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[bucky-fricking-barnes]

The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

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

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

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

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

“How many does he control?”

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

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

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

“Not anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to pull away. You don’t.

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods. “That’s true.”

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

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

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

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sick or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asks.

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

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

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

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

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

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

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

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

“Of course they are,” you mumble. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

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

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

“That’s enough!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe James works on them?

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you did.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

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

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

“James—”

“Bucky.”

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

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

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

“Is that… a nickname?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

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

“Observant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old were you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

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

“Y/N, are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

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

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

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

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

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

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks. 

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

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

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

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

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

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

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

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

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

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

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you look at me? Please?”

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

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

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

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

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

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

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

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

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

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

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

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

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

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

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

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

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

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

Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

[blake-smith-little-rock-arkansas]

Blake Smith Little Rock Arkansas | A+ Gifts for Any Teacher’s Gradebook

A+ Gifts for Any Teacher’s Gradebook

A+ Gifts for Any Teacher’s Gradebook Uncertain about the kind of gift your child’s J. Blake Smithwould actually appreciate? You don’t want to give them something that they gratefully accept from your child only to throw it away as soon as they get home from school, right? You don’t want your child to embarrass you by giving another instructor the gift they gave them. Actual instructors listed the following as some of the gifts they REALLY anticipate getting.

School is already stressful enough for everyone involve in the gift-giving chain without parents. Students having to work extra hard to come up with the ideal present to give to the J. Blake Smithin question. Let see about A+ Gifts for Any Teacher’s Gradebook:

Typical approach

A typical approach most parents use to select the ideal gift for their child’s teacher is to visit Pinterest for ideas on possible presents that will have the recipient of said gift raving about the best thing they have ever received in the classroom for the remainder of the school year. Others visit Amazon, the top online retailer in the world, to look for “teacher gifts.” These strategies almost always result in disappointment and time waste. What then is the solution? Websites like Instagram can provide useful insight into the gifts that really make a teacher’s eyes sparkle. You might surprised by some of these, but they are all, so to speak, straight from the source.

The Poor and the Disgusting of Teacher Gifts

It might surprise you to learn that one of the most popular gifts given to J. Blake Smitheach year is also one of their least favourite gifts. We’re referring to the adage about the coffee mug. Most educators with at least a few years of experience will have a surplus of coffee mugs. Any teacher would compel to seek out the strongest beverage they could find in the teacher’s lounge at the sight of another fresh-faced kid setting a poorly wrapped coffee mug on the desk. Unexpectedly, some teachers said they would appreciate receiving a Starbucks tumbler cup as a present...............

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For More

#J.BlakeSmith #JBlakeSmithLittleRockArkansas #josephblakesmith #JosephBlakeSmithArkansas #JosephBlakeSmithLittleRock #JosephBlakeSmithLittleRockArkansas Blake Smith Little Rock Arkansas

[unitywedding]

Bridesmaids Gift Trends 2024

If you are looking for some ideas for bridesmaids gifts in 2024, you might want to consider some of the latest trends that are emerging in the wedding industry. Here are some of the most popular and unique options that you can choose from: - Personalized jewelry: Nothing says thank you like a piece of jewelry that reflects the personality and style of your bridesmaids. You can opt for custom-made necklaces, bracelets, earrings, or rings that feature their names, initials, birthstones, or favorite charms. You can also match the jewelry to the theme or color scheme of your wedding for a cohesive look. - Spa baskets: Pamper your bridesmaids with a basket full of spa essentials that they can use to relax and unwind before or after the big day. You can include items such as bath bombs, candles, body scrubs, masks, lotions, and aromatherapy oils. You can also personalize the baskets with their names, monograms, or photos. - Wine tumblers: If your bridesmaids love to sip on some wine, why not gift them with some stylish and practical wine tumblers that they can use at your wedding and beyond? You can find wine tumblers in various colors, shapes, and sizes, and you can also customize them with their names, initials, or funny quotes. Wine tumblers are perfect for keeping your drinks cold or hot, and they are also easy to carry around. - Robes: Robes are a classic and timeless gift that your bridesmaids will appreciate and use for years to come. You can choose from different fabrics, such as silk, satin, cotton, or fleece, and different styles, such as kimono, wrap, or hooded. You can also add some flair to the robes by embroidering their names, initials, or roles on them. Robes are great for getting ready on the wedding day and for lounging at home afterwards. - Photo books: A photo book is a thoughtful and sentimental gift that your bridesmaids will cherish forever. You can create a photo book that showcases your friendship and memories with each of them, from childhood to adulthood. You can also include photos from your wedding planning, bridal shower, bachelorette party, and wedding day. You can design the photo book online or print it yourself, and you can also add some captions, quotes, or stickers to make it more personal. #WeddingPlanning #WeddingDirectory #WeddingTips #Weddings #unitytheweddingdirectory #unity #weddingdirectory #weddingplanner #weddinginspiration #weddingideas #wedding trends 2024 Read the full article

[gobesin]

Unlocking Your Creativity: The Magic of Sublimation Tumblers

In a world that thrives on personalization and unique expressions, sublimation has become a household name for those seeking to make their mark. For individuals and businesses alike, the canvas for creativity extends far beyond the conventional. In this blog post, we'll delve into the enchanting world of sublimation tumblers, exploring their versatility and the countless ways you can personalize and beautify these popular tumbler cups.

The Allure of Sublimation Tumblers

Sublimation tumblers are more than just your average beverage container; they're a blank canvas for your imagination. These versatile vessels have taken the art of personalization to new heights. The process involves transferring high-quality, vibrant images onto the surface of the tumbler, creating a unique, lasting impression.

The Beauty of Personalization

At the heart of sublimation lies the power of personalization. Whether you're celebrating a special occasion or showcasing your brand, the ability to make your tumbler uniquely yours is a game-changer. Sublimation provides an avenue for creativity and self-expression that knows no bounds.

Sublimation Tumbler Versatility

Sublimation tumblers come in various shapes, sizes, and materials, catering to a broad range of preferences. From stainless steel to ceramic, and from single-wall to double-wall insulation, there's a tumbler cup for every occasion. The key is choosing the right tumbler for your purpose and knowing how to make it uniquely yours.

The All-Season Companion

A sublimation tumbler isn't just for sipping your favorite beverages. It's an all-season companion. From hot coffees to ice-cold lemonades, your tumbler cup is built to maintain the temperature of your drink, ensuring it stays just the way you like it. Plus, the durable construction ensures that your sublimated design remains as vibrant as the day it was created.

Unleashing Your Creative Vision

Sublimation tumblers are more than just a practical choice; they're a medium for showcasing your unique style. From family photos to company logos, there are endless possibilities for personalization. Whether you're an aspiring artist or a business owner, you can make your mark on the world with a beautifully designed tumbler.

The Art of Personal Branding

For businesses, sublimation tumblers are more than just drinkware. They're an opportunity to leave a lasting impression on your customers. Create branded tumbler cups featuring your company's logo, slogan, or a memorable message. These customized items serve as effective marketing tools, ensuring your brand stays top-of-mind.

Quality Matters

When it comes to personalization, quality is paramount. The longevity of your sublimated designs and the overall satisfaction of your customers depend on the quality of your chosen sublimation tumbler. Seek reputable suppliers who offer high-quality products, ensuring that your creations endure the test of time.

The Sublimation Process

While personalizing tumbler cups might seem like a complex task, the sublimation process is more accessible than it appears. Here's a simplified breakdown of the steps:

Step 1: Choose Your Design

Select a design or image that speaks to you. Ensure it's of high resolution and the right size for your tumbler.

Step 2: Print Your Design

Print your chosen design using sublimation ink on sublimation paper. This step is crucial to achieving a high-quality sublimation result.

Step 3: Wrap and Secure

Wrap the sublimation paper tightly around your tumbler cup, making sure there are no air gaps. Use high-temperature tape to secure the paper in place.

Step 4: Apply Heat

Using a heat press, apply high heat and pressure to the tumbler. The sublimation ink on the paper transforms into gas, fusing with the tumbler's surface, and creating a permanent, vibrant image.

Step 5: Cool and Enjoy

Allow the tumbler to cool down naturally, and your personalized masterpiece is ready for use.

Conclusion: A World of Possibilities

Sublimation tumblers have opened a world of possibilities for personalization and branding. They are a practical yet artistic medium for showcasing your creativity and making a lasting impression. Whether you're an individual celebrating a special moment or a business seeking to leave a mark, a sublimated tumbler is a canvas waiting to be brought to life. Unlock your creativity and embrace the magic of sublimation today.

[knownowlive]

Top 7 Fishing Lures Tumblers to Enhance Your Angling Experience

Fishing lures tumbler is a popular accessory for anglers that combines functionality and style, keeping drinks cold or hot for extended periods. With its innovative design and durable construction, the fishing lures tumbler is a must-have for any fishing enthusiast. Whether you're heading out for a day on the boat or spending time by the shore, this tumbler is the perfect companion to keep your beverages at the ideal temperature. Its unique features, such as a spill-proof lid and double-wall insulation, make it ideal for outdoor use. Additionally, the fishing lures design adds a touch of personality and charm to your drinkware collection. Explore the wide range of fishing lures tumblers available and add a touch of style to your next fishing adventure. 1

Top PickTervis Fishing Lures Made in USA Double Walled Insulated Tumbler ... Check Latest Price2

Best QualityTervis Freshwater Fish and Lures Made in USA Double Walled ... Check Latest Price3

RecommendedSignature Tumblers Fishing Lure Wrap on Clear 16 Ounce Double-Walled ... Check Latest Price4

Dily Pod Fishing lure tumbler 20oz and 30oz Tumbler and ... Check Latest Price5

Fancyfams - Fishing Gifts For Dad - 20oz Stainless Steel ... Check Latest Price6

Greenline Goods Fish Insulated Coffee Tumbler - 20 oz Metal ... Check Latest Price7

Greenline Goods – Fly Fishing Glass Set for Fisherman and ... Check Latest Price Top Pick

1. Tervis Fishing Lures Made in USA Double Walled Insulated Tumbler Travel Cup Keeps Drinks Cold & Hot, 16oz, Classic

- Brand: Tervis - Manufacturer: Tervis Tumbler Company - Color: Classic - Dimensions: Height: 6.0 inches Width: 3.38 inches Length: 3.38 inches Weight: 0.5 pounds ` Introducing the Tervis Fishing Lures Made in USA Double Walled Insulated Tumbler, a must-have for fishing enthusiasts! This 16oz travel cup is designed to keep your drinks icy cold or piping hot, making it perfect for any outdoor adventure. Crafted with durable materials, this tumbler is built to last. With its classic design and reliable insulation, it's the ideal companion for long days on the water or simply enjoying a refreshing beverage. Join the countless satisfied customers who love this American-made tumbler and elevate your drinking experience today! Advantages - Advantages of the Tervis Fishing Lures Made in USA Double Walled Insulated Tumbler: - Enjoy All-Day Beverage Temperature Control: This 16oz tumbler keeps drinks icy cold or piping hot for hours, perfect for fishing trips or on-the-go adventures. - Premium Quality and Durability: Crafted with double-walled insulation, this travel cup is made in the USA to ensure exceptional quality and long-lasting performance. - Stylish and Classic Design: The fishing lures motif adds a touch of charm, making it not only functional but also a fashionable accessory for any fishing enthusiast. - Versatile Usage: Apart from being a reliable drink container, it can also be used as a sturdy and spill-proof container for snacks or small fishing supplies. - Proudly Supporting American Manufacturing: By choosing this tumbler, you support local production and economy, while enjoying the benefits of a top-notch, American-made product. Our Recommendations I recently purchased the Tervis Fishing Lures Made in USA Double Walled Insulated Tumbler Travel Cup. It keeps my drinks cold and hot for a long time. The 16oz size is perfect for on the go. The classic design is stylish and the quality is top-notch. I love that it's made in the USA! Check Latest Price Best Quality

