I just realized something kinda sweet. If Matthew can just make things. What if he had a diabetic Love Interest. He could make her free insulin because the prices in America are insane.
I just realized something kinda sweet. If Matthew can just make things. What if he had a diabetic Love Interest. He could make her free insulin because the prices in America are insane.
Prompt: Going to a wine tasting, one of you gets silly drunk
Add on: On Valentine's Day everything is discounted for couples, so why not pretend!
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Galentine's Party Masterlist
Bucky Barnes knew it was a bad idea the moment it slipped out of your mouth.
“Look it’ll be easy, we pretend we’re dating and we get a lot of stuff for half off, if we’re lucky even it’ll be free!” You declared it so excitedly that the moment you slipped your arms around his, and dragged him out of the tower he knew he couldn’t say no to you.
Now here they were seated at some rich wine tasting event he had no idea how you even managed to make yourself blend in at.
Their table had flowers and some books that were somehow discounted that he didn’t have the heart to say no in carrying for you when you left the bookstore hand in hand, pretending to be a couple.
It was so easy to pretend he was in love with you and be the doting boyfriend when he had dreamed of doing it for years. It was like a free trial to a dream he never thought he was allowed to voice out and on Valentine’s Day of all days too.
He was deep in thoughts about how he wished this day would never end when you slip back in the chair next to him.
Poking the side of his face, you giggle as you place your head too close to his face than what friends should be at, “hi grumpy.”
Of course, you were drunk. He clocks it in the way your breath slurs a little as you smile up at him. “How much have you had to drink sweetheart?” He asked, placing the back of his hand on your forehead.
You hum in delight from how warm his hand is on your forehead, "maybe two glasses or five." A giggle slips past your lips as you wrap both hands around his wrist, "so you wanna tell me why you were sulking here?"
He chuckles, shaking his head with that fond smile. His mind and heart were currently at war, it was losing and winning at the same time. The way you were looking up in genuine concern was making his heart flutter and yet your hand felt so small around his wrist but it felt so perfect. Like everything he dreamt of.
"Wasn't sulking," he lied, he was sulking and it's all because the thought that this is all pretend hangs over his head. Tomorrow you're just back to being friends who live in the same tower.
"riiiiight" you giggle, pulling him to his feet with an unstable balance.
"Woah, easy there trouble," he chuckled as he caught you with both hands around your waist, holding you up right. He took a step back, keeping some distance between you since the proximity was not helping his case.
"You drank too much," he said as he led you outside to a secluded area where it was a little less crowded to breathe some fresh air.
You frown as you follow, “but you didn’t dance with me.”
"You are too drunk to even walk in a straight line, dancing is out of the question sweetheart," he said, taking a seat on a bench and pulling you to sit right next to him.
You sigh, sitting next to him and resting your head on his arm with a pout. “Not even a slow dance?”
He chuckled again, finding the sight of you pouting up at him way too endearing. He knew he had to stop himself from leaning in too close, or else he won't be able to stop himself from stealing a kiss.
"No slow dancing either," he replied, shaking his head with a fond smile. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, shifting your body to fit you snugly against his side.
“You’re a mean fake boyfriend,” you mutter, melting into his side with a tired yawn. “I’m breaking up with you tomorrow.”
He froze momentarily at the word 'fake' but recovered with another chuckle. He couldn't help but find the entire situation ironic. Because here he was, pretending to be your boyfriend, dreaming of being in this exact position, and you were talking about breaking up. Life really had a funny way of toying with him.
"Oh really?" he teased. "And what's your reason for breaking up with me, sweetheart?"
“Meanie who won’t slow dance with me” you mutter burying your head in his chest.
His chest rumbled with quiet laughter as you nuzzled into him. He hesitated for a second—just one stupid, reckless moment reminding himself that giving in is just another torture for his heart—before giving in and gently resting his chin on top of your head.
"Guess I am a bad fake boyfriend," he murmured, voice softer now. His thumb absently traced circles on your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. "But if I slow dance with you right now... will that earn me forgiveness?"
You look up to meet his eyes, the glimmer of excitement staring up at him “depends, will you take me seriously?”
His thumb came to a stop on your shoulder, and his gaze locked with yours. The moonlight and the soft glow of nearby street lights cast a gentle light on your features, and for a moment, he forgot that this wasn't real.
He looked down at you, a slow, genuine smile playing on his lips. His gaze softened as he leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice barely above a whisper, "I always take you seriously, sweetheart."
You hum in acknowledgment almost as if you didn’t believe him as you tug his hand. “Dance with me, like you did with all the girls back in the 40s.”
He chuckled, the memory of his days back in the 40s flooding his thoughts. "Back then, we called it swing dancing," he says as he lets you drag him away from the bench and to an open space.
He positioned a hand on your hip and took your other hand, pulling you closer to him. The warmth of your proximity was already making it hard for him to think. "Just follow my lead, sweetheart."
You nod and lay your head against his chest. Quietly slow dancing under the moonlight, the slow music from the inside humming from where they stood but Bucky just hums a different tune as he sways you slowly.
The melody that left his lips was something old—something from the 1940s, soft and aching with nostalgia. His grip on you tightened just slightly as he swayed, your body moving perfectly in time with his like it was second nature.
"You know," he murmured against your hair, voice rough but warm. "I never got to dance like this before."
A lie. He danced plenty back then but none of them compared to you.
“I don’t believe it,” you mutter against his chest “Steve said you were quite a ladies man then. You would’ve probably never given me the time of day if we met then.”
His heart gave a jolt at that, and his hold on you tightened just a fraction. The mention of Steve and his reputation from the past was like a stark reminder of their current reality. Back then, he was a different person, living in a different time.
"Steve exaggerates," he retorted, a slight edge to his voice. His thumb rubbed circles on the small of your back, a subconscious movement. "And I would've noticed you, sweetheart."
He let out a soft laugh that lacked amusement. "Back then, I was nothing but a smooth talking, reckless, womanizer with an ego the size of the city." It was a harsh assessment of himself, but one he knew was true.
"I would’ve chased after you and you probably wouldn't even have wanted me," he continued, a bitter smile on his face. "Rightfully so, I was the kind of guy your mother warned you to stay away from."
You chuckle against his chest. “Good thing I was never good at listening to my mom,” you mutter after a bit just taking in the moment despite the wine making everything a little off center.
The laugh that escaped him was quiet, warm—something genuine this time. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your head as he rested his cheek against your hair.
"Lucky me," he murmured, voice rough with something unspoken.
For a moment, he let himself forget that this was all just an act—a pretend-relationship for some discounts around town and a date he had dreamt of for years—as he swayed your tipsy self under the moonlight and pretended that this moment between you was real.
Imma fan of all the husbands but low-key yes. To know a man is such a gentleman public and private but know you could easily flip a switch and make him go feral is like 😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫
pairing: viscount!james bucky barnes x lady stark!reader
summary: regency/bridgerton au. being the younger sibling afforded lady stark the luxury to disregard the marriage market entirely. relinquished from the pressure to marry well, you still find yourself in London for the social season to reconnect with old friends. unfortunately, that also meant that you'd likely have to exchange pleasantries with a scoundrel of a man, viscount james buchanan barnes.
word count: 7,292
warnings/tags: enemies-to-lovers. sloooow burn. no use of y/n. angst [Bucky and reader are stubborn little shits lol]. regency era social norms. no smut in this chapter.
: ̗̀➛ 🗒 series masterlist 🗒 || 📕 main masterlist 📕 || 💌 send requests 💌
part one
Viscount James Buchanan Barnes is perfectly content with the life he lives. Being the eldest of the only two children of George and Winifred, he is accustomed to solitude. Other than his lovely, yet irritating sister, Rebecca, and his two best mates, Steve and Sam, James—or Bucky as they fondly call him—is completely satisfied with his own company. He assures that he has grown up to be a good man, worthy of carrying his family’s legacy. He excelled in school, is incredibly well-read, sharply athletic, pragmatic and practical. Bucky has become so well-rounded that two years ago, his father trusted him enough to hand over the title of Viscount, rather than bestowing it upon the young man at the event of his passing.
