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hazywrites · 10 months

Text

Bucky I’m In Love With My Best Friend

Chapter 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You are hopelessly in love with your best friend, James Buchanan Barnes, and it's clear he feels something for you, too. So between stolen kisses and hookups, drunken calls and flirty banter, why can't you talk about it? What even is "it"?

Warnings: Light angst, an argument, all is resolved

Words: 5,090

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48220744/chapters/121858312

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes: Hi, my loves! This chapter is a little longer than the last one, and a little angstier, though I always try to wrap things up on a happy note. Please let me know what you all think! I love you and thank you for reading!

“Did you tell Bucky?” Were the first words to spill out of Nat’s mouth as she came rushing into your room. Wanda shot you a sympathetic look from where she was sat, cross-legged, at the end of your bed.

“No,” you replied with a resolved pout. “He didn’t text me all day. He doesn’t get to know. He can find out when he sees me next and wonder why he was left out of the loop.”

“Nice to know we’re being mature about this.” Wanda’s words were drowned out as Nat spoke over her.

“Let’s sign your cast.” You nodded towards your desk where a pencil case brimming with art supplies sat unzipped. An assortment of colored Sharpies overflowed from it. Nat went for classic black, tossing Wanda a red one. After they finished, Nat sat next to you, leaning in conspiratorially. “If you really want to make him jealous, get another guy to sign it first.”

“Another guy?” You blinked. “I don’t know any other guys. I mean, I do, but my guy friends are nerds; Bucky won’t be jealous of them.”

“Get Loki to do it,” Nat squealed delightedly. You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows at her turpitude. Bucky was close with Thor but he absolutely despised his younger brother. But you couldn’t go that far. Bucky never talked to people you hated; you wanted to reciprocate that respect. He was your friend, first, after all. You were about to protest the idea when Wanda spoke up.

“And Erik downstairs. Bucky definitely noticed the way he eyes you up. He’s always calling the guy a cornball and looking for reasons to dislike him,” she added.

“Wanda!” You scolded, not at all surprised to hear Nat talking like this but very shocked indeed to hear it coming from your most rational friend. She simply grinned bashfully in response.

“He hasn’t texted you all day,” Wanda reminded you. “Nothing wrong with reminding him how steep the competition is out here.

“I wouldn’t want him to remind me how steep the competition is,” you argued. Nat waved her hand dismissively.

“But if he does it, he’s a douchebag because he knows you two would’ve been in a relationship already if it were up to you. He’s the one who ‘needs time’, so you can show him that if he doesn’t step up, another guy will!”

“Somehow, I don’t think Bucky is that insecure. He’d just say something like ‘if that’s what you want, then that’s that’ and never talk to me again.”

“Oh, I forgot you two love playing the emotionally mature game.” Nat wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “But if we go out tonight and you just happen to run into Erik and Loki before Bucky texts you, he’ll have no one to blame but himself.” You groaned in response.

“I just ate shit on the way home from class and spent the last three hours in an emergency room. I do not feel like going out tonight.”

“And is the alternative sitting in bed, eating peanut butter cups and complaining about how much your arm hurts and how Bucky hasn’t texted you back?” Wanda asked pointedly. You shot her a death glare.

“Maybe the peanut butter cups will keep him at bay. He is allergic,” you mused.

“Yeah, no, I’m sorry; I do not want to deal with pouty Y/N right now. Get dressed and put on your best sad, wounded puppy look,” Nat said. She eyed you for a second. “Yeah, just like that.” You groaned loudly in response, only growing louder as she stood up and made her way to your closet, flipping through your dresses.

You’d settled on a strapless emerald green mini dress and black boots, which Wanda helped you into as Nat did your hair and makeup. Since you couldn’t exactly put anything on over your sling, your jacket hung over your shoulders. You wanted to complain more, but the girls were right. You’d be in pain either way. Might as well distract yourself from it, both physically and emotionally.

You were heading downstairs when Nat slowed you all to a stop in the hallway.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N?” She asked, louder than necessary. You hid your face behind your hand as you realized what she was doing. “Oh, Y/N, you poor thing. Wanda, will you help Y/N with her jacket?” Her speaking volume raised each time she said your name, making your face flush in humiliation, especially as the door to the apartment you’d stopped in front of slowly swung open, revealing a curious-looking Erik.

“Y/N? I thought I heard your name,” he said.

“A wonder how that came to be,” you mumbled under your breath. His eyes fell on your cast.

“What happened to you? Are you okay?” Concern laced his voice.

“I’m just clumsy,” you conceded with a tight smile. “I tripped reading on my way out of the library. Should’ve watched where I was going.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he said, his fingers ghosting your arm as he stared down at you intensely. “I thought someone hurt you; I’d have to teach them a lesson.” He gave you a crooked smile as he said it, gazing into your eyes. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spotted Nat’s triumphant grin, as Wanda had the decency to pretend to be reading a job posting stapled to the community corkboard. Jesus, Bucky was right, you couldn’t help but think. This guy really is a cornball. “Oh, hey, they signed your cast. Why don’t I add my name to it?”

“Luckily,” Nat interjected, “I happen to have brought some Sharpies. What color would you like?”

“How about gold?” Erik asked, flashing his bright, picture perfect smile. You watched Nat grow a little flustered as she handed him the marker. Of course he would pick gold, you thought to yourself. “Where are you guys headed?” Erik asked as he finished signing your cast, finally taking in your outfits. Nat’s eyes sparkled.

“We’re just—“

“Late, we are running late,” you interrupted, ushering her away with your good hand. “Nice seeing you Erik, see you around!” You called as Wanda held the door open for you all to step outside, leaving a confused Erik still standing in his doorway.

“If you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” Nat said into the evening air as the door shut behind you.

“Take away,” you sighed as you began walking to the bar where Wanda swore she’d seen Loki on Snap Map. “You know this is borderline stalking,” you reminded her.

“It is public information,” she clarified. “And we got to speak to my bachelor, so we’re doing Nat’s next!”

“It’s like the world’s shittiest game show,” you lamented. “All the douchebags and no cash prize.”

“The prize,” Wanda reminded you, “will be Bucky seeing how many men will happily take his place and be your shoulder to cry on if he ever pulls a disappearing act like he did today.” You couldn’t help but smirk at her overprotectiveness. You knew Bucky most likely got caught up in a game of pick-up basketball or was busy with schoolwork, but you couldn’t help the chip on your shoulder that you’d broken your arm and he wasn’t around to help you. So much for best friends, you thought bitterly.

You spotted Loki almost immediately after entering the bar. He was leaning against a pool table, laughing at something his friends were saying when he caught your eye. You turned to notice that Nat and Wanda had already made themselves scarce, heading to the bar to get you drinks.

“Y/N,” Loki greeted as he strutted towards you, his eyes flitting down briefly to take in the sling. “Don’t you look worse for wear.”

“Gee, thanks, Loki,” you rolled your eyes. He laughed.

“You look beautiful as ever, darling, I was merely referring to the little nylon accessory you’re currently sporting.” You sighed.

“I may be beauty but I am not grace. I tripped coming out of the library.” Unlike Erik’s concerned reaction, Loki merely tilted his head back in a roaring laugh, a sound that irritated you to your core like proverbial nails on a chalkboard.

“Perhaps not grace, but the phrase ‘beauty and brains’ does come to mind,” he conceded. He gestured towards the pool table. “I’d offer for you to join me but it seems you are out of commission for the time being.”

“I’ll watch,” you said, resignedly, leaning on a nearby pool table. You watched him play for a minute before Nat and Wanda returned, Malibu bay breeze in hand. You smiled gratefully as you sipped the drink down. Loki greeted them both in turn as he made his shot before finally looking up from his game and leaning on the table next to you. For a moment neither of you said anything.

“So,” he finally spoke. “No Buckley today?”

“Bucky,” you corrected him, his answering shrug confirming your suspicion that he already knew your best friend’s name. “And no. We haven’t spoken today.” Loki hummed in response, his expression calculating as he took in the defeated slump of your shoulders.

“Despite your recent injury,” he noted.

“I mean, I didn’t exactly text him about it,” you admitted.

“You’re still upset. Why is that, if you haven’t even given him a chance to show up for you?”

“Because,” you sighed. “I shouldn’t have to. He doesn’t ask me to show up for him, I just do it. A little reciprocity would be nice.” He hummed in response.

“You know, Y/N, not everyone shows their affection the same way you do. Just because Bucky doesn’t speak your love language, doesn’t mean he isn’t speaking his own.”

“He doesn’t speak any love language,” you scoffed. Loki’s index finger and thumb touched your chin, just for a moment, as he tilted your face up to look into his eyes. His fingers were off you just as quickly as he chose his next words.

“Listen, love. You know I think I could make you much happier than that joker ever could.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he shot you a silencing look before continuing. “And I know that there is no room in your heart for anyone besides him. But ask yourself. When is the last time he spoke to someone for this long? His reputation precedes him, you know. But with you, it’s different. You’re not a fling. Maybe he’s taking his time with you because he thinks you’re worth taking things slowly with. And maybe each time he distances himself, he’s trying to stop this from burning out too soon because he’s decided he wants you around for a long time.” You stared at him in stunned silence for a moment as he stood up and stretched, cue stick in hand. “I mean, what do I know? The guy’s an idiot. If you were my girl, I’d show you off to the entire city. And take you on a date that isn’t sneaking into AMC to see The Batman for free for the tenth time.” He shot you a smirk. “Though I suspect you enjoy that. So how about you hand me a Sharpie and I can sign that cast of yours to make him jealous, and you can head over to his apartment?”

“How did you know?” You laughed.

“Your two best friends and Erik Killmonger? Please, darling. Discreet is not your strong suit. Seeing as gold has been taken, why don’t you hand me the green one to match that pretty little dress of yours?”

The walk back to Bucky’s apartment was contemplative for you. You ran into Peter and MJ coming out of a restaurant with Tony and Pepper along the way, so you were grateful for a few more signatures from your friends to hide your stupid, embarrassing scheme. Wanda and Nat finally left you at the door to the brownstone Bucky and his roommates shared. With your good hand, you knocked shakily. It was Steve who answered.

“Y/N? What happened to you?” He asked as he took in your arm.

“Being clumsy, as usual,” you replied, peeking past him. “Is Bucky home?”

“Yeah, he’s in his room, come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let you in first before closing the door behind you. You greeted Thor and Sam playing 2K on the living room floor, brushing off their concern. Before you could make it to Bucky’s room, he came out. His hair was wet from a shower and he was wearing plaid pajama pants and the Christmas t-shirt he always wore to bed. His already plump pink lips were settled in a confused pout.

