#the cards we’re dealt

[simonsrosebud]

longest chapter i’ve written in quite a while- i’m so sleep deprived rn so pls just pretend to love it… getting back into my devotion for kevin and dalton

spoiler photo of the house (you’ll know after reading) under the cut

[oldlovecassette]

[jaetaimjadore]

OMG YOU WENT TO SCHOOL WITH JAKE?

Hey anon! Yeah I did go to school with Jake for a while lmao…sad thing is I only found out I did after he got famous 💀💀💀

[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

[sweetercalypso]

Texas Hold ‘Em || Joel Miller

Summary: when a heatwave interrupts your lake house vacation, you and dbf!Joel find another way to have some fun

Word Count: 2.4k

Notes: minors dni; stripping, blowjob, unprotected p in v sex, pull-out method, reader on top, implied age gap, afab reader, mentions of alcohol and drinking

Summer in Texas is hot.

Cracked asphalt sidewalks burn underfoot, paired with sharp, dry grass that pricks at your skin when you stray off the path in search of relief.

The sun is too bright, the air is unbearably warm, and the humidity is enough to take your breath away.

Days like this are best spent inside.

With an impending heat wave looming in the forecast, it seems like summer might pass by entirely before you have the chance to enjoy your break. Joel Miller – a drinking buddy your dad had picked up in recent years – had offered you a trip to his lakeside cabin with the promise that a cold drink and a dip in the water would be the perfect remedy for the high temperatures.

You’d arrived three days ago, and every afternoon since had brought a thick, sweltering heat that made it impossible to pull yourself away from the comfort of the living room. Even the calm, inviting waves lapping gently at the lake’s edge weren’t enough to tempt you back outdoors to fry under the brutal sun.

The only solution was to sulk inside, bitterly cherishing the tiny air conditioner working overtime to keep you cool. Joel didn’t seem outwardly bothered by the heat, but you could tell he preferred to stay indoors, too.

“S’posed to be in the high 90’s today,” he says, strolling into the living room with his attention turned to the vivid landscape beyond the patio doors. “But it’s so humid, it’ll feel like a hundred.”

You tip your head back and let out a dramatic groan, resenting the prospect of another day spent inside. You liked Joel, and his cabin was nice, but you wanted nothing more than to feel the sun on your skin, to be submerged in the cool, twinkling lake like you’d been promised.

“Can’t we go sit by the water, just for a little while?”

His mouth turns down at the corners, frowning as he thinks. “That’s up to you, darlin’. Just don’t want you gettin’ burnt up out there.”

You know he’s right. Even from the comfort of the living room, you could tell that it was too hot to venture outside. The handful of other cabins scattered around the lake were all vacant for the season, driveways sitting empty and abandoned canoes rocking idly at the pier.

“How ‘bout we find something else to do? Don’t have to sit here bored just ‘cause we’re stuck inside.”

Joel’s cabin was barely furnished beyond the necessities – an outdated kitchen, a stiff living room set, and a couple beds tucked away in otherwise empty rooms. But you couldn’t complain.

No one comes to a lake house to admire the décor.

He perches himself on the other end of the couch and you move to sit up beside him. “What d’you want to do?”

“Well,” he drawls, stalling as he looks around for an answer. “There’s cold beer in the fridge. Got a deck of cars around here somewhere. That could be a good start.”

“Beer and poker? Sounds like quite the party.”

“Hey,” he laughs, hands raised in mock offense. “It’s the best I can do for now.”

Your head tilts as you consider his offer.

Joel was handsome, aged like fine wine with a glint in his eye that spoke of a hidden depth you’d like to explore. Maybe you could have some fun this summer after all.

“All right,” you decide, slipping off the couch with newfound interest. “You find the cards, I’ll get the beer.”

Five minutes later and you’re sitting across the cabin’s small, circular kitchen table, dealing cards from the worn-out deck that Joel had pulled from the junk drawer.  

“Poker, huh?” He grabs his drink by the neck of the bottle. “We don’t have any chips, though. How are we gonna know who wins?”

You place the rest of the deck to the side and pick up the two cards you’d been dealt, fingertips gliding over their frayed, softened corners. “I know another way we can play.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Instead of winning poker chips, whoever has the best hand picks something for the other person to take off. If you refuse, you lose.”

“So, strip poker?” he says with a dry laugh. “You’re not serious.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Besides – as hot as it is, we don’t need clothes anyway.”

Joel shrugs and tips back his drink, thinking about the day you’d arrived at the cabin, still clinging to your hopes of having the perfect vacation.

Stubbornly glued to the beach towel you’d placed at the edge of the water, sweat glistening on your bare skin, donning a swimsuit that would’ve made a lesser man blush – he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested.  

“Okay, fine.” He concedes and rests his forearms against the table, a wry grin pulling at his features. “But I’ll have you know, I’m very good at poker.”

Four rounds later, and Joel had yet to live up to his claim. Maybe it was just the luck of the cards, or maybe you’d spent enough time observing the man’s expressions to call his bluff, but you’d won every hand so far.

The first round was a close call – a full house versus three-of-a-kind. You’d chosen Joel’s watch to ease into the game, and he’d stared you down with a fire in his eyes as he placed it face-up on the table.

Next, you’d doubled down and won with an ace high, and Joel had been relieved of his shoes and his belt, which he’d dropped onto the floor with the promise of a comeback. The third hand played out the same way and you’d demanded his flannel, stealing glances at his toned arms as he handed over your reward.

By the fourth turn, you were reeling from the high of your winning streak and ready to make your move.

“I thought you said you were good at this, Mr. Miller.” You bat your lashes at him with an exaggerated simper as he deals out the next hand.

“I’m a pro, sweetheart. Just thought I’d let you have your fun.”

Throughout the round, your attention flickers back and forth between your cards and the man sitting across from you. Joel’s left with only his t-shirt and jeans to gamble away, and while you’re deciding which to relieve him of next, he slaps his cards down with a boisterous laugh.

“Well, would you look at that – a royal flush.”

A king and queen lay strewn out on the table, their stony, time-worn faces taunting you with their triumph. You’d been too distracted to notice that the community cards all shared a common suit, lining up perfectly with the cards Joel had been dealt.

He sucks in a slow breath and looks over you in careful consideration, debating what to take for his win. Finally, he gestures to your top and says, “take it off”.  

Still shocked by the unanticipated loss, you place your cards down with a huff and shrug the thin material over your head without complaint. The sunlight glaring through the windows warms your exposed skin as you reveal yourself to Joel’s unwavering stare.

You toss your shirt at his chest and he catches it with a raised brow, eyes tracing over the curve of your breasts before trailing gradually back to your face. He adds your top to the growing pile of clothes littering the floor around his chair. When he speaks, his voice is low in his throat, like he’d finally understood your plan.

“Just beautiful, darlin’,” he says under his breath. “How ‘bout we raise the stakes a bit?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

His jaw tenses as he mulls over his options. “If I win, you come over here and use that pretty mouth for something other than trash talkin’. If you win, I’ll fuck you any way you want.”

You bite your lip to hold back the pleased grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. Either way, you’re bound to have a good time.

“Sounds like a deal, cowboy.”

A palpable tension fills the air as Joel shuffles the deck with a renewed confidence. He lays out the sequence and flips the first three over, and it doesn’t seem like the cards are in your favor.

It’s an aimless, faceless group, and the next two aren’t much better. None of your cards pair together, and there’s nothing to do but accept your fate.

You muck your hand onto the pile with a mumbled profanity, waiting for Joel to flaunt his win. When he drops his own useless cards in the middle of the table, you look up to find him just as perplexed as you.

It’s a tie.

Neither of you have enough to make a decent hand, leaving the game in a dead heat. All this built-up tension relying on this pivotal round, and it’s a tie.

“Well,” Joel says, scratching absently at the salt and pepper stubble lining his cheeks. “I’d say it’s a draw.”

“So, who wins?”

He thinks for a moment before leaning back in his chair and not-so-subtly positioning his knees with room for you to sit in between them. “I think we both win.”

You take the glaringly obvious suggestion and pull yourself out of your seat, slinking around the table to situate yourself between Joel’s legs.

“Claim your prize, Mr. Miller.”

Your hands sweep over his thighs as he pops open the button of his jeans and drags his thickening cock from the confines of his boxers. Beaded precum drools from the tip as he languidly palms his shaft.   

The sight of his digits running over the length of his cock is hypnotizing – rough, calloused fingers against warm, flushed skin. A burning fire builds in your core as you imagine how his cock would feel inside of you.

“Open up for me, sugar.”

He cups your jaw with his free hand and guides you closer until his salty head rests against the plush of your bottom lip. When your tongue darts out to trace the vein on the underside of his cock, he groans and inches forward in his seat.

“Fuck- take it all.”

You eagerly bob over his length and Joel revels in your rapt attention, in the way you dedicate yourself to the task at hand.

“Such a nice mouth,” he pants, prodding the head of his cock against the inside of your cheek and admiring the protrusion it creates. Your fingers twist into the material of his jeans and you chastise yourself for not starting the game with a bolder approach.

Joel’s hips buck against your face as he dips his cock further into your mouth, lingering briefly on the back of your tongue before hesitantly pulling back with a hiss.

“As much as I’d like to keep you down there all day, we’d better stop now if you want your reward.”

