#this is supposed to be the wedding. thanks 4 asking | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brunchable · 6 months ago

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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

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vivwritescrappythings · 8 months ago

Text

golden linings

knight!könig x plus-size!fem!reader

part 1 - part 2 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6

the evening ball presents you with an unconventional dance partner

tw: fem reader, plus size reader, mentions of body image, yearning!, not proofread

wc: 2.5k

masterlist

You thanked Lord Asterly for his lackluster conversation, excusing yourself with a polite smile and a lousy attempt at a curtsy. It was obvious that your father had asked him to come speak to you, the eager expression on his face clear to you even across the room. You resisted the urge to glare at him as you retreated to the safety of the refreshment table.

König lingered nearby, his armor freshly polished and a clean hood over his head. He looked larger than life in comparison to the other knights and guards scattered around the room, towering over them despite his efforts to blend in with the column he stood next to.

His gaze was on you expectantly as you approached, a crystal glass of punch in one of your hands. A question lingered in the way his eyes narrowed slightly. “He only wished to talk about how big his family’s estate was, and the rumor of my considerable dowry,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes.

The black hood covering König’s face rippled, a sign of his soft laughter. You heard it a few times, a rough bark of a noise—he reserved it for private times between the two of you.

“My father believes that I will meet a suitable husband at one of these,” you muttered, glaring over the rim of your glass at the dancing couples. “He is convinced that I can find a love match like my sister, but he seems to forget that she was blessed with a beauty I do not possess.”

König simply shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He avoided speaking in the presence of others, only occasionally whispering in your ear if necessary. Apparently it was not necessary that evening.

You ran a hand along the embroidered fabric pulling in your waist; the dress you were wearing was far too extravagant for a woman of your station. It squeezed you around the middle—it had taken the effort of two maids to pull the bodice laces so tight that you could hardly breathe. As though members of the court would not see the softness of your jaw and your arms and know better.

The punch was tart on your tongue. You hardly could conceal your scowl as you watched the dance floor, men twirling their wispy dance partners over the polished stone floor. Jealousy threatened to strangle your heart as you set your empty glass down, pivoting away from the dance floor to take a turn about the room.

König remained where he stood, you could feel his gaze track the back of your head as you offered tight-lipped smiles to lords and ladies as you sidled your way past. You had become used to the weight of his eyes on you. It would be odd if he looked elsewhere, the comfort peeled away from your shoulders to leave you bare.

You wormed your way into a group of ladies your age, their chatter filling your ears. They made space for you readily, welcoming you into their circle with saccharine smiles and soft greetings.

“Tell us, have you thought about what your wedding will be like?” one of the girls asked. You recognized her from around the castle—a recent arrival for the ball. She had always been kind enough, smiling at you in the halls and asking polite questions about your embroidery.

You felt your cheeks heat up as though you had been caught doing something wrong. “Admittedly, probably not as much as I should,” you said with a sheepish smile.

It seemed that a wedding should be the only thing on a young lady’s mind.

The women giggled, some offering up remarks of solidarity. “Not even what color dress you will wear?” another asked, pressing closer into the circle as she observed you with wide eyes.

Another resounding no. “Well, most likely blue, I suppose.” You stumbled through the words, begging for some detail to come forth into your mind. “I would want the color of my dress to match my husband’s attire. Perhaps even the same fabric could be used for the gown as his tunic.”

“Oh I think that would be lovely!” Mary exclaimed, grabbing onto your wrist for a moment as she grinned excitedly at you. She was your closest friend at the castle aside from König. Her father was on the king’s small council just as yours was, proximity forcing you into an easy friendship. You squeezed her arm as a thank you.

“I think my father will be willing to pay for a gold gown for me.” Your eyes rolled of their own volition, your irritation obvious. Mary shared your sentiment, leaning into you as her bony arm pressed along your soft bicep—a silent agreement.

It was as though all anyone thought about was getting married: whose dowry was bigger or whose father was willing to spend more coin on their wedding.

It was exhausting.

The whole event was exhausting. You never realized that balls lasted until the early hours of the morning. The musicians played until the blue fingers of dawn started to cross the sky, the sun threatening to rise over the ocean.

You yawned into your palm, bidding Mary goodnight as you ambled your way back to König. He was still just as alert as you left him, posture straight and hands clasped behind us back.

“Goodnight, papa,” you murmured to your father as you passed him. He paused his conversation to wrap an arm around your shoulders and squeeze you to his side for a brief moment, murmuring a “goodnight” into your temple before releasing you.

König perked up slightly when you came to a stop in front of him, his broad shoulders relaxing a fraction as he tilted his head down toward you.

“I think I have had more than my fair share of the festivities this evening,” you said, already turning toward the double doors leading toward the east wing of the castle. He nodded, dutifully falling into step at your side.

The castle was eerily quiet at that time of morning.

Many servants had either retired late or woken up as the sun rose and the party guests had not started to leave yet, the halls were empty. The light streaming in through the windows was tinged the periwinkle of early morning, the sconces lining the walls nearly burning out.

“I can only imagine you had a rather exciting evening,” you murmured to König, a bit of a smirk on your face.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head once. “I have had worse nights than that, my lady,” he said, voice low and raspy from disuse. It still surprised you to hear him, it felt like a special privilege to know his voice.

You hummed your acknowledgement. He told you of his times fighting along the eastern border. There was a vague memory floating in the back of your mind of your father discussing the skirmishes with neighboring kingdoms about farmland, but it had not affected your home much aside from a sudden drop in potato dishes. You could not fathom what it had been like on the front lines.

It was a relatively peaceful era for the majority of the kingdom; König was one of the few people you knew that had actually seen battle. He refused to tell you the details of it.

“Well that is true,” you concurred, inclining your head toward him, “but this certainly had to be boring. Knights on duty were not even allowed to dance.”

You turned the corner toward your quarters, the windows lining the one side of the hallway showed the sun starting to crest over the horizon. The sky was splashed with pinks and oranges, the whispers of the clouds above catching the colors and lined in bright white.

“You did not dance, either,” König remarked.

Your cheeks warmed, embarrassment clenching around your throat. “No one asked me to dance.” You studied the way the hem of your gown fluttered across the floor as you walked.

“Would you have liked to dance?”

You shrugged noncommittally, chewing your lower lip for a moment. “I suppose I would have,” you finally mumbled. A sidelong glance at König confirmed that he had turned his head to look at you, eyes the color of aquamarines shining through the eye holes of his hood. “But it is not proper for a lady to ask, she must be asked by a man.”

König hummed thoughtfully for a moment before stopping in place. You were just a few paces from your door.

“Would you like to dance with me, my lady?” he asked, turning to face you dead on. He offered a gloved hand palm-up for you to take, his other hand tucked behind his back as though he was a proper lord asking a lady to dance.

You let out a soft chuckle, the warmth on your cheeks spreading to the entirety of your face. At first you assumed he meant it in jest, but a twinkle in his eye made you reconsider. “But there is no music.”

“Humor me,” he responded in the same beat.

It was enough to convince you. You smiled nervously, your nose scrunching a bit as you slipped your hand into his.

“Which dance will we do?” you asked, having to crane your neck back to properly look up at König. You placed your hand on his shoulder, the metal pauldron smooth beneath your fingertips.

His broad hand found the curve of your waist, pulling you a fraction of an inch closer. You were surprised by the stretch of his fingers, feeling the press of his hand around the entirety of your side. You never thought you would feel small in a man’s embrace.

“The one that had you glaring at the dance floor.” König’s voice had a hint of a smile in it, mirth clear in his gaze. You scoffed, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. He squeezed your hand as he snickered.

Then he moved into the first steps, shockingly graceful as he led you into the dance. You stumbled at first, both of you laughing as his hold on your waist tightened. He pressed you in the right direction with his palm.

“You are rather good at this,” you commented, finally synchronizing with him.

“It was a long evening,” König explained, spinning you elegantly before capturing your waist once more. “Dancing is not so far from fighting when it comes to the core movements. The steps are not hard to grasp and are similar to one another, I did spend the past few hours watching them.”

“So you did use your time wisely,” you teased.

His hand shifted from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer. You were nearly pressed against the metal of his chestplate, the burnished steel reflecting the light of the sunrise as König whirled you over the stone like it was a dance floor.

You hardly even noticed there was no music playing, your mind filling in the silence surrounding the soft sound of your footsteps and the occasional metallic click from his plate armor. Your gown swished against his legs, just a whisper of noise.

The edge of König’s hood fluttered against your fingertips as your hand rested on his shoulder. The black fabric was coarser than you expected, the edges fraying. It was different from the hood he wore most days: there was no discoloration around the eyes. You ached to remove it.

The sun rose slowly, blood orange light flooding the hallway. Everything seemed to stand still aside from the syrupy movements of the two of you dancing in silence. König led you through the steps slower than the music would normally go, seemingly savoring the moments of closeness as his head bowed toward yours.

You were lost in the moment, the heavy scent of oakmoss incense interlaced with marjoram and sage that clung to him almost made you feel like you were in a dream. Perhaps you had dreamt this? It would not have been the first time you dreamt of the knight sweeping you off your feet.

“You are lost in your thoughts, my lady,” König said, pulling you from the reverie. You blinked a few times, looking up at him through your lashes with a guilty smile.

“You have surprised me, I did not think you to be a dancer,” you managed to lie, attempting to hide your daydreaming.

König let out a huff, spinning you once more. It would have been the crescendo of the music had there been any, he continued twirling you until the imaginary note ended. Then he yanked you close, pressing your belly to his pelvis as his forearm settled across the small of your back.

“König!” you yelped, giggling as you steadied yourself with your hands on his breastplate. The lack of sleep and proximity were going to your head, your face so warm you could practically start a fire.

Gloved fingers brushed a loose piece of hair from your forehead, tucking it back into the braided style you wore. “Those men are fools for not asking you to dance, all of them,” he said softly, a knuckle brushing against the outside of your jaw to direct your gaze up at him.

You floundered for words, mouth opening and closing like a fish. The sun had nearly risen, light flooding in and illuminating a golden outline around König. You could feel the scales of his armor through the too-tight bodice of your gown, the pieces of metal shifting with your breaths.

You inhaled, lips parting to respond.

Peals of laughter bounced down the hallway, making you lurch apart. You pressed your back against the carved wood of your door, teeth digging into your lower lip as he settled into the same stance he had been in all night: shoulders squared and arms clasped behind his back.

It took time to gather yourself after the shock—you and König had done nothing wrong. But you would have. “Thank you for the dance, König,” you finally blurted out, voice higher pitched than normal.

He inclined his head toward you, silent now that others were wandering down the hall back to their chambers. They were in their cups, staggering in each other’s arms as the morning sun shined on them. You stared for a beat, chewing the inside of your cheek.

König grabbed the handle of your door, pulling it open for you in a smooth motion. “Goodnight,” you said, reflex driving you. It had become routine–bidding him goodnight at the end of each day.

“Goodnight, my lady,” he whispered, so low you could barely hear it. You looked up at him over your shoulder as you turned, meeting his bright eyes before slipping inside your room.

The door closed behind you, your hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your giddy laugh. You leaned against the door, imagining what König was doing on the other side. He would have to be relieved of his post soon, he needed to sleep just as much as you did.

But for the moment, you thought of his heavy hand on your waist and his knuckle on your cheek.

#konig x plus size reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #konig x reader #reader insert #könig x reader #könig #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig x you #plus size reader #cod x reader #medieval au #knight!konig

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oceansoul001 · 3 months ago

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Couple of random thoughts regarding KCD2 last conversation with Hans.

[Spoilers!!!]

1. You can have this conversation either still in Suchdol (after talking to Sir Hanush) or in the Devil's Den post credits. They don't differ beside last topic ("What are your plans now?") that is removed if you choose the latter.

2. Generally there is not much of a difference between romance and non-romance paths. Romanced Hans tells you everything that the non-romanced does, just adds a few unique sentences. You can probably notice switch of tone in "What are we going to do about the wedding" topic, for the romanced lines: "I'm not sure what to do... after what happened, you know...? I mean... me and you... I suppose we'll just have to wait and see how things turn out..." I find this reaction very believable given the situation, I recon they both need some time to sort things in their heads, as the ongoing siege/bringing reinforcements didn't leave them much time and space for reflection. So I am very okay with them not discussing the topic further at this point. And, I know this might sound strange, but I also really like that there are no love confessions at this point, I greatly dislike it when games throw them at me after literally one night spent together with someone.

BUT. Directly after this part comes the non-romance part where Hans worries about his bride being ugly and then proceeds to talk about naming his son after Henry, and I don't know... I mean, yeah, we all are aware of the fact that Hans most probably still has to get married, and have an heir, and it does not matter at all whether something happened between him & Henry, or not, but is this really the thing he would casually say at this moment...? Okay, maybe he would, it's Hans. But what is even more bizarre to me is my Henry, who is happily babbling as if nothing has changed at all, even though like a minute ago he was this awkward mess thanking Hans for "the encouragement". So what I'm trying to say is, I would prefer at least for Henry to act/respond differently in the romanced version and remain more awkward throughout this convo. But maybe I'm overthinking this! 😅

3. Another difference in the romance path occurs when discussing Hans' injury, as only in this version Henry asks if he can take a look at the wound later, and I think it is so sweet. Very minor detail, but I love it. ❤️

4. The thing that I definitely don't like is asking Hans about his talk with Hanush, and Hans responding with "You don't need to know everything", like??? My guy. Please. You've just shared with me probably the most intimate and secretive moment OF YOUR LIFE, and now you don't want to tell me some shit about Hanush, even though it is not even a secret and like everyone in Rattay already knows (your own words!). I don't get it at all, why in the romance path this still requires a speech check and why is Hans so weird about not telling me "everything", even though mere hours ago he was ready to die from grief if I don't come back 😭

5. Speaking of dying, romanced Hans can say the following at the beginning of your conversation: "I'm glad nothing happened to you. That would have killed me", but it only happens if Sam does not survive. So not in my game, as I would never leave my brother behind. Hans can also admit that he was jealous of Sam, which for me was very clear during the game, but also under the condition that Sam does not survive.

6. Last, but not least - I wish we could have another conversation with romanced Hans after couple in-game days pass, after we both have had a chance to collect our thoughts. Nothing groundbreaking, just something short and sweet, and you know, maybe get the possibility to share a kiss in our room at the Devil's Den when we want... I know it might sound greedy, or silly, after all we've just got this perfect, almost unreal relationship at all, but nothing can stop me from dreaming. 🥹

Happy to hear your thoughts on the subject! ❤️

#kingdom come deliverance 2 spoilers #kingdom come deliverance 2 #kcd2 #henry of skalitz #hans capon #hansry #henry x hans

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brattyspence · 1 month ago

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toasted cinnamon bagel please <3

order #4 | see my event here

a/n: thank u bby this was fun

tags: pining!spencer, reader marrying a man, angst

There’s a hole the shape of you growing inside of him.

It’s been there for as long as he’s known you, maybe longer. Spencer’s almost certain that you’re written into his code somewhere.

It’s nearing 8 PM on a Friday, and for the first time in a very long time, he hasn’t heard from you in days.

There’s a thread of text messages open on his phone. They are all bits and pieces of the issues, slammed into cut and dry, lifeless remarks. They might be sent from you, but they aren’t you. They are terse, when you’ve never been. They’re mean and you’re not. They have a new tone that takes on the life of someone else, someone new–the man you’re set to marry in the morning.

A new message pops up, and he’s sure it will read just the same. Defensive, hurt, reactive.

When he reads it, he’s surprised to see the opposite.

You: Can I call you?

He doesn’t think twice before picking up the phone. It doesn’t matter to him whether you’re planning on arguing or not. Now, facing the deadline that is your wedding, he’ll gladly take whatever chance he can get to hear your voice before it’s too late.

The dial tone rings twice before you pick-up, and the sound of gentle static fills the line. You’re outside, he can tell, not at home where you should be.

“Hi,” he says. He considers asking the first question, but he doesn’t. He leaves the line open to you instead, expecting your anger and frustration with him to hit him all at once.

It doesn’t.

“Hi,” you reply.

He can hear the worry in that one word. He knows you well enough to know that you've waited too long to do something. This version of you, this strained voice, is a product anxiety left to sit and stew. He can only imagine what this means. It's less than 24 hours before you’re set to walk down the aisle, and you’re calling him, the person you’ve been so upset with.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing.”

He can hear the sounds of cars passing by wherever you’re calling from. It fills the void for a moment as he collects his thoughts.

“Nothing?”

“No,” you reply. The shake in your voice is even more apparent. “And that’s the problem.

He takes a moment to try and piece together the clues to no avail.

“You're upset that he didn't do anything wrong?”

“Yeah.” On the other side of the line, you nod to yourself. The taste of anxiety hits you in the back of the throat as you attempt to figure out what to say.

“I don't understand.”

He can hear you inhale sharply just once, and then there's a pause. Spencer knows this; you're crying.

“I'm upset because… he’s so good to me. And he treats me so well. And he's nice, Spencer. He's a good guy. And my family likes him. And I'm supposed to marry him tomorrow and I can't find one thing wrong with him, but I don't love him.”

Spencer sighs. You're half expecting to hear him voice his frustration with you, that he told you. That he was right. But he doesn't.

“So what do you want to do?” He asks.

“I don't…. I don't know. I can’t call the wedding off. It’s not fair.”

“You can't marry him.”

“I have too,” you hiccup.

“You don't have to do anything,” he replies. “We can figure it out.”

“No. I-I can’t I don't…” he hears you sniffle once more. “I don't know. Maybe I’m overreacting and it's just cold feet.”

“It's not,” he replies. “But… I get it.”

You hold the phone to one ear, trying to stop your tears while silence fills the line again.

“I'm sorry for bothering you.”

“You didn't bother me,” he says. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you sigh, wiping your tears. “Tomorrow.”

You're about to end the call when he says your name once more.

“And by the way… when you’re ready to let him go, just say the word. And I'll come get you.”

