annoyed hiss, her tail flicking sharply as if she shared Bucky’s distaste for the situation. Bucky moved toward the door with deliberate steps, glancing briefly at the bedroom where Sam, Steve, and Nat were undoubtedly eavesdropping.

“Stay here,” Bucky instructed, his voice low and commanding. You watched as he reached for the door, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.

The door creaked open, revealing Rhys standing in the dim hallway, his expression a mix of desperation and annoyance.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky’s voice was dangerously quiet, but the threat beneath it was clear.

Rhys crossed his arms, his gaze darting past Bucky into the apartment. “I’m here to talk to Y/N. This is between me and her, so if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, I mind,” Bucky shot back, stepping further into the doorway, blocking your view. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“You don’t speak for her,” Rhys snapped, his voice rising. “Y/N!” he shouted, his voice cracking with frustration. “You can’t avoid me forever!”

The tension in the room was palpable, and you stood frozen, torn between staying put and stepping in. But before you could decide, Rhys’ voice dropped, and the words that followed sent a chill down your spine.

“I know what you’re hiding.”

Bucky’s entire body stiffened, his hand tightening on the edge of the door. His head tilted slightly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel the shift in his demeanor. The calm before the storm.

“Excuse me?” Bucky’s voice was low, deadly.

Rhys scoffed, his tone dripping with false confidence, voice low while glancing shortly at you. “Don’t play dumb. I know about the Emporium. And I know about you.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, your breath catching as Rhys’ words hung in the air like a grenade waiting to explode. Alpine let out a sharp, warning hiss, her tail flicking wildly.

“Y/N,” Bucky called over his shoulder, his voice steady but laced with coldness that made your blood run cold. “Go to my room.”

“What? Why—”

“Now.”

The finality in his tone left no room for argument, and with a wobble in your step and the slight haze of alcohol still clouding your mind, you retreated into the hallway.

You staggered slightly, catching yourself on the wall as your eyes darted toward the only other door in sight: Bucky’s bedroom. Your curiosity—or perhaps your drunken instincts—propelled you forward. You weren’t sure why, but something about the tension in Bucky’s voice and the way he’d so urgently told you to leave made your heart pound faster.

The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly as you approached the door, your hand reaching out hesitantly toward the doorknob. You heard a faint shuffle from behind it—too faint for you to process fully in your current state—but enough to make you pause. Your fingers hovered above the cool metal, trembling slightly.

The voices from the other room grew louder for a moment before falling eerily silent, the tension almost palpable even through the walls. Your breath hitched as you gripped the doorknob tighter, the faintest click of the mechanism echoing in the stillness of the hallway.

The door began to give under your push.

Inside, Steve, Sam, and Nat froze mid-whisper, their eyes darting toward the door as it inched open.

tags: @winchestert101 @lomlbuckybarnes @lveegsoi @itsshellzy @almosttoopizza

@aami98 @hextech-bros @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @infqnitysblog

@ayayaeyato @blackbirdwitch22 @mostlymarvelgirl @bohoooitsme @crdgn

@yiiiikesmish @jae0515 @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @nikey-no-likey @aami98

@almosttoopizza @wisteriaandwafers @yiiiikesmish @marvelavengerspovs1 @xunquish-blog

@ppbhquinn @ziawbarnes @scott-loki-barnes @let-it-sn0o0ow @seven0714

@lostinspace33 @clockworkballerina @bonnie-bun

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ceocapital · 13 days ago

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Business Funding: Guide to Secure Capital for Your Business

Exploring various business funding options is essential for ensuring the growth and success of your business. From traditional loans to government and private grants, there are numerous solutions available to meet different financial needs. By identifying the right funding option, you can secure the necessary capital to expand operations, invest in new opportunities, and drive long-term profitability.

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empthy1 · 2 months ago

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first meetings ⌬🧬! victoria neuman x reader

this is a completely self-indulgent fantasy for me myself and i. perhaps when i am (hopefully) also getting my PhD in genetics, many years in the future, there will be a beautiful woman questing to possess me when i present my research. 1.3k words.

"So, how'd you two meet?"

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

God, there was no reason for her to be here. 27, riding the high of her first election into the House, representing her state of New York? She didn't have time to be at Columbia's Annual Science Showcase. She had work to do, an office to prepare.

Yet, here she was, pushing through crowds of academics. Every shoulder that checks her and every hand guiding her absentmindedly by only seems to further aggravate the fine fabric of her blouse, wrinkling the silk immaturely.

