You don't even know how hard this was! All the demons out for my head. No one knew. I was the best of those sons of bitches! The most loyal! Not even Alastair knew! Only Lilith! Yeah, I'm sure you're a little angry right now, but, I mean, come on, Sam! Even you have to admit— I'm— I'm awesome!
i woke up this morning & the text loaded before the image & i was sitting there trembling in anticipation & when it loaded i gasped so loudly & yelled a little. then i told myself to save it for later and here i am & it made me gasp loudly a second time god I LOOOOOVVVEE HERRRRRRRR 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 thank u kuki 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 folds her up and puts her in my pocket
Requesting a Steve fic where reader was over at the Wheeler house (babysitting Holly? Tutoring?) on that night and ends up being the one who gets hurt while trying to protect her!!
THE BABYSITTER (read part 2 here)
pairing. steve harrington x reader
summary. while Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler leave you with their youngest for the evening, an unwelcome guest crashes the party.
warnings. descriptions of injuries. hurt and a little comfort. canon violence.
word count. 2.6k | masterlist
You had a reputation in Hawkins, a good one. Since middle school, you hopped between houses across town, knocking on doors and asking if anyone needed a babysitter. Most people took you up on that offer. You were outgoing, kind, and had an air of responsibility to your younger self that adults picked up on.
Throughout the rest of your grade school years, you built quite a resume. There was hardly a family in Hawkins that you hadn't babysat for at least once. You were a friendly face that could get even the worst children to behave, the rowdiest children to sleep before their parents got home, and the quietest children to open up a little.
You didn't plan on staying a babysitter forever. In fact, after graduating, you had set your sights on becoming a teacher. But then the earthquake happened, and your long-awaited freedom from Hawkins was yanked away as a quarantine was placed on the entire town. Instead of college, you returned to babysitting in the evenings and working as an aid at the elementary school during the day. You supposed it was close enough to what you wanted to be for it to be okay for a while.
Besides, you still had a fondness for the kids you watched grow up, and everyone you knew was also stuck with you, including your boyfriend, Steve. Though he had been rather preoccupied with his new position at 'The Squawk' with Robin, when you two would get together, you played a little game of pretend, like something obviously weird wasn't happening in Hawkins, and that you didn't know Steve knew more than he was willing to tell you.
Something was wrong with Hawkins, in more ways than one. And it often seemed like Steve and his friends were somehow wrapped up in the weirdness of it all. A part of you wanted to question it, but the louder part was scared to learn something you weren't meant to know.
Maybe it was naive and weak-minded, but cluelessness offered you a shield, or so you thought. Steve thought that too. He believed that the less you knew, the less danger you'd be in.
Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler had plans for the evening. But you had learned from over a year of watching their youngest, Holly, that 'plans' for them meant driving into town together and running separate errands so they didn't have to speak to each other but could save enough face that no one questioned their rocky marriage.
"Holly is up in her room," Mrs. Wheeler said as she tugged her purse over her shoulder. "She's supposed to be doing her homework, but you know how she gets when she's in the same room as her Lite Brite."
You chuckled lightly. "I'll make sure she gets it done, Mrs. Wheeler."
The woman smiled at you, that sweet kind of motherly smile, before she and Ted left.
You made your way upstairs and knocked on Holly's door, only to be met with a quiet sniff and a 'come in.'
On her bed, looking utterly miserable, was Holly. She was dressed up in the cutest pair of colorful overalls that matched her even more colorful bedroom, but she was curled into herself on her bed with teary eyes and clutching her necklace.
"What's wrong, Holls?" you asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
"They were arguing again," she said. It had become a new normal in the Wheeler household. Ted and Karen didn't find themselves in screaming matches or anything of the sort. It was more so one-sided arguments of Karen expressing her worries, and Ted dismissing them. Unfortunately, Holly didn't have much of a choice but to overhear them.
Holly continued, "I know you said it's not my fault, but this time it was. This time, they were arguing about me and Mr. Whatsit."
It wasn't that out of the ordinary for a child to have an imaginary friend, you thought. Sure, they start to grow out of it by Holly's age, but you hardly thought that was the worst thing she could be doing.
"You were talking to him again?" you asked.
She nodded, sitting up. "He just wants to protect me from the monsters." Her fingers uncurled around a figurine she had added to her necklace. It was of a girl with blonde hair, dressed in a blue dress and yellow cape. "Mike says I don't need Mr. Whatsit to do that, though. He says she can instead."
"And who is she?"
The frown on her lips curled into a small smile. "Holly the Heroic," she replied. "She's just like me, but braver. And she has powers that can fight off the monsters."
"Well, it sounds like Holly the Heroic is even cooler than Mr. Whatsit. If I had to pick, I think I'd want Holly to protect me from the monsters."
She gazed up at you, a very serious look on her face. "Really?"
You nodded, giving her knee a squeeze before you stood up. "Now, in order to be heroic, we need to finish our homework."
Holly groaned and face-planted back into her pillow, earning a light laugh from you. "Come on! You don't think heroes become heroes without a little brain power, do you? What do you have to do anyway?"
"Math facts," Holly muttered. "But my backpack is all the way downstairs and I'm all the way up here."
With a playful roll of your eyes, and started toward her room. "I'll grab it and maybe a cookie or two for motivation, yeah?" Relenting, Holly agreed, and you made your way back downstairs to grab her backpack and some treats to bribe Holly through her math facts.
You couldn't have been downstairs for longer than a minute before a blood-curdling scream rang out. It startled you so bad that you dropped the package of cookies onto the floor. It took a second for the scream to fully register before you bolted back upstairs. Racing into Holly's room, you couldn't believe your own eyes.
She was holding onto her bedframe for dear life, the feet of the bed starting to lift off the ground. Something had hold of her foot, holding her body in the air. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling of her bedroom, but it wasn't as if it had given way to the attic or something. No, the whole was a mix of red and orange, and looked held together by slimy strings that broke apart to make room for the thing that had a hold of Holly.
You couldn't fully wrap your brain around what it was. The only word that came to mind was monster. In every meaning of the word, that was what it resembled. The being looked tall, with skin that was almost burnt-looking but wet at the same time. On its hands that held onto Holly's foot were long, sharp claws. They snagged on the fabric of her boot, sending her free from the monster's grasp and crashing back to the ground.
Though you were utterly mortified at the roaring, petal-shaped head of a creature you were certain couldn't be real, you felt your body spring into action. You grabbed the back of Holly's overalls and hauled her back onto her feet before pushing her out the door of her bedroom. The monster fell from the ceiling, in a fit of rage, and started after you.
You had a death grip on Holly, keeping her moving down the stairs. She was crying and heaving. You wanted to as well, but the shock and adrenaline kept you moving; there was no time for you to dwell on what the hell that thing was, why the hell it was in the house, or what the hell it wanted. You had a million questions that you had to shove onto the back burner. All you were focused on was Holly. That was what was important.
The two of you raced for the front door, but the monster jumped from the stairs and in front of you. Another cry fell from Holly's lips. You pulled her back behind you and steered her toward the kitchen. The monster reached out with its claws, swiping you across the back as you ran.
Pain exploded across your skin, hot and almost blinding. Your steps faltered, but you managed to stay upright.
The monster was too quick. You couldn't outrun it, especially not with Holly's shorter legs and your bleeding back. Ducking under another slash of its claws, you shoved Holly in one direction while you dove in another, rounding the kitchen island to the back counter.
Holly stood petrified in the dining room, watching the monster stretch to its full size, at least eight feet tall. Its eyeless head peeled back to expose seemingly endless rows of pointed teeth. The young girl screamed as the monster advanced toward her.
You plucked the biggest kitchen knife you could find from the drawer before you ran straight toward the beast. The pain in your back fell to the wayside as you slashed the monster across its back, getting it to spin around. That allowed you enough time to place yourself between Holly and the monster.
The knife blade was covered in a thick, black blood that dripped onto the light tiled floor. You held it out in front of you, hands shaking as the monster let out another ear-splitting roar.
"You stay away from her!" you screamed back at it. The monster lunged at you. You veered to the side and managed to stab it in its ribs. It made a sound that you prayed was pain, but your stab only seemed like an artificial wound.
You attempted to stab it again, but it tore its hand through the air, its claws striking you right across your chest. The blow sent you to the ground, landing hard on your back and knocking the wind out of you. You couldn't catch your breath as pain bloomed from the front and back sides of your body. The kitchen knife had slipped from your hand during the hit, landing across the kitchen.
The monster stalked around your body, like you were no longer of interest. Instead, it wanted Holly.
You rolled over onto your stomach, crying in pain. It felt like a hundred needles were digging into your chest, tearing through the flesh. Something wet coated both your back and front, but you didn't dare look at the damage the monster had done.
On your forearms, you tried to crawl toward her. "Holly..." you managed to croak out, wanting nothing more than to wipe the frightened look off her face.
Your arms gave out before you had even moved an inch. The Wheelers' house shook with the scream of Holly as the monster lunged at her, grabbing her foot and sending her to the ground. She tried to fight, wriggle from its grasp, but the monster simply dragged her toward a glowing red split in the back door that hadn't been there a moment before. You watched helplessly as the two disappeared through it.
Something between a pained sob and a scream fell from your lips as you lay bleeding on the kitchen floor. You were certain that was it, that was where you were going to die.
You didn't hear the front door open or the series of voices that rang through the home minutes later. It wasn't until three faces hovered above you that you realized you weren't alone anymore.
"You're okay. You're okay," Nancy repeated as she yanked off her jacket and started pressing down on your bleeding chest. You hissed in pain, and a hand came down on the top of your head.
Steve kneeled over you, his face twisted in what you imagined was a similar agony to yours. He gently brushed the sweaty pieces of your hair off your forehead before grasping the side of your face.
"Stay with me, okay? I need you to keep your eyes open."
"Hurts," you wheezed out, your whole body on fire.
He swallowed thickly, eyes watery. "I know. I know it does, but you're gonna be okay. We're gonna get you out of here and get you fixed up, okay? Y-You just gotta stay with me."
It was getting harder by the second to keep your eyes open. The world felt heavy, pressing against your body. You slowly dragged your eyes from Steve and onto an frantic Nancy, who was trying to stop your bleeding.
"H-Holly," you whispered, earning her frightened blue eyes. Using the last bit of strength you had, you pointed to the back door, where the unnatural split looked to be slowly sewing itself back together.
A girl around Mike's age, who you had seen before but couldn't exactly place, stood up from where she had been helping Nancy press fabric against your wounds. There was a look of fierce determination in her gaze as she marched right for the door, slipping through it and vanishing just as Holly and the monster had.
That was the last thing you remembered before the world went black.
Steve hadn't moved from your bedside since you had returned from surgery. His leg hadn't stopped bouncing, and his hands were fidgeting. All he could do was stare at you. Under the harsh lighting of the hospital, you looked half-dead. You couldn't see the bandage that rested under your gown, but Steve knew it was there. He knew the large number of stitches you had and the nearly fatal amount of blood loss.
For years, he believed keeping you from the Upside Down bullshit was the best way to keep you safe. He thought he was protecting you, but you had suffered a fate he had been so goddamn scared of since the moment he realized he had you.
Mike and Nancy, who took shifts to stay with you alongside Steve, had told him it wasn't his fault. No one could have predicted that the Demogorgon would come after Holly, of all people, on that night of all nights. But she was missing, and you nearly died trying to protect her. You had faced a Demogorgon alone, terrified, no doubt, and he hadn't been there.