You’d almost forgotten about the bet you’d made, too preoccupied with swallowing Joel’s length to remember how you’d gotten into this position in the first place.

He holds a hand out to help you up, and you lick the remnants of his presence from your lips.

“Where d’you want me?” He trails a hand over your arm, sending a shiver up the length of your spine.

“Here,” you say with impressive ambition. “Right here in this chair, just like I’ve pictured all evening.”

“Yeah? Gonna ride my cock right here in the kitchen?”

You nod with conviction and Joel grins as his hands move to the button of your jeans. He yanks the material down past your thighs, fingers hooked into the waist band of you underwear to leave you bare in one move.

“This too,” you mention with a tug to his t-shirt. You want to see everything while you have the chance – who knows how many times a simple game of poker will amount to this.

Your jeans pool at your feet and you step out of them while Joel throws his shirt somewhere off to the side, dark curls sticking up in odd directions from the fabric disrupting their shape.

He leans back against the chair and holds your waist while you position yourself in his lap, his cock twitching with interest as it brushes against your skin. You’re not sure who’s more eager for what’s to come – you or the man beneath you.  

Joel laments the lost opportunity of taking you apart on his fingers and his mouth, but there’s no delaying the zealous way you sink down onto his cock. That’s alright, he thinks with a choked noise, there’s always next time.

His thick length parts your walls with a delicious pressure, nudging against your sweet spot when you settle completely onto his lap. You’re still for a moment as you adjust to the strain, chest heaving with the effort of keeping yourself upright.

“Oh, fuck- you feel perfect.”

Joel’s hands travel up your sides until his warm palms find the swell of your tits. He leans in to sweep messy, open-mouthed kisses against the column of your throat, distracting himself with your heavy breath until you’re ready to move.

After what feels like an eternity of waiting in greedy impatience, you regain your strength enough to wrap your thighs around his waist, molding yourself to his frame as you lift up halfway before coming back down, smearing slick over his skin.

“That’s it,” he grunts. “Take what you need.”

Your pace quickens each time you raise off his cock, coming back down and grinding against his pelvis in one fluid motion. His broad, freckled shoulders are warm under your hands, an anchor for the rhythmic cycle of your hips over his.

“M’not gonna last much longer.”

You pant as his hand abandons your breast to stroke circles against your puffy clit, carrying you to the precipice of your release.

When your movements falter and you crumple against his chest, Joel picks up where you left off. He thrusts up into you in search of his pleasure, grunting as your walls flex around him.

Just as he’s about to tip over the edge, he slides his length free and grips the base with a tight fist, rubbing the head of his cock against your balmy skin as he paints the evidence of his arousal over your naval.

The air is filled with a litany of lewd sounds, pants and sighs overlapping in your equal states of bliss. Joel’s softening cock rests against your thigh as you run your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and he flattens a hand against the arch of your back, both thinking about how fortunate it was that Joel suggested a card game to cure your mutual boredom.

[azriels-shadowsinger]

Game Night (Azriel x Reader)

summary: You and Azriel have been kinda flirty for a while, but it has never actually gone anywhere. When game night turns into strip poker… well i’m sure you can guess where this is gonna go.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: i haven’t written anything in a long while bc ive been kinda very depressed so this may suck. also thank yall so much for 200 followers!!

!!warning: suggestiveness at the end.

The males should have known it was a bad idea when you four females insisted on the game. Mor had oh so innocently suggested a game night, after which Nesta randomly got the idea to play poker out of nowhere, followed by immediate approval from you and Feyre. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel had wrongfully assumed that you all had suddenly gained interest in the game and wanted to learn for fun, so they agreed.

The night started out wholesome. You were ‘learning’ the basic rules of the game while losing a decent amount of money. As expected, Rhys was trying to help Feyre as she kept losing money to his brothers. After several rounds of defeat and many more rounds of drinks, the males started to notice that you four were losing less and less. Actually… you were all holding the majority of the chips by this point. Azriel, in his usual perceptive manner, accused you four of cheating and hustling them. You and Mor couldn’t help but break out laughing.

“I’m sorry! It was just too easy!” You said between giggles.

“Especially when Rhys started telling Feyre his cards in her mind so she wouldn’t lose, which she immediately told to us!” Mor laughed loudly. Feyre gave a sheepish grin and Nesta only smirked while pulling her most recent winning to her pile. Rhys, Cass, and Az couldn’t help but to laugh, commending you for being able to trick them. Cassian, however, insists that they were going easy on you the whole time.

“Well, it’s on now. No more holding back, right boys?” Cassian says with a smug grin while dealing new cards to the table.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to win, now that I figured out each of their tells.” Azriel stated matter of factly while peaking at his cards. His shadows swirl around him, blocking anyone from being able to see the hand he was dealt.

“Oh really? You think you can tell when we’re bluffing? I think you’re overestimating those spy abilities, Az. You haven’t called any of my bluffs correctly so far.” He shrugs. “I think we may need to make this game more interesting since you three claim you’re going to actually try now. I’m thinking we raise the bets to-“

“Let’s play strip poker!” Cassian bellows, obviously drunk, and cutting you off before you can say anything else. Rhys exchanges a look with Feyre. “I think that Feyre darling and I are going to retire for the night before we lose more of our money or our clothes. Goodnight everyone!” He laughs. They throw their cards on the table and winnow away, leaving just you, Nesta, Mor, Azriel, and Cassian at the table.

Cassian stares expectantly at Nesta. “Cmon, Nes! Say you’ll play!” She sighs dramatically and agrees. “Fine. Only if Y/N, Mor, and Azriel all agree to play too.” Your face turns red. While you don’t doubt your poker abilities, the thought of stripping in front of Azriel… or worse, seeing him half naked, makes your heart race. You and Azriel have only ever gone as far as flirting with each other, but these Illyrians are always flirtatious, so you don’t think it means anything. Regardless, your mind wanders to the mental image of a shirtless Azriel, sparring in the training ring this morning. It’s always so hard not to stare. His abs, his arms, his wings…

“Y/N? Are you playing or not?” Mor questions, pulling you from your daydream. You realize everyone has agreed but you now.

“Sure, whatever.” You say quieter than before, still slightly blushing. You look at your cards nervously, praying to the Cauldron for a good hand. Luckily, you get it. The round goes on, and eventually Cassian is the first to lose an item of clothing, opting to lose his shirt and making a big display of removing it.

An hour later, you have all had several more drinks, everyone has discarded a couple items of clothing (except for Cassian who was down to only his boxers and his left sock), Mor got tired and left, and you were focusing way too closely on one of your poker chips in an attempt to not stare at Azriel.

Cassian flips the last card and… it’s not what you need. You bite your lip nervously, pushing several chips to the middle of the table while trying to maintain a confident façade. “I raise.”

Cassian and Nesta both fold, leaving just you and Azriel. You feel his eyes on you, probably trying to tell if you’re bluffing. Your skin heats under his gaze. Trying to appear more confident, you meet his stare, only to notice he’s not staring at your face, but rather a bit lower. You blush and Cassian clears his throat. “Uh, your move, Az.” Azriel immediately looks away, staring back at his cards.

“Um, I fold.” He mutters and tosses his cards on the discard pile, and you can’t help but notice the way his other hand is clenching and flexing under the table.

“Y/N wins! Az, looks like you’re down to your boxers now!” Cassian slurs slightly. Your eyes go wide and you give a panicked look to Nesta.

“Cass, I think it’s time for us to head home. I’m tired.” She gives him a look that he obviously must recognize because he is very quick to leave, obviously excited to get home. They say goodbye and head out, leaving just you and Azriel.

You stand to gather your things, but Azriel stops you. “Are we done playing, sweetheart?” You feel his eyes trail down your half-exposed body.

“You can keep your pants on, Shadowsinger. It’s late and I’m drunk. Plus, if we play another round then one of us will end up a bit more naked than friends should be around each other.” You laugh awkwardly. Azriel’s eyes darken slightly and he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Scared you’ll lose?” You shudder at the closeness and the feeling of his breath on you.

“No. I just don’t think you want me to find out that the wingspan theory isn’t true.” You quip back with a raised eyebrow. He lets out a short laugh and sits back down. “Deal the cards.” He says smugly.

You deal the cards, trying to ignore the tension thick in the air. What the hell is he doing? How are you supposed to act friendly and hide your feelings if you see him naked? How is he going to react if he sees you without a bra? You deal the last card and look at your hand. Not terrible, but definitely not great. You bite your lip nervously. The round plays out and it’s time to place the final bets. You make your bet and then look to Azriel, biting your bottom lip nervously. He studies his cards, then sets them down to look at you.

“You wanna know something, Y/N?” He picks up a poker chip and spins it between his fingers. Gods, those fingers. “You bite your lip when you’re nervous. Did you know that?” You freeze. “And while it has been rather advantageous to know when you’re bluffing this whole game, I do find it kind of cute.” He slides all of his chips into the middle pile. “I knew you were bluffing the last round. And I know you are now too.” His voice is low and full of confidence. Your face is completely red now as he flips his cards over. Royal flush.

You turn your cards over in defeat and he grins. “I win.” He says smugly. He stands and saunters towards you, caging you between his arms in your chair. You look up at him, and you can see the silent question in his eyes. Is this okay? You nod softly and he smirks.

“As the winner, I think it’s only fair that I get to claim my prize. May I?” He gently slides your bra strap down your shoulder. This is actually happening. Weeks of flirty words and lustful glances, leading to whatever is about to happen.