And while Bucky Barnes is a good man, but he is definitely not perfect. His temper can be as short as a thimble. His attitude, sharp as a sewing needle. But most notable, Bucky is a stubborn man. It stems from the clear vision he has for himself; he knows what he wants for his life and he’ll be damned if he settles for less. Unfortunately for him—the first born, the only son, the heir—the Viscount finds himself in a damned fate. The life he has so carefully and painstakingly crafted is temporary, as his duty to his family looms over. If he could have it his way, he would live as he currently does; assuming the role of Viscount and the managing his family and his estate. He would leave the next generation to his sister, even though he knows that she’s not particularly ready for family planning, let alone courtship.
Marriage and children are not milestones he dreams for himself. His work keeps him plenty busy and his leisure keeps him plenty gratified. As any dashing and strong man like him, Bucky has his fair share of women who casually satisfied his needs without the emotional baggage and formalities of courtship. What more can he possibly ask for? Alas, as fate would have it, the Viscount is obligated to wed and produce an heir. And to do that, Bucky has to engage with polite society. He must court someone.
That is why Bucky finds himself at this season’s first ball. Every year, the ton welcomes the new social season with a grand rout hosted by the powerful and revered Countess, Lady Maria Hill. Anyone who is worth something attends—it is practically mandatory. More often than not, the Queen herself makes an appearance at this ball, quietly observing and judging the ton's young singles. And whatever transpires at these soirées, all of Britain eagerly awaits to read all about it in Lady Vraidire’s blasted gossip paper. It is the event that no one would want to miss; except maybe Bucky.
To be fair, he thinks that he could probably enjoy such spectacular events, if only there wasn’t so much fuss throughout the night. And if Bucky has to concede to his duties, he supposes he can try to have some fun in the process. He figures he should at least find a spouse that he can tolerate. A respectable and agreeable woman who can somewhat keep up with his heavy responsibilities and quick whit. He’s almost certain, however, that such a social gathering cannot possibly allow him to find someone like that; not with the hoards of mamas, chaperones, and debutantes pestering him throughout the evening.
The Viscount finds solace in a quiet corner of the ball room, near the servants’ corridor. It wasn’t a bad place to take refuge considering that uniformed men frequently pass by with trays of spirits and hors d'oeuvres. Bucky reaches out, taking a healthy palm’s worth of finger sandwiches in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other.
“I take it that your mission to wed by winter is going swimmingly,” he hears a familiar, friendly laugh; one the Viscount instantly finds relief in, though he'd never be caught admitting it out loud.
“Wilson,” Bucky side-eyes, greeting him with a mouth full of bread and smoked fish. The interaction only makes his friend laugh harder.
“You know, being a Viscount means you are going to have to attend these kinds things; host them, even—once you find your missus, of course.” Lord Samuel Wilson is a dear friend of Bucky’s. Like many people he holds dear, Sam often gets on his nerves. Most of the time, it’s because he says truths the Viscount does not care to hear.
“I’m starting to think that won’t happen in a million and one years!” Speaking of people who annoy Bucky, Rebecca had observed her big brother throughout the night and is not very impressed. Seeing him sulk in the corner, she decided to trudge over and give him a piece of her mind.
“Blimey, Bec. Remind me to gift you a bell for your birthday,” Bucky begrudges.
Sam watches the siblings bicker, reminded about his relationship with his sister, Sarah, who along with her two sons, have been left in the countryside while he participates in this year's social season. His laugh momentarily disarms the young lady, who curtsies at him before continuing her lecture.
“Mother and Father told me to keep watch, you know. I’m meant to report to them tomorrow,” her chin tilted high and her tone so matter-of-fact. “I’m sure they’ll be quite pleased to know that Viscount Barnes is smitten with Benedictine,” her gaze lowering to the flattened cucumber sandwiches in his hand. “Might they expect some grandchildren by morning? Perhaps twins? Dyspepsia and Crapulous [indigestion and hangover]? I will not be surprised to read all about it from Lady Vraidire.”
“Don’t you have a group of lambs to herd?” Bucky grumbles, eyeing the small group of girls huddled in a circle, giggling as their dear friend berates her brother. Seeing the futility of her rant—especially as her brother continues to snag treats from serving trays—she turns on her heel with a huff, returning to her friends.
Lord Wilson, ever patient and ever kind, still stood beside his friend, waiting with his hands clasped behind him. It’s not like he hasn’t witnessed the two Barnes siblings argue many times over. It was practically a guaranteed event when he visits their residence.
“I see the countryside has not mellowed Miss Barnes.”
“No, but it has made me quite melancholic,” Bucky quips, downing his second glass of champagne. "Is it too much trouble for Lady Hill to provide any brown liquor at these events?"
Sam snickers at the wordplay, affectionately nudging the Viscount’s arm with his elbow. “Seriously though, Buck. How do you plan to marry before the end of this year if you are not even mingling?”
Since taking up the title, Bucky has made an admirable attempt to rise to the occasion. For two years, he's worked alongside his father, who has provided him mentorship and ensured that the transition between them would occur smoothly. Despite this, his father has chosen to withhold certain records and responsibilities from his son until the young man is able to “forge a stable future”. Translated plainly, Bucky will not have access to the full resources and capacities of a Viscount until he is married. So, he’s made it his mission to find a wife by the end of the season.
“Why is everyone so concerned with my love life?”
“Because you practically never stop complaining about your predicament.”
The Viscount has no response to that. He only huffs, resembling the same response his sister had for him earlier. Sam is almost convinced that the action is an inherited instinctual behaviour of the Barnes'.
“Are you even trying?”
“Of course I am, Wilson.”
Sam does not believe him for a second. “Really?”
Bucky nods in response. “In the past hour, I’ve spoken to 13 women at the very least,” as if the statistic will sooth his friend's concerns.
“How many of those women did you have an actual conversation with? And how many dance cards have you signed your name onto?” Sam turns his body to face the Viscount fully, crossing his arms in displeasure as he continues to press his friend. None.
Sensing Bucky's disinterest in continuing this topic, Sam positions himself back beside his friend. They take a few moments to scan the room and enjoy the lovely renditions of the band. At the same time, the two men spot Steve across the ball room, standing on the sidelines and making pleasant conversation with Miss Carter and the rest of Lady Hill's girls. "Shall we join the bloke?" Sam suggests.
“If only to sweep him away,” Bucky murmurs, letting his friend lead the way.
It is quite an overwhelming experience to attend the first ball of the season, especially when you have not attended in quite some time. You are a certainly no hermit, being present at all of Tony's dinner parties and business meetings in the countryside. Those events, however, can never compare in scale to the festivities of the season, where it seemed like all of Britain and the world were confined to a single manor. That is why you find yourself on the sidelines with the young women of Shield, listening in on the conversation between your friend and her love interest.
"How was your winter, Your Grace," Peggy sweetly queries.
Duke Rogers, who was leaning in slightly due to the loud ambience and height difference, stands tall and straight before answering. "Quite alright, thank you, Miss Carter. I travelled to Paris to study painting. The artists there have quite a knack for colour mixing and brush work. And how are you? I image things at Shield continue to be vibrant."
"Oh yes, Your Grace. Though, I do find peace at the stool of our pianoforte." The Duke's smile brightens at Peggy's words, recalling many previous conversations of Miss Carter and her passion for music. His expression is so gentle, causing Peggy to blush as she continues to share. "I've made quite the progress in learning Mozart's--"
"Rogers!" A cheery, booming voice approaches. It's none other than Lord Wilson, proudly walking towards you all with a brooding dog-of-a-man trailing behind.
The Duke offers Peggy and the girls a silent, apologetic smile before turning to greet his friends. "Wilson! Barnes! They let both of you enter this elegant affair? I'm afraid Lady Hill has made an error in invitations."
The three men share a laugh, which ends quickly and abruptly when a powerful presence with a stern face enters the conversation. "I do not make errors, Your Grace." The group of young singles adjust their posture, giving the highly respected woman a bow or curtsy.
"Lady Hill, allow me to apologize. I only jest," the Duke frantically fawns.
After a beat, the matron cracks a smile. "I know. I merely enjoy giving young men a hard time." she finally laughs, breaking the tension completely. "Perhaps I can forgive you if you ask Miss Carter for a dance or two."