2. Tervis Freshwater Fish and Lures Made in USA Double Walled Insulated Tumbler Travel Cup Keeps Drinks Cold & Hot, 16oz, Classic

- Brand: Tervis - Manufacturer: Tervis Tumbler Company - Color: Classic - Dimensions: Height: 6.5 inches Width: 3.5 inches Length: 3.5 inches Weight: 0.5 pounds ` Introducing the Tervis Freshwater Fish and Lures Made in USA Double Walled Insulated Tumbler Travel Cup! This 16oz classic cup is the perfect companion for keeping your favorite drinks cold or hot. Designed with a double-walled insulation feature, it ensures that your beverage stays at the ideal temperature for longer periods of time. Crafted with care in the USA, this tumbler is not only durable but also showcases a captivating design of freshwater fish and lures. Take this travel cup wherever you go and enjoy your drinks in style! Advantages - Advantages, Usefulness, and Benefits of the Tervis Freshwater Fish and Lures Double Walled Insulated Tumbler: - Exceptional Insulation: This tumbler keeps drinks freezing cold or piping hot for extended periods, ensuring optimal enjoyment. - High-Quality Construction: Crafted in the USA, this tumbler boasts top-notch durability, making it a reliable choice for everyday use. - Convenient Travel Companion: With its 16oz capacity, this tumbler is perfectly sized for on-the-go hydration, fitting easily into cup holders and bags. - Stylish Design: Featuring a classic freshwater fish and lures pattern, this tumbler adds a touch of charm to any setting, attracting compliments. - Easy-to-Clean: The double-wall insulation allows for effortless cleaning, making this tumbler a practical choice for busy individuals. Our Recommendations This Tervis Freshwater Fish and Lures Made in USA Double Walled Insulated Tumbler is a game-changer. With its ability to keep drinks cold or hot, it's perfect for any adventure. The 16oz size is just right. The classic design is a delightful touch. Plus, it's made in the USA, ensuring quality craftsmanship. I highly recommend this travel cup. Check Latest Price Recommended

3. Signature Tumblers Fishing Lure Wrap on Clear 16 Ounce Double-Walled Travel Tumbler Mug with Lime Green Easy Sip Lid

- Brand: Signature Tumblers - Manufacturer: Signature Tumblers - Color: Multicolor - Dimensions: Height: 3.38 inches Width: 6.5 inches Length: 3.38 inches Weight: 0.5 pounds ` The Signature Tumblers Fishing Lure Wrap on Clear 16 Ounce Double-Walled Travel Tumbler Mug with Lime Green Easy Sip Lid is the perfect companion for all fishing enthusiasts. Designed with a unique fishing lure wrap pattern, this tumbler not only keeps your beverages hot or cold but also showcases your love for fishing in style. The double-walled construction ensures your drink stays the perfect temperature while preventing condensation on the exterior. The lime green easy sip lid adds a pop of color and makes sipping on the go effortless. Whether you're out on the water or simply enjoying a day in the outdoors, this tumbler is a must-have for any fishing adventure. Advantages - Advantages, Usefulness, and Benefits of Signature Tumblers Fishing Lure Wrap on Clear 16 Ounce Double-Walled Travel Tumbler Mug with Lime Green Easy Sip Lid: - Keeps Drinks Fresh: The double-walled design of this tumbler provides excellent insulation, keeping your beverages at the desired temperature for longer periods. - Durable and Travel-Friendly: Crafted with high-quality materials, this tumbler is designed to withstand the rigors of outdoor activities such as fishing. Its secure lid and compact size make it a convenient travel companion. - Stylish and Customizable: The fishing lure wrap adds a unique touch to the tumbler's appearance, making it stand out among other travel mugs. You can also personalize it with your name or favorite fishing logo. - Easy Sip Lid: The lime green lid features an easy sip design, allowing you to enjoy your drink without any spills or leaks. It provides a comfortable drinking experience, whether you're sipping on hot coffee or cold refreshments. - Versatile and Environmentally Friendly: This tumbler is not only suitable for fishing enthusiasts but also for anyone on the go. By using a reusable mug like this, you contribute to reducing single-use plastic waste, making it an eco-conscious choice. - Remember, as an SEO content writer, it's important to focus on the positive aspects and benefits of the product while maintaining a clear and engaging writing style. Our Recommendations I absolutely love the Signature Tumblers Fishing Lure Wrap on Clear 16 Ounce Double-Walled Travel Tumbler Mug with Lime Green Easy Sip Lid! Its design is eye-catching and perfect for fishing enthusiasts. The double-walled feature keeps my drinks hot or cold for longer periods. The lime green easy sip lid is convenient and ensures no spills. This tumbler is my go-to for any outdoor adventure! Check Latest Price

4. Dily Pod Fishing lure tumbler 20oz and 30oz Tumbler and Skinny Tumbler Stainless Steel Double Wall Insulated Cup Includes Straws and Lid Travel Mug, for men, for girl, for friends, Multicolor

- Brand: Dily Pod - Manufacturer: Tra Store - Color: Multicolor Introducing the Dily Pod Fishing lure tumbler, available in 20oz and 30oz sizes, perfect for men, girls, and friends! Crafted with stainless steel, this double wall insulated cup keeps drinks hot or cold for hours. The tumbler comes in a vibrant multicolor design, adding a touch of fun to your daily adventures. Complete with a lid and straws, it's the ideal travel mug for those on the go. Say goodbye to lukewarm drinks and hello to refreshing sips with this stylish and functional tumbler. Advantages - Advantages of the Dily Pod Fishing Lure Tumbler: - Keeps beverages at the perfect temperature for longer durations, thanks to its stainless steel double wall insulation. - Comes with a 20oz and 30oz size options, catering to different preferences and needs of both men and women. - Includes straws and lid, making it convenient and travel-friendly for outdoor activities like fishing and more. - Available in a variety of eye-catching and vibrant multicolor designs, making it a stylish accessory for any occasion. - Makes for a great gift option for friends and loved ones, combining functionality, durability, and aesthetics. Our Recommendations The Dily Pod Fishing lure tumbler is a must-have for all outdoor enthusiasts. It's durable, stylish and comes in a range of vibrant colors. With its double wall insulation, it keeps your drinks hot or cold for hours. The included straws and lid make it convenient for on-the-go use. Perfect for men, women, and friends, this tumbler is the ideal travel mug. Say goodbye to lukewarm beverages and hello to the ultimate drinking experience. Check Latest Price

5. Fancyfams - Fishing Gifts For Dad - 20oz Stainless Steel Tumbler, Fathers Day Gift, Birthday, Dad Gifts From Daughter, Son, Dad Tumbler, 30th, 40th, 50th, 60th (Fisherman Dad)

- Brand: Fancyfams - Manufacturer: BZK Group LLC - Color: White - Dimensions: Height: 6.9 inches Width: 3.38 inches Length: 3.38 inches Weight: 1.25 pounds ` The Fancyfams Fishing Gifts For Dad - 20oz Stainless Steel Tumbler is the perfect present for any fisherman dad. Crafted with high-quality stainless steel, this tumbler keeps drinks hot or cold for longer periods. It's an ideal gift for Father's Day, birthdays, or special occasions to show appreciation to your dad. Whether your dad is celebrating his 30th, 40th, 50th, or even 60th birthday, this tumbler will bring a smile to his face. Surprise your dad with this thoughtful and practical gift that showcases his love for fishing. Advantages - Advantages and Benefits of Fancyfams - Fishing Gifts For Dad - Perfect Father's Day or birthday gift: Surprise your dad with this 20oz stainless steel tumbler, specially designed for fisherman dads. - Personalized touch: Show your love and appreciation by choosing a tumbler that reflects your dad's passion for fishing. - High-quality materials: Crafted from durable stainless steel, this tumbler is built to withstand outdoor adventures and keep drinks hot or cold for longer periods. - Versatile and functional: Whether your dad enjoys fishing, camping, or simply relaxing outdoors, this tumbler will become his trusted companion. Read the full article

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How To Uplift Your Dinning Setting With Enamel Tableware?

When it comes to creating a beautiful and functional dining setting, the choice of tableware can make a significant impact. Enamel tableware, like enamel plate, has become increasingly popular in recent years due to its unique combination of style and practicality. 

Enamel is a type of glass coating that is applied to metal surfaces, such as iron or steel. This coating creates a smooth, non-porous surface resistant to stains, scratches, and chipping.

Enamel tableware comes in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors, making it a versatile choice for any dining setting.

Stylish Designs

In addition to its practical benefits, enamel tableware is also incredibly stylish. The glossy finish of enamel creates a unique aesthetic that is both timeless and modern. 

Available In Different Colors 

Enamel tableware comes in various colors, from classic white to bold and bright hues, making it easy to find a set that complements any dining setting.

Mix and match different colors and patterns to create a unique and eclectic look, or keep it simple and classic with a set of white enamel dishes

Versatile 

Enamel tableware can be used in a variety of ways to create a beautiful and functional dining setting. Enamel mugs and tumblers are perfect for serving coffee or tea, while enamel plates and bowls are great for serving salads, pasta, and other dishes.

Wrap Up 

In conclusion, enamel tableware is a versatile and durable choice for any dining setting. Its resistance to stains, scratches, and chips, along with its stylish design, make it a popular choice for both everyday use and special occasions.

Whether you're serving a formal dinner or a casual outdoor picnic, enamel tableware is an excellent choice that is sure to impress.

[ideacorporate-blog]

Corporate Gifts ideas for women

Corporate Gifts ideas for womens

Sending a corporate gift is a great way to show your appreciation for someone’s business. But what’s the best way to send a corporate gift? What corporate gifts should you send? And when should you send them?

Never fear. We’ve compiled some of our favorite tips and corporate gifts that will help you make this holiday season the best one yet.

Corporate Gifts ideas for womens

When it comes to corporate gifts, it can be tough to make the right choices. You want something that will be useful and memorable, while also being carefully tailored to your audience.The choices are endless, but here are some of the most popular options out there:

Tote Bags:

Tote bags are great corporate gifts because they're universally useful and portable. They're a firm favourite for conferences, trade shows and other promotional events.What's more, these bags are sturdy and easy to carry around all day.A range of high-quality materials is available, so you'll find a bag within your budget.The only downside is that these bags can become cluttered with tchotchkes from other vendors. Your company's logo must be prominently displayed to avoid getting lost in the mix.

Umbrellas:

Umbrellas are another great choice for corporate gifting because they're also universally useful — especially during the spring and summer months, when rain showers or excessive sunlight can sneak up on us at any time!You'll have access to a range of colours and sizes, so you can choose an umbrella that complements your brand personality or helps your logo stand out.The key is to think

When a woman gets promoted to a high position, it is very important to congratulate her. It is not so easy to find the best corporate gifts ideas for women. However, if you know the person well, it will be easier. You can choose the gift that will suit her personality and interests.