You started to stir before your eyes fluttered open. Steve sat up straight and wiped a few rogue tears from his eyes.
"Hey," he said softly.
You turned your head to look at him, confusion overtaking your features, before it shifted into pain. In your hand that wasn't held in his, you lifted it and placed it on your chest, feeling the thick layer of bandages.
"What...?" you trailed off. Steve watched in real time as the events came back to you in a brutal assault. You attempted to sit up, but he placed a hand on your shoulder, keeping you down before you could pull a stitch or something.
"Hey, hey, hey," he whispered. "It's all right."
"Holly," you breathed out.
Steve swallowed thickly, his throat tight with emotion that he didn't want to let slip in front of you, not in the state that you were in. "Mike, Nancy, and the others, they're all looking for her. They're gonna find her."
You slowly shook your head, eyes suddenly glossy. "N-No, Steve. You don't understand. Something took her. Not someone, something," you cried, voice raw. "It was a monster. I saw it."
That look in your eyes, that was exactly what he didn't want. He didn't want you plagued with the same nightmares as him. He didn't want the world to seem like an even scarier place.
He swiped his thumb across your cheek. "I know," he said, heavily.
"You know?"
Slowly, he nodded. Your gaze was a little unfocused, and confusion evident. "I promise, when you wake up again, I'll explain."
You hiccupped, confused and upset. "What if it c-come back?"
He gripped your hand a little tighter. "I'll be right here, I promise." That was enough for your tired, recovering body and brain. His words, his promise, lulled you back to sleep, temporarily keeping the nightmares at bay.
Look at the Sky, Its the Color of Love
Biker!Bucky x Rich!Reader
Petal's love notes:
Bucky owns a garage shop so its also Mechanic!Bucky in a way. He calls her bunny and is absolutely smitten with her right from the start ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡ you turn him soft.
You can pry the bad boy x good girl trope out of my tightly clenched fists I am never getting over this.
Summary: Oakley and Rivercreek are two sides of the same town that never got along. You, a rich socialite with a family name powerful enough to move mountains catch the eye of a certain biker boy from downtown.
Word count: 11.1k
Warnings:
18+ mdni / fluff / angst, so much / sad bucky is a yearner / love confessions / smut (oral, no protection, p in v) / no use of y/n / reader is referred to as bunny /
Wrote this while listening to Kiss of Life by Sade so you might want to check that out for the vibes. Also, it's my first time writing for this fandom so please feel free to give feedback! Let's be friends ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡
Bucky Barnes hates a lot of things.
But not Sundays. Definitely not Sundays.
It's the only time he ever gets to see you, after all. You show up with flustered cheeks every single time. Your hair is in a neat bun, pushed back with a pearl headband that your mother insists you must wear to look at least decent.
You wear a white, chaste dress that falls just below your knees which makes you look pure, angelic, even. Bucky isn't exaggerating when he says that you could be the virgin mother herself, but he doesn't believe in god. He doesn't follow any religion.
Which is why it's so strange to him, and his friends Sam and Steve as to why he insists on smoking just across the street of the old cathedral the uptown folk go to every Sunday.
'Just wanna see what the pretentious are up to, have a good laugh at what rich people gimmick they have this week.' He reasons out to them lamely. 'No other reason.'
Definitely not because he wants to catch a glimpse of you once a week, fidgeting outside the old cathedral as your parents parade you around the other rich families that tend to show off their wealth through generosity.
Somehow, singing praise and donating to the offertory has become a symbol of wealth among the rich folk of Oakley- the upper end of town where you're from. Where folk up there look down on the... more indigent people in Rivercreek, where he's from.
When the cathedral doors open, his eyes find you.
They always find you.
You're running a delicate hand through your hair, getting reprimanded by your mother because 'how dare you have a strand of hair out of place.'
Families are greeting each other, he hears someone complain about how much of a hassle it is that their chauffeur had no other choice but to park a little further down the street just to avoid other cars from parking too near their new Chevy.
He wants to roll his eyes at that, but that would mean taking them off you for a second. He doesn't want to.
The Oakley folk continue to rush out in their white and pristine clothing after singing praises loudly as a form of performative philanthropy, which makes him and his friends stand out in their all black clothing, leaning against the seat of their rested bikes.
"Here they come- My god, do they look like a herd of sheep" Sam comments which earns a chuckle from Steve.
A few heads turn at them wearing horrified expressions with a mix of disgust for using the Lord's name in vain, but they couldn't care less.
"Buck, you listening? That was a good one!" Sam nudges his shoulder.
He manages to let out a small smile in response, but keeps his eyes trained on you.
"Yeah, knocked the breath out of me" he tells him, but he's not talking about the joke.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
It's a Tuesday and he works grumpily hunched over a car of some rich Oakley folk who had no choice but to have his car done at the nearest auto shop that happened to be his.
'Not a scratch on it, young man.' The older man tries to intimidate him.
'You know the consequences if it comes back with with even a tiny dent.'
Bucky huffs at the memory of the conversation. Oakley folk can fuck off, they're all prejudiced. stuck-up pigs who only look down on--
Well, maybe not you.
He's seen you at charity events before, the orphanage located between both sides of town.
While all the other Oakley folk show up to flaunt their big donations, you actually take it upon yourself to interact with the kids and get to know them. They all adore you, but definitely not as much as he does.
He decides to indulge himself in the image of you in his head to put him in a better mood, when suddenly he hears gentle footsteps enter his garage.
"Hello?" A timid voice makes him shoot his head up from the hood of the car.
It's you.
You're standing in his garage, wearing a simple, yet expensive looking dress that probably costs more than his rent for the entire month-
You're standing in his garage
and you're speaking to him.
He opens his mouth once, before closing it again. He knows he probably looks like an idiot right now, gaping at you with wide eyes and saying absolutely nothing, but he can't help himself.
In all his time he spent watching you from afar, he'd already accepted that you were out of his league. He'd be happy with you just sparing a glance at him, but now you were actually here, speaking to him! In Rivercreek of all places-
Realization dawns on him.
You're in Rivercreek.
The bad side of town where the dingy people over here who hate pretentious Oakley kids wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of innocent looking things like you.
Suddenly, a frown dawns on his face.
"Why are you here?" is the first thing he says to you.
You look taken aback by his sudden question, and he winces at how creepy he must sound
"Excuse me?" despite your startle at his words (and his audacity), your voice still sounds like honey in his ears.
"No- I mean..." Bucky panics before recollecting himself with a deep breath.
"You're... Not from this side of town, are you?" Safe. That answer makes him seem like less of a stalker now, doesn't it?
You let out a sigh.
"Is it that obvious?" Your expression is one of disappointment and helplessness, triggering a protective nature from Bucky.
"I needed help and... It's getting dark out and I think I'm lost" he listens to you shyly and frantically explain your situation to him while fiddling with the lace hem of your dress.
"I'm cold, and scared- and your shop was the only one with a light open a-and..."
"Hey, relax. I'll help you." Bucky hopes his words of reassurance will stop your rambling. He can almost see the anxiety bubbling in your chest.
"How'd you end up all the way up here? Oakley is on the other side of town."
At that, he sees your eyes widen at him in disbelief. Surely you would've known if you were in-
"Is this Rivercreek?!" Your small voice squeaks in surprise.
Bucky can't help but blink in disbelief.
"This... This isn't exactly the kind of establishment that would be at Oakley." He speaks to her gently, scared that a little volume in his voice would scare her off like a frightened little bunny.
"O-oh god, my parents are going to kill me..." the words are spoken out of you in a breath that sounded more for yourself than him, but he hears you loud and clear.
"Hey, hey, don't worry I'll..." Bucky attempts to cut off your anxiety that has definitely reached the surface by now
"I'll bring you back to Oakley. The border isn't too far from here, okay?"
He realizes how he's unconsciously stepped closer to you when he feels your warmth of your presence radiating from your spot in the middle of his garage.
"I'm Bucky."
"Bucky" you repeat his name and its suddenly his favorite sound in the world. You tell him your name, before scrunching your nose at the cold air blows and enters the premises of his garage.
He can't help but let out a soft laugh at that. You're just so fucking cute, like a little
"Bunny."
He says it without thinking, but that seems to happen a lot around you.
"What?" Eyes blink up at him in wonder.
"You. You're like a little bunny. All timid and shy."
"Oh." He sees a smidge of a blush on your cheeks which makes his heart rate pick up. You're killing him without even trying and you don't even know it.
Before another moment can pass, Bucky stands up straighter and grabs his leather jacket from where it was tossed on his work desk.
"Come on, bunny. Lets get you back to where you belong. I'll walk ya back to the Oakley border"
"T-thanks, but I was just hoping to get some directions" You shyly let out. "I really don't want to take up more of your time. You seem... Busy" Your eyes trail towards the expensive Mustang the client from your side of town left in his shop.
You're right about that. He is busy.
"Nah. 'M not that busy, bunny" he shrugs and gives you a reassuring smile.
He laughs internally at your little pout and at how you tell him your name again.
"Will you stop calling me that ridiculous name?"
The tone you give him is one of both annoyance and embarrassment, but the little crinkle in between your brows and the scrunch on your nose is the cherry on top. It makes you truly live up to the nickname he's given you.
Bucky shakes his head, still with that gentle smile he never knew his face could make until his conversation with you, and drapes his leather jacket over your shoulders.
"Come on, it'll only get darker and colder from here. Let's get you home." he completely ignores your request to call you by your name and with motions you to follow him.
The walk to Oakley is a decent few minutes, and you manage to make it to the border just before it went completely dark out. The sky is a perfect shade of dark blue, pink, and yellow, making the atmosphere look much sweeter and whimsical.
The pastel colors washed your frame with a soft golden glow, and at that moment Bucky decides that you are the soft light that starts every morning with a gentle warmth. Its ironic how he can feel both comfort and nervousness in your presence.
To his surprise, you both flow into enjoyable conversation where you learn more about each other. You tell him that you've never really been anywhere else but here, limited to where your family chauffeur is allowed to take you.
You were supposed to meet him right at the border of Oakley after visiting the orphanage you volunteer at, but got lost when you decided to take a detour, a short walk to clear your head.
"Makes sense, the orphanage is right at the border of Oakley and Rivercreek. No wonder you ended up at my shop, bunny." Bucky replies.
He tells you that he's been taking care of the shop ever since his pop died, and that he's been running it with his two best friends Steve and Sam. He tells you that he's passionate about bikes, that he and his friends have always lived for the sense of freedom and the rush it provides.
"You're the guys that are always smoking behind the church, then. Am I right?" You ask him with a knowing smile.
"Y-you noticed?" He wants to kick himself for stammering. It looks so uncool.
"I'm not blind, silly" You giggle and hug the leather jacket closer to yourself just as a cold rush of wind hits you both. He has to resist the urge to pull you close to protect you from it.
"My mother thinks you're trouble."
"'M already starting on a bad note with your parents, huh bunny?"
That earns him a loud giggle and a playful slap on his shoulder.
Once your chauffeur spots you from the end of the road, he quickly gets back inside the car to start it and make his way to you. Bucky can almost feel his distress at almost losing the daughter of an affluent family.
Bucky hears you let out a sigh once you see the headlights of your car flash. The sound of the engine starting acting like a countdown timer indicating the end of your time together.
