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#I watched a man die yesterday

gamerkuddles · 2 years

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(Recent lore spoilers !)

*Connor appears with naked Friend in Limbo*

Ghostbur: "A sheep?"

*Friend's wool suddenly reappear*

Ghostbur, crying with joy: "FRIEND THE SHEEP"

#ghostbur #dsmp lore #dsmp spoilers #friend the sheep #connoreatspants #i watched the lore yesterday #niki and wil really let a man die to get a sheep into hell #on the bright side ghostbur won't be alone anymore

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vampirekangaroo · 2 years

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So my week has been rather craptastic for the most part. The best part of my week was legit being so restless I watched She-Hulk this week at 3 in the morning after watching Chucky and the 23897 things that recorded Wednesday.

I legit was smiling so hard despite feeling like hell cause I felt tired but could not sleep. Like melatonin tired (cause I took half a dose) and still couldn’t sleep. And of course not to wake my whole house up I decided to kick my bed like a teenager and let out a soundless EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. I literally texted that to my friend who watches it too at 3:30 lol. She was confused, I told her look at the time I sent it.

But seriously like that episode was so perfect and I everything I wanted it to be. Cause Jen is amazing okay? And people who don’t realize that and all the haters can suck it. I hope eventually She Hulk and Daredevil are in the avengers okay. I hope she has a reason to go to New York and be on that show so they can hook up again okay? And like in that bar scene when she’s talking to the crowd....oh lord. You bet your ass I was silently mouthing to the screen, YES JEN, WE ALL FEEL IT. GET YOU SOME MATT MURDOCK GIRL YOU DESERVE IT AFTER ALL THE FUCKBOYS THIS SEASON! LET US ALL LIVE VICARIOUSLY THROUGH YOU FOR THE NIGHT!

But seriously, kinda sorta, I was really impressed at this bigger entrance into the MCU for him. The only difference between the Netflix show (other than the costume) is that we got to see him mostly happy the whole episode. And honestly after EVERYTHING Matt has been through, can we not just enjoy he was fucking happy for thirty something minutes?! Like come on. Plus the brooding line made me ridiculously happy case my hater tater friend is all, “He’s angsty. I don’t like Daredevil.” HE 👏 IS 👏 BROODY 👏 HEFFER 👏 AND IT’S FINE, MORE FOR ME AND EVERYONE ELSE WHO LOVES HIM. I’ll die on my hill. It’s fine.

The ending though, well the satisfied ending and then the real ending. That walk of shame made me SO happy. Y’all have NO clue. There are so many times that women are shown doing that walk and I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw a guy doing it. If ever? I’m trying to wrack my brain but it does not want to play cause I’m going on three hours of sleep (sorry for the typos I know will be in this until I proofread it next week and am mildly mortified I posted this). But seeing him do that walk of shame was just fantastic! I love that they made it be the man and I’m glad he was that man. BE PROUD YOU GOT TO BE WITH JEN! *Insert a happy hum here*

BUT THEN with the slut shaming at the end, like.....I hope that is addressed next week. I hope they say something like this is nothing that a man EVER has to deal with. Was Tony Stark ever called a whore despite that scene in the beginning of Iron Man? Nope, don’t think so. So yeah I hope they address it’s not okay and while I would love for Matt to be her lawyer with him saying he was going back to New York I doubt that will happen. I do hope that if I can’t have that happen, I hope Mallory is her legal council. ‘Cause damn if it ain’t getting old to have people thinking it’s not okay for women to have sex for, LE GASP, pleasure.

#she hulk spoilers #one hell of a caption #i have a wee bit of an opinion on yesterday's episode #we are lucky I have only watched it twice #my week has been that bad #i'll add more hashtags next week hopefully #sorry not sorry people who follow me #also thank you to all the people who equally love charlie I follow #you guys have seriously saved my fucking sanity the past two days #thank you to the gif makers who made the ones above #that scene is going to live rent free in my head until the day I die #and when I meet St. Peter at the gate I'm gonna just be all smiles and yell DID YOU SEE THAT WALK OF SHAME MAN? DID YOU? I KNOW YOU DID.#daredevil #she hulk #charlie cox #matt murdock #jen walters

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peachesofteal · 5 months

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18+ mdni / dark and twisty, whump

It’s snowing.

You don’t even have to move your head to see in order to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds and feels during a snowfall that blankets everything, houses, trees, mountains, your mind.

You love it. Always have. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It was what drove you to move out here in the first place. Chasing the snow. The feeling of a quiet forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white. The smell of the air the morning before a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the darkness when everything is dampened down by the weight of a million, billion unique, crystallized webs.

Except this snow feels different. It doesn't feel like a velvety white, soft dream world, but a nightmare... one filled with pain, anxiety. Why are you here? What's happened?

And why do you hurt so fucking bad?

"You're awake." A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn't as lighting sharp pain shoots through your upper arm all the way to your neck, and you cry out. "Easy." It's the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He's sitting in a chair that cannot possibly be comfortable, watching you.

"Where... am I?" You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to choke back the burn of bile that's racing up your throat.

"Are you going to be sick?" He reaches, stroking a finger down your face. You hold your tongue, unsure, and he must not like it, because he sighs, and then frowns at you. "Tell me."

"No, I don't-" You can't even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving, and he's springing to action shifting you amidst unbearable pain, turning you on your side to where a clean bucket sits, right beneath your bed.

"It's alright, that's it." A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears leaking from your eyes.

"Nnnrgh-"

"I know, I know. Poor thing." He coos, and it sounds so... endearing, so sweet yet... frightening, like the poison of a predator, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

"H-hurts." You cry as he rolls you back into your original position. "It hurts."

"I know it does, sweet girl. We're going to fix it." He dabs a cloth on your face, across your forehead and then down to clean your mouth up, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, concern rife in his features.

"Poor baby. Were ye sick?" You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, encouraging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you've had a few sips with a gentle 'not too much'.

"Who are you?" You smack your lips. The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it's well water, maybe?

"I'm Johnny." He's setting up something, beside you. You can see him organizing something, but can't quite make them out due to your lack of mobility. "An' this is Simon. Or Si. But ye probably won't be callin' him that quite yet." Johnny and Simon. Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can't you remember?

"What happened?" You try again, gritting your teeth against the pain.

"Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about this yesterday? Ye slid off the road, ended up in a thick of trees. Ye're lucky the one didnae impale ye." Impale?

"And you found me?" You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

"Aye, we did. Pulled ye free, brought ye home." Home?

"We couldn't leave you to die, and the storm is pretty bad. Pass is closed." Simon offers as an explanation, and you close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed.

"Thank... thank you." Johnny hums, and then to your complete shock, leans forward, brushing his lips against yours as you blink furiously.

"Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we wouldnae." What?

"Do what?" The broad one, Simon, casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He's got a piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them. Do what?

"Bite down on this, precious." Simon instructs, placing it against your bottom lip, to which you jerk away in protest with a whimper.

"Do what?" You try again.

"We need to set your humerus, and clavicle." Set your humerus? And your-

Oh. Oh no.

"N-no. No, you ca-can't." You stutter, but Johnny gives you a sad look, shifting on the bed to place a hand on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm against your good shoulder, the one that doesn't hurt. His hand is warm, so warm against you, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong... intimate. "Please, don't. Please, please-"

"It's alright." He shushes you, and the pressure against your body increases as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather into your mouth, bracing a hand above your elbow, and below your shoulder on the side that hurts. You gasp for air, fear shaking your body, and Johnny coos at you, telling you you'll be alright, that you're with them now and they'll take care of you, that it will only hurt for a little. "Ye'll probably pass out, bonnie. We'll get the second one done while ye're down, and I already gave ye something for the pain." He assures, like it's supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon's grip.

This can't be happening. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There's a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating agony that's delivered to your arm like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it's way out of your throat. You think you're crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, everything all at once. It hurts. It hurts so bad, it hurts-

"We're sorry, we're sorry." Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your mind starting to sever itself from your body, floating away as you slip inside a dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to unconscious as they both stare down at you, sickeningly sweet concern layered overtop the faces of a bear and a wolf, predators licking their maws in preparation, waiting to devour their prey.

#peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader

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cheriiyaya · 7 days

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- I LIKE THE WAY YOU KISS ME !

Dazai knows he's a pretty boy, flaunting his looks and gaining the attention of everyone around him with nothing but a handsome face and a smooth, charming tongue. He also knows he drives you crazy.

just a few flirtatious glances and sly remarks thrown your way has you fisting your palms in your lap and your throat tightening and dazai knows this so well, he thinks your adorable like that.

He likes to use it to his advantage.

"hm? you seem to be a little warmer than usual dear...are you sick?" dazai hummed, nimble fingers running through your hair as you curled up nice and pretty on his lap while you two watched a movie. Although it was hard to when your bastard of a boyfriend made you hyper aware of him- an arm looped around your waist and his thumb rubbing circles on your hip, occasionally dipping lower to brush your thigh. his warm breath, tickling the back of your ear and neck, and those pretty lips of his that brushed up against your jaw whenever he moved even a bit had heat rushing up your neck and blooming on your cheeks.

You knew he could feel your rushing pulse- how could he not, when he was so close to the delicate, fluttering skin?- and you knew damn well that he knew what he was doing, dazai just wanted to watch you melt in his arms.

and it was working, dammit.

"I'm fine, osamu." you managed out, throat constricting around the words as you forced them out. dazai merely smirked and hummed, eyes set on the movie in front of you. you tried to focus on it but his touch, his scent, everything about dazai threw you off course.

"really? are you suuuure? I'm pretty sure atsushi was a little unwell yesterday, did you catch something from him?" he smirked, leaning his cheek against the side of your neck, "accidentally" dragging his lips down your jaw that made you shift in his lap. "wouldn't want ya to get sick, now would we?"

you didn't even need to look at him to see that stupid, shit-eating grin and that glint in those melting golden hues of his irises that make you weak in the knees. you knew he was looking for a reaction and you think one day you'll die because of this man.

"I'm not sick..." you mumble, swallowing thickly as dazai's thumb presses harder into your hipbone.

"are you sureeee?" he tilted your head towards him, breath blowing across your lips as his eyes stared into yours, lips tilted up and god did you want him to kiss you. "can't have you getting sick bella', can we?"

the thing that pushed you over the edge from his taunts was how his voice went a little lower, a lilt to his voice that had your spine shivering and brain a little fuzzy.

you stared at him wide eyed and blankly, too flustered to say much. you stammered out a few words that you couldn't register saying and suddenly dazai's kissing you, sucking the breath from your lungs as he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. it was an awkward angle, head turned ungracefully to face him but you didn't care- how could you when you could taste his lips on yours?

after a moment dazai pulled back, took a breath and kissed you short and sweet. he held your face in his palm, thumb rubbing the corner of your lips as he smiled at you with warmth in his eyes.

"how was that? or is there nothing in that pretty little head of yours, hm?" dazai giggled, pressing his lips to your temple. you blinked once or twice and looked up at him, cheeks burning.

"god, shut up...you're insufferable!!" the movie had buzzed out in the background, neither of you paying attention. dazai simply laughed and nuzzled his face against your neck, squeezing you closer to him and pressing a quick kiss to your racing pulse.

he whispered, voice muffled against your neck.

"sorry, couldn't help myself darling."

©Cheriiyaya 2024.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED !!

#☾⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝕽𝖊𝖉'𝖘 𝕽𝖚𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾#A kiss for love―୨୧⋆ ˚#bungou stray dogsi #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai x gn!reader #osamu dazai x y/n #osamu dazai x reader #osamu dazai bsd #osamu dazai x you #dazai osamu #bungo stray dogs #bsd #dazai bsd

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i-upset-to-dead-65 · 5 months

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How I imagine Snow's progression of being reminded of Lucy Gray throughout the Hunger Games trilogy

1. Katniss volunteers. How cute. She has no chance of living past the bloodbath. Her name sounds familiar.

2. Katniss scores an 11 in training. So what she shot an arrow at the game makers. Well, that 11 will put a target on her and she's no match for the rest.

3. Peeta reveals he is in love with Katniss. What an interesting angle. Definitely some kind of ploy. Viewership will be up, as well as sponsors. Interesting to see how this plays out.

4. Katniss is trapped by the careers and Peeta. Aw, look, she dropped a hive on her boyfriend. Looks like she doesn't like him after all.

