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todayisafridaynight · 1 year

Note

Nishiki: I want my ex DEAD.

Majima: I have 10 years of repressed gay energy I need to release in a WEEK.

Mine: The man I respect and have a crush on is a vegetable, so I’m going against his wish to let his dad take over for him and take over Tojo myself.

Aoki/Masato: I jUsT wAnT pOwEr AnD cOnTrOl.

Ryuji: Nothin’ personal, Kiryu, but this country is large enough for only one dragon, and his name is Ryuji Goda.

thank you for the nutshell version of yakuza antagonists. why is majima here

#snap chats #hilarious to put him against these four but w/e #anyway im gonna nitpick down here :)#who's nishiki's ex 😭☠️☠️ reina?? she died so mission success. yumi?? he got pissed when her sister was killed so i mean...#daigo didnt want kiryu to take over the clan he just wanted to protect his property #he probably wouldnt have agreed with mine's hostile takeover tho #aokis about right LMAO. control freak see HE was the one who actually wasnt over his ex #didnt want her dead but was waaay too happy to have her husband working for him #ryuji also accurate. no notes here thats literally how it went down LMAO

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gible-love-nibles · 1 year

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What is something that Clare does that makes you smile every time? Coming with those wholesome vibes

"I'll be taking this one. Nobody knows the answer to this question better than the Evil King Stan!

"Now Clare doesn't like to brag, or be in the spotlight often. But that doesn't make 'er a doormat. Sometimes, she'll throw out a real zinger just to shut up somebody who deserves it. It's hilarious!"

#f/ovember #f/o takeover #i answered the question #tyrant in the bottle 🖤😈#((🐉🎮: [stan voice] i love when my wife snaps /j))#((🐉🎮: unfortunately stan has a hard time doing wholesome))

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deadsetobsessions · 3 months

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“I ate paint once,” Danny nonchalantly threw out in the middle of game night.

The entire table stopped. Heads whipped towards Danny.

“Yeah, me too. Cardamom yellow was my favorite. Ugly as hell but the chemicals just tasted right.” Tim replied, using the distraction to nab some of Bruce’s money. Monopoly money, that is. Everyone’s heads snapped towards Tim, only Cass and Danny (who was part of the scheme) caught him cheating.

“Really? I think mine was those spray can blue cosmos paint. But that might have been more my thing for space than the actual taste.”

“WHY WERE YOU EATING PAINT?!” Dick asked, looking like he wanted to lunge over the table and shake Danny until he puked out paint. Bruce looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

“Yeah, what the fuck, Tim?” Jason snickered.

“In my defense,” Danny grinned. “I was left unsupervised. Also, Steph, you owe me $24 in rent.”

“Ugh! I’m almost out of money! Can’t you loan me some, Alfred?”

“I am sorry, Miss Stephanie, you are not qualified for another loan. In fact, one of your properties is about to be confiscated as per the collateral agreement.”

“Noooo!” Stephanie made dramatic dying noises.

“What was your excuse, Timothy?” Damian asked, eyes glued to the board and determined to win the game.

“Hey, I was probably less supervised than Danny was.”

“Yeah,” Danny perked up. “My parents brought us down to their lab all of the time. Taught us a lot of stuff.”

“Really? Like what?” Duke asked, casually slapping away Tim’s sneaky hands.

“Oh, like what a rocket launcher sounded like up close! And how to build a laser gun! Oh! And what human organs looked like when they’re fresh!” Danny chirped, collecting his money from a stunned Stephanie’s hands. He looked up.

“Oh, don’t worry! I at least learned what not to do when it comes to lab safety. And we wore hazmat suits to protect ourselves from the radiation.” Danny smiled in a ditzy fashion as the table fell silent in a horrified manner. Cass tapped his arm amusedly, but allowed his bullshit to stand. After all, it’s not like he lied.

“Radiation?” Duck’s voice raised a couple of octaves. Oh yeah, Danny’s going to laugh about that pitch for a long while.

“Organs?!” Jason’s hands closed around the plastic house he was holding rather forcefully.

“Do you even know what basic lab safety practices are, Danny?” Damian demanded, finally looking up with brows furrowed. He rolled the dice and grabbed a mystery card. He gets $100 from Alfred.

“How old were you??” Duke asked.

“Like… 8, when they first brought me in?”

“Eight.” Bruce rumbled, slipping into a more Batman like persona. When Danny sent him a confused look, Bruce straightened back into his Bruce persona. “Wow, they must have trusted you a lot!”

“Sure?”

“What were their names again?” Stephanie asked sweetly, Cass nodding at him.

“Jack and Maddie Fenton.” Not that they’ll find them here, considering his parents are dead and in another universe.

“Cool, cool, cool!” Stephanie blinked, beaming as her hands formed lethal fists underneath the table.

Danny blinked and tilted his head in an unassuming way, pretending like he had no idea what Stephanie was thinking of. He sneakily handed over $600 to Cass in order to complete his monopoly on his side of the board.

Danny stood up and spread his hands out, one hand clutching his new found victory.

"Well, lady and gents, you've all been floundering against the inevitable tide of capitalism. I am here, as a reminder that you can never win against the hopelessness that will be your financial ruin! I, Danny Fenton, have obtained a quarter of the board and therefore have won against even your best efforts!" He cackled, holding up his fan of properties triumphantly. He shot a mischievous grin at Cass, who held up a solemn thumbs up in support for his monetary takeover.

"... Danny, are you... planning on a career in villainy?" Bruce asked, after a brief and total wave of shocked silence. Damian looked like he was having a conniption at having been bested, unknowingly. Yeah, Danny was disarming like that.

"Yeah, that was concerning." Tim piped up, nabbing a ten from a shell-shocked Damian.

"Hey! The Riddler gives surprisingly good monologues! And he's really loud, so it's hard not to pick up on things. Duke, your turn." Danny sat back down, pouting. The villainy comment was a little too close to his fears.

"Damn it." Duke, who had rolled, landed smack middle of Danny's territory. He handed over a sheaf of bills to a grinning Danny.

"Wait a minute! You have cheated!" Damian bolted upwards from his seat, finally done running through the purchases he remembered Danny making. "You acquired that property not within the games' rules!"

"Okay, first of all, the rule book is a suggestion, like lab safety rules," Danny saw the others open their mouths to protest, but he quickly shut it down. "Second, there's totally no rules about selling and buying places from a private owner so suck on it. And thirdly? Cass sold it to me, so you all can take it up with her."

"Diabolical!" Damian muttered indignantly.

"... Dammit." Dick sighed, falling back into the chair and balancing on its two legs. He couldn't say anything, considering his current of bankruptcy.

"Danny. Danny, I'll buy a property from you." Jason said, eyeing one of Danny's other properties near his own cluster.

"What do you have that would interest me?" Danny asked, falling back into his Vlad-like imitation.

"Ew, don't do that," Steph reached over to jab him in the arm.

"Yeah, Jason, what do you have?" Duke said, the lovely subtle instigator that he is.

"Red Hood's signature."

The others blue-screen, gaping at the actual audacity Jason had to offer up something that would take him no effort. Danny, prepared with a poker face that came with lying straight to Jazz's ever perceptive eyes about whether he nabbed the last of her ice cream or not, was prepared.