Without another word, the Duke bows at Lady Hill before offering his hand and leading Peggy to the dance floor. You will never be unimpressed with how smooth and strategic the matron is; you marvel at the way she continues to carry herself, vowing to be the kind of woman she is when you get to her age. The interaction inconveniences the two men left with the group, who had just manoeuvred across the large room to catch up with their friend, avoiding rogue dance partners and persistent mamas along the way. Lord Wilson, though disappointed, did not let this emotions show. He is quite a polite man, after all. And perhaps you or Natasha would have entertained the idea of courting him if his eyes were not so lovingly set on the driven and delightful Lady Monica Rambeau. The Viscount, on the other hand, is sporting knitted brows and a slight, down-turned pout. The look makes you glare at him, which he is completely oblivious to. The young men huddle together, engaging in hushed dialogue.
Dowager Countess then turns to you, grasping your hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze. "It's so lovely to see you again, my dear."
"And you, Lady Hill."
"I hope you do not intend to remain a wallflower all night," she tuts, peering at the empty dance card hanging from your silk-gloved wrist.
"That's perfectly alright, madame. I'm quite content right here," you comfort, your heart beginning to beat faster. Lady Hill has replaced her disapproving brows, now wearing a smirk of mischief and meddle; a look that she so often dons when she, and other matrons like her, is up to something.
"Perhaps…" her eyes are scanning the room, now. Drat. That's how you know you are absolutely done for. "Ah, Viscount Barnes, perhaps you can untangle this lovely young lady from the wall."
The two men turn back to face you both. It is then that you notice your expression equally reflected on the Viscount's face; a wide-eyed shock and discomfort, not dissimilar to an unwilling child whose mother insists that they kiss the cheek of their distant aunt's—one that might as well be a complete stranger.
Bucky glances at Sam, silently pleading for any way to bail him out of the situation. A business dealing. An empty champagne glass. Anything. But the excuse doesn't come. He just stands there with a wide, approving smile. "Damn him," Bucky thinks. Meanwhile, you turn your head, looking at Natasha for help. She gives you a tight smile; one that says that she wouldn't dare contradict to her matriarch's ideas.
The Viscount winces before mustering up what seemed like every ounce of his energy to change his face into as polite of a smile as he can. God, why does he make it seem like the thought of interacting with you is as painful as pulling a tooth? If it was not for his rotten demeanour, you might actually admire the dimple in his cheek and the sparkle in his dazzlingly blue eyes.
"Of course," Bucky dutifully replies before extending his hand. "Lady Stark, may I have this dance?" Much to your dismay, you place your hand atop of his and he leads you to the dance floor. You take note of how big, rough, and warm his hand feels but snuff out any other thoughts about him after that. Satisfied, Lady Hill makes her way around the party to greet other guests. "Behave ladies."
When Bucky leads you to a satisfactory spot on the dance floor, you turn to face each other. His hand is still clasping yours while the other settles entirely too low on your back. You would have paid more attention to the strange beating of your heart, if it were not for the impolite gesture and worry of your image to the rest of the ton. You frown, using your free hand to reach around and swiftly yank his hand up to the middle of your back instead. Bucky hisses at the motion, his body stiffening as your hand settles onto his muscular shoulder. "Have you no decency, my lord?"
"I injured my elbow in an equestrian accident a few years ago," the Viscount grimaces. "My arm hasn't been the same since."
Evaluating the look in his eyes, you find no signs of a lie; just the remnants of a painful memory. "Ah," ignoring the tightness of guilt in your chest. Your eyes seem to wander, everywhere in the glamorous room but back to his. Your eyes find Peggy and the Duke, whose seem like they are in an entirely different world of their own. "Very well then. Place it where it pleases you."
Bucky's hand slides slightly lower down your back, still at a height deemed perfectly acceptable. It is, however, not low enough because the ache in his arm remains. He tries not to complain or push the boundaries further, as he's long since come to the conclusion that high society has inevitable bouts of discomfort for the sake of propriety. If he truly placed his hand where it pleases him—which is on the very inviting curve of your waist—in front of the what seems like the entirety of Britain's high society, he might as well dig his own grave; and perhaps his whole family's since the action would tarnish the good name of Barnes.
The two of you begin to dance, swaying and spinning to the colourful tunes of the band.
"How has your time away from been?" The Viscount begins.
"Fine."
"And you? How have you been?" he continues.
"Fine."
Bucky groans at the cold responses, his chest warming with irritation. Even at his attempts to be civil, you chose to be difficult and distant. He can't help but think it is personal because you actually seem sweet to everyone else. The feeling was endlessly frustrating for the young man.
"Why do you hate me so much? Truly." The Viscount asks.
"Truly? Where shall I even begin," you scoff as you gracefully slide around the pristine, polished floorboards. "Perhaps it was all the vile rumours you spewed about me and my family when my brother and I were freshly orphaned. I was only 11, you know."
Bucky's brows furrow. "That was more than a decade ago and it was all a big misunder--"
"Oh please, Mr. Barnes. I'm not interested in hearing excuses," still not looking him in the eye. You instead, gaze up at the large chandelier—certainly not as an attempt to stop tears from forming. "Time does not heal all wounds. And besides, I don't particularly chose to spend my time on subjects and people that disturb me so."
He studies your face and can see the way your mouth turns down and your lip ever so slightly quivers. Even if you think you're doing a fantastic job of hiding it, he sees the hurt. And if he was a less observant man, he can still hear the way your voice falters. He would have apologized if it were not for her unkind words.
Instead, he is silent, nothing but the pleasant melody of violins, the shuffling of shoes and skirts, and the chatter of guests filling their ears. Effortlessly, the two of you dance without missing a beat—the both of you are quite experienced in galas like this, after all.
"You can be quite mean," Bucky pouts.
The statement causes you to finally look at him in shock. You really can't begin to understand why the Viscount was acting like a boy whose favourite toy had been broken beyond repair. Perhaps it was because you are just a toy to him—another young lady to play and to break. You've observed him to be a nice man outside of his treatment towards you. But you are also not a stranger to the salacious rumours of him and his escapades with women of no status. So no, you utterly refuse to play whatever game he is trying to play and will be damned if you let yourself become a toy for his amusement.
"I detest your attitude."
"And I, yours."
"Good, then we're in agreement."
The string musicians finish with a flourish as Bucky and the rest of the gentlemen dip their dance partner. He takes a second to look at you. There's a light in your eyes that pulls him in like a moth to a flame; a gaze that challenges and provokes. If you weren't so difficult, Bucky might actually admire the way your lashes kiss your cheek when you blink up at him and how the weight and warmth of you feels in his arms.
"Viscount! Viscount Barnes!" the shrill sounds of Lady de Fountaine break the tension. He quickly returns you to a standing position, letting go of your hand and dropping his arms to his sides. You both turn towards the loud lady, who is practically dragging a young woman by the hand.
"Viscount Barnes. May I introduce you to Miss Melissa Joan Gold?" Lady de Fontaine beams with the widest smile that doesn't quite meet her eyes. She grabs a hold of the poor girl's arms, pulling her in front to present to the Viscount. "She has just made her debut earlier today."
"Valentina," the girl pleads, only to be quickly shushed by the black-and-white haired woman. "She is quite obedient and perfectly respectable."
You can't help but sympathize for Miss Gold, whose face is as flushed as a ripe tomato. It must be quite mortifying to be freshly debuted and to be chaperoned by an abrasive woman who has just been lambasted in the latest issue of Lady Vraidire.
"Oh, Viscount Barnes, will you please do us both the honour of having her first dance as a debutante be with someone as handsome and well-off as you?" She's imploring entirely too loud, earning the attention of guests within at least a three metre radius. You suspect that she's done so on purpose.
Bucky looks at you one last time before offering his hand to Miss Gold and excusing them both. "T'was a pleasure, Lady Stark."
Lady de Fontaine watches the pair leave, her smile dropping as soon as they are a distance away. "Ah, Lady Stark," she acknowledges to you finally. Out of pure politeness, you offer a curtsy to the older woman. "You've been gone for quite some time."
"I have."
"I suppose you have much to catch up on. Many people to reacquaint." Lady de Fontaine's eyes slowly track you from your ornate golden shoes, to your signature Stark scarlet-coloured gown; to your intricate, jewelled necklace, and your perfectly styled hair. Her lips are pursed with judgment and envy.