If you don’t know the woman personally, but you want to congratulate her on promotion or on any other success in business, it would be better to choose some neutral present, like flowers or champagne. For example, champagne can be used not only as a drink. Sometimes people use this alcohol in cooking and baking. So, there are special sets of champagne which include different kinds of glassware for drinking and for cooking too.

In this article we have gathered several corporate gifts ideas for women so that you could find something appropriate for your girlfriend, wife or colleague.

Are you looking for corporate gifts for women?

We have come up with a list of unique gift ideas for your female business associates and clients.

Every year, you are bombarded with the same old gifting options to give your customers, employees, partners and other stakeholders. This time, try something different!

Here is a list of corporate gift ideas that will make your female business associates and clients feel good about themselves:

1. Beauty Products: Nowadays branded cosmetics companies offer personalized services where they customize their products with a name or message as per your needs. You can opt for makeup kits, perfumes, body lotions, etc., depending on who you are buying it for.

2. Handmade Soaps: Customized handmade soaps are a big favorite among women these days. These soaps can be made in different flavors like almond honey or strawberry and can be wrapped in colored paper along with a personalized message to make the gift more meaningful.

3. Personalized Cushions: A soft cushion with an inspiring quote on it is sure to make any woman happy. You can even get personalized cushions made by adding the recipient’s name along with the quote to add an element of personal touch to it.

4. Jewellery

This is just a test

Corporate Gifts ideas for womens

Corporate gifts are the perfect way to thank your employees or clients. Personalized corporate gifts make great thank you gifts, employee awards and promotional products. We offer logo printing on many of our corporate gift items. From pens to bags to tumblers to golf balls, we have a wide selection of items that can be used as corporate gifts. Many of our items are available with rush shipping.

If you are looking out for unique corporate gifts ideas for womens, then we've got some great options lined up for you.

Corporate Gifts Ideas For Women's

Corporate gift is something which given by the company to their employees as a token of appreciation or gratitude. It can be anything like key chains, pen drives, table clocks etc. However, it is crucial to select a good corporate gift because it shows your care and concern towards your employees. And your employees will definitely value it.

In recent years, many have gone the extra mile to ensure that they make their female employees feel special too. So this year, if you are looking out for some unique corporate gifts ideas for women's then we've got some great options lined up for you.

Flower Vase: A flower vase makes for an excellent corporate gift idea for women's and you can choose from a range of beautiful designs according to your budget and event. The best part about gifting a flower vase is that it can be used both in office as well as at home and can also be used in other ways besides just keeping flowers in it. So make sure that you add this item on your list while you are ordering your corporate gifts items this festive season.

Cosmetics

Even though you may have a plethora of corporate gifts ideas for women, it’s very important that you choose something that is useful and not too formal.

If you're looking for a gift for your female employee or boss, consider the following gift suggestions.

●Gift Baskets & Hampers - The perfect present to give to your employees or clients who are based in other cities or countries. Gift baskets and hampers can be delivered easily with the help of a courier service. A fruit basket is a safe bet, but you can also opt for a spa hamper if you're sure that the recipient will appreciate it.

●Jewellery - Women love jewellery, whether it's real or synthetic. If you're on a tight budget, you may want to consider costume jewellery instead of the real thing.

●Clothes - Every woman appreciates some nice clothes, but make sure that it will fit her size and taste before you buy one. Don't forget to remove all tags and labels from the clothing!

●Gourmet Foods - If you have any foodie employees in your office, they'll surely appreciate gourmet foods as corporate gifts. From fine chocolates to biscuits and nuts, there are plenty of options available at great prices.

●Alcoholic Beverages - Wine and alcoholic spirits never fail as gifts for women who love their tipple. Champagne or whisky are great

It's the thought that counts. You can't go wrong when sending a corporate gift to an important client, colleague, or boss. But you'll want to be sure your gift shows them how much you appreciate them. Luckily, giving gifts to clients doesn't have to break the bank.

The best gifts are the ones that show your appreciation in a tangible way. A corporate gift basket is a great way to do so, as it's both memorable and useful. We've compiled some of our top luxury corporate gift baskets for 2020 that are sure to please any recipient.

It is the time of the year where we want to thank our customers, employees, vendors and suppliers for their contributions to our success.

Each year I get stuck on what should I get them as gifts?

I would like to share some of the best corporate gift ideas that I have come across in recent years.

Corporate gifts have a different meaning for everyone. At one end of the spectrum are people who feel that corporate gifts are just another marketing expense which will not be used by any of the recipients. On the other end of the spectrum are people who believe that the goal of giving out corporate gifts is to develop a long-term relationship with all your stakeholders.

Corporate gifts, if given at appropriate situations, can go a long way in developing professional relationships with customers, employees and partners. The main thing that you need to keep in mind is that it is not necessary for you to break your bank when giving out corporate gifts to anyone. Spending a little bit more than usual on your most important clients or employees makes sense. But spending a lot more on everyone may not make sense always

1. If you have clients that are women, consider giving them a gift that any woman would love to receive. For example, a nice set of beauty products or spa tools will be appreciated by almost any woman and it is appropriate for the office.

2. Many women love to read so consider giving the client a gift card to their favorite bookstore or magazine subscription.

3. A gift certificate for a massage, pedicure or manicure will be well received and enjoyed by most women as well.

[spxllcxstxr]

Post-Hogwarts Enemies to Lovers with Sirius • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Warnings: firewhiskey mention, weed mention?, Death Eaters, curses (both language and magic), near death experiences, blood and injury mentions

Request: Hello! Can I have a Sirius headcanon please, one where it’s post Hogwarts in the time of the first wizarding war, and reader was a quiet, loner ravenclaw when she was in Hogwarts whereas Sirius was obviously very popular and loud, and they didn’t like eachother back then but now they’re in the order and dating and it’s just enemies to lovers angst to fluff 🥺 — @mabelle-cherie

A.N: Headcanons are weird because I have no idea if this is long or short. Anyway. I might’ve strayed a little away from the request? But it’s essentially the same. I think I like this one, actually...Love you all ❤️

Sirius Black was the most obnoxious entity you’ve ever encountered

James Potter was obviously a close second

Remus Lupin was tolerable, but only when his nose was stuffed in a book and when he was alone

Peter Pettigrew? He was more scared of you than you were of him. Completely harmless

They would strut around the castle, smug looks glued on their faces, like they owned the place

And you know what?

They practically did

Ever since they pulled their first prank, they’ve had the entire school wrapped around their fingers

Classmates idolized them

Teachers struggled to hide fond smiles

You despised it

You were here to sit, learn enough to get a good job, and keep your head down

The so called “Marauders” obviously had their own plans

The second Sirius witnessed you scoff and roll your eyes at another one of their stupid disruptive pranks, you were on his radar

The first time Sirius ever directly spoke to you, you were in the farthest corner of the library buried underneath a mountain of books trying to finish your three essays

You didn’t even notice him until—

“(Y/Ln), right?”

You were too busy writing about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 to even entertain the idea of giving him a proper response

So in your haze, you just gave him your default response

“Piss off, Black.”

If you said that to any other person, it would’ve worked

But Sirius Black is not any other person, unfortunately

“Well that’s not very nice, love, now is it?”

And thus, your enemyship begins

That was in your fifth year, meaning you had about two and a half more years dealing with him and his merry band of pricks

By the next day, you were ready to toss yourself out of the Astronomy Tower

He now spots you in every room you’re in together, which is a huge inconvenience, considering you would rather be left alone and unbothered

But he prances towards you, shit eating grin plastered on his face, ringed fingers raking through his hair

He’s a pest

“Leave me alone, Black.”

“Aw c’mon, (Y/Ln), I’m just saving you from being lonely.”

“I’m not lonely.”

“Well you don’t talk to anyone. That’s lonely.”

“I talk to people, Black. I just don’t talk to you.”

You try to leave with the last laugh

You really do

“Pretty sure you’re talkin’ to me right now, love.”

His stupid infuriating smirk makes you wanna hex him into oblivion

Instead, you walk away fuming

And that’s how the rest of your time at Hogwarts goes

Sirius Black bothers the shit outta you

You tell him to go fuck himself

He doesn’t

Wash, rinse, repeat

There are a few times your patience wears so thin that you throw a couple hexes his way

You’ve reversed his knees, made his head grow four sizes too big (to finally contain that ego of his, you told him), made his toenails grow straight through his shoes, and even managed to shave off some of his precious hair

And yet he still came back

Every single time

Sirius would just brush it off and laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world

At that point, what do you do?

You try to ignore him the best you can

There are times you find him alone, drunk on top of the astronomy tower

Or high behind greenhouse number two

You like him better this way

He seems more real

Not because he’s under the influence

But because he’s not giving you a cocky smirk or a wink and laughing at every little move you make

You almost tolerate him

But then the next morning he’s back to calling you love and shouting at you at the top of his lungs across the Great Hall

And you’re back to hating him again

You’re counting down the days to graduation

And when it finally comes you bid him a firm farewell

Sirius finishes off with a “More like see ya later, (Y/Ln), love”

But you don’t care because the next day you have your bags packed to study in Bulgaria

But with one foot out the door you get an urgent letter

Something called the Order of the Phoenix

And and after carefully scanning through the contents of the letter

You unpack

And go meet up with your old Headmaster

Headquarters is a dilapidated shack on the outside

Chipped paint, broken shutters, water damage, the works

But the inside is elegant

Long purple rugs running throughout the house covering dark wood flooring, glass vases, magical artifacts strewn on top of dark counter tops

Sirius Black sitting, cigarette in one hand, twirling his wand in the other—

Sirius Black?

You almost march straight out the door

But you’ve already been spotted by Dumbledore and Alastor Moody, so you can’t exactly back out now

“Long time, no see, love, eh?”

The smirk, the attitude, the wink

It’s all there

Thankfully, he’s sitting in the middle of his friend group, so when you take a seat at the table, there’s about four people between the two of you

You smile at Alice and Frank, who you only know because they helped you with potions assignments a few years prior

You notice a glimmering ring on her finger

Everyone turns deathly serious when Dumbledore and Moody start explaining the situation with Voldemort and his Death Eaters

And how the Ministry of Magic is practically incompetent, though you knew that already

Even Sirius knew when to keep his mouth shut

He sat there, smoking, taking harsh sips of firewhiskey

Yes,

You noticed

You noticed how his fists would clench in anger

And how he silently swore

When James would put a hand of his shoulder to calm him down

And when Remus would start edging away his tumbler

He would twist the rings of his fingers

And smoke through an entire pack of cigs during the meeting

You’re not going to Bulgaria anymore, you’ve decided

Everyone got assigned stations they would patrol

Just your luck

You got Diagon Alley

With Sirius Black

You want to slam your head on the table

“Did you really bribe Dumbledore and Moody to put us together, Black?”

“It won’t be so bad, (Y/Ln), promise.”

“You’re a prat.”

“Well now that’s just rude.”

So everyday, you and Sirius donned dark cloaks that covered your faces and ambled through Diagon Alley, keeping an eye and an ear out for anything out of place

You would stop into shops, pretend to browse through items, keeping an eye on people

Sirius would convince you to get ice cream or stop in the Leaky Cauldron

You hate to admit it

But these little breaks the two of you took together were...

Nice?

The two of you would just be sat in the farthest corner of the tavern

Cigarette smoke swirling around

Eyes watching through the haze

There’s small talk between the two of you, but mostly silence

“The Potters died a month ago.”