"Red Hood? The condom guy working out of the... um. Upper East Side?" Danny asked, pretending to hesitate. He knows where Jason operated. That doesn't mean he couldn't simply pretend otherwise. For science, of course.

...

The table howled with laughter, Jason's indignant spluttering unable to say anything against Danny's wide eyed look of innocence. Cass leaned against the table, chuckles falling out of her mouth and eyes crinkled in mirth. Dick had fallen out of his chair, helplessly wheezing on the floor. Duke is hiding his face in his hands, mirroring Bruce's pose as they both shake from silent laughter. Damian is smirking, wicked and sharp as he smugly stared at Jason. Stephanie and Tim are leaning against each other, repeating "the CONDOM GUY" in alternating and increasingly louder voices. Alfred had a smile on his face and a tight grip on the bills in front of him that betrayed his amusement.

"He's a crime lord!" Jason exclaimed, indignant.

"Uh, okay. Well, I mean, why would I want a crime lord's signature? I don't want to be on his radar. Or echolocation or whatever. He's... a Bat, right? That's what you guys call that group, yeah?"

"How do you know the Rogues better than the vigilantes?!" Jason glared at his unhelpful family. Those assholes better prepare for a load of rubber bullets the next time they're on patrol near Crime Alley.

"Hey, it's not my fault the vigilantes here are unsociable. Maybe if they monologued more, I'd know who they are."

"Wouldn't- wouldn't that make them more villain like?" Tim asked, stuttering from his laughter.

"I dunno?" Danny replied, enjoying his the family's unabashed joy. "I mean, they're pretty legit and they help people already so I guess they don't need to be sociable... but still I swear I haven't heard anything about Batman other than that he grunts and is mean towards criminals."

Is mean towards criminals, Duke mouthed at a recovering Dick who was in the process of heaving himself back up. It sent him careening back down to the floor with restrained giggles. Cass tapped Danny, reminding him to eat some food.

"Tt. Of course not. They're efficient at their jobs and have no need to be seen as welcoming to criminals." Damian puffed up.

"Yeah, but they've gotta feel safe, right?" Danny shrugged as he plucked a cookie from the cookie platter. "The... one with the sword, what was it?"

"Robin." Damian supplied, eyes narrowed and trained on him.

"Yeah, the baby bird. The kids think his swords are cool so they trust him. But like, the others? The flippy blue one? Not so much."

"Wait," Dick said from the floor. "They don't trust Nightwing?"

"Nah, they trust him to protect them, but he has a history of bringing the kids to the police, you know?"

"What's wrong with that?"

Danny shrugged. "ACAB. But also because everybody knows that half the guys in the GCPD and CPS are child traffickers."

"Wait, what?" Jason and Tim straightened.

Bruce piped in, the emotional whiplash of amusement to concern to amusement to concern visibly making itself known on the man's baffled face. "I thought Batman and Commissioner Gordon took care of that?"

"Sure, the obvious ones." Danny hesitated. Well, he's pretty sure they think he's a meta so... "There's... a meta trafficking ring that they're a part of. That's. That's kind of what I was running from."

Danny looked up pleadingly. Cass placed a hand on his arm in comfort, not knowing that he was fibbing about running from them.

Danny was on the streets helping his own Alley metas to run from them.

Danny is as feral as she was, and that meant he could hide just as much as she could read off of him. Cass was the best and he felt kind of bad about lying to her, successfully or not.

"Uh. Some people said you know Batman, Bruce. I know- uh, that might not be the case but if you do, could you ask him to look into it?" Danny made his eyes tear up. "And maybe he wouldn't care about me much, I mean, I know he doesn't really like metas but if he helps out, I could totally like, leave the city once the kids are safe, promise."

Ooh, Danny put a little too much sincerity into that. He could practically hear the hearts breaking in the game room as everyone glared at Bruce.

"You won't have to leave."

"... Promise?" And Danny's voice was a little too desperate, too hopeful, because Bruce's eyes tugged down in sadness.

"Promise." He rumbled, all Bruce Wayne and all Batman. Danny's core warmed. Danny also saw the rest of the family's faces darken in pure agreement. And partial wrath.

"Yeah! We'll kick Batman's ass if he even thought about kicking you out!" Stephanie proclaimed.

"He's far more proficient in combat than you are, Brown." Damian immediately leapt to Batman's defense and that was that.

Well, later, as Danny was "sleeping" and Phantom was hovering in the cave, invisible and intangible, he got confirmation that his Alley meta kids were going to be safe, soon.

After all, the entire Batclan was suiting up and baying for blood, with Oracle's all encompassing presence behind them, fingers reaching for their enemies' weak points.

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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

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Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

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yikesmary · 11 months

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THREE: HE FALLS FIRST — choi seungcheol x reader

summary: seungcheol finds himself falling in love with you, slowly but surely, and it hits him all at once.

notes: i’ve been loving the reception this series has been getting lately! i appreciate everyone who has been reading and interacting with the series.

also, i'm going to start a taglist for this? someone asked to be on it if this series had one, and i didn't realize i could've been doing that the entire time LMAO. anyways, to get on the taglist, just comment on this or send an ask. i'll try to tag everyone i see.

JUNE 13 2023 EDIT: i've created a taglist, so instead of commenting to be on the taglist, click the link!

warnings: mentions of puking (doesn't actually happen), drunk shenanigans, it's very cliché and i don't regret it

join my taglist!

previous / next

“Cheol, can you come help me?”

When Seungcheol enters your room, he could feel himself getting slack jaw. Both of you were getting ready to go out to the club with your friends, and with the 14 of you, he could only expect chaos.

What he didn’t expect, though, was you in a beautiful dress that almost made his heart stop when he saw you. Call him cliché, but he'd never felt that way before about anyone.

Oblivious to reaction and how he was feeling at the moment, you were trying to make sure your dress wasn't in a disarray when you asked, "Can you help me zip up the dress? I can't reach it,"

Seungcheol didn't realize he was staring and unresponsive until you turned around in confusion and waved your hand in his face. "Hello, Earth to Cheol? You okay?" you said.

He, thankfully, had snapped out of his trance before it could be considered really weird. "Uh, sure. Turn around," he instructed.

Looking at him weird, you obliged and felt your dress being zipped up. You turned around and said, "How do I look? I wanted to dress somewhat nice since this is the first time we're all hanging out. It's like my little friend group combining with the frat friend group of yours,"

"You look good. Like, really good," Seungcheol replied, clearing his throat when he realized he might've overdone it.

You gave him a smile and then a thought occurred to you. "Oh, when are we ordering the Uber?" you questioned.

"Uber? Why are we ubering when we have a car?" He asked.

"Well, we're both going to a club, so I'm assuming we're both going to drink," you replied.

"I'll drive," Seungcheol immediately said, not liking the thought of the both of you drunk out of your minds and he wasn't able to take care of you.

