#nodding along politely like i see the argument youre making

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

periodically watching video essays about doctor who to remind myself of how skewed my perspective is

[brunchable]

It's not a Meet-𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆, it's a Meet-𝗨𝗴𝗹𝘆. 《 Chapter 4: First Snow. 》

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: Rhys punches Bucky. 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). Adouble update what?? Credits to me for the Banner lmfao. credits to @ khaer for the divider.

You found yourself at the exclusive charity gala hosted by none other than The Emporium NYC—the brand your family had poured decades of effort into, now under your guidance as the new CEO. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting an elegant glow on the crowd below. You were dressed to the nines, a sleek gown that turned a few heads as you made your way through the event, mingling with business elites and socialites alike.

But tonight, even with all the excitement and the well-wishes in your honor, the event felt hollow. Rhys hadn’t even bothered to follow up after your argument; instead, he’d left you to attend alone, citing “deadlines” without even the courtesy of a call.

You brushed off the nagging disappointment as best as you could, forcing yourself into the motions—smiling politely, engaging in small talk, and pretending to care about which investments were “in” this year. Just as you debated sneaking out for some air and possibly texting Lincoln to bring the car around, a familiar face caught your eye.

There was Bucky, standing awkwardly near a table of canapés, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He was wearing a suit, but somehow, it seemed like he hadn’t entirely agreed to it. Apparently, he’d been convinced by Sam to come along to “loosen up” and “put himself out there,” which sounded suspiciously like Sam’s code for “torture Bucky with forced socializing.”

The sight of him, uncomfortably tugging at his collar, made you smile.

Before you even had a chance to greet him, he glanced up, catching sight of you, and did a double-take. He looked you up and down, clearly not expecting you to look… immaculate.

“Well, if it isn’t the king of resting grump face,” you teased, giving him a once-over. “Who roped you into this?”

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “A friend. Said it’d be ‘good for me.’” He leaned closer, mock whispering, “I feel like I’m at a wedding where I don’t know the bride or the groom.”

He then raised an eyebrow, his gaze settling back on you. “What about you? Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You gave a small, tired smile. 

“I’m the guest of honor, actually,” you explained. “The company wanted to make a big deal about me taking over, so here I am. Networking, keeping up appearances, and all that. Not exactly my favorite way to spend the evening.”

“What? Alone?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

You sighed, “Well… wasn’t supposed to be, but here I am. Just me and all this sparkling conversation.”

“Sounds like a blast.” He paused, glancing toward the crowded room and then back to you. “How about a little detour?”

Without waiting for you to answer, he gave a subtle nod toward the balcony doors. You hesitated only a second before following him, slipping away from the noisy crowd. The cool evening air was a welcome relief as you stepped onto the balcony, leaving the gala’s glittering scene behind.

As you leaned against the balcony railing, enjoying the cool air, fireworks suddenly burst across the sky in a loud, over-the-top display. Bucky raised an eyebrow, staring at the colorful explosions with a perfectly flat expression.

“Wow,” he said dryly. “I guess this is their way of saying, ‘Thanks for enduring the world’s most boring gala.’”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

Bucky shot you a look. 

“The appetizers are the size of my thumb, everyone’s pretending to care about whose yacht is biggest, and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard the phrase, ‘Ah, you’re the guy with the metal arm, right?’” He paused, smirking. “No, wait—I stand corrected. It’s definitely that bad.”

You laughed, nearly doubling over. “Fine, fine. Maybe it’s a little unbearable.”

“A little?” Bucky raised his arms in mock disbelief. “I’d rather be chased by an actual bear.”

Before you could respond, a camera flash caught both of your attention. You looked over just in time to see a photographer inching closer, recognizing Bucky and readying his camera.

“Oh, no,” Bucky muttered, eyes widening. Without a second thought, he ducked behind you, hiding like a kid trying to avoid a parent-teacher conference.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered, snickering. “You’re seriously hiding behind me?”

Bucky’s voice came from just over your shoulder, desperate but deadpan. 

“Do you know how ridiculous it is having pictures out there of me just… standing around, doing nothing? People already think I spend my free time brooding in a dark cave or plotting world domination. This’ll just confirm it.”

The photographer was undeterred, trying to get a clear angle. You decided to make it worse for him. Plastering on a winning smile, you called out scrunching your nose, “I’m sorry, but he’s very shy. You’ll need an appointment.”

Bucky, catching on, slouched further behind you, groaning dramatically. “Yes, I’m a fragile introvert,” he declared, though it sounded more sarcastic. “All this socializing is emotionally taxing.”

The photographer gave you both a look of pure exasperation, muttered something like, “Celebrities,” and finally left, muttering under his breath.

As soon as he was gone, Bucky straightened up, looking both annoyed and relieved. 

“Oh yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled as you doubled over, laughter spilling out uncontrollably.

Through your giggles, you gasped, “Honestly, who knew you were camera-shy?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, shooting you a half-hearted glare. “I’m not camera-shy. I just don’t need photos of me doing… absolutely nothing.”

You were about to fire back with another teasing remark when a voice called from the doorway. 

“Hey Boss?” Lincoln said, looking around the balcony, finally spotting you and pausing after catching you with Bucky. 

You groaned, rolling your eyes, the interruption pulling you back to reality. 

“Duty calls,” you sighed, turning back to Bucky with a reluctant smile.

He smirked, folding his arms as he watched you with a glint in his eye. “Guess I’ll just have to survive the party on my own.”

“Well,” you teased, backing toward the door, “try to avoid any other photographers. I don’t think I can save you twice.”

Bucky chuckled, taking a small step forward. 

“I’ll manage. But hey,” he said, holding your gaze for a beat longer, “maybe I’ll catch you around again… if you’re not too busy saving other poor souls.”

A giddy warmth bloomed in your chest as you tried to keep your expression casual. 

“Maybe,” you replied, giving him a small, playful wave as you stepped back into the light of the ballroom.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder one last time. Bucky was still there, hands in his pockets, watching you leave with that unreadable but somehow endearing look. And as you slipped back into the crowd, you couldn’t fight the small, stupid grin that tugged at your lips.

You caught Lincoln’s expression—one part curiosity, two parts astonishment, and maybe even a hint of betrayal. He quickly fell into step beside you, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper-shout.

“What the—? You know him?” Lincoln’s eyes widened as he tried to process what he’d just seen. “Is that why you asked me about him last week?”

You pressed your lips together, fighting back a laugh. “Calm down, Lincoln,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge.

“Oh, I’m calm,” he replied, though his eyes sparkled with barely restrained excitement. “Just… maybe feeling a little betrayed you didn’t tell me sooner. . . So can I have an autograph?”

× × × ×

Mission Report - J. B. Barnes To: N. Fury Subject: Preliminary Surveillance – The Emporium NYC Gala

Summary:

Attended charity gala hosted by The Emporium NYC, commemorating Ms. Y/LN’s recent promotion to CEO. Initial impressions align with prior assessments—She upholds a strong public image, maintaining composure and control over social interactions. Notably absent was her brother, who is assumed to play a significant role in the family business. Financial connections between The Emporium and Hydra remain unconfirmed at this stage.

Primary Observations:

Maintained close proximity to Ms. Y/LN during the event without raising suspicion. Her interactions suggest minimal awareness of potential financial inconsistencies within The Emporium. Detected a slight tension in her demeanor, potentially unrelated to business—indicating she may be open to informal connection or support.

Detailed Notes:

She was notably present without partner Rhys De Armande’s, who was expected as her support. Possible internal strain within close relationships could provide leverage if needed.

During casual conversation, Ms. Y/LN displayed no defensive behavior or signs of suspicion, indicating low likelihood of awareness about The Emporium’s alleged Hydra-linked transactions.

Absence of her brother raises questions regarding his involvement; additional background assessment on his role is advised.

Next Steps:

1. Gather intel on Ms. Y/LN’s brother and his level of involvement in company affairs.

2. Establish a means of recurring contact with Ms. Y/LN, potentially leveraging existing rapport to gain closer access to The Emporium’s internal affairs.

3. Monitor Rhys De Armande’s for any connections or knowledge that could corroborate Hydra involvement.

Conclusion:

Further investigation is required to confirm any connections to Hydra funding or activities. Ms. Y/LN appears unconnected to questionable financial activities, though developing a closer association could aid in discerning the nature of her family’s business ties. Recommend extending this cover to build familiarity with Ms. Y/LN and establish grounds for continued observation.

End Report

——

After finishing his report, Bucky leaned back, glancing over the words he’d typed. His gaze drifted to the section where he’d noted your apparent innocence in the financial dealings, the way you seemed oblivious to the possible Hydra ties. He read through it again, feeling a faint tug of something uncomfortably close to hesitation. The report had started to sound less like a surveillance file and more like a defense of you, highlighting reasons why you couldn’t be involved.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, mind flickering back to your laughter on the balcony, the way you’d leaned against the railing, unguarded and vibrant against the glittering cityscape. This was just a mission, he reminded himself. And yet, the thought of digging deeper, of edging closer to unravel the truth about you and your family, left a sour taste in his mouth.

With a sigh, Bucky closed the laptop. Getting close to you wasn’t just part of the assignment now—it felt like he was being drawn in against his own judgment. And for a man who’d always trusted his instincts, that was proving harder to shake than he’d expected.

× × × ×

The next morning, you were seated at your desk, a stack of files and emails demanding your attention. You were barely halfway through your coffee when the door to your office swung open without so much as a knock. Rhys strode in, his jaw clenched and his expression hard as he slapped a stack of photos down on your desk.

“What’s this?” he demanded, his tone icy.

You blinked, glancing down at the photos in front of you. Each one showed you on the balcony last night with Bucky—leaning against the railing, laughing, and standing close enough to him that it could easily be misinterpreted. The photographer had clearly captured every moment, especially the one where Bucky ducked behind you, making it look almost… intimate.

You took a steadying breath, not breaking eye contact as you replied, “It’s exactly what it looks like. I was at the gala, taking a break on the balcony, and happened to run into a friend.”

Rhys let out a disbelieving scoff. 

“A ‘friend’? This guy—Bucky Barnes?” He gestured to the photos, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you even know who he is? Since when do you two get so close?”

You felt a flare of frustration but kept your tone calm. “Since we ran into each other last night, Rhys. We were just talking. That's it.”

“You’re representing the company, Y/N. This isn’t the image we’re trying to project.” He folded his arms, staring down at you with a hard, unyielding expression. 

“Oh, I see.” You arched an eyebrow, finally letting a hint of your irritation slip. “So, the issue here isn’t that I was talking to someone—it’s that I was talking to him?”

Rhys clenched his jaw, looking ready to argue further but instead settling on a quieter, pointed tone. 

“We have an image to uphold. People are going to start talking if you’re seen getting cozy with some guy on a balcony—better yet an ex-assassin.”

“If people want to talk, they’ll talk, no matter what I do, Rhys. And for the record, there was nothing ‘cozy’ about it.” You held his gaze, unflinching.

Rhys leaned forward, his tone soft but cold. “Just… watch yourself. You wouldn’t want any misunderstandings to get in the way of your responsibilities, would you?”

He straightened, his expression still severe as he waited for your response. You met his gaze, forcing a small, composed smile. 

“Yeah—okay. Noted.” You nonchalantly shrugged, “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

After a tense beat, Rhys finally nodded, his face tight as he turned and strode out of your office, leaving the stack of photos on your desk as a bitter reminder. You took a steadying breath, staring down at the images for a moment before sliding them aside, determination hardening your expression.

As you refocused on your work, a faint memory of Bucky’s amused smile from last night flickered in your mind, lingering as you shook off the chill of Rhys’s visit.

× × × × 

You weren’t quite sure why you’d agreed to come to this high tea in the first place. Sitting here, surrounded by ornate teacups and delicate pastries, you wondered if some part of you had wanted to give this gathering one last chance—or maybe Sarah had just been very persuasive. Either way, here you were, sipping tea with college “friends” whose fathers all happened to be powerful men with influence. Chloe’s father owned a chain of luxury resorts, Cindy’s was a prominent investor, and Louzy’s family practically monopolized a certain high-end fashion brand. They had all grown up in the world of prestige, learning to wield influence with a perfectly manicured smile.

Across from you, Chloe extended her hand with a satisfied smile, the enormous diamond ring on her finger glinting in the afternoon light. 

“So,” she cooed, with an air of superiority, “Andy finally proposed. Practically begged me to say yes.” She laughed lightly, flicking her hair. “It’s been, what, a year and a half? I’d say he made a smart choice, wouldn’t you?”

Cindy gasped, leaning forward, eyes wide. “Oh my gosh, Chloe! It’s stunning. I can’t believe he went with such a massive diamond!”

Louzy added, “That ring is literally to die for. I mean, anyone with a ring that size has to be super special, right?”

Chloe smirked, then turned her gaze to you, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed judgment. 

“But, Y/N, you’ve been with Rhys for… how long now?” She clicked her tongue, feigning surprise. “Still no ring, huh?”

You took a sip of your tea, forcing yourself to remain calm. “It’s been a few years, yes.”

“Oh, a few years?” Chloe repeated, her tone laced with condescension. “I mean, not to sound rude, but… you’d think he’d be, you know, a little more committed by now.” 

She gave you a sickly sweet smile. “Especially since you’ve been attending a lot of events solo.”

Sarah shifted beside you, clearly annoyed, her fingers tightening around her teacup. You caught her eye, giving her a small, reassuring smile.

“I think Rhys and I are just… taking things at our own pace,” you replied, keeping your tone calm but firm. “Some people prefer to build a relationship on something deeper than a timeline.”

Chloe’s smile faltered slightly, but she quickly recovered. “Oh, of course. I mean, whatever works, right?” She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Though, personally, I think it’s nice to have that… security.”

Cindy nodded enthusiastically. “Totally! Who doesn’t want a big, sparkly ring to show everyone how loved they are?”

Louzy, who had been listening intently, suddenly perked up, her gaze sliding to Sarah. She tilted her head, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Hey, Sarah, I love that top! Is it one of the things you borrowed from Y/N’s wardrobe?”

A smug smile crept across Louzy’s face, clearly reveling in the veiled insult.

Before Sarah could respond, you placed your teacup down with a deliberate calmness, fixing Louzy with an unwavering gaze. 

“Actually,” you said coolly, “Sarah works for the Daily Bugle. And she has fantastic taste—though I wouldn’t expect you to recognize it.”

Louzy blinked, momentarily thrown off. Cindy looked at her in confusion, then at Sarah. “The Daily Bugle? Isn’t that… a real newspaper?”

Sarah shot you a grateful look, her confidence restored. “Yes, Cindy, it’s a real newspaper,” she replied with a touch of humor.

Sensing the shift, Chloe lifted her hand to admire her ring again, determined to reclaim the spotlight. 

“Well, anyway, let’s not get sidetracked,” she sighed, as if tolerating the attention on anyone else had been exhausting. “I just think it’s wonderful to finally have everything in place.”

You forced a polite smile, leaning into your chair. “Yes, Chloe. It really is… wonderful,” you replied, voice smooth but tinged with sarcasm.

As the tea dragged on, Chloe and Louzy tossed subtle jabs your way, but you countered with steady calm. Every now and then, Sarah would shoot you a grin, and by the end of the afternoon, you felt a quiet satisfaction settle over you.

You stepped out of the tea place with Sarah, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Remind me again why we went in there and willingly subjected ourselves to that?”

Sarah chuckled, glancing back at the elegant yet pretentious building. “Well, I always wanted to try that tea place… you know, just once.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing down at your Chanel tweed jacket and skirt as if regretting dressing up for this crowd. 

“Sarah, why didn’t you just tell me? We can go here anytime without needing to endure Chloe’s… antics.”

Sarah chuckled sheepishly, running a hand through her hair. “I guess I didn’t want to impose.”

Just then, your phone buzzed, and you glanced down to see Lincoln’s name flashing on the screen. 

“One sec,” you said, answering the call. “Lincoln? What’s up?”

“Hey, Boss,” he replied, his tone urgent. “We’ve got an issue with the Emporium accounts—a discrepancy that needs your immediate approval to resolve. And, well, the board’s asking for an answer ASAP.”

You frowned, glancing at Sarah apologetically. “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You hung up, turning to Sarah with a reluctant sigh. “Looks like I’ve got to head back to work. Raincheck on that shopping trip?”

Sarah nodded, waving her hand. “Of course! Go do your CEO thing,” she teased with a smile. “I’ll hold you to that raincheck, though.”

You laughed, giving her a quick hug before stepping toward the curb, lifting a hand to hail a cab. As one pulled up, you glanced back at Sarah with a quick grin. “Promise, next time it’s just us—and zero frenemies.”

With a parting wave, you slid into the cab, already shifting gears mentally to whatever awaited you back at the office.

Sarah watched you disappear into the cab with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. Just as she turned to figure out her next move, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, wincing when she saw the caller ID. Taking a steadying breath, she answered.

“SARAH!” J. Jonah Jameson’s voice practically exploded through the phone, making her jump and hold the phone a few inches away from her ear. “I need you back at the office, pronto!”

“Uh, hi, Mr. Jameson,” she replied, trying to sound composed. “Is everything okay?”

“Do I sound like everything’s okay?” he barked. “We’ve got a tip on a big story—no, a scandal! Could shake up the whole city! And I need my best reporter here now!”

Sarah rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “On my way, boss.”

“Good!” he replied, practically cutting off the line before she could respond.

With a shake of her head and a resigned smile, Sarah headed down the street, already mentally preparing for the whirlwind of work that awaited her at the Daily Bugle.

As Sarah headed toward the office, she couldn't help but wonder what kind of "scandal" could have Jameson so worked up. The Daily Bugle was always sniffing out juicy stories, but this sounded personal. When she finally reached the office and pushed through the doors, she barely made it to her desk before Jameson spotted her and charged over.

“Glad you finally made it,” he said, his voice intense. “We just got a tip about the Emporium—the shopping mall empire. Something big is going on behind the scenes.”

Sarah’s eyes widened, and her mind raced. Y/N’s family business.

“Do we have any solid information yet?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Jameson thrust a stack of preliminary notes and reports into her hands. “Not yet, but rumors are swirling about questionable transactions, offshore accounts, maybe even connections to shady organizations. I want you on this, Sarah. Dig deep, find out if there’s a scandal in there somewhere. If there’s dirt, I want it on the front page!”

Sarah forced a nod, her mind flashing back to her earlier tea with you. 

“Got it, boss,” she replied, clutching the documents, her mind already racing with questions about what this could mean for you—and how she would approach it without compromising her friendship with you.

× × × × 

A discrepancy in the accounts wasn’t typical, not for The Emporium, and certainly not something the board would demand immediate approval to resolve. Numbers ran like clockwork under your oversight, and you’d established a system so airtight that any red flag was immediately worth noting.

Staring out the window, you couldn't help but feel a pang of unease twist in your gut. Sure, discrepancies happened—data entries, system glitches, even miscommunication between departments. But this felt different. Lincoln’s urgency wasn’t the usual, nor was the board’s sudden insistence on your approval.

You knew that taking on the CEO position would mean an endless carousel of problems needing to be fixed or avoided, but this was something more. Something beyond routine. You’d barely had time to settle into the role, and already it seemed like cracks were surfacing.

When you finally arrived at The Emporium’s main office, you stepped out of the cab, straightening your posture as if bracing yourself against whatever you were about to face. The lobby bustled with activity as usual, employees and visitors moving about, the hum of productivity masking the weight of whatever issue had been quietly simmering beneath.

Once upstairs, you strode into your office, where Lincoln was already waiting, a set of documents spread out on the table. His usual calm demeanor was tinged with tension as he handed you a tablet displaying the latest financial report.

“Here’s the summary,” he said, his voice lowered. “It’s in the overhead expenses—numbers don’t line up with projected costs, but it’s small enough that it might’ve flown under the radar.”

You scanned the figures, your brows furrowing as the discrepancy became more apparent. The numbers weren’t wildly off, but they were just enough to be suspicious. The amounts were being siphoned off in bits and pieces—a little here, a little there—practically invisible unless someone knew where to look.

“Who else has seen this?” you asked, voice steady as you looked up.

“Just you, me, and the board,” Lincoln replied. “They’re pressing for a quick approval to ‘rectify the issue,’ but…” His voice trailed off, clearly cautious about voicing his suspicions.

“But it doesn’t feel right,” you finished for him, the weight of his unspoken concern settling over you both.

You set the tablet down, crossing your arms as you considered your options. This was your first significant test as CEO, and you couldn’t afford to let it slide—not without answers.

“Alright, Lincoln,” you said, your tone resolved. “I want a full audit of every expense tied to this discrepancy. And I want to know who’s overseeing these transactions.”

He nodded, already jotting down notes. “I’ll get the team on it. In the meantime, maybe stall the board?”

You gave a tight smile. “Let them know I’ll review it by end of day. They’ll get answers once I have them.”

As Lincoln left, you exhaled slowly, leaning against your desk, the polished surface cool beneath your fingers. You’d wanted this job, wanted to carve your own place in your family’s legacy, but now you were feeling the weight of what that truly meant. You were the one in charge, and this—no matter how small it might seem to others—was yours to resolve.

With a quick shake of your head, you steeled yourself and turned back to the tablet. You had no intention of being caught off guard again.

Your phone buzzed, drawing you out of your focus. It was a text from Rhys.

Rhys: Hey, can’t make it to dinner tonight. Got to stay overtime at work.

You glanced at the message, feeling a familiar twinge of disappointment. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you typed, your response clipped.

You: K.

A few seconds later, the dots appeared, then disappeared. Another message popped up.

Rhys: Raincheck?

You stared at the screen, your lips pressing into a thin line.

You: Sure.

× × × ×

By the end of the day, you’d pored over the accounts, scrutinized each line and every report, reviewing it all until the numbers blurred together. Yet no matter how many times you examined the details, something about the discrepancy didn’t sit right. The board was pressing for a quick approval, but approving without full certainty wasn’t a risk you were willing to take.

Taking a steadying breath, you pulled up the video call with the board members. Your face remained composed, professional, as you addressed them.

“After a thorough review of the accounts, I’ve decided to delay my approval,” you announced, your voice calm yet resolute. “I want to ensure everything aligns perfectly before moving forward, for the good of the company.”

A few board members nodded in understanding, but one of them—a man with a steely gaze and a penchant for impatience—leaned forward, his brows furrowing. “With all due respect, Ms. Y/N, perhaps another review could clear this up quickly. We’ve been waiting on this matter for a while.”

You met his gaze evenly, unfazed by his subtle challenge. “I understand the urgency, but approving without absolute clarity could expose us to greater risk down the line. I’d prefer to be certain now rather than regretful later,” you replied, keeping your tone respectful but firm. “I’m sure we can all agree that protecting The Emporium’s integrity is our first priority.”

A murmur of agreement spread among some of the board members, though the one opposing you still seemed unconvinced. He opened his mouth to press further, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“I’ll follow up with additional findings by the end of the week,” you continued, your voice steady. “But until then, my decision to hold off stands.”

You could feel the weight of their scrutiny, but you held your ground, watching as one by one, they gave reluctant nods. After a few more exchanges, the call ended, and you exhaled, feeling a mix of relief and resolve. You’d faced their pushback with confidence—and ensured that your standards for the company remained intact.

As you leaned back in your chair, the weight of the meeting with the board still settling over you, a knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. It was Lincoln, poking his head in, his expression a blend of curiosity and concern.

“How did it go?” he asked, stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind him.

You managed a small smile. “Surprisingly well. There was some pushback, but I held my ground,” you said, leaning forward to stack some papers. “They weren’t exactly thrilled about the delay, but I made it clear why I’m being cautious.”

Lincoln nodded approvingly, hands slipping into his pockets. “Good call. Want me to arrange your ride home?”