5. Katniss allies with Rue. Odd, and a terrible choice for an ally.

6. Rue mentions her pin, a mockingjay. The connection is made. Katniss, that swamp potato dug up by Lucy Gray and her mockingjays that still infest the districts. His dislike for Katniss grows.

7. Rue dies and Katniss sings the Meadow Song to her. A jolt runs up his spine. That old song, sung to Maude Ivory by Lucy Gray. It's still around in District 12 and now it's on national television. Snow knows how much the Capitol loves singing tributes.

8. The new rules are announced. This will be interesting. Of course, there's no way Peeta will live long enough for there to actually be two victors.

9. Katniss and Peeta are in the cave, and Peeta begins to recover. The huge influx of sponsored gifts is concerning. Katniss will hopefully die at the Feast trying to get medicine.

10. Peeta makes a full recovery. That wasn't supposed to happen, but the Capitol loves it.

11. Cato dies. Seneca didn't think they'd get this far. Time to revoke the rule change. Katniss will kill Peeta or vice versa. These children barely know each other, and in the Games they resort to their basic human nature of violence. Oh look, she's even pointing her bow at him.

12. The berries. The double victory. Seneca Crane is a dead man. They have outsmarted the idiot game makers. Snow is once again reminded of his cheating in order to help Lucy Gray win. How well that turned out for her in the end.

13. After the games. Snow is certain they are putting on an act to survive and meanwhile, defy the Capitol. Peeta is good with the crowd and is quick witted. So much like Lucy Gray. Katiss is impulsive and heartfelt. So much like Sejanus.

14. Snow learns Katniss hunts in the woods, he possibly traces her lineage, and he finds out everything he can about her. Snow takes measures to quell the rebellion brewing and control Katniss and Peeta throughout Catching Fire.

15. Katniss's wedding dress burns away into a Mockingjay dress. That damn bird again.

16. The force field gets blown out, and tributes escape. Snow recalls when the 10th Hunger Games arena was bombed.

17. Katniss's first propo is televised in the districts, declaring herself the Mockingjay. He should have killed all those birds when he had a chance.

18. The Hanging Tree propo airs. He'd almost forgotten Lucy Gray's songs. How could this girl, now, know them? The song was banned, Lucy Gray was dead. She was dead, right?

19. The rebels in District 5 sing the Hanging Tree while blowing up the damn. Chills run up his spine as he watches the live feed. A crowd of an indiscernable number flood the walkways to the hydro dam. They're singing a song they didn't know yesterday. A song no one knew until now. A song that was as dead as Lucy Gray. Except, she wasn't dead. How could she be, if her song is still sung? The dam blows and the lights go out in the Capitol. Snow half expects the ghost of Lucy Gray herself to appear before him.

20. The war is over. The Mockingjay has won. She appeared from nowhere, echoing the songs of Lucy Gray like the birds themselves. Well played, Lucy Gray. Well played.

#the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #sorry this is long but this is my roman empire

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 3 months

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The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do.

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating.

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business.

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it.

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table.

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her.

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed. “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything.

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window.

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them.

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble.

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food.

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed.

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock.

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements.

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city.

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now.

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows.

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows.

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask.

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?”

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you.

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off.

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar.

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day.

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy.

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.”

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead.

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried.

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks.

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?”

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile.

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

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ode2rin · 9 months

Text

if his tendency to spend all of his money on you (not that any purchase could make a dent in his massive empire) wasn't annoying enough, reo had developed another endearing yet infuriating habit—one that left you torn between feeling adored and wanting to throw the nearest pillow at his face.

said man is currently in the kitchen with you, attempting (albeit with some struggle) to be useful by following your every move. tired of his constant hovering, you assigned him a simple task to keep him busy: taking out the groceries from the paper bags.

here came his habit again. the first time he did it, you brushed it off, assuming he hadn't heard you well due to the distance. the second time, you noticed his subtle perks and pouts. now, for the third time, you were determined to catch him.

“reo…” from where you’re standing, you could see how he perks up at your call, “can you pass me the apple?”

silence.

you’re right. you tried again, just to be sure.

“reo.”

another beat of silence. this one followed by an affectionate sigh and a wry smile on your face.

“love, can you pass me the —”

“here.”

almost instantly, reo materialized beside you, a beaming smile adorning his face, looking at you like his gaze meant to say, ‘yes. i am love, that’s me.’ he extended the requested fruit with a graceful motion, his fingers gentle as he offered it to you.

this man, really. “so, you can hear me properly after all, huh?”

“yeah? my hearing is fine.”

“oh, is it? i couldn’t tell because i called you twice, and you weren’t responding. why is that?” you teased, a fond smile gracing your lips as you start slicing the apple you washed.

he pouts, his go-to theatrical gesture that's hard to ignore. “you know why,” he mumbles.

of course, you do. you had used that endearment once, and now, suddenly he insists on being called by nothing else. it had been a slip of your tongue, a phrase that felt like it was custom-made for him and him alone. looking at how his smile nearly outshines the sun when you address him as such, you can't help but consider that maybe love—both the word and the emotion it embodies—is all about him, for you.

you love that smile more than anything, so if it means a simple endearment could paint it on his face, you're happy to oblige. well, not without a few playful teases first.

“what if i’m on the brink of danger — like a crocodile is chasing me, and i’m about to die, and i call out your name like ‘reo!’ are you still going to ignore me? because i didn't call you love?” you turn to face reo briefly, then return to your task of slicing apples, the motion fluid and familiar.

it's always been the scene – you doing kitchen work and him watching you, because your boyfriend is a little helpless when it comes to knives, pans, and a stove. or in simpler words, anything to do with what a kitchen is for.

“first of all, that's an incredible imagination and such a realistic situation, given that we live in a city far from any vicinity of swamps, marshlands, brackish waters, and wherever the hell crocodiles live,” reo counters, his voice amused and suddenly defensive.

as he was about to start explaining his second point, you interrupt by placing a sliced apple into his mouth, a light-hearted gesture of “shush” as you hear him out.

but reo is not reo if not stubborn, so even with a muffled voice, he continues. “second, is that what you think of me? you know i will come flying to you!” now, that’s an honest and valid point.