But he can't let it end here. He's been pining after you for so long, admiring from afar and tomorrow he's going to have to... go back to doing that? He just got you.
You take off his leather jacket from your shoulders and that sends him into a panic to act fast.
"Thank you again for walking me back--"
"When can I see you again?"
are the words that rush out of his mouth with slight panic lacing his tone just as you're thanking him. He wants to slap himself in the face for being so forward with you, but the arrival of the car slowly approaching you makes him panic.
"I- What?" You're blushing now, trying to process his sudden words.
Bucky takes a deep breath before repeating more confidently this time.
"I... I wanna see you again, bunny. Will you let me see you again?"
Suddenly, he feels too aware of himself. Covered in all black clothing from head to toe, his intimidating and sharp features contrasting too loudly with your soft ones. There's no way you see yourself with someone like him, its a mismatch from chaos itself.
He prepares himself for rejection, a gentle letdown because he knows your heart is too kind to give him a straight up no. But when he meets your eyes he sees the cute little crinkle on your nose and a shy smile.
"Okay."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
That's how Bucky ends up sleepless that night, with your number on his phone and a pattern of typing and deleting his message to you.
God... He thinks. This is pathetic.
He's acting like some lovesick school boy with his first crush, and not a Rivercreek biker with a series of misconducts under his belt. If only his friends could see him now.
If only they knew that all it takes is a cute girl with a smile that reminds him of sunshine, and crinkles her nose when she gets irritated to make him go soft.
When was the right time to send a text, anyway? He never cared this much when he's talk to girls before.
Sam had told him once, to wait it out a bit before texting a girl. Don't look too available. He had told him. Girls like a little mystery. Keeps them on their toes.
But does Bucky want you on your toes with him? Did he want you to wait?
It almost felt rude to not message you right away, because after all, he thought you deserved the best.
And the best meant giving you his full attention, his full interest and effort even if it meant making a fool of himself according to Sam's dating guideline.
Hey bunny, you get home okay?
It's Bucky :)
I know its you, Bucky. You're the only one that calls me that ridiculous name.
Yes, I'm home. Thank you again for helping me. :)
He reads your messages in your sweet voice, making his heart stutter. He truly is acting like a school boy right now.
Great to hear that, bunny. Get some rest and don't come wandering out this area alone next time, okay?
Why not? I have my own personal chaperone out of Rivercreek now, right?
I'm kidding. Goodnight, Bucky :)
He doesn't sleep that night. Instead, he loses himself in the memory of you in sunset.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
For the next week, you and Bucky exchange messages which allow you to get to know him better.
'What on earth has you smiling like that?' Your mother had caught you once, grinning down at your screen.
'Oh, its nothing its just...' One of the biker boys that you absolutely despise, and would kill me for even speaking to. 'Just a funny video my friend sent.' You tell her.
Your mother huffs at your reply, displeased with your answer as she stirs the dark liquid in the regal teacup in front of her. It makes your drink- coffee that is too many shades lighter than hers due to milk and cream, and a mug with little flowers on it, look much too immature.
"I'd rather have you spend your time more productive than looking at... memes" She laces her words with a tone of disapproval that you're too used to by now.
"Be ready tonight. We have that charity gala today and the press will be taking photos."
Obediently, you get up and leave your flowery mug at the breakfast table before she stops you.
"Oh, and do wear something nice. You're not just looking good for press, but suitors as well. Alright?"
Although her tone was much kinder with that sentence, it causes your heart to thump louder in your chest and your face to flush red.
Her obsession with finding you a match has increased tenfold as soon as you came of age, and you find it absolutely ridiculous. This isn't the 1940's anymore! Mothers no longer need to chaperone their daughters when it comes to dating!
But like the obedient daughter you are, you redirect your anger into subtle balled up fists and let your mouth speak the words your heart begs you not to.
"Yes, mother."
She sends you off with a nod and turns her attention back to her too-black coffee.
You arrive at the charity gala and are met with fellow Oakley families, and of course, the press. The event is marketed as an auction for artworks, wherein the money is promised to go out to the needy but you know better.
Its definitely a power grabbing scheme of wealth dynamics. 'Eat the Rich' you think to yourself. These resources can definitely be used more efficiently if they actually wanted to help the needy.
The event is definitely upscale- the grand ballroom is nothing short of extraordinary with high ceilings, dramatic lighting, and big glass doors overlooking a huge garden. It's beautiful, but you feel out of place.
Earlier that morning, you had texted Bucky your obligations for the night and to expect slow replies.
Which is why the latest notification on your phone comes as a surprise to you.
Fancy getting away for a bit, bunny?
What?
I thought bunnies prefer being outdoors
Don't tell me...
you reply back to him with shaky hands before looking around nervously. Another ping from your phone snaps you back into focus
Come out to the garden, bun :)
Your eyes quickly shoot up from your phone to the glass doors that are almost as high as the ceiling allows it to be. There's no way he actually... came here? Is there? Another message knocks you out of overthinking and confirms your skepticism.
The chandeliers look a bit much, don't you think?
Sure enough, when you look up you're met with the tackiest chandelier displays that exhibit grandeur over style and charm. Much like the people in this room.
You let out a sigh and try to calm the butterflies in your stomach. They won't notice you step out. It will only be a moment! You can always excuse yourself for needing some air.
Once you step outside, your eyes trail over the garden landscape. There is nothing but greenery and a high wall separating the event from the rest of the world. How on earth did he get in--
"Psst. Bunny."
His whisper comes from behind one of the garden statues that shield his presence perfectly from the event happening inside.
Slowly, you tiptoe your way to where he is before a pair of hands grab your waist, spinning you around.
A quiet gasp leaves your lips at the sudden motion, but the rest of your breath quickly gets stuck in your throat once you find yourself caught between the stone and Bucky, who still has one hand on your waist and the other pressing an index finger to his lips, demanding silence.
He's close, so close that you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.
"Sorry," he says quietly "saw one of the guards nearby. But we're in the clear now." He gives you a mischievous smile and steps back to give you more space.
"It's alright." You say shyly.
"But... Bucky, how did you..." You trail off and look over at the walls that stand tall over the both of you. Bucky follows your gaze and smirks knowingly at what you want to know.
"Well, it wasn't an easy climb but-"
"You climbed that!?" You cut him off to whisper yell at him.
"But" A hand comes back to your waist as he repeats himself "I told you I wanted to see you again, remember?"
Heat floods your cheeks at his admission. And despite the dark sky with light only coming from the event behind the glass doors and the moonlight illuminating him in the quiet darkness of the atmosphere, you pick up a dust of blush on his cheeks.
"I... didn't think you'd want to see me now." You tell him honestly. "I thought you'd want to take me to... coffee, or something" the softness in your voice is the most gentle sound to reach his ears.
"I can take you for coffee" He chuckles.
"I can definitely take you out for coffee, bunny."
The way he's looking at you feels like a deep, velvet blue with a quiet warmth. His eyes convey a multitude of emotions that you can't quite decipher, but they're there. There's a sparkle in them.
"How do you get them to do that?" You ask.
He can't help but let out another chuckle at your unpredictability.
"Do what, bun?"
"To shine like that."
Bucky is take aback for a moment before smiling.
"Honestly? By looking at you."
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The coffee date happens on the next Sunday. He picks you up after Sunday Mass behind the cathedral and you show up in your usual white, knee-length dress. You know that its a date. He told you it would be.
'When are you free next, bunny?' He had asked you that night at the garden.
'Hmm?' You ask him in a dazed state, too caught up in your feelings at how wanted and seen you feel by him.
'So I can take you out on that coffee date. You're okay with it being a date, right?'
That's how you've found yourself behind the cathedral with the excuse to your mother being tutoring sessions with a friend after Sunday Mass. She had nodded approvingly at you for prioritizing your studies, and you had felt a rush at how you've rebelled against your mothers wishes for the first time in your life.
Bucky pushes himself from against the wall and greets you with an arm over your shoulder "Ready, bunny?"
One coffee date turns into two, and then three. He brings you to places around Rivercreek and the novelty of the area to you makes every date feel like an adventure.
'You can't come here on your own, alright?' He reminds you every time. 'I'm being serious, bunny. The people here aren't always good. I won't always be there to protect ya if you come alone.'
You want to giggle at him for his protectiveness, reassure him that you doubt anything like that will happen because 'you have him anyway.'
He pinches your cheek gently at your stubbornness, but can't deny how your bratty side makes his heart beat a little faster. He enjoys bringing out the bold side in you, aware that its something you push down most of the time due to your strict parents.
Eventually, you end up meeting Steve and Sam in the shop during one of your dates.
"So this is her, Buck? The girl thats been stealing you away lately?" Sam teases him, earning him a playful shove by Bucky while Steve gives you a polite smile.
"We've heard a lot about you..." Steve starts respectfully. "Bunny" the playful glint in his eye is hard to miss, which causes you to blush in embarrassment.
Bucky groans at the teasing from his two best friends, but the rest of the day is spent enjoyably.
You learn more about his childhood, the trouble he got into in his younger years, and feel a sense of fraternity between the three of them that makes you jealous.
You tell them that you wish you had friends as close as he does, but a lot of your childhood was spent in tutoring lessons and more family events to maintain your family's status and appearances at Oakley.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
After Bucky brings you home that day, he's met with Steve and Sam still at the shop. Both of them have knowing grins on their faces which makes Bucky roll his eyes.
"No" he tells them immediately which earns groans from both his friends.
"Come on, don't be like that. Its been ages since you've started dating again." Sam approaches him with a silly grin.
"We're just curious, man." Steve starts. "That, and... Well..." the rest of his sentence trails off awkwardly.
"That, and we want to know got you dating an Oakley girl" Sam finishes bluntly. "You hate those folk."
Bucky pretends not to give them his full attention by fixing his toolbox.
"I told you already, she ain't like them." He sighs. "She's different from them. She... she's more than the Oakley stereotypes"
The way he defended you earns him more teasing from his friends, but after meeting you today? They can't help but agree.
"You got a good one, Buck. You're happier and that's all that matters" Steve tells him genuinely.
"But you know how Oakley ad Rivercreek don't mix well. This won't all be smooth waters for the both of you."
The reminder stings, but Bucky knew what he was getting into as soon as it started. He appreciates his friend's words, but he would have liked to live in the illusion of being worry-free and happy with you for a little while longer.
"I know, Stevie." His hands fiddle with one of the loose threads on his jacket nervously as he thinks about all that could go wrong with dating you.
There will be a lot of naysay, people who will shake their head at the sight of you two together, your parents disapproving of him, and the fact that he may not be able to keep up with the lifestyle you're used to.
He wonders, do you think of this too?
"But she's worth it. I know she is."
Steve claps him on the back at that "Good luck, Buck."
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Its a few months into dating when Bucky takes you to one of his favorite spots around town.
'Place is special,' he told you when you asked where you were going.
'No one else knows about it, not even Stevie.'
'I bet you say that to all the girls' you had tease him cutely.
He looks back at you with a playful glint in his eye. 'Just you, bunny.'
The spot he leads you to is a lake covered by the green haze of trees. Sun rays glinting brightly in the clear waters. He lays out a yellow blanket over the dew blades of grass that look to be sparkling in the sunlight.
"It's beautiful, Bucky... I feel like I'm in a fairytale" your fingers brush a dandelion next to you as you lay down, letting the flower heads escape the stem and float around you.