“Y/N?” He asked, his eyes dancing over your frame before making their way back to your face.

“Hey, Buck.”

“You tried to breathe and walk at the same time again?” He asked teasingly. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, though.

“Oh, this? I fell off a cellphone tower. I thought perhaps I wasn’t getting any bars since you haven’t texted me all day.” You shot back. It was semi-playful but laced with something else.

“Phone works both ways,” he reminded you in his smart-ass tone. Oh, he was upset. But why? You wondered. He hadn’t even seen the signatures yet. “I’ve been waiting for a text from you,” he confessed, opening the door to his bedroom and leaning back against it as you walked in. He joined you in sitting at the edge of his bed and brushed your jacket off your shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as it happened?” He asked as he touched your arm gently, inspecting the injury. His eyebrows shot up as he read the signatures and you felt your face flush. “Looks like you’ve been in good hands, at least.” It was hard to miss the iciness in his tone.

“Not like you care,” you grumbled. A look flashed across his face that you couldn’t mistake for anything but anger.

“I don’t care?” He asked disbelievingly.

“I didn’t mean that, I…” you trailed off unsurely.

“So what did you mean, Y/N? Besides putting words in my mouth?”

“I don’t know, I… You didn’t text me all day.”

“Yeah, because I was busy with shit. And you didn’t text me either. But you had time to have half of New York sign your cast,” he scoffed. Shit. This was a bad idea, jealousy was such a negative emotion. Why did you let Nat and Wanda talk you into this?

“Half of New York would’ve signed my cast whether you showed up for me or not, Bucky,” you cried. “I have friends, you know. I don’t just sit around waiting for you all day.” Such a lie. Yes, you did.

“I never said you did,” Bucky raised his voice to match yours. “Where is this coming from?”

“I just,” you sighed. “I just want you to show up for me.”

“All this because I didn’t text you for one day? The phone works both ways, Y/N.”

“No, not just today. I mean. Like, you ice me out. We spend the night together and you get all cold and distant after. We’re friends and then we’re more than friends but it’s always on your terms. Anytime we get too close, you push me away again.” You felt tears welling up in your eyes as you spoke despite how much you willed yourself not to cry.

“I need time, Y/N, I told you this,” he replied. His tone was even but his eyebrows were knotted together in frustration.

“Yeah, I know, but what about what I need? Reassurance. Affection. I’m not a sex doll, you know.”

“I never said you are.”

“I know you didn’t. But I feel like one. You hate when I say we’re just friends but the only time you’re intimate with me outside of that is sex.”

“So you don’t want to have sex anymore,” he concluded, the corners of his pouty lips twitching into a frown.

“No, Bucky, I want to have sex but I want more than that, don’t you get it?”

“And I’m telling you I need time. Y/N, please. I would’ve showed up for you today if you asked. I would’ve taken you to the E.R. I would’ve signed your cast first. If you texted me.”

“I…” you started, cutting yourself off with a sigh after a moment. “I know. I don’t know what I was trying to prove,” you admitted quietly.

“C’mere. Let me get you out of that dress. Which shirt do you want to wear?” He asked.

“That one,” you nodded towards the one he was wearing.

“Of course. Couldn’t make it easy for me,” he shook his head with a slight smile and pulled the shirt over his head in one swift motion. You couldn’t help but blush at the sight of his naked torso and look away even though it was nothing you hadn’t seen before. His motions were gentle and slow, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration as he helped you dress. Soon you were laid up in nothing but his Christmas tee and your panties, and Bucky remained shirtless in his pajama pants at your side.

“Where is it?” He finally asked.

“Where is what?” You replied in question, confusion lacing your tone. He quirked an eyebrow at you.

“My Sharpie,” he answered. You felt your face flush as he shot you a triumphant smirk.

“It’s in my jacket pocket,” you admitted. He fished it out, signing the available spot on your hand in bright orange. His favorite color. The signature was unnecessarily big, and he finished with a heart. You shot him a smile and he rolled his eyes at you.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it before I turn it into a butt,” he warned. You giggled and nodded your agreement, your mind racing with things to say but none of them seeming like enough.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you breathed into the dark room after a while.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” his sleepy voice mumbled in reply. His soft snores filled the room only moments after.

#best friend!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes friends to lovers #bucky barnes situationship #bucky barnes mutual pining #bucky barnes college au #bucky barnes light angst #bucky barnes fluff #friends to lovers #situationship #mutual pining #college au #light angst #fluff #feels

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hazywrites · 10 months

Text

Bucky I'm In Love With My Best Friend

Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Nothing so far, maybe slight angst?

Words: 2,051

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48220744/chapters/121643431

Chapters 1 & 2

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes: I couldn't get him out of my head, you guys, so here is a short little chapter. I love you guys! I hope you like it; let me know what you think!

“Are we going to the Met again?” Bucky asked, his breath visible in the still-cool March air.

“Stop guessing,” you scolded. “I told you I won’t answer.”

“Yeah, but you’re easy to read so I can figure it out by your lack of response.”

“That’s just unsportsmanlike,” you huffed. Bucky’s answering laugh made your heart melt a little.

“Don’t pout.”

“I won’t pout if you don’t guess.” You eventually came to a stop in front of the steps of the Met, hesitantly turning to look at Bucky. He doubled over laughing at your defeated expression, the sight almost worth having your surprise ruined.

“You just want to listen to me info-dump about the Renaissance to you again, don’t you?” He teased. Yes, you thought.

“No,” you replied, shooting him a baleful look. “I came to eat the oil paintings.” He rolled his eyes but cracked a grin, following you up the steps where you flashed your Student IDs to the front desk. You led him upstairs and down corridors, ignoring his questions along the way. Your heart quickened in your chest as you wondered how he would feel about the surprise.

Finally, you happened upon the room you were looking for. You and Bucky had been here before, but it had been changed around to make space for the new display. Art of World War II. You watched nervously as Bucky looked around, his eyes drinking in the sight. Excitement sparkled in his eyes and he slowly broke into a wide grin.

“Happy birthday, Bucky,” you said softly.

“Y/N, seriously? This is amazing. I love it,” he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away from the art on display.

“I knew you’d like it! Your two hyper-fixations in one.” You wore a small, private smile at the victory. He turned and pulled you into a crushing hug, your heart swelling at the contact.

“You’re the best,” he breathed into your hair.

“I didn’t do anything,” you giggled. “The Met is free. I’m actually just being cheap like you now.”

“Shut up,” he laughed, pulling away slightly but not quite letting you go yet. “It’s still special. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied softly. He pulled away to admire the art, reading off the labels and throwing in his own knowledge as he explained each piece to you. It was his birthday, but it felt like you were the one receiving a gift.

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hazywrites · 10 months

Text

A Stark Christmas

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader

Summary: It's your first time helping your boyfriend and his family pick out a Christmas tree, and he is very opinionated on the matter.

Warnings: Mentions of death of a family member

Words: 1,297

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47295508

AN: Hi my lovelies! I found this draft sitting on my computer untouched, and I really miss the holidays about now so I thought I'd share! This is my first time writing for Robb, but I hope you all like it. Please let me know what you think and if you'd like more holiday preferences for the GoT boys! As always, thank you for reading!

You were currently squeezed in the middle row of the Starks’ van. Sansa was seated to your right and Arya to your left, with Nymeria between her spread legs. The arrangement left you with barely any room for your own legs, so you kicked them up onto the center console and watched as the hyperactive husky jumped onto her owner’s lap, licking Arya’s face frantically and then smushing her nose against the window until someone rolled it down for her. Sansa was busying herself trying to get the perfect angle to take a group selfie. She looked lovely in all of them, and you tried to help by striking a cute pose or two, but Arya’s side of the picture came out blurry each time due to her constant movement. Sansa settled for cropping her younger sister out of the picture, posting only the two of you to Instagram with a myriad of holiday-related hashtags. You heard Theon begrudgingly breaking up a fight between Rickon and Bran in the back row. Suddenly, you felt a ticklish sensation on the bottom of your foot and shrieked, kicking your legs so much that Nymeria got excited and jumped at you as your boyfriend, Robb, looked back at you with a devilish laugh.

“How are you liking your first Stark Christmas?” He asked from the passenger seat. You rolled your eyes.

“I love it! I liked the part where we finally arrived at our destination.” He laughed at your sarcasm.

“We are a proud family. We don’t go to Home Depot-“ he scrunched his nose as he said the words, “for our Christmas trees. If you’re going to marry me one day you gotta get with the traditions.” He said it so casually, but your stomach erupted with butterflies. You two had been dating for a year and had never talked about marriage before. You were still a bit young to be thinking about it, but just the thought that Robb saw you in his future filled you with warmth. His half-brother, Jon, also seemed to pick up on Robb’s slip-up, teasing him about it for the rest of the drive. Robb just puffed out his chest and proudly doubled down on his statement, but you spotted the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks.

When you finally arrived, Arya and the younger Stark boys had taken to chasing Nymeria through the tree lot, Jon trailing behind to make sure they didn’t get into too much trouble, while Theon tried to impress Sansa by identifying the types of pine. It was an unspoken arrangement that Robb would be choosing the Christmas tree this year. Ever since his father, Ned, had passed, the family looked to him as the man of the house. Catelyn hadn’t even had the energy to come tree shopping this year. It inspired you the way the Stark children were keeping their spirits up and keeping their traditions alive. You just worried about your boyfriend, having to be the ‘strong’ one all the time. You squeezed his hand reassuringly and he smiled, leaning over to give you a quick kiss as you two looked along the rows of trees.

“I don’t know the first thing about tree shopping,” you confessed. You’d mostly said it to distract him, but it seemed to have worked. The spacey look in his eyes was replaced by a playful, judgey one.

“Yeah, they don’t teach you that on Amazon, do they?” He unconsciously raised his left eyebrow as he spoke, a quirk you loved about him.

“It was one time,” you groaned.

“A white, plastic Christmas tree,” he recalled with disgust. “Wasn’t it one of the mini ones, too?”

“My dorm has mandates on that sort of thing,” you whined. “A real tree is a fire hazard.”

“A fake tree is a relationship hazard,” he quipped. “No girlfriend of mine gets—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” you shoved your gloved hand over his mouth, earning your palm a bite that made you yelp and drop your hand in turn. “Show me how to choose a good tree.” The corners of his lips wobbled slightly, but you watched him try to keep his expression straight.

“I don’t know,” he confessed softly. “My dad used to go on and on about it but I never really paid attention. I didn’t think I’d have to do it on my own so soon.” The winter breeze carried his last words away, a whisper floating between rows of silent pines.