You glanced at the clock, then back at the files still sprawled out over your desk. “Thanks, Lincoln, but I think I’ll be staying late. Just want to go over everything one more time, be certain I didn’t miss anything.”

With a nod of understanding, Lincoln gave a brief smile. “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning then,” he said before heading out, leaving you alone with the silence of the office and the persistent, nagging feeling that there was something still buried in the numbers.

Determined, you dove back into the system, meticulously retracing each figure and record line by line. After what felt like hours, your eyes caught something—a detail that seemed to have slipped through before, a specific source of funds that suddenly appeared in the data. You swore it hadn’t been there in your last review, but there it was now, standing out like a flag.

A frown creased your forehead as you hovered over the entry, wondering if you could’ve really missed it. You wanted to cancel the audit entirely and approve the request, as the newly surfaced detail seemed to align perfectly with the numbers. But as you leaned closer to the screen, the strange sense of something being slightly off continued to linger, almost hauntingly.

But it all looked right… didn’t it?

× × × ×

As you step out of the Emporium, the chilly late November air greets you, and the faint sound of holiday music filters through the street, blending with the gentle noise of the city. Pulling your coat tighter around you, you start to head toward the curb when a figure catches your eye.

There, leaning against a lamppost just outside the building, is Bucky. His face is partially shadowed, and he’s dressed casually, hands tucked into his pockets, looking a bit out of place yet completely at ease in the late-night scene.

“Bucky?” you ask, your surprise evident as you step closer. “What are you doing here?”

He straightens, glancing briefly up at the Emporium sign before looking back at you. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, “I was just, uh—meeting someone nearby. Thought I’d take a walk after, and figured I’d swing by here to see if the rumors were true about those holiday lights.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in your expression. “Really? You decided to swing by the Emporium in the middle of the night to check out Christmas decorations?”

He shrugs, looking offhanded but not entirely defensive. “Yeah, well, they’re pretty famous. Thought I’d see them up close. But I guess you got the better view from up there.” He nods toward the office windows, giving a slight smirk.

You cross your arms, unable to help the amused smile that tugs at your lips. 

“Sure, okay,” you say, not entirely convinced but entertained by his excuse nonetheless. “But for the record, you didn’t miss much. It’s just lights.”

“Hey, it’s the season,” he replies, gesturing around at the twinkling displays. “Guess you’re not a fan?”

“After a long day of spreadsheets and budget requests? Not tonight,” you say, shaking your head. “But thanks for the review.”

Bucky shrugs, glancing at the quiet street. “Well, then, let me make it up to you. Mind if I walk with you?”

You give him a raised eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at your lips. 

“Actually, I have a car waiting,” you say, teasing just a little. Then, with a small sigh, you add, “But… I guess I’ll say yes. Just because I don’t want to feel guilty.”

He lets out a low chuckle, falling in step beside you. 

“Well, far be it from me to give you a guilt trip,” he replies, a bit of mischief in his eyes. 

You and Bucky strolled side by side down the twinkling city streets, he glanced over, his expression relaxed yet curious. 

“So,” he started casually, “how was the day? Besides the whole spreadsheet marathon and budget thing.”

You shrugged, lips quirking. “Oh, you know, just another day of trying to keep an empire afloat without losing my sanity.”

He chuckled, his gaze following the lights strung along the trees. “No pressure, right?”

“Not at all,” you replied dryly, sharing a knowing look. “Though I will say, I could’ve used a win today… like maybe a certain bag of cat kibble.”

A spark lit his eyes, and he tilted his head with a smirk. “Ah, you mean the bag of kibble I heroically claimed off the highest shelf? I’ll have you know that was Alpine’s reward for being a saint.”

You scoffed, feigning disbelief. “Heroically? You didn’t even offer to help. You just left me there, hanging—literally.”

“I don’t know,” he replied, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “You seemed pretty resourceful. Besides, I figured I’d let the ‘trash panda’ hone her skills.”

You nudged his arm lightly, as you continued through the festive district, the world around you buzzing with soft chatter and the glow of holiday lights. The chill in the air had grown crisper, biting, and you tucked your hands deeper into your coat pockets.

Then, just as you were about to reply with another retort, a tiny cold speck landed right on the tip of your nose. You blinked, surprised, watching as Bucky’s eyes drifted upward, following yours to the sky. Little white flakes were floating down, delicate and pure, catching in the glow of the lights as they drifted.

“Oh…” you whispered, lifting your hand to catch a few of the tiny, fleeting snowflakes, their touch cold against your skin. Around you, a hush settled as people stopped to take in the first snowfall of the year, gazes lifted in awe.

Bucky held out his hand, watching a single flake melt against his palm, his expression unreadable. And just then, he overheard a soft voice from a couple nearby, a woman nudging her guy friend and whispering, “You know, in my country… seeing the first snow with someone you like means you’ll fall in love and have a lasting relationship.”

The man laughed, nudging her back, but Bucky shook his head slightly, a low chuckle escaping him at the sentiment. That’s ridiculous, he thought, though when he glanced back, his gaze softened. You stood there, face upturned to the sky, lips parted in a soft, childlike smile, utterly mesmerized by the tiny specks of snow falling around you. The snowflakes caught in your hair, melting against your cheeks, their delicate spirals illuminated by the glow of the city lights. You lifted your hand slowly, palm open as if to cradle the snow, and for a brief moment, the world around you seemed to fall away, leaving only the gentle dance of winter’s first gift.

Bucky found himself frozen, captivated by the simple joy radiating from you, his own breath catching in his throat. The city sounds faded, and all he could focus on was you, wrapped in this fleeting, ethereal moment. The way the snowflakes danced around you, landing softly on your hair and shoulders, made it seem like time itself had stopped.

Bucky cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away and glancing off to the side just as you turned back to him with a soft, glowing smile.

“It’s so lovely, isn’t it?” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper as your eyes drifted back to the falling snow.

He glanced up briefly, letting the snow brush against his face, before looking back at you. 

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, his gaze on you a bit longer. “Lovely.”

× × × × 

Rhys swirled his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim lights of the bar. A few of his friends sat around him, joined by two women who laughed at each half-hearted joke he made. He took a sip, then leaned back, crossing his arms with a smug smile.

“You know, these days Y/N seems… less clingy,” he said with a hint of disbelief, like he was still processing the change. “No more arguments, no more endless complaints. I mean, it’s probably just because she’s still bitter I couldn’t make it to that gala,” he added with a dismissive wave.

One of the women leaned forward, tilting her head. “Honey, she’s obviously done with your relationship.”

Rhys snorted, though her words seemed to settle in the air a second too long. One of his friends chuckled, nodding in agreement. “That’s what happened to me last time. She probably wants out. Just break up with her, man.”

Rhys scoffed, looking genuinely taken aback. 

“Are you insane? There’s no way I’m letting her go,” he muttered, taking a longer sip from his glass. “Do you know how valuable her family connections are? And besides, she’s never going to leave me. She’s invested.”

Rhys’ friend, Derek, raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a smirk. “Really? When was the last time you two even slept together?”

Rhys' jaw tightened, irritation flickering across his face. “I’m not telling you that,” he replied curtly, setting his glass down a little harder than necessary.

Derek let out a short, mocking laugh. “Right. Because, you know, inviting other women over for drinks isn’t exactly what most girlfriends would call a turn-on.”

Rhys’ grip on his glass tightened as he turned to face Derek, his gaze hardening. “Got something you want to say, man?”

Derek just shrugged, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back, clearly enjoying how easily he’d ruffled Rhys. 

“Hey, I’m just saying… maybe you should think twice before acting like she’s wrapped around your finger. Just looks like the ice might be thinning, that’s all.”

Rhys glared at him, the playful atmosphere turning tense. But Derek just held his gaze, unconcerned, before lifting his own drink in a mocking toast.

Rhys’ gaze drifted toward the window as he took another sip, only to freeze mid-drink. His jaw clenched as he spotted you walking along the street with Bucky by your side. 

Scoffing, he muttered, “Speak of the devil.”

He slammed his glass down, standing abruptly, drawing curious glances from the women beside him. Derek glanced over, his eyes widening slightly as Rhys stormed out, pushing past the crowd without a word.

Outside, you were laughing lightly, lost in the easy conversation with Bucky, unaware of the storm approaching. The chilly November air swirled around you, a rare moment of peace settling between you two under the soft glow of the city lights and holiday decorations.

“Y/N!” Rhys’ voice cut through the evening calm, loud and unmistakably irritated.

Startled, you turned, seeing him striding toward you, a tense expression on his face. Bucky’s gaze flickered to him, his posture shifting slightly as Rhys approached.

“Rhys… what are you doing here?” you asked, instinctively stepping back as he drew closer.

“Forget that,” he said, brushing off your question, his tone sharp. His gaze narrowed as it flickered between you and Bucky before landing back on you. “Let’s go. Now.”

You hesitated, glancing at Bucky, who was watching the situation unfold with a calm but alert expression. “Rhys, I’m just… out for a walk. You don’t get to tell me—”

Before you could finish, Rhys reached for your arm, gripping it firmly. “We’re leaving. This… whatever this is, is over,” he said, jerking his head toward Bucky dismissively.

“Rhys, let go!” you protested, your tone turning firm as you pulled against his grip, but he only tightened his hold, ignoring your plea. His fingers dug into your arm, the discomfort quickly bordering on pain.

“You’re causing a scene,” he hissed, leaning closer as if to scold you.

“Rhys,” you said, a wince escaping, “your grip… it’s starting to hurt.”

That was all Bucky needed to hear. He stepped forward, positioning himself between you and Rhys, gently guiding you behind him. His expression remained calm, but there was a steely edge to his voice as he addressed Rhys.

“You heard her. Let go.” Bucky’s gaze was cold, unwavering, as he stared Rhys down, his entire stance emanating a quiet warning.

Rhys scoffed, his jaw clenched, refusing to back down. “And who exactly are you to tell me what to do?” he sneered, still holding your arm as he squared up to Bucky.

“I’m the guy telling you to let go,” Bucky replied, his tone steady, his eyes locked on Rhys without flinching. He took a small step closer, his frame casting a shadow that made Rhys falter just slightly.

Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke up, “Rhys, please, you’re making this worse.”

Bucky's jaw tensed as he held Rhys' gaze, his piercing blue eyes unyielding, a flicker of restrained anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He stood tall and solid, a quiet force between you and Rhys, his frame blocking you protectively from Rhys’ looming grip.

“She’s not going anywhere unless she wants to,” Bucky said, his voice low, edged with a steel that made him look almost dangerously calm. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t make a scene—he didn’t need to. His mere presence, unwavering and intense, was enough to convey every warning Rhys should heed.

Rhys scoffed, rolling his shoulders back as he maintained his grip on your arm, not backing down. 

“Do you know who I am?” he spat, narrowing his eyes. “I’m her boyfriend, so she’s coming with me. Get the hint?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed just slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if Rhys' bravado amused him. 

“Oh, I get the hint,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with calm menace. “I just don’t care.”

Bucky took a half-step closer, his gaze never wavering, his voice dropping lower. “You heard her. Let. Go.”

Rhys' face twisted in fury, clearly not taking the hint. His grip tightened as he looked straight at you, tugging at your arm again with impatience. 

"Let’s go, Y/N. Now.”

You winced, pulling against his hold, but he held firm, clearly too fueled by anger—and probably the alcohol coursing through his system—to let you walk away.

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he watched you struggle against Rhys’ grip. Without a second thought, he reached forward, his hand strong yet controlled as he pried Rhys’ fingers from your wrist, loosening his hold until your arm was free.

The tension thickened as Rhys’ gaze flicked down to his empty hand, his face contorting with anger. Before either of you could react, he swung, his fist connecting hard with Bucky’s jaw. The impact echoed, drawing the attention of people nearby who began to murmur and stare.

Bucky stumbled back a step, his hand reaching up to wipe the corner of his mouth, smearing the faint trace of blood there. He straightened, his expression calm but his eyes dark and intense. He smirked slightly, almost as if he found Rhys’ outburst… amusing.

“Really?” Bucky murmured, his tone cool, laced with disappointment that cut deeper than anger.

Rhys faltered, his confidence shaken as he met Bucky’s stare—cold, unwavering, and far from intimidated.

Bucky’s fingers flexed at his right side, and he took a half step forward, his eyes never leaving Rhys. The silence between them was charged, heavy with unspoken challenge, but before he could make a move, you gently wrapped your hand around his arm.

“Don’t,” you said softly, knowing Rhy won’t be able to handle what might come for him. “He’s not worth it.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted to you, his hardened expression softening just a fraction. He gave a slow nod, letting out a controlled breath as his shoulders relaxed. Then, without another word, he took a step back, keeping himself firmly between you and Rhys.

Rhys’s gaze darted around, finally noticing the crowd that had gathered, their eyes fixed on the tense scene unfolding before them. A few whispers and pointed glances pierced through his drunken haze, and he stiffened, the hint of embarrassment creeping over his face.

Realizing he was becoming the center of unwanted attention, Rhys clenched his jaw, reluctantly loosening his stance. He took a step back, throwing one last, heated look at you.

“This isn’t over, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely more than a growl, but the threat was clear.

With that, he turned on his heel, brushing past the murmuring onlookers without a backward glance, his posture rigid with lingering anger and frustration. The tension in the air gradually lifted as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Bucky standing together under the soft glow of the city lights.

Bucky turned back to you, his gaze immediately dropping to where you were rubbing your wrist. His eyes softened, and he reached out gently, his fingers brushing yours.

“Let me see,” he murmured, concern lacing his voice as he carefully held your wrist, examining it with a gentle touch that contrasted sharply with the earlier tension.

You offered a small, apologetic smile, averting your gaze. “I’m sorry… about all of that,” you said quietly. “You didn’t have to step in.”

Bucky’s grip was firm but reassuring as he looked back up, meeting your eyes. 

“Don’t apologize for him. And trust me—I did.” His voice was stern, with a hint of quiet conviction, as if he wanted you to understand that he’d gladly do it again if he had to.

Your eyes drifted to the faint bruise forming on Bucky's jaw, the small cut on his lip that still bore a trace of blood. A pang of guilt tugged at you, even though you knew Rhys was the one responsible.

"Bucky…" you began softly, biting your lip. “Let me make it up to you. Come back to my place? I can at least clean that up,” you offered, gesturing to his split lip.

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk breaking through. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I want to,” you replied firmly. “So unless you’re planning to argue…”

“Alright, fine,” Bucky agreed, a slight chuckle escaping as he glanced at you.

You pulled out your phone, dialing your chauffeur, and after a brief exchange, arranged for him to meet you both outside. The evening air was crisp, a soft breeze tugging at the stray hairs framing your face as you stood beside Bucky, waiting.

Within minutes, the sleek car pulled up to the curb, and the driver stepped out, opening the door for you both. You slipped inside first, settling into the plush seat as Bucky joined you, still looking slightly amused at the unexpected turn of events.

× × × × 

You unlocked the door, stepping into your penthouse, the soft lights illuminating the modern, inviting space. Almost instantly, Figaro trotted over, his tail swishing elegantly behind him. He rubbed against your legs, his usual greeting… until his gaze landed on Bucky.

The cat stopped in his tracks, staring up at Bucky with wide eyes, almost as if he were thinking, What the…? Figaro let out a small, questioning chirp, his gaze shifting between you and Bucky with unmistakable suspicion, though a small part of him begrudgingly acknowledged, Well, he did have a decent ear-scratching technique last time.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Recognize me, don’t you?” he muttered under his breath, watching Figaro with a knowing look. It was hard to miss the cat’s distinctive tuxedo markings—after all, he’d seen this little troublemaker sneaking over to visit Alpine more than once.

Of course I recognize you, Figaro thought, his eyes narrowing in mild annoyance. Doesn’t mean I have to like you invading my domain.

Unbothered by Figaro’s scrutiny, you led Bucky into the kitchen, opening a drawer to pull out the first aid kit as Bucky settled onto a bar stool. Figaro followed, tail high in the air, but he seemed more fixated on Bucky than usual, his amber eyes narrowing as he watched Bucky’s every move.

“What’s up with you, Figaro?” you asked, casting the cat a puzzled look as you opened the first aid kit on the counter.

I’m keeping an eye on him, obviously, Figaro thought with a huff, not that I’m worried or anything…

But Figaro only responded by jumping onto the countertop—a rare move for him—and inching closer to Bucky with a loud, indignant meow, as if to say, What is this guy doing here?

Bucky chuckled, meeting Figaro’s glare with an amused smirk. “Got a little territorial streak, huh?” He looked back at you. “Pretty sure he doesn’t approve of my presence.”

You glanced between Bucky and Figaro, your brow furrowing in mild disbelief. “Figaro, honestly—what’s with the attitude?” you said, reaching over to give him a gentle scratch behind the ears, but his gaze never left Bucky.

It’s not attitude, Figaro thought, shooting Bucky one last narrowed look. It’s… quality control. You’ll thank me later.

Bucky raised his hands slightly, grinning. “If it makes you feel better, I’m just here for the first aid. Nothing permanent,” he joked, earning another disgruntled meow from Figaro, who continued his vigil from the counter, as if making sure Bucky knew he was being closely monitored.

You shook your head, rolling your eyes with a smile as you dabbed some antiseptic onto a cotton pad, preparing to tend to Bucky’s split lip. Meanwhile, Figaro stayed firmly planted on the counter, his tail twitching as he observed every move with a suspicious, almost possessive air, though a tiny part of him begrudgingly admitted that he didn’t entirely mind Bucky’s presence.

As you began to clean his lip, Bucky’s eyes subtly scanned the room, taking in the layout of your penthouse in that almost instinctive, assessing way. His gaze flicked from the sleek, modern furnishings to the well-organized shelves, noting details without appearing overly interested—a habit he couldn’t quite shake, even in settings like this.

Figaro, still perched on the counter, watched him with narrowed eyes. He let out a low, inquisitive meow, his head tilting slightly as if asking, What happened to your face?

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing at Figaro with a smirk. “Oh, so now you’re interested?”

You laughed, catching the exchange. “Figaro’s just keeping tabs on his guests. It’s not every day someone shows up with a busted lip.”

Figaro’s tail flicked, his gaze lingering on Bucky’s bruised jaw, as if silently judging him for somehow letting it happen. You call yourself a tough guy? his eyes seemed to say, a faint air of feline disapproval mixed with that begrudging interest he refused to admit.

Bucky chuckled under his breath. “Well, tell him not to worry. The other guy didn’t fare much better.”

Figaro gave a little snort of a meow, as if to say, Good. Keep it that way, before settling back, still keeping a close eye on Bucky’s every move as he took in the surroundings, each glance and observation not escaping Figaro’s watchful, judgmental gaze.

You dabbed at Bucky’s lip with a cotton swab, your face mere inches from his, he watched you with a soft intensity, a gaze that lingered, one where he couln't tear his eyes away. Figaro, keenly observant even when pretending to ignore things, narrowed his eyes, picking up on the subtle shift in Bucky’s expression. That soft, unwavering look—a look Figaro had seen before, usually directed at Alpine, but never this intense.

Oh, I see… Figaro thought, letting out a low, almost smug-sounding meow that echoed around the kitchen. You find my human. . . attractive don’t you?

Bucky shot a look at Figaro, brows furrowing, as though he could sense the cat’s amusement. Figaro’s tail flicked with a barely contained smugness, his gaze darting between you and Bucky like he’d stumbled upon a secret.

“Something you want to add, buddy?” Bucky muttered under his breath, his tone just low enough.

Hm. How about we settle on a deal? I will help you with her. You throw in a good word for me to your feline friend, okay? The cat only blinked back at him with that irritatingly all-knowing expression, like he was storing this little detail away for later teasing. 

“Oh, he’s just nosy,” you chuckled, glancing over at Figaro, who was watching the two of you with an unmistakable gleam in his eye.

But as you returned your focus to Bucky, Figaro’s gaze lingered on the man, practically oozing feline judgment and, if Bucky had to guess, satisfaction. It was as if Figaro was thinking, Yeah, I caught you, and good luck hiding it.

“There,” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “All done.”

Bucky offered a small smile, his hand instinctively brushing his lip where you’d tended to the cut. 

“Thanks,” he replied, glancing around before adding, “Mind if I…?” He gestured towards the open expanse of your penthouse.

“Go ahead,” you replied, moving to the bar area to fix a couple of drinks. As you started pouring, Bucky drifted towards a series of frames on the wall, his gaze lingering on one particularly large, formal portrait.

He pointed to the frame, glancing back at you. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

You followed his gaze, feeling a familiar, complicated tug at the sight of the photograph. “Oh, yeah… half-brother, actually. My mom’s the second wife.”

“I see,” he replied softly, still studying the image with an almost analytical eye. He seemed to pick up on the formality in the photograph—the perfectly arranged poses, the distance in everyone’s smiles.

Noticing his expression, you added, “Family photos tend to look like business headshots when your family’s… like mine.”

“Guessing ‘family time’ wasn’t exactly Friday night pizza and board games?” Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, nodding as he looked at you with a newfound understanding. 

You laughed softly, handing him his drink. “Not exactly.” 

As Bucky moved from one framed photo to the next, Figaro padded along right beside him, tail flicking as he matched Bucky’s steps with a slight swagger, casting sidelong glances up at him.

In his mind, Figaro couldn’t help but scrutinize Bucky’s every move. Are you here to get rid of that other guy for good? Because, frankly, I DO NOT like him. He flicked his tail with a sense of finality, as if his opinion were the only one that mattered. Just saying, he thought, staring up at Bucky with a silent, assessing look.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing down to find Figaro practically glued to his side, the cat’s wide, amber eyes watching him with a mix of expectation and judgment. For a brief second, it almost felt like the cat was evaluating him.

“Got something to say, Figaro?” Bucky murmured, giving the cat a curious look.

Figaro simply blinked back, his whiskers twitching in what could only be described as mild approval. Maybe, he thought, as he continued shadowing Bucky’s every step, we can be on the same side, after all.

Bucky paused mid-step, glancing down at Figaro, who was still trailing him like a loyal—albeit judgmental—shadow. He let out a soft chuckle, crouching down to the cat’s level. 

“You’ve got quite the attitude, you know that?” he murmured, extending a cautious hand.

Figaro’s ears twitched as he considered the offering, giving Bucky a look that seemed to say, Finally, some respect. After a brief, regal pause, he leaned in, letting Bucky’s fingers brush over the soft fur on his head. “Guess we’re cool then,” Bucky muttered, scratching behind Figaro’s ears. Figaro’s eyes narrowed in pleasure, a low purr rumbling from his chest. He wasn’t about to admit it, but this arrangement suited him just fine. If you’re here to stay, soldier, at least you know who’s boss around here.

 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 @hextech-bros @wisteriaandwafers @yiiiikesmish @marvelavengerspovs1

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

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [27] - Midnight

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Some arguments have more tension than others.

Word Count: 2500

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship (I'm serious, they have issues), mentions of sex and fighting. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Well then.

As it turned out, your plan to make your cousin look weak was working.

The first hit was an absolute success, and Ian was already crumbling. It was lucky for you that your father wasn’t getting involved and was giving him a chance to prove himself after the first attack to the shipment, because Ian was acting exactly the way you thought he would act.

Good.

It was going to make things much easier.

Bucky had dropped by to the apartment in the middle of the day to go take a shower which was quite surprising but judging by the blood stains on his shirt, it was needed. You were sitting comfortably on the couch, resting your feet on the coffee table with a book in your lap when he came into the living room and made a beeline to you to fling himself on the couch as well, pushing your book away to put his head in your lap. You pulled your brows together, tilting your head.

“Can I help you?”

If you didn’t know it better, you would’ve thought he was pouting.

“I need like five minutes to rest my eyes,” he murmured with his eyes closed. “How someone can be so goddamn stubborn, I’ll never understand.”

“Ah,” you said. “This can only be about—”

“Becca.”