“Rules are rules.” You maintain eye contact and reach behind to unclasp your bra. He grabs your wrist, guiding it back down and reaching behind you himself. His fingers softly trail up your spine, leaving goosebumps behind, before he reaches the clasp and unhooks it. Your bra falls to the floor and Azriel’s eyes roam over you hungrily.

“Gods, you are even more beautiful than I imagined.” He gently guides you to stand, walking you back to the wall and pressing you against it. “I have wanted to do this for so long.” He whispers against your skin before moving his lips to yours. He kisses you with no restraint. One hand cups your face while the other moves up your side. You melt into his touch, savoring his taste. A small moan leaves your mouth, causing him to growl softly.

Azriel pulls away for a moment to say something, but before he can, you hear footsteps in the hall. Quickly, you rush to grab your clothes before anyone can see you. Moments later, whoever it was walks past the room towards the kitchen. You let out a breath, continuing to get dressed.

You give a look to Azriel, who had already managed to get fully dressed somehow. He can read the question in your eyes. Now what? Azriel reaches out a scarred hand toward you. “We can keep playing the game in my room.” He smirks. You take his hand and you two quickly head out, leaving the cards and poker chips on the table.

idk what this was. honestly it was a WIP from months ago and i’m not sure if I love how it ended up but whatever i just am trying to write again :)

[rynwritesstuff]

Unknown - Part Two

Billy The Kid x Reader

Warnings: Smut (PIV sex, unprotected sex, brief dirty talk, no female orgasm), softness, TW: attempted assault (NOT by Billy), misogyny, murder, comfort/fluff, confessed feelings, happy ending <3

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: You and Billy find yourselves in a dangerous situation, which causes feelings to surface.

Read part one here!

“Do you know I could break beneath the weight of the goodness, love, I still carry for you? That I’d walk so far just to take the injury of finally knowing you?” - Unknown/Nth, Hozier

Billy is, to say the least, annoyed with you. Traveling with someone for nearly two weeks will do that, you figure. You let him talk to you as you gather wood for a fire. You’re silent while he rants, going on and on about how his body aches, and how hungry he is, and how desperately he just wants to find another town. You don’t respond, and this only irritates him further. 

“Say something!” Billy says. You glance at him. He doesn’t often become angry like this, you’ve come to realize, but when something sets him off . . . He gets pissed. 

“Jesus, what the hell d’you want from me, Antrim? I’m just getting wood, minding my own damn business, and you–” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know, you’re the one who wanted to come this way! Why haven’t we found anything? We’re running out of food!” 

You shake your head. 

“We have at least two days’ worth.” 

“And when we go through that? Hm? What then?” 

“Then we hunt, Antrim. We adapt, we make do.” 

“You know that there’s not much to hunt out here. We both know that,” he says, following you around. You crouch down to start a fire. Sometimes his age shows during moments like this one. He’s still a kid, still so angry at the world and the cards he’s been dealt. You sigh. 

“Then, fuck, I don’t know,” you snap. “I don’t know, okay?”

He scoffs, pulling his hat off and tugging at his hair. 

“Fuck,” he huffs as he turns away. You get the fire going, then stand and turn to him. His eyes don’t meet yours. You pull on his suspenders. 

“Look at me,” you say firmly. He does. You sigh. “We’re gonna be fine. You need to pull yourself together. I know you’re mad, Antrim, I am too, but we can’t lose our heads. Got it?”

He swallows harshly. He likes it when you talk to him like this, when you re-ground him. You’re the anchor to his ship, the light that shines through the fog in his mind. He glances at your lips. You know what he needs, now. He needed to be snapped at, and now he needs to let go. 

It’s been a few days since the two of you were last sexually active, and when you look into Billy’s eyes, they are dark. You give his suspenders another tug, your chests nearly touching.  “I said, you got it?” you repeat. He nods. 

“Yes,” Billy says quietly. “I got it. ‘M sorry–” 

“Don’t be,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s no point.”

You let go of his suspenders and instead rest your hands on his firm chest. You can feel his heart racing, beating quickly, and you know it’s because of you. Maybe, if you’re lucky, it’s for you. 

His arms hang at his sides, and you take hold of his wrists and guide them to your hips. He holds you firmly as you reach back up to touch his shoulders and chest. 

“Tell me what you need,” you say, even though you already know. You want to hear him say it. 

“You,” Billy tells you. “Whatever you’ll give me.”

You smile softly. He’s handsome. Dreamy. 

“You know you’ve got me, Billy,” you say. He kisses you, then. It is firm, and his lips are chapped and rough. You sigh quietly, gripping his collar and pulling him closer. He knows how you like this: Rough, quick and dirty. Secretly, though, part of him hopes that he’ll one day get to make love to you, not just fuck you.  He wants to know you deeply. Not just your body, but your mind. He knows what kinds of things you like to eat, and he knows that you don’t like rising with the sun, and he knows that you’re unfathomably stubborn, but . . . It’s not enough. He needs to know what your dreams are. Do you want children? A house? A man? Will you long for freedom for the rest of your life, or would you one day settle for the right person? 

He needs to know where your parents were from, and what your favorite toys were when you were small, and how you like your tea. Small things. Big things. Well . . . He supposes that all things are ‘big things’ when it comes to the way he thinks of you . . .

You push his suspenders from his shoulders as the two of you kiss, then reach down to press your hand against his clothed erection. He grunts softly at the slight friction, and moves his hips forward. He says your name, quiet and desperate, and you nod. 

“Take me,” you tell him, taking a small step back to remove the clothes from the bottom half of your body. While you do this, Billy pulls his cock free from his trousers. You get down in the grass, and Billy easily gets on top of you, fitting himself between your legs. You cup his cheeks and kiss him, desperate for his touch. You tug on his hair. 

“Need you, Billy,” you breathe. And oh, how Billy loves to see you like this: Vulnerable and open and ready for him. He nods. 

“I know,” he says, pushing his leaky tip against your core. You groan as he eases himself inside of you. He stretches you perfectly. You’re so wet, and he’s got precum dribbling from his cockhead, and the feeling of it makes him grunt. He takes your hands in his and pins you down like that. He’s been doing this more and more often, you’ve noticed. You smile softly, the softness of the moment lasting only for a second before he begins to rock his hips back and forth. You cry out as his cock rubs the sweet spot deep inside of you, your grip on his hands tightening. 

“Billy!” you moan. “Ohhh f-fuck . . .”

Your body bounces beneath him, and he groans at the sight.

“Fuck . . . Such a good girl,” he breathes, voice shaky and quiet. His words go straight to your aching core, and you clench around him just to hear the choked sound that he makes. You smirk. 

“Y-Yeah? You needed this, didn’t you, Billy?” 

He nods. 

“Uh huh.” 

“How bad? H-How bad did ya n-need me?” 

“O-Oh, fuck . . .” he groans. “So b-bad . . . Mmm . . .”

You nod, tilting your head back. Billy takes the bait and leans down to suck and nibble at your throat. You sigh at the feeling. He continues to hold your hands, keeping you gently pinned to the ground. 

“Takin’ me so well,” Billy breathes. You hum. 

“You’re close already?” you ask shakily, the pleasure in your core building as he sucks at your skin. He grunts. 

“H-How did you–?” 

“You’re – mm – getting s-sloppy,” you breathe. You turn your head and capture his lips with yours. He chuckles against you, moving his hips faster. 

“G-God . . . Fuck . . .” Billy groans. You squeeze his hands. 

“Cum f’me, Billy,” you tell him softly. “C’mon . . . W-Wanna see it . . .” 

He nods, then quickly pulls his cock from your heat and jerks himself off above you. With a drawn-out moan, Billy cums, his seed covering your rising and falling stomach. You sigh at the sight, and when he finishes, he tilts his head back. You smile, leaning up on your elbows. 

“So handsome,” you tell him, gesturing for him to come closer. He does, and you put your hand on the back of his head to pull his lips against yours. You sigh as you kiss him. 

“Mm. That felt good,” you tell him. Billy smiles at the praise. 

“I’m glad,” he says. You wipe his seed from your stomach, then shakily get to your feet and re-dress while Billy tucks himself away and adjusts his clothing. You sigh once the two of you are both righted. 

“Feeling better?” you ask, stepping back towards the fire to warm your hands. He sits down beside you. 

“A bit,” he says. He sighs, then looks over at you. He admires you, taking in your features in the dim, flickering light. 

“Good,” you say. “If you need something like that, all you havta do is ask, you know.” 

Billy nods. 

“I know.”

Silence lingers between the two of you for a handful of minutes. 

“Do you want to eat?” Billy asks you. You shake your head. 

“I’m not really hungry.” You yawn. “I think I’m gonna rest.” 

Billy nods. 

“Alright.”

He watches you rise and pull the blanket from his saddle bag. You lay it down, then get comfortable on top of it. Billy looks away as you close your eyes to sleep. You’re so beautiful, he thinks. He’s never not going to think so. 

You fall asleep quickly, dozing off easily knowing that Billy is here to keep you safe and watch over you. 

***

The sound of skin hitting skin is what wakes you. A groan follows, and you hum softly as you sit up a bit, glancing around in confusion. 

Another hit, another groan. 