At least she had excuses, things to say to the press if they did catch her here at the most inopportune time. 1, Columbia's her alma mater. 2, she knows Professor Peterson well—for no other reason than her repeated frequenting of his office hours. No one's good at genetics.

Yet, someone must be good at it, given the buzz she'd heard.

A study many were eager to get their hands on, a newly-awarded PhD who's work was partially funded and supplied by Vought themselves.

The effects of Compound V on the offspring of those afflicted with it.

Using mice, of course.

A particularly unexplored topic. Most focused on the Supes—not what could happen to their children. It's what no one expected to have to worry about when super-powered individuals started popping up. What about their children?

Well, she had to know. Would Zoe, her beautiful, vibrant daughter be cursed the way she would? Would she, herself, be doomed to an early death just like her parents?

She couldn't let that happen. The fact that Sameer was unafflicted should be a genetic safeguard, if it was bound to a recessive gene, but still. Being idle wasn't worth the risk.

She'd have to figure it out—without spilling to the researcher that she had powers herself.

She just didn't expect the researcher to be so damn cute.

She had expected that (like the floor of Congress, the one she would soon frequent) the presenter would be some old, white man, bribed and biased.

No. The young, plucky student that walked across that expansive stage, hands shaking around the clicker yet breaths relatively steady, was anything but what she expected. She's just realizing that her overactive daydream of a frizzled, greying goof was rather archetypal.

She wasn’t expecting to be distracted by the pushing-up of thin, wire-frame glasses or the shy little quirk of lips at any and all applause from the audience. The sweater and mused hair were apt to her imagination; yet they seem purposeful and inherently distracting. The involuntary turning of her gaze from informative slides to sweetly framed wrists was unpleasant to say the least. Wrists of all things.

She should've known this might happen, given her past fling. Yet, she thought the days of the passion-filled thumping of her heart were past her, replaced instead with a familial tenderness and a business-like disposition.

No such luck.

Her luck, wonderful, torturous luck, continues to torment. The wonderful lecturer? A student of a most familiar professor.

"Hello. Professor Peterson!" Whew. The last time she sounded that strained? Her debate against that imbecilic oaf of a Representative, right on the floor. She's speaking through clenched teeth, smiling like she doesn't have a care as she's tugged into the group of intellectuals.

"It's been forever, hasn't it?"

She's greeted to a chorus of hums and one gentle nod. It's not as if they don't know who she is. She'd been paraded around on the news, plastered in the streets and on thick newspapers. Hotshot, they called her. Bold, a new face. Her opponents just called her brash and opinionated.

Nevertheless, the publicity stuck. So soon after the election, she's sure to turn some heads. Even at an event focused on a completely different discipline.

"Victoria! Have you met my protege?" And oh, who does the professor proudly present but you. The keen researcher, wrapped in a sweater and topped with thin-framed glasses. Your smile is much easier off-stage, curling completely as you reach to shake her hand. Those wrists, the ones who unfairly drew her eyes, skim the tips of her fingers. She shivers.

"I have not yet. It's nice to meet you... Doctor?" Her chin lowers as she addresses you. Her dark eyes peek through her lashes, meeting yours intently.

"Yeah, it's Doctor now." You preen under the title, smile brightening. Her hand lingers in yours, but you certainly don't make any move to pull away.

The tension crackles, a low simmer between you. Despite their aloofness—having returned to a conversation about another presentation—they seem to notice. The moment between you two makes Professor Peterson smile wider. A gleam appears in his keen eyes.

“Why don’t you two go walk around together? See everyone else’s work.” He sends you off with an indulgent smile, the feeling the same as being sent to the kids table at thanksgiving. After being shooed away, you really can do nothing but roam together—the walk awkward.

You peruse the crowded convention hall silently. The press of people around the both of you forces shoulder-to-shoulder contact a number of times. Soon, an ease starts to build. You stumble, and she cups your lower back. She gets bumped and you take her hand to steady her. It all feels so juvenile, being shoved around and forced together like two Barbie dolls.

She starts to notice how your hands twitch. Every once in a while, when you both stop at a booth, you start to fidget with the hem of your sweater—brief smile spreading. She realizes you’re excited; her own lips ticking up, endeared.

“…you can talk, you know. I’d sure appreciate someone talk me through these concepts. I struggled through Bio 101.” She quips, huffed in your ear to combat the constant hum of chatter around you. It makes you laugh and smile, and spurs your voice as well.