You nodded your head. “What happened?��

“Mom wants to meet her girlfriend and Becca is acting like that’s a natural disaster.”

“Hurricane Winnifred,” you muttered and Bucky opened his eyes to look up at you, but then closed them again when you absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair to play with it.

“Can you tell her she’s being nonsense?”

“I don’t think she’s being nonsense,” you told him. “Have you met your mother?”

“She’ll be nice.”

“Like fuck she will.”

“She’s nice to you.”

“Because she knows I won’t be nice if she won’t,” you told him. “Leila on the other hand…she’s way too polite.”

Bucky hummed and looked up at you again.

“Is Becca serious about her?”

“Oh absolutely,” you said. “Picket fence house and all that nonsense.”

“With a civilian,” Bucky mumbled. “That’s going to be fun.”

“Becca would never get with someone in the business, you know that.”

“Oh I know that, but I don’t think my parents do,” Bucky said. “They still hope it will happen.”

“Winnifred and my aunt would get along well,” you muttered. “Both boy moms.”

“So are a lot of people.”

“No there’s a difference between a boy mom and a boy mom.”

“You make zero sense, Charm.”

You shrugged your shoulders, still playing with his hair but his phone buzzed, making him let out a groan.

“No!”

“You’ll be fine,” you said and he sat up with a sigh, his eyes darting over the lines before he chuckled.

“Jesus, he really is the worst heir ever.”

“Ian?”

“Guess where he’s routing the next shipment.”

You frowned. “Where?”

“West side second dock.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Has your father never taught him anything, seriously?” he asked and you covered your mouth.

“West side second dock, Jesus Christ…”

“I’d better have a decoy shipment then,” Bucky murmured. “Just in case.”

“Yeah that’s a good idea,” you said. “The cops will follow that shipment and bust it with any other shipment that day.”

“I’ll talk to my guys in the force, let’s see how that plays out.”

“Both us and the cops winning,” you mused. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“They’re not winning, it’s just going to be their small victory so that they’ll shut up for a while,” Bucky said as he stood up. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Sure,” you said as he kissed the top of your head. “I’ll meet my dad but I’ll be home around dinner time.”

“Have fun,” he said and walked out of the apartment, and you heaved a sigh.

“Yeah,” you muttered. “I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

                                                    *

Your lunch with your father was pretty interesting, because you knew he was trying his hardest not to let you know about the so-called attack, but he was way too tense for you to think everything was going well. You took a look at the bodyguards in the restaurant, then sipped your rosé, leaning back.

“So,” you said. “How is everything with the business?”

He shot you a look.

“You took longer than I thought you would,” he commented and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m just making small talk—”

“Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Fine,” you said. “I heard about the attack.”

“Of course you did,” he muttered more to himself, then sipped his drink. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

You tried to control your expression.

“I know,” you said. “Doesn’t mean I’m not curious. Do we know who’s behind the attack?”

“Not yet,” he said. “We’re searching for it though.”

Tension churned at your stomach but you nodded your head calmly.

“What shipment was it?” you asked. “You normally have multiple men around the perimeter, but Bucky said it looked like a sneak attack. How did they get past your people? Did they kill them?”

Your father licked his lips and heaved a sigh.

“Ian was responsible of that shipment,” he said, making you arch a brow. “He must’ve—Y/N.”

“What?” you asked innocently and he licked his lips.

“He will stumble a bit, everyone does when they first start taking responsibilities.”

You hummed.

“Funny,” you said. “I didn’t notice that with Bucky. Or Sam. Or Steve.”

“Ian is a bit more…enthusiastic to prove himself than they were, perhaps.”

You tried not to grimace at the blatant lie and took another sip so that you could control your expression.

“I’ve been told he’s fixing the situation,” your father said. “He’s much more angry at the situation than you or me.”

“But are you angry?”

“It happened in my territory, and it was my shipment, my business that they attacked,” your father said even though his voice was calm. “Of course I am angry.”

Guilt burned at your stomach but you knew you couldn’t let it affect you; what you and Bucky had done was necessary.

It wasn’t just your father’s business, it was going to be yours one day and you had to prove that Ian was a terrible option.

For the business, and the city.

One of the bodyguards came closer to mutter something to his ear and he nodded, then wiped at his mouth.

“Duty calls,” he said and you took another sip of your wine, then put the glass on the table.

“Alright.”

“Want me to drop you off?”

“No need, my driver is here,” you said as you both walked out of the restaurant. He hugged you and you kissed him on the cheek.

“Be careful.”

“Always am,” he said and one of the bodyguards opened the door for you, but before you got in, you heard your father’s voice again.

“Y/N.”

You turned around to look at him better. “Yeah?”

“How would you prevent it?” he asked. “If it was your shipment?”

A smug grin threatened to pull at your lips but you bit inside your cheek, then heaved a sigh.

“Twenty men around the perimeter,” you said. “Additional ten in every half mile, three hour shifts in rotation. Couple of cops under our pay in the outer skirts, preferably by the bridge and at least three people watching the street footage so that we would know the license plates of every car that gets a bit too close for future reference.”

He blinked a couple of times, the impressed expression on his face impossible to miss and you felt your stomach do a happy flip, then shrugged your shoulder, forcing yourself to focus.

“But it doesn’t matter,” you told him. “I’m not your heir, am I?”

With that, you got in the car and the bodyguard closed the door, the driver starting the car immediately. You grinned to yourself and leaned back in the seat as the car started moving through the street smoothly and you closed your eyes.

“Yet,” you corrected yourself. “I’m not your heir yet.”

                                            *

Bucky had texted you, saying he would miss dinner because of a meeting taking long so you had ordered some takeout, curled up on the couch with Alpine in your lap. Towards midnight he still hadn’t come home so you texted him only for him to text back the meeting was still going on, and you picked a show to bingewatch in the meantime.

For some reason you liked it when Bucky was beside you on the bed when you went to sleep.

You were so focused on the episode that you hadn’t even noticed when your phone buzzed, so when you saw the text notification from Ian, you frowned slightly.

You and Ian didn’t really text each other.

You touched the notification and sat up straighter much to Alpine’s meow of protest the moment you saw the picture of Bucky and Anna by the docks. Bucky was leaning back against the car with Anna right beside him, laughing at what you could only assume something he said.

From: Ian

Ouch. Didn’t last long huh?

Fury spread through you so fast that it made your head spin and you stood up from the couch, Alpine jumping to the floor as well. Your jaw clenched as you zoomed into the picture, then ran a hand over your face.

Of course.

The so called meeting was just a fucking excuse.

You didn’t even know why you were getting so angry, after all this whole thing was just a business deal but that was the thing; you two had a deal. That was his only request going into this marriage, that you two wouldn’t see anyone else behind each other’s back but there he was, breaking the same rule he had implemented. A mob boss not being faithful wasn’t supposed to be a surprise; you had grown up seeing it over and over again, Bucky’s own father included but this?

This was disrespect, and the fact that Ian was the one telling you about it made it so much worse.

You tried to see through the fury pounding in your head, tossed the phone aside and dug your fingernails into your palms, gritting your teeth.

That motherfucker.

How dare he?

By the time the front door opened, you had been pacing in the living room for the last half an hour, still lost in your own anger but Bucky’s voice made you stop dead in your tracks.

“Honey I’m home,” he joked as he walked in and you narrowed your eyes at him, making him tilt his head.

“What happened?”

Even if anger was radiating off of you and you knew that he could tell, you managed to smile but you had a feeling it was more of a snarl.

“How was the meeting?” you asked, your voice eerily calm and he licked his lips.

“It was fine?” he said like a question. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m about to be shot?”

You walked to the couch to grab your phone, then found the pic, your hands nearly shaking as you tossed him the phone with more force than necessary. His gaze fell on the screen before he looked at you again.

“You put people on my tail?”

“You fucking asshole!” you lunged at him but he had the same training as you had – probably heavier considering the cage fight- because he caught you basically in mid-air and twisted your arm, then pushed you before you could grab him.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “You know what the psychiatrist said about open communication, let’s talk about this.”

“You’re going behind my back?!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, it was a business—”

“Bullshit!”

“A business meeting,” he said as you took off your earrings to toss them aside, making him pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“Charm baby, let’s not.”

“Oh no, let’s,” you said as you jumped over the coffee table but he caught your leg before you could reach him and threw you easily to the corner of the room. You landed on your feet just as easily but the vase by the corner fell off its stand to smash into pieces. Bucky’s bodyguards by the hallway must’ve heard the noise because the door slammed open, Hannah and Paul walking inside with their guns raised.

“Mr. Barnes?”

“Leave,” Bucky ordered, rolling his shoulders back as you gritted your teeth and pulled the pocket knife out of your waistband, flipping it open.

“…Sir?”

“Everything is alright, me and my wife are just having a small disagreement.”

“Mr. Barnes, are you—”

“She’s not going to do anything to me Paul but I can’t guarantee the same thing for you,” Bucky said. “Leave, close the door behind you.”   

Hannah and Paul lowered their guns, exchanging glances.

“Leave!” you snapped and they both rushed out of the door, closing it behind them in a hurry. Bucky gave you a smirk and opened his arms as if inviting you.

“It was a business meeting, princess.”

“In the middle of the night?” you asked as you stepped closer to him, both of you circling each other. “By the water? Are all your meetings that romantic?”

“We had to go check the shipment’s security because I don’t want to raise any alarms when Ian’s shipment gets busted—”

“Do you seriously think I’m that much of a gullible idiot?”

“Nah, I think you’re just jealous. It’s adorable, really.”

“I’m not fucking jealous!” you exclaimed as you lunged at him again, this time wrapping your legs around his neck to slam him to the ground even if he managed to knock the blade off your hand in the meantime. As soon as you two hit the ground, he caught your leg and flipped you two over, his hand shooting up to grab you by the neck, not putting any pressure but still strong.

Oh—

Oh fuck, this wasn’t supposed to make your heartbeat faster.

The only sound in the room was both of you breathing hard while you glared at each other for a moment, desire roaring through your veins, making your head spin.

Then his lips crashed into yours.

All your senses were too full of him for you to even think it wasn’t the best idea and to be completely honest, you couldn’t give two fucks whether it was a good idea or not, especially not when he was kissing you like this. You had no idea when you two had started ripping each other’s clothes but it was only when you felt his fingertips brush your bare waist, awakening fire underneath your skin did you realize you were only in your bra. You pulled at his crisp button up shirt until the buttons scattered around the room before you impatiently pushed it down his arms and bit at his lip, making him hiss for a moment to pull back to look down at you.

“Behave,” he warned you, smirking slightly and you tilted your head, arching a brow.

“You first.”  

He let out a chuckle, then winked at you and leaned down to kiss you again.

Chapter 28

[millerscoffee]

reader lives in jackson and is friends with tommy, so she sees joel relatively frequently, and they just DONT get along. the reader is young and she’s got a sharp tongue and cheek that irritates the shit out of joel, who shoots back just as much condescending insults. they literally can’t be in a room without getting into it. however, the reader does it for his attention (she’s got daddy issues), and joel doesn’t catch onto this until she’s knocking on his door at midnight because she can’t sleep and she needs him and she doesn’t know how to admit it. he pulls her in the house and absolute filth ensues. he makes her blow him and then they fuck. joel is smug and condescending the whole time, and reader just becomes a ragdoll. Size kink, dirty talk, daddy kink, creampie/breeding, the works PLEASE

you got it, anon! ✨ this was requested on @atticrissfinch's page too, go check it out! i love how the same request can elicit two different stories. i did my best not to read it before i finished this (it was as difficult as it sounds cos HOO BOI 😅🥵♡)

only daddy that'll walk the line

6.2k | joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: big mean dom!joel™️ lmao, alcoholism (reader's dad, but also drunk!joel for a second - **this is not in the smutty scenes**), parental abuse (verbal, it is brief), smut, age difference (joel is 56, reader is 18-early 20s - your choice), size kink, dirty talk (joel's a talker more than his usual grunty self), name calling (bitch, brat, slut, etc.), light praise kink & like- two pet names, ✨ degrading language and acts ✨, edging, choking/gagging, hair pulling, creampie, breeding kink, daddy kink, spitting kink!!!, spanking, oral (m receiving), no prepping the reader, brat tamer!joel, bratty reader, if i missed anything lmk

summary: based in jackson, you have the unfortunate predicament of being friends with tommy miller and hating his brother, joel – and you have no problem in letting either of them know that! until one night you are brought to joel's doorstep.

A/N: this is my first request! thank you! huzzah!! hopefully it's to your liking, nonnie. he's big mean dom!joel™️ but with a conscience yknow?? enjoy ♡ i did proofread this, but i wrote it over the course of a couple weeks. i did my best! lol

"Dude, what's his fucking problem!?"  You roll into the dining hall in a huff.  Shuffling to your seat for dinner, you slam your tray down and Maria gives you a combined look of worry and irritation at peace being compromised.

"Who, honey?"  Tommy asks, handing you a glass of water with an entertained grin because he's positive he knows just who you're talking about.

He'd seen the two of you go at each other's throats earlier in the day when you were trying to get by him on your way out the door.  His back was to you, and he all but ignored your request to get out of the way.  Causing you to shove past him, which ensued an argument between the two of you.  Which led you to both of you gunning each other with your words until you both left in a bad mood.

Joel had his back to you, his frame fully in the doorway as he spoke with a woman in town.  It started off slow: a few clearings of your throat, a slight nudge of his back.  No avail.

"Excuse me," you shouted, pushing at him again before he finally turned around quickly with his jaw ticked.

"Do you have any manners, Christ."  He said dry and muttered under his breath, but the lady made room for you and you nodded politely in her direction.

"Maybe if you weren't so fucking old, you could've heard me!"

"And watch your fuckin' mouth."

Joel turned his back to you, not giving you a moment to retort.  Conversation over. 

"This fucker," when you look up, you see Joel coming towards the table.  The sight of him gives you a set of shivers you can't explain.  Not complete disgust, but certainly not excitement.

"You really oughta keep better company," Joel tells his brother, sitting down beside him, he frames his entire body towards Tommy so he's sitting in a way to make you feel ignored.

"I'm right here, you know."  Your head is moving so you're in the line of his vision.

"Don't remind me.  Listen, this is a family dinner.  Go find your own."

A slap in the face would've hurt less.  Before Tommy or Maria had the chance to come to your defences – both of their mouths open ready to take up for you – you stood up, shoving your tray over to Joel.  So loud, other people turn their gaze to the four of you.

"Fuckin– eat up, then."

As you storm off to your house, you hear Tommy scold his older brother but you don't look back.

---

The next morning, your father wakes you up to the sound of his own yelling for you to come downstairs.  You'd been helping out Maria and Tommy to get your own place, or at least a shared one with people your age and to hear your dad's voice; whiskey-soaked and cruel, makes your stomach churn.

After slipping on your clothes for the day, you make it to the kitchen where he's sitting at the table and reeking from alcohol even from where you're standing.

"Didn't you hear me call you?"  His words were slurred and angry.

"Yes, I'm sorry."  It's such a difference from how you talk to other people, talk to Joel, for example.  Maybe because he's the last person you spoke to, but he's the first one who pops into your head during this interaction.  You sound meek, scared to say something wrong.  A stark difference from how you speak to Joel – abandoning all worries of punishment.  Almost like you wanted that from him.

"Fuckinbetterbe – hiccup – breakfast.  Now."  Your dad all but snaps his fingers and rage creeps up the back of your throat, biting your tongue so hard you break the surface layer.  A slight streak of blood coats your mouth, but you do as you're told.

This morning is kinder than others.  Your dad did not say thank you for the pancakes, you didn't get hit or debased too much.  You consider it a win.  Once you leave your house as soon as you can, Joel's chest hits your face as soon as you turn the corner.  The milliseconds seem long when you're met with the warmth and solidity of his chest, the scent of cedar and... whiskey?  It seemed too early, even for him, to be drinking and you shake off the unreasonable rationale that he should be treated differently than your father for the same behaviour.

You ignore the similarities of him and your father all together, actually.

"Watch where you're goin'," Joel's brows are knit together, which is normal for him, but you've never been this close to see his lips from this angle above you.  You almost say something out of the ordinary for the two of you, but you reel it in quickly.

"You're one to fuckin' talk.  Morning coffee smells a lot like alcohol.  Maybe I should tell Tommy about your habits."

"Does it ever hurt your head bein' a bitch all the time?"

"Not as bad as that hangover will be around noon.  Move."

You push past the large build in front of you with a clenched jaw, unable to be around him a second longer.  "Fuck you, Joel," you mutter for good measure on your way to Tommy and Maria's.

They'd given you safety on days when it seemed scarce, and showing up felt appropriate.  You were a little closer with Tommy than Maria.  He was able to listen to you without being too judgy, and you needed that.  The lack of safety piece was a lot like how your day started off.  You walk around to the back where Tommy's working on a new hobby and you sit in front of him, letting out a big sigh.

"Y'daddy givin' you trouble again?"

Typically when Tommy asks about your father he says it like this, but today it catches you off guard.  Confusion twists your mind, but you nod distractedly.  "Yea, he was drunk this morning.  Your brother, too."

You slide that one in fast.

Tommy fists through his hair, letting out a heavy exhale.  "Shit.  We both got trouble this mornin', I guess."

"Seems like it."

You're unusually quiet, looking at the ground more than anything.  It bugs you that Joel and your father have a similar quality to them.  That they both are up reaching for the bottle, but for Joel it's not a common occurrence and that makes you worried – an emotion you don't have for him that often, if you're being honest.  You don't think about his experiences that often.  But this is the first time, really, you've even seen Joel drunk like that.  You remember Tommy mentioning that he'd given up the stuff since Sarah's passing when everyone was around a fire one night sharing stories.

As if the dots connect in real time, you look over to Tommy who looks worried sick.

"He'll figure it out,"  you reassure, chewing the inside of your cheek before heading out.  You call behind you, "I'll be around."

You've never really been good at the whole 'being there for someone' thing.

~~

Later on, you find yourself in the mess hall again for the night's dinner and you catch Maria, Tommy, Joel, and Ellie all together and it feels weird to sit with them.  They're all laughing, Joel looks sobered up.  And it seems that Tommy didn't bring up the conversation the two of you shared.  They look like a happy family and twists a knot in your throat and the proverbial knife at your side.

"Can I please spend the night at Tommy and Maria's?  Please?"  Ellie is looking over at Joel with the sweetest expression, you snicker to yourself at how menacing she actually was.  It seemed to do the trick, though.  Joel's eyes flicker over to you, and it feels like you're being caught for something.  The look is inculpatory without you doing anything.  As if to say you are witnessing something too personal, a side of him not meant for you.  "Yeah, sure," his response to Ellie sounds distant.

This gives you no choice but to walk up to the scene, to sit down beside Maria.  She gives you a welcoming grin and makes space for you.  "What'd I miss?"  You look over to Ellie who's excited to see you, but Joel?  Not so much.  His eyebrows narrow down his face, suddenly more quiet than usual, even for him.  You set your sights back on Ellie who's telling you all of the cool things she's gonna do at her Uncle Tommy's and you flash a smile that lets her know you're listening.  Or at least trying.  It's hard when Joel isn't even initiating the usual conflict with each other.  More arguing than speaking.  And the fact it wasn't happening was off.

"That sounds like a blast...," you trail off, your chin in your hands.

"If you're not gonna listen to her, don't ask her questions."  Joel barks, eyes now solemnly black in your direction.  It makes you scared and delighted at once.  Like he was back to normal.  Your normal.

"I was listening to her?"  You retort, and everyone's quiet now.  Awkwardness filling the air as the two of you battle it out.  "Maybe if you weren't so drunk all the time you'd know the differen–"  "Hey, now."  Tommy chimes in, giving you a stern look of disapproval and you feel bad.  Reflective.  Joel wasn't drunk all the time, and you knew exactly why he was this morning.

You exhale, "I'm sorry," you nod in the direction of everyone but Joel and stand up from your seat, "enjoy your family time."

On your way back to your house, you catch a glimpse of a group of people your age.  People you'd grown up with, but they didn't acknowledge you and it digs the wound closer in.  You truly felt alone.  Like nothing fit, and maybe you didn't belong in Jackson but it wasn't like there were many choices to go to.

---

More times than not you sneak into your room.  Not because you are past a type of curfew, you were an adult.  It was more, you didn't want your dad to know you were around.  Your door was locked when you climbed in through the window.

You got comfortable, spilling out of your clothes for the day and into your pajamas.  Cotton shorts and a loose tee.  Your breasts perky and nipples taut from the worn fabric.  A lot of the day was spent dealing with heavy subjects that you just wanted to let your mind escape.

Staring at the ceiling in your bed, your eyes become blurry in need of sleep.  Needing release.  Anything.

Your mind wanders to why Joel was so quiet with you when you sat down.  It wasn't like that was the first time the two of you had a shouting match in front of everyone, but this felt different.  You deduce it to Joel having an off day and let your mind wander somewhere else.

Or, at least you try.

Because when your hands explore your body under the blankets, Joel comes back to life in your thoughts.  You come back to the warmth of his chest when you ran into him this morning, the grunt that left him from impact.  What that would sound like against your ear.  Before you know it, you're shifting your thighs together, spreading the mess of your cunt.  A craving ignites your bloodstream.

It's slick between your legs when you sit up, and you're full of determination unbeknownst of where it's coming from.  The act itself is a little heady, but you have nothing to lose so why not?

Slipping on a pair of shoes and a jacket that covers your clothes, you turn your back to the window and scurry down until you're able to jump off onto the grass.  One step close to where you want to be.

Joel's house is across the street which makes it easy to get to, but aggravating when you want a sense of peace.  He's always around, shooting you a menacing stare when you're not down each other's throats but there's an ache you can't deny.  A compulsion.

You knock on his door twice before he swings it open almost like he saw you approach, but he doesn't tug you inside like you thought he was.  Doesn't make you get on your knees or fulfill any fantasy of being used.  Of... making him proud.

"What?"  His question is dry and a part of you is crushed. He isn't taking advantage of the way your legs look in your shorts right away.

"You're not the only one who had a bad fucking day," you start, but he doesn't give you a moment to push through the door because before you know it you're being pulled inside.  The sound of a slamming door somewhere behind you.  You're forced to look at him with his paw wrapped around your jaw, thumb tilting your chin up effortlessly.  It locks you in place.

"You came here.  Why?  Y'want me to fuck your bad day away?"

You gape is panicked, eyes wide now in this compromising position.  You can't think, you can't nod or say words.  You just stare.

"She's real fuckin' quiet now," Joel shoves you against the closed door, not letting an inch of space be wasted and he takes your wrist with his free hand, palming you over his hardening cock in his jeans.  "How about now.  You payin' close attention?"

You whimper, nodding softly as your fingers massage and rub, tug at anything you can through the fabric.

"Did I tell you y'could do that?"  His words make you pause, shivering at how truly empty your mind is in the moment.  Even in your inexperience you don't know you've ever felt so instantly timid.  Joel makes you fold at the first hint of misbehaviour.  You can't think of a thing to say.  Halfway don't know why you're here in the first place, and he's got you so wet from this it almost hurts.  Stickiness coats your thighs as you squeeze your legs together and you're sure it will be obvious even through your cotton shorts.

You shake your head, and he's sick of you not speaking to him.  Squeezes your face tighter, "Use your fucking words."

"No... no you didn't," you manage and you've never heard yourself sound so pathetic.

"I didn't, that's right.  You answer to me."  The snapping sound of his words causes your eyes to roll in annoyance.  He doesn't own you, he never fucking could.  The action makes his jaw tighten, his hand from your jaw in a grip that didn't hurt now is wrapped around your throat and although it's not tight, it certainly isn't loose.  "What the fuck was that?"

You're back to being silent, unable to do anything but take.

"Not asking again."