You look over, and your stomach drops when you see a strange man standing over Billy. Billy tries to fight back, tries to get swings in, but the man is bigger, stronger. Another man stands beside the first one, and as quietly as you can, you begin to reach down into your pocket where a small pocketknife sits. 

Adrenaline pumps through you. The second man notices you, and he nudges his friend, the one punching Billy. 

“Lookit,” he says, pointing at you. They both look over, and you let out a shaky breath. Billy is yanked to his feet as one of the men storms towards you. You scramble to get away, but he’s already on you, pulling you up. You struggle to get away, kicking and thrashing, but he wraps his arm around your throat and holds you in place. You gasp, your air suddenly being almost completely cut off. Billy watches in horror. 

“Don’t,” he says and blood drips from his nose. The man near Billy has a knife to his throat, which keeps Billy from moving or making an attempt to rescue you. “We have money, take that instead.” 

The man holding onto you hums, running his free hand over your chest as you claw at his arm, trying to breathe. 

“How could we pass up such a pretty little thing?” the man says, squeezing your breast. You hiss, trying to stomp on his foot. Billy tries to break away, but the knife is pressed harder against his throat, drawing a bit of blood. He yelps. 

“Stop!” Billy exclaims desperately. “Don’t touch her!” 

“Oh, I’ll do more than touch her,” the man says, suddenly shoving you to the ground. You groan, gasping for breath. He’s on you before you can try to run, and he yanks at your trousers. Without thinking, you shove your hand into your pocket and pull out your pocketknife. In a swift movement, you reach around and shove it into the man’s side. He cries out loudly, and you pull the knife out and plunge it back in again and again. 

Seconds after you do this, Billy catches the other man off-guard and pulls his gun on him. The man takes off without a word, knowing that a knife is nothing against a gun. You cry out as you stab the man repeatedly. He groans in agony, blood soaking his clothing and yours just the same. Billy rushes to you, grabbing your arms gently and pulling you away. 

You’re trembling, head spinning and heart pounding. You try to break away. 

“It’s me, it’s me,” Billy says quickly, pulling you into his arms as the man writhes on the ground. You turn, clinging to Billy’s shirt tightly.

“I-I . . .” 

“I know,” he breathes as you shake against him. He holds you, one hand between your shoulders and the other on the back of your head. Tears fill your eyes. 

“Billy,” you breathe. It’s all you can think to say. Billy’s head throbs, nose still gushing blood, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s never seen you so afraid, so shaken, and it breaks his heart. You didn’t deserve this. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

You let out a soft cry. You can’t even bring yourself to answer. The man groans and shakes in front of you and Billy, and Billy shields your eyes. He has half a mind to shoot the bastard in order to shut him up, but his cries die out steadily. The life drains from his eyes as he loses more and more blood. 

You let out a shaky breath. 

“Are you alright?” Billy asks again softly, cupping your cheeks and tilting your head up. Your bottom lip quivers. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I . . . Yes. I think so.” 

He nods. 

“You’re alright,” he reassures you. “You’re safe.” 

Guilt is eating away at him. He should have done something. He should have shot the men right away, he should have fought his way out of it to protect you. His grip on you tightens slightly. You let out a shaky breath. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, wiping a bit of blood from his face. He nods even though he isn’t, not really.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he tells you. You nod, then glance back at the dead man beside the fire. You look away, burying your face against Billy’s chest. 

“We should go,” you breathe. He nods. 

“I know.”

Neither of you move. Billy presses a kiss to the top of your head. God, he was so scared. He isn’t sure what he would have done with himself if the man had taken you. He’s glad he won’t have to know. You wrap your arms around Billy’s middle and let out a shaky breath. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t do more,” Billy says finally. You pull away slightly and look up at him. You shake your head. 

“He had you cornered, Antrim,” you say softly, shaking your head. “There wasn’t much you could’ve done.” 

You lean in and kiss his cheek. 

“It’s alright. We’re alright.” 

He nods, letting out a shaky breath. 

“I’m always gonna do my best to protect you,” he says. “I’m sorry that I–” 

“Stop apologizing,” you say quietly. “Please. It’s alright. I’m alive, you’re alive, we’re okay–”

“I care about you," Billy says quickly. You pause. “I . . . I care about you. I’d die if somethin’ happened to you.”

You search his face. He means it. Oh, god . . . He means it. 

“Billy . . .” He swallows harshly and looks away. You cup his cheek and tilt his head up so he’s looking at you again. “I care about you, too.” 

A small, barely-there smile tugs at the corner of Billy’s mouth. 

“You mean it?” he asks. You nod. 

“You know me, Billy. I wouldn’t lie.” 

His smile widens, and he kisses you gently. You hum against his mouth.  “I know.” 

[jungkookschin]

demigod trials: fates intertwined | two

synopsis: you met jungkook at camp half-blood when you were 10 years old. since then, your fates have been infinitely intertwined.

word count: 10k

pairing: son of ares!jungkook x daughter of hephaestus!reader

genre: camp half blood au, percy jackson au, demigod au, childhood friends to lovers, exes to lovers , enemies to lovers, jungkook is sooo in love, jungkook is emotionally constipated, THEY FALL INTO TARTARUS TOGETHERR, jk and y/n are supposed to be reminiscent of percabeth, y/n can wield fire 😳 , ANGSTYY, taehyung as a son of poseidon, namjoon son of athena, mingyu son of jupiter, mina daughter of venus,

warnings: death, angst, blood, kinda gruesome, SMUT (not explicit at all- it's told more in a poetic way), v card loss, many percy jackson references, character death (she comes back to life)

author’s note

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 3.5 | chapter four

That morning, Jungkook, Namjoon (son of Athena), Taehyung (son of Poseidon), Jinyoung (son of Hermes), Jennie (daughter of Hades), Jaehyun (son of Apollo), Jisoo (daughter of Demeter), Mark (son of Hephaestus), and Yeri (the satyr) gathered around the ping pong table in the Big House, as called by Chiron.

The purpose of the gathering was to address the need for camp expansion. With the current cabins unable to accommodate all the demigods, it seemed impractical to have 22-year olds like Jungkook share living quarters with ten year-olds.  

Namjoon unfolded the blueprints across the ping pong table, revealing intricate architectural designs for every cabin, along with plans to make space for adjacent cabins to accommodate all the demigods. 

“So,” Taehyung begins, “We can separate the cabins by, like, minors and 18+?” he shrugs, to which everyone murmurs in agreement. 

“Gods, that sounds good,” Jinyoung asserts, “My eight year old brother pulled condoms from my bag and kept asking me what they were! Can you imagine how I felt?” 

Jennie swats Jinyoung’s chest. “Seriously? In front of Chiron?”

Jinyoung shrugs, “We’re all grown, I’m sure Chiron is aware of- that we… you know,”

Chiron sighs. “I’ve experienced worse with my brothers the Party Ponies. If anything, this is all the more reason to push for expansion. We must ensure the children are not inadvertently exposed to your... daily activities,” he finishes, eliciting laughter from the cabin leaders. 

Jisoo plants her palms on the ping pong table and looks over the blueprints for the Demeter cabin. She bats her lashes at Namjoon. “Any way you can expand our garden, too?”, to which Yeri the satyr joins and uses her puppy eyes on him. 

When Namjoon sighs and acquiesces, Jisoo and Yeri interlock fingers and squeal in excitement.  

“In that case, can I get a pool in my cabin?-”

“Taehyung, shut up.”

Mark steps through and rapidly scans Namjoon’s blueprints before stepping back and nodding. “The Hephaestus cabin can do this in two weeks min and a month max.”

Jungkook dealt with weird emotions each time he crossed paths with Mark, your younger brother. Seeing Mark earnestly step up to lead the Hephaestus cabin, carrying the responsibilities you once shouldered, filled Jungkook with indescribable pride and sorrow.

“Anything we can do to help, then?” Jungkook offers to which Mark nods

“Namjoon and I can organize a list of materials we need for each cabin to gather. But beyond that, it would be best if you all stayed out of our ways, erm- respectfully, of course,” Mark responds. 

Jaehyun laughs at that, throwing a lazy arm around Mark. “I’m so proud of you,” he nuzzles his forehead against the side of Mark’s head, “Our baby is all grown up.”

“Eww, get off me,” Mark responds, lightly nudging Jaehyun away.

-

Later in the day, Jungkook started collecting the materials Mark had instructed the Ares cabin to gather. He ran into the woods to start cutting wood when he senses another presence. 

A monster, maybe, or perhaps a nymph or satyr wandering about. The sound of footsteps rustling through the dry leaves Jungkook further concerned, and he unsheathes his Celestial Bronze knife. “Show yourself.”

You step out from behind a tree in a fresh set of clothes and Jungkook drops his knife. 

He looks at you, and you look at him. 

In an instant, Jungkook's pupils burst into flaming orbs as he draws his sword, swiftly advancing towards you. The sheer disdain etched on his features is unforgettable, and you quickly realize that he likely mistook you for a monster taking on your appearance.

You turn around and run. You sprint towards the camp barriers, screaming for your life before you trip on a rock, sending you sprawling onto the ground, your face meeting the cold, hard earth.

Confusion clouds Jungkook's features as he slows his pursuit. He looks you up and down, uncertainty written across his face as he assesses the situation.

“Jungkook! It’s me! It’s actually me! Stop!” you scream, desperately trying to make him recognize you. 

He assumes a defensive stance, but his voice quivers. “Y/N?”