“and lastly, you call everyone a cute pet name. last week, you called a kid sweetie. yesterday, you called a stray cat darling and lovely. then you’re here calling me reo? just reo?” his tone is laced with disbelief, his volume slightly lowered, revealing a hint of embarrassment at his little rant.

a chuckle escapes you as he concludes his argument, prompting you to turn around and draw closer, your arms finding their place around his neck, while his arms encircle you instinctively, holding you close against him.

“reo is my favorite word, though. it’s too bad that you don’t like it.” you murmured.

reo knows what you’re doing. “you’re distracting me.”

“is it working?”

of course, it does. reo isn’t just helpless in the kitchen, but he is a much worse case of helplessness when faced with your warm gaze and soft charms.

he nodded in affirmation, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your back, “have i told you i love you?” he asks, swiftly changing the matter.

“only everyday, love.”

reo began again, ever stubborn and persistent, always eager to prove his point. “that’s not enough. i think i should do it every hour—”

“i love you.”

another beat of silence, again, for the third time.

if it wasn't evident before, it's undeniable now – reo is really helplessly in love with you. such testament to that is him now gaping and at a loss of words for your sudden declaration.

reo needs you to go back to your usual teasing self; your affectionate version might just give him a heart attack.

smiling to yourself because you caught him off guard, you took your chance. “now, go there and sit. as much as i love having you around, you are an awful cook, let alone an assistant.” you gently pushed his chest, guiding him toward the couch.

“that's not how you speak to your loved one, though.” he mumbled in response, seemingly recovered from your sudden i love you that almost knocked the air out of him.

“are you saying something?”

“i said, off the couch i go.”

you shook your head, a fond smile gracing your lips as you watched him, before heading back to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

your loved one, huh? that’s him, definitely.

reo and love, to you, it’s the same thing.

note. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LOVER (i swear i planned something better pls forgive me) i'm late i know but it's still august 12 here :P i don't know what this is but pls take it away from me. reo i love you i love you i love—

#☁️ my ode to you #mikage reo #reo mikage #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo fluff #mikage reo x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff

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velvetydream · 2 months

Text

꒰ :🥀 [ War is over? ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

❝ Request! ᵕ̈

Summary : The hotel was in shambles and a certain radio demon was missing from the group. Worried for him, you start your way down to the destroyed radio tower, scared of what might await you.

Pairing : Alastor x Doe! Gn! Reader

Word count : 2962 Words

Genre : Angst, Comfort

Warnings ➵ SPOILERS FOR EP 8!! Crazy Alastor, Out

of character? , Swearing, Blood

a/n : Thank you sm for this request! I love the idea and trope sm for Alastor! Also that scene- oh my, it was insane! I just love what a crazy and complexe chara he is!

Rly going into the crazy Al spectrum here, make him go crazy over almost dying saving his > friends <

Also added the reader being a doe! Hope that was okay! Despite it being a doe reader, I still only used gender neutral prounouns / only used > you < as for describing the reader!♡

Request by : @alastorsdarlingdoe

┌───────────────────────── · · · · ♡

Your eyes wander over the lights of Pentagram City down below, a breeze moves your hair, raising your hand to push a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Sighing, a hand runs over your forehead now, slightly pinching the bridge of your nose while leaning on the railing of the balcony. The music and chatter from inside could be heard, everyone was trying to enjoy this night before the battle, but you couldn't help but worry. Worried something might happen or that someone might die, even though you tried to push these thoughts to the far back of your mind, trying to be positive, trying to see the best, and telling yourself everyone will make it out alive and safe.

"Damn it.." Rubbing your fingers over your eyes softly, trying to remove the tears that were building up. Sniffing a few times, your foot taps the floor anxiously while your ears are slightly pressed back. Body noticeably tense and nervous. To many things going through your head, you loved everyone in this hotel so much, that if anything were to happen to someone you would be devastated. Especially if something were to happen to Alastor.

Alastor was one of the first sinners you got close to in hell after Rosie had introduced him to you years ago. By now you two were a darling little pair, as Rosie liked to call it. It did take a while for both of you to grow close and accept these feelings, but in the end, you did. Even though it was sometimes hard with an Overlord as your partner, he made sure you were safe and taken care of all the time, so you had nothing to worry about. You can still remember the day you met Alastor like it was yesterday. Sitting in Rosie's boutique, sipping on some tea, as she squealed in excitement before pulling the red-haired demon over. Of course you knew who he was before you even met him, no one goes through hell without hearing about the radio demon, who overthrew the old Overlords, sooner or later. Ears straight up and turned to his direction, your ears were slightly wide, visibly alert of the dominating and dangerous presence of Alastor. He though simply smiled at you, took your hand, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, introducing himself to you. It was a beautiful memory. Not so beautiful was his disappearing for seven years, but you forgave him, which brought you to where you are right now, on the balcony of Charlie Morningstar's hotel. Worrying your head off over the ear against heaven and the exterminators.

"A penny for your thoughts darling?" Shrieking together at the voice behind you, you hadn't noticed Alastor joining you on the balcony, too deep in your thoughts. Quickly rubbing over your eyes, before turning to the man you love with a smile on your face. This caused suspicion to rise in him, were you crying? "Oh, Al! It's nothing important! Why aren't you with the others." Watching him slowly approach you, he softly places his hand on your cheek, watching you close your eyes and nuzzle into the palm of his hand. Alastor could see right through you and you knew that, he always knew when you lied, just like you did right now. "Oh my little doe, how can I be inside when my darling is outside here crying and overthinking all by yourself?" His voice was soft, it was only for your ears, he only used this tone with you. Opening your eyes again, gazing up at him with tearful eyes. He couldn't help but coe at this sight, his little doe darling looking at him all teary-eyed, though he preferred a different time for this sight.