"I rolled my ey–"

"You rolled your eyes.  Roll your fuckin' eyes at me again, little girl.  You'll regret it."

A cool threat, you think.  Meaningless, even.  What possible reproach would he have anyway?

It's then you take in the house.  You'd been here once before to stay with Ellie.  It's dark, a single lamp upstairs.  All of this is background noise to the drone of your need prickling your youthful skin.  It's apparent, your age difference, when you're this close.  His rough fingers, wrinkles catching the moonlight peeking in through the windows.

"I–I'm sorry," you've been saying that a lot lately.

"Don't apologise to me.  Don't say sorry when I know you're not."  His thumb moves from your chin to your lips, thumbing over just how pliable and soft they are and it sends your nerves to the surface.  Prying your lips apart, he presses inside and you willingly wrap your lips around it to lap the pad of his digit.  "Look at that sweet thing," he says, more at you than to you, and your neck flushes being this willing to suck for him, "so easy for me to use.  I put my thumb to y'er lips and you just took it right in, didn't ya?"  The taste of his skin robs you of any other sense, his tone making you all but fold.

"Show me what this mouth is good for, 'cuz it sure ain't good at a sincere apology."

Before you know it, you're on your knees.  Joel is kind enough that he ushers you down onto the hardwood floor and you can't believe you're face to face with his crotch in front of his door, no less.

"You couldn't wait to take me to your bedroom?"

Joel doesn't reply straight away.  Instead you hear the clanking of metal, a zipper coming undone, and the slap of his cock hitting his abdomen on the way out of his pants.  You take mental note that he hasn't been asleep by his attire, but it's all for nothing when your eyes make out the shapes in the dim light.  You choke when you see just how big he is.

He tuts, leaning his head condescendingly as he takes a chunk of your hair in his palm to tilt your chin up to greet his cock.  "Aw, you think you're goin' t'my room?"  The words make you feel naïve, the one or two times you've done something like this didn't have nearly as much... compromise.  And you certainly didn't hook up with someone twice your age.  You don't have time to be self-conscious because the head of him, the leaky head of him, is tapping against your lips and your eyes roll back as you open your mouth for him.  After jumping slightly in surprise, of course.

He sighs in relief with a deigned smile, pushing his hips further.  "Fuck.  You hear that?  Nothing!  Sounds so fuckin' good, shuttin' you up."

But it's not entirely nothing, is it?  Not with your gagging, slurping up what you can but you don't know what you're doing all the way and fumbling through half of it.  Doesn't seem to faze him much.

It's obscene as it feels, him using you like this – and you don't feel an ounce of guilt when it's exactly what you want.  The switch flips on why you came to his door in the first place.  His big thumb swipes over the corner of your full mouth, "You like that, dontcha, filthy thing?"

And you hated how right he was.  You wanted to scream, kick him.  Retaliate in a way so you could still be in this submission at the same time.

Your mouth was full by the earthy taste of him, obliterating whatever feelings you had about the day.  A bad mood that he had contributions in, but it's melting from the constant thrust of his hips.  And he's keeping your head locked in place, hand gripped in the strands so you can feel your spit mingling with the underside of his cock.  Honestly, every part of his dick is covered in your spit.  It spills down your chin, threatens up your nose when you gag, leaves your eyes to water when you look up at him in a dire need to breathe fully, but he's not done with you.

Not until the loudest, lewdest pop from your mouth you've ever heard does Joel break contact completely.  Steps back until you're being observed in a patronising way.  Your gone expression.  All saliva and tears and his precum smeared over your mouth.  You can barely bring yourself to look up, but his demands seem to do the trick.

Snapping his fingers at you to get your attention, you swallow hard.  "Nuh uh.  You're not gonna get all soft on me, girl.  Wake the fuck up."

Which would be simple if he wasn't practically dragging you by your hair, making you crawl on your hands and knees until you're on your feet and you're shoved onto his couch.

All that and you're still dressed.

"Off," he's barking commands like you're a trainable being and if you were in any other state, you may reconsider this whole ordeal, but when he pushed you onto the couch your legs spread just enough for him to see the wetness smearing the cotton at the apex of your thighs and that amuses him. "not good at hidin' how much of a slut y'are."

"You think it's just you that does this to me?" You find your voice again, hoisting yourself up to sit on his couch as his cock – thick and proud – sways against the fabric caught between it.  Your tongue presses to your cheek when you make eye contact, "You're kidding yourself."

The venom drips so fluidly from your tongue, Joel doesn't make a sound.  Just peels off his clothes until he's standing there naked in his house, giving you living proof that you are kidding yourself.

The silence speaks for itself.  He is pure smug under the sight of your drooling gaze.

"It's real cute that you think y'got control over the situation n'all," the weight shifting on this couch from the cushion shaping around his knee.  Joel sits down, taking you by the scalp again to cloak you over his lap stomach-first, and you yelp in surprise when he does all of this and tugs your shorts down in one fell swoop.

With your hair in his fist, his other hand ghosts over your ass in effort to make sure you squirm for him before administering a devilishly loud spank to your ass.  "But somebody better teach you better manners.  Sure as shit itn’t your father."

You crack out a sob at that– from the contact and the truth.  You couldn't retort, you were too busy getting slap after slap against your increasingly worn ass to think about anything else.  "Lucky I ain't making y'count.  You'd have this for eternity now."

Not that it mattered anyway.  He's leaving mark after mark of his large handprint across your cheeks, probably ten more if you could even focus on anything else but finding the words to stop him.

"Please– y-you're right," tears stain your face as you bury your face in your arms.  Flinching when Joel moves, you expect another searing punishment, but instead he pulls your ass apart and you gasp at the cool air striking your cunt that's hot and wet for him.  "Joel!"

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, wet from gettin’ punished.  I talked so bad about you, and you liked it?  You’re as desperate as I thought.  Only good for gettin’ my cock wet.”  And it’s like a lever is pulled when your slutty little smile plasters over your face with him out of view.  Not that you had much time to gloat, or to experience the pleasure of living in your own fantasy because Joel’s got you pulled again.  His thick thighs spread apart when he maneuvers you so willingly to sit between his legs.  Right where he wants you.  Right where you can feel the throbbing pulse at your folds.  He tells you to take off the rest of your clothes and you would be a fool to do otherwise.

“Bad girls don’t get the luxury of bein’ opened,” that Texan drawl slips over your ear when he holds the base of his cock, slicking himself through your folds, you gasp and wriggle against him – his grip tightening harder.  Silently warning you if you make another move it’s over, you’re done.  It’s over.  All the while the searing stretch of him causes your cunt to flutter and clench around him.  It’s too much, too overwhelming, and he won’t let you adjust long enough.  “You’ll get over it,” but it’s not reassuring.  He still sounds in control despite his laboured breathing and when he can, he moves his hands to grip your hips and guide you down on him.  You scream, a knee jerk response wriggle away from him, but this position doesn’t quite allow for that.

“Be a good girl.”

That folds you, quite literally, as he moves his hips down to pound up into yours, using you like his own toy to get himself off with.  And it’s just the incredible sounds of your squelching cunt and his balls tapping against your folds.  The fucking isn’t frantic, but it certainly isn’t soft.  He’s rough with you, a hand traveling up your back to grip your hair so your neck is back in place and he lifts you upright so your back is curved, neck craned so if you tried, you could make him out – upside down.  “Poor thing couldn’t help it, had to get a daddy to take care of her.  You want that, kitten?  Wanna be used and as daddy’s little fucktoy – only good for makin’ me cum?”  his hand sneaks around to the front of you with his free hand, he presses and digs into your pubic bone to make you feel exactly where he is.  “Put a baby right here.  Make everyone know what you fuckin’ did.”

You whine, eyes rolling back at the thought.  It was so obscene, nothing like you’d ever even heard of before.  Where did he fucking learn how to talk like this?  Your brain is swimming while your sticky sweetness coats his lap, clawing at his thighs for any sort of stability, but it was dizzying how he had you.  How his grunts filled the air in between slaps like he had your hips placed at the perfect angle for him to work you.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”  His gritting teeth by the shell of your ear, he keeps you secure within your hair to snake his arm around the front of you tugging and rolling at the sensitive nubs of your nipples.  When he feels you appear to drift off, those rough hands supply another smack, but to your tits this time, your fingernails clawing into his thighs involuntarily as you squeal in surprise.  You tighten at that, fluttering around his cock and you feel it at the edge.  So close you can almost taste it.

But he knows you’re close, too, and there’s no way in hell he’s giving that to you.  Not when you’ve barged into his house like this, not when you’ve done nothing but be an insufferable brat to him since the moment he came to Jackson.

Joel hovers you over his lap, and your heels dig into the floorboard.  His hips still, keeping the very tip of his cock inside of you – you feel panic flash over your body.  “No,” it’s the first word you’ve uttered in god knows how long and it sounds desperate.  Any hope of getting an orgasm swirls down the drain, and it’s set in stone when he pushes you on your back – the lumpy couch digging into your skin.  “No, no, please.  Why!”

His eyes could burn a hole through you.  Like a hungry dog, his body hovers – shoulders stooped, head down when he pours his gaze into you.  And he likes what he sees.  Legs open and begging, willing to do anything to get him back into you.  Your cunt glistening, even in the dull light and he can tell it’s pulsing.  “Poor thing’s clampin’ around nothin’,” he teases, grunting when his knees meet the couch cushions – another tell of his age.  But you, you’re too preoccupied in taming the ache between your legs to comment.  It burns, coming back to a fixed state you realise how stretched out you were and it’s more than overwhelming.  To know you haven’t been used to completion, all hope draining from your face.

“Joel,” your breath is shaky underneath him, pupils blown and wet when you make out his features, “Joel, please.  Please, I want this.”

“Darlin’, I know you want it.  Everybody in town knows you want it,” his words make you sob a whine as they approach closer to your neck, the delicate graze of his beard dances at your pulsepoint and you shudder.  Hips raise and he’s quick to slam them back down into place.  “If you want me, ‘Joel’ ain’t whatchu say to get me.”

And if you felt hopeless before, you really do now.  Unable to do anything but debase yourself for your own pleasure.  You’d heard it earlier, the way he referred to himself with a name that brought up mixed feelings at Tommy’s.  You swallow down embarrassment, looking him in the eyes – which were faded obsidian, your fingernails dig into your own thighs as if to brace for what’s tempting to slip out of your throat.

You hated that he made you nervous.

And you hated the hold he had over you.

But he had it, there was no doubt about it.  He had it.  He had you.

Your jaw ticks forward, fully aware of your clit screaming for attention and exhale shakily.  “Please, daddy.  Please, I want this.”

“Eh,” Joel muses, shaking his head, “I don’t believe ya.  Really gotta hear the desperation in your voice.  Maybe if I,” his hand reaches for his cock, slapping the sloppy head of it against your folds and that– that sends you.  Takes you to a different destination entirely because for the first time all night there’s attention to that bundle of nerves, and he knows it.  He knows you need this in order to give everything over to him in full.  “Daddy!” you screech, pelvis jutting up in full inclination and without a single word, Joel’s cock spears into you all the way to the hilt.  All the way to your cervix.

His hands, emitting heat and wrapped largely around your hips, locks you where he wants you like some animal in heat.  It forces you to bring your legs up into a position you aren’t sure you’ve ever been in – thighs against your stomach, by your sides.  It’s so, “deep,” you whimper, head rocking as your mouth flies open and he’s delivering you thrust after thrust of pleasure so wrecking no noise comes from you.

“Is that what you needed? Fuckin' brat,”  Joel is still able to tease, but even he isn’t immune to how tight you are around him.  Your fluttering core begging for release as it moves in and out around him – as if it’s doing its own begging.  “You wanna be filled up to the brim with my cum, babygirl?  Needy fucking cunt like you only good for matin’ like this.”  Your skin burns at his words, your body convulsing as you do your best to keep it together.

That’s when Joel’s hand wraps around your throat, a line of spit falling into your mouth and you willingly drink from him.  “You hold off, you ain’t gettin’ it tonight,” you pout for a moment, not fully understanding what he means by that, but he clarifies when his hips get sharper, more precise.  As if his cock is hooked inside of you, not letting a drip of precum spill out of you against your cervix.  “Y’ain’t cummin’, but I am.”

His grip around your throat gets harder, and you swear you can see every vein in his face rise to the surface when he uses you.  You’re limp, all thoughts washed away – his cock thick and long, you aren’t even sure how he fits it all inside of you but he does.  The edge of your stomach bulges as he works you, his neck cranes back to expose his neck and it’s too much to take. For both of you.  His hot cum ropes cords inside of you, sticking to your walls.  Filling you up is an understatement with how much he has to give you.  It’s as if you can discern the moment his seed grazes your cervix in its sticky texture.  Your head is swimming at the sound of your animalistic grunts, he looks so… fucking hot like this.  His name is replaced with ‘daddy’ more easily than you care to admit.  You do try not to chase your orgasm… a part of you does, anyway.

But you’re defiant.

You can take yourself there without him telling you to, and in fact the opportunity to disobey him is just what you need to send yourself creaming all over his cock.  You gasp, eyes wide before they roll back and you’re fucking yourself on his spent cock that somehow still has life to it.  Even for his age, he can still keep it hard for you after his seed coats your insides.  “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” becomes part of your breath, and you’re shocked he doesn’t pull out of you even though his hips are still.  You don’t notice it until you come down considering you’re using him.  Did he say you could do that?  As if you’re woken up by an alarm, you jerk at the sensation of the orgasm you snuck.  Without his permission.  You look up, and his knuckles are bleached around your hips.  He looks so menacing like this, scary.  You shake your head, swallowing hard in your attempt to fix things.

But it’s too late for you.  You’re a brat at the end of the day, and he has to train you.  Make you realise the error of your ways.

His cock is still buried deep when his middle finger plays where the two of you connect.  A whine escapes you, shivering now, not quite sure what he’s going to do.  He’s lethally quiet, you aren’t sure how to react.  He’s contemplating what to do to you, he’s not met someone who’s as menacing as he is.  As unwilling to give away freedom.  Not since… his nostrils flare as he inhales.

“I told you not to do that,” Joel stating the obvious makes you clear your throat, his cock twitching inside you in the aftershocks sends your teeth to bite down on your lip and you shake your head, “I c- I couldn’t help it!” You lie, and he knows it.  Compels him to prod that middle finger just above his cock inside you and the stretch is too much.  When you reach out for his forearm, his other hand darkens over your wrist, pinning it back in a way that hurts.  You wince in tandem with it and his monstrous hook of the digit inside you.  You’re so full, “It’s too-it’s too much!” you tap at anything you can, but he’s not listening.

Instead, the pad of his finger has no problem in touching that spongy bit inside of you – especially since your cunt is stretched from his cock and he can see it.  His cum tempts to pool out of you, but he shoves it back in, working his finger inside you repeatedly but he’s just rubbing.  He’s just rolling his finger against your g-spot until you feel so overstimulated it brings more pain than pleasure.  “Came like you knew what you were doin’,” he finally remarks, thumb rolling over your clit and you can’t take it.  “Please, pl– it’s too much!  Daddy!”  That rhythm is sly, though, in making you come undone.  Again and again.  As you’re on the peak of what would be an explosive orgasm, Joel pulls out of you entirely.  His cock, his finger.  His warmth is a distant memory when he stands up, palming over his cock.  How did he get hard again?!  He would deal with that on his own time.

Your moan is choked out, thighs pressing together for any sort of… something.  A release, a grind.  You’re left panting and begging, your tits perky and heaving for him.

“What did I say, little girl?”  He climbs into his clothes, one button up at a time with his flannel.  “You won’t be cumming for a week with that fuckin’ attitude.”

You’re so lost in chasing a feeling, soon to disappear as it could arrive that all you can do is whimper and nod.  “I’m so–” his hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.  Spit covers your face, and you hum like a kitten at the feeling of his hot saliva down your cheek, “What did I fucking say about apologisin’ when you’re not sorry?”

You wipe your face, sucking the spit off your thumb with a satisfied smirk.  “Fuckin’ loved it, daddy.”

He swallows then, his head shaking in disbelief over how much of a filthy bitch you are.  “Yeah, yeah you fuckin’ did.  Belong to me now, you understand?  Gonna let everybody know what a slut you are for this cock.”

And you would be lying if you didn’t experience a swell of pride in those words.  You’d be down each other’s throats again in no time, but the look of ownership that adorns his face over you is too much not to bask in.

“A week?”  You study him, eyes wet and round, look up at him and you see his cheek twitch in response.

“Gonna be two if you keep it up.”

You let out a faint sigh, resting your head back on the armrest.  “Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he coos, leaning down to press his lips at the shell of your ear.  Fingers tucking his cum back in your hole.  He relishes in how hot you feel under his fingers.

“Now get the fuck out of my house.”

taglist: @cool-iguana - dm to be added!

[endless-ineffabilities]

Maroon (part five)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the silence came, we were shaking blind and hazy How the hell did we lose sight of us again?

themes/warnings : angst, Aemond is a bit of an ass who needs therapy, jealousy, miscommunication

word count : 4k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The Dragonstone ball continues to unfold... Will Aemond ever be able to redeem himself after tonight? Will the reader let him back in?

“... to these three, Strong boys.”

Aemond’s declaration brings the room into a state of silence, everyone in collective surprise. 

It is a known truth. One shared among people in hushed tones and averted eyes. But not like this. Never openly, in this way.

Aemond lingers on you, before something - or someone - cuts through in the corner of his vision. Gasps erupt across the hall. 

It’s Luke, who reaches Aemond in a flash and disarms him with a rough shove. Aemond barely budges, but is forced to take a step back, his chair skidding loudly across the floor. He laughs menacingly, and simply watches as his nephew makes another move. It doesn’t take long before the security team springs into action. Mr. Westerling puts a hand to Luke’s chest, halting his determined motion. 

“Not here, son.” His voice is gruff and commanding. The members of the high table look on, aghast. But Aemond stands still with a smirk on his lips. He raises his glass and takes a confident sip, all whilst staring Luke in the eye.

“You’ve crossed the fucking line,” Luke seethes.

“Have I?” Aemond croons. “I only speak the truth. I was merely expressing how proud I am of my nephews.”

“Aemond, that is enough,” Alicent pleads, wary of the prying attention from the onlookers. 

“It’s the truth, isn’t it, mother?”

“Not in front of all of these people.” Alicent doesn’t confirm her son’s statement, but she doesn’t deny it either, and Rhaenyra is quick to note this.

“Enough!” Viserys bellows, and all heads turn to the sound. “The feast… shall commence. Everyone, we apologise for this commotion. You see, this is why family reunions are not to be taken lightly.”

A nervous bout of shared laughter echoes. A line of servers rush out of the corner of the hall, platters of all sorts in their arms. Aemond’s outburst will be ignored. For now. 

His jaw is taut, arms tense on his sides like a viper still preparing to strike. You look down and notice that you’ve latched on to Jace’s arm in a death grip, your nerves getting the best of you. 

It doesn’t help that it’s the first thing Aemond sees when he turns his attention back to you. It’s enough to divert his thoughts from Luke’s provocation. As you move to sit back down along with the rest of the table, he swiftly strides over to you determinedly, weaving his way past the servers. 

“May I speak with you for a moment?” Aemond leans down, whispering. You hear a sense of urgency in his tone, or perhaps his mood is still heightened, his composure strained from the previous argument. 

Jace turns his head, and addresses Aemond with a passing glare, but doesn’t say anything. He leaves the choice up to you.

“Can’t this wait?” You whisper back, pausing to smile in thanks at the server who sets down a dish in front of you. “I don’t think I have anything to say to you right now, Aemond.”

“Please, darling,” he implores, still polite. But he knows that one way or another, he's going to have his moment with you.

You take a deep breath, sharing a look with Jace, and he merely nods in acknowledgment. To hell with it. 

“I’ll be back in 5 minutes,” you tell Jace. The entire hall is occupied with the feast, and they barely notice when Aemond leads you down an adjacent hallway, then through the side doors. You wonder what his date thinks of this, or if she has even noticed that he left. By the determined way he moves, you doubt whether he even cares.

His hand is at the small of your back, guiding you. Electricity shoots up your spine. Briefly, you consider if you should go back to the hall where it's safe, and it causes your steps to falter.

He appraises you for a moment, waiting.

“Where are we going, Aemond?” you finally ask.

“There’s a balcony just round there - ”

“This is far enough,” you gesture at the empty hallway. “I said I would only take 5 minutes.”

“That’s not long enough,” he protests right away, oddly sounding like a petulant little boy.

“Well, tough.”

He inhales sharply, biting his tongue as he wants to placate you. He wants to make you understand. 

He starts to speak, but you cut him off at the same time.

"Darling, I - "

“I don’t know why,” you shake your head at him, at the whole situation, “you do this. Maybe it is because of the accident, sure. I get that. It’s fucked up, what happened. But you shouldn’t have shut me off. I waited for you.” You step forward, and press your hand to his chest. You feel his faint heartbeat resounding beneath. “I didn’t even know what I was waiting for, or for what. But I did.”

He places his hand atop yours, holding it to himself. He did not anticipate that you would be so forward, and it catches him off guard. Whatever ill-prepared speech he had gets caught in his throat. “I didn’t know what to do,” he musters. “I didn’t think you would… still want me.”

Ridiculous. How could I not? “That’s just… an excuse.” Your thought makes itself known. The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, briefly, before his brows furrow as if something in his line of thinking cast a shadow over what should be a nice sentiment. 

“Is it?” he queries, almost mocking. “Look at me. Look at what I almost did back there. You’ve known me for a while, darling, but perhaps you’ve not known me long enough to know how rotten I truly am.”

There’s a menacing glint in his eye, one you’re sure you haven’t truly seen before. Not until tonight’s incident at the hall, and now that it’s being directed at you, you struggle to come to terms with how it makes you feel. 

Is this who he really is? Was the Aemond you’ve known a persona he so conveniently wore in the time he met you?

But you cannot ignore that part of you, maybe even greater and strong enough to trump your worries, which knows that you have seen who he is. You’ve always known. Through hints and whispers. And you wanted him anyway.

Aemond’s only ever this gentle around you, everyone said. 

Why would he be? What could he ever have gotten out of it? What else, but you?

You say nothing, merely watching the storm in his blazing blue eye. His sneering expression softens, suddenly conscious at how you seem to study him. At how your eyes greedily rake over his face, taking him in like you haven’t been able to in a long while. 

After those long and tortuous weeks apart, this is the first time you get to look at him without any distractions. Without the commotion of the ball. Without him trying to hide. 

“Then show me,” you finally say.

He makes a surprised noise. His usual hum, but lilting. 

Maybe you can blame it on that damned firewine, or you’ve gone insane, because you didn’t expect you would be so gutsy at this moment. But before you can question where your newfound bravery came from, and before your nerves from earlier can resurface, you raise your hand and let it hover over his leather eyepatch. 

He hums again, this time low in his throat. A warning. 

Your fingers make contact, ghosting over the smooth surface. You wince internally as you also touch a patch of his scar right under. You don’t even want to imagine how much pain he was in. You can’t, or you’ll lose all your nerve, and likely start crying. 

Keep it together, now.

Aemond remains unmoving, a feat considering his pounding heartbeat. He lets you continue, and ignores the instinctive twitch in his palms that compel him to push your hand away. 

When your thumb runs over the bottom ridge of his eyepatch, you catch his eye. “Aemond,” you whisper, asking for permission.

You barely lift his eyepatch when his hand wraps around your wrist in a vice grip, halting any movement. You look at him questioningly, searching, but his expression stays the same. Lips pursed in a tight line, jawline taut. His gaze holding you in place. 

You don’t say anything for a moment, but neither of you show any desire to move away.

You watch as he finally lowers his head, the hand around your wrist gently drifting to cradle your palm against his ruined cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, all false bravado gone. 