“Jungkook,” you respond breathlessly, “I can explain. Did Rosie tell you guys about the Physician’s Cure?”

Jungkook comes to a sudden halt. "I... just..." His brain malfunctions, leaving him at a loss for words in your presence. 

He pulls himself together. “I’m going to arrest you and take you to the Big House… just in case.”

You appear a little stunned but you nod, reaching into your magic toolbelt to pull out handcuffs, grinning at him a little when you toss them to him. 

-

News of your return spread through the camp like a wildfire. Jungkook guides you to the Big House while a crowd of people formed around him

His heart insists that it’s you, and his soul is screaming at him that it’s you, but after all this time he refuses to believe it. 

-

Camp Half-Blood achieved a new milestone by hosting the highest number of meetings in a single day: 2. 

The ping pong table has been folded and moved to the side, leaving a single chair in the empty space for you- or a monster pretending to be you.

All the cabin leaders sprinted to the Big House once they heard the news.

Taehyung and Namjoon, sweaty from sprinting from the pegasi stables, stand in the doorway to catch a glimpse of you.

Taehyung instantly falls to his knees and Namjoon drops the notebook in his hand.

The seas of people part at the sound of Chiron’s hooves, whose face morphed into exasperation at your appearance. “My gods, it can’t be. Y/N?”

You smile shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind your air before waving with your fingers, “Hi?”

Jennie peeked from behind Chiron, gasping, and she tried to run towards you until Chiron stuck his arm out to stop her.

Jaehyun stepped forward with a bow strung on his arrow, ready to fire at any moment. “Explain,” he seethes.

“Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, combing through your hair with your fingers, “What a warm welcome.”

A horn blows throughout the camp, signaling the arrival of the Roman demigods, who were alerted of the news immediately after Jungkook made the announcement. 

Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood established a teleportation portal between the two camps, allowing instant and seamless communication.

Rose passed through the crowd, gasping when her eyes landed on you. Ignoring Chiron’s warnings, she ran to you, her hands falling on your shoulders.

“The Physician’s Cure?” she asks, breathless.

You nod, and she embraces you tightly, tears streaming down her face. “Fuck, Y/N. It fucking worked It’s a miracle.”

“Rose Park,” Mina’s voice echoes throughout the building, and she assumes an offensive stance with her Imperial Gold spatha. “You’ll be under arrest for treason if you don’t explain what’s going on.”

You rise abruptly, shielding Rose with your body. “I’ll explain. I am Y/N L/N, and it’s true that I died, but I was brought back to life with the Physician’s Cure.”

“On the ship, after Jungkook and I returned from Tartarus,” you begin, your eyes flickering towards Jungkook, “Rose and I began developing the Physician's Cure, an injection that can bring anybody back to life. It was formulated by Asclepius, son of Apollo and the god of medicine.”

Rose nods sternly. “I’d been researching the Physician’s Cure for years,” she adds, “Y/N was the only one I trusted with its formula, and we did it. I thought we had failed, but Gods, it worked.”

You vigorously nod. “And I had this idea- this idea that I had to be the one to kill Gaia. To storm or fire the world shall fall,” you state, recalling the prophecy,  “I’m fire. It had to be me. So Rosie and I devised a plan to kill Gaia for good. And I knew the risks, I knew I could die-  but when Rosie told me about the Physician’s Cure I knew I had to do it. It was a sign from the fates. I had to get rid of Gaia by burning her to death, and the only way I could do it was burning myself to death. We would fly Gaia away from her home court, burn her to death, and Pulchra would bring me back with the Physician's Cure.”

Jungkook’s features twist in pain, in betrayal. “So it wasn’t an accident? You planned on dying without telling us?” 

His attention turns towards Rose. “And you knew?” he seethes, “This whole time, all this pain could have been avoided-“

“I thought she was dead!” Rose responds, “You were so depressed I didn’t want to give you any false hope! That injection had a 10% chance of working- I didn’t know!”

“So you knew Y/N was going to die and did nothing about it,” Taehyung seethes.

“It was my choice,” you interject, “It was for the mission. Gaia is gone and that means it was a success.”

Jungkook scoffs. “To storm or fire the world shall fall,” he recites the prophecy. “Storm would have sufficed. Mingyu and I had a plan, Y/N. We could have avoided all this.”

“But Mingyu would have died!” You respond.

“I wouldn’t have!” Mingyu interjects, “With all due respect, my body could have taken it,” He puts a hand on his heart to convey his sincerity. “You should have told us. Can you imagine how Jungkook and I felt when you fucking died in front of us? And we couldn’t do anything about it?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I? Why does it matter?”

Mingyu looks at you with an especially crestfallen expression and your stomach plummets. You shift your gaze to Jungkook and he looks arguably worse, eyes turning red as he stares at the ground, shaking his head in disbelief.

Chiron steps in the middle to intervene. “That’s enough, everybody. Let Y/N finish her story. Where have you been the past two years?”

Your face falls and your knees buckle. “T-two years? What?”

Rosie hooks her arm through yours. “It’s been two years. Take a minute to process everything.” She leads you to your seat, and you inhale so deeply your chest hurts.

Two years? It was just yesterday that you incinerated Gaia.

“I-I woke up on an island,” you explain, “I don’t know where exactly I was, but it was somewhere in the Indian ocean. I made some tweaks to Pulchra’s GPS system and flew back here as fast as I could.”

Jungkook nods bitterly, tears streaming down his face as he addresses you. “Yea Y/N, it’s been two years- two fucking years. We’re not teenagers anymore, we’re adults and we take responsibility for our actions,” he bitterly states.

“Kook, I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

“Did you know that we spent six months looking for you? Traveled every sea, walked every country to find you, even though the Hades kids confirmed your death?” Jungkook adds, voice quivering. “So this information would have been nice to know when were on that ship for six fucking months,” he seethes, redirecting his attention to Rose.

“Don’t blame her,” you interject, “She was in a tough position, she couldn’t have-“

“Oh don’t worry, inferno princess, I blame you too. I must’ve meant shit to you if you were planning on dying without telling me. Did everything…” he trails off, gazing at you with such profound betrayal, “Did everything mean nothing to you?”

You shake your head, unable to conjure a proper response. “I-I thought I’d only be gone for a few hours Kook- I didn’t know-”

“And if the Physician’s Cure didn’t work?” Jungkook asks, staring at you incredulously, “Rose herself said it had a 90% failure rate, so if it didn’t work, you would have just died and expected me to live with myself? To live without you?” The pain in his chest is nearly unbearable, and sadness envelopes your entire being.

“I’m sorry,” is all you say.

“Sorry? Sorry? So that night when we- when you- with the candles, did you know? Did you know you were going to die?” Jungkook asks.

Your face falls, and Jungkook bitterly scoffs at that. “What you did wasn’t heroic, Y/N. What you did was cruel. You’re- you’re crueler than the gods.” And with that, he bitterly stomps away, the crowd parting for his exit.

Chiron clears his throat, walking towards the middle of the room before he announces “Campers under the age of 20, you are dismissed. Return to your daily activities immediately.”

You gaze at your trembling hands, struggling to comprehend everything, when Namjoon engulfs you in the most intense hug he's ever given. In his embrace, you crumble and break into tears.

“Gods Y/N, I’m just- I’m glad you’re back.”

You embrace him with the same intensity, crying into his shoulders. 

You refuse to let Namjoon go until you’re ripped from him from the hem of your shirt and pulled into Taehyung’s embrace. He’s crying harder than you, body trembling as he holds you and at that moment, you would do anything to ease his anxiety and calm the tremors coursing through his body. You sniffle, rubbing his back up and down with your palms, and the only thing you can say to him is that you’re sorry.

Mingyu is up next, and as pissed off as he was, he holds you tight and cries into your shoulder. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he says and all you do is cry.

Mina, dropping her Spatha, rushes towards you, throwing herself into your arms. She buries her face in your hair, letting out guttural cries 

For hours, you and your childhood friends stay in the Big House, crying, hugging, and catching up.

-

That night at dinner, you reconvene with your siblings in the Hephaestus cabin, who ardently welcome you home with a toast to your father. 

Mark, your younger brother who is now the head of the Hephaestus cabin, receives the biggest hug the moment you spot him. He laughs and returns the hug with equal enthusiasm, saying, "So, does this mean I don’t have to be head counselor anymore?"

You shoot him a playful glare. “Don’t even. You’ve been doing so well. I’m proud of you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to help.”

“Of course, sis,” he adds, “It’s water under the bridge- you did save the world anyway,” he shrugs. 

During dinner, your gaze involuntarily wanders towards the Ares table, and Jungkook is noticeably absent.

The thought of what you did to Jungkook makes you sick to your stomach. Back then, your focus was solely on the quest, and you didn't want him to intervene because you believed the mission had to take precedence. 

The mission carried immense stress, and you had to devise a strategy to eliminate Gaia. The fate of the world hung in the balance, dependent on your actions. Your friends would've intervened if they knew, and Gaia might have fully come back to life.

Everything he said was true. You were selfish. You knew you were going to die and you pretended like everything was okay because you desperately clung onto that sense of normalcy you had with him.

You were selfish, and you were a coward. 

While dying for a noble cause sounds heroic- Jungkook was right, you were selfish. You would rather die than deal with the grief of losing your friends. 