“You’re not alone,” you reminded him. “You’ve got your brothers and sisters, and Theon, and your mom… and me.” You focused on the button of his jacket as you said that last part. You didn’t know if it was presumptuous to count yourself in with his family, but you’d meant it. You wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. That you were there for him. Cold gloved fingers gripped your chin and raised your gaze to meet his ocean blue eyes.

“I know that, love,” he said. For a moment, you did nothing but look at each other. His eyes, his expression was so open. It was the most vulnerable moment you two had shared, yet not a word was spoken. You dared not breathe, afraid he would close himself off again. But he didn’t. He just looked at you, speaking with his eyes.

‘I love you,’ you thought as hard as you could. ‘I’m in love with you.’

Then slowly, he leaned in, his hands slipping into your hair. Your eyelids fluttered shut instinctively; your heartbeat quickened as your icy lips met his soft, warm ones. How did he always feel so warm? You felt the blood rushing to your cheeks as Robb kissed you slowly, so slowly. His soft lips brushing your own made you feel dizzy and lit a fire inside you at the same time. Even a year in, he still made you so nervous.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close. You couldn’t think of anything else. Just the feeling of him gently sucking on your lower lip and releasing it. His breath fanning your face as he sighed out. Your heart was so full of him you could burst. His hands on your waist, his eyes shut, his forehead leaning against yours for just a second before he slowly opened his eyes.

“I love you, Y/N,” he breathed softly.

“I love you,” you whispered back.

One look at your face and he was kissing you again, his lips fervently locking with your own. You reached up to caress his face but he caught your hand, cradling it against his chest.

“Hey, GET A ROOM!” Theon’s voice called out from behind you. Jon’s deep laugh followed.

“There’s children here you know! Did they even pick out a tree?!” He asked, earning more laughter from Theon. Robb groaned and your eyes fluttered open in time to watch him flip them off.

“Yeah, that one,” he gestured with his head to the tree closest to you. His eyes never left your face as you turned to look at it. It was crooked, and short, with uneven branches that drooped low. You were no tree expert, but even you could tell it was quite ugly.

“That one?” You asked, eyes widening. “Are you sure, because I know Christmas trees are super important to you, and—“

“Shut up, Y/N,” he murmured, pulling you in for another kiss that left you weak at the knees. Catelyn had raised an eyebrow when you all arrived home and presented her with Robb’s tree choice, but you had all been so busy laughing and decorating and watching films and baking that Christmas that somehow, that ugly little tree became the most perfect thing you could imagine.

#robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark/reader #robb stark/you #robb stark imagine #robb stark drabble #robb stark fic #robb stark fanfic #fluff

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hazywrites · 10 months

Text

marvel masterlist

Bucky Barnes

Bucky I'm In Love With My Best Friend

game of thrones masterlist

Ramsay Bolton

As My Witness

Jon Snow

Playing with Snow

Robb Stark

A Stark Christmas

#marvel fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #marvel masterlist #game of thrones masterlist

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hazywrites · 10 months

Text

Bucky I'm In Love With My Best Friend

Chapters 1 & 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Nothing so far, maybe slight angst?

Words: 1,648

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48220744

Chapter 3

AN: Hi, my lovelies! Although Bucky is my comfort character and my fav of all time, this is actually my first time writing for him! To be completely honest, this is totally self-gratifying and based heavily on my current romantic situation, but I do hope you all like it. This is just the beginning of this fic, and of course, I promise it will have a happy, resolved ending! For now, it is more of a best-friends-to-lovers situationship drabble. I would love to hear from you guys and I hope to receive some comments and feedback so I can know how you all liked the story. As always, thank you so much for reading. I love you all! Muah! <3 :D

Chapter 1

Your hair fell over your face, beads of sweat forming at the back of your neck. A stranger shot you a smile as you moved your hips to the pumping beat. You smiled back. You turned your attention away from him just as it looked like he might approach you, leaning over to your friends instead. “I’m going to get another drink!” You shouted over the pounding music. Wanda waved you off with a smile as she watched Nat spin Pietro around and around in a fit of giggles.

You stumbled slightly as you made your way through the crowd, all packed tightly and dancing close, to the dimly lit bar, and leaned against it as you waited for the redheaded bartender to turn around. You tugged the hem of your tight little black dress down a little. It wasn’t a self-conscious motion. Truthfully, you felt beautiful tonight, all eyes on you. It was just habit. You weren’t usually this girl. You’d normally stay home for a quiet night in. But you’d be damned if you waited by your phone for a drunken phone call from him. If he was out with friends, you would be, too. And you’d have a damn good time.

Dizzying lights danced in your periphery as you took a moment to collect yourself, when suddenly you felt your phone buzzing in your bag. Whipping it out embarrassingly quickly, you asked the bartender for a couple of white tea shots before sliding your thumb across your screen, the video call opening to reveal a grinning Bucky.

He was walking outside from what you could tell, Steve and Sam at his sides and Thor and Bruce probably trailing behind. The wide grin on his face told you he was even drunker than you were, and he was still looking ahead of him as he walked.

“Where are you?!” He shouted. You stepped away from the bar closer to the door to hear him better, and held the phone up to show yourself and the scene behind you.

“Aces, with Nat and the Maximoffs,” you said loudly. He finally looked down, his blue eyes blown out as his jaw dropped.

“What the hell are you doing looking that good?” He asked. You heard the boys laughing and teasing him in the background, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Uh, dancing?” You said, but you couldn’t help the way your lips quirked into a smile at the compliment.

“The hell, with who?”

“I just told you—”

“I’m coming,” He announced. Your heart started to race as you imagined Bucky joining you guys. Seeing your little black dress in person. Dancing on you. Pinning you against a wall, kissing you…

“Y/N,” You were startled to notice it was Steve holding the phone now, looking down at you all broad shoulders and gallant smile. “Bucky is hammered. I’m going to take him home.”

“Oh, okay, should I come help you take care of him?” You couldn’t help the pang of disappointment in your chest at his words. Steve gave you a knowing smile.

“That’s alright, Y/N, he just needs to sleep it off. You enjoy your night.”

“Are you fucking done?” You heard Bucky’s voice pipe up as he snatched the phone back from Steve. “Sorry, Y/N, Steve is annoying and he wants to hog you all to himself.” He shot his best friend a glare who just gave him an amused but apologetic smile. You admired the lines of his sharp jaw, the way his brown hair was tucked behind his ears, and the way his eyebrows pushed together oh-so-seriously as he stepped away from his friends, the city lights blurring above him with each movement. “Sorry, I wanted you all to myself for a minute,” he said, flashing you a dazzling smile. You felt yourself getting lightheaded at the compliment and smiled at him shyly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you look fucking beautiful,” he proclaimed. “Should’ve told me you wanted to go out, angel. I would’ve taken you out on the town. Would’ve taken you back to my place.” He was so drunk. “So right now?” He asked with a smirk.

“Right now,” you agreed jokingly.

“I wish—” he started, but was interrupted by Thor yelling something to him in the background. “I gotta go, doll. Call you tonight?” You nodded, and when the call hung up you felt suddenly too sad to dance anymore. You gave your shots to Wanda, deciding the others had had enough to drink.

“You sure you’re okay?” Wanda asked, concern lacing her blue-green eyes. You gave her an unconvincing smile.

“Yeah, I just think I’m all danced out for the night. I’m gonna sleep.” She gave you a knowing look but hugged you goodbye.

“I’ll see you later then,” she said.

“See you later,” you repeated, trying to sound cheerful. “Have fun, you guys!”

Bucky didn’t call you. He probably fell asleep as soon as he got home. Your head spun from the liquor and his drunken smile all night.

Chapter 2

“The Covenant clears,” Bucky declared. He was using his annoying matter-of-fact tone and you felt the urge to knock him down a few pegs. It seemed unlikely, though. Even if he were objectively wrong in every way, Bucky seemed to win every single argument you got into. You suspected it had something to do with your mega crush on him. The way he looked at you had a way of making you swallow your words just as they were about to come out.

“The Empire would win based off sheer size alone,” you argued. “They literally rule most of the galaxy. The Covenant barely has enough manpower to control part of Orion’s arm.”

“Manpower?” Bucky scoffed. “You mean Stormtroopers? They couldn’t hit water if they fell out of a boat.”

“And the Grunts and Jackals are any better? They’re meant to be expendable, the only difference is the Covenant has less of them.”

“The only difference is the Covenant has Brutes and Elites to do the real fighting.”

“And they’ll wipe each other out the way they fight. Your whole army has no unity. You know what the Empire has? The Death Star.”

“Oh, I’m real scared of your floating space rock,” Bucky quipped.

“You should be!” You exclaimed. “Between that and the Star Destroyers—“

“You shouldn’t have brought up technology at all because Covenant would smoke the Empire. That’s all antiquated 70s bullshit. They have the Forerunner Keyship and plasma weaponry.”

“The Empire has hyperdrive,” you deadpanned. “And that’s so much better than slip space.” Bucky let out a disbelieving gasp.

“Eat your fucking words—”

“Hey, are y’all about fucking DONE?” You heard Sam’s voice boom from behind you. You started. You were so absorbed in the argument that you forgot you were in Bucky’s shared apartment with all of his roommates. You turned sheepishly to Sam, who was cradling a bowl of popcorn in one arm and holding the remote in his other hand. His face was less than amused. “Can y’all take the argument to Bucky’s room, ‘cuz I’m trying to watch Monday Night Raw.”

“I was invested,” Thor added earnestly from where he was perched on a kitchen stool.

“Sorry, guys,” you started, but Bucky simply scoffed and grabbed your wrist, dragging you to his room.

“Don’t apologize to Sam. He’ll die if he hears about an interest that isn’t WWE or 2K.”

“I heard that!” Sam shouted back from the living room.

“And his taste in music sucks,” Bucky added, more loudly.

You giggled as he closed the door behind you, flopping back onto his bed, your head hitting his pillow as you stared at the posters on his wall. Classic movies and modern rappers. Sports teams he’d been a fan of his whole life. Sports teams he’d just gotten into. Superheroes and video games. It was like a mosaic of his entire personality in one room. And it smelled like him. It was your favorite place to be. He always kept his room clean despite being a male college student, which you liked. Well, to be fair, you liked everything about him, even the things you didn’t like, like how stingy he was and how he couldn’t take a compliment for shit. Those things made him, him, and they just made him grow on you more.

“What’s up?” He asked, sitting next to you. You felt the mattress dip but didn’t look over at him yet.

“Just thinking about your room.”