#Spencer x reader #Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #angst #my things #brattyspence's cafe

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xechu · 14 days ago

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[Honor & Vengeance] S. Geto - 夏油傑

Pairing: general!suguru x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Series Warnings: please read my blog rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, explicit sexual content, depiction of gore and violence, mature themes

Chapter Warnings: mature themes

Tags: historical au, non-curse au, marriage of convenience, slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut, angst, hurt/comfort...will take a while to get there though

Summary: Under the King's decree, House Geto is expected to make their public appearance at the Eastern Campsite. You begin to prove your strength, while Suguru struggles with the realization that, perhaps, he had underestimated you.

a/n: I've decided to open up a tag list for this series, so if you're interested please leave a comment below. :) Chapter 4 might take a little longer to release, I will post an update notice as usual when it's getting close to finished. I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for reading! x

Master List: << chapter 2 | chapter 4 (to be continued) >>

[Chapter 3]: Within the Shadows

Tonight, Suguru sat in his study room and drank alone, the oil lamp which cast a warm glow throughout the room, flickered as a light summer breeze drifted in through the window. It was not a habit of his to drink; in fact, he quite disliked it. He only drank when necessary such as making appearances, dining with the King, or lifting soldiers’ morale. But he could understand the appeal now—why people drank their feelings away.

This was not what he had anticipated. You were a mere judge’s daughter supposed to be unassuming, obedient, quiet. And yet, something about you unsettled him: you were unreadable.

On the surface, you remained aloof. Never once did you falter at his harsh words and treatment, almost as if you had anticipated every single word in advance and braced yourself for it. You were articulate, unyielding, and reminded him of a calm before the storm.

Yet, there were moments where he thought you might have slipped.

The first time was during the wedding ceremony. There was a nervousness in your eyes—a pleading look that he had seen countless times. It was the same look his enemies wore right before he ended their lives, a pathetic cry for mercy and understanding. The second time was earlier today, when you entered his study room. There was a flicker of childlike innocence in the way you admired his books and maps, yet, he was certain that you were far from innocent. Then, it was when you thanked him for the guest house. If you were as intelligent as you led on, then surely, you must have understood its purpose. Why give thanks for your cage, if not to only wage psychological warfare?

He loathed it. He loathed how fate was playing a cruel joke on him—mocking him. Even with standards set so low, he had still managed to choose wrong. He didn’t ask for much, just a body to play the part, a name to wear, and a silence to keep. Many would have vied for your position and gladly assumed the role. But it was apparent that he had underestimated you. You wanted more. Perhaps to seduce him into fathering a child with you, so that you can cement your place as the true Lady Geto.

But you will never be real.

You are not worthy. A fraud. Someone who was trying to bite off more than they can chew.

He had allowed a fox, cloaked in composure and cunning, into his home. And it was a mistake he would soon rectify. He would send you back to where you came from once he had accomplished what he needed to do.

And now, as he looked at the scroll on his desk, it seemed that the two of you would very soon have to take the stage again. The thought of having to pretend with someone like you filled him with a sense of dread he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Until then, he must endure.

Until then, this is what he must convince himself is the truth.

Because it was easier to believe you were calculating. To brace himself against a foe. Than to wonder what you truly wanted, or if you wanted anything at all.

A knock at the door broke his dark thoughts. Perhaps the alcohol was fogging his mind, but at that moment, he had fully imagined you to come through that door—brazen and insolent.

Instead, it was Haibara.

“Geto-sama,” Haibara took note of the bottle of wine that sat on Suguru’s desk. A small sigh escaped him.

Without a word, he crossed the room and lowered himself into the chair across from Suguru, studying his old friend with a gentle, though unmistakably judgmental, gaze. He had come to report how the tour went but now, sensing the melancholy in the air, he decided to hold back on the report.

“Would you like to keep me company?” Suguru asked, taking out another small cup and placing it in front of him.

"Feeling lonely?" Haibara teased lightly, but he knew why his old friend felt compelled to drink. He watched the alcohol smoothly pour into his cup.

Suguru only let out a low hum, rough and reluctant. Enough for Haibara to understand that his friend was not in the mood to talk, but also did not want to be alone with his thoughts.

A comfortable silence passed between the two young men, as they drank without word.

The bottle slowly emptied between them, sip by sip, pour by pour.

Though the alcohol dulled their tongues, the thoughts in their minds still rang clear.

…

“The King expects House Geto’s first appearance soon,” Suguru suddenly broke the silence, leaning back in his seat.

His eyes stared at the flickering oil lamp, as if it were some mystical artifact holding all the universe’s answers—answers that he wished he, too, could grasp.

“Where?” Haibara asked, surprise evident in his tone.

“At the Eastern Campsite.”

“That’s…an odd request. I don’t see why that requires the presence of Lady Geto.”

Suguru slowly nodded once, “I had the same thought. Sato is scheming something, but the risk should be low.”

“And a campsite isn’t suited for a lady either,” Haibara muttered.

“That matters not,” Suguru downed another cup of wine, the smooth burn now felt comforting.

"That woman is a lot more cunning and intelligent than she lets on," Suguru said, but it was more to convince himself than Haibara. “If there were to be any danger, I’m sure she could claw her way out.”

Haibara studied him for a long moment, swirling the wine in his cup. “If I may give you some advice as a friend and not your advisor…”

Suguru let out a reluctant sigh. “Go on.”

“Lady Geto is intelligent, yes, but my observation of her is not one of a cunning woman. She is no threat.”

“And what are you trying to say?”

“What I’m trying to say—is that you can still keep your distance without being heartless, Suguru.”

Haibara’s voice was calm. Steady.

“You know better than I that making enemies—both within and beyond the walls of your home—will drive you to your grave before your ambition even has the chance to be realized.”

Suguru bitterly scoffed but did not refute his words. In the end, he couldn’t reject the truth.

He had known since the night he had sent his offer to your father. But Suguru had long accepted that his path was his alone to walk on, there was no one he could rely on—not even Haibara, at least not entirely. The best way for you to be his ally was to stay out of his way.

Sensing his inner turmoil, Haibara let out a low chuckle and refilled his friend’s cup—a small gesture to show he would not press the matter further.

The two men continued to drink through the night, keeping each other company in silence.

—

Lady Geto,

It is an honor to have received your letter.

You have not once left my thoughts since the moment you left home to be with Lord Geto.

I visited your father last week, and rest assured, he is doing well.

No matter where you are, I will always answer your call.

By the time this letter reaches you, I will already be on my way.

There is so much I want to say to you.

I will see you in two days’ time.

Yumi

Excitement and anticipation bubbled within you as you clutched Yumi’s letter—now worn and crumpled from restless hands. Though there was no grand welcoming, the gentle summer breeze and the clear skies seemed to cast the perfect backdrop. You had eagerly prepared for her arrival ever since the note had reached you. To see a familiar face, to reclaim a small piece of home, was enough to spark hope.

Haibara had offered to welcome Yumi with you, but you politely declined. After all, this was your chance to test the waters. In order to confirm if your name truly held weight within these walls, you would judge it in how Yumi was received under your introduction.

The distant creak of wooden wheels and the slow, steady clop of oxen hooves grew louder until the lacquered cart finally pulled to a stop before you. Yumi hopped out, barely able to contain her excitement.

“My Lady! Oh, how I’ve missed you.” She flung her arms around you, nearly knocking you both off balance.

“Yumi,” your voice cracked.

This reunion had made you more emotional than you thought. The heartiness of her embrace made you realize just how deeply you’ve yearned for familiarity.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that things could be simple again.

Yumi had been a trusted friend of yours since childhood, practically like sisters. When you were younger, she would often spend time at your family home. The two of you would wander the halls and surrounding garden, imagining the life of endless adventures and discoveries.

As you held her, your mind drifted to the very force that had shaped both of your fates: the Merchant Guild.

Nobody knew exactly how or when the Merchant Guild was established—only that, for generations, they functioned as an enigmatic, faceless network that operated among the shadows. Though their dealings were discreet, their presence was no secret. Even the King himself was aware of their existence. Yet, he chose not to interfere. After all, the Guild served an important purpose: they kept the lower classes occupied, fed, and in relative harmony through trade and employment. It was less governance for him to worry about.

A quiet commensalism.

He let them be, so long as they stayed in their lane.

In recent years, however, that quiet respect had begun to sour. There were whispers that King Sato had become increasingly wary of the authority that the Guild bore, and the social influence they had over the lower class. Thus, he had ordered in secrecy the spread of propaganda in hopes to sway the public opinion of the guild, a call for unified action to purge the guild and its leader. Mercenaries eagerly chased the bounty, but they all described it as grasping at shadows. Nobody knew where to look. It was as if the Merchant Guild itself was nothing more than a conspiracy theory—spawned from the paranoia of a delusional king.

But you knew better than anyone that the Guild was very much real, because Yumi had found her calling with them, a secret you had learned very early.

And you had sworn to protect her identity—her life.

—

After the unceremonious welcome, you walked alongside Yumi back to the guest house. At first, she had assumed it was her own living quarters, but the harsh reality of your situation quickly became clear.

“My Lady, this is…” Disbelief laced her voice.

“This is fine, Yumi,” you said as you opened the door to the bedroom. “This living arrangement isn’t as terrible as it seems.”

“I thought Lord Geto was a gracious husband. Your father thinks you’re in good hands—!”

“My father will not know of this,” you firmly interjected. “Geto-sama just needs time to warm up.”

But you knew those words were unconvincing, if you couldn’t even convince yourself of it.

“This isn’t right,” Yumi’s voice shook as she called you by your name. It had been a while since you’d heard it.

“The guest house may not be as grand as the main estate, but look closely—everything here was arranged with care.” You tried to comfort her, understanding her concern.

“Geto-sama does not deserve your kind words and understanding! He doesn’t know whose dignity he is stepping on!” she cried.

You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. Her anger on your behalf told you more than enough that you had found a genuine friend.

“Don’t worry,” you reassured. “I have my ways of dealing with Geto-sama. For now… I hope you won’t mind reliving our childhood days—and sharing a bed with me.”

Truth be told, the road ahead was long, and the uncertainties many. It would be a lie to say you had it all figured out. Nevertheless, only two options lay before you: either submit to your husband’s hand, or ascertain your own future.

Yumi may have voiced it aloud, but you had long understood the reality of your situation. Life as Lady Geto would not be fair, it would not be easy, and no one was going to rescue you.

But you refused to be silenced. You refused to remain hidden in the shadows. You refused to become a thankless ornament, shown off only when needed and tucked away when you weren’t.

If you were to survive, it would be by your own hand and not by anyone else’s mercy.

—

Thanks to Haibara’s detailed tour a few days ago, you were able to guide Yumi around the estate grounds without issue. It appeared that among the staff of House Geto, your authority had indeed been restored; they all greeted you with utmost respect and acknowledged Yumi as your lady-in-waiting.

“Please, Miss Yumi, if there is anything you require from us, let us know,” one of the servants said.

You smiled at the exchange, content that your plan had worked so quickly.

As the two of you continued down the path leading to the training grounds, your steps slowed at the sharp ring of steel clashing. You knew, once you rounded the corner, you would see your husband.

The man who had made it clear to you that your existence here should be one of a ghost.

You steeled yourself and walked forward.

From a distance, you watched Haibara and Suguru spar. Suguru’s skills were undeniable—his strength, his form, were precise and unrelenting. Every strike of his blade was efficient, calculated, deadly: aimed to kill.

There was no hesitation, no mercy. You doubted there would be, even if the opponent were you. In fact, if it were you, you were certain he’d strike you down with his full might.

“My Lady!” Haibara called out, abruptly halting the spar, and jogging toward you.

You acknowledged him with a slight nod, forcing your eyes to stay trained on his face—even as you took in his disheveled hair, the sheen of sweat on his bare chest, and the casual strength in every step.

Suguru was similarly attired. But you continued to hold yourself together, pretending not to notice such things.

“Geto-sama’s swordsmanship is impeccable, is it not?” Haibara grinned, his breathing only slightly uneven from the spar.

“It is,” you replied calmly, glancing over at him.

Suguru returned you an icy stare.

“This is Yumi, my lady-in-waiting,” you gestured, smiling slightly. “Thanks to you, I’ve been able to give her an adequate tour.”

“Miss Yumi,” he greeted smoothly, “If there is ever anything you require, you can always find me.”

“Thank you, Master Haibara,” Yumi dipped her head politely.

“I can’t help but notice you are rather interested in the training field, Lady Geto,” Haibara mused, his tone light. “Perhaps you’re interested in sports?”

“I—”

“My Lady is quite proficient with the sword,” Yumi cut in, a challenging glint in her eyes.

“What a surprise!” Haibara’s voice carried genuine astonishment. “I should have known, from the way you were so captivated.”

“It is only a small hobby,” you tried to deflect.

“Then surely we must spar!”

You hesitated. Not because you doubted your ability, but because you could feel an intense warning radiating from Suguru, wordless but unmistakable: do not cross this line. And you understood. This was a line you didn’t need to—and shouldn’t—cross.

You shook your head gently. “Please, don’t let me take up your time. Perhaps we could share a friendly spar another day.”

“I shall hold you to it then, my Lady!”

You excused yourself, and almost made it out of sight when his voice cut through the air.

“Lady Geto,” Suguru said.

“Yes, Geto-sama?” you replied, turning to him despite the pounding in your chest. His presence, his gaze, his voice—they didn’t just unnerve you. They chilled you to the bone.

“We depart for the Eastern Campsite at tomorrow’s sunrise. The King has summoned House Geto.”

You nodded once. “I shall see you tomorrow morning, then.”

As you turned to leave, the clashing of blades resumed behind you.

But something felt…wrong.

You did not doubt the King’s summons was real, but why request the general’s entire household? The Eastern Campsite was no place for ceremony.

Everything still felt like a shot in the dark, and there was only so much you could prepare for.

But for now, you would play the role.

Observe. Endure. Prepare.

—

The very next morning, you waited with Yumi a few paces behind the main gate. Just beyond the heavy doors awaited a small entourage of highly trained soldiers. You had made sure to arrive before your husband and Haibara. After all, General Geto and his wife should be seen stepping out together.

The very moment the gates opened and you took that first step, every glance, every breath, every movement would need to sell the illusion.

This time, you figured it would be best to let your husband take the lead. And you would follow.

“Lady Geto, Yumi,” Haibara called out.

You turned around to meet Haibara, Suguru walked beside him, his gaze sliding coldly past you without meeting your eyes. It was clear that he was keen on holding out his disdain towards you till the very last second.

“Geto-sama, Haibara,” you slightly bowed.

Suguru acknowledged the both of you with a slight nod. Without a word, he continued toward the gate. You matched his pace, forcing yourself to steady the anxious knot tightening inside your chest.

It was your first time seeing him in his official uniform—the neat lines of the dark fabric, and the sword fastened on the side of his hip. Even the hilt alone was enough to tell that this was a sword crafted by a master swordsmith. Upon the pommel bore the crest of House Geto: a peony, symbolizing honor, prosperity, good fortune, and love.

General Geto looked regal, perhaps even more so than the King himself. It wasn’t in his garments or accessories, but it was his presence. And the way it effortlessly commanded attention without ever needing to ask for it.

It was hard to believe that this man was your husband. Though even calling him that felt wrong.

As the heavy doors swung open, the four of you were greeted with enthusiastic salutes.

“General Geto, Lady Geto,” the soldiers greeted in synchronized discipline.

Suguru smiled to them, “It is good to see you again.”

This was the first time he had smiled since the wedding.

“Yes, it is also an honor to finally meet Lady Geto,” the soldiers all bowed at once.

Your eyes widened at the unexpected greeting. “It is a pleasure to meet you all. Thank you for coming to escort us.”

“It is our duty, Lady Geto! It is our honor to serve you and General Geto.”

“Ah, but our deepest apologies,” one of the soldiers interrupted. “We did not expect that there will be four representatives from House Geto…we have only prepared three horses.”

A heavy silence pressed down on the group.

“That would be my mistake,” Haibara cleared his throat. “I have forgotten to account for Miss Yumi here, who is Lady Geto’s lady-in-waiting.”

“That matters not. Time is of the essence. I will ride with my wife,” Suguru said without hesitation, as he rested a hand on your back.

You looked up at him, there was not a hint of anger or irritation in his features.

The way he slipped between masks and dropped them without effort was, quite frankly, terrifying.

As you approached the black horse, you could sense Suguru just a breath behind you—calm, composed, and unnervingly quiet.

“Do you need help?” his voice murmured low at your ear.

“No,” you answered softly. Without hesitation, you gathered your skirts and mounted in one smooth motion, settling into the saddle.

A moment later, you felt him swing up behind you, the subtle shift of the horse’s weight pressing his presence flush against your back. You could feel his warm breath ghosting the nape of your neck.

His closeness gave you chills. You shifted closer to the front of the horse, feeling the rising discomfort, until his arm firmly wrapped around your waist.

You froze. Heat rising to your ears.

“If you keep moving, we’re going to fall,” he muttered.

The journey to the Eastern Campsite was a long ride, even on horseback. And the travel was uncomfortable to say the least. Suguru would make conversation effortlessly with his soldiers, it was the first time you saw him among his comrades, and if you had to be honest, he seemed like a kind and respectable general. You would have been fooled if you hadn’t already seen his true colors behind closed doors.

His arms remained steady around you the entire ride, while he held onto the reins, never once letting go. As if he was ensuring your safety, or prepared to catch you if you fall. But each time you see this side of him—kind, understanding, and present, a small pang tugged in your chest.

Because you knew it was a lie.

It felt like a mockery. His way of taunting you, showing you he was capable of such warmth, but that you were simply not deserving of it.

His kindness was a weapon, and the kinder he appeared, the deeper he cut.

—

As the sun began to set, the entourage decided to set up camp at an open field for the night.

Normally, the soldiers would handle the work while the general oversaw from a distance. But tonight, with the group’s small number, it felt wrong to simply stand and watch.

Nearby, Suguru had given a few low-voiced instructions before slipping away toward the river, a fishing line casually slung over his shoulder. As you watched him disappear into the distance, you let out a small exhale. The distance, you thought, was much needed—for you and him.

The soldiers moved with efficient ease, unpacking the supply wagon, hammering stakes into the ground, setting up canvas tents. Without wasting more time, you decided to make yourself useful and gravitated to where the food was being laid out—bundles of dried rice, jars of pickled vegetables, and thin strips of dried meat from the wagon.

Taking the rice, you rolled up your sleeves and began rinsing rice at the edge of the camp, your fingers working deftly, the cool water biting at your skin. A couple of soldiers glanced your way, the look of surprise on their face was evident.

“I didn’t expect Lady Geto to be so adept,” one of them whispered.