“It’s okay,” you say, letting your thumb run gently over his scar. “You don’t have to show me.”

“I want to, I just - ” He looks at you, words left unsaid, but you understand all the same.

“I know,” you smile sadly. “I can wait.”

It’s not long before his arm abruptly drops to his side, causing your hand to fall from his face. 

“You shouldn't have to,” he looks away then, his distant expression returning. “It’s not fair to you. All this waiting.”

You shake your head at the change in his approach. The Aemond you think you know has always been a steady presence, observant and committed to the task at hand. Has he always been this mercurial? 

“Don’t you want me to?” you remark, disbelief lacing your voice. You step even closer, glaring up at him. “Is this why you brought me here? To finally put an end to all of this?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and the bastard just stares at you. His good eye rakes across the planes of your face, falling to your exposed shoulders and the outline of your dress, then back again. If you didn’t know any better, it almost looks like longing, like he actually wants you. 

And it infuriates you even more. 

You decide that - no - he doesn’t get to look at you like that and yet act in the way he does. “Our 5 minutes are up.”

You turn around, your skirts swivelling with the movement. Each step feels decisive, like you’re walking away from something - someone - important. But you do anyway. 

“Wait,” you hear him murmur under his breath, but you don’t let it sway you.

Then you hear his footsteps, heavy and sure. 

“I said wait,” Aemond repeats, commanding. You startle when he gets a hold of your arm, squeezing by the crook of your elbow, bringing you to a stop.

“For wh - ”

The words are stolen from your mouth in a rushed breath, when his lips claim yours. This is not the gentle Aemond you might have known, as he kisses you with an intensity that is bruising and relentless. 

You’re quite sure you had something witty retort prepared, something to put him in his place. Whatever that was, it’s all forgotten as his tongue glides along your bottom lip. As the kiss deepens and you feel the sharpness of teeth. 

“Hmm,” he purrs when he pulls away, and you feel it reverberate low in his chest where your palms are pressed. He connects his forehead to yours, and you’re grateful for it. The feeling of something solid calms the dizzying sensation in your head. 

You barely register the silence that filled the room, as your ears are ringing with the sound of your racing heartbeat and the small breaths that escape his lips. You think to say something and almost do, but then he crashes his lips against yours again. 

Demanding more. 

You feel yourself moving, Aemond guiding your movement, akin to the dance you shared in the great hall. Instinctively, you flinch when your shoulder blades collide with a marble pillar, causing you to bite down on his lip. 

A surprised hiss escapes his lips, followed by a low growl. 

Then, almost predictably, he dons his signature shit-eating smirk. He liked it. 

He hums as he lowers and plants a kiss on your neck, sucking a spot tender. "I think you missed me too, darling." Aemond has become a concoction of smugness and self-loathing, which makes for volatile tendencies as you witnessed in the Great Hall.

This won't make for a steady, healthy, calm affair. You just know it won't. But as he leaves a sure mark on your neck that causes the heat to pool down in your core, none of it matters.

You accept that Aemond is the poison you chose.

Gods, I'm starting to become melodramatic.

"Hmm?" he queries, and you realise that some of your private thoughts might have escaped the confines of your mind.

"Nothing."

He smirks, mostly to himself, gaze levelling with yours. He brings you closer, both hands gripping your waist, until your bodiced chest is pressed to the smooth leather of his tunic. From his height, he can't help but look down and enjoy the view.

A confession springs from his lips, without any hint of shame. "As much as you look good in that dress, darling," his gaze openly rakes over you, like a predator sizing up his prey, "it would look much more suited on the fucking floor."

Oh, damn him to the seven hells.

You’re so caught up in a haze, legs instinctively pressing together as a result of his lustful advances, that the oncoming clatter of heels against porcelain tile is almost imperceptible, but it snaps you out of it anyway.

“Aemond,” you grip his forearms and pry them away from you, having to use a bit more force now.

“Aemond!” Someone’s else voice echoes, closing in. It’s Alys, striding down the hall with sheer confidence. No doubt on her way to reclaim her date.

Her date. Not mine. What the hell am I doing?

You give him a withering look, and he straightens, folding his arms behind him.

“Alys,” he greets her coolly when she reaches the two of you.

“You can’t just run off like that,” she scolds, glancing at you just once before seemingly deciding you’re not worth the time. “They’re taking photos of everyone. You’re my partner. You need to present yourself with me.”

“There’s no rush,” Aemond says. And there truly isn’t. He knows that those bloody photographers would wait endlessly for him, of all people. No matter how long, just so they can get exclusive snaps of what people are deeming the return of the Prince of the City. “Give us a few minutes.”

"You've had more than a few minutes," Alys counters, unrelenting. Anyone else would've spun on their heel already, shirking under Aemond's pointed gaze. But not her. She's learned from having to deal with his moods.

And besides, he took her as his date. He owes her the satisfaction of having this as a part of her image. The city's most wanted bachelor with no one but her on his arm. Call her opportunistic, Alys doesn't care. This is the game, and she will play.

"Sweetheart," she says to you, the name not matching the condescension in her tone, "I believe Jace is looking for you too."

"Right, of course." You take a deep breath before finally walking away, hoping that the flush that's likely on your face doesn't give anything away.

Just before you pass by Alys, she says your name. Bringing a perfectly manicured finger to the corner of her lips, she dabs at it in some sort of gesture. "You've got a bit of lipstick there, sweetheart. Might want to tidy that up."

"Alys," Aemond warns, unamused by how Alys is sizing you up, like you're beneath her.

She knows. Of course she does.

Alys has a sneer that can make anyone feel like nothing but dirt on the sole of her high heels, but you stand your ground, despite the chill running up your spine. Her approach to you now is a drastic change from the friendly and poised confidence she sported when you first met her at the Targaryen penthouse.

Sparing Aemond a cursory glance, you address her with a self-assured smile of your own. "He's all yours. I'll leave you to it."

You feel both of them watch as you walk away. It might be all the glam and the buzz of the ball which leads to your next thought. Vain, but you let yourself have it anyway. Feeling like a runaway princess as your gown billows around your legs.

Aemond isn't yours. It was my mouth against his just a minute ago, his tongue dancing with mine.

When you return to the table, Jace immediately asks how it went, to which you just tiredly shrugged and said, "Uneventful."

He narrows his eyes at you. "You'll tell me later."

In the middle of your meal, Aegon approaches, clearly more sloshed drunk than he was before. Jace just watches him, with the calm recognition that this is not the uncle to watch out for.

"Hello, kids," Aegon leans against the table. He angles his head close to you, like he is about to divulge some secret. "Not that I was checking you out or anything, just saw it from where I was sitting over there and - "

"What do you want, Aegon?" Jace shakes his head, bored with his uncle's antics.

"Alright, alright!" Aegon playfully holds his hands up, wine glass and all. "No hostility from me, nephew. Just letting her know that maybe she should cover up my brother's work."

"What are you on about? Maybe drink some bloody water instead, mmm?" Jace counters.

His brother's work? Oh gods.

Your hand shoots up to your exposed neck, and the tender spot makes itself known as soon your fingers drift above it.

Jace's confused expression disappears when he realizes where your hand immediately went to. "Oh, really?"

You sigh guiltily. Scanning the table quickly, you don't find Aemond there to glare at. He must be posing for the cameras somewhere with his date. You find a friendlier face in Helaena, who catches on to your nervous expression.

She floats over to the small commotion of your little group, practically having to shove Aegon out of the way.

"You alright?" she asks sincerely, and you can't bring yourself to say, everything's fine, but I was wondering if you could lend me some concealer because your dear brother left something on my neck.

Thankfully, you don't have to. Or not thankfully, because Aegon does it for you in a way only he can.

Tapping on his own neck and gesturing to you, he explains, "Aemond's a monster, sis," through a graceless swig of firewine and then, "horny jail for him."

"Actually," he raises his arms like he's making some proclamation, "horny jail for both of you kids. Where is he anyway?"

"Leave it, Aegon." Helaena rolls her eyes, then offers her hand to you. "How about we run to the ladies room and take care of that?"

Thank the gods for Helaena.

"You owe me," she says, as the two of you head to the side of the hall, "and Aegon might be right."

"About what?"

She slaps your arm playfully, and you feign shock but a giggle slips out due to her expression.

"You and Aemond, I swear," she laughs dryly. "He's been even more sullen and emo since the accident - actually, the both of you have been - and now you're back to making out right in the middle of the ball!"

"We weren't - " you start to say, but you're met with Helaena's don't-you-dare kind of glare.

"It's your brother's fault, you know," you shrug as you enter the ladies room.

"Oh, I know," Helaena nods, pulling what she needs out of her purse. Right before she dabs concealer to the purplish spot on your neck, she can't help but smirk and add, "but still... horny jail for you."

- - - - - - - - - - 

Aemond doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

The cameraman clicks again, the damned flash is enough to blind his remaining eye.

Alys, being Alys, brought her own personal photographer to the ball. Which is fine, all things considered. She does this for every ball, every year. Aemond's well versed in her ways.

But for some reason, now it's driving him to be more irate.

She positioned them in a partially hidden alcove at the back of the hall. Something to do with a painting she wants to get captured as the background. But it's taking too long, and Aemond can sense the attention of some guests being piqued.

If they ask to take photos with him, too, Aemond just might pull off a runner and abandon the bloody ball.

But not without you.

Where were you anyway? One second you were at the table, then the next you were trailing after Helaena back out of the hall.

At least it was his sister you are with, and not Jacaerys. Or gods forbid, that degenerate Stark boy.

It wouldn't matter to Aemond that he's not his father's top boy, his most precious heir. Whatever pull he has with the Dragonstone empire, he will use against Winterfell Limited, if Cregan Stark ever thinks he can have his way with you.

He catches himself, mid-thought.

And she still thinks I'm not rotten.

"Aemond," Alys lightly digs her nails in his arm, smiling through gritted perfect teeth. "Smile, why don't you?"

"I am."

"Just one more."

So he does. Barely. But it's enough to placate her, and she quickly sifts through the photos.

Almost on instinct, like he's a moth drawn to your flame, he spies you and Helaena making your way back in the hall. Arm in arm, laughing to each other. You bite your lip as you lean in and whisper something in her ear, which makes her shake her head and laugh even harder.

Several heads turn as you pass by, and Aemond can't really blame them.

"Just like that," Alys says out the blue.

"What?" Aemond turns to her, unaware that she stands beside him once more, her photographer already dismissed.

"If only you smiled like that for our photos," she says. "It looks good on you."

Was he smiling? He didn't even notice.

You turn your head just before sitting back down at the table, and catch his eye even as he stands near the end of the hall.

You always will.

Aemond smiles.

- - - - - - - - - - 

preview: part six

You hear it. There's someone at your front door. Living alone has never given you much anxiety before, and you didn't think it would start tonight. But who could be knocking at your door past midnight, when you didn't buzz anyone in? You were never on close terms with your neighbours, either. 

You sit on your couch looking like a deer in headlights, staring at the door like it's supposed to silence the knocking. 

When did you get so wary? It could be Jace. It could be Helaena. But then again, they're not the type to show up unannounced. And also, you would have buzzed them -

Aemond's voice calls out your name, quieting your worries. 

You can sense hesitance in his tone. Almost embarrassed. Like he knows he shouldn't be here. 

"Aemond?" you find your voice, and go to open the door. You start to ask him just what the hell he's doing here, but the words get caught in your throat. 

"Hi, darling," he says weakly, obviously tired. "I didn't know where else to go." 

Something resembling a gasp escapes your lips when you fully take in the fresh bruise blooming under his right eye, in angry shades of maroon and violet. The skin split slightly, but thankfully his eye is untouched.

"Aemond, what - "

"Can I come in?"

Series taglist: @caught-in-the-afterglow @aemondtargaryensrider @punggo66 @dollfaceyourfear @candypurplebutterfly @moonmaiden1996 @mxrgodsstuff @lolitaisreal @blue-serendipity @melsunshine @thejanecampaign @fxngsfxgxrty @padfooteyes @msmarvel-19 @tempo-rary-fix @lauraneedstochill @julczimozart @sarcasticfangirl @witchyv @pyjama-shorts @bellaisasleep @zillahvathek @thincrusttheworks @krispold @yougotthatlove @raging-panda @fleetingly-artistic @throughgoeshamilton @polireader @katsav17 @minttea07 @kravitzwhore @meggiemay82 @hedonefox @daenysx @schniiipsel @namoreno @afro-hispwriter @aemondswifeisme @emcharra @malfoytargaryen @iiamthehybrid @fullmetalriotts @kellzlib @justsumtuffstuff @daydreamy-me @yentroucnagol @kezibear @queenofshinigamis @paprikaquinn

oh, Maroon...

My Aemondfire is decisively back <3 expect more of our favourite boy.

[spidcrhunni]

day out

hobie brown/reader

summary: you go somewhere with hobie.

tags: can be read as romantic or platonic it’s up to you!!!, sweet! hobie, nicknames, skipping school, mild arguments/harassment (it’s very small)

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [spidcrhunni!!] ࿐ྂ

your laughter bounces down the alleyway as hobie pulls you along by your hand. skipping school was always exhilarating as you didn’t do it very often, not wanting to be scolded by your parents. the two of you slow to a jog, and eventually into a walk as you both continue laughing softly. “c’mon, i need some food.” hobie pulls his hand from yours, stretching his arms overhead. “fine, fine. as long as you promise we won’t get caught.” you reply, following your best friend down to a nearby old-fashioned looking diner that had set up a week prior. “i thought you were gonna ask me to pay.” he jokes, grinning at you. “that too.” you wink playfully, listening as he laughs. “fine, fine. i’ll pay.”

hobie opens the door for you, letting you enter first. scoping the diner, you don’t recognise anyone immediately, so you nod to hobie who enters as well. a waitress smiles, walking over. “hi there! go sit down and i’ll be with you in a moment.” she greets. she’s older than you and hobie, eyes warm and kind; almost motherly. her southern accent is sweet against your ears. “thanks.” you reply, leading hobie to a far booth, assuming that the further away from the door, the less likely someone would recognise the two of you. hobie sits down, looking around. “not bad here.” he comments, you hum. “i just hope the food’s good.” your words make hobie nod. “yeah, me too. i’ve got a good vibe from this place though.”

the waitress, who’s name tag read ‘jessie’, from before walks over, setting down two menus. “can i get you two anything to drink?” she asks, smiling politely. “i’ll take a coffee, black with two sugars.” hobie responds, adding on a quick ‘please’ as you nudge him under the table. she seems rather caught off guard by the strong request, yet nods, writing it down. “anything for you, darling?” she turns to you, pen ready. “i’ll have a vanilla milkshake, please.” you smile, watching her nod. “of course. i’ll be right back.” jessie turns, walking back to the counter. “she’s nice.” you quip, smiling at hobie. “mhm. almost creepy though. no one should be that happy.” he jokes, you snort softly. “c’mon, there’s nothing wrong with being that happy. it’s nice to see.”

the waitress soon comes back, accidentally interrupting your conversation about the english teacher both you and hobie shared. “thank you..!” you chirp as hobie nods. “no problem. decided on anything to eat?” she asks, glancing between you both. “i’ll have the waffles, please.” you smile, looking at hobie. “i’ll have to ask for the same- please.” he replies, sharing a small smile with you. “of course. i’ll be back in a jiff!” she leaves once more, you nudge hobie’s boot with your sneaker. “see, you can be nice.” you tease. “i am nice! to you anyway…” he responds, a joking frown on his face. you roll your eyes, sipping your milkshake. “you gonna share?” he jokes, drinking some of his coffee. “if i had two straws, yeah. besides, you have your coffee!” you laugh.

the door opening makes you both glance over. “oh fuck..!” hobie hides his face, turning to look out the window. you hide your own face behind a menu, hoping that the person wouldn’t recognise the two of you. that person being someone that also shared most of the classes that you two shared, benny. “fuck- fuck. what is he doing here?!” hobie whisper yells. “i don’t know..!” you respond, voice harsh yet low. footsteps trail over, you take a deep breath. “hobie- y/n, is that you?” he asks, voice snarky. the two of you stay silent, hoping he’d go away. “it is- i’d recognise that shitty jacket anywhere.” he quips towards your best friend, who turns, scowling. “what do you want, benny?” he asks, leaning back against the booth. you put the menu down after having your cover blown.

“nothing from you two. do you even have the money to pay for the stuff here?” he quips. hobie furrows his brows. “yes. unlike you, i work for my money, i don’t get dirty money from my daddy’s trust fund.” he sneers. “bart…” you sigh, pressing your foot against his ankle under the table to try and soothe him. “whatever, at least i don’t dress like a tramp-“ the harsh clacking of heels against the floor makes you all stop. jessie comes over. “is this guy bothering you honey?” she asks, mainly to you. “yeah, a little. it’s okay though-“ you try to console her, yet she turns to benny. “i won’t take any hassling of my patrons, thank you very much. i’ll have to ask you to leave.” she crosses her arms, clearly not intimidated by him. “what?” benny scoffs.

“you heard me, go one- get! consider yourself banned from maude’s diner!” she shoos benny out, who utters something about his father ‘doing something’ about the situation. hobie let’s out a laugh. “damn. seems like this will be our go to spot now.” he jokes, grinning at you. “seems like it.” you smile. jessie comes back a soft smile on her lips. “everything okay, sugar?” she asks, hands clasped together politely. “yes, thank you jessie.” you reply. “i’m glad. to make up for the altercation, your food’s on the house- courtesy of my wife, maude.” she smiles, hand pressing to her chest honestly. “oh- you don’t have to! we’re happy to pay.”

hobie pipes up. “y’mean i will be happy to pay.” he corrects, a teasing smile on his lips. you roll your eyes. jessie laughs softly at his words. “we insist, you two have been a delight. it’s been nice to hear laughter in our diner. gives the place some liveliness that we can’t recreate from our last diner in maude’s hometown- kansas was such a beautiful place.” she halts her chatter. “sorry about that- i’ll be right back with your food.” jessie smiles, turning around and leaving you two be. “she’s so sweet.” you beam, hobie nods. “yeah, like a nice aunt at a family gathering.” he agrees, yet less enthusiastically. you continue sipping your milkshake, happily talking to hobie.

jessie comes back, two plates of steaming waffles in her hands. “here you go. enjoy..! i’ll be over there if you need anything.” she coos, leaving you both be. “these look good.” hobie smiles, stomach audibly rumbling. you chuckle. “don’t start drooling.” you tease, kicking his foot. hobie kicks back, yet more gently to avoid hurting you as his boots had steel-toe caps. the two of you dig in, making conversation over your breakfast. you felt great; as always when you spent time with hobie. you wouldn’t have him any other way.

[songmingisthighs]

Wanbelyn

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

<< previous | m.list | next >>

ch. xlv - pb&j

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

buy me coffee ?

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

Hongjoong is not one to be surprised easily. Well, by events or situations. He's a scaredy cat who had fallen victim to his son's pranks at least 20 times. In the past month.

But the sight of Kijoong's teacher, Mr Kang, lighting up as you produced a bag of sandwiches from your bag and handed it over to him almost made him choke on his own spit. Honestly, he didn't know why he was so surprised as he had seen (peeked) into your (private) conversation with Mr Kang the other day. Maybe he had been in denial (for some darn reason) about the exact identity of the Yeosang you talked with, thinking that it could be someone else with a similar name. That's possible, right? But seeing the way you adjusted the sleeve of his rolled-up shirt, Hongjoong was hesitant.

When you took Kijoong inside to settle in his cubby and spend some time before the classes started, Hongjoong found himself walking towards the guy he was eyeing.

"Ah, good morning! Mr Kim, right? Kim Kijoong's dad?" Yeosang asked politely with a warm smile. Even Hongjoong had to admit that his heart fluttered slightly so his "baseless" annoyance curiosity has decreased slightly. "Y-yes," clearing his throat, Hongjoong slipped his hands into his pants pockets, "How are you? How's your dad? I heard he was at the hospital?" "Yeah, yeah, he's fine! We went to the other KQ branch hospital so he was taken care of well. His recovery was even better when (y/n) sent him soup," he chuckled.

At the mention of the teacher's dad knowing you, Hongjoong couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that. "Oh, I didn't realize that you two were so close," he nodded casually. Yeosang shrugged, "I guess in a sense we are, but (y/n) just cares about people and she takes it upon herself to take care of those who know her from her roots. Another hint, you two had known each other for a long while. "(y/n) didn't mention that she knew you to me and she often tells me about the people she knows from her youth." Hongjoong cringed slightly, realizing how easy it could be for Yeosang to twist his words and make it seem like he was jealous. Which he kinda was but it's not like it's obvious. Thankfully, if he did realize, Yeosang didn't let it show. "That could be because I haven't seen her in a long while and it didn't even occurred to us that we knew each other until the second day I came back," well that made Hongjoong more curious and Yeosang could sense it based on the way Hongjoong nodded along and putting all of his focus on him which made him rather nervous. So this time, it was Yeosang who cleared his throat and mended his posture, "S-see, (y/n) and I knew each other from way back in high school. We met because we had entered the same debate competition and we were in opposition. She was formidable with her arguments and it actually made me fear her in a major way. I didn't even think I'd get to talk to her but as you can guess, I did," "How so?" Hongjoong asked, engaged in the story, "Well, she made my teammate cry and she just wanted to make sure that the know-it-all 12th grader had his mommy to wipe his snot. We were in 10th grade at the time." The revelation made Hongjoong let out a snort which caused some parents and their children nearby to jump in surprise, looking at him who had to turn around in shame.

"So, is that how you and (y/n) started dating?" Hongjoong asked after calming down, not really realizing the words that he used. Yeosang furrowed his eyebrows momentarily before chuckling, "Oh, no. We are not dating! We became close again after the realization of our connection and became even closer because I found out that my spotter at the gym is actually Kijoong's instructor so we just shared and bonded and got even closer because of that!" he explained.

Though he was not even supposed to feel that way, Hongjoong felt a sense of relief and his posture even relaxed considerably. Though, he tensed up again when Yeosang continued, "Although, between you and me, (y/n) seems to be interested in this other guy." "What other guy? Is it someone she's close with? How'd you know?" At that point, Hongjoong didn't even care that he was acting rather ridiculously, asking random, personal stuff to his son's homeroom teacher. How professional. "I think you'd know him too," Yeosang stated and for one moment, Mingi came to mind but considering how you still deny him ice cubes, that seemed irrational, impossible, and positively stupid. Yeosang turned around slightly and pointed to where you were inside. "There."

Slowly, almost dramatically, Hongjoong turned his head, following Yeosang's finger to see you talking to the guy he recognized as the other homeroom teacher in Kijoong's class, Choi Soobin. While you were kind and affectionate towards Yeosang, you were more... Flirty with Soobin. That was the only word that seemed suitable because your stance was more passive yet open while still maintaining some boundaries with Soobin. Very different from the way you were with Yeosang whom you treated in a more motherly manner, like how you would Kijoong. With Yeosang, it was tidying him and giving him what he needed but with Soobin, it was more playful what with the gentle pushes and allowing him to guide you so your head won't hit the shelve nearby. You both looked very comfortable with each other, being as close as you both could and remaining respectful at a kindergarten while Kijoong tried to climb up Soobin's legs. His eyes glazed over the way you gently chastised the boy and tried to pry him off but Soobin grabbed your hands away from Kijoong and made gestures that suggested he was telling you to just let Kijoong be.

It was then that Hongjoong realized that his gut feeling was correct but he had jumped to a conclusion.

A lot of thoughts ran through Hongjoong's head, trying to make sense of things as if correcting an assignment, marking parts that were wrong and putting notes on certain parts as if pointing out which information needed elaboration. Above all, one thought seemed more prominent compared to the other. The thought that questioned whether or not he was supposed to feel bitter, jealous, and, well, hurt. Knowing that he was questioning his action did nothing, however. He just kept staring at the two of you in the corner while he was there, at a distance. Because that's what he had made his persona towards you to be since the beginning, right?