"Are you sure, Cheol? We can split—"

"No worries, I'll be the sober one so we can get home safely,"

"Alright, but don't get mad at me when I'm stood over a toilet puking my body weight out and you're not drunk,"

"As long as you're not like Soonyoung pretending to be a tiger, I think I can handle whatever you do,"

You and Seungcheol had barely entered the club when Seungkwan and Seokmin had somehow already located the both of you then proceeded to drag you to take a shot. And it wasn't long after the shot until they had dragged you to the dance floor.

After he had made sure you were surrounded by his and your friends who had decided to dance, he made a beeline to the bar, where the rest of his friends were. Wonwoo, who had made a wise decision to stay sober, had tried to offer him a drink.

"Not drinking tonight," Seungcheol declined the drink.

The boys had given him a look at his decline. "Why aren't you drinking? Usually, you'd take a beer at least by now," Jeonghan asked.

"I just don't feel like it," he replied, looking at you from afar, who was currently dancing to I Am the Best by 2NE1. He had wondered why 2NE1 was playing until he looked at the DJ Booth and saw that Soonyoung and Seokmin had somehow convinced the DJ to takeover for a bit.

Once he said that, the boys had made a look once more, this time exchanging it to each other. Seungcheol had noticed and asked, "What's those looks for?"

"It's because you don't realize it," this time it was Jihoon who said it.

"Realize what?"

"Cheol, how long have we known you? We've known you long enough to know how you drink. And you don't deny a drink when it's offered to you. But this time, you're not drinking. Do you know why that is?" Jeonghan asked.

"You guys are overanalyzing this. What if I just don't want to drink?"

"Because you would be looking at us and not your girlfriend this entire conversation," Wonwoo told him.

Part of Seungcheol knew this was true, but the other part of him didn't want to believe it. To his friends, his behavior might make sense since he was in a relationship. But to him, it didn't since he knew better than to develop feelings for someone he was fake dating.

He had figured in the beginning that it would be easy to not develop any feelings during the relationship since the basis of the relationship was built on a poorly made rumor and a deal. But what he didn't know at the time was how easy it was being with you.

While Seungcheol was trying to reevaluate how he was acting lately, a loud "CHEOL!" was heard and a body had practically slammed into him. The force was so unexpected, you and him had nearly fell to the ground.

"Oh, sorry bro," you drunkenly said, oblivious to the fact that Seungcheol was shocked you called him bro and your friends were laughing at his reaction.

"Bro?" He incredulously said.

"Bro, Cheol, same difference," you shrugged.

"How drunk are you?" He asked.

"Well, Soonyoung gave me something he called 'Tiger's Blood' and I have no idea what that contained but it tasted good and it made me feel warm inside," you giggled.

When Seungcheol looked to where the aforementioned Tiger was, he saw that Soonyoung and Seokmin was trying to jump on a table with Jun encouraging them to, Minghao filming it, and Vernon trying to convince Soonyoung and Seokmin to get down.

Meanwhile, Jihoon had left during Seungcheol's conversation with you and joined Seungkwan and Chan (who had replaced Soonyoung) on the DJ Booth. Wonwoo had left as well, but he was helping out Mingyu who could barely get on his feet because of how clumsy he was (Mingyu's not even that drunk, he's just that clumsy).

Joshua and Jeonghan were the only ones who remained with you and Seungcheol, but they were observing the both of you.

Suddenly feeling sleepy, you laid your head on Seungcheol's chest and said, "Cheol, I wanna go home,"

Seungcheol knew that if he didn't do something to wake you up, he was going to have to carry your sleeping body out of the club. "Can I have a bottle of water?" He asked the bartender, who was quick to give the bottle.

He had managed to pay the bartender however much it costs for the water bottle while you were still in your arms. He opened the cold bottle before giving it to you saying, "Here. Drink this before we go home,"

You took the bottle of water and drank a couple of gulps, feeling more thirsty than you realized. Once you drank half of the bottle, you showed Seungcheol, who had nodded in approval. "We're gonna go," he told Jeonghan and Joshua, who said their goodbyes.

You and Seungcheol had to maneuver through the crowd of people, but he made sure that you were near him the entire time. And once you both were out, he realized that you were shivering a little, so he took off his jacket to cover you.

He was about to guide you back to the car, and then he realized you wore the heels that looked obscenely painful but said it made your legs look good. "Give me your heels," he told you, and you shook your head no.

"I'll be barefoot!" you exclaimed.

"Fine, just wear my shoes," he replied, taking off his shoes and handing them to you.

"But then you'll be barefoot!"

"I have socks on, I'll be okay," Seungcheol said, nudging the shoes to you.

You grumbled but put the shoes on, feeling slightly more sober than you were when you were inside the club.

Once you guys got in the car, it was barely two minutes before you fell asleep, using Seungcheol's jacket like a blanket. When he took a quick look at you while driving, he smiled when he saw the sight.

Maybe he was falling for you, after all.

taglist: @geniejunn

#seventeen fluff #seungcheol fluff #choi seungchol fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #scoups x reader #scoups fluff #choi seungchol x reader #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #scoups fic #seungcheol fic #scoups scenario #scoups imagines #seventeen scoups

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inluvwithnay · 5 months

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imagine g!p stalker momo watching you every night until you fall asleep just for her to broke into your house and start fucking you. you wake up the next day feeling sore and with hickeys all over your body

a stalker, a watcher, a psychopath - hirai momo x fem!reader

cw: stalking, dubcon, somno, g!p momo, tummy bulging, slight size kink, creampie??

a/n: this has been in my inbox for a couple days so decided to make it into a fic for momo’s birthday 🩷

wc: 942

@nr1chaedickrider

————————————————————————

hirai momo has been your best friend for years, meeting in high school and never really separating since. you always hung out together, mostly at your house, and she would leave later in the day or sometimes she would stay.

during those sleepovers, she would fall asleep much later than you, and seeing you lying there made her cock strain against her boxers. to her, you looked so pretty sprawled out like that, and you were in such a deep sleep, it’s not as if you knew that momo was taking pictures of you or jerking herself off to you from the other side of the room.

in momo’s head, if you didn’t know it was happening, then it wasn’t wrong in any way. you would always wake up to her cuddling up to you in your bed during sleepovers, which you thought was because she just wanted to cuddle. but during the night she would let her romantic feelings overpower her and she just wanted to be held by you.

there were times when you were out with some of your other friends, she would find out without you telling her and would follow you, hiding from your sight and wearing all black clothes with a black mask and her hood up so no one knew it was her. she doesn’t know how she hadn’t been caught yet.

sometimes she would follow you home from these outings, especially if your clothes were a bit more revealing, sometimes if she was feeling a bit more brave, she would take photos, and jerk herself off in the woods.

sometimes she would stand outside your house and watch you get changed, snapping pictures of you in your bra and panties.

where would she keep all of these pictures? in a locked folder in her phone, of course.

this behaviour went on for months, with momo taking photos when you weren’t looking, photos that she would stroke her cock to in private, whining whenever she thinks about you touching her.

but one night, after hanging out, she just let her urges takeover.

she was walking back to her own house after you had falling asleep while hanging out. she stopped in her tracks when she felt her cock harden in her jeans, she was standing frozen, at the end of your street.

her mind was clouded with thoughts of you, all the things she wanted to do to you, she couldn’t control herself. she walked back up your street and climbed into your window, trying not to make a lot of noise.

you felt your bed dip a little bit and you woke up slightly, looking at her as she pulled her pants and boxers off, you were confused, didn’t she just leave?