"Oh, I'm well-informed," you smile, voice coated in sickly sweetness. "The young women at Shield have brought me up to date." The Dowager Baroness scoffs at the mention of anything and anyone related to Lady Hill, even if she is currently standing under her roof. "And anything they miss is surely included in Lady Vraidire's Society Papers."
Lady de Fontaine looks absolutely scandalized now. Good, serves her right. It takes a certain audacity to act in the way she does, let alone provoking a Stark. "That frivolous paper is down right preposterous," she's practically spitting. "Have you read her latest issue??" Of course you have; you explicitly brought Lady Vraidire up to shake her. "She wrote 'Fontaine.' It's 'de Fountaine'. de Fontaine! Any credible writer would be so diligent to eliminate such catastrophic errors before sending their work to the printing press. Which reminds me, I shall look into the publisher. They'll be hearing from me and their negligent--"
"Lady Stark!" you let out a deep breath, relieved to see Miss Yelena Belova skip toward you, holding hands with her best friend outside of the young ladies of Shield, Miss Rebecca Barnes.
"Well then. I'll leave it to you to..." the older woman pauses, taking in the two young women approaching. "Reconnect." She searches the ballroom, eyes brightening as she locks onto her next target. "Ah, Miss Pym," she calls as she walks away. "Is your father around? I do wish to extend my condolences to him personally." And perhaps convince the recently widowed man to marry Miss Gold or even herself, you think.
The two young ladies step closer to you, ready to gossip. Yelena looks quite proud to have saved you from another aching moment with the Dowager Baroness. She leans in before asking in a hushed tone. “What did that prune want with you?”
Out of pure shock and reflex, you smack the blonde’s arm. “Lena!” The blue-eyed brunette beside her bursts into a fit of melodic laughter. You let yourself smile a little. If you wanted to don the role of a polite woman who welcomes mentorship, you would have scolded the girl and corrected her behaviour. But you did not want to do that at all. You have grown quite fond of Yelena, who like her older sister Natasha, does not care much for pleasantries and propriety. It was refreshing and inspiring, really.
“Alright, it was a little funny,” you concede, Yelena’s face brightening at your validation. “She didn’t want anything from me," you begin. "On second thought, perhaps she wanted my ear. She practically chewed it off.”
This earns another healthy laugh from the two. “She did look quite famished,” Miss Barnes joyfully joins in. “Hungry for attention, I bet!”
“Oh, you girls are trouble,” you giggle, admiring the happiness and vibrancy only the youth are privileged to. You wonder when you’ve lost that spark. It must have been when your parents passed. Or was it when you debuted? It is hard to remember if that light slowly dimmed or if it was snuffed out in one blow.
“You like it,” Yelena beams. And she's right, you do.
The three of you walk back to the outskirts of the ballroom, engaging in people-watching and spirited discussion. Your attention falls back to Viscount Barnes, who is still dancing with Miss Gold. You begin to think that your former dance partner’s shoes must be flat by now, given the amount of times the debutante has clumsily stepped on them. She’s apologized every time and Bucky has been quick to accept them. You can’t help but pity Miss Gold, who is entirely too naive and inexperienced for him. The thought arrives because you sympathize with the girl, whose chaperone seems intent on their partnership. It definitely wasn’t because you feel any type of jealousy or possessiveness. That would be absurd.
Rebecca notices your attention is elsewhere. As astute as she is nosey, she follows the line of your eyesight; straight to her brother. She takes note of the interesting observation, promising to herself that she would follow this developing situation—whatever it may be.
“Anyway, I merely drew a tiny portrait of the sourpuss. I don’t understand why I was punished so harshly," Yelena groans. "Lady Stark, would you be so incredibly kind to lead my lessons instead?”
The sound of your name brings you back into focus. "Pardon, Yelena. My mind was elsewhere."
Rebecca attempts to fill you in. "Lena was just talking about how the Governess--"
"No need to recount the details of my misfortune. Will you please teach me instead?" The blonde desperately pleads. "You Starks are the smartest people I know. Please, please please."
"So long as Lady Hill approves--"
Yelena lunges, wrapping her arms around you and squeezing as tightly as a python. "Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I'm so glad you're back!"
"I can come back here tomorrow morning to start our lessons," you say, hugging her back.
The song concludes and the string musicians return to a resting position. Their melodic tunes are replaced by the brightness of horns, announcing the royal entrance.
"Ladies and gentleman," you hear a man shout from the banister. "Her Majesty, the Queen!" The grand doors at the top of the staircase open and the royal confidently enters the ballroom.
The dance floor is quickly cleared, as all the guests bow curtsy to greet the reigning monarch. Her hair styled so intricately and her gown is large and lavish. Peggy scurries her way back to you, hooking her arm around yours. "Where's Natasha?" she whispers, brows furrowed. You shrug, taking a moment to look around and think; where is Natasha?
Your thoughts are interrupted with the sound of a commanding, prim and proper voice. “Allow me to introduce my special guests at Buckingham Palace,” the Queen starts.
“The princes of Asgard, Prince Thor Odinson and Prince Loki Laufeyson.” A polite round of applause starts as two notably tall men enter the ballroom, the blond wearing an confident smile and the brunette dawning a mischievous grin.
“Prince T’Challa of Wakanda and his advisors.” Alongside applause, a wave of whispers travel the room as a strong, stoic man emerges with two formidable women following closely behind. Though Lady Vraidire did report on their arrival, most of the ton believed that she was surely wrong; for the Prince and his country have made it a point to be as solitary and self-sufficient as possible. It is, in fact, a mystery as to how the country manages with such limited international relations and trade. You can’t help but wonder if you are witnessing an important moment in history.
“And lastly, from Sokovia, Prince Pietro and Princess Wanda Maximoff.” The pair step forward, arms hooked together. They stop at the railing to overlook the guest below.
“Is there a special cream that is exclusive to royal blood?” Yelena whispers. “They are all gorgeous.”
You hum in agreement, just as you lock eyes with the Sokovian Prince from across the room. His face is pleasantly structured and perfectly symmetrical. His eyes stay on you as he cracks a cheeky, boyish grin. Prince Pietro, ever the gentleman, guides is sister down the grand staircase before unhooking his arm and excusing himself. Still, his eyes rarely left yours.
“By God, Lady Stark. His Royal Highness looks absolutely captivated by you,” Peggy is practically jumping for joy beside you.
“And he’s coming this way” Rebecca gasps.
Prince Pietro makes quick work of the distance between you. As he ventured closer, you are able to survey him in greater detail. His effortlessly styled silver, curly locks. His satisfying sculpted brows. His striking blue eyes. He is positively breathtaking.
The royal stops right in front of you, flashing the most dashingly charming smile.
“Your Highness,” you greet, lowering your gaze as you curtsy.
“And who might you be, miss?”
“Lady Stark, Your Highness.” Prince Pietro looks at you, his eyes kind and purposeful.
“Well Lady Stark, will you indulge me with a dance?” he requests, offering his hand.
You take a moment to look at your friends beside you. Peggy and Rebecca are practically vibrating with excitement, their smiles spreading from ear to ear. Yelena’s jaw has dropped, completely frozen in shock.
Silently, you place your hand elegantly on his, looking up at him with warm allure in your eyes.
From a distant corner of the ballroom, Viscount Barnes leans against the wall. Like all the guests in the ballroom, he observes the whole interaction. “Well he certainly enjoys the spotlight,” he scoffs, glaring at the royal. “I’m going out for a smoke,” he says, unbuttoning his jacket and pulling out a pipe from the inside pocket. He makes a swift exit towards the veranda overlooking the Shield gardens. Steve and Sam share a look, equally perplexed and intrigued at their friend’s behaviour. They wordlessly decide not to confront the man, only following him outdoors to continue their conversation.
Indoors, the soirée continues its lively festivities. As the band reconvenes and continues their set list, the Prince leads you to the very centre of the room. Turning to face each other, you curtsy and he bows. You both assume your positions, gently placing one hand in his and the other on the epaulette of his expertly tailored jacket. He confidently claps your hand, his other hand settling at a respectable spot between your shoulder blades. The pair of you begin to dance, stepping in sync with those around you.
You are so taken aback at how smooth and simple such social interactions with the opposite sex can be. “You look as though your mind is running as fast as a horse” the Prince offers a comforting smile.