-

Nobody says anything about your encounter with Jungkook, until Jaehyun approaches you after dinner.

As you walk back to the Hephaestus cabin, he scares the shit out of you when he appears from the shadows, “So, Jungkook? Were you guys like …?”

You’re a little taken aback, but you can’t help but notice the crestfallen expression on Jaehyun’s face and all you can do is nod. “He’s it for me. It’s him or nothing,” you respond.

Jaehyun tightens his lips and gives a nod. "I- well- alright. If you ever change your mind... just let me know," he says with an awkward smile. He offers to walk you back to your cabin, and you oblige to catch up with him. 

Walking past the Ares cabin, you can’t help but notice two figures convening by its side, one on their tiptoes to kiss the other. You tilt your head and momentarily pause.

“Wait Y/N- we should just go back-“

Your heart drops when you realize it’s Jungkook and a girl, a girl you definitely don't recognize. She’s got her hands on his cheeks, her thumbs rubbing his skin soothingly, and he can’t seem to take his eyes off her as they speak to each other.

You shake your head, immediately backing away before you stumble and fall onto Jaehyun. He catches you, gaze immediately sweeping over your face. You collect yourself and wipe the dust from your clothes. 

"It-it's fine," you say, but tears are already streaming down your face. You sprint back to your cabin before Jaehyun can say anything.

-

That night, you can’t sleep. You and your younger brother Mark spend the entire night in the main room of the Hephaestus cabin, poring over a blueprint of a prototype he's working on for the new 18+ Hephaestus cabin.

"Obviously, I'm not sticking to Namjoon's blueprints for our cabin," Mark declares, as if it's the most evident statement, “Since you and I are the only 18+ kids in our cabin, we’re gonna make that shit the best building Camp Half-Blood’s ever seen!” he expresses with a twinkle in his eye.

You smile at his enthusiasm as you scan over his blueprints. “Jacuzzi tub for every bunk?” you express, “I like how you think little brother.”

For hours, you and Mark review blueprints, constructing the best cabin to ever be built.

-

The next morning, you and Mark look like death, but you insist on heading to breakfast anyway.

Your expression darkens as you catch sight of Jungkook and his girlfriend walking towards the dining hall. Mark instantly notices the shift in your mood and attempts to divert your attention by sharing another idea he had for the cabin.

Throughout the night, you had confided in your brother about the details of your past relationship with Jungkook, and now he fills you in on the information he gathered about Jungkook's new girlfriend.

A descendant of the Roman Apollo, Sofia traveled all the way to Camp Half-Blood to visit Jungkook.

In Jungkook's eyes, Sofia became a symbol of unwavering support, a pillar of unconditional devotion, and Mark’s verbiage makes you feel infinitely worse, considering that you disappeared after three weeks of dating Jungkook. 

You know, maybe you weren’t so in the wrong. Ironically, considering he has moved on, perhaps you weren't as significant to him as you thought, not enough for him to hold on for two years.

Instead, you direct your attention to Mark’s plans for magical laundry chutes throughout the new Hephaestus cabin.

Taehyung and Namjoon join you for breakfast at the Hephaestus table, eagerly spilling everything they’ve accomplished the past two years.

Namjoon is now Chief Architect for Mount Olympus, and Taehyung discovered an underwater Camp Half-Blood for mermen. Mina and Mingyu join later and you immerse yourself in conversation, learning that Mina and Mingyu are the Praetors for the Roman Legion.

You smile at everybody, eagerly chatting and listening along, perceiving exactly how much you missed the past two years, as happy as you are for your friends, you’re heartbroken by the realization of your prolonged absence. 

You’re pulled from your trance when Mina makes a damning statement. “Rose is on probation. She’s going to be put on trial for treason against the Legion and conspiring for your death.”

You freeze. 

“What?”

Mina sighs. “I’m sorry Y/N, but that’s the law. I can’t bend rules because she’s my friend.”

The tension at the table is palpable, and you stare at Mingyu and Mina with a tenacious reflection in your eyes.

“Where is she?” you ask, adrenaline surging through your veins.

Mina and Mingyu exchange glances, imploring the other to answer the question. “She’s in a jail cell back in Camp Jupiter,” Mingyu finally answers.

You gasp, abruptly rising to your feet before Taehyung grabs your hand to stop you from going anywhere. “Y/N, sit,” he says through gritted teeth.

As you stand, eyes searching for answers, you catch Taehyung's grip on your hand and the subtle shake of Namjoon's head.  You glance around and notice the curious and concerned gazes of fellow demigods in the dining hall. Innocent children, still unaware of the haunting reality of being a demigod.

These are the demigods you once swore to protect. You can't afford to disrupt the fragile peace that binds them together, even if your heart screams for justice.

Feeling the weight of the collective gaze, you reluctantly sink back into your seat. The metal chair feels cold against your skin, mirroring the chill that has settled in your heart.

Immediately after breakfast, the head counselors for every cabin meet at the Big House for yet another meeting. You’re back in the middle of the room, all eyes on you as you implore your friends to stick up for Rose. 

"You can't go through with this," you express with exasperation, directing your gaze at Mina and Mingyu.

Mina dismissively shakes her head, her expression resolute. "It's not just about you," she emphasizes, "Well, it is but it's also about the principles we stand for in this camp. Trust, transparency, and accountability are crucial, especially when lives are at stake. Rose's actions have raised questions about the very foundations of our community."

The weight of Mina's words hangs in the air, and you can sense the gravity of the situation settling in the room.

“Killing Gaia my way was the only way, and I can prove it,” you counter. “Rose did the right thing. She saved the world.”

Mark, your little brother, steps forward and places a comforting shoulder on the small of your back.

“Jungkook is right,” Mina adds, “We were on a quest for six months to find you. She should have said something, but she didn't. She committed a crime against the Roman Legion."

At the mention of Jungkook's name, your gaze shifts toward him. He's leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, eyes trained downward.

You shake your head. “The Physician’s Cure was a prototype. We both knew that it probably wouldn’t work. What’s the point of bringing it up? To turn the six month quest into a year long quest? You have to understand her-“

Jaehyun grimaces, biting his lip, immediately speaking up. “Y/N, you don’t get it. After you died, it was rough. Really rough. Rose is in the wrong. She should have said something. She alone could have provided us more clarity, more closure.”

"And this isn't just about you; it's about the entire quest, the well-being of everyone involved,” Namjoon adds, his expression grave. “Hiding the details of your death is a serious offense in the eyes of both gods and mortals.”

You pause. “I get it. I really do, but what was she supposed to do? Would she have gone to jail for ‘conspiring in my death’ if she said anything? The reason we planned it out without telling you guys was because we knew you would stop me. The quest takes precedence. We had to put the quest first. And that’s what we did.”

Jisoo intervenes. “Y/N has a point. If Rosie mentioned the Physician’s Cure, would that have made a difference? It would have just left us with uncertainty, and we would have gone in circles around the world clinging on to hope. Isn’t it good that we moved forward?”

The room stills at Jisoo’s comment, silently acknowledging the validity of her point.

Ignorance is bliss, and Rose left both camps blissfully ignorant, free to move forward with the closure that they exhausted all efforts to find you.  

You venture to ask something at that moment. “If I told you guys what I was planning… would you have stopped me?” You finally ask, eyes flickering to the demigods present on the quest.

Mina shakes her head almost immediately. “I wouldn’t have. You’re right Y/N. The quest takes precedence and the prophecy clearly states  ‘To storm or fire the world must fall’.”

“I would have,” Taehyung states. “100%, and I wouldn't do anything differently if it happened today.”

“I-“ you look around, “I can prove why it had to be fire and not storm. Mingyu, your plan would have never worked in the sense that there would have been too much collateral damage.”

Mingyu tilts his head at your comment, and you whip out a white board marker, approaching the white board on the wall.

“Do you know how hot I burned to incinerate Gaia?” you ask everyone, and everybody’s eyes follow you- even Jungkook’s, listening and watching intently.

In bright red letters, you write 1,200-2,000 degrees Fahrenheit.

“That’s how hot lava burns,” you explain, pausing before you write another figure on the board. 

10,000 degrees Fahrenheit.

“I burned at 10,000 degrees when I finally incinerated Gaia,” you state, and everybody looks dumbfounded at the number, unable to comprehend how hot 10,000 degrees actually is. “That’s as hot as the surface of the sun. At 10,000 degrees, matter does not exist, atoms do not exist- it simply implodes.”

The next thing you write on the board is 

Saffir Sampson Hurricane Wind Scale. 

Pointing to it, you explain, “This is how we measure intensity of storms. It rates hurricanes from Category 1 to Category 5 based on wind speeds. The deadliest hurricane on this scale was Hurricane Mitch in 1998, with wind speeds exceeding 155 miles per hour,” you explain, writing 155 MPH on the board. 

Everyone appears to be aware of the direction you're heading, yet you still need to articulate it to drive your point home.

“Hurricane Mitch resulted in 11,000 to 19,000 fatalities, and I’m not even talking about injuries or displacement. So imagine the devastation of a storm with an intensity equivalent to 10,000 degrees Fahrenheit!”

Namjoon tilts his head, rising. “I get what you’re saying but that argument won’t hold up in court. Conversion metrics between temperature and speed don’t exist in Science- but hypothetically, a storm strong enough to kill Gaia would also kill a lot of people in its wake.”