Now she’s treated to your wonderful quips, little huffs about contaminated controls and insufficient trials. Your words curl in her ear, the heat of breath leaving her exhaling roughly—even though you’re explaining things like CRISPR and DNA replication.

She always did have a soft spot for the science-y types. The easy intelligence seemed to make something curl pleasantly in her abdomen.

At one booth, she finally surrenders to the feeling. When you lean in, giggling a quip about how hard mice are to work with, she exhales. One of her hands curls around your wrist, tugging you with her and throw the crowd with a mumble about needing the bathroom.

You attempt to be polite, promise to wait for her by the sinks—but you’re cut off when she tugs you into the stall with her. The tile wall is cool against your back, but her breath is hot on your lips.

“Tell me you want this.” She pleads lowly, pupils blown and hands boxing your head.

At your frantic, short nod, she leans in and devours—hands pushing up your sweater and nose bumping against your glasses.

The professor smiles smugly when you say quick goodbyes. He surely spots the blooming, dark mark on your neck, eyes flickering to it. He barely gets to tease you, a laugh of “good luck!” echoing behind you as Victoria tugs you away. A woman on a mission, she is. She’s applying to you the same relentless drive she gives to her work; you’re a bit frightened (and increasingly excited) at what that entails.

As you pant into the plush pillow, eyelids fluttering at the aftershocks and legs twitching against hers, she curls a possessive hand around your waist. Her warm, sweat-damp form intertwines with yours.

When she mumbles “you’re mine” against your hair, you only respond with a breathless huff of laughter, tucking your face into her neck.

#kiera's fics ₊˚⊹ ࿔#victoria neuman #victoria neuman x reader #the boys #the boys fic

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champstorymedia · 2 months ago

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Mastering Market Expansion: Strategies to Take Your Business Global

Introduction In today’s interconnected world, businesses are continuously seeking opportunities to expand beyond their local markets. Mastering market expansion is essential for growth and sustainability, and taking your business global can open the doors to new customers, increased revenue, and enhanced brand recognition. This article dives into strategic methods to help you navigate…

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steviewashere · 4 months ago

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Pumpkin Pie

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Recreational Drug Use (Marijuana), Alcohol, Inebriated Steve Harrington Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Sad Steve Harrington, Insecure Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Kisses, Cuddling, Sharing Food, The Intimacy in Sharing Pie From the Same Tin on The Same Fork, Sappy Ending For @steddie-spooktober Day 24 Prompt: Pumpkin (My probably only fic for spooktober because it got away from me)

🎃—————🥧 Eddie wakes up to a cold bed next to him and a bladder that’s screaming.

It’s not unusual for Steve to get out of bed in the middle of the night. Sometimes from a nightmare. Maybe because he needs a glass of water. Occasionally for the bathroom. But for his side to stay cold? That’s what’s unusual.

He pulls up his pajama pants, washes his hands, and makes it out of their ensuite bathroom. Well, it used to be just Steve’s ensuite and bedroom, but it’s theirs now that his parents have completely moved out of Hawkins. Leaving their too big house in a trust fund—the only thing that’s in the trust fund, it seems. Steve agreed that he’d pay the bills, so long as his parents didn’t fully sell it; surprisingly, they gave in.

The downstairs is completely dark. No life in the living room. No flushing toilet from the downstairs bathroom. Nothing. It’s almost as if Steve isn’t even home. Though, the back porch light is on. And in the light layer of autumn fog, glowing from the pool lights, is Steve laid back in one of the pool loungers.

Heaving open the heavy sliding glass door, Eddie chances stepping outside. The cold bites him—teeth marks, flesh missing. His t-shirt and fleece pants aren’t going to fend off the chill. And Steve’s outfit won’t do any better either. Considering the fact that he’s in nothing but some ratty sweatpants. How can he sit out here, Eddie briefly wonders. A waft of something skunky and earthy flares his nostrils alive. He shuffles over so that he’s in the adjacent pool lounger, sitting on the edge, arms wrapped tight around himself. Looking on at Steve’s profile, who is completely zoned out, bringing the joint to his lips mechanically. There are goosebumps on Steve’s shoulders, his cheeks bright red, the area under his nostrils a little shiny. He’ll get sick out here.