“Forgive me, Your Highness. This is quite overwhelming of an experience. It is not everyday that a handsome prince asks a lady to dance in such a manner that you did.”
“You think I’m handsome?” he teases, making your cheeks warm.
“I’m afraid it is you who I must ask for forgiveness, Lady Stark.” You furrow your brows, unsure of what the polite gentleman needed to apologize for.
“For my boldness,” he continues. “It is just that when I see something—or someone—I am interested in, I make it a point to purse them immediately. Sokovians; we’re quite determined peoples.”
“And you’re interested? In me?” You can’t begin to wrap your mind around his blunt honesty, which rivals that of Natasha and Yelena. Perhaps this was another quality that Eastern Europeans share.
“You say that as if you don’t know how desirable you are,” the Prince looks at you fondly.
“I mean, I find my looks quite satisfactory but--“
“Well I am glad. I shall like to imagine the future Queen of Sokovia to be astute and honest.” Once again, the Prince's candidness astonishes you. He notices your reaction and apologizes again. "I'm very sorry for being so forthright, Lady Stark. It seems we have found ourselves a cultural difference that we must navigate."
The statement eases you. In fact, it pleases you that he is such an observant and considerate man—a prince, though you could not care any less of his title and status. "It seems we have, Your Highness," regaining your social footing. "And pray tell, what other qualities do you imagine for the future queen."
The two of you continue to dance, much of the ton's desperately curious eyes watching the pair gracefully move about the floorboards. Their gazes burn into the back of your neck, the feeling discomfort heating your belly. Thankfully, the Prince does offer some comfort in his confidence and polite conversation. He details the traits he is looking for in a wife and queen; kind, smart, generous, witty, and outspoken. You think that those attributes may describe you, but still cannot begin to imagine yourself carrying the impossibly heavy responsibilities of a monarch.
The musical piece concludes with a decrescendo and guests around the ballroom offer an applause; though you do not know if it was intended to acknowledge the skill of the strings players or the spectacle of your dance with the Prince of Sokovia.
"True to my word, I shall let you enjoy the rest of the evening, Lady Stark. Thank you for this dance," the Prince gently releases you, bowing before making he way back to his sister, a proud smile on her face.
You straighten from your curtsy, only then realizing how short your breath has been for the past few minutes. You are not offered a moment of respite, though, as the young ladies of Shield—sans Natasha—and Rebecca frantically make their way to you.
"Lady Stark, that was magical," Peggy beams. "You looked like dignified royalty!"
"What did you two talk about? I must know at once!" Yelena demands.
Rebecca studies your expression, noting the quickness in which your chest is rising and falling and the surprised look on your face. "Are you feeling well, Lady Stark?"
"I'm fine," you reply blandly, your eyes dashing around the room trying to make sense of prior fantastical event. "Perhaps some fresh air will do me some good."
"Very well. Let's go," Yelena hooks her arm around you, stepping towards the entrance to the gardens. Your feet remain planted, though, causing her to spring back to you with furrowed brows.
"Forgive me, Lena," you look at her softly. "Might I have some time alone?"
Though disappointed, Yelena gives you a sympathetic smile. "Come on girls, to the refreshments," Peggy says, rounding up the two younger ladies. "And don't be too long, Lady Stark. It is still quite chilly at night."
"That royal seems vain," Viscount Barnes grumbles, taking a puff from his pipe. He does not have a habit of smoking, it was just an excuse to escape the buzzing ballroom. If his friends had not followed him outside, the pipe he had stored in his jacket would have remained unlit.
"You are merely saying that because he's taken fancy to Lady Stark," Sam knowingly smirks.
Bucky's posture straightens at the accusation. "Nonsense!" he counters a bit too quickly, the action earning a laugh out of his friends.
"Buck, it is clear that you are interested in her," Steve gently states, acutely aware of the tight line he is currently walking. "Perhaps you shall try to get to know her properly. You may actually find that your impassioned interactions stem from--"
"I shall not subject myself to such stressful endeavours, Steve," the Viscount shuts down. "I intend on living a long, healthy life, Your Grace."
His two friends only sigh at their dear friend's stubbornness—it is a trait that makes Bucky a fiercely effective Viscount, but quite a frustrating friend at times.
You enter the veranda overlooking the Shield gardens. Since you were young, you've found this place to be particularly calming. Lady Hill, ever the resourceful Countess, had made sure that this land is not just beautifully decorated with ornamental flowers. Sprinkled in with the budding blooms are vegetables and fruit. It is quite a masterfully planned garden, serving as a beautiful escape and an opportunity for the young ladies of Shield to grow their own food. The garden is practically a sanctuary for you. Until, that is, you hear a familiar, grating voice. As the Viscount continues his rant, you duck behind a healthy shrub of hydrangeas.
"Besides, if I am to be shackled to a woman for the rest of my days, the lady in question should be easy to get along with. Quiet. Agreeable. Passion is the last thing I desire," Bucky thinks aloud. His friends only listen with silent disagreement, letting him continue on. "She will be the future mother to my children, so, she should have a pleasing face and an acceptable wit. Must be well-mannered enough to assume the role of Viscountess. The qualities should not be so hard to find and yet all of London's debutantes fall short."
"You will find the right woman," Steve gives his friend a friendly pat on the shoulder before returning back to the indoor festivities.
"Good luck," Sam genuinely says, concerned about his finicky friend. He follows Steve back to the ballroom, leaving Bucky alone. As soon as the french doors close shut, the Viscount smothers the embers of his pipe.
Sensing the end to the conversation, you begin to sneak forward, hoping to make your quiet exit. Alas, your hope is crushed when your foot comes into contact with a garden trowel, which clanks into the metal hand cultivator beside it. You wince at the loud commotion, taking a mental note to scold Yelena for leaving out garden tools when you commence her lessons tomorrow morning.
"Hello? Is someone there?" Bucky calls out before investigating the noise. He is posture is square and tall, but relaxes as soon as he sees you slightly crouched behind the shrub.
"Lady Stark, you have quite a habit of disappearing and reappearing at the most inconvenient of times," the Viscount frowns. "And what it is it that you are doing behind the foliage? Gathering material for the next issue of that blasted gossip paper?"
"Do sharpen up, my lord. How can I possibly be Lady Vraidire when I have been absent for four years?"
Though it raises his blood pressure, Bucky finds conversations—arguments, really—with you quite intellectually stimulating. Your quick remark makes his heart rate pick up because the fact of the matter is, you are completely right. It's a blow to his ego, though, as he has just conceded a point in this mental fencing match. He will not outright admit that your response is convincing, merely changing the topic of conversation instead.
"Well you still have yet to account for your sneaking," he tilts his head. Fleche.
You scoff at his self-righteousness. "I was merely enjoying the crisp, night air."
"And gentlemen's private conversation," he tuts, casting judgment. Advance.
"I would not have listened in if your voice was not so piercing." Riposte.
"Ah, and is this the type of respect you wish to grant all of your potential matches?" Lunge. "I doubt that any man—princes included—will find appeal in that."
Your blood boils at the condescending mention of your dance with Prince Pietro. "You do think quite high of yourself, Your Grace," you begin. Parry. "Besides, there is no potential with you, Viscount Barnes. In addition to your arrogance, your attitude towards women as merely wives and mothers is abhorrent. Surely your mother and sister have taught you to respect ladies. It seems that you are not the most absorbent student. If you should like to find yourself an acceptable woman to wed, perhaps you shall first make yourself into an acceptable man worth marrying." Touché.
"And since you have so thoroughly aggravated me and soured my night, I think it is time for me to leave. Good evening, my lord," you conclude, angrily and hastily making your exit. You decide that you have had enough socializing for one night, exhausted, annoyed, and overwhelmed.
Bucky is left taken aback at your words, feeling a pit in stomach. Again, you are right. In fact, the strong willed women in his life have taught him to be a gentleman and he's extremely grateful for them. He reflects for a moment; perhaps his ambition to fulfill his role as Viscount clouds him.
Dearest gentle reader,
What a night, indeed. The author must commend Lady Hill for another successful social gathering. The highly anticipated first ball of the season was entertaining in more ways than one.