“What about it?” I like being surrounded by this much of you, you wanted to say. I like that you have a pair of my earrings and my scrunchie that I left over here in your bedside drawer and I never asked for them back because it makes me happy that you’d want to keep them. I like wearing your hoodies when I come over and get cold. I like when we make love and your sheets smell like my perfume and I wonder if it makes you a little happy to smell it after I leave.

“It’s clean,” you settled on saying. He hummed in response.

Your heartbeat quickened as he laid next to you, and you curled into his side instinctively, your head nestled on his chest. It took him a second but he let his arm fall around you, his fingers dancing around your waist as he stroked it slightly. You held your breath so the tiny display of affection wouldn’t disappear as fast as it came. You knew you couldn’t do anything, not during the day with all his roommates home. They’d tear him to pieces about it later. So instead you let your eyes flutter shut and listened to his heartbeat as you pretended to fall asleep. This way, he wouldn’t worry about you reading too much into it. But you were. You always did.

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hazywrites · 11 months

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i just want my readers to know that i appreciate every single one of u. the ones who like my fics, the ones who comment, the ones who click my AO3 links, the ones who reblog, and even the ones who enjoy it but scroll by without engaging. every time someone appreciates a piece of art that i created and put out into the world it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside! i love u all!

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hazywrites · 2 years

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Ramsay Says...

if u crop the ears off ur pups ur a fuckin bitch

#headcanon that ramsay in my fics does NOT crop his animals ears #or dock their tails #i might be a murderer #but i have STANDARDS #i do not HARM MY SWEET PRECIOUS BABY GIRLS???

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hazywrites · 2 years

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As My Witness (Ch. 5)

Good Girls and Going to the Dogs

Summary: You’re crazy, toxic, and above all, dramatic. So what else can you do when your long-term boyfriend cheats on you but run away across state lines in the middle of the night? A chance encounter with a certain bastard might be everything you need to escape your old life- or it might be your worst nightmare. You’re running with the big dogs now. Hope you can handle it.

Warnings: This is an explicit fic! Please do not read if you aren’t prepared for mature content.

Words: 11414

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22813183

Dedication: So, this is my first published fic! I have so many wonderful influences to thank for that, seriously y'all are all sorts of talented and amazing. But this particular fic I would like to dedicate to my darling @neoncrowpen, who gave me the confidence to put my work out there back when I was just a shy lil anon who needed the advice from one of my most admired authors. Thank you for your faith, I hope I can do it some justice <3

Chapter 4

Domeric’s car was sleek, black, and shiny like Ramsay’s, but it looked more classic than sporty, with rounded fenders and a detailed grill clearly meant to mimic an older style. Regardless, you soon found out it could drive just as fast as Ramsay’s, as the Bolton brothers seemed to have a shared affinity for speeding. Your heart thrummed and the scent of Domeric’s cologne mixed with the leathery interior gave you a headache. Your mind was spinning a million miles a minute at the implication that Robb was even remotely aware of this strange, foreign world, let alone a member of one of its great houses. You knew the only way to find out more was to ask, but you felt too nauseous to open your mouth.

Domeric looked calm in comparison to how you felt. Where Ramsay would have seemed angry and tense, his brother was contemplative. You shyly looked over his handsome side profile, and when he caught your gaze he offered you a small smile.

“Apologies,” he offered, “for scaring you earlier.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you said, tucking your knees to your chest. No one said anything for another minute, until you finally asked, “What was Miranda for?”

“Hm?”

“You said to get Miranda up there. Does she have some sort of ability…?”

“Oh,” Domeric laughed, his eyes still trained on the road ahead of him. “My brother and I thought it would be a good idea to keep our little discovery a secret. She’s going to go up there and pretend to be the girl we found. Throw the Starks off our scent, so to speak. She’s quite a good actress,” he mused. “We hadn’t given them too much information, anyway, so it shouldn’t be too hard to convince them that Ramsay needed to question her for a crime, or that some crazed fan showed up wanting attention. Whatever excuse he comes up with, it’s in his hands now.” “But you were going to have the Starks question me,” you pressed, confused. “What changed?”

“That you know him,” Domeric answered simply. “You don’t know anything about our world. Even people who have heard of the dragonmarked houses don’t know a lot about the inner politics. Your ex-boyfriend obviously kept secrets from you, but the Starks are ridiculously territorial. If they found out about your abilities, they’d insist you were theirs and take you back.” You shuddered at the thought.

You remembered Robb’s family. His father was always away on business, but his mom, Cat, was always sweet to you, and his siblings seemed so nice and… normal. You had felt normal when you were with him. The fence you had envied him suddenly flashed in your mind, and you realized a different sort of fence would be awaiting you if you were forced to go back with him.

“Thanks for saving me, then,” you mumbled. It was genuine, but Domeric quirked an eyebrow.

“You know, most people wouldn’t thank their kidnappers.”

“You didn’t kidnap me. Ramsay did. And I ran away from Robb for a reason. I don’t want anything to do with him or his family.” Your arms were crossed and your lips settled into a pout as you said it. You felt Domeric’s gaze on you for a moment longer before he finally spoke.

“Let’s hope you feel differently about us, then.”

Domeric drove you back to the safe house, where you hung back at the doorway as he made himself at home. You were wondering who to talk to, what to do next. You’d always been pretty social, and even if Ramsay was a dick, Domeric and Ben were friendly. You settled on going to the kitchen and filling a kettle with water for tea. As it brewed, you leaned on the counter and daydreamed about what would happen next. Maybe Ramsay would kill Robb. You knew he didn’t actually deserve it, but a small part in the back of your mind told you still…

You readied three mugs of tea, carrying one out to the living room where Domeric sat, ankle across his knee, foot bouncing impatiently, one arm across the back of the seat and the fingers of his other hand pressed to his lips as he stared at his phone on the coffee table. When you set the tea down, he looked up, surprised.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said gratefully. You gingerly leaned on one of the other seat’s armrests. “You’re being very gracious about all this. I appreciate it.” You smiled at him.

“Well, it’s not like my life in New York was that exciting,” you conceded.

“Is that what you want?” He asked, an eyebrow quirking as he took another sip of tea. “Excitement?” You thought for a minute.

“Maybe not if I were you,” you confessed. “But I don’t have any stakes in all this. There’s no pressure on me to make my daddy proud or to be a steward of a dragonmarked house. I just get to follow you guys around and eat pancakes and touch your weird tattoos. It’s kind of fun.” Domeric chuckled into his mug a little, making steam rise up, mist covering his face.

“It’s good tea.”

“You’re British?” You asked.

“Kind of. Our family is originally from here, but Father insisted we go to private school across the pond,” he said the last words with a funny lilt that made you giggle.

“You seem calmer than Ramsay, and even your dad. He’s calm, too, but like in an intense kind of way,” you observed. Domeric shrugged.

“I just got back into all this. I took a couple of years off. I wanted to travel the world, study a little more. Father understood. Ramsay’s entire life has been this, though. He wants to inherit the company more than anything. To be the new heir of Bolton. He feels threatened by me, I think. Because Father prefers my mild temper and because I’m older. But I truthfully couldn’t be arsed about any of it. Sometimes I think my brother will slit my throat in my sleep.” He grimaced at the last words and you thought about them for a minute.

“Well, have you told him that?”

“Ah, of course. But Ramsay is suspicious by nature. It’s a wonder my father doesn’t like him more, for all that he resembles him.” You hummed in response.

“How come you came back, then?” You asked curiously.

“I felt a sense of duty, a little bit. Responsibility. Or maybe I’m being self-aggrandizing and I just got bored.”

“That, I understand,” you said. You sat in silence for a minute longer when Ben entered the living room. You hopped up and brought him his own mug, which had cooled enough to hold without burning your fingertips. He smiled at you and sat across from Domeric on the other long sofa, pulling one knee up and leaning an arm on it.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he said and you lifted your mug to him. You each raised your mugs in the air and took a sip before you spoke again.

“How did you meet the Boltons, Ben?” You asked.

“Weirdly enough, I trained Ramsay’s dogs,” he said. You raised an eyebrow.

“Ramsay is a dog person?”

“Oh, yeah! He loves them. He has a Cane Corso—“

“Princess Lilah?” Domeric chimed in. Ben nodded.

“A Blue Bay Shepherd, that’s—“

“Duchess!” Domeric cried. Ben smiled.

“Yes! A Pomeranian called Jack Daniels, a mini Aussie named Maverick, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel called Apollo Creed and a Blue Nose Pitbull called Teacup.” You were doubling over in laughter as Ben finished, and Domeric smirked alongside you. Ben looked utterly confused. “What’s so funny?”

“Why—“ you managed through fits of giggles, “why did he name his dogs like that?”

“Oh! Because he thinks it’s funny that his tiny dogs have menacing names and his big dogs have delicate names,” he explained as if it were obvious. There were tears in your eyes at this point, and Ben began laughing alongside you. He finally gave in and began flipping through videos on his phone.

There were videos of Maverick at the park running a few feet, then staring back at the camera with a dopey smile on her face every five seconds, Ramsay firmly yelling for Princess Lilah to sit only for her to jump on him and give him kisses, effectively knocking him on his ass, Apollo Creed being too lazy for a walk and being literally dragged on her leash, Jack Daniels shredding an entire roll of toilet paper on the bed and spinning in circles barking angrily when they laughed at her, Teacup sitting with her butt directly on Roose as he looked less than amused, and Duchess howling at the treats cabinet like she was singing an opera. By the time you watched them all, even Domeric cracked at your reactions and you were all falling off the couches laughing. That’s how Ramsay found you— cracking up with tears in your eyes on the floor of the safe house living room. He was too shocked to even speak as he stood above you all, staring especially at Ben and Domeric. You vaguely noticed a little black book tucked in his crossed arms.

“Would anyone care to fill me in?” He finally asked. You looked at him, clutching your stomach as you willed your abs to stop contracting so you could have a break.

“Rams… Ramsay you,” you breathed out through giggles. “You have to let me meet your dogs.” He raised an eyebrow at Ben, who was curled in the fetal position laughing. He finally cracked a smirk as he sat down at the seat across from you, crossing an ankle over his knee, twirling the little notebook in his hands as he waited for you all to settle down.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, sweetheart,” he said. Your head was tossed back on the seat behind you, your disheveled hair in front of your face, the column of your neck exposed, and droplets of sweat decorating your collarbones, but you peaked down at him. You weren’t expecting that. You’d thought maybe he would yell at you, or scoff his disapproval.

“Really?” You asked.

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement. “In fact, we can leave now.”

“You’re joking,” you said. He shrugged.

“I don’t see why not. I’d prefer to have you right under my nose and the safe house is such a drive.”

“Thank you!” You squealed, sitting up suddenly. “Can Domeric and Ben come, too?”