“Perhaps that’s why the General chose her. He’s a soldier, after all—men like us respect competence,” another said in agreeance.

Though you appreciated their kind words and admiration, you tried your best to shut them out. Under normal circumstances, this would have been flattering—perhaps even welcomed. But you knew the circumstances were far from normal. On the bright side, you suppose that your actions thus far have been convincing.

Suguru returned with a net of fish just as you were stirring the pot of porridge now resting over the fire. One of the soldiers immediately sprang forward to take the net and began preparing the fish.

Meanwhile, Suguru approached the campfire, settling across from you. His gaze was steady—observing you with a quiet intensity, making it hard to focus. His eyes flicked down, noting the way your sleeves were still rolled up, the faint splashes of water darkening the fabric at your wrists.

For a moment, his mind wandered; wondering what your life might have been before marrying him. It wasn’t common for noblewomen to be adept with chores or kitchen tasks. Did your family home lack housekeepers and servants?

“My Lady!” Yumi exclaimed, hurrying over to the fire. “Allow me to take care of the rest.”

She gently plucked the ladle from your hand, gesturing you to take a seat. “Please, sit with Geto-sama. The preparations are nearly finished.”

Your back stiffened as you rose quietly and made your way over, settling beside Suguru.

His composure remained perfect, even as your arm brushed against his, but his eyes remained fixated ahead. You let out a small breath, the crisp crackle of the fire, and Yumi’s busy presence, offered a fragile sense of normalcy.

…

Dinner was simple: bowls of porridge passed around, grilled fish laid out, and the pickled vegetables were shared among the group.

You sat beside Suguru near the fire, as was expected—the general and his wife, presented side by side. You could feel the quiet weight of his presence beside you: his steady posture, the subtle shifts of his movements, and the invisible wall of cold distance he kept drawn between you both. A wall that was only apparent to you, and no one else.

You gently placed a piece of fish into Yumi’s bowl, knowing full well that she would never serve herself first.

Suguru’s gaze flicked towards you—then stilled.

The small gesture pulled up a memory that was buried deep inside him. A memory that he’d rather not remember. He saw his mother’s hands, quietly setting aside the best bite for his younger sister. Followed by the sounds of laughter echoing faintly in the background.

Suguru inhaled slowly, grounding himself back to the present. His jaw tightened ever so slightly. He said nothing and simply watched. Something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes.

As dinner continued, it was shared with laughter and easy camaraderie among the soldiers. Mostly, you and Yumi remained quiet—observing, while occasionally letting out a small laugh at a joke someone would crack. Until Haibara, in his usual fashion, pulled you into conversation. His usual playfulness glinting in his eyes, the kind that already made you dread what was coming.

“According to Miss Yumi, Lady Geto is quite skilled with the sword!” He exclaimed.

“It is but a small interest, Haibara,” you tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, as you felt curious gazes drift toward you. “It is nothing worth noting.”

“Why not let us be the judge of that?” Haibara grinned. It was apparent he had no intention of letting this go.

Intrigued murmurs stirred among the soldiers, while Suguru remained without a word, sipping on a small cup of hot wine.

“Allow me the honor to spar with you, Lady Geto!” One of the soldiers stepped forward and volunteered.

Whistles and cheers rippled through the group, lifting the mood into something light and spirited. Not wanting to spoil the moment, you gave a small, graceful nod—relenting to the challenge.

—

The crossing of blades does not lie. It is, perhaps, the most honest conversation one can have with another. When two opponents meet steel to steel, they learn everything there is to know. Every clash, every parry, every stroke tells a story. Their convictions, their regrets, their hidden truths.

Everything you had said or done until now could have been written off as strategy. Performance. Manipulation. But as Suguru watched you cross blades with one of his most seasoned soldiers, a chill ran down his spine.

The way you moved was fluid, instinctive, precise. It mirrored that of an experienced general—one that nearly rivaled his own.

You fought with a cold, impenetrable expression. The same expression you wore whenever you looked at him.

The outcome had been clear from the start. Your controlled and practiced movements left room for little doubt.

You were going to win.

But in an unexpected turn, his soldier parried you. Your blade slipped from your grasp and clattered to the ground.

“Oh—!” You gasped.

Everyone erupted into cheers and applauded.

“That was still impressive, Lady Geto!” Haibara said.

“It’s no wonder the General is so smitten with you!” One soldier said.

“A true match made in heaven!” Another chimed.

“Look at our General, he’s so impressed that he’s at a loss for words!” They laughed heartily.

You lost.

But why? Victory had been all but secured.

You should have seen that parry coming. It was the kind of slip a novice would make.

Which could only mean—you had lost on purpose.

Only Suguru seemed to realize that you threw the match, and that realization stirred something inexplicable inside him.

You had not only afforded the grace and mercy to his soldier, but you dictated the outcome of this battle.

There was no denying it: you were formidable.

—

It felt as though the atmosphere had slightly shifted after the spar. Suguru said nothing and then disappeared off somewhere.

Did he find it distasteful? That Lady Geto had entertained a sparring match? Or perhaps the compliments earlier about the two of you being a good pair irked him.

It was jarring, to say the least, every time you received compliments like that. Because the truth of the matter was that neither of you could stand each other.

Most likely though, he just loathed the idea of sharing a tent with you, and went to spend time in solitude before he was forced to share the same space as you again.

It had been a good and honest intention from his comrades when they happily presented the bigger tent.

“For General Geto and Lady Geto!” They said proudly.

But you knew that Suguru was probably seething inside. You, too, felt uneasy and flustered by the arrangement. You never shared a confined space with a man before…let alone a bed.

As you made your way to the tent, ready to turn in for the night, your ears caught a quiet conversation.

“This escort is a nice respite,” one of the soldiers murmured, easing down onto a crate with a weary sigh.

“Though strange, is it not? For the General and his lady to ride with us.”

“It is. And the Eastern Campsite has been uneasy of late. It’s no place for a general’s family.”

Another voice joined, hushed. “Have you noticed? The supply wagons—they’ve been arriving more frequently.”

“Yes…it feels as though we are standing at the cusp of something grim.”

A silence fell between them for a breath.

“Let us hope it passes peacefully,” came a quiet reply. “My wife is expecting our first child at home.”

A pang struck deep in your chest. You were no stranger to loss and grief. But hearing it spoken so plainly—the weight these soldiers carried, the sacrifices their families bore alongside them—pressed on your heart with an ache.

Even Suguru was not immune to death, though people often tend to forget. For a brief moment, you almost felt ridiculous for even trying to fight him behind closed doors.

Yet one thing was now certain.

This conversation only confirmed your suspicions: there was indeed something wrong at the Eastern Campsite.

What you still did not know was just how deep the trouble ran.

—

Footsteps approached from behind and you straighten yourself up, hoping that you weren’t caught eavesdropping. You turn around only to see it was your husband. He returns to you an empty gaze.

Perhaps it was the conversation you had just overheard. Or perhaps it was under the moonlight. But as you looked to your husband, beyond his empty eyes, you saw a glimmer of something foreign. For the first time, you found yourself questioning…did he always look so lonely?

You quickly looked away as he brushed past you, heading towards the tent. Slowly, you followed behind.

Inside, Suguru makes his way towards a small wooden chair in the corner. You stood there, hesitant, unsure of what to do next. Without a word, he sat down, arms folding loosely across his chest, his gaze remained distant and unreadable.

“The bed is yours,” he said evenly. It was a reflexive formality—an offering that costed him nothing.

There was no warmth, no softness, just a quiet acknowledgment of what was expected. You lowered yourself onto the bedding without protest, curling your fingers into the blanket.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there—pretending to sleep. Cautiously, you cracked your eyes open, glancing over at him. His head rested against his hand, propped on the armrest, his breath shallow, indicating that he, too, was not yet asleep.

Finally, you gathered the courage to ask him. “…Is there trouble in the Eastern Campsite?”

As expected, he did not reply. A small resigned sigh escaped your lips, but you decide to try again.

“Perhaps I can hel—”

“You will do nothing,” Suguru dismissed coolly. “Except stay in your own lane.”

It was dark, so he couldn’t see the expression that you bore, which was a blessing, because you felt yourself slowly cracking. Your hands balled into the blanket, hoping to quash your simmering frustration.

It was a difficult feat.

You couldn’t understand Suguru Geto.

He was more difficult to read than any book, more ruthless than any weapon, and the toughest negotiation you ever had to face.

“You must also conduct yourself properly as Lady Geto when we get to the campsite,” he said. “The wife of a general does not help with soldier’s task, and certainly does not spar with them.”

A tense silence fills the air.

Suddenly, the tent felt too small, too suffocating. You wanted to storm out and stay with Yumi instead. But you resisted the urge, remaining rooted in your involuntary obligations at keeping up with appearances.

If he was so keen on setting the image, why couldn’t he just pretend all the way through? Was it really such a big ask for him to treat you like an equal—to just speak to you like an equal?

“I don’t understand why you resent me so.” The words slipped from your tongue in a moment of vulnerability.

Suguru looked up from where he sat, his gaze boring into you.

Again, you had challenged him—challenged his control. Asking difficult questions. Forcing him to look inward.

He, too, wished he could have a proper answer. But nothing was ever simple.

His life had never afforded him such luxury.

Even if you were vying for the title of Lady Geto, was it really so wrong? He doubted anyone from the list of candidates was in it for love.

So, then, why did he resent you?

It would have been simpler if he could call it hatred. But it wasn’t hatred.

It was more so you vexed him.

Because deep down, in the corners of his heart he was slowly coming to terms with the fact that you wanted nothing.

You hadn’t fought him. You hadn’t begged. Not so much even flinched when he offered you freedom to take a secret lover. He didn’t know your story. Maybe you already had someone you loved before being promised to him. Like him, maybe your heart had already belonged to someone else but you were forced into a marriage with him.

Whatever the reason may be, in this marriage of convenience, it seemed that there was nothing convenient for you. Most would think that you had the better end of the bargain—power, status, prestige—but in truth, it was very much the opposite.

It would have been easier if you truly coveted the title of Lady Geto. At least then he could have labeled it as a mutual benefit.

You were very much your father’s daughter: the both of you had a clear conscience.

Suguru had never known your father personally. He was not widely talked about in the palace like some other judges. Only a few whispers of him here and there. He did not rub shoulders or curry favor—he simply did what needed to be done. He was a man of principles. It reminded Suguru much of his own father—they probably would have been good friends.

It was respectable. Admirable, even.

But in the game of palace politics, goodwill and integrity seldom take you far. If anything, they paint a target on your back. There is a fine line between righteousness and arrogance—and in a world ruled by ambition and corruption, righteousness is often written off as arrogance. A man of principle is seen not as noble, but as disruptive. Difficult. Threatening. After all, why play by the rules when everyone around you gains more by bending them?

Suguru leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. He could almost hear Haibara’s voice—calm, reasonable, always cutting through when he least wanted it.

You could keep your distance without being heartless, Suguru.

Haibara’s advice echoed in his mind. He bristled at how his friend was the voice of reason, and he hated to admit Haibara was right most of the time.

He didn’t resent you.

But he resented that you were no longer so easy to dismiss.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

I do not own any of the images/photos used on this banner.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 days ago

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Wayward 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Duke!Steve Rogers (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you accompany the court to a foreign kingdom for a tournament of four kings and find yourself entwined with a staunch duke.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“My lord,” you gasp. “My apologies.”

“For what affront? Having fun?” Duke Rogers challenges. He lets you go slowly, his touch dragging on your arms.

“I... suppose,” you bat your lashes. “More so, not looking where I step.”

“There are greater things to worry for,” he brushes his hands over his tunic then puts them behind him. Like many of the lords, he wears shorter sleeves as well. You notice how his muscles bulge beneath the skin. “I do hate to trod on your gaiety.”

“My lord, not at all. I... think I am in need of a reprieve. I do get carried away,” you shift on your feet shyly.

“Mm, it is rather raucous,” he glances past you and his brow arches. He moves as if ducking behind you. “Pardon, I see someone I’d rather not speak with.”

“My lord?” You crane around in confusion. The ladies continue their buoyant prancing and your father peers through the crowd. You spin back to the duke.

“As do I,” you eke out.

“I know where we might retreat, until they pass us by,” he suggests.

“Oh, you do?” You wonder.

“Not to be untoward. My lady, be assured, I am promised to another and would not act ungentlemanly.”

You peek back again and dodge your father’s eyeline.

“I don’t worry for that,” you face the duke again. “Please, if you will.”

He waves you away from your father and you scurry after him. He is sure in his stride. In his duties, he must be as familiar with this far away place as those who reside there.

He leads you into the corridor, away from the din, and you sigh at the cool air. You only notice then how hot you truly are. The sweat has grown so constant that you’re quite used to your damp clothes.

“Many thanks, my lord. I must confess, I did not wish to let my father spoil my night. Again.”

“Your father?” He intones.

“Mm, yes. I came with him. He is one of King Tony’s men. He has been rather... uptight. Especially since... well, it hardly matters.”

“I admit I might not be any less,” Rogers huffs. “My king has caused quite the stir.”

“Yes, he has,” you agree. “But it is good. He has a wife and that means he will have heirs.”

“Mm, yes, in theory, it is very good,” he scratches his beard. “Ugh, this heat.”

“It is horrid, isn’t it?” You fan yourself with your hands.

“You wear it well,” he assures.

You look at him coyly, “sir?”

“You glisten,” he tilts his head coyly. “Mm,” he hums as his demeanour sinks. “How long can we hide? I must face that weasel soon enough. If I am to wed his daughter, I will have to do so often.”

“Betrothed? That is exciting. Is she kind?” You ask.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve not met her as yet. The arrangement was agreed upon today. My king bids me to it. He says it is past time.” He crosses his arms. “Is there some handsome lord at home awaiting you?”

“No, though my father wishes so. He hoped I might find a suitor here but... alas...”

“Here? Oh, let us hope not. It is a den of intrigue. Only those with a purpose have come.” He clucks. “That would include myself. I came to ward off war though my leige does work against that end.”

“War? Do you think?” You wince and cover your mouth. You shake your head. “Forgive me,” you speak between your fingers. “I ask foolish questions.”

“It is not foolish to worry for war. It is a hideous affair. All should fear it,” he girds.

“Yes, but I am a woman. I haven’t the mind for it. Father says.” You throw your your hands. “I can’t even find a husband. My sisters are wed. He is proud of them...” You look at the duke and cringe. “And I blabber at you about it.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You needn’t humour me,” you lean on a column. “What do you know of her? This beautiful lady you are to wed?”

“Not very much, I fear.”

“Did she say she is beautiful?”

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Perhaps she is clever. She must be if she is to be a duke’s wife.”

“Hopefully,” he agrees.

“And she must take good care of a household,” you add.

“She must,” he utters. “I didn’t... I am adjusting still to the idea, I think.”

“I still can hardly fathom it. When I do finally find someone. A husband? In my head, I see only a shadow. As fearsome as a wraith.” You sigh. “Well, I’m certain your wife will be comely and sweet.”

“I can hope.” He says. “She is in attendance, so I was informed, though I’ve not yet chanced upon her. That who I avoided, I’m sure he is eager for us to meet.”

“You are... nervous?”

“Unprepared,” he says. “But I am a duke, so it must be done. It seems not many men heed their duty, as it were. I should not follow in their stead.”

“I’m certain all will be well,” you say.

“For you as well,” he returns and glances over his shoulder. “Do you know very many ladies?”

“Some.”

“Perhaps you have met her?” He turns to you again. “If I gave you her name, would you point her out?”

“I can try. As I said, I only know a handful beyond my own realm.”

He looks you over thoughtfully. His brows stitch and his jaw ticks. He looks almost reluctant. He exhales through his nose. He enunciates the name clearly. You flinch. You squint at him curiously.

“You know her?” He asks.

You snort and flutter your lashes. How can it be? Truly? The duke?

“Why, yes sir, I do know her.” You squeak, “she is I—erm, I am her. Sir.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #wayward #medieval au #captain america #mcu #marvel #avengers

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plutoswritingplanet · 1 year ago

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It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.4 (final)

a/n: we did it Joe! this chapter officially marks the first ever series i've completed lmao. thank you for all the support on this fic, every like, every comment, every out-of-pocket anon ask.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (like...fr this time), Blood and Violence, Manipulation.

Summary: After the wedding, Husband and Wife work out the intricate web of their relationship.

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

Gurney looks at you as if you're already dead.

You hide from his gaze, ducking behind pillars, whenever you can hear his footsteps. It's truly depressing, the way your mentor shakes his head, as if, instead of looking at you, he's looking at a coffin. You suppose he might be right, he's the one with the most experience in the Harkonnen area. He's fought them, dined with them, seen their customs through and through. And now, his dutiful little student is about to be thrown into the very same world, he has relayed to you as a nightmarish fairytale. Still, a little misplaced optimism wouldn't kill him. Or just, a sliver of hope, an inclination that you might survive this.

The day of your wedding rolls upon you like an oceanic storm, all chaos and rumbling.

Here you sit, your bones locked with nerves, as the servants pack away your things. A futile thing, you muse to yourself. It's highly doubtful the Harkonnens will let you keep any personal items back from Caladan. They'll mold you into their image, until all your hair naturally falls out. The thought would make you laugh, but here's a servant, placing your jewelry into a case, which lands in a bag, which will be transported to the Harkonnen ship by the end of the day.

Your room, the place you've spent all your life in, slowly becomes more and more barren.

The closet stands empty, so do the drawers. All your trinkets are swiftly transported away until you're left alone in your wedding dress, the only familiar thing between the hollow ribs of your life's sanctuary. Wishing you could fold the entirety of the castle, with the stables, and the horses, and the cliffs, and throw it into the final suitcase, so you can open it up in times of turmoil, and breathe in the familiar scents. You need to leave, right now. Sitting like this, wrenches a dangerous numbness out of your chest. And you can't be allowed to dissapear into yourself. You're an Atreides, you shall wear your pain with dignity, as per your Mother's wishes.

Your wedding dress swishes around you, as you stand up from your bed. It's much more classy, and less of a chiffon catastrophe, than your engagement dress, a welcome change. The veil is embroidered with light crystals and metal plating. It falls heavily over your face, and jingles when you move. By all intents and purposes, it is a dream dress. A dress you'd like to wear for a wedding of your own, a wedding with some dashing gentleman. A gentleman, which in your most private of dreams, has the face of Duncan Idaho, with silver rings braided into his hair.