First and foremost, a lady must not make the habit of gloating. However, I did tell you so. The heir and spare of Asgard have appeared last night. We shall definitely see what mischief they shall bring this season. Most surprisingly, though not surprising to me, is that the Prince of Wakanda has, indeed, arrived to Britain. This is quite the feat considering the long journey from the very reclusive African nation. The Queen, herself, presented them to the ton, revealing that she is hosting them all. Buckingham Palace must be absolutely buzzing with servants, confidantes, and royal advisors. I wonder if Her majesty can keep up with this much action, given the state of her absent-from-the-throne husband.
The Prince and Princess of Sokovia also attended the glamorous event. The two seem quite attached to the hip—that is, until the Prince had spotted Lady Stark from across the ballroom. Shortly after arriving to the soirée, the dashing man made quick work of showing his interest in the spinster. Perhaps that term may not apply to Lady Stark much longer. We shall have to see where this story may lead. It certainly seems as though the relationship may move faster than the multi-year courting of Duke Rogers and Miss Carter.
The author wonders what Viscount Barnes, who shared a dance with Duke Stark's sister earlier in the evening, thinks about the aforementioned prospect. Though, if Lady Fontaine had a say, His Grace would be plenty occupied with Miss Gold.
In other, less consequential news, Sir Quill, Baron of Guardians, has reentered the ton after retreating to mourn the sudden and tragic loss of his wife, Lady Gamora. It seems, however, that this time away may not have been long enough, as he was seen swirling about the dance floor, crying into the shoulders of poor young women who graciously accepted his invitation to dance. Perhaps the Baron should retreat back to his family in the countryside to heal before he drowns himself and the rest of the ton in his tears.
Surely if this first ball is any indication of how the rest of the social season may go, it is set to be quite an interesting one.
Yours truly,
Lady Vraidire
author's note: dramaaaaaa. i loved writing this mess of a night. i didn't proofread the later half of the chapter as much would have liked to. i wanted to get it out to you all, so sorry if there's any mistakes. did any one catch the little women reference or nah lol please consider a like, reblog, and/or a comment-i crave validation. P.S. free my mans, aaron taylor johnson.
dividers by @/bronzewasp (gold frame) & @/cursed-carmine (pink bow)
I forgor I have a draft of a new Diana ref. Tragically she has lost her melanin from her last redesign but idk, this feels more her. Someone gave the suggestion that she could be a native american-irish mix and I kinda like it.
Now how well I portrayed that in this redesign is up for debate...
She does still have a casual outfit, I just need to draw her in it.
I like to think that she shows off her arm of taint because humans are gullible enough to think it's a tattoo.
pairing: viscount!james bucky barnes x lady stark!reader
summary: regency/bridgerton au. being the younger sibling afforded lady stark the luxury to disregard the marriage market entirely. relinquished from the pressure to marry well, you still find yourself in London for the social season to reconnect with old friends. unfortunately, that also meant that you'd likely have to exchange pleasantries with a scoundrel of a man, viscount james buchanan barnes.
word count: 1,943 (future chapters will be much longer, i promise!)
warnings/tags: enemies-to-lovers. sloooow burn. angst. regency era social norms. no smut in this chapter.
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prologue
Another year, another social season in London. And yet, there was a different energy in the spring air, the feeling similar to the electric buzz before a lightning storm. You felt it as soon as you stepped out of the carriage, the modestly high heel of your shoe clicking on the cobblestone below.
"Welcome back, Lady Stark," the young coachman, Peter, smiles brightly. He releases your hand after having assisted you from the vehicle. You give him a curt smile before admiring the building in front of you.
The Stark family's London home was just as you remembered it. The townhouse's stone walls stand proudly, decorated by flushes of the fiery red and golden yellow rose blooms. The front door opens, servants quickly forming a line to greet you. Among them are the butler and the housekeeper, Jarvis and Friday.
"Hello, Lady Stark. I trust you had a pleasant journey?" Jarvis presumes, stepping aside as foremen carry your bags indoors.
"The ride was steady enough—thank you, Vis. Though, it was dreadfully boring on my own."
The butler grins at your statement, aware of the fact that your boredom stems from the absence of your brother and his wife. You'd never outright admit it to anyone, but Jarvis knows: you miss him.
"Ah yes. The Duke and Duchess have business in the new world. What is it this time? Invention? Manufacturing? Research?"
"A little of everything," you sigh. "You know Tony; ever the businessman and ever the Da Vinci of our time."
"My, you've blossomed, dear," the housekeeper gasps, outstretching her arms to give you a warm hug. She frequently dotes on you, practically raising you after the tragic passing of your mother and father when you were 11 and your brother 21.
"I couldn’t possibly have changed that much in four years, Friday. I haven’t grown a centimetre in ages," you giggle, squeezing her tightly.
She pulls away, stealing an extra few moments to take you in. "Four years is too long, my dear. Now, come along. We've prepared the drawing room for tea."
"And the latest issue of Lady Vraidire's Society Papers?"
"Already at the table."
Dearest Gentle Reader,
It has come to my attention that Lady Fontaine has taken it upon herself to chaperone Miss Melissa Joan Gold, who intends to make her debut this season. It is quite a noble endeavour for the second wife of the late Baron of Oxe, though we have yet to witness any evidence that the Dowager Baroness is capable of nurture. Regardless, she seems persistent in her pursuit to dethrone Lady Hill as the Matron of Festivities. We shall see how events unfold.
Yours truly,
Lady Vraidire
"This issue is brutal," Peggy expresses her shock before continuing to nurse her cup of tea.
Natasha had just finished reading Lady Vraidire's latest publication aloud. "I liked it. Just because it's brutal, does not mean it isn't every bit true," she shrugs, waving the leaflet back and forth. After all, Lady de Fontaine had quite the reputation of being entirely too blunt and overbearing. She has a habit of crossing lines without a care in the world; as long as it benefits her. Such a personality does tend to rub people the wrong way.
"I do feel a little bad,” you confess, gazing around the room to appreciate the champagne-coloured wallpaper and intricate moulding that you didn’t know you missed. “Finding entertainment in an other's scandals.”
"Like Yelena always says; 'gossip is just another form of information sharing'. It's practically pivotal to any functioning society," Natasha reasons, exchanging the leaflet for a crumpet, which she enthusiastically takes a large bite out of. You have to admit that her argument does alleviate the strange twist of guilt in your stomach. Gossip has been equally considered unbecoming and life-saving; especially for women.
The three of you relaxed on the rigid, rouge camelback sofas of the Starks' drawing room. It had been four years since you spoke to Natasha and Peggy and saw tea time as the perfect opportunity to reunite. Sure, you exchanged letters throughout that time, but nothing can ever replace face-to-face interactions. Besides, you missed the bright sound of Peggy's voice and the smokey tone of Natasha's.
The two divulge in the chaotic happenings of Shield. Even before the passing of Lord Fury, the Dowager Countess, Lady Hill, had made it her personal mission to adopt, raise, and chaperone orphaned girls and young ladies. As any household filled with youthful women, Shield is perpetually chaotic, lively, and welcoming. There is truly never a dull moment for them. And you imagine that if it were not for your dutiful and responsible brother, you might have ended up in Lady Hill's care as well. You've concluded that these girls are not just your friends, they're family.
Your conversation moves on to developments in Peggy’s courtship with Duke Steven Rogers. They have been quite friendly for a few seasons, but have yet to settle down and commit. Peggy, though patient and hopelessly romantic, laments at the slow pace of their relationship. "He's a polite and gentle man but, God, I wish that he would finally muster up the courage and just ask me already," she sighs, slumping further into her seat. “It’s actually been incredibly frustrating. He’s written me the most beautiful love letters. Gifted me such thoughtful gifts…” Peggy squeals. “Oh, and he gave me this one poetry book filled with markings. He underlined every passage that reminded him of me. He even drew portraits of me in the blank spaces and margins! From memory, I might add!! Can you believe it?”
"I've not know you to be a liar," Natasha smiles, genuinely happy for her friend.
“Wow,” you’re utterly stunned at the information. “To think that you’re still worried about your status with him... It sounds like he’s positively drunk in his love for you.”
"I don't know how much longer I can wait before it's wise for me to entertain other gentlemen callers," the brunette casts her eyes low, thinking grimly of the idea of parting with the Duke.
"I overheard Lady Hill express her plans to press him, Peg," Natasha offers comfort, grabbing her friend's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I bet he'll be retrieving the family ring soon if he hasn't already."