“I would expect nothing less,” Ramsay sighed, standing back up and facing the door. He turned around for a split second, his blue eyes sparkling as he tossed the little black book at you. Your sketchpad. You opened it to find the sketch you'd drawn of him in the car. He'd autographed it in obnoxious black pen, which would've made you roll your eyes, had you not been caught up on another detail.

The drawing had changed. Where before it had been a side profile of him staring fixedly at the road, now its lips were etched into a smirk, eyes staring hypnotizingly back at you. You looked up from the book long enough to see the exact same expression mirrored on Ramsay's face.

If you’d like to be added to the taglist for this fic, please let me know! <3

Taglist: hnslchw

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hazywrites · 2 years

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I love As My Witness and I was wondering when chapter 5 is going to be out it's so good and a amazing story

RIGHT NOW WEEEEOOOOOO

#i love you nonny

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hazywrites · 2 years

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so embarrassed to realize i said asks/reqs were open and i didn’t even have my asks on. i could’ve sworn i had them on. no worries, they are on now!

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hazywrites · 2 years

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as a holiday treat... here is some of my dream casting for the As My Witness characters so far. the names of the characters and actors are in the captions! i don’t own any of these characters, they belong to George R. R. Martin! this is purely a work of fan fiction. if you’d like to read my story, you may do so here. love you all!

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hazywrites · 2 years

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would y’all want to read my first attempt at writing smut? it’s stucky x reader. literally just a few weeks ago i wrote my first kissing scene and now im drafting smut. new year new me.

#stucky x y/n #stucky x reader #stucky smut #stucky/reader #stucky / reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers

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hazywrites · 2 years

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As My Witness (Ch. 4)

Models and Murderers

Warnings: This is an explicit fic! Please do not read if you aren’t prepared for mature content.

Words: 9,533

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22813183

Chapters 2 & 3

Chapter 5

The dull chattering of voices slowly grew louder, arguing amongst themselves, but you couldn’t quite process words yet. You were cozy, so you tried to block out the sound, not wanting to move a muscle lest you ruin your perfect sleeping position. Each time felt yourself drifting back to sleep, one of the voices raised just enough to snap you awake, until finally you gave in and crawled out of bed. You made your way past the still-open door, down the hall, until you stood at the top of the steps.

“- get her to the Dreadfort and find out who the fuck she is, Ben. Or would you rather stay here and play house?” you heard his familiar voice ring out. Your heartbeat quickened at the sound as you looked over the railing and saw the pair of men arguing in the living room.

Ramsay looked completely different. Whereas the first few times you’d seen him, he was disheveled… or shirtless… or covered in blood… now he was wearing a black dress shirt like your own, the top buttons undone to reveal part of his tattoo, and a matching fitted blazer, with dark jeans and shiny biker boots. A watch adorned his wrist; his hair was combed, his beard trimmed. He looked like a model rather than a murderer. Ben was dressed more casually in comparison, in black jeans and a matching sweater. In his hands was a cardboard box.

“She’s not dangerous, Ramsay. She didn’t run last night. All she wanted to do when she got here was sleep,” Ben pleaded. “She’s confused. And starving.” You were grateful to Ben for defending you, but the warm feeling in your chest was replaced with anxiety as laughter began to bubble in Ramsay’s throat.

“Oh, you seem to have it all figured out, Bones. Answer me one question, then. Have you ever heard of anyone immune to our dragonmark?” Ben remained quiet, and Ramsay took the opportunity to march past him to the base of the steps, stopping in his tracks once he saw you posted at the top.

“Good, you’re awake. Come with me.” His piercing blue eyes seemed to stare right through you, and you involuntarily took a step back.

“Are you going to hurt me again?” You asked unsurely. It was a stupid question to ask, but you were on edge around him. He knocked you out. He scared you.

“That all depends on you, love. Are you going to cooperate with me?” he replied as he climbed the steps in just a few strides, drawing dangerously near. He smelled like mint and blood. You involuntarily inhaled, feeling goosebumps at his proximity. What the hell is wrong with me, you wondered. He had such an effect on you. Worse, he seemed to know it. He pulled away and leaned against the banister, smirking at you expectantly. “Or you could just stare at me all morning.” You shook your head to snap yourself out of your little trance.

“Um… I’m hungry,” you tried to change the subject.

“I bet you are,” he teased, causing your face to grow hot.

“I need clothes. And food. I haven’t eaten since you kidnapped me,” you pressed.

“Such harsh diction,” he mused. “I prefer the term ‘discovered’. We’ll get you something to eat once we get to the Dreadfort,” he waved off your concern.

“Here, Hazal, I brought some of your things,” Ben finally spoke as he set the cardboard box down. “Clothes and stuff.” You were embarrassed to realize you had forgotten he was there, and brushed past Ramsay to see the box. You didn’t miss the way Ramsay’s signature smirk twitched into a frown as you turned your attention away from him.

“You went back to New York?” You asked. That’s where he must have disappeared to last night.

“It was kind of an assignment,” he admitted as you sifted through the box. “I had to find out what I could about you. I left a note on your desk saying that you’re staying with family for a while. So your roommate won’t be concerned.” You smiled as you noticed your sketchpad tucked into the corner of the box, dragging it out along with some clothes to wear. At least Ben had a good sense of style. You slipped on a pair of panties and simple black mini dress under your oversized shirt, blushing under Ramsay’s steady gaze while you shimmied it up over your chest. Once properly covered up, you discarded the men’s shirt and sat down to put your Vans on, your sketchpad resting next to you.

“You’re bringing that with you?” Ramsay asked, an eyebrow quirked.

“You snooped through my phone already. How do I know you won’t go through all the private shit I leave unattended?”

“Yes, Hazal. I knocked you out, kidnapped you, and dragged you across New Jersey because I was interested in your crafts.”

“At least you admit it’s kidnapping,” you remarked as you stood and turned to Ben. “Please tell me you’re coming.”

“He is not,” Ramsay huffed, annoyed, as he grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward the door. Ben shrugged as if he wasn’t surprised at all by Ramsay’s outburst.

“Later, Hazal,” he called as you were ushered outside. Parked out front was the same sports car from that night at the liquor store. Wordlessly, Ramsay opened the door for you and closed it behind you, taking his place in the driver’s seat. The car was so quiet, you were surprised it was even running. Even as Ramsay peeled out of the spot, it barely made a sound. His eyes remained fixated on the road as you drove in silence. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or just always that intense, but you chose not to address it, instead watching the house and the hidden drive slide out of view as Ramsay sped away.

You slid your pencil out of the binding coils, opening to a fresh page as you began sketching. You let your fingers do the work as your mind wandered, surprised to see the scribbles on your paper begin to take the form of a tense jawline, a jacket, a head of tousled hair. You stared between the paper and the man in front of you, working out the details as you spoke.

“What’s the Dreadfort?”

“It’s what we call our headquarters out East.”

“Hm. Your base of operations?”

“Essentially.”

“What do you do?”

“We’re stewards. Protectors. We carry out the law.”

“Oh. You’re cops.”

“We’re not cops.”

“Feds?”

“No.”

“You carry out the law,” you pointed out, drawing the eyebrows on your sketch closer together to mimic Ramsay’s annoyed expression.

“We make sure the dragonmarked houses cooperate with each other.” After a moment of silence, he continued. “How long have you lived in the Catskill?”

“My whole life. I grew up in Liberty and-“

“And you went to school in Roscoe,” he finished. “One of the only deadzones in the entire country and you’ve never left it.”

“That’s why your compulsion powers don’t work on me?” You asked. “A deadzone is where your powers don’t work?”

“Finally, you’re catching on. But no. The liquor store wasn’t a deadzone and still you could resist our compulsion. Living in a deadzone might explain why you haven’t heard of the dragonmarked houses before but once you leave, you’re just as susceptible as everybody else. To be immune, it implies that you come from a house that shields our power. Every house can shield from one… but nobody shields the Boltons. We are the law. Nobody is above the law.”

“So… what other houses are there?”

“The Lannisters, Starks, Targaryens, Tyrells, Baratheons… There’s a lot of them. Their powers correspond with their jobs. The Lannisters are like bankers. They can manipulate wealth. Create more of it or less. The Starks are like magical courts. They can determine if you are telling the truth or force you to speak the truth. They shield each other’s dragonmarks. The Lannisters could never make the Starks lose money or anything of value. The Starks can’t force the Lannisters to be truthful.” His expression is calmer now as he speaks. His eyes remain fixed on the road ahead. Your fingers are still moving, sketching out a reflection of the man in front of you.

“Do you know why deadzones exist?” You asked. Your mind raced for an explanation for the madness surrounding you, but surprisingly your emotions were calm. As if you were watching an interesting TV show and not experiencing it for yourself.

“No one knows for sure. There’s myths of course. They say the deadzones are areas where each of the houses used to reside, like a castle? The Catskills was allegedly originally called Winterfell.” He shrugged. “I guess it makes sense. No house could take advantage of another on their own land. No advantages during war. Suppose the Tyrells dried out another house’s crops and starved them out of their own land.”

“Where does the magic come from?”

“Supposedly, we’re descended from dragons,” Ramsay rolled his eyes and you could tell he didn’t pay much credit to that theory. “Dragonmarked, get it? But some interpretations say the tattoos were painted onto our ancestors by the children of the forest, and that they’ve been passed down ever since.”

“Oh sure. You know how those children of the forest can be.” Ramsay laughed.

“Fickle beings, those children of the forest,” he agreed. “Not to mention the dragons.”

“You think I’m dangerous?” You pivoted the conversation as your fingers continued working, the drawing starting to take on Ramsay’s likeness.

“Maybe, but you’re with us now. If you’re dangerous we’ll just use you to our advantage.”

“You know, for a bunch of cops you sure act like thugs.” He grimaced.

“We’re not cops.”

The Dreadfort was a massive glass skyscraper with tinted glass X’s on each side. After all that talk of magic, you were expecting a castle, but you supposed this was a better way to blend in. It was a little foreboding, if you were being honest, but you figured you’d made it this far without being hurt too badly. Ramsay scanned a black card to get into the building and ushered you in with a hand at the small of your back.

The ceilings were high, the floors a polished white and gray marble, and beyond the front desk you could make out a lobby full of sleek, modern black and white furniture, complete with Pollock-style wall art and hanging crystalline chandeliers. Passing employees greeted Ramsay as ‘sir��, to which he either nodded his acknowledgment or ignored them altogether.

He waved a salute to the woman at the front desk, some mousy-haired brunette with a pinched face who regarded you with venom in her eyes. “Hello, sir,” her squeaky voice spoke as she stood. She wore a form-fitting blue dress that fell just above the knee and exposed her collarbones. You spotted some fading bruises on her neck, and when your eyes met hers again she smirked at you, knowing you’d seen them. Ramsay barely looked at her but flashed a smile.