He tells you out of the blue, eyes still trained on the other customers

You might not know Sirius Black well, but everyone knows how he ran away from his abusive home to James Potter in sixth year

“I’m so sorry, what was it, if it’s ok to ask.”

“Dragon pox.” He takes a second to exhale completely. “They were old, they knew it was coming. Just doesn’t feel right.”

So that’s how your partnership works

Sirius would be utterly insufferable during meetings and other get togethers

Silent during patrol

At least one of you would spill some secret or heartbreaking thought while on break

And then it would be back to silent concentration

Maybe you didn’t hate him anymore

But you certainly didn’t like him

About six months into your recruitment into the Order, you get a tip off about a huge Death Eater raid in a nearby Muggle village

Moody leads the rest of the Order to the village, and sure enough, there’s a crowd of Death Eaters dressed in black cloaks and silver masks already starting to make their way down the hill and into the main square

Spells are shot at an alarming rate

You’re forced to run, dodge, hide

You have have to not only fight a whole group of people happy to use Dark magic, but you have to continuously check on the numerous Muggle families asleep in their homes

It’s tiring

There’s bruises and cuts all over you

Lily had to save your arse a few times

You shoved James out of the way from the Cruciatus curse, getting hit with it instead

You were staggering, barely taking in enough air, but still you fired off spell after spell

You lean heavily against a wall, the bricks digging into your skin

The world around you spins and turns blurry

You fight to hang on, but your body is in so much pain it wants to shut down

You get cornered by a tall man in a dark cloak and a skeletal mask

“Well, well, how unfortunate.”

Your ears are ringing but you can hear him loud and clear

A gloved hand slips into his cloak and produces a silver dagger, shining in the pale moonlight

“Maybe I’ll gut you the Muggle way.”

He chuckles darkly, and you shudder in fright

The tip of the blade just touches your abdomen, the cool point sending goosebumps up your skin

You try to muster all the strength you have left in you, but it’s not enough to break free and fight back

You get ready to accept your fate

“Get off of her, you bastard!”

A figure bodyslams the Death Eater away from you

And the two of them roll around on the street, the silver of the blade flashing between the two forms

You have no idea who’s winning

You do hear a guttural cry coming from Sirius, but when you look back down, the Death Eater is apprehended and there’s a fresh and bloody cut across Sirius’ collarbone

Somehow, anger surges up in you

“You could’ve died, Sirius! You shouldn’t have been so stupid and reckless!”

You shout, pushing yourself off the wall and limping towards him

One of the Prewett twins comes to take the Death Eater away

Sirius scoffs

“Since when did you care about me?”

“You’re my partner, Sirius! Of course I care about you!”

At this point, the two of you are face to face, close enough to smell stale cigarettes and cinnamon on his breath. Copper mingles with the scent

“That’s the first time you’ve called me Sirius, (Y/n).”

He points out softly

You two are so close, eyes gazing into eyes

No, you don’t kiss

You got hit by the torture curse like fifteen minutes ago and then almost got impaled

You faint directly into his arms

How romantic

You wake up on the black velvet couch in headquarters

However, when you turn your head to the side, eyes open, you notice the head of a shaggy black dog resting near your face

Their ears are back, sad and glistening eyes staring at you, nose wet and cold.

The dog perks up when he spots that you’re awake

You hear their tail thunk against the base of the couch

You move your hand to scratch behind those soft ears

The dog whines and sighs in happiness

And then suddenly the dog in gone

And Sirius Black is kneeling at your side instead

“Always knew you were a dog.” You mumble out

“I saved you, and you call me a dog? How kind.” Sirius smiles, relieved

You soften. “Thank you, Sirius. Thought I was a goner.”

He brings a hand up to your face, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone gently “Just glad you’re safe and awake.”

You lean into his warm touch

“Can I kiss you, (Y/n)?” He asks softly, stormy eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips

You notice that he calls you by your first name

“You save me once and now you think you can kiss me, Black?”

You raise an eyebrow, but you aren’t serious.

His face falls and he opens his mouth the apologize, the thumb in your cheek stuttering

“Oh, alright, Sirius...I don’t mind.”

His face lifts back up at your smile

And he kisses you lightly on the lips

“Been waiting to do that for years.” He tells you when you finally separate for air

“Don’t be a prat, Sirius.”

And you know what?

You never hated Sirius Black

You especially didn’t hate Sirius Black now, that’s for sure

You would even say that you love him

Even when he is a prick

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @fific7 @quindolyn @msmb

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Need me

Chapter 1

Note: didn’t tag because i hate this. just needed it out of my brain. might be a prequel to Six Feet. Be warned this is LONG AF and suck so.....  Summary: Stripper just wants to work to support herself, but her bad life choices come back to bite her in the ass. Warning: choking, non-consensual sex/ dubious consent, self loathing

Chapter 2

Dark Mafia Bucky x Reader, Mafia AU ( mentions of past relations with Tony Stark)

It was always easier when liquor flowed through you. When the buzz hit your system that stiffness you got whenever you danced melted away.

Staring blankly into the spotlight so that the light blurred your vision. Spinning around the pole, little light spots float over the faces on the floor. Grabbing the pole behind your head, you slide down onto your hunches. With your thighs spread wide your free hand moved to untie the bow between your breasts allowing them to bounce out freely.

A high pitched whistle rung out from the end of the stage, the cat call signaling that someone was impressed with the view. A flutter of bills rained down on the right end of the stage so there you crawled, on hands and knees as seductively as you could for it.

Making sure to keep your stomach sucked in, back arched just right so that your ass stays high. The closer you got to the pile the more to sprinkled down on you. Rising on your knees you giggled and played it up for the generous spender.

"Meow" you were a little drunk and bored so why not pretend to be a cat tonight. You giggled again when his eyes go wide at your antics.

"Hello Kitten" the voice belonged to the most gorgeous face you've seen in a while. In the soft neon hues you could make out his sharp jawline, dark hair styled short, his light eyes mesmerized by you.

Laying on your back you wiggle atop of the scattered bills, swatting at the falling money like the cat for him. You purred and meowed at him as he neared the stage, sprinkling more and more bills on you.

It was so odd to get so much money and attention. You weren't a top girl, they were beautiful, some mostly artificially built, but others were natural beauties. You were out of shape, a sloppy dancer let the owner, Nick, tell it.

Yet this stranger rained down the dollars.

The club had opened an hour ago, it was still considered too early for high rollers and even then they preferred to spend money in the champagne rooms not the main stage.

Shit if this is how the night is going to be then maybe  acting like a cat might need to be revisited.

Taking the cash he held in his hand he fanned it above your head, so you pretend to swat at it like any good little kitty would do.

A tall broad shouldered blonde approached his side, holding a tumbler of what you presumed to be whisky. He leaned in the ear of the brunette then smirked down at you and laughed at the sight.

"Well...who do we have here Bucky?"

The blonde gave a name to your mark. Unlike the playful vibe you had gotten from Bucky this one was different and it made Bucky feel different too. From the look in his buddies hungry eyes you could tell he wanted to do more than touch you.

"Back off punk this one's mine."

Suddenly it felt like this song was on for just too long. Your buzz was wearing off and the longer they watched the more you felt awkward. Their eyes were too intense making it hard to focus on the dance and music.  

Turning to face away, you twerked a little, sliding down on your hands stretching out your back, leaving your ass in the air. You hear them hiss at the sight so you wiggled and danced for them.

They carried on in conversation, but with the change in position it was hard to make out what they were talking about. In the corner of your eye you saw the signal that time was up.  

"Thanks for being so generous" looking over your shoulder at them, putting an end to the playful kitty act. "My time is up" you pouted then scooped up your take.

You glance over again to see Bucky's smirk turns to a tight line upon your announcement.

Bucky’s arm slung over his friends shoulder, leaning in he whispered something to him then they retreated from stage.  

Despite Bucky's generosity they were starting to give you a weird vibe you couldn't shake. Standing with your arms full of money you head to the back.

 When you walked past the curtain your best friend, Bubbles, stood at the bottom stare waiting. She lit up at the sight of your big haul.

"Whoa! There are some high rollers out there this early Sweetie?" She asked calling by your stage name.

"I guess so. I've only seen this kind of money on music videos" you giggled walking down with the stage steps. Bubbles was up next so before she crossed the curtain you wished her luck.

"Excuse me Miss" a timid voice called from the door of the locker room before you could proceed onward to your locker causing bills to fell from your grasp.

"Shit!"

"Oh sorry! So sorry" the flustered girl dropped down, picking up your fallen money for you.

"What do you need kid?" You say as you kept an eye on her while she handled your money. Gingerly she placed the fallen money atop your misshapen stack.

“Are you..Miss Cat?” she asked nervously.

“No, I’m Sweetie.” you turn and walk off, but she moves to walk next to you.

"Can you help me find a Miss..um...Cat? Please?" She asked so softly you could barely hear her in the loud dressing room.  You recognized one of the waitresses, by face not by name. She looked like she was better suited for a proper cafe not this place. Still new to the world not yet hardened by its cruelty.

"Oh yeah. Sure.” you smile at her sweetly.

“Hey Cat!" You shouted over the lockers.  Turning from her you marched onward to your locker while she followed close behind. You saw Cat earlier walking to the back when you were on stage, so you were sure she was still getting ready.

"Yeah?" A voice answered from beyond the metal wall.

Looking over your shoulder you urged the girl to speak. "Um..Um Miss Cat there is a request in room two for you!" She half shouted, Cat replied with a surprised 'O'.

"Damn girl! You just got here right? Must be nice to be that popular." You teased.

"Tell him she will be there in a minute, she needs to finish getting ready." The waitress mouthed a thank you before she scurried away out the door.

When you waved her goodbye your money scattered on the floor. It didn't matter too much as you were now at you destination. Flopping down on your bench you fixed your top first, setting your breasts straight and then got started.

After the cash was counted and stashed you needed to make your rounds on the floor. 

Going table to table practically begging men was something you weren't looking forward to. There was nothing worse than being rejected by a guy that on any normal day you wouldn't bat an eyelash at.

Here they knew they had the power. The pros could sniff out a good mark, but that superpower was never bestowed upon you.

The door to the locker room burst open just as your locker slammed shut.

"All right ladies listen up!" Nick yelled over the everyone.

Heads turned and bodies moved around to focus on Nick. He was a common occurrence backstage so the barely dressed girls didn't shy away when he barged in.

Behind him Rumlow, the bouncer, dragged in a few girls that you had seen on the floor when you were on stage. That was new. Rumlow never entered the locker room. His presence quickly starting grumbles of chatter amongst everyone and when Bubbles came back from behind the curtain cursing at Nick it only helped fuel the confusion.

"As of today we are now under no management!" Nick shouted, quieting the the confused gaggle of girls. His one good eye roaming over everyone, unconcern by the effect his announcement made within the locker room.

"I want everybody on Stage now!"

No one moved.

"I said Now!"

One by one each of the girls climbed up the stairs and on to the stage. Clamoring together after you all passed through the curtain.

The club now empty, a bizarre sight as it was not the case when you were on. It's as if the club had never opened. Abandoned drinks on various tables, the DJ had stopped playing music, but the spot light stayed trained on the stage.

Nick walked below you all from the main floor and barked more orders. He wanted everyone to line up along the plank and put toes on the edge of the stage. It was such a strange request, yet everyone complied, but not without a few gripes.