You nod vigorously. “So Rose, by keeping a secret, killed Gaia and potentially saved the lives of thousands! Beyond that, you’re free to question her moral integrity, but it wouldn’t make a difference anyways!”

The features of Mingyu, the man who is responsible for stirring this hypothetical storm, morph into deep contemplation. “You’re free to argue that in court, Y/N. Our job is to uphold Roman law. I’m sorry.”

-

Your testimony for Rose in court reveals to be successful. The charges are dropped against Rose, and she is reinstated as the Official Healer for the Roman Legion.

However, Rose’s acquittal fails to supersede the animosity, hatred, and damage that have infiltrated the once-unbreakable bond among the seven demigods who triumphed over the Earth mother Gaia. 

While the evil primordial goddess was physically dead, she successfully sowed her seeds of disdain within your group of friends. 

The tension between Rose, Mina and Mingyu is more palpable than ever. How can a friendship be repaired after your best friends send you to jail?  Rose refuses to talk to Mina and you can’t blame her. Nor can you blame Mina and Mingyu. You understand the rigidity of the role of Praetor, and Mina and Mingyu were simply fulfilling their duty.  

At the same time, Jungkook still refuses to acknowledge your existence. If he sees you, he turns the opposite direction, not batting a lash at you. 

The hurt in his eyes and the bitterness in his actions show how horribly he feels betrayed, and it makes you sick to your stomach. Despite Namjoon and Taehyung's assurances that he'll eventually come around, your intuition tells you that Jungkook's actions aren’t a choice he’s making willingly, but rather a burden too heavy for him to bear.  

The bonds that once held your group together are now strained with secrets, regrets, and the harsh realities of the decisions you made.

You can’t even fathom how or if your friendships will ever be repaired. The wounds go deep, leaving scars that aren't just physical – they're emotional and psychological, ingrained in the very essence of your shared history.

-

It’s only three months after your miraculous return that Jungkook speaks to you. 

By this time, the construction of the 18+ cabins were complete, meaning that all demigods over the age of 18 were given their own quarters separate from their little siblings. 

Jungwon, a thirteen year old kid from the Ares cabin, established his name amongst Camp Half-Blood as the next best swordsman after Jungkook, of course. 

Last month, he ventured on a quest now dubbed the Quest to the City Stuck in Time. Eldritch Haven, a quaint city in Maine, became seemingly stuck in time. The Oracle only called for a 13 year old Jungwon, calling him to eradicate the threat of the Lamented Souls- vengeful spirits ensnaring the city in a temporal web.

As requested by Chiron, you forged Jungwon a brand new Celestial Bronze blade called Kataklysmós, or Cataclysm, the forthbringer of destruction. 

Armed with the freshly crafted blade, you secure it in its sheath and make your way to the Ares cabins. Of course, Jungwon resides in the cabin for minors, so you politely knock on the door to present him with his newly forged blade. 

The door knob turns and to your surprise, Jungkook greets you. 

He gazes at you, his expression devoid of any emotion, and his eyes pass from your face to the sword held in your hand.

“Come in.” 

You abhor how he addresses you with such formality.

You follow Jungkook to the living room within the cabin, gingerly taking a seat on the leather sofa before Jungwon pops out from the adjacent room. He greets you with a firm and brief handshake before sitting on the couch in front of you. 

Jungkook looms behind his younger brother, arms crossed as he scrutinizes every inch of your face. Gods, as handsome as he was, he also is the most terrifying and intimidating man you’ve ever encountered. 

You clear your throat and unsheathe the blade. “Jungwon, I present you with the Kataklysmós. Henceforth, this blade shall be your weapon of choice on quests and your primary tool against monsters. Your skills were recognized by Chiron, and he prompted me to design and construct the finest sword I’ve ever created.”

Jungwon's eyes gleam as they lock onto the sword, sparkling against the silver reflection of the blade. Anyone could tell that this kid has fallen in love at first sight. 

Honestly, you feel the same. This blade is the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. Kataklysmós is a celestial bronze blade adorned with intricate engravings depicting scenes of Jungwon slicing through the Lamented Souls. Its hilt, crafted from Stygian iron, features a blood-red gemstone at its pommel, a gemstone embedded with divine magic. 

 “Not only does this sword enhance the weapon's slicing capability, it is magically embedded with divine magic. So, long as you form a soul link with your weapon, Kataklysmós will absorb the essence of fallen enemies, temporarily enhancing the wielder's strength and combat prowess.”

A small gasp leaves Jungwon’s lips and  his gaze shifts from the sword to you. “What?” he asks like his breath has been taken away.

“A soul binding link,” you clarify, “You have to form a bond with your weapon for its celestial energy to be channeled,” your eyes flicker towards Jungkook whose features are twisted in a mixture of confusion and curiosity, and his face slightly disorients you so you clear your throat.

“This is new technology. My little brother Mark, Chiron, and I have been working on forging weapons with magical enhancement,” you elaborate.

“Weapons with divine energy from ancient times exist, but creating one has been a significantly challenging process” you continue, looking back at Jungwon, “So I don’t know exactly how you’ll form a soul tie with your blade, but I know you can do it. Chiron chose you to be the first wielder of a magically enhanced weapon for a reason.” You offer Jungwon a sisterly smile, and he appears like a fish, unable to comprehend your words.

“If this is the first weapon, doesn’t Cataclysm run the risk of causing harm to Jungwon?” Jungkook jumps in, question stern and abrupt.

You shake your head, locking eyes with him. “Magical enhancements don’t work that way. It only runs the risk of not working. It can only cause harm to its user if I enchanted it with some evil spell,” you confirm.

“Gonna pull out a whiteboard to explain that too? We have one in the other room,” he shrugs.

You wish there was someone you knew to exchange uncomfortable glances with, because was he cracking a joke after not acknowledging your existence for three months?

“Um-“

“Excuse my brother,” Jungwon intervenes, “It truly is a blessing to be the first candidate chosen to weild an enchanted blade. Thank you, Y/N.”

Observing Jungwon fixedly gazing at you with earnest eyes, you can’t help but think that 13-year old Jungwon is a stark contrast from 13-year old Jungkook. Jungwon is polite, a sweetie pie if you’ve ever seen one. 13-year old Jungkook cursed at Chiron, was a fireball of impulsivity, wreaking havoc everywhere he went.

You smile. “Yea Jungwon. I know you can do it. Congratulations on your last quest.” 

“However, I do need you to keep a log of your progress," you add, retrieving a small notebook from your pocket. "Every day, as you work on forming a soul tie, fill out the form in this book. It's straightforward, covering things like the time you spent practicing with the sword and your thoughts during the process."

Jungwon nods, taking the logbook from you before flipping through it. “Got it, Y/N, and can I find you in the Hephaestus cabin if I have any questions?”

You nod. “Any time.”

With that, Jungwon gives you a final handshake before hurrying off to the dueling arena to practice parries and strikes.

You're on the verge of leaving when Jungkook clasps his arm around your wrist. His touch feels electrifying, and you look up at him.

"Let's talk."

-

Jungkook takes you to the 18+ Ares cabins, where so far, he is the only resident. The cabin looks different from how you constructed it, littered with his own personal Jungkook touch.

A sleek flat screen TV sits in the front of the room of the TV, a leather black couch you don’t recognize is littered with Hello Kitty plushies, probably from his girlfriend. The thought makes you nauseous.

You sit on the leather couch, watching as Jungkook whisks towards the kitchen to fill up a glass of water before handing it to you.

He sits next to you, his hands resting on his thighs. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he states, and you’re a bit taken aback.

“Do you.. do you know what my fatal flaw is?” he continues, addressing you directly, not looking away even when you fail to meet his eyes.

Despite the years of separation, the answer is clear to you. With Jungkook, it was painfully obvious, and you caught on immediately during your adventures in Tartarus. 

“Yea,” you respond, “Love. Your fatal flaw is love.”

He nods, seemingly a bit taken aback before releasing a relieved laughter. “Of course.” He smiles cheekily to himself, a wave of nostalgia seemingly crashing over him. 

“That’s why..” Jungkook trails off, “That’s why I was so sensitive to… to your death,” he finishes. “I led the quest for six months around the world, and when we couldn’t find you, I left Camp Half-Blood for a year.”

You nod. You heard from the others what had occurred during your absence, but hearing it from Jungkook still makes your stomach drop. “I’m sorry Jungkook-“

“No,” he cuts you off, “I get it. You were right. Mine and Mingyu’s plan would have never worked. In the end, it was my fault,” He looks forward, a gleam of despondence reflective in his eyes, “I couldn’t protect you. It was my weakness that forced you to do something so dire, and you paid the price with your life.”

“This whole thing,” Jungkook continues, “This whole thing is a mess. The more I think about it, we were so young. Why did we have to go through all that?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“If you told me about your plan, I would have gone ballistic,” he describes, face twisting with emotion, “And- and if Rosie told me what actually happened, gods, I would have destroyed Apollo’s shrine with my bare hands.” 

“So maybe you were right to hide it from me. It sucks to say it, but our relationship was a small price to pay for saving the world, and as demigods we have to bear that burden.”

Your hands still, and this impulsive little demon living inside you is screaming tell him you love him, tell him you want him! Instead, you shakily exhale, blinking tears from your eyes. 

Usually, when you cry, Jungkook wipes your tears or counsels you with his embrace.

  This time he does nothing.