"Now, now~ Why don't you tell me what's bothering this pretty little head of yours?" Wiping away the tears on your face and at your eyes with his fingers now, carefully to not accidentally cut you with his claws. Watching as your teeth sink down on your lip, another habit you had when nervous, making his finger trail softly over your lips, letting your teeth release the lip before you could bite it bloody. "It's just.. I'm.. Ugh.. Worried, what if something happens? What if someone dies? What if.. you die?" Tears were building up in your pretty eyes again, making Alastor chuckle slightly, not that you were crying, but that you were even thinking of him dying. He was the radio demon, no one would kill him, and no one would even get close to killing him. "Oh sweetheart, don't worry your little head over nonsense like this, nothing will happen to any of us and especially not me! Haha! Trust me dearest! Everything will be fine." Fingers softly swipe over your cheek, as he pulls your body closer to your face, leaning down slightly and planting a soft kiss to your forehead, before nuzzling his nose against your hair between your two flickering ears. Not being able to suppress new tears, your arms go around his waist, pressing your face into his chest. Alastor tensed for a second from your touch, but quickly melts into it himself, laying his arms around you, one hand softly playing with your hair.

He was right, everything would be all right, at least that's what you thought..

It was as if everything went by in a flash, the exterminators were flying down to the hotel, and everyone was doing their best while Alastor protected the group with a shield, to make sure no new angels could attack while the first ones were being taken care of. But that was quickly taken care of by Adam himself, breaking the shield which made your eyes grow wide, he was able to do that? This was not good at all. Doing your best to help the others, fighting back to back with Angel, shielding Husk from an attack with your spear, and pulling Charlie down from an attacker just in time.

This was truly hell. And it even got worse when Adam suddenly started targeting the rest of the group, where was Alastor? Looking around wildly you couldn't see him, Charlie speaking your exact thoughts that if Adam is here he must be... "WATCH OUT!" Husk smashes into you, pulling you to the ground to the side, where you stood seconds before now an angelic spear piercing the ground. "Get your shit together! That motherfucker isn't dead! So till this is over get your act together and make sure you're not the one dying, 'cause if you do that fucker will have my head for that!" Husk was shaking your shoulders violently, everything that was a blurry mess before slowly coming back to you. He was right, you need to survive this, if Husk said he wasn't dead, it must be true, he would probably feel it if Alastor died through his soul contract.

The fight continued on, after Sir Pentious brought his sacrifice, Charlie was facing Adam by herself, Vaggie was somewhere in the hotel with that one exterminator fighting, while the rest took care of the angels outside the hotel, keeping Charlie and Vaggie's backs clear. It was exhausting, you got a few injuries on your body too, but nothing too bad, the fight soon ended with Lucifer showing up to save his daughter and Niffty stabbing Adam herself.

After collecting your thoughts and hugging Charlie for a while, you started to look around. The hotel was completely destroyed, but with everyone around, there was new hope, with Lucifer leading the group and especially Charlie to not give up on this. Eyes wandering over the debris the hotel was now, over everyone around, keeping your eyes open for a certain demon. A thought pops into your head, making your way to the cliff, looking down, at the radio tower lying at the bottom of the cliff. Slowly and carefully to not trip, you make your way down, scared of what might or might not await you. Would he be there? Would he be hurt? Alive? Dead? Maybe he had gone again like those seven years ago, leaving everyone and everything behind.

Blood on the floor leading to the radio tower made your eyebrows raise, so someone or something for sure was here and injured. You just hoped it was Alastor and that he wasn't beyond getting stitched up.

Reaching the hatch to his radio tower, you notice it standing open. Reaching your arms out, you carefully pull yourself up and pull your knee up to enter the room. Looking up already while entering, you see Alastor standing at his desk, his back facing you, yet you could see the way his whole body was tense and clawing at the desk with his hands. Finally in the room, on your knees you slowly get up to stand, looking at the man you love worried.

"Alastor..?" His ears turn to you before his head snaps in your direction, making an uncomfortable cracking sound, his body turning to you fully now. His eyes looked like nothing before, blown wide, crazy, crazier than they had ever been. This wasn't Alastor, but the Radio Demon before you. "Darling.. You're hurt.." Looking down at his chest to the gushing wound, crimson red painting his already red clothes. Laughter echoes through the space now. "HURT?! AHAHA! You're funny dearest! I'm not hurt! I cannot be hurt, did you forget who I am?!" Blown red eyes were staring right back at your own wide eyes, your eyes wide out for different reasons than his. "I know darli-" He took a step towards you, making your ears stand alert, you didn't fear Alastor, yet the Radio Demon scared you right now. "OH DEAREST! What a fight that was! Me?! Great Alastor, altruist, dying for his friends?!" His ears were parted, flat to the sides, while his hands were slowly tearing at his hair, pacing in a circle now, before slamming his hands to the desk. Shadows dancing around the two of you in the red light. You didn't dare whisper another word, even your breath stocking in your lungs, not sure if you should even breathe right now.

Alastor was going crazy, the fact of him almost dying being seen as a hero fucked with his mind, did he care about dying? No, he couldn't care less, but being seen as a good person, a redeemed sinner, or a hero?! No.

"You know what?! Now! After all this, it made me hungry! Hungry for the freedom barely out of reach! Never have I felt this before, can you believe this?! I was.. AM! so close!" An insane monologue continuing, he talked as if he was rather talking to himself than to you, did he even register you being there fully yet? He was driven by adrenalin, by a close death. Raising your hand, you were about to reach out for him, trying to pull him out of whatever spiral he was caught inside right now. "I'm so close! These constraints must have a backdoor right?! This deal!" Fingers pulling at his locks again, your own hand stilling in the air, as you watch him pace around, his eyes darting everywhere, when looking at you, they looked through you, he did not even realize you were here.

His whole body was trembling by now, the smile was strained on his face, making you worried to the core. Never had you thought you would ever experience such a side of Alastor, it shocked you. Now that his monologue stopped, you took cautious steps toward your lover, your finger barely grazing his arm, his eyes now snapping to you, his ears following. He was looking at you finally, not over or through you, he realized you were there and that he wasn't alone. "You're fine Al, you didn't die, you proved it." You knew to get to him, you had to reassure him, even if it was probably a bad idea, but for now, this would probably be the only way to get to him. "You're right dearest.." His hands slowly lowered from his hair, a few hairs tangled in them from how hard he was pulling on his poor hair. Eyes trailing down to the wound on his chest now, feeling your own tighten at the sight of Alastor injured. This was something you didn't think was possible to happen till now.