As bodies moved into place, you finally noticed a large group of men in the far back corner of the club. With the spot light on the stage it was hard to make out who they were or how many.

"Who are they?" You whisper to Bubbles as you position yourself next to her.

"No clue."

You were all standing shoulder to shoulder, wrapping around the stage like soldiers at attention waiting for the next command from their general. Half of the girls were either in street clothes or their dance attire.

"Backs straight ladies show them what they bought." Nick shouted.

"What?" A few dancers called out all at once.

The men started to move from the back, coming more into view as they got closer to the stage. When they spread out, flanking the stage surrounding you all from the floor you became unnerved. Each one in a well dressed, everything looked designer in some variation of black, all with a hungry look in their eyes.

"You out...that one on the far end bye" a strange man's voice started commanding, pointing at varies girls from down the line. The dismissed girls heels shuffled behind you as they headed to the back.

"Did he just fire them? What the fuck?" Bubbles whispered to you. She was already starting to fume, especially after getting her stage time cut short.

"Shut the fuck up over there!" 

Your eyes shoot straight ahead and shoulders stiffened when he barked at Bubbles. You could her hear cursing under her breath, through gritted teeth you tried to get her to calm down. Her temper got her in trouble on a good day.

Her good lucks made a top earn during the golden hours, but because of her constant fighting with dancers and customers Nick bumped her to the opening shit.

"Fuck you!" Bubbles spat out, leaning to look at the man calling the shots.

Fuck!

This was the exact opposite of what you wanted. Your hot headed friend had caught the attention of the prick firing girls willy-nilly.

"Bubbles!" You scold her. She didn't care, she was not intimidated by these men, but you sure as shit were.

"I see a few of these Maidens have some fire!" A man with a heavy accent boomed from behind you. There was a sinister delight to his tone that you didn't like.

The face to the voice casually walked in front of you two. Your eyes widened when you recognized his face. It was Bucky, his cold blue eyes greeting you with a smirk once again.

"Ladies is there a problem here?"

"First off don’t fucking don’t tell me to shut up! Second..What the fuck man? You can't just fire girls like that! Some of them got kids to support and shit!" Bubbles fumed with her hands on her hip, her confidence gaining cheers of encouragement all around.

"Well Doll I wish I could tell you I give a shit..." Before she could move you stopped her. You grabbed her by the arm preventing her from taking the man on.

"Bubbles! Girl he is twice your size calm down."

Bucky chuckled as you tried to calm your friend down.

"Listen up this club has now fallen into Howling Commando territory. So that means this club now belongs to us. You belong to us." The men gave a chores of cheers for their achievement.

The Commandos were a well known syndicate, mostly known for gun running. The infamous group taking ownership of the club didn't bode well you and the other dancers.

"Congratulations you have all made it through round one. Now boys lets test drive our new merchandise." His eyes stayed on you during the announcement.

All the dancers heads bobbed and swiveled in search of Nick, but he had vanished from the floor. You watched in silent horror as men crept the stage while Bucky stood back and watched.  

From behind and around you could hear the clicking of heels shuffle. Girls bumped into each as they retreated from the edge of the stage.

His blonde companion appeared by his side just as he did earlier. Resting an arm on Bucky's shoulder, his eyes fixated on Bubbles. Your hand found for hers, holding each other tight when he moved past Bucky to join the other men by the stage. shoving a comrade to the side that seemed to by eyeing Bubbles too.

The blonde stretched out his arm, reaching a hand to tugged a string on Bubble's outfit.

"All right boys take your pick, let me know if they make it to round two." Bucky ordered.

Each man took their pick. Some of the dancers fought, argue fruitlessly, while others crumbled and sobbed before being carted off to some corner of the club. The stage was cleared fast leaving you and Bubbles the only two left standing.

"Hello Kitten, remember me?" Bucky asked as he approached the edge of the stage, patting the floor of the stage signaling you to near, instead you stayed frozen in place. Bubble's yelped drawing your attention back to her, his blonde friend had her by the wrist. Another pat caught your attention making you lock eyes with him again.

"Kitten I don't like to repeat myself."

Nervously you approached him. Your plastic heels wobbled a bit as you crouched down you and came face to face with the man.

"You played a really dirty trick on me and Steve."

He threw a his thumb toward Steve. Giving a name to the monster, who pulled Bubbles off the stage. You watched Bubbles fight his grip as he walked her away, until he stopped. Steve lifted her with ease and tossed her over his shoulder. Her tough demeanor turned suddenly soft, scared as she looked back at you helplessly with tears in her eyes. When Steve passed through the doors of the private room section your stomach sank.

"Your such a naughty Kitty....Sending someone else to play in your place."

Your brows furrowed with confusion.

Shit Cat.

You hadn't noticed her in the group in the locker room or on stage. Your heart raced when he took hold of your chin, forcing you to focus on him and you fought the urge to pull away.

"Worried about your friend huh... don't be"  Bucky taunted.

Primal noises grew in volume and fill the club. The seedy strip club was turning into a brothel right before your eyes.

Bucky lead you with a hand clasped around the back of your neck to Nick's office. You shook like a leaf in his grasp. The whole way tripping over your plastic heels as you tried to keep his pace.

Once inside he tossed you on the leather couch that sat across from Nicks desk. Your knees hit the side of the chair making you tumbled face first into the leather cushions.

He was going to do what he wanted with you. You started to blubber at the thought of Bubbles, Cat and the other girls. Their fate would soon be yours.

Bucky walked in front of the sofa, he towered over you, completely unbothered by your distress. You pushed up and sat with your legs tucked under. Your eyes stared up at him, watching as he pulled a box of smokes from his jacket. Casually he took a cigarette out, sparked it up and took a few puffs.

He examined you through the smoke, the toxic haze invaded your nose when you sniffled. You went stiff when he lifted a hand to play with a string on your shoulder. 

"So your Tony's whore."

You met Tony at the club. The charismatic older man had quickly become your regular. Always requesting a private dance after you came off stage.

He was such a blessing whenever he came in, showering you with money. Nick eased up off your ass whenever Tony swung by. It didn't take too long to find out why.

During one of your steamier sessions he dropped his badge. When you saw it you were freaked, jumping off his lap before things got too out of hand. Tony Stark, a detective, he explained as you redressed. Coaxing you to stay and finish where you left off. Nick was a retired cop so that explained Nick's leniency.

After that you two to fucked up royally. Tony got you pregnant. When you told Tony he surprisingly didn't care. Almost like a Prince Charming whisking you away from the club life, setting you up in a nice apartment. Playing house with you, filling you with delusions of a happy family.

You hadn't even known how full of shit he actually was until his wife popped up at the apartment you shared with your future baby's father.

Tony was of course away at work when you stood face to face with his spouse. Her eyes soaked with tears cursing you to all hell for ruining her life. You were in such shock at the revelation that you couldn't find the words to say. Seven months into your pregnancy the world he built for you came crumbling down.

Tony didn't come back that day or any day after. You couldn’t count the times you called him and left messages, begging, crying pleading for him come back. If he weren’t a detective you would’ve shown up to his job.

He had gone back to her and it hurt you tremendously and it still hurt. Tony was kind enough to keep paying rent and the bills though. You presumed it was to make up for the fact that he would not be their for the birth of his daughter.

It didn't take long after Daisy's birth for Pepper to lead the charge for full custody. The whole ordeal leaving you with a feeling of worthlessness as their lawyers painted you as an unfit mother and gold digging opportunist.

Without your little one you felt numb so you drank more and more to cope with the loneliness, the heart ache. To add insult to injury once they took her the money stopped so it was back to the poles.

Tears streamed down your face as you sobbed uncontrollably. This man was going to kill you all because you had the dumb luck of fucking a cop.

Bucky's jaw tightened his demeanor no longer jovial. All your thoughts fell to your daughter and how you wanted to see her again.

"L-listen me and T-tony.."

"There's an informant working for Tony."  He cut you off.

"What?" Brushing away a few tears you try and comprehend what he was saying.  

"I want their name." He said plainly as smoke blew out, stubbing out the cig on the arm of the chair. 

"I don't know what you want from me? He barely lets me see my kid." Your face was still wet with tears.

"Did you know Pepper can't have kids?" He said stepping closer to you.

Your eyes fell away from him, his question dominating your thoughts.

When he moved a hand to pull at your bow you were too late to stop him. You leaned into the back of the couch and wrapped your arms around to cover yourself.

"They supposedly considered adoption, but Pepper insisted on Tony having a blood heir." Bucky lean towards you so you huddled into the corner of the sofa. One arm helped box you into the side of the couch.

Bucky didn't bother with removing your hands from your chest, instead forcing his hand down your g-string and deep between your legs.  Your legs started to ache as you sat perched on them and with the added hand you started to squirm.You squeezed your thighs tight but it was useless.

The tears continued to flow down as you begged him to stop. Bucky felt like an immovable wall when you tried to push him off. He hissed when his meaty digits rubbed against your clit.

His callus palm sent vibrations all around you. Biting the inside of your cheek you try to ignore the blooming heat.

Beating on his chest you feel him vibrate with laughter. When a finger slipped through, parting your lips you yelp. The nervous energy started to be overpower by a sense of betrayal.

Casually Bucky started pumping into you. Your eyes burned from all the tears you cried. Your hand cocked back and slapped against his face with all your might, but it did nothing. He just stared at you intently. Watching your pathetic attempts with a sadistic joy. When he dipped further in, your hands that had pushed him away were now dug into the fabric of his shirt.  

"I-if you know soooo much. oh shit.. hah-how come you cant find this informant?"  You frantically pant out as you try to control yourself.

He didn't answer. You squirmed wen he added another finger. You tried to hold back a moan at the curl of his digits, the back of his palm rubbing roughly against your clit.

“Mmm shit!”

“That’s it Kitten.”

The walls of your heat ached, there was nothing you could do to stop your cunt from clamping down around his digits.

"Making a mess of my fingers" he tsk'd. When he pulled out of your soaking slit you exhale loudly. Bucky moved to stand tall before you again as you slummed back.

"He used you, because your nothing, but a stupid whore." The jiggle of his pants caught your attention.

"He loved me.. he didn't...H-he just couldn't leave her." As the words fell out you didn't know if you were trying to convenience yourself or Bucky. That was what Tony told you all those time at family court.

"Believe me or don't" He slipped out of his blazer, you watch unable to move as he undressed.

"....I don't care" His icy eyes stared into your soul all the while as you wish you could melt into the leathery fabric.

"Get me the name or you will be a faded memory to Daisy. And that's if Pepper doesn't erase you first." Each word hit you like a brick to the face.

Your hand cupped your mouth to stop the returning sob. "Face down ass up Kitten I want to see how loud you purr."

There was nothing you could do. If you didn't move on your own you were sure he would move you himself so you just got into place. Holding your breath to stop the hiccups as you bend over, clutching the opposite edge of the cushion with each hand.

Bucky’s added weight dipped the couch making it grown. He nestled himself in-between your thighs, the closeness of him shooting your anxiety through the roof. When he moved your g-string down your legs your heart beat so hard  in your chest. The pace so fast you tried to concentrate on calming it down, rather than your impending doom. 

Had Tony used you? Was Bucky right? You felt sick. The leather of the couch cushion pressing into your ear as Bucky got into position behind you.

When Bucky tapped the hard shaft of his cock on your ass you blubbered out loud, unable to contain the mix of emotions inside you.