“Steve?” Eddie softly calls. Though, it startles Steve anyway. Hazel eyes meet his: bloodshot, glistening, his pupils expanded to their full extent from how dark it is. There’s dark circles under his eyes, heavy eye bags. His skin is pasty underneath the flush. Already looks sick. “What’re you doin’ out here, sweetheart? It’s warmer inside.”

A sniff. Shrugged shoulders. Steve looks back out towards the pool, but his eyes aren’t bouncing over the water—from where Eddie follows them, they appear to be mapping out the horizon line, a blue expanse coated with fog. “My parents called”—he takes a deep pull from the joint and the cigarette paper crackles into use, breathing it into his lungs, puffing it lightly from his nostrils—“they aren’t coming,” Steve croaks, the rest of that smoke billowing from between his chapped lips.

“They called at midnight?”

Steve gives a heavy nod. Another drag. Billowing smoke. “Motherfuckers are in London right now, livin’ it large with all their stupid business friends. Mom’s tryin’ to keep Dad from chasing tail.” He blinks slowly and lets out a longwinded sigh. “It’s whatever. Tried to keep in touch with my family, made them a bunch of nice food, and this is what I get. Fuckin’ whatever.” Steve’s smiling by the end of that sentence, this humorless, lifeless thing. He goes back to the joint again on autopilot, lips wrapping around the end, taking in another big hit, letting it settle, and blowing it out with his next sigh.

Eddie looks around Steve, the crumbles of burnt joint on the lounger, what looks like a near empty glass bottle resting near one of the legs, another smoked roll but it’s just the filter at this point. He purses his lips and furrows his eyebrows. Looks at that bottle again—Smirnoff. He takes a deep breath, oh boy. “Don’t you want to go inside, sweetheart? We can talk about all this in bed, y’know. It’s warmer,” he tries again.

“Nah,” Steve drawls. “I’m warm already”—another fucking hit—“’t’s fine.”

“How much have you had to smoke, Steve?”

He shrugs again. Nonchalant like none of this is worrisome. Whatever that phone call was must’ve shaken him up pretty bad. Especially for him to come out here and party like it’s 1983? Yeah, must’ve been pretty fucked.

A cloud of smoke. “Dunno,” Steve says, “put some money in your…your lunchbox. Gutted some of my cigs. Bada-bing, bada-boom, right?” He puts the roach out on the arm of his chair, leaving a shallow crater in its wake. Steve points loosely towards the leg of his chair. “Hand me the…the uh…the drink?”

“No, Steve,” Eddie responds firmly, “I’m not gonna give that to you. We should go back to bed. Talk about that phone call in the morning.”

Steve scoffs and hefts himself up enough to come off the back of the chair, just barely reaching over into Eddie’s space. His eyes are glossier than they were before, heavy lids, Eddie can smell the alcohol on his breath when he speaks. “What’s there to talk about? They don’ fuckin’ love me. ‘M not enough for them to stay and now they’re startin’ over without me.” He collapses back. A wet breath from between his lips. “It’s whatever,” Steve spits. Swallows and sniffles and—

The first tear rolls down his right cheek.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes.

“Nothin’ to talk ‘bout.” He wipes aggressively at his cheeks with the hilt of his palms. Mutters, so quiet Eddie almost doesn’t hear him, “Don’ fuckin’ love me.”

Eddie’s silent for a few minutes. Sour in his stomach from Steve’s soft sniffles, the tears he won’t admit are there. He looks out at the forest, the dark expanse of sky. Lets out a calm, solid breath. “Are you hungry?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Sorta.”

“You want some of that pumpkin pie I made?” Steve nods to that. “Okay,” Eddie whispers. “M’gonna get you some water, too, alright? Enough of the weed and alcohol for tonight.”

“But”—

“No, Stevie, baby,” he shoots down as gently as he can. “It’s not gonna help.”

Before Steve can protest again, Eddie swipes up the bottle of vodka and retreats back into the kitchen. He pulls the tin of pumpkin pie from the fridge, grabs a fork, a bottle of water, and heads back outside. Along the way, though, he snatches a hoodie of Steve’s and some socks for the both of them.

The water and pie are set in Steve’s lap, fork laying gently across its top. He scrunches up the hoodie and pulls it over Steve’s head for him, guiding his arms through, letting it fall loosely over his stomach. And he treats the socks with the same reverence, a pair for each of them. Finally, he digs a bite from the center of the pie tin—a hideous scrape of fork prongs in the center of what he made—and brings it to Steve’s lips, who takes the scoop gingerly.