"Let me take care of this.." Pulling him to the desk softly, you make him lean against it, as you push his coat off his shoulders and start to unbutton his dress shirt, laying them to the side carefully. Ears pressing to your head now as you take in the wound on his chest, you knew his eyes were following your every move, so you tried not to keep on that for too long. Gathering everything you would need to somewhat clean and stitch him up, the things you had would have to do. The air was thick when you got to clean his wound, Alastor was watching you with his smiling face, while your own was adorned with a frown. It scared you knowing he could've died if he didn't disappear mid-fight, he would be dead now if he continued. Those thoughts make your hands shake, your view getting blurry as tears fill your eyes. Looking up when his hand softly encloses around the one holding the needle. "My poor little doe, I'm sorry for worrying and scaring you." Lips press softly against the knuckles of your hand. Pulling yourself together, you quickly finish the stitches up, then you would have all the time to get emotional and cry. Helping Alastor put on his dress shirt now, he slumps down to the floor, his back leaning against the wall, he was probably exhausted. It would take a while for him to heal entirely and be the old himself again.

"Come here beloved." Alastor was holding his arms open for you, finding a place between his legs now, your head leaning on his shoulder, opposite of his injury, making sure you wouldn't touch the freshly stitched-up wound. "I'm sorry.. I was just so worried.." And before you knew it, the tears were streaming down your face, while Alastor softly held you in his safe embrace. "I know dearest, I know...But worry not, I'll be back to myself in no time, don't you worry." His hand was rubbing up and down your back, while his chin rested on the crown of your head. His words were true and you knew that, he would be his old self quicker than you would know, still, it scared you to know he wasn't unharmable and could die. Hiding your face in your hands now, your body violently shaking with sobs. "Now, now my darling doe, you know I hate to see you cry." Pulling your hands away from your face, he looks at you for a second, before your arms already go around his neck as you straddle his thighs now, body shaking with sobs while he feels your tears wetting his shirt. His eyes were slightly wide, a silent wince from his wound flashing through his eyes for a second, but he suppressed any sound for your sake. "There, there, it will be all right my little doe." One of his arms was going around your waist now, pulling you even closer to him, did his wound throb from you pressing against him? Yes, yet he couldn't seem to care. The other hand was moving its way into your hair, rubbing to bottom of your ears softly.

The two of you stayed like that for quite a while, the violent and loud sobs, soon subsiding to small whimpers before completely quieting down to soft tears silently running down your cheeks. Alastor shoulder was by now entirely wet from your tears, yet he couldn't care.

"Calmed down now, have been darling?" Feeling Alastor's lips press to your temple, you finally raise your face from his shoulder and look at him. Eye bloodshot from crying for so long, cheeks wet from all the tears and your throat sore from sobbing. "There is my beautiful doe, look at you, even after crying you're beautiful as ever dearest." Nuzzling against his hand that was now resting on your cheek, your eyes look up into his. Your eyes were something Alastor always loved, they looked so innocent and soft, something not often seen down here in hell. His eyes cast down to your lips for a brief second, you noticed and closed your eyes, inviting him. Feeling his soft lips on yours quickly, as his arm around your waist softly presses you against him, while the other hand still cradles your face. The kiss was soft, yet full of passion, it was all the feelings you two felt poured into one kiss. Which lasted longer than you thought. Pulling apart soon, puffs of air falling from both of your lips.

"I love you my beloved and I'm sorry for worrying you so much, but trust me, once this is over and I'll be able to roam free, watch me reach everything for us." Smiling at you, he softly rubs his thumb over your cheek before your head rests on his shoulder again, face in his neck. "I love you too Al.. I can't wait for you to be finally free again.." Pressing a soft kiss to his neck, giggling softly at him slightly tensing up from it before relaxing again.

You two took your sweet time together, was that what both of you needed right now, before eventually getting back and reuniting with the group. A new hotel and new goals waiting for everyone.

┌───────────────────────── · · · · ♡

Taglist :

@chewbrry @rinalouu @mysticwitchcraftco

#x reader #imagines #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #imagine #hazbin #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin imagine #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #alastor imagine #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you

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wileys-russo · 2 months

Note

cute little blurb about being on camp in Spain with less??

puzzle book II a.russo

"and see this? thats called sunshine! and thats why you don't live in england kid!" lucy beamed smugly as the two of you finished up training and you grinned, her arm draped across your shoulder.

"oi! stop trying to poach my RB bronzey." beth warned tugging you away from her with a playful glare making you laugh. "i could put in a good word, thats all i'm gonna say!" lucy winked at you before holding her hands up in defence.

"don't you listen to a word she says! you're a gooner till you die and if you dare forget it i'll call leah and she'll be on a plane here to beat some sense into you." beth warned sternly before pulling you into a headlock. "meado!" you laughed again trying to pull away as she struggled to cling on.

you jumped a little as a new set of arms wrapped round your hips, pulling you easily from beths grip and into someone elses, though you relaxed immediately at the smell of your girlfriends perfume invading your senses.

"hello gorgeous." alessia smiled softly, kissing your cheek and hugging you tightly from behind. "disgustin!" beth gagged sticking her finger down her throat but she quickly scurried off at alessia's narrowed eyes.

"babe where we we going?" you questioned as your girlfriend started to walk the two of you in the opposite direction to where you were originally headed. "ice bath, recovery." alessia answered as you tensed.

"less! no i already did one yesterday i was told i didn't need it today." you groaned trying to pull away as she just held on tighter, lucy watching on with an amused smile already in the small pool.

"baby i am just looking out for you, gotta make sure you're in your best shape for tomorrow." alessia grinned, easily lifting you up and dropping you into the pool as you winced and hissed at the change in temperature.

"i hate you." you huffed as your girlfriend climbed in after you with a wink. "i love you too." she kissed your cheek and bumped her hip into yours with a grin.

"enjoy the view?" she smiled smugly, tucking her top up and bending down a little more into the water not missing the way your eyes temporarily dropped down to her abs.

"how soon did you say i could transfer to barcelona?" you turned to ask lucy with a frown making her chuckle.

"alessia!" you gasped as suddenly your legs were swept out beneath you, sending you tumbling down into the ice bath and onto your ass. "fuck thats cold." you winced, taking lucy's extended hand as she pulled you up.

"well it is an ice bath genius." ella piped up from a few metres away, head buried in a magazine as your eyes narrowed. "oi!" ella shot to her feet as you kicked your foot sending a small wave of freezing water onto her.