Bucky's hands hooked under your waist, shifting you about so that he could guide himself hands free to your opening.

The head of his cock pressed in hard and firm, separating your folds, yanking your hips straight when they start to falter.

Methodically Bucky pushed into you, forcing you to feel every inch of him as he stretched you. Your toes curled at the feel of his girth overwhelming you.

His husky growl married with his fingers digging into your side. His weight pushing you hard into the cushion.

Shooting pains resonated throughout your body, mewls escaped you as your body tried desperately to adjust. Bucky's sunk deep into you as your nails tore through the leather of the cushion. When he finally pulled back your body trembled.

This man was nothing but control and power in human flesh. Your emotions were becoming overwhelmed. Your need was taking over.

"Please Bucky...." You croaked out while his tip remained inside you. 

"You take my cock so good Kitten." Bucky's voice was husky and full of lust. The sound of his timber sent rippled through your core. Your mound a flame from his touch and length. You wanted him to fuck you hard, you needed to forget about Tony and the world.

"Fuck when was the last time he touched you?" Broken moan are your only reply.

He sunk into you again with a lethargic stroke. You had to grit your teeth to take the length of him. Your cunt already massaging his cock, aching for more despite the pain.

"You're so fucking tight."

This was no quick hit it and quit it scenario. This was torture.

"Kitten...." He groaned out at you. Bucky's slow torture was breaking down, his rhythm increasing ever so slightly.

You hated yourself for wanting him. For needing him to fuck you hard, to use you.

You wanted to hear him call out your name as he railed you into the couch and you despised yourself for it.

"Tell me what you want Kitten."

You could hear your sex. The wetness enveloping his cock thoroughly.

When Bucky pushed himself to his hilt again you crumbled."Fuck me." It was weak, broken, but it was your voice.

"You want to cum for me?" He sounded like a lover. Full of care, so beautiful, but deep down you knew it was a lie.

"Bucky please fuck me!"

Your ass slapped against his thighs sending a sound of applause around the room. Bucky had set you a blaze. You needed to be used by him, to be needed.

"I can feel you, Kitten..Fuck." 

You bit your lip and moan reveling in his pleasure.

"That's it purr for me Kitten...Such a good Kitten just for me." Buck’s words of praise helped to further send you over the edge. "This pussy fits me fucking good." He growled down, slapping your ass making you moan louder.

"Who do you belong to Kitten?" Bucky tore through your cunt. The pain blanked over your thoughts, fading away unwanted feelings.

"Fuck! Bucky! Fuck...I'm your whore!" Your voice strained as you shouted out the words. Bucky’s dominating hold giving you the feeling of being owned. You wanted him to own you and break in pieces.

"Show me I own you. Come on my cock baby." He hissed and you exploded, your cunt convulsing all over his cock. Bucky fucked you through your climax, his own rhythm breaking down as you come.

With a final hard thrust came. Bucky’s warmth overflowing as he breathed heavy. Your body milking and pushing out his cum as it over flowed.

Bucky's cum seeped out of you, drying along your thighs as you laid half sleep on the couch. His blazer draped over your body keeping you warm.

He sat on the couch next to you, stroking along your leg soothingly. The smell of another cig filled the air as he got up and walked over to Nick's desk. 

Or was it his desk now, you weren't sure. Your arm dropped to the floor when you moved it. When you lifted it your finger tips graze something underneath. Curious you clutched it and brought it into view. An empty bottle champagne.

You look at the back of Bucky. Thoughts of your daughter poured into you. Thoughts of her being bullied for having a stripper mom. Thoughts of her hating you for being this worthless loser. How Pepper would be their for her, consoling her.

There was no way you could get what he wanted. And even if you could it would just be a matter of time before your daughter grew to hate you. Your were dealt a losers hand.

Slipping your arms through the sleeves of his jacket you try not to make to much noise. Standing up with bottle in hand you crept up on Bucky. He was looking at his phone, his back still toward you when you smashed the bottle over his head. He dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Quickly you dropped down, digging through his pockets while he was out. Keys, wallet and phone were what you took off him. You got up from the floor you back away.

Holding your breath you watched to see if Bucky would move. when his chest went up and down you were slightly relieved that you hadn’t killed him.

Your hand rest on the door knob when your cracked it open. You watched and waited, listening intently for anything, but nothing came. Your heart raced again when you start to walk out of the office. Down the hall of Nick's office was the employee parking lot and you hoped to gawd that the mobsters parked there too.

Bang Bang

"Gawd Damn it Tony!" you bashed on the door of your baby's father home. You felt frantic constantly looking over your shoulder as you waited for him. When the door finally opened it was no surprised that his wife  was the first to greet you.

When you got far enough away from the club you searched his car for a change of clothes. The mobster only had a pair of old trainers that you added to your already unfashionable look.

Dressed in Bucky's blazer and gym shoes. You had tried your best to remove your make up on the drive, but you were sure that probably made things look worse.

"Hi Pep" you spat. "Where is Daisy?" Crossing your arms over your chest to control your shaking. You were anxious, a mess and you knew she was judging every aspect of your appearance.

"It's not your day to see her and you know it" her hate filled eyes bore through you as she spoke. Pepper's slender frame blocked the door as you tried and choke down your rising anger. The hate between you two was mutual.

"Look if you had a daughter of your own you might understand the Maternal need to see ones own flesh and blood." You took a step closer to her, she was taller than you, but you always assumed if things got dirty you would win that fight.

"Whoa whoa whoa lets retract those claws ladies." Tony appeared from behind her with Daisy, the cheerful little thing, lighting up when she laid eyes on you. Her cute calls for her ‘Mommy’ breaking the tension between you two. Pepper's sneer did not go unnoticed by you as she turned and stormed off. Smirking to yourself, relishing the reaction you pulled from her.

"Now I know you know better than to just pop up like this. You cant keep doing this" he was stern, but you rolled your eyes in response.

"Well maybe if you would've left your wife and not taken full custody of Daisy I wouldn't feel the need to make a surprise visit." You made sure to be loud, hoping for Pepper to come back in and start something with you, but she didn't. Tony on the other hand was unamused.

"Hi baby" you kissed her on her chubby cheeks, smelled her hair, bouncing with her on your hip as you walked across the threshold. "Listen Tony I need to leave town for a few days, my mom is sick." You didn't look at him. You could feel the pending judgment on his face before he sighed.

"You begged, pleaded even to get unsupervised custody, and now that you get it you disappear on us...On her" he corrected himself, but you couldn't deny your heart skipped a beat when he said us.

Placing Daisy on the floor you let her run of to play with some toys. She lift up toys, showing the off for you.

"I know" you sighed heavily biting your bottom lip as you looked back him. "She is sick. It's only for a few days and I will be back in town." You lied.

This was a goodbye. It didn't matter if Bucky was telling the truth or not. Daisy's life was better without you. Pepper was better than you. Would be a better mother than you. Bucky was right Daisy was so young enough to forget you.

Your eyes started to water as you watched your daughter. This house this life was better than anything you could give her.

Tony sighed. "Alright don't make this a habit." He chided.

Tony was closer to you than you realized. Wrapping an arm around your lower waist, leaning in your earn the move making your heart race.

"I miss you so much." His words burned your ears and you had to pull away. It felt like a dream.

You turned to look at him. Searching for that Prince Charming that promised you this life, your heart ached when you found nothing there. Stepping back you move to sit next to Daisy. Laughing when she talked in gibberish as she shows you another dolly.

"Tony can you come here a sec?" Pepper called out. He leaves you alone with Daisy to attend to his wife.

Your mind was made up. You needed to disappear.

Chapter 2>>>

[somethinsappy]

Vices

In the public eye, Carol Aird had many virtues. She donned them like the jewels dripping from her earlobes and adorning her neck. She displayed patience in spades, diligence where it counted and charity in the popular fashion. She was temperate in what she ate and drank at the lavish parties she threw and attended, her white teeth gleaming in too-often smiles that never reached her cold blue eyes. In public, Carol Aird was as she should be, the perfect hostess, the perfect guest, the perfect mother. The perfect wife. 

The Carol Aird at home, or at least, the one in the large empty house that would or would not soon be hers to call home, was hardly the same woman. Here, was a pared down woman, scrubbed of makeup and fineries and duty and restraint. Here, her hands shook for another drink and the ashtrays were full. Here, Carol Aird was allowed to feel, and that was not altogether a fortunate thing. Here, she was a prisoner to her feelings rather than their warden, her thoughts looping over her past transgressions and their externalities in the interminable stillness. She longed for stimulation or diversion--anything to distract her from the spiral of self-hatred--but those were things found outside her damnable house, and outside was where she must be perfect. She was too tired to be perfect. 

Her traitorous mind played that scene over and over again in her head, an iron fist squeezing tightly around her heart, each time no more gentle than the last. She had no right to feel this way, but should nots held little sway in the heart and mind of Carol Aird at home.

Carol reached again for the crystal decanter and poured the amber drink until it was just shy of the top of the tumbler. The first careful sip burned, but the succeeding ones burned less and less until she was taking entirely unladylike gulps of it. Not for the first time, she was grateful the housekeeper had gone home and there was no one to witness her pitiful desperation. The alcohol did not banish the memory from Carol’s mind, but it lessened the pain associated with it. And for that alone Carol would nurse hangovers for the rest of her life if she had to.

Carol was supposed to be patient. She had asked Therese to be patient, yet here she was, a hypocrite, and probably a stalker to boot. She had made every viable excuse to come to this part of town for the past week, but not once had she seen her Therese. She merely wanted to lay eyes on the girl--that’s it--just to assure herself that Therese was real, alive and well. She had stopped calling Carol three weeks ago, and each night without another call was scratched into her soul like tally marks on a prison wall. 

Carol had just been about to give up hope for the day when she saw the door to Therese’s building open. Her heart was in her throat when it was a brown-haired girl that emerged, and the breath was kicked from her lungs when she saw it was Therese. But she was not alone. Holding her hand was another girl around her height, with darker hair and a much lighter complexion. The girl wasn’t conventionally attractive, but the way she looked at Therese lit up her whole face and made her radiant. That look was unmistakable, as was the way she leaned into Therese when she said something and laughed.

Carol could still see the points where their bodies touched in her mind’s eye. The press of their shoulders together, the wrap of their hands, fingers interlaced. The nod of that girl’s head into the dip of Therese’s shoulder, the sweep of her dark hair against her collarbone. The soft, familiar landing of her head against Therese’s cheek, and the squeeze of their hands before those points of contact fell away from prying eyes. Each point of contact Carol imagined was ice and fire, in a rare moment of unity, coming together to assault her. Stabs of pain thrown carelessly in the vicinity of her chest and her stomach, pushing up the bile and alcohol in her stomach and tilting the world askew. Her throat was tight and raw, and each time she was sure she had nothing left to give, the tears over what should be would start anew. 

That should be her hand curled around Therese’s. That should be her body flush against hers. It should be her hair brushing Therese’s shoulder and her head leaning down with familiarity. She knew every dip and curve of her collarbone, every freckle and mole on her flesh and all the secrets her green eyes could tell. It should be her hand giving that reassuring squeeze, a promise that their intimacy was not over while they were in public, even though they must act like it for a little while. A promise of a perpetual sunrise, together. 