"That's how you make me feel all the time, bun." Bucky lays next to you on the blanket, your shoulders touching as you both watch the drift of clouds overhead.
"Oh stop it, you." You giggle at his words.
Bucky rolls himself up on his stomach so that he's facing you. Your faces inches from each other now.
"I'm serious, bunny... The time I've been spending with you?" He presses a quick kiss on your forehead, "They've been the happiest I've ever been."
Your face is hot, and he's so, so close.
"Bucky..." you say his name shyly. His kiss on your forehead makes you blush, and while he's feathered light kisses there and on your cheek before, he hasn't kissed you properly yet in his promise to take things slow for you.
"I love you, bunny."
Bucky tells you confidently, as if its the most sure thing he's ever had to admit.
"Ever since I first laid eyes on you in that cathedral, I think I've already loved you." He admits further which causes your breath to hitch, and your whole body to freeze as you process his confession.
"I can take care of you just as good as any Oakley boy can. I'll prove it to ya, I'll be the best damn guy for ya."
The promises he speaks are spoken in hushed tones, but you hear every word. Bucky keeps his closeness to your body on that blanket. Your shock causes you to unable to form a reply, but Bucky doesn't seem to mind.
Instead, he brings his hand up to brush the stray hairs away from your face before cupping it gently in his palm.
"Will you let me, bunny? Will you let me take care of you?"
"I love you." You tell him breathlessly, "I love you too, Bucky Barnes."
His grin is wide and his eyes sparkle brighter than they ever had before. 'Honestly? By looking at you' are the words you recall him telling you when you had asked him how they get them to do that.
Your reciprocation of love is all the answer he needs to bring his face down to yours to capture your lips in a kiss. The movement is slow and gentle. He kisses you as if you're fragile, delicate. As if holding you too tightly or kissing you too hard will break you.
"I'll be so good to ya," He murmurs against your lips "I love you, I love you bunny. You understand that, right? Better than any Oakley boy ever will. I promise"
Bucky continues to tell you because he thinks no amount of words, no matter how many times he says it, will equate to the feelings he's carrying right now.
Your heart aches at his admission, because deep down you both know how your different backgrounds could cause problems down the line.
"Bucky, you know I don't care about the Oakley and Rivercreek stuff." You hope your reassurance reaches his worries.
"I know, bunny." He pulls away to get a good look at you. You can finally name the emotion his eyes have been communicating to you at that moment: love, longing.
"Let's just be happy right now, yeah?"
You're brought home that day before the sun goes down.
He drops you off at your porch, kissing you goodbye very quickly just in case your parents are peeking. He waits for the door to close before retreating back to the car he picked you up in.
The door shuts and you lean against it for a moment, allowing your heart to take a break from the love Bucky had showed it all day. You're smiling to yourself when-
"Out late today, aren't we?" Your mother's voice cuts through the warm air you've created for yourself with an icy cold tone. She stands on top of the staircase, looking down at your figure by the door.
"Who is he? The one who brought you home in that... junk" She glares harshly at Bucky's retreating figure heading towards his car.
"Mother, t-that's... That's Bucky. He's, um..." You stammer nervously, frantically trying to flatten your wrinkled dress and unkept hair.
"Are you sleeping with him?" Her voice cuts through once again and her steps down the stairway sound menacing as she makes her way over to you.
"What?! Mother!" The redness from your cheeks comes from both embarrassment and anger.
"Is he from Rivercreek?" She asks you.
You're unable to form a reply. You knew it was just a matter of time before your relationship with Bucky got caught, and you've made sure to rehearse the answer in your head multiple times when the moment presented itself, but right now your voice feels like its stuck in your throat.
Apparently that is all the confirmation your mother needed as she sighs disappointedly.
"I've known you to let this family down numerous times, but to be associated with a Rivercreek boy?" Her voice raises an octave.
"This is a new level of low, even for you."
"Mother, please. It's not like that-"
As usual, she refuses to listen.
"Have you no shame for your family name? People from down there are using you for one thing-!"
"No, you're wrong. He's nothing like that..." Your voice is weak at your attempt to fight back against her, but you try anyway. Bucky would have wanted you to try and speak up for yourself.
"He's after you for status! Money!-"
"Mother I love him!"
The space between the both of you turns quiet. Your chest is heaving from anger, and the shock you feel from answering back at your mother for the first time.
"Stupid girl, what do you know about love?" She says coldly before sending you to your room.
"You can't see him again, do you understand? If we find out you've been going behind our backs, he's done."
You lay in bed rethinking the words she spoke. You're aware of how powerful your family is. One wave of a finger can have Bucky in a problematic position, his business gone or even removed from town entirely.
The sentimentality Bucky has for his place in Rivercreek is no stranger to you, either. You hardly think that a relationship with you is worth losing everything he's built.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The next few days has Bucky spiraling. He asks himself if he's done anything wrong, if he said something to upset you or if his confession at the lake came off too strong.
But the tenderness in his heart? The way his brain replays your voice telling him you love him at every waking hour? It makes him believe that he's done everything right.
He reads through the messages he sent you, all filled with worry yet left unanswered.
Bunny, are you okay?
Please tell me if I did something wrong.
Can I see you tonight? I'm worried, bun.
I love you. Please let me know if you're alright.
He showed up at your house once, in the dead of the night, waiting underneath your window.
The light in your room reassures him that you're alright. You're still there physically, but he's yet to feel an ounce of your attention.
Bunny, I'm outside. Just look out for a bit to let me know you're fine, yeah?
You don't.
Bucky waits for the next Sunday to arrive in hopes of getting hold of you, even just for a few minutes. He hates to corner you like this, but he's desperate. You'd understand him showing up like this, won't you?
The way he leans into his parked bike at the steps of the cathedral you frequent takes him back to the days where he used to pine after you, watching you longingly from afar.
He was nothing to you back then.
He shakes his head at the thought. Bucky refuses to go back to being nothing with you, not after you told each other you loved each other, not after he finally felt what it was like to be yours.
Like clockwork, the huge wooden doors open once Sunday worship ends and the Oakley folk flock out the cathedral like sheep. And again, like clockwork, his eyes immediately find you.
Black leather pushes its way through the flock of white clothing towards you. He ignores the grunts of disapproval as someone from Rivercreek infiltrates their sacred space.
The crowd parts for him like he's plagued with nothing but ill intentions, unbeknownst to them all he carries is a heart yearning for you.
You stand picture perfect right outside the doors, too busy fiddling with the strap of your bag to notice the commotion he's caused at the entrance.
The sight of you in full view takes his breath away and almost makes him forget the reason why he's taken stepped inside a church in the first place.
The way you finally look up at him with wide eyes snaps him back to reality.
"Bucky-" You start but are cut off by his hand pulling you into a closed space. A confession room, he realizes once you've made your way inside.
"Wanna tell me what this is all about, bunny?" He asks, staring at you with a hard, fixed gaze. His voice is harsh and it almost makes him feel guilty for using a tone with you that's anything less than gentle, but the affect of being ignored by you for the last few days has him feeling on edge.
"Bucky... You can't be here. You need to leave-" you whisper, words falling into a murmur.
"You're telling me to leave you alone now?" Bucky is anything but discreet in his response, which makes you flinch and panic at volume of his voice. At this moment, he's too desperate to understand the situation to care about who could hear.
"After what happened at the lake... After telling me that you love me" He breathes in deeply. "You're telling me to just... Leave you alone?"
"Shh!" You shush him quietly. "Please, Bucky. You can't let them catch you with me... They- They found out" You admit to him with a heartbroken expression.
It makes sense to him now, why you've been ignoring him. He knew this was going to happen eventually. Steve had warned him, and he's been aware of the... backlash that was sure to follow as soon as he started taking you out.
"Forget about me, Bucky. It's not worth it. They'll ruin you if we keep this up." Your hushed voice turns into a small sob as you speak the words that break his heart.
"I can't do that." He speaks softly and bring you closer to press a kiss on your tearful cheeks.
"I can't do that, baby. You know I can't. I love you."
"You don't understand! The lengths they'll go to keep you away from me... You'll lose everything because of me, Bucky!" Your voice is desperate now.
"Then I'll have you" he says quickly in response. "I'll have you and that's everything I'll ever need."
He doesn't expect you to push him away at those words, angrier and a little more desperate now to get through to him.
From outside the confession room, you hear your mother's voice outside calling for you. The both of you jump at the sound of her voice.
"Bucky, enough!" You whisper yell at him "Don't... Don't try anymore, okay? This isn't worth it."
If he thought his heart was breaking earlier, it's definitely wrecked now.
"What are you saying, bunny?"
"I'm saying... that if you ever did love me you'd stop."
The problem with Bucky Barnes is that he was a devoted lover. If you told him to pick the highest peach from a tree, he'd climb it immediately without question. If you told him you wanted pearls, he'd fish out the whole ocean for the best one.
If you told Bucky Barnes to let you go, he'd do it even if it killed him.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
"Buck, come on. You've been like this for weeks." Steve comments as Bucky mopes in front of his garage stool, a beer in one hand and his bike keys with the charm you gave him on the other.
It's a little bunny keychain, a fluffy white one holding a pink heart.
'It's for good luck when you're out riding' you had told him cutely.
The dainty charm stands out against his intimidating features when he brings them out his pocket. It earns him odd looks from his friends and passers-by but he never paid them any mind.
He imagines the bunny as a piece of you he carries when he rides, which makes him more careful and aware on the road in his determination to keep you safe.
Bucky can't help but let out a sad chuckle at the memory when he fiddles with the bunny that looks too much like you.
"Give me a break, Stevie." he finally answers his friend. "Should've listened to you. You knew this was going to end badly" the defeat in his voice is new to Steve, making him wince at his friend's sadness.
"Hey, don't say that, Buck." Steve attempts to make him feel better. "Oakley and Rivercreek relationships are just... complicated, you know? You guys tried your best."
Although Steve was trying to comfort him, his words did nothing but dig Bucky into a deeper hole of despair.
He hadn't tried hard enough. He thought to himself. But your desperate expression when you told him to leave you alone holds him back from chasing after you.
Its silent for a moment, with only the faint hum of the television that hangs overhead serving as white noise.
Bucky is about to close shop for the day, too tired to have this conversation with his friend who means well, when the next segment of the local news channel starts playing which stops him in his tracks.
Oakley Association's 50th Anniversary Gala: Families within Oakley commemorate their golden year by raising millions of dollars for charity! Led by association head...
The camera cuts to a close up shot of you and your family at the same ballroom with the garden he snuck in to see you all those months ago.
Its the typical event you see Oakley families attend, but he knows that look of yours.
Your eyes are lacking the life they usually have, the sunlight you radiate is dull and bleak. You look as if you haven't had a good sleep in days. you look like you need him.
"Bun..." He mutters to himself when he sees you.
"You're going over there, aren't you Buck?" Steve asks.
Bucky responds by bringing out his keys- the bunny charm smiling up at him cutely, and sending Steve a look from over his shoulder
"You'll lock up for me, Stevie?"
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Oakley's charity gala is yet another event that you are too familiar with.
The pastel yellow dress your mother had picked out for you is a disparity to the gloom clouding your chest. The pearls decorating your neck feel like chains grounding you to your role of a show dog for your family name.
"Smile" your mother reprimands you when she sees the sulk on your face.
"Many are watching. Your father paid a good amount of money for the headlines to feature us tonight." She reminds you.