“Miranda.” Just the sound of his voice saying her name made the woman break into a wide, toothy grin. He didn’t seem to catch it or care. He tapped away at his phone as he escorted you to an elevator, pressing the button for the top floor.

“Are you sleeping with your receptionist?” You asked once the doors shut. Ramsay looked up from his phone and quirked an eyebrow.

“Is it obvious?” You shrugged.

“I mean, yeah. She’s totally obsessed with you. You didn’t see how she was death-glaring me because you had your hand on my waist?” Ramsay hummed in response.

“And you concluded it was due to my irresistible sexual prowess, naturally.” You shot him a baleful look, and he laughed. “I don’t know about sleeping, love. I’m not exactly one to spend the night. But I have fucked her on occasion around this office. Copy rooms and whatnot. I think we’ve done it in this elevator, actually.”

“EW!” You jumped away from the walls, afraid to touch any of the surfaces, and Ramsay’s laughter echoed as the elevator came to a halt, the metal doors peeling open. You couldn’t get out fast enough.

The top floor of the Dreadfort bore little resemblance to the lobby you had just seen. The floors and open ceiling were a matte black color, accentuated by slashes of red: leather sofas and chairs, high-tech computers, and a large “X” crossing the whole floor. Some of the employees up here were wearing dress shirts and blazers like Ramsay, others in simple black jeans and pullovers like the ones you’d seen Ben in. You caught a glimpse of a ring on a few of them as they walked by, the flayed man symbol that Ramsay also adorned. The Boltons’ dragonmark, you realized. Most of the men up here ignored you, but a familiar halo of blonde hair approached you.

“How’s the head?” Damon asked, flashing a set of perfect teeth as he grinned at you. You were once again struck by how different he looked from his boss. He, like Ramsay, was dressed up in black, his platinum blond hair straight and tidy, a section of it tucked behind his ear. The Dreadfort lighting did him more justice than the liquor store. Your gaze shifted from his angular nose and cheekbones, peppered in freckles and tinted strawberry pink, to his eyes, sparkling green and framed with thick lashes and brows. He wore a cheeky grin as he awaited your response.

“Um,” you managed. You were still distracted by how good-looking these murderers were. Did they have a vetting process? Where did they find these guys?

“Not so good, I see,” he said and threw his head back in laughter. Ramsay joined him, a sound that irritated your soul.

“I’m feeling better,” you replied. “How about your balls, Ramsay? Healing nicely as well?” That shut him up. Damon, however, howled with laughter as he remembered the damage your knee had done to his counterpart.

“Feel free to kiss them better, sweetheart,” Ramsay mocked sarcastically as he shoved you forward, making you stumble over your feet. He walked you across the room, where you made eye contact with several other men. Most of them regarded you with questioning silence, but a few you recognized. Grunt, the driver from the other night, and Roose Bolton, who you came to a halt in front of.

“Hazal. I trust your stay at safe house was accommodating?” You nodded. “Good. You must be hungry. Ramsay, have one of your men bring her something to eat.”

“I’ve already sent Yellow Dick on it, father. I’m going to have the Stark question her now.” Roose nodded his approval and you were brought to a conference room with a table in the center. As you took a seat, a man with bright yellow hair and stretched ears entered the room carrying a tray piled with food. He wore a black sweater pushed to his elbows revealing several tattoos, and his flayed man ring was not his only piece of jewelry. He flashed you a smile when he caught you looking, and you gathered yourself long enough to smile politely back as he set the tray down in front of you. You stared hungrily, mouth watering.

“Go ahead, it’s for you,” Ramsay said after he left. He didn’t need to tell you twice. Your manners went out the window as you started tucking into buttered toast with jam, scrambled eggs, banana pancakes, bacon, and coffee.

“Stofh lmmkin afh me,” you said through a mouthful of food, and Ramsay abided by crossing his arms and gazing out the windows. You cleared your plate and chugged down the rest of your coffee, leaning back in your seat full and content. “You can turn around now,” you said. “That was delicious.”

“Compliments of our cafeteria,” Ramsay replied as he pulled a chair over backwards, leaning on the backrest. “Skinner’s our cook.”

“Can I live here?” You sighed happily.

“We’ll discuss terms after I determine whether or not you’re a dangerous spy sent to destroy my organization.”

“What are we waiting for?” You asked. Ramsay rolled his eyes.

“My brother,” he mumbled. As if on cue, a tall, dark-haired man strolled into the room. He had the same arched brows as Ramsay and the same full lips, but the rest of him reminded you of Roose. His posture, for one, and his straight nose, and the shape of his face. Ramsay must take after their mother, you mused. If he was Roose’s son, this man was his carbon copy. He smiled gently as he circled to your side of the table and extended a hand, which you took. He surprised you by pulling your hand to his face, making you stand out of your chair a little as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“You must be Hazal,” he said. His voice was measured and sweet. “My name is Domeric Bolton. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I hope my brother has treated you well.” You shot a glance at Ramsay. His shoulders seemed tense, and he avoided eye contact with either of you. You smiled politely.

“He’s been very agreeable,” you heard yourself say. You weren’t sure why you decided to do Ramsay this favor. Maybe you admired that he didn’t hide who he was, that he did his own dirty work, or maybe you felt protective of the fact that his brother and father seemed to look down on him somehow. The look of surprise on Domeric’s face didn’t escape your notice.

“Oh, um. Good, then. Has Ramsay explained what we will be doing today?”

“I take it I’m going to be questioned by a Stark about my immunity to compulsion? Maybe see if I’m able to lie to them?” Domeric beamed.

“Good, you catch on quickly. Ramsay’s men should be bringing him in any second.”

“Okay,” you agreed. Domeric took a seat to the other side of you. “Y’know, my ex-boyfriend’s last name is Stark, too.” You had said it offhandedly; it was something you had noticed earlier in the car but hadn't mentioned at the risk of sounding silly. But Ramsay stood up suddenly in alarm, knocking his chair back. You shared a glance with Domeric, confused by his outburst, but Ramsay grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look into his piercing blue eyes. You tried hard to focus on what he was saying and not the sweet, warm breath fanning over your face or the tightness of his grip.

“Love, when you say your ex-boyfriend are you referring to the man texting you the night you went missing?” You nodded blankly and he dropped your face, looking at his brother. “Her boyfriend is fucking Robb Stark.” Domeric stood, too, gripping your wrist and starting to pull you out of the room.

“Get Miranda up here,” he suggested. Ramsay rolled his eyes.

“I already texted her. Get her to the car. Now.” Domeric rushed you out of the conference room. You made your way for the elevator but he tugged you across the room to a much smaller one, pressing the button. “Employee elevator. We’ll leave through the kitchen. They should already be on their way up by now.”

“Who?” You asked as the doors opened and he pulled you in. But you already saw. As the doors closed, you caught sight of Yellow Dick walking to the conference room, followed by a tall, brunet man. You only saw the side of his face, but you knew exactly who it was. Robb Stark.

If you’d like to be added to the taglist for this fic, please let me know! <3

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hazywrites · 2 years

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Playing with Snow

One Shot

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader

Summary: You’re driving home for the holidays with your best friend. The only problem? You’re madly in love with him.

Warnings: Play-fighting turned frustration. A spontaneous kiss. Mostly fluff, really.

Words: 2,477

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35456362

AN: Hi, lovelies! I was inspired by the holiday season to write some holiday preferences for our lovely GoT boys. I've never written for Jon before but this story just came to me. It was originally going to be a drabble but it sort of took on a life of its own, so I guess it is a full-length one-shot now. Let me know what you guys think or if you think I should write for Jon again! I hope you guys like it. Thank you for reading!

You waved goodbye to your roommates, watching them disappear in a flurry of snow as you made your way to the center of the quad. Your cheeks were tingling from the cold, flakes of snow catching in your lashes and hair. You loved the snow. You loved the way it decorated your clothes before melting off and disappearing without a trace, you loved the way it crunched under your feet as you walked, and the way it covered the treetops like frosting on a cake. You busied yourself kicking the white powder, watching it shimmer in the last remaining winter light. You were so entranced with it that you didn’t notice as one of your kicks of snow flew up… hitting your best friend in the face.

“Hello to you, too, Y/N,” Jon’s deep voice sang, and he flashed you a small smile as he brushed snow out of his dark curls. You felt your face flush, your lips parting to say something, anything, but all you could manage was a pathetic stutter as you ran up to Jon, fingers brushing the snow out of his beard.

“Jon! I am so… sorry… I didn’t see you…” He jerked away, laughing.

“Your fingers are freezing!” He said. Just as you felt yourself growing disappointed that he pulled away from you, he took your hands into his own, shoving them into the pockets of his winter coat for good measure. He felt so warm, even after waiting for you in the quad for God knows how long. You peeked up at his face, but quickly looked away once you saw him already looking at you.

You’d been in love with your best friend Jon for as long as you could remember. You two had grown up together, been virtually inseparable. As children, you were each other’s constant companions. You remembered walking along the train tracks in your hometown and climbing trees together. Once you’d fallen and broken your leg, and Jon had jumped out after you so you wouldn’t feel alone. He was so thoughtful and fearless. You’d been each other’s closest confidants. You remembered crying in high school when Jon told you about his crush on Ygritte, and feeling like you would die when they started dating. Now you two were in college together, about to make the drive home together for the holidays, and all of a sudden you felt your familiarity with Jon slipping away. You could barely look into his warm, chocolate brown eyes, and when you two did speak you could only choke out a few words. You were surprised he was still planning to drive home with you, considering what an absent friend you had been lately.

You sighed as you looked over Jon’s shoulder, watching the snowfall and trying to ignore the feeling of his thumbs rubbing circles over your knuckles in his pockets. You felt his gaze on you for a moment before you watched him kneel down from the corner of your periphery, not thinking anything of it until you felt a shocking, freezing sensation falling over your head.

“Jon?!” You shrieked as you shook your hair out, snow flying in all directions. He grinned widely.

“Y/N,” he mocked. “Glad I could snap you out of that trance. If I’d have known that’s all it took…” He trailed off as he scooped up another handful of snow, packing it tightly before launching it at your chest. You stumbled back and he doubled over laughing. You rolled onto your hands and knees, facing away from him so he wouldn’t see you picking up more snow to throw at him. You spun around and launched the crystalline white ball as hard as you could before noticing Jon wasn’t standing there anymore, disappointed as your handiwork fell to the ground and dispersed. “I’m over here,” you heard your best friend call from the side, another handful of snow knocking the side of your head and slipping into the collar of your shirt. You squealed and tried to shake it out, bending over in a weird little dance as Jon laughed at you.