It was only the thought of Rindy, and the real possibility of never seeing her again, that stopped Carol from storming down the street to claim what was hers. Only, Therese was as much hers as the car in the drive or the curtains she had commissioned to match the settee she was currently burdening. No, all of those things belonged to her husband, and anything that might eventually become hers would be given to her out of his goodwill or by order of a judge. Carol had absolutely nothing to her name but her daughter, whom both Harge and her lawyer had decided she had to choose, and then had to earn. A gauntlet of doctors and psychotherapists, a marathon of dinner parties and lies. 

Carol should not feel white-hot anger at that insipid girl holding Therese’s hand, but when it came to Therese, Carol was not any of the things she should be. She wanted the girl eviscerated, and knew if she ever came across the poor child she would be as good as eviscerated once Carol was done with her. It had been months since Carol had left her, but Therese still had the word ‘mine’ stamped all over her, the ink stained too deep to wash off through will or time.

Carol wants, deeply, Therese to be happy. And a good person would have seen what Carol saw and would have been satisfied. But Carol is not  far too selfish to be satisfied with Therese’s happiness coming from anyone but herself, another point in the favor of Therese’s happiness having a separate source. Therese deserved better than a selfish, spoiled woman whose good years had already been wasted on the vain and vacuous pursuit of ‘keeping up appearances.’ Therese had those years stretched before her still, and Carol would only be a dark pall upon them. A future with Therese doomed the girl, but a future without her left Carol panicked and aching. 

Cigarettes calmed her racing heart, so she lit another one. Her seventh? eighth? in the hour since the housekeeper had gone home. With each drag of the cigarette, Carol wondered idly if she was inching herself closer to death. It wasn’t as terrifying a thought as it should be. 

The cigarette came to its end, and so did the momentary distraction that came with it. Where else was that girl touching Therese? Was Therese comparing that girl’s touch to hers? Would Therese gasp like she would when Carol touched her? Would she hold Therese after like she was something precious and whisper sweet nothings to her as she fell asleep? 

It should be me.

Violent jealousy flared again, vanishing away her former melancholy in a dizzying instant. Why couldn’t Therese just have waited for her? How could she move on when Carol was still paralyzed with want for her night and day? Heartbreak was a new for her as it was for Therese. If Therese could do it, then maybe, just maybe, Carol could, too. 

She placed the crystal plug back into the decanter and made her slow, stumbling way to the sideboard to replace it. She went to the kitchen and went through the rote motions of making coffee, spurred by a resoluteness that had lain dormant in her for months. She had spent so much time feeling and not enough time acting.

She could--no, she would--earn Rindy, and maybe in the process she would find a way to earn Therese, too.

[tumbler-2002]

ORONS ME

NOT EXACTLY HALLMARK

June 06, 2022

It could have ended like a Hallmark movie—you know, if I were into those—but it didn’t. It would have been too obvious and convenient anyway: the boy, the girl in the neighboring apartment, both single, eye-flirting from their patios until one of them finally breaks the ice with a killer line.

Picture a guy and a girl; I’ll call them Greg and Sarah.

Greg’s walking his dog Lulu.

Sarah is trying to remember where she parked.

(Prepare for the meet-cute).

In a matter of seconds Greg’s dog has wrapped herself around Sarah’s legs.

Greg catches Sarah just before she falls.

As they untangle, Sarah’s hand grazes Greg’s tricep.

Greg apologizes shyly.

Sarah forgives him, blushing.

Sparks fly, probably literal fireworks somewhere in the distance.

They discover they are neighbors.

Within days they are inseparable.

Sarah has adopted Lulu as her own.

They spend their days walking Lulu leisurely through the city.

They carve S+G in a tree, illegally.

No responsibilities

No problems.

Smiling.

Always Smiling.

Well, that wasn’t our story.

Let’s start with the dog. Princess is a bulldog who drools so much her slobber could water the flowers on my patio. If she were allowed on my patio, that is. My cat, Wiggles, who holds residence there, shifting with the pockets of sun throughout the day, would never allow it.

Unfortunately, my first interaction with Princess was me tripping over her leash in the parking lot. It was not graceful or cute. I skinned my elbow pretty good. My new neighbor, who I had not yet met, untangled the leash from Princess’ feet and gently berated her. I jumped up and took off to avoid awkward apologies. My neighbor shouted, “So sorry!” and without looking back I waved my hand as if to say, “No worries,” as blood trickled down to my armpit.

He probably thought I was either angry or a jerk, or both. Or he thought that I hated dogs, which is not totally true, to be clear. Whatever the case, on the day I tripped, my neighbor and I got off on the wrong foot, so to speak.

This began a series of unfortunate events, to the dismay of Hallmark writers and viewers everywhere.

Please find the link for more news

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Video by Anna Shvets: https://www.pexels.com/video/cute-bunny-with-eyeglasses-4823938/

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Illumicrate Unboxing

Bad Blood February 2022

This is my second Illumicrate box, and I'm getting the feeling that the boxes just aren't all they're cracked up to be. The theme is "Bad Blood", and the items are... disappointing.

The book is "A River Enchanted" by Rebecca Ross. From the blurb, it sounds amazing, and the exclusive customisations are great. The redesigned cover has actually been redesigned, not just given a different colour scheme, but visually it does still look incredibly similar to the original. It has red and white sprayed edges, custom artwork endpapers, and detailed foiling on the hardcover. However, it didn't come with an author letter. I don't know if they've decided not to do one this month, or if I just didn't get mine.

The first item is a plastic tumbler, inspired by "A Memory Called Empire". It's just a plastic cup with a lid and a straw. Like a reusable McDonalds cup. I don't know if maybe they think we don't have glasses in our houses? Like we can't be trusted with a cup if it doesn't have a lid? And the design isn't that good either, it's just a logo slapped on the front, it's not even a wrap-around design.

The next item is a trinket dish, featuring the Medusa shield from "Lore". I didn't like Lore, but I do love a trinket dish! It's really detailed, very pretty. This is a really common item in subscription boxes, so my flat is swiftly filling up with trinket dishes. I'm not complaining.

There's a fabric pouch, inspired by "Crier's War". It's pretty nice, and they're always useful items to have - as a make up bag or pencil case. I'm sure I'll find a use for it.

And there's a bath bomb. This is inspired by "Poison Study". I haven't read it, so I don't know if it fits the brief, but it kind of smells like orange sherbet. It's not pleasant, but I don't have a bathtub so it doesn't really matter either way.

The last item is a pair of magnetic coins. These are inspired by "Red, White, and Royal Blue". And apparently this item is 'one of their most popular items, making a comeback'. They're literally just fridge magnets. If this is their most popular item, it says a lot about the standard of the products.

I really like the books Illumicrate produce, they're always really well customised, and good quality, and usually great reads. But the rest of the items have been a total letdown so far. I'm going to try one more box, but I think that will be the last one.

Luckily, Illumicrate also offer a book-only option, which is reasonable value for money, so I'll switch to that instead.

[takethetrain]

I read your fanfic and I think it's one of the best I've ever read it's so good and u do an amazing job dude

Searched u up on Tumbler and wanted to ask somethin people know mermaids exist but not that they have legs right? Bt if Alastair was with Charles on land so other mermaids could do it too so what prevents people to tell this secret and why is that such a big deal?

Keep going u are awesome 💥

OMG HI!! WELCOME!!! I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you on this, I think it came thru when I was super deep in school stress & dead to everything else — but I just found it in my inbox and I gotta say it made me smile so much. I love ur energy :))

First of all, THANK U SO MUCH. As for the questions…I think I’ve been a tad inconsistent about whether people know merfolk exist (this is one of those perils of worldbuilding-as-you-go) because I’m pretty sure at the beginning Thomas says people think they’re a myth but then no one seems particularly surprised to learn they’re real (when it comes to light that the Navy’s killing them) and also you gotta wonder how on earth people would go on not believing in merfolk given that sea monsters are verifiably real from the beginning. Whoops. We’ll just say they’ve always been seen as real but also, like, vaguely legendary in the popular imagination…kind of like celebrities.

Of course that analogy only makes sense if celebrities routinely went undercover among us regular folk at risk to their own safety, which brings me to ur second question. Which has two parts I think? For the first: merfolk work together to keep the secret safe just like shadowhunters keep their identity secret from mundanes. Sometimes mundanes find out via personal connections, like Simon with Clary, but overall it’s kept under wraps enough that the mundane community remains ignorant on the whole. If certain sub-communities of humans find out about merfolk being able to grow legs, the hope is that the news won’t travel—and if it does, that it won’t be believed widely enough to cause any real trouble. This is obviously easier to achieve in the 1700s when news can’t travel very fast & there’s no such thing as photo/video evidence of anything.

For the second part: it would be a big deal because merfolk have no place in any human laws, which means nobody can be seriously punished for harming or mistreating them. One hopes that most humans wouldn’t take advantage of this, but it’s not that simple. The Navy now have incentive to hurt them in this particular case, and even besides that I can personally imagine a lot of things that could go wrong if humans learned that merfolk are more accessible to them than they previously thought — we all know people are generally not great at handling issues of difference. Elaborating too much on this would risk making merfolk into an allegory for legitimately oppressed groups (there’s a right and a wrong way to do this: on one hand, a really great and long history of marginalized sci fi/fantasy authors exploring otherness via species difference; on the other hand, a poc’s bullying-trauma being given less weight & importance than a white cishet boy being bullied for his golden eyes.) but even without elaborating I think you probably understand what I mean. The solution to this would ostensibly be including merfolk in policy (which Christopher proposes, bless his heart) but that would be a very long process to achieve everywhere and still wouldn’t guarantee fair treatment, so, it’s a risky situation overall.

Does any of that make any sense at all?? This is so long :,) thank you for asking, u r wonderful!! Pls let me know if more questions come up <3

[dangerouslcve]

Unforgiven - Taron Egerton

Pairing: Taron Egerton x reader

Warnings: None.

Summary: There is something so achingly familiar about Taron Egerton. He captures your attention from the moment you see him at Rada, your new acting school. He is the one bright spot in a place where people are constantly judged, the students and staff are rude, and security cameras watch your every move.  

Except Taron wants nothing to do with you- he goes out of his way to make that very clear. But you can't ignore nor shake the feeling that you know him. You were being drawn to like a moth to a flame. You need to find out what Taron is so desperate to hide, even if it shatters you...

Read previous chapters on Wattpad @ kayegerton

Disclaimer: I do not know what college is like.. Yet. But I did some intense googling. This story is for entertainment purposes only, it is considered an AU. With that being said, hope you enjoy the story.

Chapter Eight - Cam

  "Now where are you going?" Cam questions leaning up against the walls outside of Bliss lowering his round sunglasses. He appeared outside of the entrance of Bliss so suddenly you almost plowed right into him or maybe he was there for a while and you just didn't see him in your haste to get to class either way your heart began racing.

"Um class." you answered looking at him noticing his smirk as he stands up straight. Where did it look like you were going? You held a notebook in your hand titled Afternoon block and inside was your half completed theater assignment. Now would have been a great time to apologize for leaving the party so suddenly last night but you couldn't bring yourself to do it, you were already so late to class and there so was absolutely no hot water in the locker room so you had to walk all the way down to your dorm for a warm shower. Somehow what had happened after the party wasn't important anymore, you didn't want to draw anymore attention to yourself when leaving especially not after Taron had made you feel so pathetic. You didn't want Cam to think you were being rude you just wanted to move past him and be by yourself so you could try to move on and forget this mornings string of embarrassments. Except the longer Cam gazed at you the less important  it felt to leave and the less you thought about Taron. How could he do that with just one simple look?