Distant, unapproachable.

Like he always was.

Alone.

network :

@cultofdionysusnet @sandsofire @kflixnet

taglist :

@yunho-mp3 @strawberry-yeo @luvt0kki @allisonleannn @dinossaurz @khjcs @blackb3ll @aloverga @at1nys-blog @itsbeeble @potatomountain @axo-l0tl @green-thots @intancollins @galaxypox @fire-and-flame @maddiebabyxoxo @alyssajavenss @mirror-juliet @gxlden-bxbyy @charreddonuts @dreamlesswonder86 @mayonnaisehoeshit @kodzukein @teenyfinds @dear-dreamie @mitchloveswriting @soobiverse @satsuri3su @phenomenalgirl9 @guess-monst3r @dimeb29 @ka-ni-ma @yayaistime @angelicyeo @kyume02 @thedistractedwriter @surveilenceysystem @ateezourstars @aursmrt @mismatchfluffysocks @puppyminnnie @nycol-ie @yungilia @writingbarnes @worcesheshestershiresauce

[cowgurrrl]

Tall Boy

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: I didn't go into writing this thinking I would write a little bit of spice so please be nice (poetry fr)

Summary: Fireworks, Uber Calls, Confessions, Oh My! [3.6k]

Warnings: consumption of alcohol, drunken shenanigans, Joel and Tommy being the only Texan men I would trust with my drinks, so much goddamn yearning, oh what's happening with Andie and Tommy??, Joel the Menace makes his return, smutty thoughts and actions (I've made them wait nine chapters they deserve to be a little horny. as a Treat.), getting caught, preparing you for Sleeping on the Blacktop

You don't get to cut loose very often as a teacher. You're almost always worried about lesson plans, grading, assignments, supplies, money (or lack thereof), politics, student's mental health, and a million other things that plague your mind when you try to sleep. Sure, you have a drink or two sometimes, but never anything close to like when you were in college and would end up back at your apartment at four in the morning just to get up three hours later for a lecture at eight. You weren't always going to be a high school teacher, and your past reflects that. And Andie has waited a long time to get a little bit of that spirit out of you again.

New Year's Eve starts easy enough with a nice dinner in downtown Austin with a glass of wine or two with the food. You and Andie got all dolled up in short, curve-hugging dresses and makeup and decided you would take yourselves out if nobody else was going to. "But we're not gonna get arrested like we did in high school, right?" You asked over dinner, but she just shrugged with a mischievous look in her eyes.

"We'll see where the night takes us." 

You bounced from bar to bar, sipping drinks and half-flirting with whoever approached, hoping for a free drink. Lucky for you, nobody is immune to Andie's charm. You lose track of how much you've had to drink once the room starts spinning pleasantly, and you can barely hear yourself over the loud music. You dance with beautiful strangers, sing along to the music, and even steal a cigarette from a willing accomplice outside. It feels good to act like your own age and not everybody's mom. 

By the time midnight rolls around for the Central Time Zone, you and Andie are drunk, leaning on each other and butchering the lyrics to Aud Lang Syne. "We should call an Uber!" Andie yells in your ear, and you nod. You stumble outside and squint at your phone, giggling at your fleeting thought.

"I've got a better idea than Uber."

You and Andie are sitting on the curb outside a gas station right off of Sixth Street, sharing a tall boy and following instructions to "stay put," when his truck pulls up next to you. Joel looks sleepy but not mad, while Tommy looks like he just walked up on a small miracle.

"I thought teachers weren't supposed to be fun!" He laughs as you hand Andie the beer and somehow get yourself to your feet.

"You, obviously, didn't have the right teachers." 

"I reckon so." He says as you dig your keys out of your purse to hand to Joel. He nods gratefully as Tommy helps Andie off the curb. They start talking about something, but you can't hear them over the way Joel's looking at you. Like he did at the gallery, his eyes linger on every piece of exposed skin he hadn't seen before. Something akin to worry clouds his vision, but you catch him looking at your legs and smack his chest. 

"Eyes up here, Mr. Miller," you call him out. "See somethin' you like?" You ask, and he chuckles at how southern you sound when you drink.

"You look very nice." He says, and you smile. For some reason, you step into him and rest your head on his shoulder. He's so warm, and you're tired and just drunk enough not to care about the rules. You feel him freeze for a moment before his hand comes up to your waist to help keep you upright. "Let's get you home, hm?" 

Andie refuses to leave Tommy's side now that they've gotten into an argument about the best musician of all time, and she decides to ride in your car with him while you climb into the truck with Joel. The second you're alone in the car with him, you just start laughing to yourself. Joel laughs a little, too, as he turns the ignition over. 

"What's so funny?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"Just you." You say, giggling a little more. 

"Me?" 

"Yeah, you."

"What about me?" 

"A few weeks ago, I thought I'd fucked you over, and now you're picking me up 'cause I got too drunk on New Year's Eve," it's not funny, but you laugh anyway. "You're a much better person than I am." You say. It's quiet in the truck as your words settle like dust on the dashboard. The only sound is the engine running and the distant sounds of fireworks popping in nearby neighborhoods. He takes a deep breath and rests a hand on your headrest to reach around in the backseat, producing his large jacket and pulling it over your body to protect you from the cold.

"I think you're a good person. Definitely a world better than me," he says as he puts the car in drive. "And, for what it's worth, you didn't fuck me over."

"No?" You ask, and he shakes his head, glancing at you as he pulls onto the road. 

"No." He says, and you hum. You pull his jacket closer to you and cling to the smell of pinewood, leather, and hints of his cologne. If they sold this smell in a candle, you would go into debt just to have it linger in every room. The thought presses on a bruise you forgot was there, and in your inebriated, vulnerable state, you can't stop yourself from staring at his profile as yellow streetlights and bursts of fireworks reflect across his face. 

You study him the way you've been dying to for months. Your eyes study how his eyebrows move with minute emotions and muscles. The way his big nose curves perfectly. The way his jaw clenches and unclenches when he's nervous or unsure what to say. You wish you had a piece of paper and a pencil to sketch his side profile as it comes into view between headlights. You don't believe in muses, but you believe in inspiration. Especially when you look at him.

"Thank you for comin' to get us. I know you'd rather be sleeping." You break the silence, and he nods. 

"I'd rather know you're safe than anythin' else," he says. "How much did you have to drink?"

"I don't know," you groan, absentmindedly rubbing at your face and no doubt smearing makeup. "People kept buying us drinks, and I'm so fucking broke, I'm not gonna say no to a free drink."

"People? What people?" He asks, his interest suddenly piqued. You shrug and put your feet up on the dash. He glances at them but doesn't shove them off. 

"I don't know. People. Men people." You say.

"Different men or the same guy?"

"Does it matter?"

"No," he says a little too quickly. "No, it doesn't matter. As long as you had fun." There's something off about his tone, but you can't place it. At least, not until he puts the final nail in his own coffin. "D'any of 'em try to get your number?" 

"Oh, my God!" You squeal excitedly as you sit up and put your feet back down. "Are you jealous?"

"No! Why would I be jealous? We're friends." 

"Yeah," you scoff. "'Friends.'" You say with intense finger quotes, and he furrows his brows as he looks at you. 

"Are we not friends?" 

"Joel, c'mon. I liked you from the second you walked into my classroom. We were never gonna be just friends." The confession comes loose before you can swallow it back down. It wiggles between you like a fish out of water, and you want to take it back. Not because it's not true but because you weren't ready to tell him. Things just got back to normal after the winter showcase. You're not ready to lose him again. 

"You're drunk," he says softly as if he's reminding himself more than anything. Maybe he thinks because you've been drinking, you don't mean it, but you do. You really, really do. It's too late to take it back, but you can try to bring levity back. You can try to backpedal a little. 

"You're drunk." You counter. He drives in silence for a few more miles, and the rumble of the car and the tequila weighing your mind down lull you to sleep— narrowly avoiding another hard conversation and worst-case scenarios.

You wake up on the first day of the new year hungover, sore, and in a bedroom you don't recognize. Bright sunshine bursts into the room and forces your eyes open in a squint. You almost jump up when you're greeted with a bottle of water and Tylenol on a nightstand that's not the white one on the right side of your bed. You sit up a little and look around at the cozy, if not a little cluttered, room.

The walls and the soft sheets are a nice, comforting blue. A few posters and pictures hang on the walls, and even a landscape painting hangs above the bed. Still, there's a little laundry strewn on the floor, and you recognize the closet full of flannel and button-up shirts next to you. You guess that's where your oversized, burnt orange Texas Longhorns shirt and black sweatpants came from. Snippets from the car ride and stumbling into the house fill your mind, and you groan in embarrassment. 

You remember Tommy calling Joel and telling him Andie got sick on the way to your apartment, and he didn't want to drop you off alone where something could go wrong. They offered to take you to their house, and in your drunk and stupid state, you said yes. You remember gentle hands holding your face as a cold, wet makeup wipe swiped across your skin, and thank God for that. Otherwise, you would feel worse than you already do. You remember hearing Andie and Tommy's voices outside the bedroom door, but you don't remember how you got into the room or the shirt. A light knock on the door pulls you out of your memories, and Joel walks in with a cup of coffee and a sympathetic smile.

"Good mornin', sunshine," he says, the right amount of mocking. "How're you feelin'?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." You say, and he laughs as he hands you the mug and sits on the bed. 

"I figured. I've got breakfast goin' downstairs. You need all the food you can get to soak up the alcohol." He says as you take a sip of the bitter coffee. You sigh into the cup at the (somehow) magical effects it has on your body, and he smiles. "That good, huh?"

"Yes, thank you," you say. "Thanks for everything. I know it probably wasn't fun trying to wrangle us last night."

"You weren't lyin' when you said how much trouble you and Andie got into together." He says. You think you could crawl into a hole and die at the embarrassing gaps in your memory.

"Oh, God. What happened?"

"Well, first of all, she wouldn't stop talkin' to you bout Tommy even though he was right there, but it was all good things. Then, you almost fell asleep on the couch after demanding’ Whataburger, and I had to carry you up the stairs. And then, Andie locked us in here and told us to figure our shit out."

"I'm gonna fucking kill her." 

"I'm pretty sure she almost fell asleep in the hallway waitin' us out. Tommy parked her in Sarah's room and slept on the floor in case she needed somethin'." He says. You knew the Miller men were kind and selfless, but this is a whole new level. You owe them a fruit basket or your kidney or something. You rub your temples and take another sip of coffee before taking two Tylenol. 

"And where did you sleep?" 

"You don't remember?" He asks, chuckling. At least he's not mad. If he was, you think you'd climb out the window and walk all the way home. "I tried to sleep on the floor, but every time I tried to lay down, you laid down next to me. You wouldn't even close your eyes unless I was next to you, so I built a little pillow wall and slept in bed." 

"Are you serious?" You ask, and he nods. You can vaguely recall getting into a hushed argument with him about kicking him out of his own bed and falling asleep against his chest, vindicated and content. You groan and bury your head in your hands. "Please tell me Ellie isn't here."

"She spent the night at Dina's house, none the wiser." He says. You almost say something about Ellie spending a lot of time with Dina recently, but keep your mouth shut. If something's going on, you doubt she wants her teacher to snitch on her to her dad.

"I'm so, so, so sorry, Joel."

"Don't be sorry. It was funny. I didn't know teachers partied so hard," he says, and you laugh a little. "Besides, it made me feel better knowin' you two were safe." You look up as he speaks and take a deep breath at how sweet he is. He smiles, and you scoot close enough to him to cuddle into his side. He welcomes you by tucking you under his arm and resting his head on yours. 

Your head is pounding, and your stomach is in knots, but the coffee and his presence help ground you. His hair is a little damp and smells like Ellie's shampoo. The thought of them sharing products makes you smile, and you rest a hand on his chest. Worn in, soft fabric cushioning your fingers as they rest over his heart. 

"Can we add this to our list of inappropriate secrets?" You ask quietly, and a puff of air leaves his nose in a laugh. He lifts his head from yours and looks down at you fondly. He doesn't look particularly well-rested, and you're sure that's your fault, but you also can't get over how beautiful he looks in the morning. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, his beard is a little unruly, and his shirt is crumpled, but the light streaming in makes his brown irises look amber and the grey in his hair silver. He's beautiful like this. He's beautiful all the time. 

"Course," he mumbles as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers on your jaw, fingers caressing your cheek, and your hand slides from his chest to his shoulder to keep him close. "D'you get a New Year's kiss, at least?" He asks. You purse your lips as you stretch your memory back.

"'M pretty sure I kissed Andie." 

"Nice." He says, too impressed, and you push at his shoulder. 

"What about you? You get a New Year's kiss?" You're walking the wrong side of the line, and you both know it. He smirks anyway.

"I was a little busy takin' care of these two drunks." 

"One time," you say. "I go out one time, and suddenly I'm a drunk." 

"That's all it takes." He shrugs, and you laugh.

"Apparently," you say. "Well, I'm sorry again. Didn't mean to ruin your chances of getting kissed." 

"Nah, you didn't."

"No?"

"No," he shakes his head as he leans in and kisses you, tilting your face up to him so he can control the angle. Two months. It's been two months since you last kissed Joel, and you can feel all sixty days of want in the searing kiss. He's not shy like he might've been in the past— waiting for you to make this first move— he's commanding and steals your breath out of your lungs when his tongue slides against yours. It's different, and so, so good. You wind your hand into his hair and lightly tug when his hands roam down your body and grab at your hips. You take the signal and throw a leg over his hips to straddle him, gasping when he presses into the small of your back and pushes you against him. 

Now, you're awake. Fuck the coffee.

You're dizzy when his mouth dips from your lips to your jaw, biting the sensitive skin there, and his hands wander below the fabric of your (his) shirt. His fingers are soft when they graze against your sides, skimming up your body until he squeezes your breasts. Both of you groan as you arch into his touch. He's barely touched you, and you're already soaked.

"Missed you." He whispers as his lips blaze a trail down your neck while his fingers lightly pinch your nipples. You grind your hips into his, desperately searching for friction, and he hisses like you hurt him. His hips canting up reassures you you didn't. "You gonna disappear on me again, sweetheart?" It doesn't come across as mean, but there's a new authority in his voice that you're not used to hearing. The dam isn't just broken. It's in fucking shambles at the bottom of the river. 

"'M not going anywhere." You breathe. "I promise." You think you mean it. You think you want to mean it. You think you're done caring about optics and what's "right." You want him, and based on the way the bulge in his sweatpants prods under you, he wants you too. He pulls away from your neck to kiss your lips again, wraps an arm around your back, and lays you on your back on the mattress. 

You tug at the back of his shirt and greedily let your hands roam over his chest and back when he throws it across the room. He's all broad shoulders and strong arms, and you can finally feel the muscles and warm skin you've thought about since way before that night in the bar. When his fingers trace patterns into your inner thighs, you moan into him and grip his forearm hard. "Joel, I need-"

"What? What d'you need, baby? Tell me." He asks, his fingers dancing closer and closer to where you want him. It'd be so easy for him to slip his hand under the waistband of your sweatpants and feel how desperate you are, but he hesitates. "C'mon, use your words."

"Fuck, I-" You start to say when the door creaks open.

"Joel, do you want— woah!" Tommy yells before you hear the door slam shut again and his feet rushing down the hallway, no doubt to tell Andie about what he just saw. Joel groans and buries his face in your neck, and it takes everything in you not to laugh. 

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him." 

"I'll help you hide the body." 

"Finally!" Andie yells from downstairs, and this time, you do laugh. 

"They're never gonna let us hear the end of this, are they?" You ask. 

"Probably not," he says. He's unmoving over you, and you sigh as you kiss his cheek. He lets his body weight drop into you, and you play with his hair while he rests his head on your chest. His hands rest under your body and press you closer to him, smothering you together. His broad shoulders expand and contract with every breath, and you count them as you scratch his scalp. "I have to go get Ellie soon." He mumbles into your chest. 

"Then, we should probably go." You say. He groans and kisses your sternum before pushing onto his forearms. He kisses up your chest to your neck, forcing a shaky breath from you when he nibbles at your earlobe. 

"I want you in my bed all the time," he whispers in your ear, making you shiver. "Wearin' my clothes, makin' all those pretty sounds, not havin' to worry bout Tommy or anybody." His chest rumbles against yours as he speaks; all you can do is squirm under him. His fingers picking up their previous patterns don't help either. "Wanna feel you come over and over again. On my fingers. On my tongue. On my cock. Wanna make you feel so good." His middle finger rubs against your clothed pussy, and your nails dig into his shoulder as you try to suppress a surprised sound. You're so wet, you'd be surprised if he couldn't feel the damp spot on your underwear. "You gonna let me make you feel good, baby? Huh?" He bumps your nose with his, subtly asking for attention when all you can focus on are the lazy circles he's drawing over you. 

"Please." You whimper, but you're not sure what you're begging for.

"I know, I know," he murmurs. You know you can't get away with anything with Tommy and Andie waiting for you downstairs but you want him to make good on his promise. You want him. You have for so long it's burning you from the inside out. And yet, he pulls away from you with a smirk. "I'm gonna take all the time in the world with you next time." He says as he rolls off of you, and you're left lying there, shocked and flushed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You ask, sitting up, and he just shrugs as he pulls his shirt over his head. 

"I've gotta go get Ellie."

"Don't pull the Dad Card right now." You sound a little petulant, but honestly, you don't care. He worked you up to just walk away? This is cruel and unusual punishment. He presses his knee into the mattress and leans over you again, kissing you chastely.

"You'll have to get me back later." He says, and you sigh, shaking your head at the amused look in his eyes.

"I'm gonna make you wish you were dead."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia

[sorchathered]

Lose Control

Pairing- Rhett Abbott x reader

Warnings- angst, smut, little pinch of bdsm

Summary- this is just angst and filth, been working on this for @attapullman for a few weeks and I think it’s finally ready :)

————————————————————————

The two of you had been snappy at each other all day, normally rodeo weekends were a fun getaway for you both; but when a certain ex girlfriend decided to show up and rush to Rhett in the crowd after his winning ride, wrapping her arms around his neck while cameras flashed it took every ounce of decorum you had to to make it down the bleachers and keep yourself from snatching the hair right out of Maria Olivares’ head.

You had a feeling she would do something like this the second you saw her in the hotel lobby Saturday morning, she all but jumped into his lap during breakfast when she walked past the two of you. Never once acknowledging your presence she gushed about how she’d heard about how well he’d been doing on the circuit and just *had* to come see Wabang’s favorite son ride in his biggest tournament yet.

You’d been in a piss poor mood ever since, Rhett had been polite; peeling her off of him and letting her run her mouth but excusing the two of you as quickly as possible. Her disappointed pout when he pulled back your chair nearly had you lunging across the table at her (at least in your head), but you just clenched your jaw and let him lead you to the elevator. He tried several times to assure you he didn’t know she’d be here, attempting to go down on you in the shower to bring up your mood but you wouldn’t let him. If you had known it would get him pissy as well you probably wouldn’t have done it (yes you would) but you couldn’t be bothered.

She knew full well the two of you were engaged, Wabang was a small town full of gossips and it took less than 10 hours for the whole town to be aware that “playboy” Rhett Abbott was locked down. It’d been nearly 3 months since then, and as you looked down at your ring warmth spread over you, memories of that night almost making you forget what you had been so upset over. Almost.

Truly you knew it wasn’t something he could control, and you weren’t mad at him at all but it just seemed like everywhere you looked lately there were traces of that failed relationship. Cece had loved Maria, and after everything that had gone down with Perry and Royal due to Trevor’s murder she truly struggled with any more change coming her way. So when they split up and less than 6 months later you come along, she wasn’t the warm mother in law figure Rhett had made her seem to be. She was cordial sure, but she only had Rhett left and her need for something to stay normal overruled her willingness to understand her son’s desperation to start a new life and family somewhere else. She’d given her blessing for him to have his grandma’s ring, begrudgingly; letting him know to get it back if things went south which caused a whole new argument between the two of them and resulting in them going no contact for a while.

You felt responsible all the time, like him loving you was a burden but he assured you that in reality you’d saved him. His life had been hell, verbally and sometimes physically taking the brunt of Royal’s unresolved anger and he was finally free to make his own choices, first of all marrying you.

Looking up at him now as he worked to button his shirt up, less than an hour before his first event, you softened considerably. Cautiously you walked over and smoothed your hands over his chest, leaning into him to press kisses to his cheeks and nose and then finally to his lips.

“I’m sorry baby, I know you can’t control what happened today and I’m not really mad at you, you know that right?”

He nods and runs his nose along your jaw, taking you in and allowing you both to relax into each others touch.

“I know sugar, and I know she gets under your skin but you don’t have a damn thing to worry about. I got no interest in rehashing the past with her, she just likes the attention; it really ain’t even about me. I’m yours baby, not going anywhere.”

You melt into him now, and the room seems to get 10 degrees hotter from the look he’s giving you. You know he’s always antsy before a ride, and he needs the release to get him through. You let your hands wander down to his belt buckle, popping the gaudy monstrosity open and unzipping his jeans.

You can already see the tension leave his shoulders as you sink to your knees, mouthing at the front of his boxers as he threads his fingers through your hair.

“My sweet girl, so good for me…look so pretty on your knees like that, don’t ever want anyone like this but you ya hear me bubs? No one could ever take care of me like you do.”

You preen under his praise, he knows all too well what it does to you when he talks like that. You pull him out and begin to swirl your tongue around the tip of him, hand gliding over the rest of his length as you suck at him like he’s the best lollipop you’ve ever tasted.

You can tell he’s getting impatient now, hand flexing in your hair and breath hitching in his throat.

“Fuck, please baby don’t tease me, I can’t take it I need ya”

Who are you to say no when he asks so sweetly? You pull off of him completely and he lets out the prettiest whine, you chuckle and look up at him with the most innocent doe eyed look you can conjure.

“Use me Rhett, fuck my mouth and then go win this tournament, you’re so perfect baby let me make you feel good”

He lets out a groan as you take him back into your mouth now, watching as he wraps your hair around his hand and begins to shallowly thrust into you. You stay like that and allow him to use you, listening to his broken moans and curses pour from his lips as he works to get himself off.

You moaned around him as he found his rhythm, snapping his hips forward to chase his release hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag on him. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes and you knew you were drooling but God he looked so damn pretty like this. Sweaty forehead, forearm flexing from pulling your hair, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut while he focused on getting himself off. You swallowed around him and felt him falter a little, knowing he was getting close.

“Shit shit shit fuck baby I’m close ya ready for me to cum down that pretty throat?”

You nod as he thrusts one-two more times and then he’s cumming hot and heavy in your mouth, you swallow as much of him down as you can but it begins to leak out of the sides of your lips and he thinks he could get hard all over again from how debauched you look.

You make quick work of getting cleaned up and both of you put back together, previous argument completely forgotten as you make your way hand in hand out of the hotel to drive to the arena.

He’s crushed every record tonight, maintained his spot at the top of the leaderboard with only one more ride to go. You watch him by the chutes as he talks to Archie, looks up to find you in the stands to wink at you with his gorgeous blue eyes. His smile is electric, you can’t help but let out a laugh out that bubbled up from your chest, heart swelling with happiness to see how in his element he is. You blow him a handful of kisses as he heads back toward the gate, and you know with complete confidence this is it; he’s going to win.

The win is secured by another perfect ride, and he jumps off scurrying to his feet, pumping his fist in the air as the announcer calls out his name and score. You are quick to jump from your spot to head to him, as you make your descent you glance at the Jumbotron wanting to see his face, only to be met with someone launching themselves into his arms…someone who is definitely not you. You screech to a halt, feeling like your knees might buckle as Maria is pulled back by Archie to disentangle herself from him, but it’s too late. She’s smacked a big red lip print on his cheek and the cameras have clearly caught all the angles, no doubt it will be in the papers tomorrow; Rhett and his old flame wrapped up in each other celebrating his win, no sign of his fiancée at all.