Steve hums with his eyes closed. “You’re a good baker,” he mumbles with a full mouth, “best…best boyfriend in the world.”

He snorts. “Mmm…that’s funny, I was gonna say that you’re the best boyfriend in the world. My favorite person, too.”

“Really?” Steve looks to him with his eyes as wide as they’ll possibly go, pupils still dilated, still glossy, but surprised. “Am I really?”

Eddie combs his fingers through the front of Steve’s hair, swooping it back off his forehead. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “sweetheart, you are more than best to me. You’re everything, Steve.” He offers another bite to Steve, watches as it disappears behind his lips.

There’s a small, pleased smile on Steve’s face. The corner of his eyes crinkled lightly, sparkling. He looks down at the pie tin, a crease worming between his eyebrows. Gently concerned, “Are you eatin’, too? ’T’s your food.”

“Two for you, one for me. I’m not that hungry.”

Steve hums. Still watching Eddie, as he finally takes a bite for himself. And then watching with more intent as he gets another bit of pie. There’s a smudge of pie on the corner of his mouth. Eddie wipes it away reverently with the tip of his thumb. He receives a kiss to it for his efforts, which he chuckles at.

“I love you,” Eddie breathes—easy as pie. “Love you so much, it’s almost ridiculous.”

There are tears in Steve’s eyes again. When he’s inebriated, his emotions are practically free flowing. They always are. It’s a shame he only allows himself to be this vulnerable when he’s like this, but it’s all the same real. Wetly, “Love you, too. You know that? Don’…don’t forget that. That I…I love you, Eds. So much. Love you so much.” His next breath comes out as a little, weak sob. A hiccup, this gentle burble.

He pets his hand through Steve’s hair again, gently swiping it down the side of his head, and cupping his cheek. His face is warm and his eyes are shiny and he’s still so beautiful—so wonderfully Steve—even when he’s like this. “Shh,” Eddie whispers, “I know, baby. I know. And I’ll remember, promise. Because I’m gonna love you for forever, Stevie. Just you and me.”

Another soft cry—delicate. “Kiss?” Steve asks quietly, “can we kiss?”

Instead of answering verbally, Eddie deposits the fork into the well of missing pumpkin pie. He cups Steve’s face with both his hands and gently invites himself in. Steve isn’t very coordinated, his lips too pursed, and his whole face scrunching in Eddie’s palms, but he makes do. It’s a saccharine kiss all the same—no tongue, just their lips, more smear than anything. But when Eddie pulls back a few inches, Steve is still positively dazed. As if it’s the first time they ever kissed, in which Steve looked the exact same: in love, entirely surprised his tactic worked, and still completely pleased with the results.

“I love you,” Eddie murmurs against Steve’s lips, mingling in the same breath, “no matter what, I’m gonna keep loving you.”

Steve rests in Eddie’s palms, going lax into his left hand. His face is squished, he’s flushed and warm. There’s a goofy, lopsided, syrupy smile on his face. “You…you taste like pumpkin, Eds.”

“Yeah?” he laughs out through a breath. “You do, too. You’re my slice of pumpkin pie, Stevie”—he pets his thumbs over Steve’s temples, down at the corners of his eyes—“slice of heaven right here in my hands.”

“Mm,” Steve hums. He moves forward in his chair, coming up off the backing again. This time, though, he wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist and squeezes. Snuggling in as close as he possibly can with Eddie still holding onto his face. There aren’t anymore tears, on his cheeks or waiting in his eyes—the best thing Eddie could’ve hoped for. With the way he moved, Steve’s cheeks are pushed flush to his eyes. His lips are pouty. Eddie can't help it, he plops a kiss to Steve's forehead, right between his eyebrows. Steve's voice is distorted and mumbling when he speaks, “You make me happy, Eds. Make me so, so happy. Love you. Don’ forget, m’kay? Always…always love you.”

For a few minutes more, they’ll be sappy like this. Slow and soft in each other’s space, sharing bites of pie off the same fork, exchanging the same words. They’ll hold close, forgetting about that stupid phone call. And eventually, they’ll head back to bed. Fluttering against each other under the blanket, Steve nestled against Eddie’s chest, drooling onto the same pillow.

In the morning, Steve will wake up, hungover. But Eddie will be right there, a glass of water and some painkillers in his hands. The same words again, “I love you.”

🎃—————🥧

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiespooktober #angst and hurt/comfort #sappy ending

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