Instead, you're left with this monster, so alien and cold. A beast at the center of the maze.

The bull looks at you from the wall. Its horns, smeared with your Grandfather's blood, curl grotesquely into the ceiling. The head is mounted above the doors to the library, a grim reminder of his spectacular death. As a child, you'd spend hours, standing right here, at the entrance, staring at the animal's head. You've always wondered, whether it were the lights playing tricks on your mind, or you saw a shadow of pride in the bull's eyes.

Did it know who was its victim? The leader of one of the most important Houses in all known universe laid dead at its feet. Did it know what sort of spectacle it produced? What destruction of hubris? You suppose it couldn't, it was an animal, after all. A headless creature, hung on a wall. Still, you stare at it, just like you used to, trying to decipher your own fate from its cold, dead eyes.

After all, there will be a spectacle, a life-long fight stands ahead of you. Giedi Prime shall be your arena, dead and cold, covered in black. And every single Harkonnen will be your bull, their mere presence a deathly danger to your being. It took one bull to end your Grandfather, you dread to think how many it'll take to end you. There will be blood, you're sure of it. And if things were allowed to go your way, it would flow in rivers upon rivers, through the industrial halls of Giedi Prime. You'd have the entire planet drowned in their blood. Your cursed betrothed, the Baron, the fucking Emperor if you had to.

The bull laughs at your quiet hate, beady eyes bearing down upon you in an imaginary display of indifference. You huff, cheeks reddened, insides twisted and burning.

That's how your Father finds you. Enchanted by a once living instrument of death.

He hasn't spoken to you, since your betrothed has arrived, not really. Not like you used to talk. A way to shield himself, you supposed, from the Emperor's order, which will soon enough take his only Daughter away from him. This was your superpower. You could fish out signs of love in every action.

- Your Mother hates that thing - he comments, as he stands next to you, eyes looking up at the bull.

- I don't blame her, the sight is quite disturbing. - you reply evenly.

You've missed him, more than you can possibly explain with words. But teary displays of affections were below you, especially since you're trying to distance yourself, rise above your body, float right out of your head. Perhaps it'll hurt less that way. Duke Leto Atreides turns to you, and for the first time in a month, you recognize your Father behind this statue of authority. He looks troubled, for lack of a better word. There's much more gray on his brow and the lines of his face are darker, harsher.

- I came to give you something - he announces, producing a small object out of the pocket of his trousers.

It's harder than you thought, tearing your gaze away from the bull, but you manage, your eyes landing on a figurine in your Father's hands. Your heart stops, as you recognize the blackened stone, polished to perfection. On a flat disc stands a figure of a Matador, proud and posed. Next to him, a bull, ready to strike. It's cold to the touch, when you take it from your Father, ridges of the small sculpture digging into your palm.

Jumping in front of danger, for better or worse. Your head starts to hurt.

- Father - the sound of your shaking voice carries through the corridor - How will I ever survive this?

By the way Duke Leto Atreides sucks in a sharp breath, you can deduce the answer. And what a sad answer it is.

Your Father steps closer, gathering your trembling hands in his, the warmth of his embrace engulfing you like the first sun rays of spring. He squeezes your fingers, tightening your own hold on the small figurine, and his eyes are so incredibly sad, you're convinced they could make any heart in the universe weep.

- With courage - he says - and grandiose.

Like a true Matador would.

***

Your bull stands completely still.

His pale skin creates a beautiful contrast against the ever present darkness of the Harkonnen ship. It's so much different from your native fleet, all sleek and black, and efficient. Terrifying, but at the same time, strangely beautiful.

The both of you watch, as the hatch is being pulled up, slowly but surely obscuring all sight of your home planet. Of your family, standing by the docking station like a funeral parade. It's only when you can no longer see them, your life sealed with a click of finality, does your betrothed, now husband, move.

His hand grasps your upper shoulder, and you jump at the sudden contact. Your confused gaze is completely ignored, as the man drags you through the ship, taking large, hasty steps.

Hairless faces swish past you, all so similar to each other, you're worried you'll never figure out who is who. The corridors of the ship wind and turn like a merciless labyrinth, a realization daunting on you, that you will never be able to find your way in this place.

Suddenly, you're faced with a black door, which opens as soon as your husband walks up to it. His grip tightens and he basically throws you forward, watching you stumble through the entrance on weak legs.

It takes you a second to gather yourself, as you instinctually settle into a defensive stance. The room you're in looks quite different from the rest of the ship. It's much more luxurious, one would risk saying cozy. With a gigantic, round bed filled with pillows, a dark desk, and a deliciously comfortable looking armchair. It all dims in your eyes, however, as you look up at your newlywed.

He stands right at the entrance, blocking the only means of escape with his tall frame.

Both of you are still in your wedding clothes. Your dress hugs your body in a way that is anything but comforting. His outfit is as black and sharp, as all his attire. It exposes his lean physique, clings to his warrior's physique. Terrifying, your brain summarizes, muscles freezing suddenly. Feyd Rautha looks at you with emotions you can't decipher in the low light of his room. Your room. Your marital abode.

You can't breathe, lungs tighten painfull with the sheer thickness of the air between the two of you. Still, there's a certain power, residing in your bones, an inclination of a fight you're ready to put up, should he try anything. And by the way his brow bone settles over his darkened eyes, your husband seems to understand. What a terrifying thought. The sheer idea of finding a common ground with this awful man makes your guts turn.

He doesn't even flinch, when the doors behind him slide open. You however, nearly jump out of your skin at the sound, cutting through the deafening silence of the bedroom. With furrowed brow you watch, as three Harkonnen women spill into the room. All of them completely hairless, lips pulled back in feral snarls, as they regard you with an emotion you can only interpret as contempt. Their bodies, clad in typical, Harkonnen garments, flow and slither, when they gather behind your husband, like three hungry lionesses, their black eyes flickering to him, to you.

- Get her ready - Fey Rautha throws a command over his shoulder, eyes glued to you still, and his gaze drags itself across your body like tar.

This is the first time you've heard him speak since the wedding, and involuntarily, you cringe at the gravely sound. While he stayed silent, it was easy to forget who you're dealing with. But as soon as sound leaves his mouth, you're cruelly reminded of the roughness, and the strangeness of your life's partner.

The three women stir behind him, hands sliding up his body in a gesture, that is almost too close to reverence. He does look like a young god, like some ethereal being, but you're too distressed to dwell on that thought. Instead, your arms encircle your body, a shiver of terror and strangely, disgust flowing over you, at the mere idea of these women touching you. Then, one of those three strange creatures moves forward. She has a stripe of black running down her bottom lip, and her face twists into a cruel smile.

She says something in a language you don't recognize. Probably a native Harkonnen. A rough bark, her disgusted expression translating the meaning better, than any dictionary would.

Still, you have no time to process the foreign insult, because as soon as words leave her mouth, your husband turns. His white hand grabs the woman's hairless head, as one would pick an apple from an orchard, and then, you see a flicker of true terror flash through the woman's face. In a smooth, deadly gesture, Feyd Rautha smashes her face against the wall, the resounding sound of her skull fracturing against the concrete is like the cracking of a whip in your ears.

That's all it takes, one move, and she falls into a lifeless heap, sliding down the wall.

A sigh escapes your lips, as your eyes stay glued to her body. You can't see her face.

Your husband barks something towards the remaining two women, and they scurry towards you, heads hung low, bodies curled onto themselves. You don't know, whether he looks at you, acknowledges you in any way, shape or form. The doors close behind him, as he leaves you in the hands of his... Whatever these women are to him.

They begin to strip you where you stand. Their hands peel off your wedding dress from your trembling body, and every move feels like tearing skin from muscle. You can't protest, can't do anything really. Dark, thick blood pools around the third woman's head, dripping between the tilled floor, slowly making it's way closer to your feet.

When they pull you towards the bed, you say nothing. Let them massage your body with some ointment, which smells of heavy chemicals and scratches your throat.

Their hands are unexpectedly delicate. You suppose they're too scared to take revenge on you, or perhaps, they just don't care. Doesn't really matter, because you do. You really care, despite yourself. Heart squeezes in your chest impossibly tight, when they help you up from the bed, and once again you're confronted with the white corpse in the corner of the room.

The dress they pull over your body hardly qualifies as a garment in your eyes. It's made of delicate, sheer material, which barely covers anything, looking more like a courtain thrown over a window.

Is this how he wants you, you wonder. Terrified, bare, always on the verge of something, be it tears or anger.

One of the women steps in front of you, takes your hands in hers and rubs something into your cold bones. You try to catch her eye, try to decipher how to categorize them, as humans or as creatures, but she swiftly ducks under your inquisitive gaze. That is, until your eyes flicker towards the corpse once again.

Her hand shoots up towards your chin, dragging you back to meet her onyx eyes. You can see the reflection of your own confused face in the void.

- You- she rasps, her voice a grating symphony of gurgles and growls that stumble over the common language - Soft.

Whether it's a warning, or a threat, you can't fully decide, but it doesn't matter. Those two words tell you more about your future life, than any book, any archived account. This is what the Harkonnens are made of. Sensless violence, outbursts of anger, dark blood. You swallow thickly, and nod, your expression hardening in the woman's eyes. She looks as if there's something else she'd want to say, but her head ducks at record speed, when the sound of the doors opening cuts through the air once more.

For a longer moment you're completely devoid of words.

Here stands you husband, some sort of fruit in his right hand, two daggers hanging from the belt on his trousers. His chest, white and (unfortunately) toned beyond belief stares back at you. His unoccupied hand makes a wide gesture, and the remaining two women scurry off towards their third, dead companion. With quick hands, they grab the body and drag it out of the room, letting the door slide closed behind them. Immediately, you miss their presence, unnerving as they are.

Once again, you're left alone with the na-Baron.

His eyes float freely all over your figure, taking it in with an impassive stare. It's deeply unnerving, the way you're presented to him, the way he organized all of this, tailored it to his liking. You can't help it, the way your body begins to warm before him, skin becoming prickly to the touch, much too sensitive for the strange imitation of fabric covering it. Still, your mind stays sharp, and instinct kicks in, as you take a cautious step back, angling your bady away from him.

- So, what now? - you ask, voice rough, eyes following his every move.

And move he does, slowly advancing towards you. His feet, which you now discover, are bare, drag behind him. Grace and danger mix well within his movements, as he circles you, still without a word. You throat runs dry, when he bites the fruit in his hand, dark juice spilling all over his lips, drops rolling down his hands, his forearms. Your stomach churns.

- Now - again you're reminded of the gravely tones his voice can carry - We consumate our marriage, wife.

Somehow, your marital status sounds like a mockery spilling from his lips, and he laughs at the way your face scrunches.

- I don't want you to touch me - a lie, your entire body burns for any semblence of friction, but you're determined to keep some dignity.

To that, he nods his head in silent agreement, a gesture, which actually manages to surprise you. The fruit is thrown forgotten onto the floor. It rolls under the bed, and you fight the urge to reprimend your husband. Instead, you bite your lip.

- I thought you would say that - he murmurs, coming closer, his breath fanning over your exposed shoulder.

The hair at the back of your neck stands straight, and you crane your head to the side, so you can look him in the face. So he can see the disaproving expression, perhaps he'd feel a fraction of the hate boiling in your gaze. Then, you can feel something, cold and sharp, drag itself from the dip in your spine, all the way up to your shoulder blades. A gasp escapes you, and your entire body shivers violently.

- That's why I brought these. - Feyd Rautha whispers into your ear, and you can't help but sway lightly in your place, as if his words have the power to physically move you.

Then, your hand closes around a metal object, and you look down to be met with a beautifully crafted dagger. The blade is silver, shiny, and unbelievably sharp. It fits into your grasp as if it was made specially for you, and the possibility almost makes you smile. Then, confusion creases your brow, and your husband flashes you a deadly, black smile, as he steps back a couple of steps.

He's holding a blade as well, jet black and strangely matte, a perfect antitype of yours. There's a sort of lazy excitement about him, hidden in every movement. It reminds you of the way he'd behave in the arena, while making a spectacle of death for you and your family.

- I though this would work on you - he muses, twirling the blade in his hand, and your muscles seize with realization. - And it definitely works on me.

The idea is preposterous, utterly scandalous. Using a fight as some perverse attempt at foreplay, your brain swimms with conflicting emotions.

- You're being ridiculous - you attempt to diffuse the situation, but your husband doesn't budge, rolling his shoulders.

- Come on, wife - he snarls, with a sharp smirk - Don't you want to hurt me?

Something boils inside of you at his words. Some ancient, terrifying anger that you supposed, has always been there with you. From the moment you stepped onto the red carpet, leading you towards your undoing at the altar. Red, like the spilled blood still staining the floor of this bedroom. The rage, which you swallowed down, when you recited the vows, when you let him unveil your face, kiss you in front of the entire Atreides court. Now, it seeped through every pore in your skin, covering you in a tar like courtain.

You hate your husband. You hate Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Hate him for being your husband, for agreeing to this cruel match. For taking you away from your family, from your wise Father, and your strict Mother, and your sweet Brother. For ripping you away from love, which didn't even have time to properly bloom. Duncan's face dances in front of you like a taunting vision from an angry god, and your fingers tighten around the dagger.

Feyd Rautha is right. You want to hurt him. You wanted to, before you even met him.

- There you are - his lips pull back into a cruel, blackened smile of self-satisfaction - I was worried they took away all your venom, Viper.

You'll show him fucking venom, you think, feet sliding on the floor, twisting your body into a dancing position. Two sets of shields click into life, and suddenly you begin to understand.

This is your arena. This is your bull.

This will be your battlefield for the rest of your life, for as long as you're able to withstand it. With courage and grandiose, your Father's voice haunts you, but soon after another echo rises in your mind. Your Mother, your teacher, her whisper slithers from your memory, a passing comment right before you're shipped off to Giedi Prime, when she squeezed your hand so tight, you were worried tendons under your skin would snap.

Excitement and arousal flow freely from your husband's expression, as he watches yours harden. Something inexplicable settles over your features, a promise. You'll give him a fight of a lifetime, and he'll love it, every single time. It should unnerve you, the way his body lowers itself, like a panther ready to strike. It would've unnerved you some time ago.

Now, however, it shows you a clear path to survival. This is how you take control.

Cold blood splatters from under your feet, as you jump towards him, a series of measured blows following closely behind. He blocks them, lets some be pushed back by the shield. Then, he's on you, brutal and unhibited slashes fly around your body, and you meet all of them with a blocking blade. You're pushed back, towards the wall, where remains of the previous killing still stain the concrete. Blood seeps into the thin fabric on your body, and you shiver in disgust, as it sticks to you.

Your husband doesn't notice, his blade leaves a rather deep mark in the wall, as you duck under his arm, and avoid a nasty punch to the gut.

Plap, plap, plap, your feet carry you through the room, as you try to gain some leverage. The mattress on the bed is surprisingly soft, when you climb on top of it, gaining the advantage of a higher position. An advantage, which is quickly torn out of your hands, as your husband grabs onto your ankle, tugging at it with such force, you tumble down in an instant.

Panic rises in your gut, as the world sins around you, and without really thinking, you let your mind flow into autopilot.

- Let me go! - the Voice tears out of your throat like a landslide, and Feyd Rautha throws himself off of you, his body colliding with the nearby desk.

Books and papers crash to the floor with the force of his figure. Your head swimms, but you will it away, too focused on survival to care for your well-being. Both of you are panting, trying to recover from this sudden use of ancient magics.

- I should rip that treacherous tongue right out of your skull - the threat would carry more strength, if your husband's expression wasn't absolutely dripping with unabashed lust.

Never in your life has someone looked at you this way, and the shock of emotions is enough to pull you right to your feet. Your blade reflects the dim lights of the room, as you raise it high, body taunt and ready.

- You'll never get that close.

A challenge, which doesn't even have enough time to properly resound in the thick air of the room, before Feyd Rautha pushes himself off the desk. Things clatter to the ground from the force of his movements, and you barely have time to react, when his blade sinks into your shield. Your body flies backwards, falling in heap with his at the foot of your marital bed. The edge digs into your back, your left hand pressed tightly into the mattress.

He's hovering over you, panting like a wild animal, face illuminated red from below, where, just short of his juggular, your blade licks a stripe across his alabaster skin. His right hand is wedged between your bodies, dagger nicking you under your ribs. And you stay in this position, like a marble statue, your eyes melting into his, frozen in time.

- You fought well, Atreides - his voice rumbles deep within his chest, and you can't help, but snarl at his words. - We would've taken each other to an early grave.

Something dangerously close to fondness floods his features at the idea, and your fingers start to unravel, letting go of the dagger one by one. He doesn't have a chance to react, when your blade clatters to the floor, and your hand, now free, grabs the back of his head, pulling him down.

Your kiss opens the gates of hell, and soon, his own dagger is thrown across the room. You can't see, refuse to see, as your eyelids flutter closed. His lips are slightly chapped, but not any less delicious. Left hand thrashes in his hold, until he lets it go. Then, they both find purchase against his sharp cheekbones, and you hold him so tight, you might break his face with your ministrations.

- I knew it would work - he pants against your lips, you can hear the smile in every syllable.

- Shut the fuck up - you snarl, fingers digging deeper into his skin.

He groans into the kiss, immediately forcing his tongue into your mouth, as his hands work hard to manouver your legs open enough, for him to slot in between. Then, his touch is everywhere. On your legs, he drags the sheer fabric up and down your thighs, as he carresses your skin, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your hips. They venture upwards, to grab at your breasts, they fight their way into your hair, where he pulls and scrapes.

It doesn't matter, you think, when you hear the fabric tear, and the carefully chosen attire falls from your body. Nothing matters.

You're boneless and defenseless against this one insidious emotion, which carries your every move, which compells you to arch your back, to reveal your running pulse under his searching lips. Feyd Rautha bites down on your skin, right where your neck meets your shoulder, and you respond in kind, head descending upon his porcelain skin. He shudders under your teeth and tongue, his entire body tensing.

This is how you take control, and you've never felt so greedy.

His trousers aren't even fully off of his legs, when he enters you, clumsily and with urgency, bare feet sliding on the floor. Surprisingly inexperienced, he chases your core with his entire body, as if the heat of your insides in a completely foreign sensation.Your moan tears at the column of your throat, where his lips leave a trail of purple marks. The covers remains undisturbed, as your husband ruts into you, pressing your back harder against the edge of the bed. It's uncomfortable, it's hurtful, but somehow, it feels perfect for the two of you. Fucking like wild animals, not even able to make it onto the bed.