"Wasn't it supposed to be for charity?" Your tone carries venom in them as you answer back once again. You've been doing that a lot lately. Bucky would have been proud of you.
Bucky.
Your heart shatters at the thought of him. The pain in your chest is a cruel reminder of how you had ripped his heart out in that confession room when you told him to leave you alone.
He was the only one to actually see you as more than your family name. The way he understands you down to the smallest of details is something that no one else can replicate.
Your mother shoots you one of her cold glares when you answer her back. She is tired of disciplining you with lectures about respect and adherence, and has taken a new method of punishment.
Suitors.
For the entirety of the night, you are being introduced to the most eligible bachelors of Oakley. Without a doubt a way for your mother to remind you of the other fish in the sea, but you only want one.
The smile you wear is polite, and you speak in a courteous manner, not having it in you to act unmannerly to strangers that don't deserve unkindness. Some of the men are very aggressive in their advances, aware that the dating pool in Oakley is very limited.
By the end of the night, you're exhausted. Your feet hurt, the dress is suffocating, and there are way too many people. All these factors pile up to overwhelm you, causing your eyes to embarrassingly water in the middle of the ballroom.
"Pull yourself together, child." Your mother says through clenched teeth.
"Do not embarrass us right now."
Eventually, you can't take it. You exit the huge ballroom doors quickly and make it out the garden. Its the same place where Bucky met you in that first time. The memory of seeing him behind one of the garden statues is enough for the dam to break.
You let out a small sob. Your chest tightening at the release of tension following the events of the night.
"Bunny?"
Bucky's voice cuts through the silence of the night air. You can still hear the faint, muffled sounds coming from the ballroom behind you, but Bucky's voice is clear in your ears.
"What... Bucky?"
"Over here, bunny. I was just about to text ya."
He stands next to one of the rosebushes, slightly hidden by the shadows that the moonlight illuminated over the landscape.
His hair is disheveled as if he's been running his hands through it multiple times. The sparkle in his eyes have dulled, but are still there when he looks at you.
Once he gets a proper look at you, his face falls into a frown.
"Who made you cry, bun?"
His immediate concern makes your heart ache. Even after telling him away, his first instinct is to check on you.
You can't take it anymore. You cry out before running down the steps of the platform towards him, throwing yourself in his arms.
"I'm here." He says after he catches your fall. Of course he does.
"I'm here, bunny. I'll protect you." He whispers into your hair.
"It's too much." You say through tears, muffled because of how you're burying your face in his chest.
"I can't take it anymore. All this bullshit they're making me do."
Bucky's arm tightens around your waist, the other hand strokes the back of your head in comfort. You stay in his arms for a moment, remembering how safe you feel when you're with him.
He lets you cry it out while whispering words of comfort 'I've got you, bun. Won't let them hurt you. I'm here.' He repeats just as many times as you need him to.
You calm down eventually, lifting your head to meet his gaze properly.
"How did you know?" is all you ask. He doesn't need any further explanation to answer.
"Saw the press release on the TV. They showed you and I couldn't... I couldn't just leave you there, not when you looked so... unhappy." His hand reaches up to cup your face, thumb lightly tracing your jaw.
"You came for me." You look up at him with so much love in your eyes that you feel his breath hitch.
"You needed me." He replies with a gentle voice, as if its the most obvious explanation.
The look he has reciprocates your own, making you sniffle back tears. That action makes you scrunch up your nose in the way he loves.
A fond smile appears on his face as he watches that little scrunch in between your brows form.
"Bunny..." He says softly. "My bunny."
Bucky kisses you. The first kiss since your declaration of love at the lake. It's still just as soft and sweet as you remember, but there is a new push of longing etched onto it.
You kiss him back with the same amount, showing just how much you've missed him.
"Want me to get ya out of here?" He speaks against your lips.
"What? Bucky-"
"I'm not letting you stay in there any longer, bunny."
He's right. You don't think you can physically or emotionally take the misery of being surrounded by pretentious rich folk, much less your preposterous mother and her impossible expectations.
"Just say the word and we're gone, bunny." Bucky's voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
"I... Yes." You breathe in deeply. "Yes, please, I want to get out of here." You repeat more confidently.
Bucky grins, gives you a reassuring squeeze on your waist before taking your hand in his and leading you further into the garden.
You follow him wordlessly before looking up at the high wall that divides the ballroom's garden from the rest of the world.
"Bucky, I don't think I can-"
"I'm not gonna let you scale a wall, bun." Bucky cuts you off with a slightly amused tone. "Wouldn't dream of it. Too dangerous for ya."
Instead, he leads you to the side of the building that passes just outside the event venue.
"We're using the main entrance?" Your steps falter once you realize where he's leading you.
"They won't notice. Everyone is too busy and drunk inside." He tells you. "You trust me, baby?"
"Yes." You say almost immediately. "Of course."
The smile Bucky flashes at your words is enough to make you forget all your worry. "Then let's go."
Just as he says, you make it out of the gala and into the bike he's parked a few paces away.
"I know you don't like the bike, but I didn't think I'd be stealing you away tonight." Bucky says sheepishly. "We can walk-"
"No, let's take the bike tonight."
Reluctantly, you get on the bike with Bucky's assistance while he chuckles at your attempt at putting on a brave face for him.
"Relax, bunny. I'll drive slowly." He reassures you. You believe him.
The ride back to his place isn't as bad as you expected. You enter through the garage where he parks his bike and are greeted with the satisfying and familiar smell of earth and wood.
The polaroid that you took together is still pinned on one of his boards, next to the car blueprints and documents that he needs for the job.
"Never took it off. Couldn't bring myself to." He says without looking up at from his bike as he secures the lock on its handlebars.
"Always felt like it was never really the end, you know? Of us."
You hum in agreement and continue looking at the polaroid. It was taken a few months back on one of the first dates he took you on.
'Whatcha got there, bun?' He had asked you while you were fishing out something from your bag.
'Brought something for us, took it right out of father's study.' In your hand is a polaroid camera. The expensive kind Bucky has only seen on store shelves.
He lets out a low whistle at the costly item.
'Ya taking things from your parents now, bunny? Am I rubbing off on you the wrong way?' He jokes.
The idea of his sweet innocent bunny doing rebellious things amuses him. To him, she's the type that would frown upon jaywalking.
'Oh, hush you. I'm just borrowing it.' You slap his arm playfully. 'Come on now, say cheese.'
You bring the camera up and snap the photo just as Bucky lands a sweet kiss to your cheek.
The moment lays frozen in time on his pegboard.
As you continue to reminisce, you feel Bucky's warm figure creep up behind you. Strong arms encircle your waist pulling you so close that you feel his breath at the back of your neck. He lands a kiss on your nape, making you shiver.
"Missed ya." He whispers. "Was going crazy without ya."
Instinctively, you lean into his touch, pressing your back closer to his chest as he continues trailing kisses down your neck.
"M-missed you too." Your breathing gets heavier as his lips tickle your skin in all the sensitive spots.
"Bucky..." You warn shyly as he starts getting handsy with you- pulling you closer and kissing down your neck with more vigor than before.
"I can stop," he pauses, lips tickling your skin, "but I can also make you feel good, bunny. Do you want me to make you feel good?"
The offer is tempting, and you want so desperately to just let yourself feel the man that you've missed so dearly.
However, your lack of experience in comparison to Bucky holds you back. Sure, you've kissed boys before, but you've never done... that. Your strict parents have always been a crutch in allowing you to experience anything more intimate than kissing.
"I don't know... I-I've never- I don't know how, Bucky." You stutter shamefully at your cluelessness.
"That's alright, bunny. I know." Bucky presses one last deep kiss on the column of your neck. "You just let me show you, yeah? Are you okay with that?"
You nod your head shyly.
"Words, bun." He pushes
"Yes. I-I'm okay with that." you tell him.
At your confirmation, Bucky spins you around to face him.
"If we're going to do this, I'll make sure to do everything right." His words have that seriousness to them as he looks at you with that familiar glint of a sparkle in his eyes.
"Come upstairs with me."
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
When you get upstairs, Bucky pulls you in almost immediately into a kiss and pushes you against the door to close it. You gasp into his mouth at the sudden movement, making him breathe out a chuckle against your lips.
"Sorry," he says cheekily "Just... missed you so damn much. Got excited."
You giggle at his eagerness and kiss him back just as hard.
"Take me then, Bucky. I'm all yours."
He lets out a low growl at that, fingers bringing up the hem of your yellow dress from the gala.
"Yeah? Never stopped being mine, right? Even when we were apart?" His question feels more like a statement, but you love how possessive he is with you.
"Yours" you repeat.
His hands slide your dress up to your waist before pulling you closer to him. You can feel how hard he is through his pants when he presses against you.
Before you could let out a moan at the slight friction, Bucky pulls you into a rougher kiss before spinning you around from the door frame to fall on his bed.
You lay there sprawled out- hair a mess, yellow dress wrinkled and bunched up to your thighs, but Bucky thinks its the most ethereal sight he's ever seen.
"Beautiful," he whispers as he pulls away to take in the sight of you "I'll take good care of you bun."
"You already do." You sigh lovingly as his hands find the zipper at the back of your dress.
The fabric covering you is removed so slowly and carefully, as if Bucky is afraid to accidentally break you if you're not handled as anything less than fragile.
You hear his breath hitch in your throat as you lay under him, almost completely bare if it weren't for the white lace panties that you still have on.
"God, bunny. You're gonna kill me."
He kisses you again sensually, hands roaming more freely than they've ever gone before- from your waist, up the curve of the sides of your stomach, until they land gently on your breasts.
His hand gropes at the flesh while the other hand pins you in place by the hip. You moan at the feeling of his tender touch which makes him trail his mouth to your ear.
"That feel good?" He whispers.
Shyly, you nod at him.
"I'm gonna touch you more now, alright? You tell me to stop and we stop. Got that?"
"Don't stop." Your words reach him in a breathless whisper, urging him to continue on.
His lips trail downwards, kissing down your collarbone to the curve of your breast. Hand continuing to massage and play with the other. You feel his lips lick up at the bud, the new and wet feeling making you moan.
"F-fuck, Bucky." It's almost embarrassing how you're already a mess under him when he's barely even started.
"That's alright, bunny. Let it out- let me know I'm making you feel good." The words of reassurance are spoken to you as if he can read what you're thinking. He gives one last lick on your nipple before attaching his lips to the other side to give it the same treatment.
The hand that was on your hips travels further down to the hem of your lace panties. You gasp at his touch but don't make an effort to tell him to stop.
"Bet you're wet already," he says smugly. "You're already so responsive to my mouth on your tits."
Bucky chuckles when he sees your eyes widen and face flush at his lewd words. He hates to admit, but your innocence and lack of experience is turning him on.
His hands dip down, still on top of the fabric and not taking it off you just yet. When his fingers meet your center, you both let out a rough exhale at the wetness that has pooled there.
"No ones ever touched you here, right bunny?"
He makes his thumb glide up and down your entrance, covered by the thin lace which creates a delicious friction on your clit. You shake your head unable to form any words except for the soft moans escaping you.
He chuckles again at your desperate state.
"What a pure fucking pussy..." He sighs, obviously turned on. "All for me to ruin." The pressure he puts against your core increases, making you whine for him louder.
"B-Bucky-!" You're so, so wet that you can hear your juices squelching against your panties as he continues thumbing at the entrance of your pussy. Every brush of his thumb drags the lace down on your clit which makes you gasp out.