You can tell he’s looking for you, scanning the crowd with a panic in those cerulean eyes but you can’t bring yourself to make your way over to him. Hot tears pour down your cheeks as you make your way through the back of the arena, phone buzzing in your pocket and you pull the device out to shut it off entirely.

You somehow make it back to the hotel, there was a few taxis in the lot so you numbly told the driver the address and climbed into bed fully dressed when you finally reached your room. It’s almost an hour before you hear the hotel key unlocking the door, sees his shadow slipping into the dark room searching for any sign of you.

“Y/n? Sweetheart talk to me, I’ve been worried fucking sick, couldn’t get you on the phone and no one knew where you’d gone.”

You sit upright to face him, eyes swollen and face damp, unsure if you can even respond to him at this point.

“I-I- d-didn’t think my presence was needed at this point, you’d gotten plenty of fanfare and I didn’t want to take away from your win with my sour attitude. It’s just better if I let it be, you know it just as well as I do.”

He shakes his head furiously, tossing his hat onto the desk across from him

“That’s fucking bullshit, you know how much I needed you with me tonight, you were just pissed about Maria. I get it baby I do, but what you would have seen if you’d stuck around was that we had security escort her out and she got kicked out of our hotel as well. Apparently she tried to tell security at the gate that she was my girlfriend so they’d let her on the floor, so that caused a shitstorm. Archie’s pissed as hell, all of us were worried sick when we couldn’t find you.”

You sniffle as you look around the room, trying to find something to look at other than him but he won’t let you. Takes two large strides toward you and pulls your face towards his, staring you down until you finally break.

“What do you want me to say Rhett? That I was humiliated once again by your piece of shit ex? Well I was! She knows exactly what to do to get under my skin, always has. She’s never gonna let us be is she? Let’s be honest, it would be so much easier for you if you just let me go and picked back up with her, your mother hates me and Maria very clearly wants you back so maybe the only thing holding you back here is me.” Your chest is heaving from the explosion, Rhett stumbles backwards with a jolt, almost as though you’d slapped him with your words.

It’s tense, the words you said hanging heavy in the air as you fidget on the bed; too afraid to look him in the eye.

“Look at me” he grounds out at you, and you snap your head up at the venom in his tone, eyes more black than blue, irises nearly non existent.

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else, hauls you up by your elbow and grips your chin.

“If I EVER hear you spew that shit at me again you won’t be able to sit for a goddamn week you hear me? You want to be a brat about this? Fine, but don’t you dare suggest that we should end this. You’re everything, *everything* to me.”

He forces you down onto the bed now, clawing at your clothes to rid you of them, kisses all teeth and tongue as you paw at him trying to rid him of his shirt. He catches both your hands up now, pushes them down above your head as he grinds into you, he’s stripped you down to nothing and he’s still fully clothed you whine high in your throat and he laughs darkly at you.

“Aht Aht, hands to yourself sweetness, you hurt me tonight; acted like a petulant child when you know good and damn well you’ve got me wrapped around your pretty little finger. I’m taking what I want from you tonight and you’re gonna take it, and maybe just maybe you’ll learn your lesson. Brats don’t get a say ‘round here and you know it. So do what you’re fucking told and put your hands on the headboard.”

You knew you’d fucked up when you said how you felt, knew it would hurt him but did it anyway, you and Rhett had been rough with each other in the past so it wasn’t a shock to see this play out and you felt a shiver go down your spine at the thought of what he had planned for you.

He pushes off of the bed now, heads over to your luggage and pulls a small bundle of rope from it. You’ve seen it many times before at home, but didn’t expect him to have packed it for this weekend. You begin to scoot back toward the headboard, wrists held out for him, better to try and get on his good side and maybe keep the neighbors from calling the front desk.

“Atta girl, you know the drill, unfortunately for you it’s not gonna be that easy.” He says as you blink up at him, and he snatches your wrists, begins winding the rope to bind them together, once he’s done that he taps your thighs, and oh you didn’t know what was coming but you definitely do now. Takes the rest of the rope and knots one ankle, then the other, linking them all before tying an intricate knot into the headboard. Ankles around your ears, hands above your head and for the first time tonight you have the good sense to be nervous.

“Not gonna hurt you baby, know you can take it but it gets to be too much you say the word and we’re done for the night ok?” He leans in to peck kisses to your lips and nose and you nod at him furiously, squirming awkwardly and grasping at the rope, desperately wishing you could touch him.

He’s situating himself between your open legs, and you hear the clinking of his belt below you. Thinking for a second that he’s going to give you his cock you’re suddenly aware of a sharp smack to your pussy, letting out a yelp. Belt buckle dangling from his wrist, he looks up at you with a quirked eyebrow and you know you need to keep quiet or it’ll only get worse. He swats at you again, then once more before sliding three fingers into your heat. You try to arch your back but you can’t from this position, bite down hard on your lip to keep from making any noise and you could swear you’ve drawn blood. He continues this little game, winding you up until you are right at the edge and then ripping the pleasure away from you. Tears pool at the corner of your eyes, and you blink furiously trying to make sure you can still look at him. You want to beg him, apologize over and over until he cuts you loose and fucks you properly.

Just as you reach your high for who knows how many times he takes it from you again and you let out a loud wail, sobbing out his name.

“You think you’ve had enough baby girl? Ready to tell me how sorry you are?”

“Yes, yes God yes Rhett I’m sorry please baby I’ll never say it again just want you only you please baby fuck me I need it” you’re babbling now, cheeks tear stained and chest heaving.

He hovers over you, wiping your tears , hands untying the restraints.

“I’m not even close to done with you baby girl, turn around and get on your hands and knees. What’s your color?”

“Green” you breathed out, you knew he’d stop if you asked but there was a part of you that wanted every bit of your punishment, it was a rare occasion for him to lose himself like this and you knew he needed it.

You heard the clink of his belt once again and you shivered at the anticipation of what was to come as he smoothed a calloused hand over your ass.

“What do you think sugar? 5 each? 10? How much do you think you can take?”

“I-I d-deserve whatever you give me sir, I deserve it I’ll do whatever you want I trust you.”

He ran his knuckles down your spine a few times, taking in your form as he looped the belt around and grasped it tightly in his right hand. He would never hurt you if you asked him to stop, but looking at you propped up on all fours, pussy glistening as you whimpered for him, he knew you could take it and he’d be damned if it didn’t turn him on beyond belief.

“Ok sugar, 5 each because you were so sweet; but I better not hear a peep out of you or you’ll get 10.”

“Y-yes sir, thank you sir.” You nodded your head and braced yourself, you knew he was losing his resolve but you’d be damned if you opened your mouth now, if you were just patient he’d fuck you soon enough and the thought made you dizzy.

He smoothed his hand over one cheek and then a resounding crack bounced off the walls of the hotel room, he made you count each one and by the time he’d gotten to 6 on the other cheek he was so painfully hard the thought he might pass out from the high. You sobbed out on the ninth hit and he couldn’t take it anymore, tossing the belt aside and pulling himself free of his jeans and briefs, yanking you towards him and slamming into you without warning. He didn’t let up, he wasn’t fucking with you earlier when he said only good girls got to cum; this was going to be hard and fast and you’d take what you were given.

Tears were pouring down your cheeks now, it felt so good and he had you teetering on the edge this whole time, you knew better than to hope he’d let you cum, you focused on your breathing trying to get ahold of yourself but he was brushing against that spot only he could reach and you could feel the build up coming, crying out on a hard thrust.

“P-p-lease…please Rhett can I cum? I’m so sorry baby please I’ll be good please please please” you sobbed and writhed beneath him, clenching down on him so hard his hips stuttered.

“Ok, ok baby you did so good f’ me…God..Fuck I love you cum for me sweet girl”

You let out a high pitched wail that was sure to get you both a noise complaint and gushed your release, shaking and nearly losing your balance as Rhett wrapped an arm around your torso and pulled you close, releasing into your tight pussy as he bit down on your shoulder.

You both collapse onto the mattress, a pile of worn out limbs and heaving chests and you felt a panic stir up in you again, you were so embarrassed with yourself for the way you’d handled things. He could tell you had gotten back in your head, rolling you onto your side to kiss your cheeks and nose, trying to reassure you everything was forgiven.

“I’m so sorry Rhett, baby forgive me. I love you so much, can’t bear the thought of you with someone else. I don’t know what got into me, I just couldn’t stand the thought of her touching you and I ran. I know it was wrong” you sobbed out, and he closed the distance slotting your lips together tongues dancing against each other as he pulls you close.

“Baby I better not ever hear you talk at me like that again goddamnit, ‘m not going anywhere. I chose you and you’re just gonna have to accept that I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks ya hear? You’re it for me.” He meant every word, he couldn’t imagine life without you in it and the thought of you giving up nearly destroyed him. He’d do anything to make sure you never felt that way again, didn’t care if it took a lifetime to prove it he’d make sure you always knew you came first.

Later after a long shower where he took you apart until you were on wobbly legs the two of you cuddled up into your bed, surrounded by a ridiculous amount of room service while you watched a movie. No thoughts of Maria entered your mind for the rest of the weekend, Rhett was yours and he’d never let you second guess it again.

Tagging- @attapullman

@bobgasm

If anyone wants to be added to the tag list for Rhett let me know!!

[lildashofheaven1]

Balcony Fun

‼️18+ Minors DNI‼️

Joseph Quinn x Female Y/n

Joseph and y/n get into in argument but manage to settle it fairly quickly….. and roughly

“She was all over you Joseph! Dont act like you didn’t notice!” I yelled as we walked into out hotel room. Me and joseph are in america for the filming of stranger things. We had all gone out to a bar and a fan girl was literally drooling over Joseph, he was too damn polite to tell her to go away!

“She was a fan y/n i have to be polite!” Joseph argued back.

“You’re so right joseph! Next time why dont you just screw her over the bar, that’d be great!” Admittedly we were both pretty drunk so thats most likely the fuel behind this argument.

“Oh dont be so childish!” He said before he sighed and ran his hand over his face and added. “Im going on the balcony, come let me know when you want to talk, like adults” and with that he threw his jacket on the table and grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lighter along with his phone and walked to the balcony.

Frustrated, i stomped to our bedroom and got out of the short red dress i was wearing. Getting into my pj shorts and tank top, i went over to my dressing table and took off my make up and threw my hair into a ponytail. After 10 minutes of a tense atmosphere within our hotel room i went out onto the balcony to see joseph, sat in a chair, top shirt buttons undone and a lit cigarette in his hand.

“Joey… im sorry, i was being stupid and childish, and im sorry for picking fights” i said quietly unsure if he was still mad at me. I was met with silence “Look i know you might not forgive me just yet but can you at least answer me” i added. Once again, nothing. I began walking to the door to our room.

I heard him stand up and before i could turn around to see him, i felt a harsh hand grab my hair and spin me round so my back was against the balcony railing, with his arms now either side of me, trapping me.

“Its such a fucking turn on when your jealous baby” he mumbled against my lips. “Want me to show you, show you that your the only girl for me?” He asked me. All i could do was nod at him as his hand had made its way onto my throat,

“Use your words princess” he ordered

“Yes Joseph, god yes please” i begged He roughly grabbed my hips and turned me around so i was looking out onto the dark, quiet streets. He grabbed my hair again and pulled my head back until his face made contact with my neck. “Such a jealous little slut, huh?” He said, he ripped my shorts down to the ground and unbuckled his belt and tied my hands behind my back with it. Just as i thought he was going to put me out of my misery and fuck me, he spun me around and then sat back on his chair, undoing his trousers. “Get here” he ordered and i obliged.

I got on my knees in front him, hands tied behind me as he freed his dick from his boxers, “suck” he said as shoved my head towards his throbbing dick. I followed his orders and began sucking his dick, feeling it hit the back of my throat made me moan around him. He began using his hand to choose his rhythm my shoving my head down as fast as he wanted.

“Oh angel, your so good for me” he moaned as i began picking up the pace on my own. I felt him twitch in my mouth and seconds later i felt the memorable warm, thick liquid shoot down my throat and as i let him fall out of me, i stuck my tongue out to show him all the cum i had gathered onto it and swallowed it all. “Mmh good fucking girl, still think i have eyes for anyone else” he smirked at me as he stood up. I followed him and once again he pinned me against the balcony, he lifted me so i was sat on the railing. “Gonna show you how much i love you sweet thing, okay?” He mumbled into my neck. “Mmhmm joey please, please fuck me” i whined to him.

He took his trousers off completely and said “anything for my girl” I felt his dick rub against my clit, which had been throbbing while i was giving him head, i was already so wet. I felt him slip into me a few times before i let out a frustrated whine. “Joey please dont tease me” “Be a good girl or i wont fuck you at all, leave you out here a wet, whining mess” he snapped at me. He finally shoved his dick into my pussy and began thrusting into me at an inhumane pace. “Oh i’ll never get used to how tight you are princess, such a tight little slut, just for me” I was desperate to reach for his curls and tug on them as he kept fucking me ungodly. “Joey…please, i-i wanna touch you” i begged him as he kept fucking me. “Awh poor baby, still think id want any other girl like this?” He asked me. “No, no im yours baby” i answered him, desperate to be let free. “And im all yours angel” he answered as he paused breifly and untied to belt from around my wrists. My hands flew to his head and began tugging on his hair, his thrust began sloppier as this went on. “Ngh… im gonna cum joey!” I cried out. “Cum for me sweetheart, make a mess, fucking cover me in it” he encouraged as his hand made its way to my clit and began rubbing harsh circles on it. That was all i needed for the knot in my stomach to come undone, covering myself and him in my juices. “Oh thats it baby, thats a good girl, oh your gonna make me cum!” He cried out as i felt him twitch in me, i clenched around him at the overstimulation. “Oh thats it baby, oh your so tight” he strained a vein in his neck as his seed shot up into me. We both stayed close as possible, his dick still inside me as we both came down from our highs. “Im sorry joseph, i love you so much” i said against his lips. “I know princess, i love you too” he responded, taking his dick out of me and standing between my legs, not ready to separate just yet. “Joey?” I almost whispered. “Yes angel?” He answered, matching my volume.

“I cant walk, can you carry me to the shower? Please?” I asked him looking up using my big puppy dog eyes. “Would be my pleasure” he smirked as picked me up and carried me inside.

Safe to say, im not going to doubt his love for me again.

[gottawritesomething]

Treat the bite

Small scene I wish was in the game while romancing Gale. Treating an owlbear nip to Tav's hand.

_______________________________________

Gale had tried to warn Tav of the dangers of picking up stray furry menaces, especially ones that grew to be great, terrible beasts. But she'd smiled her biggest cheekiest smile and he'd been unable to continue the argument. In fairness, they got along famously; it followed her around camp, cooing like a baby bird. He could hear her chatting away with both the cub and Scratch from his position by the tents. When last he’d seen, she was feeding them both scraps from dinner.

"Please be polite... see how polite Scratch is when he takes a treat? Yes, exactly, he's letting me keep all my fingers... just..." He heard a small yelp and low hiss of pain. He shook his head; he’d tried to warn her...but Shadowheart had turned in for the night, and it was hardly gentlemanly to leave a lady in pain. He carefully closed his book and strolled over to where he knew she'd be. She was looking with great interest at the tree above her, with her hands clasped behind her back.

"Evening..." He attempted nonchalance.

She pursed her lips. "Oh, hello, excellent night for a walk." a fine attempt at subtlety. He smiled, hoping to come across as charmingly chastizing rather than patronizing. 

"If perhaps, someone had been injured in a manner I had suggested was a potential danger... Would someone like assistance with that hypothetical injury?"

She smiled and then winced.

"Hypothetically, that'd be appreciated."

He reached out his hand. "May I?"

She carefully revealed her hand; a nasty gash ran across her palm. The cub seemed to have nipped her near the thumb. She gently placed her hand in his. He brought it up to his face to examine it closely, conveniently blocking his own rapidly heating face from view. Still, he caught her eyes as she watched him with interest; they gleamed.

“So what's the prognosis? Will I live?” With the slightest smile dancing across her mouth.

“I'm aghast you think I'd let any lasting harm befall you. You'll live, at least while in my company.”

“I'll have to keep your company then.”

He cleared his throat, ignoring the rumbling in his chest. He mumbled a healing spell, watching the skin knit itself back together. He absentmindedly ran a thumb down the site where the cut had been, Feeling for any disturbances in her skin the spell might have missed. His thumb slid over old scars, products of misaimed spells or an errant magic surge, so many hidden stories. He wished they had time for her to tell him each of them.

He released her hand, taking a moment to collect himself before meeting her eyes again. 

“There, barring any unexpected run-ins with whatever mysterious culprit was the source of this bite, you should be good as new.” He makes a sweeping bow, “Now, if there are any other services a wizard such as myself could provide for a lady such as yourself, don’t hesitate to ask.”

She softly chuckled. 

“For your sake, you may want to be mindful of your phrasing. It is why our companions have taken to calling you ‘My wizard’.”

“There are worse fates…” 

Gale suddenly felt he’d very much overstepped as Tav’s eyebrows shot up. He was considering his best option of escape when she smiled at him.

“I’d hope so.” She said softly. Gale’s heart leaped in his chest. He instinctively covered the orb with his hand. Quickly, he nodded and bid her goodnight as he retired to his tent, attempting to soothe the growing light from his chest.

[wol-fica]

-𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕀-

parings - jennaortega x singer!fem!reader

summary - you realize your relationship with jenna seems to be crumbling, so you do something about it

warnings - weird therapist, some percy diss, but that’s it :)

an - :) ————————————

“Relationships can be hard, and arguments are a normal thing all people go through.” 

You sighed, fidgeting with your fingers while searching for anything to look at besides your therapist. 

The reason for today's sudden visit was because you felt like your relationship with your girlfriend was going downhill. You understood that life can be tough sometimes, but this was much too stressful for you to keep bottled up.

“Can you tell me some specific reasons why you believe your dating life is struggling?” Your therapist asked, giving you an encouraging smile.

“Well,” You readjusted on the couch, “It just feels like I’m trying way too hard to keep us together, when I shouldn’t be.”

“I understand.”

“Having a girlfriend shouldn’t induce stress or anxiety, it should be fun and enjoyable.” You went on, now feeling like letting all your worries out, “I get that she has a job; I do too! But that isn’t an excuse to treat me terribly….”

“Yes, I agree.” Your therapist said as she jotted down some notes in her book, “You are still pursuing singing right?” 

You nodded, smiling at the thought of your recently ended tour. Traveling the world was very exciting, and you loved experiencing different cultures along the way. The only wish you had was that Jenna would have been beside you; But like always, she put work first.

“So think about this. You have a job that takes you around the world, causes you to miss out on certain things but be included in newer things like events and shows?” 

You nodded again, confirming the description of your work.

“And Jenna’s job consists of…exactly the same thing.” 

You let out a shaky breath, turning to look at the ground sadly. It was true, you both had time consuming jobs that dragged you about the globe and took your time away from family and friends.

Yet somehow, you always made sure to have time. You would always tell your manager that family was first, and no matter what you would squeeze them into your schedule just so you could see them and feel at home while traveling or working. 

Jenna’s job was similar in the aspect of yours, minus the singing and dancing, but she never seemed to be able to make any time for you. You would always plan your off days to be on her off days from filming so you could maybe go get lunch or just enjoy each other's presence, but Jenna would always have the excuse of “I’m to tired” or “I already have plans with Percy.” 

Percy. The name was distasteful to you. As much as you appreciated his skill of acting and his wonderful personality, you still didn’t like him. He would always weasel himself in between you and Jenna, whether it be during her relaxing days or at award shows, he always pushed you out and brought her in. 

“I have an idea; you may or may not like it.” Your therapist stated, setting her notebook down, “You need to pull her aside, no matter what plans she has, and talk to her.”

Your eyes widened and your nerves proceeded to spike. Pull her aside? You were not a confrontational person, and you were most likely to avoid conflicts if you were given the chance; hence why your relationship is crumbling.

“What do I say to her?” You fought back, taking a sip of water, “I have no idea how to confront her. ‘Hey Jenna! I feel forgotten and like you don’t care anymore!’” 

A small sob escaped your mouth, your head falling into your hands. God, you missed her. You missed being able to hold her, to laugh about stupid soccer plays, to enjoy sunsets together on her balcony. You never knew how much of an impact she had on you until you started going to therapy.

“Don’t get emotional about it, just politely but firmly ask.”

You sniffled, raising a hand as an acknowledgment before getting up to leave the room. As much as you wanted to stay, you knew that if you were going to confront her you would need to do it now.

Pulling out your phone, you opened your text message app and clicked on Jenna’s contact.

A chuckle involuntary left your mouth, your lip slipping in between your teeth afterwards.

Jenna always knew how to make you laugh, no matter how you were feeling. Diffusing a situation is one of her many skill sets; but you were not letting her get away this time.

“I’ll be home in 5.” You texted before shoving your phone into your pocket and heading outside to your driver.

The ride seemed long, and even though it was a 15 minute drive to your place, you still felt the small confident monster roaring inside of you. All its pleas and cries were telling you to be bigger and let your emotions out onto Jenna; but you knew you couldn’t. You would scare her, anger her, or even just annoy her that she could possibly leave you on the spot; you couldn’t let that happen.

“Miss? We are here.” Your driver said, looking at you in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, thank you.” You replied before hurrying out of the car.

As you walked to the front door, passing Jenna’s black Audi along the way, your anxiety started to overtake you and your thoughts.

What if you say something wrong and she leaves? What if you are just overreacting and this is all some stupid act you’re pulling? What if she decides that you aren’t enough for her and she confesses about Percy?

A wooden blockade hit you in the face and you realized that you walked full force into the front door.

“Ow.” You mumbled before pushing your key into the slot and walking into your luxurious living room.

A mansion was one of the very gracious things you received from being such a popular face in the music industry. Money was an easy-coming item, and spending it was just the same, so why hold it all in your bank account when you could just show up and show out with your 102,000 square foot palace.

“Y/N?” Your name was called out softly, startling you from your place by the shoe nook.

You turned your head to the left to see her, in her ever standing glory. She looked slightly confused but all together relaxed, and was clearly dressed to be heading out for a fun night.

”Hi…” You said, completely unmoving as you stared at her.

“Hi…you wanted to talk?” Jenna asked, fidgeting with her phone.

“Oh, yeah. Here.” You gestured to the kitchen island, leading to sit on a stool.

She sat opposite from you, leaned against the cool countertop as she seemed to study your body language.

“So…” You trailed off, your confidence from before completely burned out.

Jenna raised an eyebrow at you, but turned to her phone when a notification went off. She clicked it, smiled, and started giggling as she replied to whoever messaged her.

That whole interaction set you off, especially since you saw who the person was; Percy.

“Jenna put your phone down, please.” You said sternly, staring at your hands.

She looked at you with a confused expression but slowly put her phone down, retracting her hand so it sat in her lap.

“We…are not okay.” You started, playing with a ring on your finger.

Jenna watched you patiently, listening intently to your words.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but I feel like we aren’t what we used to be.”

Silence from her end.

“Many times I feel like you don’t seem to care about me.” You said, the ring on your finger was now very interesting, “I go out of my way to reschedule so my off days line up with yours, but we don’t even spend any of that time together.”

More silence.

“I feel under appreciated and alone. Anytime we have free days together, you either say you are too tired to do anything or you already have plans with your friends.”

You inhale, breathing shakily and meekly.

“Am I not enough for you?” You asked, your tear clouded eyes finally looking up at Jenna.

She looked, shocked. Her mouth was hanging open while her eyebrows furrowed in confused and disbelief. She stared at you, her eyes glossing over with her own tears and her shoulders slumping sadly.