- I hate you - you repeat, like a mantra, broken voice cascading with every thrust. - I hate you, I ha-

Your head rolls backwards, when a particularly hard thrust nearly breaks you, but your husband is here to help, his hand grabbing the the roots of your hair, bringing your head down, so you can watch as he performs a magic trick of repeatedly disapearing into your body.

You're not sure who's blood his hand slips on, but suddenly, you're fully on the floor, your body crushed by his. Nothing stops his wild movements, not the sloppiness of it all, not the hard wails he tears from your body. If anything, the more strain his body is under, the more ferocious he's being. Your hand shoots up, all five fingers digging into his throat, and you're rewarded with an angelic moan, which almost brings you to your finish line. Almost.

His head leans down into the crook of your neck, where he whispers something in Harkonnen, a gurgle of rough sounds, interrupted by sinful moans. He sounds so beautiful, so conflicted, for a second you consider being gentle with him. Alas, you hate him still.

Another realization dawns upon you, as your feet kick with force into your husbands backside, to force him deeper, to keep him inside. This is still a fight. You're still on the battlefield, still waving a red flag in front of a raging bull. So, with courage and grandiose, your muscles tense, and you roll your husband over.

The change in position makes both of you gasp in unison, as you sink down onto him. For a second, everything stops. His lips are red and swollen, sweat and blood mix on his skin, flow down in pinkish stripes. And he watches you, as one would a holy painting of a foreign god. With reverence and utter lack of understanding. You're fully aware the look is mirrored on your face.

Slowly at first, your hips begin to rock, up and down, in a steady rhythm, that forces a shuddering breath to leave Feyd Rautha's lips. You bend down, to catch it, and because of your greed, you catch his bottom lip as well. The bite you give him is anything but romantic, and his hips jump from the floor, hitting a spot within you, you didn't know existed. He swallows your moan along with his own blood, and his fingertips map the curve of your spine, as you straighten upon him.

Fingernails latch themselves into the skin of his chest, as you speed up, chasing your own release and no one else's. Moans spill from your lips, the concept of shame abandoning your mind completely. Then, compelled by something dark and twisted you drag claw marks down his torso.

His body shudders, and his hips lift off the ground, fucking into you with reckless abandon. The hold he has on the flesh of your hips is bruising, to say the least, but you did enough damage to call it even. Enough, to make your body tremble and tense up, as climax creeps up on you steadily.

Like a shark sniffing for blood, he senses the change in your being, and as you tumble over the edge, a silent scream tearing at your throat, he suddenly rises into a seating position. His arms encircle you fully, pressing your sweaty bodies impossibly close, as he too finds his own end.

It takes him second, to tumble over, filling you to the brim with ink. His head buries itself into your shoulder, inhaling your scent through deep gasps, each eliciting a broken growl from his chest.

Your bones are gone completely, body relaxing and falling breathless into your husband's arms. After a while of sitting in complete stillness, he moves first. Strong hands lift you up, off of him, and you whine at the emptiness.

Then, as a last hurrah, he throws you onto the bed, where your recovering body sinks into the soft mattress. It's heavenly, the way you seem to float in nothingness, head swimming from exertion. For a moment you don't even register him climbing into the bed with you, drunk on the fading tension seeping from your every pore.

The lights are almost completely out, yet his skin shines against the black comforter. You wish to see if he's flushed, like he was at the engagement party. Leaning on one arm, his fingers trail around the small wound under your ribs. Dried blood flakes off of your skin, and you shudder again.

- I - you start, voice completely broken - I've never known hate, until I met you.

You're not sure why you've said it. Perhaps, in this moment of serenity, truth seems to float to the surface much more easily. Or perhaps you're possessed, or worse, gone completely insane. Eother way, your eyebrows furrow, and Feyd Rautha leans down to kiss your forehead, gently.

- If this is how your hate looks like - he whispers into your hairline, teeth scraping lightly against it - I dread to imagine your love.

You'll never find out, you think, but for some reason can't fully vocalize it.

He says something else, after a while, but your mind is becoming as heavy as your body, and as the day descends upon you in a heap of exhaustion, you fall asleep.

And while your story has nothing but suffering in the future, while there's death and mourning, and years of violence written in the stars for you. Right now, on the Harkonnen ship sailing through space to Giedi Prime, you sleep in the arms of your husband. Whether this strange symbiotic relationship will last, no one can tell, but there is hope, and what else could you possibly need?

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #dune smut #what a journey my gosh #thank you once again for following the story love y'all

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cottonlemonade · 1 month ago

Text

Marriage Of Convenience [Part 5]

word count: 2048 || avg. reading time: 9 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kuroo x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, smidgen of angst, slice of life

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: Marriage is not a big deal, right? Anyone can do it and it comes with a whole lot of benefits! That's why your friend proposes to you one morning with all the elegance and romance of an empty pudding cup.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

After the wedding at City Hall you and Tetsuro had briefly discussed rings over dinner. You had agreed then that a simple (and cheap) pair of stainless steel would be enough, but since it wasn’t necessary to wear them for the benefits of tax deductions and the likes, you’d put the selection of it on the back burner. Now you were strolling through one of many shopping centers Tokyo had to offer, each finishing up a cone of ice cream to welcome the spring weather.

“Here?”, you asked, nodding to a rotating jewelry rack outside of a store frequented by students and children.

“I think we can do a little better than that.”, he said with a pointed frown at the bright orange ¥600* price tag of the display.

With a gentle push on the small of your back, he ushered you along, looking left and right for something fitting. You eventually landed at a regular jeweler - nothing high-end, but definitely pricier than you had envisioned.

Instinctively, you moved to the showcase with the lowest prices and bent over the well-lit, white cushions to study your options.

“This one is pretty.”, you said after a minute or two, pointing at one in the upper right-hand corner, “But it’s not very wedding ring material.”

“Says who?”, he asked next to you, leaning further down to look at it closely.

“I dunno, aren’t wedding rings supposed to be all classic and stuff?”

“I don’t remember ever seeing that in the handbook.”, he winked, “But seriously, if you like it, then it’s a wedding ring. Simple as that.”

You smiled and shrugged, “Alright, then I’d like that one.”

It didn’t take long for Tetsuro to find one as well and you called over the clerk to pay. While both rings were taken to the back to adjust them to the right size, you walked around the more expensive part of the store, checking out tennis bracelets, diamond chokers, and real pearl necklaces, letting out a low breath whenever you saw the price tag. In the front of the store in a display case near the windows, your eyes were caught by the glint of yet another pretty necklace. You paused and stepped nearer, not daring to touch the glass so as to not smudge it with fingerprints.

“You like?”, Tetsuro’s voice was so close next to your ear that it made you jump and put a hand on your pounding heart.

“Don’t scare me like that.”, you laughed and turned your attention back to the necklace, “It’s pretty, yeah.”

“It even kinda matches your ring.”, he noted.

“Oh my god, you’re right, it does.”

“Excuse me?”, he called to the clerk.

“No, Tetsu, what are you doing?”

He ignored you and your flailing hands in his face trying to shut him up. It was easy to evade your attempts - damn his height.

“Could we try this one on, please?”

The clerk came over and after a quick professional glance at the necklace, she bowed in apology, “I’m sorry, sir. This is only a display piece and not for sale. I can order it from a different branch if you like.”

“Ye-“

“That won’t be necessary.”, you cut him off, “Thank you very much.”

“Very well.”, with another bow, the clerk gestured to the cash register, “Your purchase is ready.”

Once outside of the store, Tetsuro set the bag on an empty nearby bench and took the two black velvet boxes out.

“Your hand, milady.”, he said dorkily, holding out his palm.

“I can do it.”, you said brightly.

“I know you can, but I can also refill my own printer ink and yet you always do it.”

“So you don’t smear anything on your fingers before a meeting.”, you countered.

“Your hand.”, he insisted.

Clicking your tongue and sighing dramatically you put your hand in his and he pushed the pretty ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly.

Next, he picked his own ring from the second box and held it out to you. You took it with a frown and he held out his hand, wiggling his fingers expectantly.

“You’re an idiot.”, you informed him as you put the ring in place. For a moment you looked down at both your hands and at the rings that, although mismatched at first glance, did go together very well once the details came into focus.

“So. Lunch?”, he asked and put the empty boxes back into the bag, unaware of your hesitation to let go of his hand.

“What is this?!”

“What?”

“What am I seeing right now?”

“Darling, you have to be more specific.”

Tetsuro sat on the couch, elbow-deep in a can of chips, watching TV when you came back from an afternoon with Asana.

“This!”

You gestured at the chips.

“Cut me some slack.”

“Why? You on your period?”

“No… I finished a really tough proposal and deserved a treat.”

You put the leftover food you brought for him on the kitchen counter and walked over to the couch to plop down next to him.

“Well, yeah, but maybe you’re also just a lying liar who lies. What did you tell me when I bought these chips?”

He pretended to think hard, “Hm, nope, can’t remember.”

You imitated, “Do you know how many additives are in these?”

“Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“And all these artificial flavors?”

“Are you done?”

“Almost. With this money, you could get a much healthier snack!”

“Whoever said that does have a point.”

“These chips are so expensive. That’s like two broccolis!”

“Will you be quiet if I give you the rest?”

“Oh, you mean the rest of my chips? My emergency period craving chips? Maybe.”

He removed his hand and held out the can to you. There were only some crumbs left at the bottom that at best with the help from some great puzzle masters could surmount to a singular chip.

“You…”

“Here, say aaah~”

He took the can from you and angled it against your lips so the chip pieces gradually slid towards you.

“Aaaaah~”, he repeated obnoxiously.

With an annoyed squint at him, you hoovered in the remnants of chip, chewing slowly like you were planning revenge.

“You’re getting me new ones.”

“But they have so many additives, darling.”

You snatched the chipless paper can out of his hand and began bonking him on the head and shoulder when he ducked away laughing. You half crawled on top of him to get at the coward who now began shielding himself with a pillow.

Bonk! Bonk! Bonkbonk!

“Okay okay! Two cans! I’ll get you two cans!”

Bonk!

“And some strawberries!”

Tentative bonk.

“And boba.”

The bonking seized.

Tetsuro lowered his pillow looking up at you.

“Although only with tapioca because those fruity bubbles really have so many chemica-ahahaha!”

Bonk bonk bonk!

“Wait, time-out.”, he gasped and sat up. You were almost straddling him on the couch while he grabbed his ringing phone from the coffee table. As if completely natural his hand rested on your knee.

“Yes hi hello. - Hey, dad.” He met your eyes while he listened, “Yeah. - Uh-huh. - Dinner? - Tomorrow? I dunno, that’s… I’ll check my calendar, one second.” He looked at you as if silently asking if you’d made any plans. You shook your head and waved your hand to encourage him.

“Yeah, tomorrow is good. - Wait one more thing, dad.” Tetsuro searched your eyes for a moment before he asked, “Can I bring y/n?”

Your brows rose in shock and you shook your head again, this time in an attempt to make him retract his question.

“Okay, perfect thanks, see you then! Bye!”

“More tea?”

“Ah, yes please.”

You lifted your still half-full cup for Tetsuro’s father to top it up, then sipped it awkwardly. On the way here, Tetsuro had brainstormed how to tell his dad about the arrangement without it coming across as if he did it out of spite or didn’t invite him because he didn’t love him. As far as you knew, he had a strong opening of “Dad, I’d like to talk to you.” and after that, nothing.

He sat next to you at the kitchen table, peeling an apple for you and his father. The pieces for the older man were completely cleaned, yours still had enough of the red peel to make it look like a bunny. It was a habit he had when he was nervous. During the prep for a big presentation a few weeks ago you had drowned in carefully carved apple bunnies at home.

“Dad, I’d like to talk to you.”, Tetsuro said eventually when he ran out of fruit.

His father nodded, curious, and followed his son outside onto the flat little patio of the modest suburban house.

You couldn’t hear what was said but through the sliding glass door, you saw Tetsuro take a deep breath and then speak. His father’s smile turned to a frown and at one point he looked back inside at you sitting at the kitchen table, trying as hard as you could to look unbothered by it all - as if this was a regular Sunday.

Eventually, they came back inside and Mr Kuroo sat back down, grabbing another slice of apple. Chewing carefully, the crunching bites were the only sound in the room for a while until he swallowed and interlaced his fingers, placing his folded hands on the tabletop. Tetsuro in the meantime hadn’t dared to move, opting instead to stand behind your chair, holding onto the back of it for support.

“Marriage.”, Mr Kuroo began, “It’s not an easy thing. It’s hard work. And even if you only want to do it for the side benefits, it comes with a lot of responsibilities. Living together will be an adjustment. You might have different sleeping patterns, food preferences, life plans and schedules, and different priorities for spending money. Marriage is not something to take lightly. It may sound fun and easy but does a little bit of extra money a year really mean so much to you?” He sighed. “Give it six months. Or even just three and see each other as often as you can. See if it’s possible to be together for the whole day and if all of that works out, then you can revisit the marriage plan.”

He finished his little speech and crossed his arms, seemingly certain he had gotten his point across.

Tetsuro cleared his throat.

“Uhm, we got married over two months ago.”

“Oh.”, his dad blinked and both you and Tetsuro held your breath waiting for his reaction, “Well that… calls for a celebration, right? I’ll get the good sake and actually, I’ll quickly go to the store and get something fish and red beans.”

“Dad, really, you don’t have t-“

“Ah, don’t worry, Tetsuro, I’ll be right back, okay? You know where the sake is. Set the table, alright?”

He patted his son on the shoulder on his way out and you two heard the front door open and close soon after.

“What was that about?”, you asked carefully and got out of your chair, looking at the front door your father-in-law had fled through.

“Oh, fish and red bean rice are traditionally served at weddings.”, Tetsuro explained, his expression unreadable.

You nodded and looked at him from the side.

“Are you alright?”

“What? Yeah, of course.”, he said, not meeting your eyes.

“Because it’s fine if you’re not, you know.”

“I know. It’s all good, I promise.”

You slipped your hand into his, holding his arm with your free hand for good measure, using your thumb to rub a soothing pattern.

He finally turned to you, looking down at your hands, then at you.

“I’m fine.”

“You do realize that the more you say it, the less I believe you, right?” You tried to make your voice sound light and joking and a small smile twitched on his ever-smirking lips.

“I know.”

“If you want us to get a divorce, you know it’s perfectly okay to-“

“No no, all good.”

“Are you sure?”

Now it was on him to nod. “Yeah, I don’t think I could take a failed marriage currently.”

You squeezed his arm and then asked him where the dishes were so you could set the table.

art: @freaka_loonyz on Instagram, X, Pinterest and TikTok

taglist: @etsuniiru @nocaffeineallowedtome @princessshart @aldebrana @grassbutneo @melimelisworld @yatoatyourservice @ranscutedoll @remiratboi @armeenix @doodle-with-rhy

a/n: ¥600 = ~ €3.71 // ~ $4.21

I had to split this one into two because I got a taaaad carried away and wrote 3.5k for this chapter sooo chapter 6 will be uploaded this weekend as well. Tis queued. Lurking. If all goes according to plan it should be 8 chapters total. I’m tentatively announcing this rn because that’s how far my structure goes xD also there will be a wee more bit of angst in the next chapter, too. Love y’all. Also thank you so so much to everyone who comments and reblogs with comments - it truly makes my day.

[Part 6]

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brokenmenswhore · 10 months ago

Text

betrothals & brothels | aegon, aemond, & jace

part 4

pairings: aegon targaryen x stark fem!reader, aemond targaryen x stark fem!reader, jacaerys velaryon x stark fem!reader

series summary: aemond targaryen tells the realm that you, the lady of house stark, are to wed him and secure a partnership in the north. in protest, you agree to marry jacaerys velaryon, affirming the north’s allegiance to rhaenyra. when the news hits king’s landing, aegon decides it’s better to have you under his watchful eye until the political partnership is solidified, but doesn’t realize you have a life away from your duty as a stark

chapter warnings: smut!! (MDNI 18+), slapping (non-sexual, brief)

a/n: alright y’all, i think i’m gonna make this thing 6 parts? i’m really shit at writing ongoing fics because i never know how to wrap ‘em up but i storyboarded it i’m thinking we’re halfway through riiiight NOW

series masterlist

────── ☾ ──────

“Seven hells, are you alright?” the Madam asked, “you look like hell.”

You scanned the room, only calming down when you were sure there were no recognizable faces, specifically Targaryens, in the vicinity.

“I was just locked in a dungeon cell, thank you for asking,” you responded, making it clear that your annoyance was at your predicament, not at her.

“A dungeon?”

“His Grace does not favor my sharp tongue.”

The Madam’s eyes widened. “My Lady, do you mean to tell me you are in trouble with His Grace King Aegon?”

You mentally cursed. You wholly forgot that this woman had no idea of your reasoning for being in King’s Landing, having left any unnecessary piece of information out of your employment deal.

She saw your frustration, and decided not to pester the question further. “I suppose you would fancy something to calm the senses?”

You gave her a soft smile, accepting the cup the moment it was handed over to you. Taking one giant gulp of liquid courage, you said, “I need you to allow me to reside here for a while. I fear this may be the only place I’m safe.”

“I do feel obliged to tell you that I cannot guarantee His Grace never come here again. His brother, Prince Aemond, is a frequent visitor of this establishment. This may very well not be the safest place for you.”

You knew Aemond came here. You had followed him in here upon your first visitation. You also knew it couldn’t be too difficult to avoid him if you tried.

“Just a few nights, then,” you bargained, “until I find something more permanent.”

“Is the situation truly so urgent?” the Madam questioned in concern.

“May we speak in private?” you asked.

The Madam pulled you to a private room and closed the door. You explained the entirety of your situation, sure to leave in each and every gruesome detail that further proved how urgent this truly was. She listened in awe, unaware of all that had been happening in the Red Keep. She knew that Aemond, a frequent visitor of hers, had announced a betrothal, but Aemond had told her it was purely political, and to not ask any further questions on the matter. Therefore, the Madam never thought to ask who the proposal of marriage was intended for. The Stark name never raised any flags for the Madam, and she never thought anything of it.