"That's it, baby... You like that? Haven't even started and you're already this wet... Fuck." His eyes darken as he watches you dampen both his fingers and your panties.
You want to tell him to stop teasing you, to take them off and touch you properly- but its as if he's turned on by the thin barrier blocking him off from your sweetness.
He moves his body down to be in level with your core. Before you can comprehend what's happening, you feel his tongue lap up at your pussy in one long and hard stroke against the fabric.
"A-ah!" The sound that leaves you is in between a cry and a moan. "Bucky, please!"
"Please what, bunny?" He teases by eating you out through the fabric of your underwear. The material is so thin that you can feel his hot tongue moving against you almost completely, but its still not enough.
"T-take them off... Please." You sob from the pleasure.
"Yeah?" He sucks your clit hard, earning a louder cry from you. "You want me to eat your needy cunt, bunny? Want me to taste you proper?" He makes you feel the warmth of his mouth on your clit as he sucks and licks.
"Yes!" You moan loudly. "Yes, oh god, please!"
Bucky is enchanted by the sight. His sweet and innocent girl making a mess for him on his bed, on his tongue. He can't deny you any longer.
"There's no god here, bunny." He rips the ruined lace from your legs. "Just me."
Finally, he dives down to lick you from top to bottom. Completely catching the wetness at your entrance and bringing it to your clit before sucking it into his mouth.
"Ohh fuck," you cry out, lost in pleasure that you become unaware of the lewd moans you're making.
A finger joins his mouth in pleasuring you, rockin git back and forth until he hits the spot that makes you see stars.
"R-right there! Yes-fuck!"
"Yeah? Right there, bunny? Right fucking there?" He continues his work on your clit with his mouth, while finger-fucking you to the edge.
You can feel yourself about to come. The coil in your stomach tightens and the warmth in your core bracing itself for what's about to happen. He feels you tighten around his fingers, and your hips squirm to get away from the onslaught he has on your pussy.
"Gonna cum, bunny?" He mutters against your pussy, making the vibrations push you closer to the edge.
"T-too much, Bucky-! C-can't...!"
"Just feel, bun." He says against your clit in between lapping up against it. He presses his arm on top of your stomach to keep you from squirming.
"Feel it, bunny. Let go for me. Cum on my tongue."
Heat washes over your whole body. You do exactly as you're told and cum on his tongue generously, which he licks at with a moan. For a moment, you lose all sense of presence and can only focus on the pleasure washing over you.
"So fucking good..." He says while drinking you up. "Did so good for me, baby."
Once you've calmed down, Bucky brings himself back up to kiss your forehead. "You okay?"
When you nod your head, Bucky breathes a sigh of relief.
"Lost you for a second there, thought you were going to pass out."
You let out a weak giggle.
"Still want more of you, though..." You bring your hands up to Bucky's shirt to pull it off his head, and moan at the sight of his chiseled body.
He kisses you as he takes off his pants as well, leaving him in just his boxers.
"We don't have to-" he tries to say.
"I want to, please."
Bucky nods at your reassurance, laying you down and propping a pillow underneath your hips. 'It'll feel better with the pillow there' he had told you.
Once he's set you laid out properly on the bed, he props himself on his elbows hovering above you.
"I'll be gentle." He says genuinely, eyes locked on yours lovingly.
"I know, I trust you." You reply back to his sincerity with your own.
He takes a moment to position himself outside your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock outside to lube himself with your juices. Slowly, you feel him press the tip inside you.
There's a sudden stretch that you feel, making you gasp at the foreign sensation.
"Still okay?" He pauses to ask.
"Keep going, Bucky..."
Encouraged by your words, he continues pushing in slowly, slowly, until he's fully sheathed inside you. It stings and the pressure it places on your lower half is stinging.
But when you look up, Bucky's face is contorted in pleasure. The tightness of your walls, the way you feel so warm, and wet, and soft makes him feel like he's in heaven.
"Fuckkk- bunny," Bucky groans and rests his head on your shoulder as your warmth encompasses him. He struggles not to move and you can see how it pains him to stay still in order for you to adjust.
"J-just, tell me if- if you can't- fuck" his words come out in gasps and heavy breaths. He can barely form a coherent sentence.
"You can move, Buck." you tell him with a shaky breath.
"Sure, bun?"
After giving him a look of certainty, with a nod he thrusts in shallowly. Any big movements can wait till later, his main priority now is to make sure you don't get hurt.
"Shit, bunny. You're so tight." He groans lowly as his thrusts get deeper. "You feel so fucking good, baby."
After a few particular thrusts, you start feeling sparks of pleasure overriding the pain.
"Mmm, Bucky..." You moan softly.
"Yeah? That good, bun? You like how I'm fucking you?" He asks you, panting as he begins to pick up the pace.
His thrusts get more confident now that you're showing signs of pleasure. The length of his cock still stretches you out and stings, but you love how good he's filling you up.
"O-oh!" You arch your back at a certain spot that he finds. Its the same one he was hitting with his fingers earlier, but deeper. The pillow underneath your hips tilts your body at a position that makes him hit you deeper.
Bucky continues to drill that spot, hitting it with every thrust until you find yourself at the edge again. You can feel him twitch inside you, signaling that he's close.
"I'm not gonna last, bunny." He tells you in a low voice. "I need ya to finish again for me."
His thumb finds your clit again. Its a soft touch, but its enough to bring you closer. You can feel how wet you are as it spreads to your thighs, and Bucky can feel it coat all over his dick.
"I-I'm..." you trail off, mind going blank as he continues to chase both your highs.
"That's it, let go. Cum with me, bunny" he urges you.
You cum with a high pitched moan, clutching onto him as you let yourself go for the second time that night.
"Fuckkkk, bun." he groans as he follows after you, filling you up to the hilt and milking himself completely until he's emptied his load into you.
The bed dips as he crashes next to you, completely spent and with a satisfied, tired smile on his face.
"That was..." You trail off.
"Yeah." He agrees. "I love you, you know that?"
"I do, Bucky. I love you, too." turning to face him, you get a good view of of your favorite shade of blue encompassing the sparkle that rests in his pupils.
For a moment you both forget the troubles that wait for you outside the safety of his home.
"Bunny... I'll fight for us, you know that?" He breaks the comfortable silence between the both of you. "I won't let them take you away from me again."
"Bucky..." you trail off.
"I promised you I'd take care of you, didn't I?" The words spoken between are soft and gentle, a tone he only seems to carry with you, yet carry so much weight. "I'll prove it to them, to everyone, that I can be enough for you."
"Bucky, you don't need to prove anything to anyone." You tell him sincerely. "I love you, and maybe that's all that matters."
For now, at least, you both settle into each other's embrace without any worries.
For now, love is all that matters. You'll worry about the hardships that face you in the morning.
- Summary: Y/N Targaryen is dragged to the Ashford tourney to get her out from under Aerion’s obsession, only for Valarr to publicly ask for her favor and spark a feud that erupts into a brawl in the royal pavilion.
- Pairing: cousin!reader/Valarr Targaryen
- Rating: Explicit 18+ (There’s no explicit content until Part 3. However, Aerion appears earlier in the story, and there are implications about things he may have done to the reader character.)
The small chamber behind the royal pavilion smelled of vinegar, crushed herbs, and hot linen, the practical scents of men trying to mend flesh before bruises could become stories. Torchlight wavered against the canvas walls and turned everything the color of old gold, so even clean cloth looked stained. Outside, Ashford Meadow still pretended it was celebrating. Music drifted in, dulled by distance and fabric. Laughter rose and fell like waves. Somewhere a drunk knight was singing off-key, and the sound might have been funny on another night. In here it only felt obscene, as if the world had decided noise was more important than consequence.
Valarr sat on a plain stool with his shirt unlaced and pulled aside, shoulders bare, skin already blooming purple where Aerion’s fist had landed. A cut split the inside of his lip, and the swelling along his cheekbone was starting to thicken, the kind that would make his face ache every time he breathed through his nose. He held himself still, but not the stillness of comfort. It was restraint, the sort men learned when pain wasn’t allowed to make them undignified. He kept his gaze fixed somewhere just past the maester’s shoulder, jaw tight, fingers flexing once and then going still again.
The maester, grey-haired and brisk, clicked his tongue as he dabbed at Valarr’s cheek with a cloth soaked in something sharp enough to make the eyes water. “You’re lucky,” he muttered, as if luck was a diagnosis. “No fracture that I can feel. Just bruising. And your lip will heal if you stop biting it like a dog.”
Valarr’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “I wasn’t aware I was biting it.”
“You’re aware,” the maester said, and pressed a thumb along the ridge of Valarr’s cheekbone in a way that made Valarr’s nostrils flare. “You’re simply refusing to admit it. Hold still.”
Baelor stood a few steps away, hands clasped behind his back, posture composed, expression quiet. He had changed out of the heavier ceremonial layer he’d worn for the feast, but he still looked like himself, solid and grounded in a way that made other men feel less inclined to act foolish. He watched the maester work without hovering, but his attention never wandered. There was nothing soft in his eyes tonight. Not anger exactly. Something more controlled and more dangerous: disappointment that had turned into resolve.
When the maester finished cleaning and began pressing a warm compress against the swelling, Baelor spoke at last. “Leave us.”
The maester glanced up, hesitated only a fraction, then bowed his head. “Of course, my prince. I’ll return with a salve for the bruising and something for sleep.” His gaze flicked to Valarr, sympathetic but stern. “Try not to get hit again before sunrise.”
Valarr didn’t answer. The maester gathered his things and slipped out, pulling the curtain closed behind him. The sound of the celebration muffled further, leaving a quieter space, heavy with the kind of silence that made words feel inevitable.
Baelor did not fill it immediately. He walked closer, slow, and sat on the bench opposite Valarr rather than standing over him. It was a small choice, but it mattered. It made this less like a reprimand in court and more like something private, something that belonged between father and son.
Valarr met his eyes. He looked older than he had earlier, not because of the bruises, but because his composure had been cracked and he could not pretend it hadn’t.
Baelor’s voice was calm. “You lost control.”
Valarr’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”
“Do you know why that matters?” Baelor asked.
Valarr exhaled through his nose, slow, like he was trying to keep the answer from sounding like excuse. “Because Aerion wanted it.”
“Because everyone wanted it,” Baelor corrected gently. “Aerion wanted it most, but he’s not the only one who feeds on a spectacle. Lords, knights, smallfolk. They love to watch princes behave like animals. It makes them feel safer. It makes them feel equal. And it gives them stories they can twist.”
Valarr’s gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted again. “He spoke about her.”
Baelor’s eyes focused. “I know.”
“He spoke about her like she was…” Valarr’s hand flexed once on his knee, the motion restrained but violent in its intent. “Like she was something to be claimed. Like fear was a game.”
Baelor’s voice lowered. “And you responded by giving him what he wanted.”
Valarr’s throat moved as he swallowed. “I know.”
Baelor held his gaze. “Then tell me why you did it anyway.”
Valarr’s lips parted, then closed again. He seemed to wrestle with the shape of the truth, the way a young man wrestled with admitting he cared too much. Finally he said, voice rougher, “Because I couldn’t stand hearing it.”
“That is not enough,” Baelor replied, not cruelly, but firmly. “Not when the cost is higher than your pride.”