“Y/N…what?” Jenna mumbled, clearly lost for words.

You searched her face for any sign of anger or annoyance; there was none. Surprisingly, she seemed to be softening and relaxing.

“You, are more than enough for me.” She said, reaching for your hand, “Hell I don’t even deserve you.”

The weight of all your worries instantly lifted when she spoke those words, which caused an avalanche of emotions to hit you.

“Aw honey.” Jenna cooed, pulling you into her chest when you started crying profusely.

She stroked your hair, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. Her fingers began to scratch your scalp as she coaxed you to relax.

“I love you, god I really do.” She held you close, rubbing your shoulders, “I’ll never take you for granted.”

You sniffled, leaning yourself into her as she fed you comforting words. Your stress and anxiety seemed to melt away as she held you.

“I’m sorry if I pushed you away, I didn’t mean to do it on purpose.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at her.

“Then why did you?” You asked softly.

Jenna smiled sadly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“Filming has been…stressful. Tim and the rest of the crew has been antsy, and my cast mates have been no help in being calm and collected.” She said, caressing your face with the pad of her thumb, “I’ll be honest, Percy and the gang have been partying to much, and HE is quite the touchy type.”

You frowned, jealousy building up in the bottom of your stomach at the thought of Percy getting to close with your girlfriend. Jenna chuckled at you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips to diminish the pout that formed on your face.

“Don’t do that, a frown doesn’t look good on you.” She said, rubbing her nose against yours as you laughed.

“Mmm, I love you.” Jenna murmured as she gazed into your eyes.

“And I love you.”

————————

tag list: @i984 @fall-08 @tundra1029 @simp4thena @king-scarlet @dreifhraniquo29 @efectoangel @annalestern @alexkolax @k1mba @i-love-u15 (comment below to join the tag list!)

i do not give anyone permission to repost or copy my work onto any platform

[miryum]

Foundling Villa- Chapter 9

Royal!Charles Leclerc x Reader. Princess Y/n is arranged to marry Prince Charles. There will be many ups and downs that the author hasn’t planned out yet, but read along to find out more! (Yes, I know that sounds super cheesy) Warnings per chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!

Tag list: @notleclerc @sunsumonner

Warnings: critiquing (and rude) parents, arguments, mention of death, allusion of sex

THE SLOW BURN IS STARTING TO BURN, PEOPLE!!!!!!!

ao3 link  next chapter>>

“Prince Charles, what are you doing?” You tried to keep your voice low, pulling him into the foyer. You craned your neck into the dining room, making sure your family was still preoccupied. Ralph shot you a look and you shook your head wildly. Ralph gave you a short nod. He had your back.

“What? Is it a crime to visit my wife?” Charles attempted to smile, but he had a feeling you could see the melancholy seeping through. He hadn’t seen you since you left the palace in a rush. Things had seemed so out of place. Instead of his honeymoon, he was pushed back into meetings where advisors would congratulate him. It felt dishonest to accept praise about a wife who wanted nothing to do with him.

“No,” you said. “But it’s inconvenient when you don’t tell your wife you’re visiting.” Charles noticed your eyes flickering from him, to the dining room entrance, to the clock, and back. He raised a brow. He had never seen you this agitated. You had remained in a cold, constant demeanour throughout your time at Enza’s palace, only showing hints of laughter when your siblings came, and shadows of fear on your wedding day. But this outright anxiety, this was new. He had yet to know how to calm you down.

“What’s wrong?” Charles asked. He realised you were still clutching his arm. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but I thought it customary for newlyweds to spend time together. I wanted to see this Villa you’re so passionate about.”

“And that’s awfully kind of you,” you admitted. “But my parents are here to visit.”

“Oh.” A look of understanding dawned on his face. It made sense why you were so frantic. 

“Could you do me a favour?” you asked. 

“Anything,” Prince Charles replied. 

“Can we seem like a happy, normal couple?” You hated what you were asking him to do, but you couldn’t let your parents see how uncomfortable you were in your new life. “Can we pretend to enjoy each other’s company? To love each other?”

He nodded in agreement and you breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Y/n, who’s at the door?” Your mother called out. Your grip on him got tighter and Prince Charles placed a soothing hand on your shoulder. You tensed, waiting for the emotion of foreboding panic that had the potential of bringing back old scars. But you felt nothing other than a warm, comforting hand. You didn’t shrug him off. 

“It’ll be alright,” Charles gave you, what he hoped was, a reassuring half-smile. In truth, he was pondering why he was standing up for you, someone who had made it clear that they hated him. The last interaction he had with you ended on terrible terms, yet here he was, at the first sign of your apprehension and consternation, standing guard over you. Why had he always felt the need to protect you? From the moment you stepped out of the carriage, Charles had promised himself to be as hostile and distant as possible so his parents would see how against the marriage he was. Yet, he had always been civil to you, even when you weren’t to him. Why?

“Thank you,” you breathed out. Maybe it was to see the look of relief on your face. Maybe it was so he had the opportunity to offer you his arm and feel you accept it. Maybe it was because he was falling for you. 

“King and Queen L/n of Williams,” Charles stepped out from the foyer and into the dining room. “Pardon me for intruding, but I wanted to visit my wife. I was unaware that she was already hosting guests.” He bowed to them politely. 

“Prince Charles!” Your mother clapped her hands. “It’s a pleasure to see you. You’re not at all intruding. I hope my daughter wasn’t about to turn you away?” Her words were filled with warning as her eyes bored into you. You shuffled back to your seat, not before instructing a maid to fix another place setting for Prince Charles.

All three of your siblings stared at you with different degrees of questioning. Robert tried to remain as neutral as possible, but still quirked a brow towards you. Brenda didn’t even attempt to hide a grin. She was clearly pleased to see Prince Charles again. Ralph continued eating, his smirk prominent. You could almost hear him saying, I thought you hated each other. I’ll make sure to take the room farthest away from yours. I don’t want to hear tonight’s activities. 

Prince Charles smiled thankfully at the maid who brought a chair and utensils for him and he sat, eagerly filling his plate. 

“Prince Charles,” your father grinned at the new arrival. “What prompted you to join us?” 

Prince Charles gave a nod. “Truth be told, my mother. She urged me to seek out my wife.” You clenched your jaw. Of course. The only reason why Prince Charles would visit is because someone else was hounding him too. “She missed Princess Y/n around the palace, and if I’m being honest, as did I.” He reached over and gave your hand a little squeeze. 

Your heart seemed to somersault and you shot him a look. Who knew he was so good at acting? 

“I hope everything is well in Enza?” Your father continued the conversation, giving you and your siblings a welcome reprieve. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to give away any secrets,” Prince Charles joked. 

Your father laughed along, yet you could see a hint of wariness and mistrust in his eyes. “Of course, of course.”

“Y/n, darling.” The moment your mother’s voice broke the air, you winced. “Tell us about this house.” 

You cleared your throat and started talking. “It’s been going well. We just repainted a bedroom and I hired a gardener. The stable master, Lando, recently bought two horses, and-”

“Stable master?” Your mother cut in and she set down her knife and fork. Brenda let her mouth fall open, but she quickly closed it. She shook her head subtly at you. “Are you riding? Y/n, you know that’s very unladylike.” 

“I never said I was riding,” you corrected her. “I only mentioned that I bought horses, mother.” 

“If you buy horses, what else are you going to do other than ride them?” Your mother pursed her lips. 

“Mother, even if I was riding them, which I’m not,” the lie slipped by easily. “I’m not in Williams anymore. I don’t need you to look after me.” You tried to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t put her at fault. “I’m not a child anymore. You can let me go.” 

“Y/n L/n, it is not a matter of me coddling you.” Your mother pulled out your full name. She raised her head high and shifted back in her seat, a power move you had seen many times before. “It is a matter of being a proper lady. Your entire life you have been hellbent on disregarding the rules, and look where it’s gotten you! I barely managed to marry you off. You should be grateful I am here to control whatever shenanigans you come up with.” Prince Charles took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

You fisted the elegant tablecloth. It wrinkled underneath your fingers. “Please, give me one example of when I have defied you. In all of my years, I have configured to your will. I cannot think of a time when you trusted me.” 

“Y/n, it is not your defiance, but rather your mannerism.” Your mother explained as she obviously belittled you in front of your family and husband. He had yet to be named part of your family. “You’ve always been rude to members of the court and you brushed off whatever advances came your way.” Prince Charles set down his silverware and folded his hands in his lap. Robert took notice and nudged Ralph under the table.

“Mother, in case you forgot,” you said. “I am now wed. If these arguments could stay in the past, it would be greatly appreciated.” 

“You and your sister,” your mother wagged a finger at Brenda who shrunk in her chair. “Have always been known as the troublemakers of our family.” A muscle in Prince Charles’ jaw flexed and Robert could see any diplomacy drain out of his eyes. “You two always ran about and it was a disaster for me to clean up! Do you know how many times I had to apologise on behalf of your antics? I did not become Queen of Williams to grovel on my knees on behalf of my insolent daughters! Honestly, it’s a wonder that you’re not caged up somewhere. If you were, don’t expect me to bail you out-”

“Enough!” Charles was seeing red. He slammed his fist on the table. “You do not get to disrespect Princess Y/n in that way! It is unacceptable and she is now under mine and Enza’s protection. If you threaten her, you threaten my kingdom, and I guarantee you that you do not want to do that.” 

“How dare you speak to my wife with this lunacity!” King L/n rose from his chair and glared threateningly at Charles. Charles met his stare and stood as well. Two kingdoms locked in an unsteady impasse. “I am your superior and I’ll be damned if a measly prince speaks ill will of my kingdom or my family!”

“Even if it’s your family that is the one speaking ill will of your family?” Charles demanded. “And lest you forget, Williams is reaping off of Enza. While you may have gold, iron, and mining resources, we have the military prowess to cut ties, stay financially stable, and wage war on any kingdom we want without batting an eye. If you cross one of our own, which now includes Princess Y/n, you cross the entirety of Enza. I warn you, be careful what your next words are.” His chest rose and fell with this newfound rage.

The table fell silent. 

“Charles, why don’t you sit down?” You placed a hand on his forearm. His head whipped towards you. “What?” you questioned him, furrowing your brow.

Charles slowly sat down, maintaining striking eye contact with you. “You called me Charles. Not by my royal title.” 

“Oh. I guess I did.” You broke his gaze. 

Charles addressed your parents, still not looking away from you. A quiet smile graced his face. “I wonder if your Majesties shouldn’t be headed back to Williams. I hear it’s a long trip.” 

Your mother huffed and your father fumed, but thankfully, they took Charles’ thinly veiled threat and left the Villa in a barrage of angry mutterings. Your siblings slipped away upstairs, mumbling excuses about needing sleep. 

“Y/n,” Charles whispered. “I want you to know, I love it when you call me by my name.” 

“Thank you, Charles.” A barrier had clearly been broken tonight, and you wondered what other walls would break as your relationship continued. 

A sudden scream was heard from outside and you jumped up. Charles quickly followed you, catching your hand to pull you behind him. “What’s the matter?” he yelled as he ran through the door. 

“H- he almost ran me over!” Your mother cried, pointing to a messenger sitting on top of a distraught, rearing horse. 

“Your Highness!” The messenger called to Charles, hopping down. “I come with urgent news! I need to speak with you in private.” 

Charles glared, pulling you closer to him. “Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of me and my wife. No Enzan secrets should be kept from her from now on.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your parents shuffle into their carriage. You let out a breath, thankful that they were gone. 

“Your Highness,” the messenger dropped to a knee in a solemn bow. He outstretched a scroll to Charles who paled at the sight of it. It had a black ribbon tied neatly around it, and you weren’t naive enough to not know that it could only bring one message: death.

[thethreeeyed-raven]

Dinner gone wrong

make me feel masterlist

navigation | a/n : this took a long time to post lmao, enjoy! | warnings : intense arguments? | dream of the endless playlist | tags : @fangsp1der-2099 , @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom , @knight-of-flowerss , @tiana76 , @navs-bhat , @starkleila

Morpheus and Death approached the footman that stood guard in front of the doorway to the Bridgerton’s manor.

“My Lord, my Lady.” The footman extended a hand into the wide hall, motioning for them to enter. “Enjoy your night.”

Lady Death nodded her head with a polite smile whilst Morpheus nodded once.

“You ought to get some manners.” Death whispered harshly under her breath, the annoyance of their discussion a few days before still plaguing her with annoyance.

Morpheus resisted rolling his eyes at his sister. “You ought to get over yourself.”

“Lord Morpheus! Lady Death! I’m so glad you could make it!” Daphne approached them gleefully, reaching out to embrace the woman before her. Morpheus stepped back a little, hoping she wouldn’t want to embrace him too.

“It is lovely to see you, Lady Daphne. I hope we aren’t late.” Death greeted her with a question.

“Oh, of course not! You’re both just on time!”

Daphne led them to the dining room, motioning to the two vacant seats across from one another.

Death quickly took the seat next to Kate, leaving Morpheus with the empty seat next to you.

Morpheus gave his sister a subtle glare as he sat down.

“Hello.” He heard a small voice next to him. He turned to see you sat looking at him, your face flushed.

“Hello,” Morpheus returned the greeting equally as silent.

You turned your gaze back to your empty plate.

Anthony raised his glass, tapping it to get everyone’s attention. “I’m thankful to all of you for accepting this invitation to dine with us tonight. Now that everyone is here, shall we tuck in?”

The night was filled with laughter and jokes, everyone told stories of their childhood and other parts of their past, or how they had met their now lovers.

“I remember when Benedict was a child, he never had any friends because he was too immersed in his art.” Violet laughed delightedly at the memory as Benedict covered his face in embarrassment, laughing along with her.

Death perked up at this, recalling a memory of hers that was similar. “Hmm, that reminds me a lot of Morpheus.”

The Lord looked up at the mention of his name.

“He never had any friends either, he always had his nose stuck in a romance novel.” Death laughed at this, but Morpheus didn’t find her very funny.

Simon’s brow raised in surprise, which Death took notice of.

“A stark contrast to now, isn’t it? He’s always going on about how he doesn’t want to find love and other nonsense.”

“Death,” Morpheus warned her. “You’re drunk.”

Death shook her head. “Maybe I am brother, but that doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth!”

“Sister, that is enough.”

“You can’t be alone forever, Morpheus. I’ve tried to get you out of your bubble, but you’re not willing to accept help.”

Morpheus looked at her through narrowed eyes. Everyone looked between the two anxiously.

“Dream,” She pleaded. “Not everyone is like mother and father.”

“I know that.” His voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes turned glassy.

“But do you truly?”

Dreams' gaze turned almost hateful. “Yes, I do.”

He slammed his hands on the table and left the dining room, stepping out onto the large land the Bridgerton’s owned.

You looked after him worriedly as everyone recollected themselves. “Excuse me.” You said, following after Morpheus.

[fluentmoviequoter]

If You Want to Leave

Requested Here!

Pairing: John Casey x fem!wife!reader

Summary: Casey tries to leave without telling you, but you walk in before he can. An argument ensues, and you invite him to leave, if that's what he really wants.

Warnings: angst, argument, accusations of lying and not loving one another, brief fluff at the end bc Casey needs love

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

A/N: I envisioned this taking place before Chuck s1 and the Intersect project, but that's up for your interpretation! I would also like to politely ask you to ignore the fact that this gif is Jayne Cobb; there aren't enough of Casey and I couldn't find one that fit the story.

“Major Casey, you need to get out of the country,” his superior says.

“You want me to run from a fight?” Casey replies. “That’s not-“

“It is not running from a fight, Major. It is preserving your life and keeping others out of danger. I’m no longer in a position to do more than recommend you get out while you still can, but if you stay, you’re endangering far more people than just yourself.”

Casey nods once before he leaves the office. He messed up; one tiny mistake by taking out the wrong enemy agent has ruined everything. As Casey drives to his small cottage miles away, where he thought everything would be safe and separated, he knows what he has to do. If he doesn’t leave now, he’ll lose everything. Again.

Casey leaves the truck running as he enters what used to be his home. This stationing was supposed to be permanent, allowing him to settle just enough as he worked through the ranks and continued fieldwork when and how he pleased. Yet, here he is, packing the last decade of his life into a duffel bag. He ignores the pictures on the mantle and the made bed that he will never sleep in again and focuses only on taking what he needs. No reminders, no evidence, and nothing that will make this situation worse than it already is. With his clothes, gun, and every piece of identification stowed in the large duffel bag, he zips it and prepares to say a goodbye that won’t be heard but will be felt.

You return home early and see Casey’s work truck in the driveway. It’s still running, so you assume he forgot something and is heading back out. The idea of Casey, a highly trained government agent, forgetting something makes you smile. On the bright side, you can see him briefly before he returns to work.

As you enter the open front door, you’re startled to see pictures and books haphazardly strewn throughout the living room. Whatever Casey forgot must have been easily misplaced you think as you walk through the hallway. Casey’s back is to you as he zips a duffel bag. The box that usually sits under his side of the bed is no longer in its place, and you have no trouble deducing what is happening. Casey didn’t forget anything except you.

“You’re leaving?” you ask.

Casey turns quickly, and his nostrils flare when he sees you. Clearly, this wasn’t part of his escape plan. 

“Were you going to tell me?”

Casey shakes his head and turns to the bag on your previously shared bed. He flips through a faded copy of Moby Dick until he finds his United States-issued passport. You walk to his side and lay your hand over his.

“How long are you leaving?”

“Forever,” Casey grunts as he pulls his hand away.

“What?” you question incredulously. “John, that’s-“

“I know.”

“You don’t know,” you argue. “You were going to leave without telling me anything! I know that you have a duty, a job that you care about more than anything, but I- this- us! We have to mean something to you, too.”

“Why do you think I’m leaving?” he snaps.

You step back and cross your arms. The wedding picture on your nightstand taunts you, and you lay it face down before you take a deep breath.

“Was this the plan all along? To marry me, have me around, lie to me, until it was time to move on?” you ask with your back to Casey.

“Of course not,” he answers roughly.

“Really? Because packing a duffel bag to leave me while I’m not here doesn’t align with the whole ‘til death do us part thing, does it, John?”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. And I never will, because whether you want to admit or not, you always knew I was a temporary fixture.”

Casey huffs as he pulls the duffel bag over his shoulder. You follow him to the door but nearly run into his back when he stops.

“There is nothing worth waiting for,” you remind him. “You made sure of that.”

He turns perpendicular to you and looks at the home and the life he is abandoning. 

“Why are you leaving, Casey?” you ask softly, letting your guard down in the final moment with him. “I think I deserve the truth about that at least.”

The accusation that he has lied about anything within your relationship multiplies the emotions Casey is feeling and hiding. He’s become an expert in lying and manipulating the truth to fit what he needs it to be, but that’s work. You and your marriage were separate, the only real thing Casey had.

“You want to know why I’m leaving?” Casey asks. “Because I’m not good for you! There is a target on your back because of me!” he explains, not caring that his voice rises.

“Casey,” you begin.

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head as he turns to face you. “I will not lose you. I can leave all of this, the house, the pictures, the perfect little life, but I will not put you in a position to be taken away from me forever.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing, Casey,” you argue gently. “If you leave, there is nothing between me and the people aiming at that target. You told me from the beginning that this could happen. But if you leave me now, you and I both know, you’re leaving me just like you’re leaving the house.”

Casey shakes his head and grunts as he drops the duffel bag beside his feet. “No,” he insists. “This is the best option.”

You rub your forehead and say, “If you want to leave, just go. I love you, Casey, but I can’t live like this. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering when this will happen; when you will just leave me without a word and never come back. I’ve been by your side for years, supporting you and your job and everything that comes with it, but I can’t do this. The constant fear of not knowing is worse than any target someone could put on me.”

Casey’s chest rises and falls as he breathes deeply. He watches your eyes as you talk and hates that he created the fear and insecurity in them. Even if he does leave when this is over, he can’t let you think that his leaving has anything to do with how he feels for you, loves you, or the idea he doesn’t want to be with you.

“So, Casey,” you begin.

Your voice breaks as you fight to hold your tears in, and Casey closes the distance between you. He places his hands on either side of your face, his palms resting against your cheeks as his fingers slide behind your ears. As you look up at him and move forward, Casey dips his chin and kisses you. It’s not like the other kisses you’ve shared; it’s passionate, desperate, loving, and devastating at the same time. You grasp Casey’s wrists before you move your hands to his shirt and push yourself against his chest. Watching Casey leave will break you and destroy everything you’ve learned to love about yourself, him, and life. And, despite how good this kiss is and everything Casey says without speaking, it will not get you through this. Not if it’s the last one you ever get.

Casey pulls away slowly, but his hands remain on your face as he looks into your eyes. You’re breathless, pliant in his hold. He doesn’t move, but if he’s still going to leave, you can’t handle a withdrawn goodbye any better than coming home to an empty house.

“Casey?” you whisper.

“What do I do?” he asks quietly. “I messed up, and now you’re in danger no matter where I am.”

“As much as I want to, I can’t tell you what to do.”

“They’ll give me a new assignment when I get stateside.” Casey pauses and looks at the ring on your left hand. “Get in the truck.”

He pulls you into another kiss before you can ask him any questions. You understand what it’s like to be part of Casey’s world, never knowing what he’s doing or if he’ll be home. But you need to stay with Casey because you love him, and even if he did leave without a word, it wouldn’t change that.

[iboatedhere]

Thank you @cha-melodius and @orchidscript for the tag!

--

“We’re stopping for the night.”

“I can drive.”

“It’s been a long day, Alex.”

“I said I’m good.”

“We’re stopping,” Henry tells him, ending any argument. “We need a good night’s rest. I’m getting us a room. You can either wait here or go get us some food. That is up to you.”

Alex grits his teeth so hard Henry can hear his jaw click but he nods.

“I’ll get us something to eat,” he says quietly and Henry nods, leaning across his lap to pop open the glove compartment. “We can save the money.”

“We have more than enough,” Henry tells him. Pez gave them five grand in cash along with several watches and pieces of jewelry to pawn if things get tough. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing that would raise a red flag. “We’ve barely made a dent plus I can’t imagine you running up too big of a bill in a….” He looks over his shoulder and squints at the sign, making sure he’s seeing it correctly. “Kum & Go. Bloody hell.”

“Where the fuck are we?” Alex asks and Henry shakes his head. 

“I never veered off route eighty. I wasn’t paying attention to the signs. I saw quite a few cornfields, though.”

“The fucking midwest,” Alex mumbles as he grabs a twenty from the stash and unbuckles his seatbelt. “America the beautiful.”

Henry hums, watching Alex move in the low light. 

“Put a hat on,” Alex tells him. “And watch your accent.”

“What accent, bro?” Henry with a stereotypical, American-Fratboy slant to his words.

“All right,” Alex says as he pops the door open. It’s obvious he’s trying not to smile and Henry wants to push him over the edge.

“I’m gonna go find us a totally-fucking-awesome hotel room, man.”

“Okay, seriously, relax,” Alex says but his smile is bright and warm. “I’m gonna get you the gross flavored Gatorade if you keep that up.”

“Oh, dude, you would never.”

“That’s enough,” Alex says with a laugh as he climbs out of the car. “I like it better when you’re calling me love.”

Henry blushes and reaches back for the nondescript ball cap they picked up before they left the city.  

Nothing with logos. Nothing with brand names. Be polite but not too polite. Be aloof but not like you’re hiding something. Pay in cash. Only give away information that people need to know and even then, stick to the script. And above all else—.

“Be careful, okay?” Alex says and Henry nods. 

“Of course.”

Alex nods back and starts across the lot. Henry watches him go, like the second he takes his eyes off of him Alex will disappear.  

Halfway, Alex turns and looks back at him and Henry waves. They’re both still here.