"nah man me crossword!" ella groaned shaking the dripping book as you shot your girlfriend a glare and promptly stepped out of the ice bath, accepting a towel from one of the coaching staff with a grateful smile.

"warned you that big mouth would get you in trouble tooney." lucy chuckled as you wrapped the towel around you and stepped into the sun to try and dry off. "less control ya missus would ya?" ella groaned as you raised an eyebrow.

though before you could lunge at her like you intended your girlfriend appeared in front of you with an amused smile, grabbing your hips and shaking her head.

"move. you're already in the dog house russo would you like to make it worse?" you warned with a scowl which only caused her smile to widen. "you're quite sexy when you're mad love." the blonde grinned, snatching your towel off you and wrapping it around her own body.

"and you're proper ugly when you're calm." "right thats it tooney come here!"

"not sitting with the love of your life? do i smell trouble in paradise?" mary teased as you dropped down beside her, stealing her sunglasses as the team watched the under 23's warm up for their match against spain.

"maybe i just missed you mazza, hardly got a good look at you when i was busy whipping balls past you last weekend." you smiled as marys face dropped. "i'm joking! i love you." you hugged her tightly as she hummed.

"yeah yeah get in line you pest." mary flicked your ear but the smile stayed on her lips as the two of you chatted, not really have had much time to do so this camp so far as the game kicked off.

"incomin!" you grunted as a weight landed on your back and you almost fell forward, grace clinging onto you as mary grabbed the back of your top to stop you from slipping off your seat.

"get off me you little shit." you groaned, grace pinching at your cheeks and stretching your face as you grunted and tried to throw her off to no success.

"you're so annoying gracie get off its hot!" you whined, smacking marys knee for help as she ignored you with a wave of her hand, eyes busy watching the game going on in front of you.

"grace, off!" you heard a new voice call out a couple of rows down, both your heads turning to see your girlfriend staring sternly at your young teammate in warning.

"or what?" grace grinned, arms still locked around your neck as alessia simply stood and grace immediately let go. "alright! no need to get ya shorts in a twist less." grace scrambled back to her seat as mary chuckled.

catching the blondes eye after she sat back down the taller girl pouted and tapped the empty spot next to her expectantly. "go on." mary nudged her shoulder into yours as you rolled your eyes and stood, alessia's face lighting up.

"hi baby!" she greeted happily as you sat down beside her, pulling you into a hug which of course you melted into. "missed you." she mumbled as you smiled and broke apart, her arm stretched out behind you as you leaned a little into her side.

"i saw you an hour ago lessi!" you laughed quietly as she pouted again. "exactly, you could be gone for ten seconds and i'd miss you." the girl frowned as you rolled your eyes again and softly kissed her cheek.

"watch the game you big sap." you leaned your head on her shoulder, closing your eyes as your face was bathed in the warm glow of the spanish sun, lulled by the chatter of your teammates around you.

you hadn't even realised you'd dozed off until a finger was poking at your cheek and your eyes opened slowly, pulling your head off of alessia's shoulder and smacking away the offending hand.

"wakey wakey!" georgia cooed as you pushed marys sunglasses up onto your head and rubbed your eyes. "i envy the way you can just fall asleep anywhere, please do teach us your ways." keira shook her head from the row behind as you glanced at her with a small smile.

"insomnia." you chuckled, leaning back into the comforting warmth of your girlfriend who was speaking to maya and millie on her other side, her hand moving to rest against the small of your back.

the game now finished only a few more minutes passed until everyone was called to head back onto the busses to drive back to the hotel. unable to avoid chattering away to georgia you were much more awake now, well rested from the tiny power nap.

"do you want to go for a walk by the beach when we get back to the hotel babe?" alessia asked, snagging your hand in hers and swinging them to and fro as you followed after the other girls out toward the parking lot.

"can we go to watch the sunset instead?" you questioned, that having become a routine of sorts with the two of you when you went to the world cup in australia. "great idea! we can all go." millie beamed as she grabbed your other hand. "one big happy family." maya agreed taking your girlfriends other hand.

"how romantic." ella made kissy faces from in front of the two of you as you lazily kicked at her and alessia rolled her eyes. "piss off!" the blonde chuckled, both of you tugging your hands free and filing onto the bus, your girlfriend pulling you into the seat beside her.

the ride back was quick, alessia latched onto you from behind as her chin rested on your shoulder and the two of you chattered away with beth and rachel who were sat across from you.

"where are you going?" your girlfriends arms circled around your stomach as most of the girls made a beeline for the pool and the gardens and you headed for the hotel once you were all dropped off.

"more like where are you taking me?" you laughed, smiling up at the girl who grinned. "poolside for some puzzles and a cuddle, obviously." alessia sighed, stealing a kiss and grabbing your hand again as you allowed her to lead you away.

"you and that puzzle book, baby it makes my brain hurt!" you groaned laying down onto one of the sun loungers, alessia flopping beside you and pulling it out of her bag.

"thats not hard considering its so tiny." ella piped up from where she stood in front of the lounger juggling a ball with millie and maya. "leave her, she only does it to wind you up babe and you bite everytime." alessia chuckled as you huffed and settled for shooting ella a glare as the girl blew you a kiss.

"millie!" ella gasped as the ball smacked her in the forehead making you grin as they took off chasing one another before someone cleared their throat.

you looked back to your girlfriend who had shuffled around to make herself comfortable, her head resting on your shoulder as her long legs tangled with yours.

"lets do some trivia today gorgeous, something different!" the blonde announced, flipping through the pages of her book as you sighed, tangling a hand in her hair and scratching at her scalp like you knew she loved.

"oh thats lovely, thank you." alessia all but melted into a puddle and patted your thigh as she pushed her hips up to grab out a pen from her back pocket. "you're such a dork." you smiled affectionately, her head swiveling to glare up at you.

"am not! if i have to watch those stupid nerdy elf movies of yours you can do a few puzzles with me to keep your brain sharp." alessia huffed as now you glared at her.

"they are not stupid nerdy elf movies its the lord of the rings and you asked to watch them with me and leah!" you defended as alessia only hummed. "because i love you and love is about compromise."

"you fell asleep twenty minutes in anyway, as always." you rolled your eyes affectionately at the strikers habit of being unable to make it all the way through a movie without falling asleep.