“m-momo?” you mumbled, still half asleep, “i thought you left unnie.” momo felt her cock leaking pre cum after hearing you talk.

“i’m really hard right now, i need you, baby.” you were shocked to say the least, you didn’t understand why you were getting aroused from her sneaking back into your house to fuck you.

“momoring, ‘m tired, wanna sleep.” momo lifted the covers from your body and ripped your panties.

“look at your wet cunt, you want me to touch you, don’t kid yourself, slut. i’ll be quick, i promise sweetie. you just go back to sleep and let me use you.” you only nod as you try to go back to sleep.

she lifts your hips up and drags her dick along your slit, gathering your wetness before sliding in, her thick length stretching you out and making you whimper in your half-asleep state.

your pussy felt better around her cock than she could’ve ever imagined, she couldn’t help but thrust into you as fast as she could, whining and whimpering so submissively that you’d forget she was the one being a perv. she held herself up with her hand as she continued her movements. realisation hit when she looked at you that you had fallen back asleep.

“f-fuck, oh my god… you’re so so tight, such a tight little cunt” she said, flipping you over so you were on your back and continuing to use your leaking hole, her eyes trailed down your body and she couldn’t hold back her moans when she saw her cock bulging in your tummy, noticing just how small you were compared to her.

you were whining in your sleep, slowly waking up again when momo started to leave hickies on your neck and chest.

“momo, fuck- faster, please!” you mumbled in between moans.

“god, darling, you don’t know how long i’ve craved this, needed this for so long.” you nod at her words, pulling her face down to kiss you, you decide to let your dominant side come out a little to tease her.

“is that right? little perverted slut.” you whisper, making momo cum right then and there, inside your pussy, her cock twitching as her legs shake, she’s such a mess, tears even stream down her cheeks too.

“that’s it, good girl.” she collapses on top of you once her cock is drained.

“fuck, momo. i wasn’t expecting that” you say, breathlessly. momo cuddles you, sobbing a little from guilt. you hold her close and tell her it’s okay.

“i-im so sorry, i just-” you interrupt her with a kiss, cupping her face. she instantly kisses you back, holding your hips.

“it’s alright, i promise, why don’t you sit on the bed and let me suck your pretty cock, baby?”

momo nods eagerly, she’s wanted this for months and now she finally has it. she never wants it to stop.

#twice imagines #twice smut #twice x reader #momo smut #momo x reader #hirai momo

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welcome-to-green-hills · 4 months

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Headcanon Time:

Amy likes to make scrapbook pages of places/events that she likes to do with her friends. Since Amy mentioned about going to the Hot Honey concert with Shadow during the Twitter Takeover, she dedicated an entire scrapbook page to the event. And yes, she did snap a picture of Shadow having a good time.

I made a scrapbook page of Shadow and Amy having a great time at a Hot Honey concert!

#Shadow is rocking glitter eye shadow—Amy did it herself #sonic twitter takeover #Sonic Twitter Takeover 2023 #Shadow the Hedgehog #Amy the Hedgehog #My Art #I love these Twitter Takeovers so much #If y’all like the scrapbook page I made it as a template. Let me know if you want me to share it here for you to make your own page!

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targaryenluvs · 4 months

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ok hear me out w this dark!finnick idea; post-74th everlark, snow’s trying to do damage control and tells finnick to date another victor, and finnick’s hesitance to date his former mentee— means ofc she’s picked :( it’s not like finnick would ever put on a show to get her purposefully picked, he’s totally a good mentor and he’s defiantly never thought of ruining her, but, might as well make the most of it

alternatively omg image finnick living through the rebel’s victory— but the aftermath of the takeover meant a lot of the ppl involved in the games (no matter how small apart they played) get to executed,, including the little capitol girl who was (barely) part of his team n helped him get ready (or mb his district escort, or just like a stylist idk). helpful, helpful finnick steps up n tells her he can totally help her but it’s going to involve her losing her capital ties n taking up his name (plus they really have to sell it, so good knows how far they’d have to go, but he’s always so willing n helpful)

these aren’t requests or anything, i haven’t slept in 30 hours and I watched like my nth finnick edit whilst procrastinating prepping for my applied physics final

first of all i know i always sleep at wild times but THIRTY HOURS?? BABY GO TO SLEEP!!!

second of all, i wish you the best on your physics final ❤️

third of all your mind works wonders!!

can you imagine him seeing her again for the first time after she’s picked?? imagine nervous finnick for the first time 😭

“just our luck huh? two idiots make fools of the capitol and we end up on damage control!” your voice was as always sweet and pretty. finnick wanted to bottle it up all for himself.

“who would’ve thought?” finnick smiled, the charm may have been turned on but god was he a mess inside.

“you look good finn, grown. how’ve you been?”

i’ve been patiently waiting for the next time i see you. he wondered if that would scare you off so he smiled instead, “waiting for my lovely mentor to show and she’s here now so great.” you giggled as your touched his bicep, and his pants felt tighter, god you were adorable. you may be older than him but he has grown, and now he towers over you, dwarfs you in comparison and he adores it.

“you look stunning per usual.” you grinned and took your dress in, a gorgeous baby blue dress, with tiny straps on each side and a slit on the right side. your neck looked oddly markable to finnick but he’d refrain for now. “and you look handsome, when’d that happen?” you teased him before pinching his cheek.

you still thought of him as the same little boy from four. he could tell, but he wasn’t a boy anymore and he’d show you that.

“who knows. now, we have people to see.” he linked his arm with yours as the two of you made your way from the foyer and into the den of the capitol, hungry eyes and touchy hands pounced at the opportunity to feel the capitols darling and diamond.

he would snap every hand if he could, you were his, even if you didn’t know it yet.

“yes. i’ll do it, i don’t want to- no i can’t die.” you were crying now and finnick felt bad, but you’d just agreed to marry him so he couldn’t care less.

“no tears honey, you get to live.” his voice was sweet and comforting, looking up at him you felt happy. you watched him grow up, you helped him through it and now he was helping you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful.

“thank you finnick really, you don’t have to do this.” he shook his head and wiped away your tears, “you’ve been by my side for so long it’s the least i could do y/n.” your teary eyes should’ve made him feel bad but the idea of your marriage had his own heart racing. and as you hugged him he felt his worries melt away.

you were locked in for life.

#kira and anon chat <3 #dark!finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x reader

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sheeple · 3 months

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Miracles don't exist | 34: Stay and leave

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): None really [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

You wouldn't have thought that shadowing Dolores Umbridge was the worst part of the Voldemort takeover. But surprisingly, it is. The woman takes a true delight in bringing dread and sorrow to other people.

You're not even listening to the hag questioning the poor Muggle-born witches and wizards. Instead, you write letters with no intention to send them. They're mostly to Sirius. You miss the man. The safety and comfort he provided is a far-away concept in the middle of the war.