Valarr flinched, just slightly. “It wasn’t pride.”
Baelor’s expression did not soften, but something warm flickered under it, brief and reluctant. “Then call it what it was.”
Valarr looked at the torch flame dancing in the bracket, as if he needed to stare at something that wasn’t his father. “It was fury,” he said. “It was… protective. It was shame, because I could see the way he spoke and how no one stopped him soon enough, and I thought if I didn’t stop him, then I was complicit.” He forced his eyes back to Baelor. “And yes, it was personal.”
Baelor’s gaze stayed steady. “Personal because of her?”
Valarr did not deny it. “Yes.”
Baelor sat with that for a moment, letting it settle. Outside, a distant cheer rose, probably for a song, probably for a drunken boast. The tent walls didn’t care. They only held the air and the truth inside.
Baelor spoke again, quieter. “You asked for her favor.”
Valarr nodded once. “I did.”
“In front of half the realm,” Baelor said.
“Yes.”
Baelor’s mouth tightened. “Do you understand what you did to her by doing that?”
Valarr’s eyes narrowed slightly, not defensive, more desperate to be understood. “I didn’t mean to trap her.”
“You may not have meant it,” Baelor said, “but intent does not erase consequence. You placed her in the center of a storm she did not ask for. You made Aerion’s fixation visible to people who now have permission to whisper. You made Maekar’s refusal a matter of public curiosity again.” He paused, then added, quieter still, “And you made your feelings a matter of politics.”
Valarr’s shoulders rose and fell with a controlled breath. “I know.”
Baelor’s gaze searched his face, taking measure the way he did when he wanted the truth and not the version a son offered to avoid shame. “Then why did you do it?”
Valarr’s answer came faster this time, as if he was tired of circling around it. “Because she deserved to choose something in public that wasn’t chosen for her. Because if I asked quietly, it would have meant nothing. Aerion would still speak about her like he owns her. Lords would still assume she exists only to be bartered.” His voice tightened. “And because I wanted them to see that she is not alone.”
Baelor’s eyes softened a fraction, but the steel remained. “You think your visibility protects her?”
“I think silence doesn’t,” Valarr replied.
Baelor sat back slightly, as if adjusting the weight of what he was hearing. “You sound very sure for a young man with a fresh bruise on his face.”
Baelor nodded once. “Good. Certainty makes men reckless.”
The curtain shifted then, and the maester returned with a small jar of dark salve and a folded cloth. He muttered as he moved, spreading the ointment with practiced hands. “This will help with swelling. It will still hurt. If you can’t sleep, that is your body’s problem, not mine.” He pressed the cloth into Valarr’s hand. “Hold it there. Ten minutes. And stop looking like you’re about to ride into battle again. You’re in a tent.”
Valarr took it without comment, pressing it to his cheek, eyes never leaving Baelor.
The maester turned to Baelor. “He’s fine,” he said bluntly. “Fine enough to be foolish again if allowed. My prince.” He bowed and withdrew once more.
The silence returned, deeper now, because the practical interruption was gone and the real issue still sat between them.
Baelor leaned forward, voice low. “Tell me the truth, Valarr. Not the noble version. The truth you haven’t said yet.”
Valarr held the cloth to his cheek, his other hand clenched on his knee. The torchlight carved his profile into stern lines. When he spoke, his voice was steady but stripped of performance. “I want her,” he said. “Not as a favor. Not as a symbol. I want her as my wife.”
Baelor did not react outwardly, but his eyes sharpened, attentive. “You want her,” he repeated, and the words were not judgment, just confirmation.
Valarr swallowed. “I’ve wanted her for a long time. Longer than I admitted to myself. I told myself it was concern. Family duty. The usual things men say when they don’t want to admit their heart is involved.” He breathed out slowly. “But when I watched Aerion look at her today, when I heard him speak, I realized concern isn’t enough. I can’t keep hovering at the edges of her life like I’m some convenient cousin who steps in when Aerion gets too loud. That does nothing. It only delays harm.”
Baelor’s gaze stayed on him, weighing. “And you believe marriage solves it?”
Valarr’s jaw flexed. “It doesn’t solve everything. But it gives her protection Aerion can’t reach without making war inside the family. It gives her a place beside me that the realm recognizes. It gives her… an ally with standing.” He paused, then forced himself to say the part that mattered most. “And it gives me the right to stand between them without it being a scandal every time.”
Baelor’s eyes narrowed. “You are speaking like a prince, not a boy. Good.” Then his voice hardened slightly. “But marriage is not a shield you hand someone and walk away. It is a chain and a promise. Do you understand what you are asking of her?”
Valarr’s gaze didn’t drop. “Yes.”
“Do you understand what you are asking of Maekar?” Baelor continued.
Valarr’s mouth tightened. “Yes.”
“And do you understand what you are inviting from Aerion?” Baelor asked, and there was no softness at all in that now.
Valarr’s eyes flickered, the first sign of uncertainty in his expression. Then he nodded once. “Yes.”
Baelor sat back, studying him. “Then why ask me now? Why tonight?”
Valarr’s answer was quiet, raw. “Because if I wait, Aerion will move first. He always does. He can’t tolerate being denied. He will find a way to corner her, to humiliate her, to force Father’s hand through scandal or cruelty. And because after today…” Valarr’s voice tightened. “After today I can’t pretend I don’t see the end of that path.”
Baelor’s gaze softened again, but the softness looked tired. He looked like a man who had spent his life cleaning up after other men’s pride and had finally decided he was done doing it gently. “You are asking for permission,” Baelor said slowly.
Valarr nodded. “I am.”
“And you are asking me to involve myself,” Baelor added.
“Yes.”
Baelor’s lips pressed together, and for a moment he looked not like a prince but like a father, caught between love for his son and the brutal math of politics. He looked toward the curtain as if he could see through it, could see the pavilion beyond, could see Maekar’s controlled rage and Aerion’s hungry spite and the way a whole realm would gossip about a ribbon.
When he spoke again, his voice was measured. “This is not something I can decide alone.”
Valarr’s fingers tightened on the cloth. “I know.”
Baelor’s eyes returned to his son. “But I can tell you this: if you intend to ask Maekar for his daughter, you will do it with respect. You will do it with clarity. And you will not do it under the illusion that love is enough to make it simple.”
Valarr’s throat moved. “It isn’t love alone.”
Baelor’s gaze held him. “Then tell me what else it is.”
Valarr’s answer came without hesitation now, because the night had already torn pretense away. “It’s responsibility,” he said. “And it’s choice. And it’s the fact that she deserves one man in this family who doesn’t treat her like a piece on a board.”
Baelor’s expression tightened, and the words landed harder than Valarr intended because they carried an accusation against everyone else. Against Maekar for not ending Aerion’s behavior sooner. Against Baelor for allowing the family to fester. Against the whole House for letting a girl become collateral.
Baelor did not lash out. He simply nodded once, slowly, as if accepting the indictment.
“Very well,” Baelor said. “You want her as your wife?”
Valarr’s chest rose with a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yes.”
Baelor’s voice was quiet but firm. “Then you will ask properly. Not with favors and spectacle. Not with fists. You will ask her father first, and you will accept his answer whether you like it or not. And you will remember that if he says yes, you are tying yourself to her life in all the ways that will hurt.”
Valarr’s eyes did not waver. “I want that.”
Baelor watched him for a long moment, then leaned forward and placed a hand on Valarr’s uninjured shoulder, firm and grounding. “Sleep if you can,” he said, voice softer now, almost gentle. “Tomorrow we speak to Maekar.”
Baelor’s gaze hardened again, because Baelor knew delay was a luxury when Aerion was involved. “Tomorrow,” he repeated. “Before Aerion has time to turn tonight into another weapon.”
Valarr nodded once, slow and solemn. “Yes, Father.”
Baelor rose, and with him the small chamber seemed to gain weight, as if the decision had pulled the future closer. At the curtain, Baelor paused, looking back once.
“And Valarr,” he said.
Valarr lifted his gaze.
Baelor’s eyes held his, steady and unyielding. “If you ever put your hands on Aerion again in front of a crowd, I will be the one to correct you. Do you understand?”
Valarr’s jaw tightened, shame and acceptance mixing. “I understand.”
Baelor nodded once and stepped out, leaving Valarr alone with the ache in his face, the jar of salve, and the quiet, terrifying relief of having finally said what he wanted out loud.
Outside, Ashford Meadow kept singing.
Inside, House Targaryen began to rearrange itself around a girl who was asleep and had no idea how fast the world was moving toward her.
Morning at Ashford came pale and stingy, as if the sun itself regretted what it had watched the night before. The meadow was quieter, but not clean. Smoke from dying cookfires clung low to the grass, and the air carried the sour bite of spilled ale and stale sweat. Men slept where they’d fallen, wrapped in cloaks or sprawled against wagon wheels, mouths open, armor half-unbuckled. Stewards moved through the mess with pinched expressions, trying to restore dignity to a place that had never truly had it. Somewhere beyond the tents a rooster crowed, insisting on normalcy, and the sound felt absurd against the memory of torches and blood and a prince being restrained like a common brawler.
Inside the royal pavilion, the world was quieter still, not because anyone was resting, but because everyone was measuring their words. A scandal in a lord’s hall did not vanish with daylight. It hung in the seams of conversation like smoke. Servants kept their eyes lowered. Guards stood straighter than usual. Even the soft scrape of a cup against wood sounded too loud.
Baelor watched Maekar from the moment he stepped through the inner curtain, because a man could love his brother and still recognize when the brother was a blade held too tightly. Maekar sat at a table littered with maps, ledgers, and the remnants of a late, joyless meal. He wore no smile, no softness. He looked like he had not slept, and if he had, it had only annoyed him. His hair was brushed back, his jaw set, his gaze fixed on something in the middle distance as if he was planning what to do with a son he couldn’t control and a family that refused to behave like a family.
Aerion was not present, which was its own kind of warning. Aerion never stayed away from anything unless he had been forced, or unless he was sulking in a way that promised retaliation.
Baelor entered first, calm as ever, shoulders relaxed, face composed into a neutrality that could pass for peace. Valarr followed half a step behind, his cheek still bruised beneath the morning light, the swelling less angry now but impossible to hide. He wore a plain tunic instead of court finery, and the lack of ornament made him look more serious, less like a boy playing knight and more like a man who had decided something and would carry it regardless of how it hurt.
Maekar’s eyes lifted as they approached. They flicked to Valarr’s bruised face, then back to Baelor. His expression didn’t change, but Baelor could see the tension pull tighter across his brother’s features, the same way a horse’s muscles stiffened when it sensed a predator nearby.
“What is this,” Maekar said, not a question so much as a demand for justification.
Baelor did not waste time with pleasantries. “We need to speak privately.”
Maekar’s gaze narrowed. “About last night?”
“Partly,” Baelor admitted, voice level.
Maekar leaned back slightly, fingers tapping once against the table, a slow, controlled rhythm that meant he was restraining himself. “Aerion is confined to his quarters,” he said. “He will not attend the lists today. He will not be seen until he remembers he is not the only dragon in the room.”
Baelor’s mouth tightened faintly. “That’s wise.”
Maekar’s eyes focused at the compliment, as if he suspected it was also a criticism. “Say what you came to say.”
Baelor held his gaze for a moment, and in that pause you could feel the history between them: Baelor, always the steady hand; Maekar, always the hammer. Brothers who loved each other, and still could not agree on how to keep their house from tearing itself apart. Then Baelor gestured slightly toward the side chamber, the one separated by another curtain, away from servants and ears.