After sharing details of your solitary life in the countryside, Natasha’s bitter jealousy is the next topic of conversation—envious of you and your privilege as a comfortably secure spinster. As the second born of the Stark family, you are absolved of any responsibilities of the dukedom and the Stark legacy. And because your generous and kind brother vows to support you throughout your life, you've practically been relinquished of any pressure to marry at all. Your circumstances are novel, a luxury that most young ladies could not even dream of; Natasha being one of them. Instead, women have to wed out of duty, out of status, and out of financial and social security. To be free from that predicament; you don't think you can be any more blessed—or perhaps just lucky.
"You two speak extensively of money and status and security," Peggy sighs. "Would it displease you to think about the possibility of marrying for love?"
You and Natasha glance at each other. By the blatant look of disgust on the redhead's face, you and Peggy surmise that her answer is no. It is not because she is opposed to the idea of love. She has previously expressed her interest in the concept and the potential to experience such a feeling. However, it is probably the last thing on the young orphan's mind as she navigates her life as a debutante.
"And how about Mr. Barton?" Peggy presses, wishing for her friends to share in her experiences of romance.
"Not a chance. He's more like a brother to me," Natasha is standing up now, wandering about the drawing room and observing its tiny ornate details. "Besides, he's quite smitten with one of the scullery maids at Shield."
Peggy speedily sits up at this reveal, scanning her brain for memories of Mr. Barton's visits to the estate she calls home. "He told you this?" she inquires, completely gobsmacked.
"No."
“Then you caught them together?”
“No.”
"Pray tell, how do you know all of this then?" you prod, hungry for every delicious detail. The tray of delicate pastries and pot of carefully brewed leaves have gone cold by now, but the room has gotten warmer with such stimulating conversation.
Natasha pauses her pacing, basking in the expressions of the two young women she had stunned in their seats. "People talk." Her refusal to elaborate peeves you. You're almost completely certain that she revels in being incredibly in-the-know and disgustingly mysterious.
"And you, Lady Stark?" Peggy's kind eyes fall on you, looking quite expectantly.
You look at her dumbfounded. "Me?" The young lady only nods, encouraging you to open up. "Marry? For love?" The concept felt so foreign to you. Sure, you've witnessed the love between your parents, and then again with Tony and Pepper. But, the social circles of high society are only so big and the pick of men you know have left much to be desired.
"Peg, you know just as much as I; Britain's crop of men is disappointingly unsatisfactory. Skilful, secure, and smart, yes. But if they are not incredibly gross, they are incredibly rude."
"Or both," Natasha interjects, continuing to pace around the room. You nod in agreement.
"It just so happens that you have met one of the last decent men in Britain."
Peggy crosses her arms, displeased by her friends' pessimistic sentiments. She pauses to think for a moment before standing up with a newfound joy. "Well then perhaps you might fancy one of the royals coming to town? You've read what Lady Vraidire wrote!"
Natasha hums. "Princess Romanoff and Princess Stark do have a nice ring to it," entertaining the idea. "I've heard that the Prince of Wakanda is incredibly handsome and very well-mannered."
"Oh please. I am not deluded enough to believe that I can capture the attention of a prince," you shut down the fantasy, standing up from the sofa to sit at the intricately handcrafted, wooden chess set—a gift to your late father from the Duke of Pym. You begin to reset the board, fidgeting and wishing for this conversation to move on.
"I was speaking for myself," Natasha squints at you, plopping herself down onto the chair across from you and moving the light Maple piece. Pawn to D4. "And I'm not delusional. Only ambitious."
"Well, it is good practice to set goals for oneself. And you are incredibly driven, Nat," you admit, reaching for your black Anegre pawn and sliding it forward. Pawn to D5.
"You two are breathtakingly gorgeous, incredibly sharp, and have exuberant personalities." Peggy moves to the chaise nearby, observing the pieces on the board. "Surely you will win the affection of the right man." White pawn to C4.
"I'm not concerned about what men think of me," you say, leaning your elbow onto the table and pondering your next move. "I'm quite confident in myself. It is what I think of him that deters me from marrying." Black pawn to C4.
Natasha groans at the capture of her piece. "Really?" You only reply with a slight shrug and a cheeky smile.
"Very well," Peggy resigns. “One can only dream, I suppose.”
The rest of afternoon conversation commences with speculations about the first ball of the season. Surely, something interesting will occur. Something always does.
author's note: chapters will get much longer after this, i promise! buckle up for a long ride and the SLOW burn. this series is fun to write. it feels good to get my creative juices flowing again. please consider a like, reblog, and/or a comment-i crave validation.
dividers by @/bronzewasp (gold frame) & @/cursed-carmine (pink bow)
I really really apologize if this is bad. I am not confident in my smut writing.
If you know me, no you don’t. It’s gonna be really short
Matthew x Fem!reader
“Please, please” Matthew whimpered, sweat beads forming in his forehead.
He threw his head back as you raked your nails down his chest as you moved against him, unable to Nov under your touch and command.
“Not yet Matty…not till I say so. Just gimmie a few more minutes please.” You pouted. Matthew wasn’t sure why you said please. All he could feel was the ache in his cock as you moved up and down on him slowly.
He whined, his mouth falling open in a pant as he bucked his hips up to meet yours.
You lifted your body off of his, whining at the empty feeling inside you as his cock left your entrance. “No baby, not yet..” you were getting close to your breaking point, you needed the release just as much as he did.
He looked at you, his blue eyes heavy with pleasure, tears threatening to start forming.
You couldn’t take the sight anymore, shifting back down, both moaning as his cock entered you once more. Your bodies moving fast against each other. Matthew’s arms holding you in a tight hug as he bucked up into you fast and hard, chasing both of your releases.
Within minutes your bodies both shivered and collapsed from the feeling of ecstasy.
“You did so good Baby” you stroked the hair out of his face, gently rolling off the top of him as you snuggled into his side.
He just pulled you close and squeezed before pulling a blanket over your naked bodies.
“I love you, so much…” he placed a kiss on your forehead, smiling against your skin.
“I love you too..”
Eventually sleep enveloped both of you, drifting off into a blissful dream….
I just found your blog, so if you've already done this, feel free to ignore 👉👈 the Seduce Me boys with an easily flustered S/O?
I have gotten similar asks but not this exactly!
James
James would find it very cute and endearing. He’d love the way his partner would blush and stutter over their words when he complimented them or when he’d place a swift but unexpected kiss.
Erik
He’s adore it, he would do everything he could to make his partner blush. He loves the way their ears go pink when he hugs them from behind and whispers in their ear (sweet or dirty). He loves how they stumble and stuff when he hold them close while dancing.
Sam
He finds it really cute. He likes that he’s able to make his partner blush so easily, but it goes both ways since he himself gets very flustered easily. When he is in a flirty mood he loves the way his partner stumbles over his words when he talks to them while leaning against the wall with his hand up (iykyk)
Matthew
He finds it adorable. He loves giving his partner cheek kisses and hugs and he loves how much they blush from those small gestures. Or the way they stumble over their ‘thanks’ whenever he bakes something they like.
Damien
He finds it cute. He gets flustered easily so when one of them compliments the other it’s a whole blushing mess. Damien can control it better than his partner and when he’s in the right mood to mess with his partner he’ll hug them and pepper kisses on their neck and face.
Bit basic but incuboys + dealing with jealousy? Either from strangers coming onto their partner or their brothers. Your works are awesome btw 😊
James
With strangers:
When James and his partner are out and about and someone hits on James’ partner. He gets silently possessive. Maybe his hand rests on their shoulder or waist a bit long, or if he’s feeling REALLY bold his hand goes over his partners ass. He will also dead-stare the person hitting on his partner until they back tf off.
With his brothers:
Similarly, he gets possessive, but not silently. He will quite literally tell his brothers to back off (whether or not they are only joking or not with his partner). He will usually need his partner to reassure him that he is the one they want. (Basically all of them do this)
Erik
With strangers;
Erik gets more touchy (yes it’s possible) but not even in a sexual way, just wrapping his arms around his partners waist and standing behind them (if they are similar height he stands beside them). And basically tells them that it’s HIS partner, and walks away with his partner to a different situation.