Sirius, How are you? Are you safe? Is the Order still fighting the fight? I wish I could join. But I am under close observation at the Manor. The Dark Lord has great expectations for me and I am scared what will happen if I don't follow them to a T. I am married now. For a while actually. To Theodore Nott. It's the same boy who was at the hospital. Despite it being a forced marriage, I am happy it's him. He takes good care of me, so don't worry. We keep each other safe in the eye of the war. How are Harry, Hermione and Ron? Are they safe? The last thing I've heard was that they are on the run for the Ministry. Do you know what they are doing? Maybe I can find some things out for them to help them?

You look up from the letter and your frustration with the words on the page only grows when you look at the pink hag. There is a constant high-pitched ringing that follows Umbridge wherever she goes. And it seems like only you can hear it. It brings you to the brink of insanity and your hands itch to grab your wand and silence the witch and the ringing once and for all.

A chill rolls over your back while your head twitches. The thoughts scare you. And they have been getting a lot worse ever since you have been ordered to shadow the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. You glance up at the ceiling, where a pack of dementors hoover above the Patronus barrier Umbridge created.

Mafalda Hopkirk has been giving you skittish looks the whole time and every time you give her a small but awkward smile when you catch her eyes. She then quickly looks away, her eyes wide as saucers. Shaking your head, you crumple up the letter to Sirius and put it in the pocket of your jacket.

The high-pitched ringing around Dolores picks up when she speaks. "Marry Elisabeth Cattermole. Of 27 Chislehurst Gardens, Great Tolling, Evesham?"

"Yes", whispers Mrs Cattermole scared.

"Mother to Masie, Ellie, and Alfred? Wife to Reginald?"

Mrs Cattermole turns her head. Her husband gets dragged in by Albert Runcorn, the former having a skittish look on his face. Mafalda tenses in her seat at the arrival of the two men and you raise your brows. Interesting.

Mr Cattermole goes to stand next to the chair his wife is seated on while Runcorn stands in the doorway.

Umbridge continues after thanking Runcorn, "Marry Elisabeth Cattermole? A wand has been taken for you upon your arrival at the Ministry, Mrs Cattermole. Is this that wand?" She holds up the wand.

Runcorn starts to circle Mrs Cattermole as she answers the crude questions the hag throws at her, her voice getting thick with desperation.

As Umbridge accuses Mrs Cattermole of lying, Runcorn's face hardens with hatred. It piques your interest as the man always has seen impartiality of the many claims Dolores makes. You sit up straight, no longer leaning with your head on your hand.

As the poor woman begs her husband to defend her, the ringing intensifies. It's almost unbearable. Your head snaps towards Umbridge, seeing that Runcorn has snuck upon her, his wand in his hand.

Suddenly, Runcorn's face starts to bubble and deform. A nightmarish sight as his face morphs. "You're lying, Dolores. And one mustn't tell lies."

Runcorn- no Harry! Harry fires stupify at Umbridge, who slumps in her seat. As Mafalda reaches out and janks something from her neck, Mr. Cattermole hits Yaxley with a spell, which makes him fall off his seat.

You have no clue why the two strangers help Harry, but you're quick on your feet, running after them as they bolt out of the interrogation room with Mrs. Cattermole.

The dementors swoop after you as the Patronus charm disappears with Umbridge rendered unconscious. Just before you jump after them in the elevator you send your hippogriff down the hall, which fends off the dementors.

The elevator speeds off and you're met with two pairs of wands in your face. You hold up your hands in surrender as you try to catch your breath. "Please", you pant, "I'm on your side. We have to escape the Ministry as soon as possible as it is likely that the fireplaces will be shut off at any moment. But we have to pretend. Please..."

Mr Cattermole takes a step towards you, his wife still tightly clutching his arm. "And why should we believe you?" Now that you hear his voice you recognise him. It's Ron. So that means that Mafalda is... the Poli-juice has run out of her system and Hermione looks at you, an unreadable expression on her face. But she gives Ron and Harry a look that tells them to trust you.

The doors of the elevator open and you all bolt out. You decided to run behind them so it looks like you're chasing them. As the police storm your group, spells fly around your ears. You can hardly dodge them.

"They're mine!", you growl at Yaxley as you pass him, throwing spells yourself that you misfire on purpose.

With Yaxley hot on your heels, you fire Depulso at the man so he crashes into the opposite wall, before diving after the Golden Trio into the last open fireplace.

You twist and turn, your body contorting uncomfortably until you roll onto the ground, dirt and try leaves in your mouth. You cough and wheeze as you try and scramble upon your feet.

Your wand flies out of your hand and a hot glowing tip gets pushed into your face. You up scared at Harry as he holds you at wand point. But painful wailing catches your attention and you look to the side.

Ron lies squirming on the ground, the flesh of his arm removed in graceful twists. Blood coats Hermione's hands as she tries to comfort the wailing redhead.

She yells to Harry for him to grab the bottle of Dittany from her bag. As he searches haphazardly, you reach for your wand before crawling towards them. "I know a spell. Please, let me help."

Hermione nods, tears and panic paint her face. Closing your eyes, you begin to recount the sing-like incantation of Vulnera Sanentur, the same spell Snape used on you after your incident in the toilets a couple months back.

Ron's twitching slowly eases as his wounds gradually close. Hermione pets Ron's head while she watches you work. Her bloodied hands leave red streaks on his forehead.

You sit back on your heels, watching your spell work. Your eyes travel from Hermione and Ron towards Harry, who stands off to the side with something in his hand. A necklace or some sort.

"Why- what were you thinking?! Do you realise how incredibly dangerous the Ministry is right now for you lot?!" You raise from your feet, dusting off your knees. You run frustrated a hand over your face. "Was it at least worth it?"

Hermione and Harry share a look with each other, the former giving Harry a sympathetic look. Harry sighs and holds up his hand, showing you what Hermione snatched from Umbridge. A locket.

You reach for it and when you touch it, a weird feeling goes through you and your head twitches violently to the side. And so does Harry's.

"Wha-what is it?"

Harry still looks hesitant. "A Horcrux."

Raising your eyebrows, you look at Harry, silently asking him to explain.

The bespectacled boy sighs. "You-Know-Who has split his soul into seven pieces in order to be immortal and put them in objects. And to defeat him, all those objects need to be destroyed."

Your eyes flicker towards the locket. "So... You're telling me that a part of the Dark Lord's soul is in that locket?"

Harry nods and you sigh heavily. "How many did you destroy already?"

"Dumbledore managed to destroy two, but other than this one we have no clue what those objects are."

Chewing on your bottom lip you frown, thinking deeply. "I imagine that the Dark Lord keeps those objects close to him or in a secured place. I mean... I wouldn't be surprised if Nagini is a Horcrux. She's everywhere he goes. Except for a couple of times, she's with me when it is not safe for her to join him."

While you and Harry discuss the locket, Hermione has set up a tent and is placing protective charms around the encampment. Her voice makes you turn towards her.

"I have to go. If I stay any longer people will be suspicious."

"You-you can stay", blurts Harry out, his eyes wide. "With us... if you want. Or we can bring you to Sirius, where you are under the protection of the Order." He takes a step towards you, his hand reaching out. But you flinch away from him, not having forgotten the pain his curse caused.