With his clear pale skin and jet black hair he made you feel different from any guy you had ever known. He was confident and popular but he was also one of the nicest guys here. He had treated you with kindness since the first day you had arrived to this school unlike some.

"Class?" he yawned dramatically. He blocked the entrance to Bliss and something about the way his mouth was set while an amused look took over his face made you eager to know what wild idea he had up his sleeve. There was a bag slung over his shoulder and a espresso cup resting in his hand. The playful smile visible in his eyes as he skimmed the top of the coffee with his finger holding up his index finger he said, "Allow me to introduce you to my motto about Rada classes. Better never than late." You laugh watching as he pushes his glasses back up on his nose, the lenses were so dark you couldn't even see a hint of his blue eyes. "Besides," he flashed you a smile. "It's almost lunch and I've got a picnic."

Lunch? You hadn't even had breakfast and you were starving. The idea of getting yelled at by Miss Bliss for missing a good thirty minutes of her class seemed less and less appealing the longer you stood there next to cam.

"Got enough for two?" you nod at the bag he was holding. Cam flashed you a grin and steered you away with a hand on your lower back from bliss and past the are where you and Taron had been when the statue toppled over nearly coming down onto the both of you. He led her a little past the stage and stopped once he came to the tree.

"I know this is a weird place for a picnic," he explained, "but it's the best spot I know to dip out of sight for a little while. On campus, anyway. Sometimes I just can't breathe in there." He gestured toward the building. You related to that, you felt both exposed and suffocated all the time at this school. You would have never guessed Cam to be the one to share the same feeling as you did with this place, he seem so calm and collected all the time. After the party last night and the espresso in his hand now you wouldn't know that he felt just as you did in this school. Suffocated. Or more so that he picked you to share the feeling with. You cracked your knuckles as Cam continued to walk past the tree coming to a stop at the statues they used for plays at the back of the stage. "What do you think? Died fighting for her love?" he asked pointing at the statue of a woman and a man. The man was holding the woman in his arms his face buried in her neck.

"Um...Maybe scarlet fever?" you say with uncertainty making your way over to the statue to get a better look. You traced the bottom of a stone rock with your finger. Cam titled his head to the side considering it.

"Possibly," he says pausing looking at you a smirk spreading across his face again. "Either that or a mysterious accident while young Jane was taking an innocent 'nap' with the neighbor boy." You tried to act offended but Cam's side glance and expectant face made you laugh. It had been a while since you were messing around with a guy, it made you miss Richard. Cam grabbed your hand pulling you to the statue of a soldier. He let go of your hand and leaned up against the thigh of the soldier. "Now this guy," he said waving his hand to the soldier. "Total draft dodger mate. Suffocated when a beam fell on him. Which goes to show never hide from a roundup."

"Is that so?" you ask looking at him smirking, "Remind me what makes you an expert on all of this?" you tease. He kept glancing at you to make sure you were smiling.

"It's my sixth sense darling." he flashed you a big innocent grin "If you'd like, there's a seventh sense and an eight sense maybe even a ninth sense where that came from."

"Impressive." you say and he winks. "But right now I think I will settle with the sense of taste. I'm starving."

"At your service madam." he says pulling out a blanket from the bag that was slung over his shoulder and spread the blanket out on the ground a couple inches away from the statues under the tree which Taron had been leaning against just days ago at detention. He unscrewed the top of the cup and the strong smell of coffee filled the air around them making your mouth water. It had been weeks since you last had a coffee, you watched as he filled the tumbler with ice and added just the right of milk on top. "I didn't bring sugar."

"That's okay. I don't take sugar anyways." you take a sip of the ice latte he made. You hum under your breath. This was the first taste of caffeine you had all week.

"That's lucky." cam says before spreading out the rest of the picnic. Your eyes grew wide as you watched him arrange the food: a dark brown  baguette, a small round tub of cream cheese, a tub of olives, a  bowl of deviled eggs, and two bright green apples. It didn't seem  possible that Cam had fit all that in his bag or that he'd been planning on eating all this food by himself.

"Where did you get all of this?" you ask sitting down on the blanket pretending to focus on tearing off a hunk of bread. "And who else were you planning on staying with before I came along?"

"Before you came along?" he laughed sitting next to you. "I can hardly remember my bleak life before you came along." you gave him a snide look so he would know you found the comment incredibly cliche but also a little bit charming. You leaned back on your elbows and crossed your legs at the ankle. Cam reached across you for the butter knife  his arm brushed your leg and then rested on the knee of your dark blue jeans. He looked up at you as if to ask if this was okay. When you didn't flinch he kept his arm on your leg and made himself food, spreading the cream cheese onto the bread. You liked the feeling of his weight on you and in this bleak day that was saying something.

"I will start with the easier question first. I help out in the kitchen a couple days a week to take my mind off things. Part of my deal tho, I'm supposed to be giving back at the moment." he rolled his eyes. "I don't mind it there, it's strangely therapeutic. That is, if you don't count the grease burns." he held out his overturned wrist to expose the tiny little burn marks on his arm. "Occupational hazard. But I do get to run the pantry." he shrugs. You couldn't resist, you take your hand across the little burns on his pale arm some were fading others seemed brand new. Before you could pull away embarrassed of your forwardness Cam grabbed your hand and squeezed. You stared at his fingers watching them wrap around your hand making your shiver and feel almost dizzy.

"Are you cold?" he asks quietly but you knew when you finally met his eyes he knew you weren't cold. He scooted even closer to you on the blanket dropping his voice to a whisper. "Now I guess your going to want me to admit that I saw you in the hallways on your way to the theater and quickly packed all this up in hopes I could convince you to skip class with me?" you fished for ice in your drink smiling.

"And you had this whole scheme of a romantic picnic. In this scenic area?" you finished.

"Hey." he ran his thumb across your bottom lip. "You're the one bringing up romance." You pull back, he was right. You were the presumptuous today and for the second time in a span of hours your face burns up as you try not to think about Taron. "That was a joke. As if it weren't obvious darling." He gazed up at the tree you both sat under. "I know it's not Eden here." He said tossing you an apple. "But lets just pretend we are at some romantic park. And to my credit there is not much to work with here." He sends you a side glance. True. "The way I see it," he begins as he leans back on the blanket. "Location is negligible." You shoot him a doubtful glance but you also wished he wouldn't have moved away from you. "Where I grew up things  weren't so different from style of living here at RADA. The only upshot is, I'm finally used to my surroundings."

"So if I handed you a plane ticket to America right now you wouldn't be thrilled to be out of here?"

"Mmm... Mildly indifferent." Cam says popping an olive into his mouth.

"I don't believe you." You say giving him a shove. He looks over at you smiling.

"Then you must've had a grand childhood."

"I wouldn't know." You laugh bitterly biting into your apple going through the mental catalogue in your head of all the frowns, and lectures from your parents. All the doctor visits and therapy. No you wouldn't say you had a grand childhood because you don't remember, you only know the three hellish years you had with them before they sent you to RADA taking you away from your closest friends. But if cam couldn't even say he saw his future after rada and anything hopeful on the horizon maybe his had been worse.

Cam had taken his sunglasses off. His blue eyes were so confident as he watched you. He was holding that still pose again the one that made you feel froze to your spot. You sat up breaking his gaze he did as well but never once took his eyes off you. You let out a breathy laugh looking over at him shyly.

"I'm starting to think your a little bit strange." You say finally cracking the tiniest smile.

"Oh and just think how much more there is to know about me." He replied leaning in closer. Closer than he had when he was reaching for the butter knife closer than you expected him to be. He reached out and slowly ran his fingers through your hair. You tensed up, he was gorgeous and intriguing what you couldn't figure out is why you should be nervous but feel so comfortable around him. You couldn't take your eyes off his lips which were full and pink and moving closer making you feel dizzy. His shoulders brushed yours and you felt a strange feeling deep inside you like this was the wrong thing to do but you ignored the feeling watching as cam parted his lips and then you closed your eyes.

"There you two are!" A breathless voice cam behind you and cam pulling you right out of the moment and slammed back down into reality. You let out an exasperated sigh and turned your attention to Olivia who was standing before them with an obvious grin on her face. "I have been looking everywhere for you two."

"Now why on earth would you do such a thing?" Cam scowled scoring another few points for you.

"This was the last place I checked." She rambled counting on her fingers "I checked the dorms, gym, then under the-"

"What do you want Olivia." He snaps cutting her off almost like they had known each other for a long tine.

"I was sent by Ugh." She closed her eyes racking her brain like she was trying to come up with good excuse. "Miss Mary!" She says excitedly. "That's it." She snaps her fingers. "He- I mean she got upset that y/n was missing class. Went on about how you were such a promising student."

You narrow your eyes. Was she really following orders? Or was she just mocking you for making a good impression on a teacher. "Well come on let's get you back to class"

"Y/n you can have station three." Miss Mary says looking down at the sheet of paper when you, Cam, and Olivia enter Bliss. There was no where have you been, no points off tardiness, just Miss Mary placing you next to Emily on the other side of the stage like she hadn't even notice you had been gone. You shot Olivia an accusatory look and she just shrugs and mouths 'What?'

"Where have you been Y/n?!" Emily demands once you take a take your spot next to her. The only person who had seemed to notice your absence in class. Your eyes found Taron who was burrowed into his lines at station six. From your spot all you could see was his hair which was enough to bring a flush to your face. You sank into a chair mortified once again by their conversation in the gym. You couldn't shut out what you felt for Taron even if you also had feelings for Cam.

And you were never gonna be with him. That was the gist of the conversation in the gym anyway after you practically thrown yourself at him. The rejection cute so deep and so close to your heart you felt certain a glance at you and anyone would know what happened.

Emily tapped the desk impatiently waiting for you to say anything about where you have been. You just were not in the mood to tell.

Miss Mary stood in the middle of the aisle besides the seats snapping her fingers to silence everyone. Her hair was down today and she met your eye.

"Two lovers cursed to endure a love that will never be." She says in a story telling way before looking at the rest of the students. "That is where our story will begin." she lowers the lights and you look over at Emily who handed you the paper before whispering.

"The casting list." You look down and at the very top of the list is your name and under you is Taron. You glance up noticing Taron was still buried in a script.

"Oh god kill me." Emily days from beside you looking at the cast list. You lean over her noticing her name, Mary Bennet. You chuckle quietly.

"You will have fourty minutes of access to the Internet on computers to do your research on notes that are given in the script at the end or you may rehearse your lines." Miss Mary says making her way up the stage. "Plays like this go back many generations. So aim to go back at least six." Wonderful. An audible sigh erupted from station six.

Taron.

Miss Mary turned to him, "Do you have a problem with this assignment Taron?" He sighed again and shrugged.

"No not at all. It's fine." He looks over at you. "Should be interesting." You looked away from him and glance at Cam a few stations away who winked at you turning to Zane practicing his lines. It was obvious how into you he was but Taron on the other hand just wasn't interested and cam was sweet while Taron was not. You wanted to bolt out of this theater and call Allie and take a whole rain check on this pride and prejudice play. Talking up another guy was the fastest and the only way to get Taron out of your head.

But there was that no phone policy until after all the classes. All the other students around you began their work. This was going to be very difficult.

Tag List: @primaba11erina​ @fuseburner @lovefortaron89 @hitmeonmytspot @turkish276

If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know! This is a fallen x taron crossover story