hazywrites

[hazywrites]

fyi for the poll, the new series i have been cooking include rhysand from acotar, the ghoul from fallout, and more bucky! plz lmk if u guys are interested in these new fandoms :'D

[hazywrites]

i love you guys so much omg your feedback makes me laugh i adore my readers aaaaaaa

[hazywrites]

ao3 down so u all need to read my fics on here instead i am so sorry

[hazywrites]

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.

[hazywrites]

Bucky I'm In Love With My Best Friend

Chapter 3

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: 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.

[hazywrites]

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.

[hazywrites]

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

[hazywrites]

Bucky I'm In Love With My Best Friend

Chapters 1 & 2

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: 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.

[hazywrites]

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!

[hazywrites]

Ramsay Says...

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

[hazywrites]

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

[hazywrites]

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

[hazywrites]

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!

[hazywrites]

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!

[hazywrites]

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.

[hazywrites]

As My Witness (Ch. 4)

Models and Murderers

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: 9,533

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

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.

-

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