"snored too." you added on with a smile as your girlfriend scribbled down an answer before smacking you in the head with her book. "less!" you huffed, trying to sit up as she pulled you back down.

"no, puzzle time." alessias head fell back to your shoulder as she moved to drop your own hand back in her hair as you couldn't help but smile, scratching away with your fingers as the taller girl sighed happily.

"cuddle party!" you barely had time to look up before a body crashed on top of you both causing you and alessia to groan, grace pulling her head up with a delighted grin. "oo trivia!" the younger girl wiggled around and made herself comfortable on your other side.

"no! mine, get your own." alessia smacked away her hands where they grabbed at your free one clearly trying to get some head scratches as well. "fine. mary!" you winced at the yell in your ear as the goalkeeper appeared.

"play with my hair and help us with this trivia please." grace requested as mary sighed like a tired parent but sat down none the less, alessia shoving the book in her face already stuck on a question.

"was this what you had in mind when they said camp was in spain?" mary mumbled with an amused smile from beside you, nodding down to the two blondes lounging about half on top of the two of you working on the trivia together with determined frowns.

"not at all."

#woso community #woso #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #engwnt #alessia russo #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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ponderingmoonlight · 3 months

Text

(y/n) comforting her husband Gojo after he was forced to kill his best friend

Pairing: husband!Gojo x reader

Word Count: 1k

Synopsis: The man who seems goofy all day, who never takes anything serious breaks down in his wife's arms after he killed his best friend.

Warning: hurt/comfort, death of Suguru, just a lil oneshot from that anon request I received yesterday, like/comment/reblog if you enjoy <3

„Satoru“, you whisper softly into the night, his frame standing in the door of your shared apartment.

You weren’t able to get there on time, to be there for him when he needed you the most. While you were out there fighting curses, Satoru was forced to kill his best friend. Why? Why does he have to endure this never-ending pain, the torture of being the strongest? Wasn’t it enough that he lost his best friend? Why on earth did all of this happen? You can't even imagine how horrible he must feel.

“Oh, hey babe! Hope you’re doing fine!”, he greets you with a wide smile, his blindfold hiding the pain in his bright blue orbs from the world.

You can feel your heart shatter inside your chest. He is never able to be sad, never able to show how he truly feels. Not even when he’s alone with you, his wife, he lets go of his façade. And while you were always able to accept the stinging fact that he’ll never let you see everything, this doesn’t seem to be enough tonight.

“How are you feeling?”

He simply shrugs his shoulders while letting himself drop onto the couch next to you casually.

“Definitely better than the rest. Damn, have you seen how beat up the kids were? Oh, do you remember that one curse who-“

“Satoru”, you interrupt him softly.

Gently, you caress his cheek the way he always loves, watching as the wide grin on his face disappears with every skilled stroke of your hand.

“You know that this wasn’t what I meant.”

He lets out his breath, body suddenly so firm against your touch that he seems to tense every muscle in his body.

“So there’s really no way out of this conversation, huh?”, he mumbles.

The man right in front of you isn’t the Gojo Satoru everyone loves and curses at the same time. No, at the moment he isn’t the strongest, the teacher, the savior.

At the moment he’s just Satoru.

“Come on, take that mask off.”

Gradually, your fingers open the knot of his blindfold. You wait a second, give him the chance to protest against your actions. But when he stays silent, you slide his blindfold off his gorgeous face, revealing the heaviest eyes you’ve ever seen.

“I’m tired, (y/n). I’m so damn tired”, he finally gives in with low voice.

You have to swallow hard, concentrate all your composure on not breaking down and cry. His eyes don’t shine as bright as they usual do, the dark circles showing more than urgently that Satoru is far beyond being exhausted.

“I still don’t get why he did all that shit, why he had to die today”, he continues, resting his head against the couch while plainly staring at the ceiling.

“And that I’m the one who finished him. He’s my best friend, (y/n). The one and only…”

“None of this is your fault-“

“Is it really, though? I should have been more attentive back then, should have been there for him, I-“

“This is not your fault”, you insist.

No, you simply can't allow him to talk about himself like this, to load even more responsibitly on his very own shoulders.

“Who says he wouldn’t have chosen this path even with you by his side? Who says you would have been able to stop him? Suguru was surrounded by friends and horror, had multiple chances to change his mind. He knew that this would happen someday, he was ready to die for this. None of this will ever be your fault, Satoru.”

“And what about all the others? Yuta, Maki, Toge and Panda almost getting killed, Haibara, the countless sorcerers who lost their lives. All these non-jujutsu sorcerers who died because of me. How long will it go on like this? And what if I’ll snap just like Suguru did? I…I can’t do this anymore.”

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes on the brink of overflowing with tears. Never in your life have you seen your husband this vulnerable, brought down by life itself. And the worst is that you can’t help him. No, there are no word that could take away his pain. There are no words to comfort him over his best friends’ death, over the countless other people who died because he’s alive.

“There is nothing I can say to cheer you up”, you finally admit.

Gently, you sit on your knees and bend over him, hands cupping his cheeks.

“But even though you don’t deserve this, even though you feel like you’re worthless I want you to remember that you are loved. Haibara loved you, Suguru loved you until the very end and I do. I will love through no matter what, I’ll stay right here by your side through it all. You don’t have to hide your tears from me, you don’t have to pretend that you’re fine when you’re far away from being fine.”

“I’m not, (y/n). I’m so far away from fine that I feel like I’ll never be happy again”, he mutters with trembling lips.

Just before a tear falls down his cheek you catch it with your finger.

“And it is more than natural to feel this way”, you reply softly.

“Do you think…Do you think he was my friend until the end?”

“Oh, he definitely was. Even though you didn’t have the same opinion, Suguru will always be your friend.”

He gifts you a small smile when another wave of tears haunts him.

“Can you hold me please?”

Your husband doesn’t have to ask twice. You let yourself fall against his chest, caress the back of his head while he swallows you with his arms, presses you firmly against his body while crying his heart out.

“I love you, (y/n). God, I love you so much”, he mutters against your neck, covers you with tiny kisses until you don’t know how to breathe anymore.

“I love you too, babe. Let’s just stay here for a while.”

“Yeah. Staying here sounds good…”

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#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #satoru gojo #geto #satoru #jjk fanfic

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