Even pretending to be exasperated by him, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. This felt just like old times. You two chased each other all the way to the car as the sun began to set, pelting each other with snow. Sometimes you hit him, though you suspected he was slowing down to give you a chance. His precision was far more deadly, and soon you were covered in powdery snow, acutely aware that once it melted you’d be soaking wet. In one last act of defiance, you ran at Jon full speed, pleased at the surprised gasp that escaped his mouth as you sent him tumbling back into the snow, with you following behind.

“Oof,” he huffed as you plopped onto his chest. His face was so close that his cold breath tickled your nose. You sat up and began grabbing fistfuls of snow, tossing them into his face as he laughed and tried to wriggle out from under you. “Y/N!” his raspy voice called, but you showed no signs of slowing. “Y/N!” He took your wrists into his hands, stopping you from grabbing any more snow as he sat up. “Truce?” he pleaded. His big, chocolate brown eyes stared into yours and suddenly your skin was on fire where he was holding you. You were acutely aware of the fact that you were sitting in his lap, his gorgeous face inches from yours again. You had the sudden urge to knot your fingers in his dark curls and pull him to you. Wait, what? You yanked your wrists out of his grasp rather harshly, not missing the shock on his face as you weakly hit his chest over and over and over. He watched, bewildered, until you pathetically gave up on hitting him and climbed off his lap, walking away.

“Y/N, what-” but you were gone. You didn’t want to explain your outburst to Jon. What would you even say? I’m mad at you because I’m in love with you and because you’ll never feel the same way about me? Or how about, I’m mad at you because you make me feel like my body is on fire and I’m worried if I’m alone in a car with you for hours I’ll do something stupid and destroy our friendship? No. You wouldn’t let that happen. You marched off down the street. You remembered the way to the train station. If you left now, you might be able to catch a late one. You heard Jon calling after you, but eventually he gave up and went to his car. Good, you thought, though you felt a pang of disappointment. What was wrong with you?

It took you another minute to finally hear the low rumble of an engine and the crunching of snow underneath tires. You glanced over to see Jon following you in the car. His boyish grin was gone, instead his jaw was set as he flicked his dark eyes over to you before looking back at the road.

“Get in the car, Y/N,” his low voice commanded. His authoritative tone gave you a flutter deep in your core. Damn it. He was only making your feelings worse. You stared straight ahead and ignored him. “Y/N,” his voice came out as a warning this time. It excited you. You kept walking. The crunching of snow being ground under tires grew louder and the headlights brightened. He had pulled up in front of you, effectively cutting you off from walking further. Before you could walk around his car, Jon climbed out of the driver’s side and made his way to you. You froze as you watched his large frame advancing towards you. Without a word, he ducked down and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you to the car and ignoring your protests.

“This is kidnapping,” you pouted as he reentered the driver’s seat and locked the doors.

“Really? Because twenty minutes ago you were planning to drive home with me.” He was upset. You understood; it was justified. He drove wordlessly for a while, and you stared out the window, watching the dark, winding roads blur by. You were sure he wouldn’t speak another word to you and the thought was kind of a relief. When you got back home to Winterfell, New York, Jon would never talk to you again. And maybe it was better that way. You were barely even friends as it were. You didn’t even know how to talk, act, even breathe around him anymore. Your feelings had gotten the better of you, and since you couldn’t be with him it was time you let him go and drifted apart. You let that sink in, the fact that you wouldn’t have a best friend anymore, and blinked back tears.

“Get in the front,” Jon’s deep, accented voice interrupted your thoughts. You caught sight of his face in the rearview mirror. His eyes were still stern but he looked concerned. You couldn’t let him melt your resolve like that. He would make everything okay again, and it would only prolong your pain. You turned away from his reflection. Only a few more hours, you thought. “Damn it, Y/N, say something!” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel as he said it, making you jump. He was begging now. “Y/N, please. Was it something I said? Did I make you uncomfortable? What did I do wrong?” The desperation in his voice flooded your heart with guilt. He thought this was his fault. How were you to explain to him that the only thing he was guilty of was being too perfect?

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you mumbled. He gave a breathy, relieved laugh that you were finally speaking to him. His voice became soft again. Like he was afraid of scaring you into shutting him out again.

“Come to the front, Y/N. Talk to me.” You shook your head, unsure if he was even looking at the mirror to see it.

“I can’t, Jon. It’s not your fault but… we can’t be friends. It’s better this way.” You didn’t know what else to say, so you stared at your hands.

“Is it, now?” His words were cold. Not like snow. Like steel. A sarcastic laugh dripped from his lips. “‘It’s not you, it’s me’, really, Y/N? You know what-” he turned the steering wheel abruptly, pulling over to the side of the road. The car stopped with a jolt, and in a second he had exited the driver’s side and climbed into the back with you. You shot a glance at the door behind you, but he leaned over you and gripped the handle, holding the door closed before you could even make a move for it. You were trapped between the door and his warm body. “No running. Tell me what your problem is right now, Y/N. You disappeared from my life. I went through a semester barely talking to you. I thought,” he huffed a pained laugh and you noticed a shimmer in his eyes as his voice wavered. “I thought you were busy with schoolwork or something. You’re always busy lately. Too busy for me,” he mumbled the last words and you inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of pine and amber and cyprus cologne burning your throat. You owed him an explanation. He deserved it.

“I wasn’t too busy,” you defended. “I kept myself busy. Because you were busy. You were with Ygritte and-”

“I broke up with Ygritte,” he said, his eyebrows drawn together. “In October. You don’t know that? You’re my best friend and you have no idea what’s going on in my life. I wasn’t too busy. And I wasn’t with her. Why are you really avoiding me?” You bit your lip.

“I’m sorry-”

“Y/N, I don’t want an apology. I want my best friend back. I’ve missed you. Please. I hoped this drive would… would fix whatever is broken between us. We could be how we used to be.”

“I don’t want to be how we used to be!” you cried desperately.

“Then what do you want?!” Jon raised his voice to match yours.

Your hands landed on his chest, twisting his shirt into your fists as you pulled him into you and finally, finally pressed his soft lips against yours. It only took him a second to react, dropping the door handle to wrap an arm around your waist, his other hand slipping behind your hair and holding the back of your neck. His kisses were slow and deliberate, and he punctuated each deep kiss with a series of small ones across each of your lips. He rubbed his thumb along your jaw languidly as he sucked softly on your lower lip. You whimpered into his mouth, and he used the arm wrapped around you to easily pull you onto his lap, both of his hands caressing your face now as he tilted his head up and captured your lips once more.

It felt so right. Like everything had fallen into place. You and Jon, together like this… it just made sense. You slid your hands up from his chest and into his curls, finally knotting them into your fingers like you’d wanted to. You tugged them back, tilting his head back and peppering his lips and jaw with kisses as he exhaled slowly. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his found their way around your waist, pulling you close until your forehead was resting on his own, your noses brushing each other, your chests rising and falling in unison. You kissed him again. And again. And once more. He chuckled against your lips and stared at you with a twinkle in his eye.

“Was that all?” he asked. You nodded meekly. “Y’know… if you hadn’t been so intent on avoiding me, I was planning on initiating that myself.”

“You were?”

“Of course. I love you, Y/N. I always have. I want to go back to Winterfell as your boyfriend. If you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have you,” you whispered. His cheeky grin returned.

“Yeah, you’ve already had me. Is that why you drenched me in snow? You wanted me to take my clothes off?”

“Shut up before I drag you back out there for a rematch.”

“I wouldn’t mind a rematch-”

“That’s not what I meant! I meant the snowball fight. You perv.”

“I’d love to see you try, angel. I’ll wipe the floor with you.”

You drove back to Winterfell belting your favorite songs together with Jon’s hand on your thigh.

“Jon?” you spoke as you finally pulled in to the Starks’ driveway.

“Yes, doll?”

“I love you, too.”

#jon snow #jon snow imagine #jon snow fanfiction #imagine jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow / reader #jon snow/reader #jon snow / you #jon snow/you #game of thrones preferences #got preference #playingwithsnow

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hazywrites · 3 years

Text

As My Witness (Ch. 2 & 3)

Pride and Prison Ink / Hotels and Hostage Situations

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Warnings: This is an explicit fic! Please do not read if you aren’t prepared for mature content.

Words: 6,235

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22813183

Chapter 1

Chapter 4

You woke up with fragments of a strange dream floating around in the darkness of your closed eyes. A highway, a liquor store, a singularly beautiful stranger, blood. It felt so real that you were almost expecting not to be in your own bed when you opened your eyes.

You weren’t. One look at your surroundings proved that without question. The ceiling was smooth, off-white stone and the cold ground pressed flush against your spine proved to be more of the same. You scrambled up and looked wildly around the room. It was a wide, spacious dungeon of sorts. A basement, perhaps, but everything seemed dated despite its pristine condition. The smooth ground didn’t have a single crack, the high, arched ceilings were expertly crafted. What caught your attention was the statues. Angels, maybe, or saints, with glorious wings behind them. You weren’t sure; you were never religious. A single flight of stairs led up the center of the room to a shut, grated door, the only thing in sight not made from stone.

You stood and shivered as your bare feet hit the cold floor. A dull pain throbbed at the side of your head, tender to the touch, and you quickly pulled your fingers away from whatever invisible bruise had been left on your scalp from last night. You found your slippers tossed carelessly to either side of you. They must have fallen off when you got thrown in here, you realized. You slipped them on, finding comfort in the warmth, and ran to the door, yanking as hard as you could, making the metal rattle loudly, despite knowing deep down that it wouldn’t open. Turning back around, you spotted a small, high window right where the wall met the ceiling. It was the only source of light in the entire room. A couple of feet away laid a flat, stone coffin. You had no time to waste. You had to make that jump. You started to run towards it when a slamming sound from the top of the steps stopped you dead in your tracks, causing you to tumble down the steps with a crash. Footsteps followed, and before you could process it, he was there.

He looked so tall from where you laid, bruised on the floor. You blinked as you propped yourself onto your elbows and looked at him. A wicked smirk played at his lips as he looked down at you, and you could sense that he liked looking down on people. You pushed yourself up, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He seemed unbothered. He was dressed in black jeans and a matching long sleeve shirt pushed up to his elbows, revealing even more faded tattoos. He turned his blade, the same one from yesterday, over and over as he eyed you playfully.

“Ramsay,” you sarcastically greeted the man who knocked you unconscious. His eyes lit up, but he maintained his slow, repetitive motions, spinning the blade tauntingly as he spoke down to you.