With his brothers:
He gets very self conscious. He’s very aware that his mask can seem very deceptive and maybe feels like his brothers can offer something more authentic. So he becomes very VERY snarky and rude towards them, which he hates, because he loves his brothers. (So surprisingly, his brothers rarely jokingly flirt with his partner because they know how much it hurts him) and of course he needs his partner to reassure him that they love him and only him.
Sam
There isn’t even a difference between how Sam acts in regarding to jealousy from strangers to his brothers. He might be SLIGHTLY kinder towards his brothers than with strangers but all in all he gets very insecure and becomes very rude and stand off ish. If his partner is around then obviously he becomes very possessive, going as far as to make out with his partner right then and there (if they allow it of course) and then at the end of the day his partner has to coax him into bed, more then likely with either a cuddle session or a slow paced sex to show that they only want him.
Matthew
With strangers:
VERY possessive. Second most possessive actually. The person he feels threatened by usually ends up with some cuts in the back of their shirt/jacket. Like this man almost starts growling if someone is flirting with his partner.
With his brothers
Practically the same way as above. Matthew hates being seen as “the child” so if his brothers are flirting, he gets EXTREMELY insecure. It gets to the point where if his brothers don’t knock it off, it’s gonna end in a brawl. Then once his partner makes him calm down he apologizes to his family and spends the whole next day feeling bad.
Damien
With strangers
He goes very quiet. Doesn’t do or say much unless he realizes that the persons intentions are not pure then he gets close to his partner and stares the person down till they leave.
With his brothers
Uhm…murdery as canon by Michaela. But only if his partner is also flirting back. Usually he just goes very quiet or if he gets fed up enough he’ll give his brothers a whack and tell them to knock it off.
How easy would it be to make the boys blush/flustered?
James
It’s not easy to make James blush. The only real way to make him blush is to catch him off guard, like if he’s focused on work and his partner whispers something either really sweet or really dirty in his ear. That makes him blush before regaining composer and saying something like “is that so” and then proceeds to make his partner go red in the face by flirting back.
Erik
By far the hardest to make blush/ get flustered. His persona has built up such a resistant to sexual flirting that it doesn’t really effect him, but with his partner it’s different, while it’s still hard to make blush, similarly to James, if you catch him off guard, it’s easier to make him blush. He definitely blushes easier at the sweet mushy things than the sexy things.
Sam
By far the easiest. Say he looks handsome and he’s a tomato. He’s weak in that sense.
Matthew
Second easiest. Matthew says a lot of cute things to his partner a lot and they just have that type of relationship. So when it comes to sexy things unexpectedly is when it really gets him
Damien
Not hard but not easy. I’d say he’s in the middle. He more than likely knows if he can read his partners mind, he’ll know what they’re gonna say. But regardless there are still times when his partner can catch him off guard.
What would your ranking be of how much the boys like pda, most to least?
This is my last ask. Please continue to ask guys!!! I appreciate it
In order of how much I think they’d be into pda; most to least.
Erik
James
Damien
Matthew
Sam
I think they’d all be perfectly fine expressing pda to their partner but in different ways. Maybe I can do a more in depth explanation if you all want.
What do you think each of the boys would prefer, a cute or sexy lover?
James
Sexy.
I feel like just because of his mature nature, someone considered cute he’d find too juvenile.
Erik
Cute.
Definitely not expected but Erik talks sexy enough for the both of them, the cuteness of his partner is enough to make him flustered the same way he can fluster his partner.
Sam
Sexy.
While Sam can be sexy, he almost needs the flirting to bring it out of him.
Matthew
Mix of both.
Matthew prefers someone who may be subjected to the same treatment he is, someone who is mature but can also know when to goof off.
Damien
Cute.
Damien is a cinnamony sinnamon roll, and he knows it. He and his partner can be cuties together.
So obviously we know that Erik is a great flirt, but do you think the other guys are good or bad at flirting? And how do they flirt (or attempt to)?
Thank you for this ask! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone ask or answer this.(could be wrong)
By ranking I go
Erik (Obvi)
James
Damien
Sam
Matthew
James
James is a pretty decent flirt. I’d say the second most flirty compared to Erik, for the sole fact of he’s very good with his words, though he’ll get flustered easier than Erik would.
Sam
He’s okay at flirting. Not the best and not the worst. His flirting usually starts and ends with a sweet insult because he gets to flustered- unless it’s the right mood then he’s smooth af.
Matthew
Worst at flirting in the sense of spontaneous flirting. He might say really sweet or cute things in the moment but if he’s trying to flirt, it’s gotta be a certain mood, and he almost always fumbles at least once.
Damien
Third most to be good at flirting. Damien’s ability gives him the advantage of knowing just when to say the right thing and more or less whay the right thing IS to say. He does get considerably flustered though. When he’s drunk tho is a WHOLE different ball park, homie has no shame.
I always find this really interesting to see others answer so I’m happy I get to answer it.
I’m gonna answer this in two parts for each boy; the biggest turn on their partner either can’t control/ something they do unintentionally, and something they do intentionally.
James
One of James’ biggest turn ons is his partners intelligence.
- James finds his partner’s intelligence extremely sexy. Doesn’t necessarily need to be school smart or street smart.
- if his partner is good at dancing, hearing his partner talk to him (or anyone) about new dance moves and techniques turn him on IMMENSELY.
Now if you share the same interests as James, he loves a trivial intellectual challenge. Challenging his knowledge or letting him quiz you is one way for him to pull you into him or into the next closet private area.
The one thing his partner can do that they KNOW turns James on is a mix of two things; challenging him but also being obedient.
- James loves when his partner is obedient is a little bratty.
Erik
Small noises. While it can be an intentional thing, it’s more than likely to turn Erik on if his partner is letting out small little whines because their struggling to figure something out, or the short and quick breaths they let out while working out.
- while Erik absolutely adores when his partner moana or whines during sex, hearing the frustration makes him come up behind them, grabbing their waist or shoulders, massaging lightly asking if they wanted to take a break from whatever was frustrating them (he usually always convinces them.)
The most intensional thing his partner can do is their choice of outfit. As we know, Erik is THE fashion man. So when his partner wears clothes that fit their body beautifully, or even better if his partner wears clothes that he makes himself (EVEN better if they are the model while he’s making the clothes). It’s the fastest way he’ll rip clothes off their body.
Sam
Honestly, the most unintentional thing his partner could do is just random physical affection gestures. (At this rate though it’s a gamble on if it’s intentional or unintentional)
- if he’s sitting at the table over looking some cases from work and his partner comes up behind him, wrapping their arms around his shoulders and absently minded kiss the side of his head or the side of his neck and he’s like a flustered horny puddle and he’ll be doing something else pretty hard on the table.
The most intentional thing his partner could do is start play fighting with him. They both know Sam will always be stronger but challenging him and his strength is a one way ticket to pound town.
Matthew
While Matthew is seen as the most immature, the partner he has always sees the manly mature side of him not matter what. So when his partner treats him like an actual adult and doesn’t talk down to him, Matthew gets very riled up at certain times. Knowing his partner sees him as a man is the sexiest thing to him.
The most intentional thing his partner can do that turns him on is when his partner flirts, similarly to Sam. When his partner iniates it on purpose, It lets Matthew know that he’s still very desirable in that sense.
Damien
Going based on off of whether or not he has his mind reading ability it’s slightly different. From all the years Damien had his mind reading ability (assuming this partner was with him when Diana made him human)
The most unintentional thing Damien’s partner can do is goof off. Damien spent a lot of his life being serious because of how he was treated, he could only relax around his brothers. When he met his partner and they had their intimate moments, and he would mess up from feeling nervous, they’d laugh it off (vise versa) so being able to be that comfortable whether that’s doing some teasing dancing and they fumble or if someone’s stomach rumbles during sex, it’s the most amazing thing to Damien.
The most intentional thing his partner can do is thinking dirty thoughts in public. Now if Damien has his mind reading ability and he randomly hears their dirty thoughts about what they want him to do to them or what they want to do to him, he gets very flustered and finds the fastest excuse to leave that place and go home. If he doesn’t have his mind reading ability, just learning their expressions when they’re in the mood and horny is enough for him to know exactly what they want.
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I hope you guys liked these little head canons, please feel free to ask me for one shots, preferences, reactions, or anything at all about seduce me or any of my fandoms on my page!!!!