You shake your head, playing with the ring on your finger. "You know I can't Harry. I'm so afraid of what they'll do to him if I don't return. Once they discover I betrayed them, they will kill Teddy to make an example. I am sure of it." Your bottom lip wobbles at the thought of those warm, brown eyes staring up at you blankly. Just like Mrs Burbage's.

"You're married?" Hermione has finished the protective enchantments and grabs your hand, examining the ring. "It's beautiful..." Her eyes catch the faded outline of the bracelet around your wrist and frowns. She looks at you with silent questions in her eyes.

You snatch your hand away, tugging it behind your back. "Ancient wizarding traditions", you say, hoping it explains enough.

You turn around to walk out of the protective barrier, but just before you stop. Turning around, you say, "you have to hit me with a spell. Preferably in my face."

"I'll do it", quips Ron, who you honestly to Merlin kind of forgot that he was there. Hermione shoots him a look.

"Yaxley saw me leave with you. I can't come back and claim to have battled you without any proof. I'm not saying you have to break my nose. But just a few cuts here and there."

After some convincing Hermione reluctantly agrees to do it, as she is arguably the most skilled out of all of them. She stands a few metres away from you, wand at the ready.

"Just... don't scar my face again, please", you say before closing your eyes.

You hear Hermione take a sharp breath in before wordlessly firing a spell your way. It hits you square in your face and sends you flying back a few metres. A pained groan escapes you as Hermione hurries towards you, helping you to your feet.

"How do I look?", you ask weakly, half a smile on your face. You feel blood run out of your nose and staining your lips while your forehead stings. "Thanks for not going easy on me."

Hermione engulfs you in a tight hug. "Please be careful."

You hug her for what could be the last time for a very long time before stepping outside of the boundary. The encampment is gone when you turn around. Taking a deep breath you dissipate back to the Manor.

You land safely back in your and Theo's bedroom. Expect it's a total mess. Every door, drawer, and cabinet is wide open, and clothes and papers are strewn about. Everything is turned over like it was searched for something. And then you see it. The box you stored all your letters to Sirius is pulled from its hiding place under your bed and empty, every letter taken away.

Shit! SHIT!

The door flies open and you raise your wand. Theo stands in the door opening, eyes wide and hair dishevelled like he has been running his hand through it.

The two of you stare at each other before it finally clicks in your mind. You wildly search the pockets of your coat for the letter you wrote today. But it's gone.

Within two strides, Theo's next to you and grabbing your face, wiping the blood away. "What happened? They are turning the house inside out in search of you. Why are you covered in blood?"

"You have to leave", you say, turning around and grabbing the first bag you find and stuffing it with clothes for him. But he grabs your arm which effectively stops you. You look at him guiltily, casting your eyes to the ground.

"I'm not leaving without you."

You shake your head. "Listen to me, Teddy, please. They will kill you if you don't leave. Please." As you beg, you grab his hand and push the bag into his hold. "Quickly, before they find me."

You hear footsteps down the hall. Panic floods your system and you look around the room. you spot one of the first letters you wrote for Sirius and take it, pressing it in his hand. "Go to 12 Grimmauld Place and show them this letter."

"I'm not leaving without you. We're married, (Y/n). We're supposed to do this together."

Shaking your head, you hear the people near your room. "Now, Theodore", you growl, your breath picking up.

Just before the Death Eaters storm your room you hear the distinct sound of disapparition and Theo is gone.

The door gets thrown open and a handful of Death Eaters pour into your room. "Get her!", one says before they pound upon you.

Taglist: (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what @mypolicemanharryyy @fals3-g0d @decapitated-coffee @thatgirljas13 @slytherinambitious @raineisms @mastermindmiko @timmytime17 @regsg18 @supernatural-lover @bubybubsters @lafrone @hermionelove @the-sander-fander @akengii @aliciacat20 @unstablereader @burns-in-the-sun @rachelnicolee @damagelove @mqndrqke @llpovi @clairesjointshurt @222244445555 @jolly4holly @padf00ts-l0ver @fandom-life-12 @prettyb1tchsblog @pari-1 @f14ever @nopedefe @randomgurl2326

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alienpossession · 5 months

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Body a Day 3: Blood

Lightheaded. That's the correct term to explain what Justin felt in the past hours ever since he finished his blood donation in the local hospital. He contemplated for a second to stop his workout when he felt too dizzy around halfway his set, but he pulled through in the end. Yet, his vision indeed blurred and somehow this normal set he usually crushed really drained any power in him. This shouldn't be the side effect of blood donating blood, right?

He eventually found himself still in the shower area of the gym a couple minutes later after he blacked out, but it's no longer Justin in control of his own body. The syringe injected to draw his blood earlies has been contaminated by stealthy extraterrestrial being that already took over the hospital earlier today. Everyone there has turned into vessel for the invading alien, and it's only a matter of time before the entire city turned into the operating base for the alien that seamlessly blended themselves to the general population. In the meantime, the newly invigorated Justin takes a selfie to inform the elders in the hospital about the latest takeover and also doing its vessel usual daily gym snap, it needs to keep up the appearance of normalcy after all

#body a day #alien possession #alien takeover #alien expansion

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hshouse · 2 years

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Tell me more about musk and twitter because I'm crying right now

hi bby,

so there are so many concepts of how corporations work that we can learn from this!

Twitter is a public company which means that they sell shares to the public. This means a lot of people actually own the company. If you buy a share you are a part owner. These companies are highly highly regulated by the Security Exchange Commission (SEC) so there are many rules and procedures they need to follow. The other format is to be a private company. This is how every company starts. If you open a business with your friend and you both share the ownership, you have a private company. These are regulated *A LOT* less and you can basically be a black box (not share any information with the public or the government). Why then would you go public? Well, when you share sells you get a lot of money in one go. You say "hey here is a piece of the company, give me $100 for it." Feels like free money! it is not, obviously, but it is quick money. Why would you buy a share? Well by owning the company, you get to profit when the company does well. These are called dividends. After the company has paid all its bills and commitments, they get the rest of the profit and distribute among the shareholders.

So back to Musk, he is a major shareholder (SH) of twitter which means he owns a huge part of the company. SHs get to vote on who are the directors of a company which are basically the highest level of authority of a company. In turn, the directors choose management people like the CEO, COO, CFO etc. (the c-suite). Being a large shareholder, he got to choose (basically) some of the directors which means a lot of influence in the company. Still, there were plenty of other SHs so he didn't get his say automatically. When he talks about "not trusting management" what he is actually saying is that he can't elect all the members of the Board (who will in turn listen to him about who to choose for management).

He decides then that he wants to own all of twitter so he can control all of it. Buying an entire public company is called "going private" because it would go back to only one person owning and the public would not have access to shares. But how do you do that? You can't convince every single SH individually to sell their shares (there are thousands!). So you submit a proposal to the Board. You say "Hey, I want to buy the rest of the company. I will buy the other 50% of the company at $150/share." This is called a "tender offer." The Board then votes on whether to recommend or not to the SHs to sell their shares. The price will be at a premium which means the shares are gonna be bought for more than they are worth so that is why the SHs will want to sell. Musk offered a 50% premium which is INSANELY high. basically what happened is called a "hostile takeover." Or almost one, depends on how you define it. The Board is now in a tough spot: they are MANDATED by law to act in a manner to make the most money to the SHs and this is a great offer! If you owned 1M in twitter stock, you'd end up with 1.5M dollars in a snap. But the Board is usually like the heart of the company – they dont want to kill their company by selling it to anyone. It's a real pickle. It usually doesn't happen like this as not a lot of people have $45B hanging out. At the end of the day, the Board had to sell it otherwise they would have been sued by the SHs.