“Y/N.” You had almost forgotten about that damned accent. His voice was even, but a hidden cheerfulness gnawed at you. Like he was playing a game.

“How-“ you started, but no sooner had you uttered the word that he whipped out a phone from his pocket, scrolling through it as the screen illuminated his face. You felt the emptiness in your pocket where your phone had been resting, ignored, just last night.

“Your friends miss you terribly,” he informed you with a sick smile. “Your boyfriend’s concerned about you, too. Long way from home, aren’t you, pet?” Your face flushed as you thought about what he could’ve read on your phone. It had a password on it, but you didn’t want to imagine what information he found out about you just from the messages on your lock screen.

You rushed to your feet, practically slamming yourself against the bars as you tried to snatch your phone. He yanked it just out of reach. You were about to say something else when a deep voice rang out.

“Enough, Ramsay,” another man called. To your surprise, Ramsay silenced himself and tucked your phone back into his pocket, gazing up expectantly while the other man emerged from the shadows.

He was a tall, middle-aged man with a straight nose and a straight posture. His hair was receding, his brows pulled together ever so slightly as his blue eyes gave you a calm, measuring look. Slight lines on his face gave away his age. He held himself almost regally, with his shoulders back and his hands folded. He was dressed in a formal type of suit; it was simple, yet showing of his stature. He seemed almost trustworthy. You softened to him. While Ramsay was sick and sadistic, this man looked far calmer in comparison. You were grateful for the intrusion. Ramsay seemed annoyed at the easiness that overtook you, but you ignored him to look at his companion, peeling yourself from the bars.

“My name is Roose Bolton,” he introduced himself as you slowly padded over to him, hands grasping the bars like a prisoner. “I assume you’ve heard of me.” He seemed assured that you had, but you shook your head meekly. This seemed to surprise him, and you watched his expression grow annoyed. “I don’t play games, girl. I don’t know what house shields us but every house has heard of the country’s biggest network of stewards.” Pride dripped into his otherwise irritated tone as he claimed his title. He seemed to snap out of it, though, as he stared at the blank expression on your face. “These words mean nothing to you?” He asked dubiously. You gave him a small shrug. “And yet, you are immune to compulsion,” he mused to himself, before turning to the younger man. Ramsay stood at attention, waiting for a command. His face was serious as the older man addressed him. “Find out what you can about the girl,” he demanded. “Report back to me.” With a final curious glance at you, he turned around and marched back up the steps. Ramsay’s eyes followed him up, and he didn’t look away as the doors slammed once again. You could practically hear yourselves breathing.

“He’s your dad?” You asked and Ramsay’s gaze snapped back to you. “How would you know that?” He questioned with the quirk of a brow.

“You look at him like you want him to be proud of you. I didn’t take you for the type who follows directions but you follow his. I have a feeling no one else would tolerate your insubordination,” he smirked at that as he waited for you to continue. You swallowed and tried to finish your sentence. “…Like last night. You killed the shopkeeper. Those weren’t your orders. And your eyes. You kind of look like him only… more chaotic, I guess.” You finished and almost sighed in relief. You don’t know what possessed you to speak at length to the man who knocked you unconscious last night, and you were alarmed to find that you felt oddly familiar with him rather than afraid. As if you were old friends or something. Ramsay was quick to prove you wrong as he leaned against the bars.

“Sounds like you have it all figured out, love. You seemed awfully relieved not to have to deal with someone so chaotic. Let me warn you, though. My father is ten times worse than I am. Don’t believe me? Get on his bad side. What he'll do to you is far worse than what I'll do to get answers.” You giggled, which seemed to vex him.

“You’re jealous. You don’t like that I looked comfortable around him. What, you want to be daddy’s heir so you can have all the respect?”

“You’re looking awfully comfortable right now, love,” he quipped with a mischievous grin, eyes darting to where you rested against the bars just inches from his face. You hadn't realized how close you were. You felt your face warm as you straightened up, crossing your arms over your chest as Ramsay laughed at you. Before you could deal with any more of his teasing, your eyes fell on his fingers wrapped around the bars. A black ring sat on his finger with the symbol of a man hanging in an X shape embossed on it. “Your ring,” you said, dismissing the topic for a new one. “It’s the same as your tattoo.”

“Observant,” he said as he pulled the collar of his shirt down to show you. You reached over without thinking and pressed a finger to the inked skin. It was firm with muscle, and tingled with electrifying warmth, but you couldn’t dwell on that because as your fingers brushed against his tattoo, the ink shifted. Your eyes widened as he spoke. “It’s a flayed man. You know, most people know about the dr- what?” He caught your shocked expression and looked down, watching the ink on his tattoo swirl circles around your finger, shapeless. He slapped your hand away, the ink settling back into the flayed man as you felt the sting of his slap on your wrist. His seemingly angry expression betrayed confusion as he bolted up the stairs and left you there, alone.

It had been hours that you were left alone in the dungeon. You watched the light trickling in from the small window dim down and then die out altogether as night fell. You were hungry. You needed a bathroom, you needed a shower. You passed the time by climbing onto the flat stone coffin, reaching as high as you could on tiptoes, and even then only seeing a small glimpse of grass before losing your balance. You tried jumping, hoping to grab ahold of the ledge, only to smack against the wall or end up crumpled on the floor. You tried opening the flat stone coffin to no avail. Damn your lack of upper body strength.

Besides the coffin and the high window, you found nothing useful in the creepy, high-ceilinged white prison. You took to clanging the barred doors as loudly as you could, and when you grew tired of that, sat at the top of the steps and leaned your head against them. One of the tall angel statues seemed to stare at you, its vacant eyes following you no matter where in the room you stood.

“Fuck are you looking at?” You asked it finally. It did not answer, but as if answering your prayers, you heard the door at the top of the stairs open once more. You dared to turn around, half-expecting Roose or Ramsay again, but instead saw a tall, young man with short, choppy black hair and kind almond eyes working a key into the barred door.

“I’m Ben,” he offered as he pulled the door open.

“Another Bolton?” You asked softly.

“Not quite; I work for them.” Cautiously, you stood. “C’mon, you probably need the bathroom or something, right? Let’s go.” You trusted him immediately, and even if you didn’t you did not want to stay a second longer in this place. Pushing yourself to your feet, you walked up the stairs with Ben following a couple of steps behind you. You pushed open a heavy set of wooden doors at the top of the stairs, leading you down a dimly lit yellow hallway into…

“A church?” You questioned, looking at Ben. He laughed at your tone.

“What, did you think it was a dungeon?” You stared at him blankly as his smile dropped. “Damn, you- okay, listen. I know Ramsay can be…”

“Terrifying?” You supplied. He laughed again, walking you across the sanctuary towards the main door. “Well, yeah. And don’t get me wrong, he is terrifying, to the wrong people, but we all serve a common goal here. It’s not often we come across some random girl immune to compulsion wandering around the New Jersey Turnpike in the dead of the night. We had to make sure you’re not dangerous.”

“Dangerous to who?” You questioned blankly as he pushed open the doors to the outside, the night air making you shiver. Damn. Had you been locked up for a whole day?

“That’s another thing I don’t get,” Ben said, looking at you curiously. You noticed a sleek black SUV with tinted windows waiting across the street and your heart rate quickened. “You’ve lived in New York for how long now?”

“My whole life,” you replied softly, hoping Ben wouldn’t notice the way you slowed your pace. He held your elbow loosely as you walked, seemingly unaware of your hesitation.

“Right, you’re one hundred percent American and you’ve never heard of the Boltons. It’s weird. Like you live in a bubble. And your college just happens to be one of the only dead zones in the country.” He opened the door to the backseat, revealing smooth leather seats and the scent of black licorice hanging in the air. You briefly considered bolting (ha, Bolton) but you knew deep down that wherever you went, they would find you, and that your best bet would be to follow Ben and cooperate so that maybe they wouldn’t feel the need to send Ramsay after you anymore.

You scoped out the back two rows and made sure there was no one else there before climbing into the second row and relaxing. Ben climbed in next to you, pulling a gun from the back of his pants and training it on you before shrugging apologetically. Good thing I didn’t try to run, then, you thought to yourself as the driver sped off. You cleared your throat before speaking.

“Where are you taking me?” You asked. You didn’t expect a straightforward answer, but you received none at all.

“Grunt is mute, he couldn’t answer you if he wanted to,” Ben responded. “We’re taking you to a safe house. The Boltons own it, I’ll be staying there with you.” You hummed.

“And… Ramsay?” You choked out his name, but for some reason felt almost shy saying it out loud. Like saying it would expose the fact that you’d been thinking about him nonstop.

“He has a lot of places around here. I’m sure he won’t have a reason to stay there,” Ben said with a slight frown, like he wasn’t sure at all what Ramsay would feel like doing. You didn’t know Ramsay that well, but you understood the feeling and remained quiet for the rest of the ride, leaning your head against the glass and watching the road zoom by beneath you.

The car eventually pulled down a long drive to a modern looking, square shaped building. It was partly black and partly wooden, like a contemporary cabin, with wide windows showing the inside. The lighting was a bright yellow color, and behind the house you caught a glimpse of a pine forest isolating you from the rest of the world. Grunt let you and Ben off in front of the building before circling around to park, and you stared up in awe.

“I need to get kidnapped more often,” you mused, and Ben snorted in reply, tucking his gun back into the waistband of his pants as you hustled up the steps to the front door.

You barely had time to admire the beautiful furniture before Ben led you upstairs to a bathroom, pointing you to the towels and toiletries before leaving you to yourself for a moment. You took your time freshening up, sinking to the floor of the shower as you let the water run over you. I should probably be more freaked out by this situation, you thought to yourself. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Growing up in the same little corner of New York state with the most boring, predictable life imaginable had led you to crave excitement in any form. When there was no drama, you created it for yourself, and this… well, this was drama. You let your muscles relax under the hot water and pretended you were in a hotel, not a hostage situation.

“While you stood over the pavement, I was biting the curb. Sick entertainment but I’ll bet it feels good when you’re coming down,” you sang to yourself as you wrapped a towel around your body and peaked out of the room. “Ben?”

You didn’t hear a response so you dared to leave the bathroom, walking down the hall to your right with a slight dripping of water dampening the gray floors behind you. At the end of the hall, you found a bedroom. You tossed your old clothes into a hamper before searching the drawers for something new to wear. You found an oversized black dress shirt that was most definitely made for men, which you slipped over your frame. No sooner had you finished buttoning it up than your head started spinning and your vision blurred as if under the influence, and you finally realized how exhausted you’d been. You curled under the sheets of the bed, not bothering to turn the lights off, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

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