The Madam agreed to let you rest in one of the typically unoccupied rooms toward the back of the brothel, in exchange for openness of your clientele. It still remained somewhat selective, the Madam not allowing anyone from the North near you, and of course, no Targaryen men.

You discarded the Targaryen gown the moment you were alone, happier with what was underneath. It was still quite a lot, covering most of your body, but its appearance did not strike one as wealthy.

✶

Any affection Aemond was beginning to hold for you was swiftly removed from his heart the moment he saw your cell unoccupied and the door swung open. He enjoyed a challenge, but even you were beginning to be too much for him. He was beginning to fancy you, and he was jealous of how you treated Jacaerys compared to how you treated him. He knew that, regardless of his emotions, you were the only person who made him feel like he met his match.

However, he was growing tired of the games. If you truly detested him so much, what was the point of all his efforts? He suspected why you asked him for access to the brothels; he had heard the rumors about you at night in the North. Was he truly ready to set his pride aside and marry a whore, even with a title?

He decided that while you may be his betrothed, you were no longer his responsibility. If you fought against this match, there was no point in him fighting for it. He was not even sure he truly wanted it anymore. The family certainly outgrew the need for it; the moment Aemond accepted that you truly had found a way out of your cell, he knew another northern alliance may be necessary. Houses Bolton, Mormont, and Glover had bent the knee to Aegon after a mere show of force from Aemond atop Vhagar. While none were quite as large or as powerful as House Stark, they would do well as northern allies.

Aemond chose to remain calm and collected and do his best to forget you and your attitude ever existed. Aegon, however, coped in other ways.

Aegon liked your quick wit. Though all you did was bicker, Aegon couldn’t help but remember his moment of vulnerability with you. You could have walked away, but you comforted him, despite being so adamant about hating him. He was mean to you because you were mean to him and it hurt his feelings, not because he truly did loathe you, despite what he had told you the very last time you two had spoken.

You were defensive, confident, outspoken- all the things Aegon truly wished in the depths of his heart that he could be, but knew deep down he wasn’t. Aegon desperately wanted to appear as confident and cocky, the smartest in the room, but most could see through the facade, including you. He hated how vulnerable you could make him feel. He loved how it felt when you saw that vulnerability, and chose kindness instead of cruelty. You were everything he wanted to be. You were everything he wanted.

Aegon was fueled by rage immediately after learning of your escape. He sent the King’s Guard through the streets of King’s Landing in search of you. He slammed his fists on tables and bellowed toward his brother, demanding to know where Aemond had taken you when he let you free, but Aemond would not confess, lest he leak his own private details.

The men of the King’s Guard were only employed as such due to their friendship with Aegon, and many had not actually seen you, and admittedly were not sure what you looked like.

Aegon, furious and drunk, had also made the mistake of describing you in the clothes they had provided at the time of your imprisonment, the thought that you may have taken the gown off never crossing his mind.

The men of the Guard had asked around a few brothels, but most became distracted and threw away their task in favor of a pretty girl. You were not nervous when you heard the clanging of armor, for you knew that most of these men couldn’t identity you with a name tag.

The King’s Guard was forced, after two days of searching the streets, to report to Aegon that they had no sign of you whatsoever. Aegon considered that you may have taken passage on a ship to Essos, perhaps somewhere further, but doubted that you would so easily forget Winterfell. He thought of flying there, but knew you had no way to get back home. He also thought you had no way of escaping the dungeons, and he had a consistent habit of underestimating you.

It had been nearly a full moon since Aegon and Aemond last saw you. Aemond refused to revoke your betrothal due to his own pride, at least until he could find a suitable alternative.

Aegon thought of you often, but tried to keep the thoughts at bay. He fought to not let it impact how he ruled, but his friends in the King’s Guard most certainly noticed the change in his demeanor.

They convinced him that he needed a proper night out, him and his best mates drowning in cups and whores, leaving their daily lives behind and choosing pleasure over pain for a night. Aegon agreed, knowing he truly needed to blow off steam.

His friends directed him through three brothels before landing on one, one of the men nearly deafening the room from the sound of his armor as he raised his arms and yelled for libations.

A woman brought a round for the men, taking a bow when she noticed The King. Aegon downed the drink with one swallow, slamming the cup down on the table as he said, “alright, let’s find someone.”

The men cheered, throwing their arms around Aegon’s shoulders as they directed him from room to room.

Aegon himself pushed back a curtain and stopped short, the shock of the sight rendering him unable to move.

You were standing tall, nearly naked, a man with curly brown hair knelt on the floor in front of you, his head between your legs and your hands in his hair.

You were used to people interrupting for a moment, in desperate search of an unoccupied room, so you didn’t even turn toward the sound. The man between your legs, however, pulled back and, upon seeing Aegon, knelt fully over on the floor, his hands out in front of him in a deep yoga-like bow.

You watched him in confusion before turning your head to see who he was pointed toward.

You were panting, skin slightly glistening from sweat, a tiny hint of shock that Aegon had never seen before in your eye.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. You just stood and stared at one another as the rest of the men in the vicinity noticed the tension and hastily cleared out.

Once you two were alone, you insisted on speaking first. “Your Grace,” you mimicked a curtsy, sarcasm coating your words.

Aegon took a deep breath, trying his hardest to collect himself. He was feeling a mixture of emotions: shock at the sight of you still in King’s Landing after nearly a full moon’s cycle, anger at you for escaping and running away, confusion at what you were doing fucking in a pleasure house, and most prominently, he was turned on at the sight of you.

“You’re still in King’s Landing,” was the best he could come up with.

“I’ve been trying to make arrangements back to Winterfell,” you said, picking up your small clothes from the floor and covering yourself as you spoke, “but unfortunately, the easiest route is via dragon, yet only a select few here have dragons, and I didn’t wish for them to know my whereabouts.”

“And now that they do?”

You sighed, finishing clothing your body with your small clothes and a robe as you stood tall once again. “I should hope I can count on their discretion.”

Aegon snickered, “and what makes you think you can? Did you forget what you did?”

“I only had to escape because you imprisoned me. Did you forget that?”

Silence filled the room. Aegon felt a bit bad for imprisoning you, and wasn’t sure where the conversation was headed. He instead changed the subject to what truly peaked his curiosity.

“What are you doing here?” he questioned.

You could lie. You could tell him anything that made even an inkling of sense, but you were living room-by-room in a brothel, no surefire way to get home, two men vying for your hand and only one honest, and you, quite honestly, had nothing to lose.

“I work here,” you shrugged as if the confession meant nothing.

Aegon laughed genuinely. He continued to laugh until he caught your gaze and noticed your features were stoic. “You’re not serious?”

“I know you’ve heard the whispers about me, Aegon, you cannot truly be so shocked.”

“You were going to wed my brother without your maidenhood? Was your plan to play pretend as if it hurt?”

“If you recall, I never had any intention of marrying your brother,” you retorted.

“Is this where he took you?” Aegon pressed further, the questions falling off his tongue the moment they popped into his head, his brain seemingly not able to keep up with the pacing of new questions appearing in his thoughts.

“The details of any time I spent with Aemond are none of your business.”

“They are, aren’t they?” he continued, finally taking a few steps closer to you, “did he take you here to fuck you? Did he want to ensure you could never truly belong to our little nephew?”

“No,” you scoffed. You did not owe him details. “He does not have my maidenhood, nor has he ever had me. I would hope you think higher of me.”

“You think you’re so strong, but I see right through you,” Aegon began, as close to you as he could be without physically touching you, “you and Aemond came here to fuck, and when you ran away, you came back here because it’s the only place you knew of. You were desperate for passage to Winterfell, and you needed coin to afford such a journey, hence the employment here.”

Aegon was confident in his accusation, which is what made it hilarious enough for you to audibly laugh.

“I truly wish you understood how ridiculously incorrect you are,” you said through laughs, your hand coming up to cover your mouth to hopefully mute the sound and cure Aegon of some of his embarrassment.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he spoke.

“You think I fucked your brother?” you continued, your laughter growing at the thought.

“Stop laughing at me,” he said again.

“You are so far off,” you could barely catch your breath, you were nearly leaning over from the intensity of the laugh in your stomach.

“I said don’t laugh at me!” he raised his voice, a hand coming to strike your face.

You immediately stopped, standing up straight in disbelief as your hand instinctively held the side of your face. He had hit you. All bets were off now. You did not care about striking a royal if he struck you first.

You moved to hit him back, but he quickly caught your wrists, anticipating the action. You were caught off guard, unaware he could move so swiftly. He swung your body around, slamming your back against the nearest wall, your wrists in his hands as they pressed against your chest.

You stared at each other in a moment of heat before he crashed his lips to yours. Your body took over your mind as you kissed him back, relishing in the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

All of the arguing, crying, shouting, and vitriol between the two of you had crescendoed up to this very release.

Aegon dropped your wrists and instead found your waist, grabbing the flesh there to pull you even closer to him as your hands found their way to the back of his head, fingers intertwining in his hair. He groaned into the kiss at the feeling, prompting you to pull even harder. Neither of you were gentle people, and now was not the time to try to be.

Aegon pulled one of your legs up to his waist, allowing you to feel his clothed hardness against your core. Aegon used his other hand to, with immense difficulty, untie your robe as he continued to kiss you with a fiery passion.

He only pulled his mouth away from you to push your robe open, allowing him to see your body, covered only by your small clothes. He breathed heavily, head down, gazing at you for longer than you would have guessed before he returned his lips to your neck, sucking a sweet spot just below your earlobe. You whined in response, and the sound drove Aegon mad.

Aegon moved the hand unoccupied with holding your leg up down to your core, rubbing over your small clothes. There was an evident wet spot that brutally reminded Aegon that there had been another man in between your legs just minutes ago. It also didn’t escape his thoughts that the man had longer, darker, curly hair and prominent features, much like Jacaerys.

Consumed in his thoughts, he pulled away from you, and you could tell something was wrong as he felt the wetness.

“Uh uh,” you snapped him out of his thoughts, “that wasn’t there before.”

Aegon nodded in understanding, grateful that you automatically knew what was bothering him, and slightly intimidated by that fact.

Aegon toyed with the waistband of your small clothes before dipping his fingers beneath them, eliciting a small whimper from your lips as he went back to sucking on your neck.

Aegon ran a finger between your folds, collecting the wetness there before slowly inserting a finger into your hole. Despite the ferocity of the situation, Aegon refused to miss an opportunity to hear the sounds you made when he moved excruciatingly slow.

Above all else, Aegon had an irrevocable desire to be needed and wanted. He loved to make his whores beg, even if it wasn’t genuine, because he could convince himself he was needed to satisfy them. He desperately wanted to see you vulnerable and begging, but you were too headstrong. He knew hearing any version of ‘please’ come from your lips would be damn near impossible. Damn near was good enough for him to try.

He watched your face contort as he pushed his finger in and out, curling when he hit a particularly sweet spot in your walls. You were whiny and breathy, head back against the wall, but that wasn’t enough for Aegon. He added another finger, the ring that adorned it leaving a cold sensation with each pump.

He kept his head on your shoulder, but was no longer kissing you, instead opting to rest his cheek there, gazing up at you as he watched what he was doing to you.

When he hit that special spot, your eyebrows creased, and he continued hitting that very spot so long as your face gave away how good it felt.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, your face beginning to turn a slight hint of red from the heat of it all.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he whispered in your ear.

You choked through strangled moans, “I’m still in control of myself,” and you meant it. If you truly wanted this to stop, or if you truly wanted to be more dominant, you knew you could.

“Doesn’t seem as such,” he replied, fucking you even faster with his fingers and giving himself a small, prideful smile.

He was moving in and out fast now, sounds of your wetness filling the empty space as you braved yourself against his shoulders. You were becoming lost in the pleasure, but you were too stubborn not to have the last word. “You think- fuck- you think I’m not?”

You pulled his hand away from you. It was mostly because you didn’t want to come quite yet, but you were happy to let him believe it was entirely for a show of power. Aegon was surprised, having felt your walls begin to squeeze his fingers just moments before.

You took his moment of surprise as an opportunity to grab his wrist and lead him over to the bed, pushing on his shoulders until he fell backward, the backs of his legs hitting the bed frame and dangling off the bed as he laid.

You considered pleasuring him briefly, and you could see he was hard beneath his breeches as he looked at you expectantly.

You untied and tugged at his breeches, pulling them down until he was only in his small clothes. You then knelt down in between his legs as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch you pull his small clothes down, place a teasing kiss on his inner thigh, and then stand up as if you had no intention of touching his most needy area.

Aegon stared at you, evidently disappointed at the loss of contact.

“Uh uh uh, you haven’t earned that. You don’t deserve it,” you spoke in reference to giving him the oral pleasure he expected.

Aegon tried to snap back at you in protest, but you caught his lips with your own, climbing atop him and straddling his hips. The friction of your clothed heat on his bare length was driving him crazy. He leaned forward to deepen the kiss, gripping your hips as he began to grind up against you, desperate for some kind of contact. He whined into the kiss as he did so, and despite your better judgement, you let him use your body for the moment.

When you had enough of him getting what he wanted, you pushed his shoulders until he was pressed back against the mattress again.

You took his cock in your hand, giving it a few strokes before you moved your small clothes to the side, beginning to sink down on his length.

He threw his head back in pleasure, but looked back up at you when you pulled away from him. You maintained eye contact as you began to sink down again, and Aegon took the hint, locking eyes with you as you allowed him to bottom out inside of you.

You sat atop of him for all too long without moving.

“You gonna move?” he asked, desperate.

“Not unless you ask me to.”

Both you and Aegon were in a power play now. It was turning you on even more.

“Should be the other way around,” he breathed out, erratic and heavy.

“I could sit here all day.”

Aegon would never admit it, but he enjoyed it when he didn’t have to be in control, and he was only more excited by your dominance.

He sat upwards, his cock shifting within you as his face became level with your breasts. He used one hand to free one of your breasts from the confines of your small clothes, running a finger across your nipple before encapsulating it in his mouth.

The heighten mood calmed, the act of Aegon’s mouth on your breasts causing the fiery lust to shift to pure intimacy.

Aegon sucked at one breast while the hand that wasn’t holding on to your back moved to fondle the other breast. His tongue swiped over your nipple in between sucks, his eyes closing as he lost himself in you. He swiftly removed your remaining small clothes over your head before returning to his previous position, praising your chest with his hands and mouth.

He only pulled away when you tugged at his top, the removal leaving you both fully naked in front of one another.

You moved a hand to the back of his head, gently stroking the hair there as he sucked. His eyes fluttered open and he looked up at you, never detaching from you, lightly moaning into your breast as you made eye contact.

You threw your head back and whimpered, your sighs driving Aegon crazy. Your position was so intimate, his cock inside of you as he sucked your breasts, and watching your pleasure from his mouth on your nipple was nearly enough to make Aegon come.

Aegon tested the waters of your movement, moving his hands to grip your hips and push you upward, prompting you to move slightly.

You allowed his efforts to work, very gently grinding your hips against him and pushing yourself up enough to feel pleasure, but not enough to move your breasts too far away from Aegon’s face.

He noticed, and he didn’t like it. He detached from your nipple, his chin resting on your chest right between your breasts. “Don’t hold back,” he demanded.

“I don’t take orders from you.”

You smiled so that he knew you were still playing with him, not genuinely mad. You figured he would continue this back and forth game, but instead, his vulnerability showed through. “Please.”

He was looking up at you through hooded eyes as your hips moved back and forth against him, his gaze glassy and desperate. He was prepared to beg.

“Please what?” you asked, teasing him further.

“Please don’t hold back. Please, I need you to not hold back. I need you.”

His pleading was enough for you. You began to lift your hips higher, your knees bending with each drop of your hips. Aegon reattached his lips to your breasts, challenging himself to hold on with his mouth as they began to bounce.

Aegon couldn’t help himself, he started to thrust up into you as much as he could in his upright position. It wasn’t much, but with the combination of you riding him, the movement was enough to make you sweat.

You held Aegon’s head against your breasts, your fingers intertwining themselves through the strands of his hair, lightly pulling when he gave a small bite to the flesh of your breasts.

He looked up at you and smiled. You thought the moment would be brief, but instead of immediately continuing his demonstrations, he kept watching you as you rode him.

You knew what he wanted. He wanted to see what he was doing to you, he wanted to be the reason for your pleasure- he wanted to feel needed. It’s why he was moving so slowly with his thrusts: you knew he wanted you to ask for more.

You leaned down and kissed Aegon, the kiss more intimate and personal than previously. You pushed him slightly as you leaned forward, allowing him to lay down as you lay on top of him, the position making it much easier for him to rock upward into you.

Instead, he stopped moving.

You flattened your palms against the bed on either side of Aegon’s head. “Give up already?” you teased.

“I’m not moving until you beg me.”

You scoffed. “I could just get up, Aegon.”

“Don’t,” he protested, still needy, “I wouldn’t believe you truly wanted to, if you did.”

“Aegon, move,” you said, needy yourself, soaking wet and much too ready to be fucked hard.

“Beg me.”

“Do you truly think me-“

“Beg me,” he said, his tone growing dark.

“You don’t scare me.”

Aegon fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head backward as he placed a kiss on your neck, biting down hard on the skin. You hissed at the pain. “I said beg me.”

You decided to give in, but not quite how he anticipated. “Do that again,” you said.

Aegon bit down on your neck again, sucking on the now-bruised skin to soothe the pain right after. “That’s not enough.”

You sighed. “I don’t beg anyone for anything.”

Aegon’s hand harshly slapped your ass, jolting you upward in surprise, causing you to move on his cock. He grabbed your jaw in his hands, forcefully positioning your head so you were looking directly at him. “Fucking beg me.”

His tone was too much for you. You didn’t want to completely break your walls down, but it was too hot. You wanted him bad. You wanted to give in.

“I need you to fuck me Aegon,” you whined, “I want you to fuck me. Please.”

Aegon growled and kissed you hard, one hand moving to press down on the small of your back as he lifted and dropped his hips.

“F-fuck,” you moaned, the consistency of his strokes a brand new feeling, and so, so good.

Aegon kissed you to swallow your moans. You bit gently on his bottom lip, pulling slightly as you looked into his eyes, the feeling causing his eyes to blow out with lust.

He began to fuck you ruthlessly, moving in and out of you as fast as he possibly could, your back instinctively trying to straighten in an effort to brace yourself, but Aegon’s hand was pressing down too much on your back to keep you in place.