This is a small explanation of what happened.

#elon musk #twitter #tesla #musk #spaceX #business #finance

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goddessofmischief · 6 months

Text

— ACROSS THE STARS (SITH!KIT TANTHALOS X READER)

Summary: Kit Tanthalos is a Sith apprentice - and your biggest enemy. Now she's fighting for your hand in marriage.

CHAPTER TWO: CHOSEN

Kit knew she wasn't wanted.

...But she was greedy. And young. Too young to understand that actions had consequences, too young to feel the depth of those consequences.

Truth was, she'd been planning a takeover of Naboo for some time. She wasn't here for you. She was here because she knew it would be easier to win the throne through your planet's own traditions, rather than taking it by force. She could have done it, of course, but it would've taken more time, more manpower.

After some time spent considering it, mulling it over, marrying you seemed like the obvious choice. Kit could even view it altruistically, if she tried hard enough: she was saving you from an unhappy relationship with someone else, after all. But she knew you found spending time with her just as displeasurable. She knew you resented, hated, feared her. Just as everyone else did.

And here she was, along with all these other fools. It was easy to size them up, almost immediately: Graydon, the prince of Zygerria, Jade, the Jedi, and - Kit's brother, Airk.

Of course.

Kit could never be best at anything, Airk had to be best at it first. Apparently, that was also true when it came to winning you. She had exiled him, long ago, and he had left Corellia without complaint. He seemed happier, now that he wasn't a prince. At least she could do that much for him.

So, that was her competition. Two princes and a Jedi.

Kit was sure she could beat 'em all.

"Knock knock, princess," Kit said, stepping into your quarters. She'd snuck up the stairs not long after the other contestants had gone to bed, longing to talk to you, wondering what you thought of her presence.

Well, she knew what you thought. Mostly, she wanted to know what you'd say.

"What do you want?" you snapped, and as you turned in Kit's direction she glimpsed tears in your eyes.

That... wasn't what she expected.

"Um," Kit cleared her throat, sitting on the ornate couch beside you. "I guess I just wanted to talk."

You waved a hand.

"Talk. Doesn't matter what I want anyway."

"I'm guessing you're mad that the people of your kingdom seem to prefer me."

You laughed.

"Yeah. Something like that."

"Well, who did you want them to pick?"

"I don't know, Jade? The honorable Jedi? Or Graydon, the kind prince? Even Airk. He's not the smartest, but he would've been someone I could've ruled with. Anyone but a Sith. Anyone but you."

"Ow," said Kit, and she hadn't realized she'd spoken it aloud until she saw your eyebrows raise. "I mean, I can't be that bad, right?"

"You've killed people. Innocents. You banished your own parents. Even your brother won't have anything to do with you."

"Airk was grateful I took over, okay? Now he has time to do the things he actually wants to do - like playing sabacc, or competing for princesses."

"Grateful? You almost killed him!"

"I did what I had to do, and I'm sorry that you're too stupid, foolish and naive to see that!"

You stared at Kit, lip trembling. She wanted to reach out for you, tell you she was sorry, tell you that she didn't think you were any of those things.

Instead, she just mumbled "See you tomorrow," and swept out of your chambers, cape swinging behind her.

taglist: @hea-vin

#kit tanthalos #kit tanthalos x reader #ruby cruz

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bigboysfalldeep · 1 year

Text

gym lad takeover

A new gym opened up in town, and a special one indeed. It's a private gym; people can book a room for a few hours and work out like they want to, when they want to. Nick was hooked right away. Working the whole day, he liked hitting the gym at night. That new gym was even better because of its privacy.

He loved everything about it. Free drinks, some special water—full of vitamis—nice music, and no one able to annoy him with their disgusting fat bodies. A toned one is the only right one, he would say.

One night, he was working out when the door suddenly opened. The owner stepped inside, closed the door, and approached Nick, who was emptying a bottle of water in one go. "Nick...right?"

The man said, and due to the hammering music, Nick had trouble hearing him. "Yea." He said loudly, At least it was just the owner, he thought, not some weirdo. "Need anything? Some water?" The man carried a bag filled with water bottles. Strange.

"I just had two," Nick replied, trying to avoid more conversation. Nodding in agreement, the man stepped right in front of him and raised his hand. "Then this should work."

SNAP

Instantly, Nick's whole body reacted to it. He tensed heavily, all of his muscles bulging so hard. And this pressure on his head, his vision so blurry, and his mind fighting to stay conscious Someone, somehow, was inside his head. "Obey. Nick. Just give in. Obey." Nick opened his mouth. "What? No!" He tried to scream and fight back. "Obey. Just obey."

The music shifted, saying the same things. OBEY. YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO, HAVE TO OBEY. Nick's hands were shaking widely; something inside his blood—some sort of drug—was aiding those thoughts.

SNAP.

With another snap of his fingers, the owner of the gym demanded attention. And Nick obeyed.

Nick watched that man and his beautiful, shining eyes. It felt right to obey him. To follow his voice. No! It wasn't. Nick protested. His face grimacing, he tried to regain control.

"Still there, huh?" The man approached him even further, placing a hand on Nick's shoulder. "I respect that. But you won't be able to resist." Nick hissed. "Fuuuuck yoou." But the man put pressure on his shoulder, and like a switch, Nick's body went rigid, his eyes dull, and most importantly, his mind blank.

Only a shimmer of blue was left as he stared into his master's eyes. "See. Not that hard, is it?"The man patted his cheek firmly, but Nick didn't react. He just stood there, motionless, his body hard as rock, but his will nothing more than clay, in the right man's hands. His master started to inspect his newest addition.

He started to run a hand across Nick's bare, sweaty chest, enjoying how it felt. "Not bad. Not bad at all." He smirked, walking around him again and again, encompassing his whole upper body with his fingers. "Flex boy. Flex for me." He ordered, and Nick obeyed in an instant.

"Well done. Boy." He said, hugging him from behind, firmly playing with his slaves hard nipples. "You smell, so good." The master sniffed his pits, even taking a lick. Nick didn't move. He held his pose like a statue made of stone.

The man started grinding on Nick's thick ass, his erect cock pressing against the fabric of his tight trousers. "Yeah. So good." He moaned but stopped himself. For now. He walked around again, grabbing Nick by the waist and pulling him closer. "Let's have a closer look," he said, starting to inspect Nick even closer.

The man stroked his face gently, running a finger through Nick's light stubble along his jawline, neck, and further down his shoulders. "Smile. Will ya." He patted his cheek again, causing a derpy but vacant smile.