Maekar stared at him, then rose with abrupt motion. “Fine.”
They moved into the smaller space, the one used for quiet councils, where the light was dimmer and the air smelled of wax and old parchment. A guard remained outside the curtain. No one else followed.
Maekar stood rather than sit, arms folding across his chest, posture hard. “You have five minutes.”
Baelor sat, because Baelor understood something Maekar often forgot: sitting down did not make you weaker. It made you harder to provoke. Valarr remained standing at Baelor’s shoulder, respectful but not submissive, his hands loose at his sides, his spine straight.
Baelor spoke first, voice measured. “Valarr intends to ask for your daughter’s hand.”
The words landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water. Maekar didn’t blink. He didn’t move. For a heartbeat there was nothing, only the sound of the tent fabric shifting slightly in the wind.
Then Maekar’s mouth tightened. “After yesterday,” he said quietly. “After last night.” His gaze cut to Valarr. “This is either bravery or stupidity.”
Valarr met his eyes. “It’s intention.”
Maekar’s expression hardened further. “You already involved her publicly.”
Valarr didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
Maekar’s voice turned colder. “You think asking for her favor was a kindness?”
Valarr answered honestly. “I think it gave her a choice in front of witnesses.”
Maekar’s jaw flexed. “Witnesses also gossip.”
Baelor cut in before Maekar could turn it into an interrogation. “Maekar, we are not here to argue about the favor. That is done. We are here because Valarr wants to make it right, and because it will not get safer for her if we pretend none of this is happening.”
Maekar’s eyes snapped to Baelor, irritation flaring. “Make it right,” he repeated, like the phrase offended him. “As if she’s a mistake that needs correcting.”
Baelor’s gaze stayed calm. “As if she is your daughter and deserves protection that you cannot provide alone while Aerion is still breathing and still convinced the world owes him everything.”
Maekar’s nostrils flared. His voice dropped, dangerous. “Be careful.”
Baelor didn’t back down. “I am being careful. That is why we are doing this in private.”
Maekar’s gaze flicked again to Valarr’s bruised face. “You struck Aerion.”
Valarr’s voice was steady. “Yes.”
Maekar’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think that makes you a better man?”
Valarr shook his head once. “No. It makes me a man who failed to keep his temper.”
Maekar’s expression did not soften. “And yet you’re here asking for a bride.”
Valarr’s gaze held. “Yes.”
Maekar let out a breath through his nose, the closest he ever came to a laugh. “You have nerve.”
Valarr didn’t deny it. “I have reason.”
Baelor watched Maekar closely, because he could already see the reaction building in his brother’s shoulders, the urge to reject out of sheer resistance to being cornered by circumstance. Maekar hated being forced into decisions by other people’s chaos. He hated feeling like he was reacting instead of controlling. And this, Baelor knew, would feel like reaction.
“Say it plainly,” Maekar demanded, eyes on Valarr now. “Why?”
Valarr didn’t reach for poetry. He didn’t dress it up. “Because I want her,” he said. “Because Aerion’s fixation has already caused harm, and it will keep causing harm unless the family draws a line that he cannot cross without consequences. And because she deserves to belong to someone who will not treat her like a possession.”
Maekar’s gaze cooled on the last word. “Possession,” he echoed, bitter.
Valarr didn’t look away. “That’s how he speaks of her.”
Maekar’s mouth tightened, and something flickered in his eyes then, something ugly and exhausted, because Valarr wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know. Maekar knew. That was part of the problem. Knowing did not automatically solve it. It only made the failure heavier.
Maekar’s voice dropped lower. “You think marriage stops Aerion?”
Valarr answered carefully. “It makes it harder for him to reach her without exposing himself. It gives her a shield he can’t dismiss as ‘Father’s rules’ or ‘sister’s duty.’ It gives her standing beside me.”
Maekar’s eyes narrowed. “Standing doesn’t stop a determined man.”
“No,” Valarr admitted. “But it gives me the right to respond without it becoming a family squabble everyone excuses.”
Baelor spoke softly, because he could feel Maekar’s anger twisting toward the wrong target. “You know what Aerion is. You know what he has already done to her.”
The room went colder.
Maekar’s gaze snapped to Baelor, and for a heartbeat there was raw fury in it. “Do not speak of my daughter as if she is some… broken thing to be discussed.”
Baelor didn’t flinch. “I’m not speaking of her as broken. I’m speaking of what has been done to her.”
Maekar’s hands tightened at his biceps, arms still folded, as if he was holding himself together by force. His voice came out tight. “And what, exactly, do you think has been done?”
Baelor held the silence, because this was Maekar trying to control the conversation by pretending ignorance, and Baelor would not allow him that escape. Instead he looked at Valarr, a silent permission: tell him.
Valarr’s voice was steady, but it carried heat beneath it. “Aerion has tormented her for years,” he said. “He needles her. He corners her. He makes her feel watched in her own home. He speaks to her like she’s obligated to endure whatever he decides to do. And he does it because he believes she will not be protected from him.”
Maekar’s jaw flexed. “I have protected her.”
Valarr did not accuse. He simply stated truth. “You have tried. But you can’t be everywhere. And he’s learned to behave around you and worse when you aren’t looking.”
Maekar’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Has he touched her?”
The question came out like a blade, and for a second Baelor wondered if Maekar had been forcing himself not to ask it for years because asking made it real.
Valarr held Maekar’s gaze. “He has crossed lines,” he said carefully, because he was not going to invent details, but he wasn’t going to soften the truth either. “He has taken liberties that no brother should take. He uses fear and embarrassment as tools. He thinks he’s entitled to her attention, her time, her space. He punishes her when she resists.”
Maekar’s breathing went slow and heavy. The air in the chamber felt too thick.
Baelor’s mouth tightened at the phrasing, because it was the language of men who thought a girl’s worth could be altered by what was done to her. Valarr’s eyes focused too, but his reply was controlled.
“She is herself,” Valarr said. “And she is strong. And she has had to learn strength the hard way because of him.” He paused, then said the part that mattered, the part that was not politics at all. “I want her as she is.”
Maekar stared at him for a long moment, and in that stare you could see the battle happening inside him. The protective father. The rigid prince. The man who hated disorder. The brother who had watched Baelor become the steady center of the family while Maekar carried the uglier work. The father of Aerion, who had to admit his son was dangerous. The father of Y/N, who had to admit his daughter had been harmed under his roof.
Baelor waited, because forcing Maekar faster would only make him snap the other way out of stubbornness.
Finally Maekar spoke, voice low. “If I agree to this, Aerion will see it as theft.”
Baelor replied quietly. “Aerion sees anything he doesn’t get as theft.”
Maekar’s lips pressed together. “He will retaliate.”
Valarr answered without hesitation. “Let him try.”
Maekar’s eyes narrowed. “That is easy to say when you’re not the one who raised him.”
Valarr’s voice softened slightly, not pity, not patronizing, just honest. “I know it’s not easy.”
Maekar’s gaze flicked to Baelor, and there was something almost resentful there, because Baelor’s life had not been without burden, but Baelor’s burdens were different. Baelor did not have Aerion as a son. Maekar did.
Baelor kept his tone calm. “This is not about humiliating Aerion. It’s about giving your daughter a future that isn’t shaped by his obsession.”
Maekar went very still. Then he exhaled slowly, like a man letting go of a weapon he’d been gripping too long. “If I agree,” he said, “there will be rules.”
Valarr nodded once. “Of course.”
Maekar’s gaze hardened. “You will not use her as a banner against Aerion.”
Valarr’s answer was immediate. “Never.”
“You will not parade this as some public victory,” Maekar continued, voice clipped. “No songs, no grand speeches, no romantic foolishness that invites gossip. She will not be turned into spectacle.”
Valarr met his eyes. “I won’t.”
Maekar’s jaw tightened again. “And if Aerion tries to interfere… you will come to me. Not to fists. Not to the lists. Not to a crowd.”
Valarr’s gaze flicked briefly to Baelor, then back to Maekar. “Yes.”
Baelor could see Valarr’s pride balk at the idea of asking permission to defend her, but Valarr swallowed it. That alone told Baelor this was not a boy’s infatuation. It was a decision.
Maekar’s gaze held on Valarr for a long moment, reading him like he read battlefields. Then he said, simply, “I agree.”
The words were plain. No blessing. No warmth. But in Maekar’s mouth, agreement was a mountain moving.
Valarr’s shoulders loosened by a fraction, a breath released. “Thank you.”
Maekar’s expression didn’t change. “Do not thank me,” he said. “Earn it.”
Baelor felt the tension ease in his chest, but he didn’t let it show. He nodded once, solemn. “We’ll speak with her when the time is right.”
Maekar’s eyes remained stern. “She will be told directly,” he said. “Not through rumors. Not through court whispers. I will not have her hearing about her own betrothal from some lady who thinks it’s entertainment.”
Valarr’s voice stayed steady. “I would never allow that.”
Maekar’s gaze flicked down to Valarr’s bruised cheek. “And you’ll keep that face intact until then.”
Valarr’s mouth twitched, the faintest hint of humor, quickly restrained. “I’ll try.”
Maekar’s eyes cut to Baelor. “Your son provoked mine by existing.”
Baelor’s expression remained calm. “Your son provoked mine by being cruel.”
Maekar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue, because arguing would require him to deny the truth, and he had already agreed. Instead he turned slightly away, as if looking toward the curtain where the guards stood and beyond them the rest of the pavilion, the wider world, where Aerion’s fury was undoubtedly fermenting in confinement.
His voice dropped. “If Aerion ever lays a hand on her again,” Maekar said, and there was a threat in it that made the air feel heavy, “I will end it. I don’t care if the realm calls it harsh. I don’t care if it stains the House.”
Valarr’s voice was quiet but certain. “He won’t get the chance.”
Maekar’s gaze snapped back to him. “Do not promise what you can’t guarantee.”
Valarr didn’t blink. “It’s not a promise. It’s a decision.”
For a moment, Maekar looked almost like he might respect that.
Baelor rose, signaling the meeting’s end before Maekar’s temper could find a new edge. “We’ll proceed carefully,” he said. “Quietly. Properly.”
Maekar nodded once, stiff. “Quietly,” he echoed. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And Valarr.”
Valarr paused.
Maekar’s eyes held his, hard and direct. “She is not fragile. Don’t treat her like glass because Aerion tried to crack her. She’ll hate you for it.”
Valarr’s reply came without pause. “I know.”
Maekar studied him a second longer, then turned away as if he was done, as if agreement was something he could file away like a duty. “Go,” he said. “Before I change my mind.”
Baelor and Valarr left the chamber together, the curtain falling back into place behind them. Outside, the meadow waited, brightening toward another day of tourney and spectacle, and somewhere within the royal pavilion Aerion simmered, caged but not cured.
Baelor walked a step ahead, face composed, but when he was out of Maekar’s hearing, he let out a quiet breath, the kind of breath that carried relief and dread at the same time.
Valarr touched his bruised cheek absently, then looked toward the edge of the pavilion where the path led to the women’s quarters, where a princess slept or woke with no idea that her life had just been rerouted by men who loved her and men who wanted to own her.
“It’s done,” Valarr said, voice low.
Baelor didn’t look at him. “It’s begun,” he corrected.