He grabbed both of your wrists, swiftly moving them behind your back as he held both with one hand, the other gripping the flesh of your ass to help move you against his sharp, vicious thrusts.

You could wriggle out of his grasp, or even purely strengthen yourself out of it, but you didn’t want to. It all felt too good, and you relished in the feeling of men taking control of you in bed. It was rare the men earned it, and right now, it felt right.

Your body was rocking back and forth against Aegon, and you were no longer able to control any way that your body was moving. You were completely at Aegon’s discretion. You contemplated if it was smart to trust him with your body, but you could tell he needed your body just as much as you needed his.

His hips were snapping against yours at a violent rate, his grip on your ass almost certainly preparing to leave a bruise.

“A- Aeg-“ you started, the words losing themselves on your tongue.

“Fuck, yes, say my name,” he begged.

“Ae- Aegon!” you cried out, nearly squealing.

“Sounds so good when you say it,” he spoke through erratic, hectic breaths, his forehead glistening with sweat as he used you to get himself off, fucking his cock in and out of you as fast as he could.

“Shit, Aegon, I- I can’t-“

Aegon threw his head back, the mere idea of you nearly coming causing his cock to twitch. He couldn’t wait to know how good your walls squeezing against him would feel.

He kept his head back against the bed, using the pressure to anchor himself as he tried to move faster and faster, if it was even possible.

You took the opportunity to kiss his neck, sucking a sweet spot just below his earlobe.

“Fuck,” he moaned, the intensity of the sex mixed with the intimacy of your kisses causing him to worry that he would come first if you didn’t come momentarily.

“Need- need you to come,” he begged, “wanna feel you first.”

“I’m gonna,” you responded, his neediness pushing you closer and closer to the edge as you squeezed his cock like a vice.

Your high crashed over you, your legs shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.

Aegon kept up his ruthless pace, chasing his own high. The feeling of your orgasm mixed with the feeling of your legs shaking around his hips was too much for him, his final few thrusts hard enough to bruise your skin as he shot his seed inside of you.

His cock twitched as his body relaxed against the bed.

You used all of your strength to sit up and move one leg upward, swinging yourself off of his lap and collapsing on your back next to him.

“Aegon, did you just- inside of-“

“We have remedies, don’t worry. I’m sorry, you just felt too good.”

You both laid in silence for a moment, breathing and energy recovering from the ferocity of the sex as you both thought of what you had just done.

“I can’t return to the Red Keep,” you said, breaking the silence, your thoughts consuming you as you almost couldn’t help yourself but ruin the moment.

“I have no intention of forcing you to,” Aegon replied.

“You would allow yourself to take your leave as if you did not see me here today?” you clarified.

“I do not wish for Aemond to experience what I have just,” said Aegon, “if he knows of where you reside, he will continue to force your hand.“

“Was such a match not your idea?”

“It was,” he admitted, “but it is no longer necessary. I am acquainted with you now, and things are-“ his voice trailed off, and he was searching for the correct word, “different.”

“How so?”

Aegon turned to look at you, your eyes locked together momentarily before Aegon sat upward. “I must return,” was all he said before collecting his clothes and exiting the room.

────── ☾ ──────

tags: @torchbearerkyle @dracaryxzs @hangmanscoming @callsignwidow @velvetcrowbarcherry @kravitzwhore @darlingisntit @not-neverland06 @albionfay @cluz1babe @flusteredmoonn @sab-falco @ajanauia

#aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen smut #aegon x y/n #aegon targaryen x y/n #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen imagines #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #house of the dragon

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navybrat817 · 2 years ago

Text

What Happens in Vegas

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You get more than you bargained for when you decide to get married in Vegas. Word Count: Over 2.8k Warnings: Drinking, drunk wedding, accidental marriage, supernatural element, dubcon elements, soft!dark vibes, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I wasn't able to get all 4 birthday stories done, but I hope you lovelies enjoy the ones I plan to share. Here's 1 of 2! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thank you for spitballing), but any and all mistakes are my own. Thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer as well for letting me scream about this. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The fluorescent lights of the strip flashed as you stumbled along the sidewalk. Fast paced and surreal, the city that never sleeps offered a little something for everyone. Entertainment, architecture, adventure. While your intention for the evening was to grab a drink with some friends and nothing more, you decided to do something bolder. Crazier. Because what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?

“Goin’ to the chapel and we’re… gonna get maaaaaaried,” you sang, squinting as your guy, date, whoever he was, helped steady you. “Who or what was your name again? Randy?”

“That’s not my name. It’s-”

“Randy. ‘Cause you’re a rando,” you declared, making him laugh.

Forgetting the guy’s name should’ve been your first clue to call it a night and go back to your hotel. Randy was cute enough though and bought all of you drinks. When you told him most of your friends were hitched or close to getting married while you were still single, he joked that he’d marry you.

“Fuck it! Let’s get married!”

Which was how you found yourself on his arm heading to a chapel.

Your second clue to go back to your room should’ve been that none of your friends stopped you. Not a single one told you to stay or offered to go with you, which was strange. Not that each of you hadn’t done stupid stuff before. Letting you go off with a stranger though? In an unfamiliar city?

Bitches. All of them. Noooooo. I love my girlfriends. They’re just DRUNK, like me.

You did feel sad for a second. While your friends all had family who would’ve thrown a fit if they eloped or married a stranger, you didn’t. Your dad would never give you away. Your mom wouldn’t wipe her tears as she heard you say your vows. So who cared what you did?

You sure as hell didn’t.

“Here,” Randy said, pulling you toward a door. “This place is supposed to be really nice.”

“OOOOOOOOH. Reeeeeeeally nice,” you said, gasping once you stepped inside.

You expected cheesy decor to smack you in the face, but instead found yourself in a luxurious entryway. Sparkles of gold lined the sleek floor and walls all the way up to the high ceilings. The art depicted landscapes you only had the pleasure of seeing in dreams. The room almost had a glow to it.

Or maybe it's the alcohol blurring my vision.

A voluptuous redhead walked through a set of doors to greet you. Her heels didn’t make a sound as she glided across the floor. Glancing at Randy, you caught him adjusting the front of his pants. Was he drooling? You found it amusing rather than let it upset you.

“Welcome to the Enchanted Valley where all your dreams come true. My name is Natalia. How may I help you this evening?”

“We’re getting married,” Randy answered, though he didn’t glance at you.

“Is that so?” she asked, tilting her head as she turned her attention to you. The gold from the walls sparkled in her eyes as she waited for your confirmation.

Swaying a little, you gave her a two finger salute. “That is so,” you answered before you added, “Do you also do annulments?”

Snorting, she gestured behind her. “Before we get started, you must be at least 18 years old, must not be currently married, must not be kin, and I’ll need to see a government form of identification. As long as that’s clear, you’re free to proceed with your ceremony. Do you have witnesses?"

“No ‘cause my bitchy friends didn’t come here. I don’t even have flowers,” you said, hiccuping a little. “Don’t tell them I call them that. I love them soooooooooo much.”

“That’s just fine. I’ll ask James and Wanda if they wouldn’t mind witnessing this…” Natalia tried to find the word as her eyes darted between you. “Blessed union.”

Randy followed Natalia like a lost puppy into the chapel as he struggled to get his wallet out. “You single?”

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head. “Why am I doing this?” you mumbled, swaying as you dug your wallet out. “Why didn’t I just get a tattoo or something?”

“Because a ring on your finger is easier to remove than ink on your skin.”

“Holy fucking… fuck,” you said as you looked up. “Where did you come from, you… gorgeous specimen?”

You understood why Randy practically eye-fucked Natalia since you were doing the same with the man in front of you. His steel blue eyes reflected the gold of the room the same way the redhead’s had and you were scared you’d fall into an abyss if you stared for too long. His light brown hair had to be the softest you’d ever seen. If you had to guess, he was at least 6’4” with a broad chest and shoulders and didn’t have the audacity to button up his shirt.

Is his left arm made out of gold? Or is it painted gold? How drunk am I? Would Randy object to me giving this god of a man the ride of his life?

“I’m James,” he said, the timbre of his voice causing your knees to wobble as he held up a bouquet of colorful flowers. “I’ll be one of the witnesses for this blessed union.”

“Nothing blessed about it. I don’t even know the guy. But he said he’d marry me and I said ‘fuck it,” you giggled, taking a step forward. Your shoe caught on nothing. Nothing. You just fell forward.

And the beautiful man caught you in his embrace.

“Careful, beautiful,” he said as he helped you stand upright and placed the flowers in your hand. His touch warmed you as he ran his hands along your bare arms. “You would marry a stranger then? With no friends or family here?”

“You smell really good. How do you smell so good?” You said, putting a hand on his chest with a grin. “Friends are busy and I have no family.”

His brows furrowed and you wondered how pathetic you sounded. You weren’t looking for pity. “Did he give you any token of affection?”

“Mmmmm. You know, he didn’t. We don’t have rings or anything.”

James traced a finger along your cheek. “And he dares to call himself a man,” he whispered, tutting when you leaned into his touch. “Doesn’t seem like he's fit to marry such a delectable creature.”

Eat me up, James.

“It’s okay,” you said, hoping the sad feelings of alcohol weren’t about to hit you. It sucked being alone and you knew you’d come to regret this later, but who cared about tonight? “Do you have gold streaks in your hair? Why are you so pretty? It’s like you’re not even REAL.”

“I’m very real, beautiful,” he smiled, flashing his pearly white teeth as your cheeks got hot. “Do I have the pleasure of knowing your full name?”

“My full name? So formal,” you teased, giving it to him without hesitation as you ran your fingers through his hair. You should’ve asked permission before touching his soft hair. You shouldn’t have touched him at all. But logic left your mind the moment you stepped into the city.

James closed his eyes as he repeated your name, making it sound erotic and sensual. You liked hearing it on his tongue. “You will not marry him,” he whispered, opening his eyes. A ring of gold surrounded his pupils before it went away. Maybe one of the girls slipped a little something into your drink to help you relax more.

Whatever it is, I want more of it.

“Tell you what,” you smiled, booping his nose with a giggle. “If you object with good reason, I won’t marry Randy Rando. Deal?”

James smirked after a moment, a darkness clouding his eyes as he stepped back to shake your hand. “Deal.”

Before you shook it, you noticed a gold ring on the floor by his foot. Did he drop it? “Is that yours?” you said, crouching down to grab it. It wasn’t very dignified how your dress rode up, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Here.”

He didn’t take it from you. “It is mine, but do you not wish to keep it?”

You frowned, confused as you glanced at the band. It had some sort of lettering around the solitaire diamond that you didn’t recognize. “This isn’t ‘finders keepers’. It’s yours. It’s nice, but it’s rude of me to take it.”

With a low hum, he accepted the ring back. “There aren’t many who would return something of value,” he said, slipping it on his right pinky finger. “You have a giving heart.”

“Oh, it… It was nothing,” you said, shrugging a little to hide how badly you wanted to preen at his compliment.

I’m really acting like I’ve never seen a good looking guy before.

He kept an intense gaze on you as he slipped a hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a small stone. It would’ve looked like a normal pebble if not for the gold speckles. “I know this may not look special, but would you take this as a token for giving my ring back?”

Whaaaaaaaat?

“Um. Yeah. Sure. Thanks,” you said, tucking the stone into your purse before you selected a flower from your bouquet. “Would you accept this from me?” you asked, wanting to do something nice.

A pleased look crossed his face as he took the flower and inhaled. Your head spun a little. Something felt different, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. “Thank you,” he said, running his teeth along his bottom lip as he fixed the bottom of your dress. “You really are the most beautiful bride.”

“And you, James, you beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, god of a man, will make the hottest groom when you get married.”

“Hey!” Randy shouted from the chapel when James opened his mouth. “We doing this or what?”

Oh, yeah.

“Wish me luck!” you said, giggling as you went through the doors and not looking back to see if he followed. “Wow.”

It was as if you stepped into an enchanted forest. The colors of the room were lush and welcoming, a blend of evergreen and sage. Flickering fairy lights and flowers adorned the dark brown pues. Natalia stood in front of Randy and a slender woman you didn’t recognize sat on his side of the chapel. The lights were playing tricks on you again when she looked at you, her eyes a flash of red as she smiled.

That must be Wanda. And I’m never drinking again.

“Ready?” Randy questioned when you got to the end of the aisle.

How romantic.

“Yeah, I guess,” you shrugged, looping your arm with his as you held your bouquet. “Take it away, Natalia.”

“Dearly beloved,” she began.

Truthfully, you didn’t pay much attention to the ceremony as Natalia spoke. You didn’t question that she hadn’t looked at your identification card or confirmed anything else she named off. It probably wasn’t a real wedding ceremony. You weren’t going to be Mrs. Randy Rando.

Not when James is here. Wait, what?

“If there are no objections,” Natalia spoke, glancing over your shoulder. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“I object,” James announced behind you, making you cover your mouth as you giggled. He did say he’d object with good reason. You wondered what he’d come up with.

“On what grounds?” Natalia asked, smirking as if she expected him to interrupt.

“Because she’s my wife,” he answered.

What the hell did he just say?

“What?!” You laughed louder as you spun around, falling against Randy with wide eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asked, barely holding you upright.

James walked down the aisle toward you, a gold shine covering him from head to toe. Pointy ears stuck out through his hair and his eyes had a hypnotic glow as he smiled at you, his teeth sharper than before. He looked like a beautiful nightmare.

Ready to eat you up.

“You can see me as I really am, beautiful, can’t you?” He asked, a melodic lift in his tone that was both sinister and alluring. “Glamour doesn’t work on mates.”

...the fuck?

“M-Mates? We’re mates? What does that even mean?” You asked, looking at Randy for help. His eyes had a glossy glaze to them, like he wasn’t seeing you. Was he in shock? Did he know what was going on? “Dude, snap out of it. Look at his gold skin! And his pointy ears!”

“She can see you,” Natalia said with pride. “Congratulations, Bucky. You’re finally married.”

“Thank you, Natasha,” James smiled, waving a hand at Randy. His nails looked sharp enough to claw through his skin. “Get rid of him. He’s crowding my bride.”

“I’m… I’m way too drunk for this,” you mumbled, your knees giving out. With unnaturaul speed, he made his way to the end of the aisle and caught you.

“Hey! That’s my…” Randy looked confused as he blinked. “Well, she's not my girlfriend, but. Huh?”

“No, she isn’t your girlfriend. She’s my wife. And when you wake up tomorrow, you won’t remember being here,” he said, nodding over to Wanda. “I’d wipe your memory myself, but I’m not letting my mate go.”

“The fuck are you…” he trailed off when Wanda waved her hand, a ball of red light floating in front of his face.

“You sleep now,” she said as the light touched his forehead, not bothering to brace his fall as he collapsed.

“What the hell?” You slurred as Natalia grabbed his ankles to drag him out of the chapel, Wanda on her heel.

“I wouldn’t worry about him since you accepted my hand in marriage,” James said, touching your cheek with a fond smile. “I’m sorry for not courting you longer, but we didn’t exactly have much time, did we?”

“We’re not married,” you argued.

“By Fae law, we are,” he explained as your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. Did he say Fae? “You returned something of value to me that I dropped, which was you saying ‘yes’ to my marriage proposal.”

“No,” you whispered. That couldn’t be true.

“You accepted my token of my affection, which was me pledging myself as your husband. And you gave me a token of affection in return, which was you pledging yourself as my wife.”

The stone. The flower. No. Fucking. Way.

“I don’t understand,” you whimpered as he propped you up in his arms.

“I wanted a bride, so I came here. You’d be surprised how much of my kind has infiltrated this city. We do love our realm, but your people are so easy to manipulate,” he said, gesturing to the room. “Gambling, drinking, strippers, quick weddings. You just throw your hard-earned money away like it’s meaningless. Your currency goes a long way where I’m from.”

“I want to go home,” you said as he tightened his hold on you, even stronger than he looked.

“You didn’t see me at the bar tonight, but I saw you. I knew you were destined for me,” he continued happily as if you didn’t say anything. “And when he suggested marrying you on a whim, I made sure your friends didn’t try to stop you and that your path led here. Don't worry. They're safe. I wouldn't harm them.”

Who is he? What is he?

You shook your head, surprised that you hadn’t gotten sick from how your stomach turned. “I’m not your wife,” you said, trembling when his entire body began to glow.

“You are not just my wife. You are my queen. Even if you hadn’t accepted my token of affection, I wouldn’t have let you marry someone whose name wasn’t worth remembering. You’re mine,” he said through his teeth, angry at you denying him before he took a breath. “My poor bride. A woman with no family and friends who don’t look out for her. You have me now. And you’ll be happy by my side.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping by some miracle a bit of pain would wake you up. But the creature who called himself your husband wasn’t going away. “This is a bad dream,” you whispered, as if lying to yourself would help.

“Oh, my love,” he said in false comfort. “There are no bad dreams in the Enchanted Valley. And this isn’t the Vegas you know where you can simply write this off as a mistake. There is no divorce in my world. Well, your world now.”

“James, please,” you begged as your heart pounded.

“We’re married now, beautiful. Call me Bucky,” he smiled, smothering your protest with a kiss. Heat spread along your lips and flowed through your veins, wrapping around your heart like a vice. It was enough to suffocate you, but fate wasn’t ready to claim your life yet. “Now sober up. We have a honeymoon to start.”

I couldn't tag Bucky as "fae" without giving some of the surprise away! This idea was inspired by @adayka's beautiful art here. Maybe we can revisit this new couple down the road. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x female!reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan #james buchanan barnes x reader

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violent-little-thing · 1 month ago

Text

At Tea Time, Everybody Agrees

Word Count: 826

Summary: Xaden Riorson's daughter is having a tea party and Dain Aetos is invited. Background/mentioned Riorgail and Slain.

A/N: This is my very first fic, but it's something cute I just couldn't get out of my head! Thanks @intairnwetrust for making me think about Dain being the favorite uncle to Xaden's kids and @garricks4thwingqueen for the name inspo. Title from "Anti-Hero."

Iris Riorson was having a tea party. The adorable 4 year old girl with her mother’s eyes and her father’s dark hair had planned this special day thoroughly. She set her toddler-size table with plates, cups, and saucers from her tea set, each piece covered in pink flowers. Three chairs were arranged around the table, awaiting her guests. With her mom’s help, she had invited two of her favorite people in the world: her dad and her uncle Dain.