"Good boy." The master smiled, grabbing Nick's bulging biceps. "Very good boy. Been drinking much water, ey?" He said it proudly and went further down his body. Feeling his muscles react to every little move of his fingers, he moaned again. "Yeah, yeah." He massaged his pecs, played with the nipples again, and drew circles across his abs.

Finally reaching the waistline, he noticed Nick's fat cock twitching inside the short gym shorts. "Like it, huh?" He smirked deviously, and grabbed his own cock with one hand and Nicks with the other. Nick let out a low, guttural moan as his eyes rolled back into his skull. Twitching in unison, the man smiled.

"Nearly there." At last, he began to stroke Nick's thighs firmly before he took a step back. "Turn around, and bend down." He snapped his fingers, and Nick did as he was told. Easily, he steadied himself against the gym floor.

"That's where the fun begins." The man grabbed Nick's waist again, pulling him closer. He slapped his ass a few times, causing Nick to whimper. "Such a nice ass." He smirked, pulling the pants down, including the underwear, in one firm swing. "Fuck yeah." The master grabbed his cheeks, spreading them widely. Nick moaned loudly, again and again.

The man touched himself in anticipation before removing his cum-stained trousers. His dick was leaking heavily, knowing what would happen next. Without further ado, the man slid into Nick's virgin crack, the massive veiny cock needing space, spreading the hole even further.

Nick let out a high-pitched moan of pain and pleasure as the man stood there, enjoying himself. "Yeah, you'll be my cum dump tonight, Nick." He groaned, thrusting into Nick's ass again and again. He had trouble staying steady, but his huge arms managed somehow.

, With that enormous cock reaching his prostate, his own dick was encouraged to get even harder, letting Nick's now empty brain get filled with pure pleasure. The master increased the pace and strength of his thrusts, placing both of his hands on Nick's waist and securely holding him in place as he fucked him hard.

Nick, unable to breathe properly, just moaned, groaned, and cried out. His cock was already leaking heavily, ready to burst at any moment.

With one hard and heavy thrust, Nick moaned even louder as he came. Shooting load after load against the floor, some of it even hitting his face. But his new master wasn't done yet. After what felt like an eternity, he released himself right into Nick's hole. Filling him with his hot cum. Both men's bodies went stiff and rigid as they came together again and again. "Fuck." The man groaned happily and pulled his wet cock out.

"This felt goood." Immediately, he started rubbing his hard cock. "Get up." He breathed and snapped his fingers. Weakly, Nick got up, turned around, and stood there. Waiting for the next command.

"Good boy." He said this, patting his face again. "On your knees. Clean me up." The man watched as Nick got on his knees and started to lick his cock dry. Eagerly, Nick took the dick into his mouth and cleaned it. His master grabbed him by his hair, forcing him to look at him. "Well done. Now get up." He motioned for Nick to get up. For a few seconds, he just looks at him before he sighs.

"Nick. Listen to me." Nick's empty eyes moved slightly. "I want you to get into the shower and get yourself clean. As soon as you hear the music stop, you will return to normal again, without any memory of tonight. We don't want unnecessary attention, do we?" The man stroked his face last time. "Yees. Sir." Exhausted, Nick nodded. "Good. Now get clean."

He watched Nick walk to the showers and cleaned up the mess before he returned.

#male on male #tf story #male hypno #male domination #male transformation #male hypnosis #gay hypno #hypno story

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girlylukehughes · 8 months

Text

lake house takeover

ethan edwards x zegras!reader

ynzegras just posted!

liked by jackhughes and 726,814 others

ynzegras: summer on film! (shout out to jack and quinn for letting me steal your house for the last two weeks of august! i love you guys!)

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jackhughes: you're welcome! at least it was spotless when we got back unlike when i let someone else, *cough trevorzegras cough*, have it for two days.

^ynzegras: yeah he still can't work the dishwasher in his apartment jamie calls me just so we can laugh at him

^^trevorzegras: i hate you both.

trevorzegras: literally who's birthday was it

^ynzegras: no one's we just wanted cake

_quinnhughes: why didn't you have this camera for the first half of summer?

^ynzegras: i did i just wanted to keep my film for the girls trip!

^^lhughes06: lame 👎🏻

edwards.73: we need the film cam when you take media pics

^markestapa: i agree

^^dylanduke25: me too

^^^lucafantilli: me three

^^^^ynzegras: it'll be there

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ynzegras just posted!

liked by edwards.73 and 993,241 others

ynzegras: full summer dump!

tagged: trevorzegras, markestapa, mackie.samo, edwards.73, colecaufield, jackhughes, _alexturcotte, lhughes06, g.brindley4, _quinnhughes

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trevorzegras: WHO IS THAT

trevorzegras: YN WHO THE FUCK IS THAT

^ynsegras: shhhhhhh

^^trevorzegras: WHAT

lhughes06: oh you're bold for this one

^ynzegras: it's an arm🤷🏻‍♀️ he can't work a dishwasher i doubt he can go all fbi with an arm

mackie.samo: i still swear on everything a fish bit me that night.

edwards.73: markestapa mackie.samo we look so good here

^markestapa: we so do

^^mackie.samo: we really do

^^^ynzegras: i agree

^^^^trevorzegras: WHAT IS THIS

colecaufield: miss you baby z!

^ynzegras: miss you too!

_alexturcotte: literally how did you get that picture

^ynzegras: im the one you sent it to while you were wasted😭

_quinnhughes: i miss that coconut

^jackhughes: they were so good

lhughes06: out of all the pics you took that has to be the worst one of me and gavin.

^g.brindley4: i honestly don't remember taking that.

^^ynhughes: it's the only one that not blurry 😐

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edwards.73 just posted!

liked by ynzegras and 372,291 others

edwards.73: 🐄👦🏻

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ynzegras: well you know what they say!

liked by edwards.73

lhughes06: and what if i send this to her brother

^ynzegras: luke hughes if you so dare i will get my happy ass on a flight to nj and use the spare key jack gave me to beat your ass

^^lhughes06: you're broke how are you gonna get a flight

^^^ynzegras: trevor's still logged into american airlines on my phone it'll charge him

^^^^lhughes06:....currently replacing the locks

trevorzegras: hmmmmm

^ynzegras: go away

dylanduke25: a cowboy is a man, typically one on horseback, who herds and tends cattle, especially in the western US and as represented in westerns and novels.

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ynzegras just posted!

liked by markestapa and 937,217 others

ynzegras: save a horse!

tagged: edwards.73

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trevorzegras: luke you were supposed to make sure this DIDNT happen.

^ynzegras: funny story... me and ethan met BEFORE umich. we traded snaps when we were seniors in high school

^^trevorzegras: WHAT

^^^lhughes06: WHAT

^^^^markestapa: WHAT

^^^^^ynzegras: trevorzegras remember when you LEFT ME at that mall in canada? when i said i got an uber i lied, i met ethan and he drove me back to the airbnb

edwards.73: you're so pretty

^ynzegras: mwah mwah mwah

colecaufield: baby z pulls?

^ynzegras: i do!

user61: puck bunny

^ynzegras: fangirls when my first and only boyfriend plays hockey

^^user83: oh she cleared😭

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#ethan edwards x reader #umich fic #umich imagine #jay speaks!!🪩

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