Xaden Riorson was sitting at a tea party with Dain Aetos. Never in his life did he think he would say that sentence. He’d come around to Aetos over the years, he supposed. The ice started thawing — at a pace slower than molasses — when Dain helped free Violet from Varrish and came to Aretia with many other Fourth Wing riders. Quest Squad passed without a major incident between the two of them. Then Dain and Sloane got together. Xaden wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear about the couple, but he realized as Sloane trembled with anxiety in front of him that he no longer hated Violet’s childhood best friend. Xaden walked Sloane down the aisle on her wedding day, trying to stand in for his foster brother, and the look on Dain’s face as he waited to be joined by his bride had Xaden almost willing to bestow the “brother-in-law” title on the man. Almost.

When Iris was born, the first baby of the squad, everyone immediately fell in love with her. Her aunts and uncles all showered her with affection and gifts and sweet Iris rewarded them with coos and snuggles. But it was Dain who was holding her the first time she smiled. From then on, Iris had Dain, the strict, disciplined former wingleader, wrapped around her little finger.

As she grew, Iris’ preference for Dain never wavered. When Violet would ask who she wanted to sit next to at a gathering, Iris would always answer “Uncle Dain.” In a room full of family, she’d launch herself into Dain’s arms, content to stay there for hours. Xaden had hoped her favorite uncle would be Garrick or Bodhi; hell, even Ridoc would have been preferable, but Dain it was. And don’t even get Xaden started on the smugness on Sloane’s face anytime Iris ran to hug Dain before any of her other relatives. He sometimes wondered if Sloane had bribed Iris.

So it shouldn’t have been shocking to Xaden when the third seat at Iris’ tea party wasn’t for his wife, but for Dain. “My favorite boys,” Iris announced, clapping her hands with glee. And that’s how Xaden ended up in a chair that was comically tiny for his large frame, holding a miniature teacup with his pinky up, next to a tiara-clad Dain Aetos. Dain, too, was struggling in the pint-sized chair but no inconvenience could wipe the smile off his face that his niece — the most precious thing in the world to him besides Sloane — wanted him at her tea party.

Maybe it shouldn’t have, but Iris’ approval and preference meant the world to him. While he’d worked hard to regain Violet’s trust and earn the respect of her and Xaden’s friends, he still felt like somewhat of an outsider in their group. But Iris didn’t know any of that. Iris didn’t know that he’d once been blamed for Liam’s death, that he’d struggled to learn the difference between protecting someone and stifling their growth, that everyone in their group had been petrified that he’d touch them, steal their memories, and reveal their secrets. Iris saw Dain just as she saw Bodhi, Garrick, Imogen, Brennan, and the rest of them — as family, as someone she loved, as someone who loved her and would do anything to protect her and make her smile. The fact that she always wanted to be next to him, to sit in his lap, to give him hugs, and draw him pictures made it even sweeter. He’d wear that pink tiara like the badge of honor it was.

“More tea, Uncle Dain?” Iris asked.

“Yes, my princess.” Xaden’s eyes narrowed at Dain.

”More tea, Daddy?”

“Yes, my princess.”

“Silly, Daddy, I’m both of your princess! And I’m Mommy’s and Aunt Sloane’s and Uncle Gare’s and Aunt Rhi’s and Uncle Sawyer’s and Uncle Brennan’s and…” Iris skipped around the table, tending to her dolls’ teacups as she listed off her aunts and uncles. She was right, of course, she was everyone’s little princess. And Xaden and Dain realized that they were lucky to share her.

“Hey, Aetos.”

“Hm?” Dain looked up from his tea to meet Xaden’s eyes, finding they had softened a bit.

Xaden took a deep breath before speaking. “Thanks for coming for Iris. Thanks for being her uncle.”

Dain’s eyes crinkled as he looked between his niece and her father. “I’ll be at every tea party for the rest of her life if she’ll have me.” And he was.

#fourth wing #dain aetos #girl dad xaden #xaden riorson #the empyrean #onyx storm #iron flame #iris riorson

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mrspiastri · 3 months ago

Note

Hey could you write something about franco colapinto & desi reader?

✩ dilwale dulhania le jayenge 👰🏻‍♀️

pairing: franco colapinto x desi!reader

cw: fluff, annoying parents, sorry to all nikhil’s

wc: 2.7k words

an: ty anon!! hope u like this <4

Franco stood outside the hotel room, suitcase in one hand and phone in the other. After years of frequent travel, he had mastered the art of packing. He was very good at it, having managed to pack a week's worth of clothing and necessities into a small carry-on.

He rode the elevator down to the lobby and decided to head to the check-out desk. A big sign inviting people to a ballroom caught his attention as he passed. Although he did not enter, the extravagant décor was visible from his position—crystal chandeliers, towering floral arrangements, and all the trimmings. Perhaps it was a bachelor party?

“Is there an event happening tonight?” he inquired of the receptionist.

The man smiled knowingly. “Indeed, there is. A wedding. Quite a lavish occasion.

“They’ve reserved most of the hotel for the week. Remarkably, we almost had no rooms available for outside guests.”

Franco nodded politely, gathered his belongings, and stepped out into the warm evening air. As always, the most challenging aspect of any trip was its conclusion—leaving behind the Maldives’ pristine white sand beaches and tranquil waters to return to Monaco.

He had just taken out his phone to request a cab when a sharp, panicked scream pierced the stillness.

🪹🪹🪹

Something, or rather, someone, exploded through the lobby doors in a flurry of red silk before he could react.

He saw a woman in a lavish wedding dress running toward him, her heels clicking madly on the sidewalk, a duffel bag gripped tightly in one hand.

“Hey! You, by the car—wait!” she called out, breathless.

The whispers inside the hotel became a full-fledged commotion.

She arrived at him in a matter of seconds, her wide eyes looking back toward the entrance as her chest rose and fell quickly. She was struggling because of the weight of her dress, her matching red headpiece tangled in dark curls, and those godforsaken heels.

Her words came out quickly as she said, "Okay, I realize this is utterly insane. But could I—could I catch a ride? Please?”

Franco blinked in surprise.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and laughed nervously. Oh no, you think I'm crazy, don't you?” She snapped her fingers in front of him before he could react.

“I promise I’m not a threat! I just— I really need to get out of here. Like, right this minute.” She shot a glance over her shoulder.

“I’m, um… heading to the airport,” he finally replied.

Her expression brightened with relief. “That’s perfect! The airport is exactly where I need to be. Thank you!”

Before he could even suggest she take a seat, she had already darted into the cab, struggling to fit her voluminous dress inside.

“Could you help a bit?” she asked, gesturing to the layers of fabric that seemed to have a mind of their own.

Franco shook his head and assisted in pushing the dress in, tucking her red veil as well before sliding in beside her.

The driver glanced at them through the rearview mirror but, decided it was none of his concern simply started the engine.

The woman let out a sharp breath, pulling off her heels with a grimace. “Ugh, these hurt like a bitch,” she muttered, then turned to Franco with a shy smile. “And, um, thanks for helping me make my escape.”

He still looked a bit dazed. “Oh, it’s nothing… just doing what I can, I suppose.”

She let out a light laugh, running her fingers through her curls. “Right. Just another day of saving runaway brides.”

She reached up to take off her veil, but it was caught in her hair. “Fuck this won’t come off, I can’t see back there. Would you mind helping?”

Franco paused for a moment before leaning over to assist. As he carefully untangled the knots, he suddenly became aware of how close they were. The cab felt smaller, and he caught a hint of jasmine from her hair, noticing how her fingers nervously tapped against her dress.

It felt almost dreamlike. Here he was, in the back of a cab, aiding a stranger— a runaway bride— in freeing herself from a veil as if it were just another ordinary day.

“Are you finished?” she asked softly, pulling him from his thoughts.

He quickly fumbled with the fabric, freeing it and handing it back to her.

“By the way, I’m Y/N. I probably should’ve introduced myself instead of surprising you like this, but here we are.” She chuckled a hint of relief in her voice. Franco grinned, still a bit bewildered. “Franco. Great to meet you, even if it’s in such… unexpected circumstances.”

She let out a laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that. I promise that I don't typically force my way into people's lives. Just—desperate times, you know?”

Franco nodded, intrigued. “So that was your wedding happening back there?”

Y/N groaned, leaning back against the seat. “Yep. Unfortunately.” After a moment, she added, “You probably think I’m terrible for leaving, right?”

"Well..." Franco shrugged. "I do not know the man."

“Good news! He’s a jerk.” She sighed heavily. “And so is the rest of his family.”

Franco frowned. “Then why did you agree to marry him?”

Y/N's fingers drummed nervously on her knee while she bit her lip. "I had no other option. My parents pushed for it. It was either marry him or take over the family business, and…” She waved her hand in frustration. “I tried to resist, but they wouldn’t budge. I decided to take charge of my own life as a result.

She winced as she looked at her phone and saw the plethora of missed calls. Anxiously, her foot started tapping the ground.

“Are they trying to reach you?” Franco asked.

“Oh, absolutely.” She turned the phone face down, hiding it from view. “Yaar, I just—I just can't deal with that at the moment."

She inhaled deeply and feigned a hesitant smile. I should be panicking, right? I mean, I just bolted from my wedding. I have no clue what comes next. But…” A small, breathless laugh escaped her. "To be honest, I'm a little excited."

She put a palm to her chest as though to calm herself, and Franco watched her.

"This is the wildest thing I've ever done," she admitted, turning to face him, "and I'm not even sure that it's the best decision, but it feels right. For the first time in years, I feel like I'm doing something for myself."

After watching her for a while, Franco grinned. “Well, Y/N If you're going to make a run for it, at least you did it in style." The car hummed quietly as they accelerated towards the airport, the city lights dissolving into flashes of colour in the darkness. With her fingers tapping rapidly against the duffel bag on her lap, Y/N stared out the window.

Despite the occasional buzzing on her phone, she chose not to check it. Franco noticed her diversion.

He asked, looking at her phone, "Are you sure you don't want to see what's going on?"

She sighed and paused, then flipped it over. Missed calls and messages, largely from her mother, a couple from her father, and one from her almost-husband filled the screen in a frenzied chaos.

After locking the phone and putting it back in her bag, she said, "Nope. I don't want to deal with that at the moment."

Franco's eyebrows went up. "Not even the slightest bit interested?"

She sneered, "Oh, I can guess what they're saying. My mom is probably in a frenzy. My dad is already calculating the impact on the family's reputation. And Nikh—” She paused, rolling her eyes. “I’d wager his message just says, ‘You’ll regret this.’”

Franco chuckled. “Does he seem like the type to just let it slide?”

Y/N let out a humorless laugh. “Definitely not. He’s probably already scheming to make my life a living nightmare. But that’s a problem for another day.”

A quiet tension filled the space between them, charged with unasked questions.

“So,” Franco finally broke the silence, turning to face her. “What’s the plan?”

Y/N blinked in confusion. “Plan?”

“Yeah. You just made a dramatic exit from your wedding, you’re in a different country, and you’ve got, what—one bag?”

She nodded.

“And you have no idea what to do next?”

She hesitated. “Not… really, no.”

Franco let out a soft laugh. “That’s quite the bold move.”

With a sigh, Y/N covered her face with her hands. "Yes, I am aware. This is absurd. To be honest, I should have given this more thought, but I was so caught up with figuring out how to get out of the wedding in the first place.”

Franco gave a small laugh. "I can't say I've never dashed out of a wedding in a huge ball gown, but why not?"

Y/N leaned back against the seat and sighed deeply. "Well, congrats. You are staring at a woman who has no bags, no plan, and no idea what she will do next.”

He looked at her pensively for a while. “So, where were you meant to go after the wedding?”

“Back to Florence.” She bit her lip nervously. “I— I live there. I work at the Museo Nazionale del Bargello. I’m a museum curator.”

Franco raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “A runaway bride who’s also an art historian? That’s not what I expected.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though amusement flickered in them. “Sorry to let you down.”

“Not let down,” he replied casually. “Just intrigued. How does a museum curator end up in an arranged marriage with some wealthy jerk?”

Y/N took a slow breath. “The short story? My parents have deep roots in the jewellery scene. They’re avid collectors and mine owners. They wanted someone to continue the family legacy. I wanted something else entirely. They weren’t exactly pleased.” She shrugged. “So when Nikhil came into the picture, they thought, ‘Perfect. Let’s marry her off to a businessman who won’t mind that she doesn’t want to run the empire.’

Franco frowned. “And you just accepted that?”

She shot him a pointed look. “Do I look like I accepted it?”

He laughed. “Good point.”

She smirked but then sighed, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. “I tried to resist. But the pressure kept building, and I thought… maybe I could handle it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible.” She scoffed. “Then today happened, and I realized—no. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

Franco nodded slowly. “So… Florence, then?”

She hesitated. “I mean, yes. Eventually.” She bit her lip. “But I can’t go straight home. Not yet. That’s the first place they’ll come looking for me.”

She glanced at him. “Where are you headed?”

“Monaco.”

Y/N groaned, slumping back against the seat. “That’s not far enough,”

Franco smirked. “What, you want me to take you somewhere more exciting?”

She grinned. “Tempting.” She hesitated for a moment before asking, "How long are you staying?"

"I live there, actually."

Thinking deeply, she bit her lip. "Would joining you be completely insane? Only for a little while?”

Franco's eyebrows went up. "You want to travel to Monaco with someone you just met fifteen minutes ago?"

She covered her face with her hands and groaned once more. "Wow, that sounds ridiculous when you put it that way."

"A tiny bit."

She gave him a look. "However?"

He cocked his head, watching her intently.

Then he answered, “I’ve done wilder things,” with a slow, knowing smile.

Y/N smiled, her eyes glimmering with delight. "Really?" He nodded. "Really."

The city was bustling around them as they got closer to the airport, and the car slowed.

Y/N took a deep breath and sat up with new energy.

"All right," she murmured, gripping her bag firmly. “I guess I’m off to Monaco.”

🪹🪹🪹

As Franco and Y/N got out of the taxi, the dazzling lights of the airport flickered overhead. Still acutely conscious of her ornate bridal gown, Y/N reflexively put her arms around herself in the cool night air, which contrasted sharply with the warmth of the automobile.

As she fought to keep up with him, Franco looked at her and then down at the enormous gown that hung about her feet. "You know," he thought, "you might draw less attention if you weren’t dressed like a princess fresh from a royal wedding."

Y/N let out a groan. "I promise you that I am horribly aware. However, I believe I'm stuck in this situation unless you happen to have extra clothing in your suitcase."

Franco paused for a beat before smirking. I do. It's not exactly runway-worthy, but it'll do."

He opened his carry-on and rummaged through it, handing her a black hoodie and sweatpants.

Y/N raised an eyebrow and took the bundle. "You're serious?"

"Completely. Unless you'd like to board the airplane dressed like a bride on the run?"

Y/N gave out a soft laugh. "A good point. But where do you expect me to change?"

He moved his head towards the nearby restroom. "I'll wait here."

Rolling her eyes, she walked inside. It took some manoeuvring, but she eventually got out of the lehenga skirt and into the much more comfy hoodie and sweatpants. The hoodie smelt vaguely like Franco—something crisp, clean, and slightly musky. She put the hood over her head and stuffed her abandoned wedding lehenga into her duffel bag, along with most of her heavy jewellery, before exiting.

Franco looked at her and smiled. "You pull off the 'I-stole-my-boyfriend's-clothes' look surprisingly well."

Y/N scoffed. "I wouldn't get ahead of myself."

He chuckled. "Come on, let's get your ticket."

They proceeded side by side to the counter, where Franco leaned against it while Y/N spoke with the attendant. When asked about her destination, she paused and looked at Franco.

"Monaco," he stated calmly. "One ticket."

Y/N sighed and nodded. "Yeah. Monaco."

As the attendant processed her request, she sensed Franco observing her. "You sure about this?" he enquired calmly. She turned to meet his eyes. "Nope," she said with a quiet giggle. "But I've never been more sure about anything at the same time."

Franco's lips curved into a lopsided smile. "That makes two of us."

The ticket had been printed, and Y/N grasped it tightly as if it might bind her to this new, unexpected path. Franco took her duffel bag without saying anything, slinging it over his shoulder as they made their way to security.

Y/N cast a peek at him. "You didn't have to do that, you know." "I know," he said casually. "But if we're going to do this, might as well make it easier for you."

She didn’t know what to say to that.

Instead, she simply smiled—a modest, genuine thing she hadn't realised she had been suppressing for a long time.

As they passed through security and headed toward their gate, Y/N had an unusual, exciting sense of freedom. Maybe this was insane. Perhaps she'd come to regret it. But when Franco walked by her, nonchalantly holding her luggage as if it were the most normal thing in the world, she had the impression that this experience was only beginning.

🪹🪹🪹

They settled into a quiet nook of the terminal to wait for their flight. Y/N tugged on the sleeves of Franco's hoodie, the cloth wrapping around her in unexpected comfort. He observed her with amusement. "You look like a kid in oversized clothes."

She nudged him gently. "Your fault for being so tall."

He smirked but did not argue. Instead, he reclined back in his seat and stretched his legs.

She couldn’t deny the nervousness still coursing through her, her heart beating wildly. But somehow, Franco seemed to notice, and without hesitation he reached for her palm, holding onto it.

Y/N looked at him in confusion, the action unexpected, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t comforting. He smiled softly, as if to say ‘It’s going to be alright’, and gave her hand a soft squeeze. She smiled back, squeezing his palm back.

"So, what's the first thing you want to do in Monaco?", he asked while still holding onto her hand.

Y/N considered for a moment before grinning. "I believe I simply want to sit by the water and breathe. No expectations, no obligations. Just exist."

Franco examined her with a softening face. "This sounds like an excellent plan. I know just the place."

She arched her brow. "Oh? Do tell."

"You will have to wait and see. But I promise it will be worthwhile.

Y/N held his stare, a warmth rising in her chest. She had no idea what was ahead, but having Franco by her made her feel safe, which she hadn't felt in a long time.

my first franco fic!!! ahhh i’m so excited. also i’m heavily considering writing a part two, mostly bc i didn’t think this was as romantic as i hoped it to be. but like i already wrote so much and adding more to just a single post would make it go to like 5k words lmk if u guys would like it <4

#franco x reader #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x desi!reader #franco colapinto x female reader #franco colapinto x you #f1 x desi!reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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