“We were kids,” he concurs, “The gods put us in this situation. You did your best, Y/N. Thank you for serving diligently.”

Unknowingly, your hands grasp onto the Hello Kitty plushie by your side, mistaking it for a pillow to hold. When you realize what you're clutching, you quickly set it down. “Sorry. That’s from... your—your—“

“My girlfriend?” Jungkook finishes, “My girlfriend…” he trails off, “Do you think I would even be speaking to you if I still had a girlfriend?”

You blink at him. “Did you guys.. break up?” You don’t realize you're holding your breath until you sigh in relief at his response.

“Yea,” he agrees. “Sofia’s a good girl. She needs someone who can love her, take care of her. I guess a kid of Ares isn’t that guy. She said I was too emotionally unavailable and found some other guy in Camp Jupiter.” He shrugs it off.

You’re a bit taken aback by that. Sofia seemed so enamored with Jungkook; you can’t fathom that she was the one to break it off.

Jungkook bitterly laughs. “The gods fucked us up so bad no one in our generation will ever get married.”

You know Jungkook is doing his Jungkook thing by coping with humor, but you can’t bring yourself to laugh along. Looking down with despondency at the Hello Kitty plushie, a sad “Yea,” is all you’re able to conjure.

As you both stare at the Hello Kitty plushy, Jungkook breaks the somber atmosphere with a casual tone. "So Y/N, friends?" he asks, a small smile playing on his lips. "It sucks to not talk to you—I mean, I still use this stupid knife all the time," he says, pointing to the Celestial Bronze knife you crafted for him all those years ago.

You smile, nodding at Jungkook. “Yea,” you concur, “Friends.”

-

Rebuilding your friendship with Jungkook was a lovely experience. You loved him and wanted him in any way, and if that was to be platonic, you would take it.

Countless hours were spent in the 18+ Poseidon cabin, immersed in the cool waters of Taehyung’s pool. Jungkook joined you in the forge, learning how to craft magically embedded weapons, and for an Ares kid, he wasn’t so horrible at it. As counselors for your cabins, you both emerged as pillars and leaders for the young demigods, echoing the very positions you once occupied years ago.

Neither of you dared to cross the boundary between friendship and love, and maybe it was better that way. It was too painful to love. There was too much at risk.

At 23, Jungkook embarks on a one-year journey to Camp Jupiter, assuming the role of Assistant Commander for the Roman Legion. A Greek in the Roman Legion was almost unheard of, but Jungkook who was highly respected for everything he accomplished, seized an unprecedented opportunity. 

At 24, you find yourself presented with the opportunity to work in your father Hephaestus's forge for a year. Immediately, you accept it and bid goodbye to your friends in Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood. 

And at age 25, you return to Earth, reuniting with Jungkook at Camp Jupiter for a meeting- a meeting of seemingly great importance, considering that the most powerful demigods have been summoned to gather.

-

25 years old

As Namjoon, Taehyung, Jungkook, and you meander around the grounds of New Rome, you explore the coffee shops, savoring the thrill of the bustling city and immersing yourselves in the rich tapestry of its culture.

You’re standing by a statue of your father in his Roman form Vulcan, posing with Namjoon for the photo while Jungkook snaps a shot. 

You skip over to Jungkook, looking over his shoulder to view the photo before you’re tackled to the ground. 

“Y/N! You bitch!” Rose, daughter of Apollo, is on top of you, holding her Imperial Gold dagger to your neck. She’s fuming, her face scrunched in hatred, and you already know what this is about. 

Jungkook, Namjoon, and Taehyung aren’t sure if they should intervene; perhaps this was the cute new way you girls greeted each other (?)

Namjoon intervenes only when Rose starts drawing blood from your neck, and somehow, Rose has acquired monstrous strength, as she doesn't budge an inch when. Instead, she elbows him in the crotch and Namjoon falls to the floor with a thud. 

Apollo: 1. Athena: 0.

“Y/N, you fucked my dad?!” Rose seethes, threatening to push the dagger further into your neck.

“Get off!” You employ your feet to push her away from your body and start wiping the blood from your neck.

Romantic entanglements between gods and demigods weren't uncommon. In various stories from Greek mythology, gods were known for their pursuits of mortal beings, including demigods. Quite frankly, the gods didn’t care that demigods were children of the other gods- they really had no decency. Anyone was free game. 

“I did not fuck your dad!” you enunciate, “He came after me. I turned him down every time.”

“You liar!” She hisses, and suddenly she eerily resembles Lamia- the same demon who tried to kill you multiple times- before she pounces after you. Before you can comprehend it, you’re sprinting away. 

Thank the gods Taehyung, your knight in shining armor, restrains Rose, locking her wrists behind her back. “Gods Rose, it’s not Y/N’s fault your dad is a slut,” Taehyung murmurs, looking up and raising his brows in amusement. 

Rose quite literally growls at that, trying to release herself from Taehyung’s grip, and honestly you’re scared she’s going to kill you. 

“Y/N, I swear to the gods- if you fucked my dad, I’m going to murder you,” she hisses, fuming from her ears. 

“I did not fuck your dad! Are you insane?!” 

“Taehyung, let me go!” Rose screams, “I’m not going to do anything, just let me go!” She screeches. Taehyung obliges and she falls on her face. 

Her chest rises up and down while she catches her breath. She looks up at you,  murderous intent still in her eyes. “Tell me everything that happened.”

-

During your time on Olympus, the god Apollo approached you in the forge multiple times, attempting to coax you into sleeping with him. You weren’t flattered, nor were you offended. It was Apollo being Apollo. 

Under the protection of your father, you were able to pretend that he didn’t exist. Hephaestus soon got fed up and engineered a metal net to put an end to Apollo’s visits. 

That’s how you, Namjoon, Taehyung, Jungkook and Rose end up at a nearby cafe, chowing down on pizza while you retell the story. 

“Why are you blaming me for this?” you deadpan, “In what world would you be blaming me for your dad trying to sleep with me?” 

Rose slams her face on the table, “I had a dream, Y/N. Not a dream, a fucking nightmare. I had a very vivid and repulsive dream of you and my father and I- I- Gods, my daddy issues are so horrible,” she mutters into the metal surface. 

Jungkook places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Yea, me too,” he concurs, blankly staring into the atmosphere. 

Taehyung dismisses the notion with a wave of his hand, “You should’ve known it was a dream and not a vision. My Y/N’s a good girl- she doesn’t do stuff like that.” Teasingly, he inches closer towards you and drapes an arm over your shoulder.  

Your features twist in disgust and you whack him in the head with a rolled up newspaper. 

Jungkook shrugs, "Y/N is beautiful. We all know that. It was bound to happen eventually," he takes a sip from his iced coffee, so nonchalant, like he doesn’t know how you desperately cling on to his every word, dying a little inside at his little compliment.

Namjoon side-eyes you. 

Rose scoffs, glaring at Jungkook, “My father. My father tried to fuck my best friend. That wasn’t just bound to happen.”

Taehyung grins, “Y/N kissed your brother and then fucked your dad. Are you sure she’s your best friend?” he muses, so blatantly trying to trigger another cat fight between you and Rose. 

Instead, you both frown deeply at him. 

“So are you going to apologize to me for elbowing me in the balls or-” 

“Gods Namjoon, I’m sorry. I was in the wrong. Blah, blah, blah,”

While Taehyung, Namjoon, and Rose bicker amongst each other Jungkook turns towards you, pointing to his neck, prompting you to look down at yours. “Want me to bandage it for you?” he mouths, to which you shake your head.

Rose didn’t cut you that deep. A sip of ambrosia would do the trick. 

“You sure?” he mouths. 

You nod. “It’s all good.”

-

The Senate House is home to important gatherings, crucial decisions, and the collective wisdom of the Roman demigods who shape the destiny of New Rome.

As you enter, you can feel the palpable tension in the air, making it seem colder than the rest of New Rome.

Jennie, daughter of Hades, stands at the podium, her stunning features clouded with pure exhaustion. She looks like a walking corpse with her cheekbones caved in and a gray shadow casting over her face. The aura she exudes is so dark that you can feel its weight from meters away. 

She locks eyes with you but quickly averts her gaze, beads of cold sweat forming on her forehead. She begins trembling intensely, and Mina, daughter of Venus and the Praetor of the Roman Legion, rushes over to hand Jennie a bottle of water. 

In the corner of your eye, you notice Mingyu conversing with another soldier in the Roman Legion. He seems taller and more muscular, his usual playful demeanor crushed under the weight of a serious expression on his face. He oddly resembles Atlas, a titan forced to hold the weight of the sky, and it sends chills down your body. 

Timidly, you take a seat in the audience and wait for the meeting to be called into order. 

Mina and Mingyu step in front of the podium. "Senators and esteemed demigods of Rome and Greece, your immediate attention is required. We gather here not in routine matters, but in the face of an unprecedented and dire threat. Our very existence is under siege, and the safety of our camp hangs in the balance,” Mina begins

“I beseech you, lend me your ears and hearts, for what I am about to reveal is of utmost gravity. Recent developments have uncovered a menace that surpasses any we have faced before. The threads of fate are unraveling, and the forces that threaten us are ancient, powerful, and malevolent,” Mingyu continues before glancing at Jennie. 

With a gulp, she addresses the assembly through the microphone. “Hades, my father, has lost his reign over the Underworld. The primordial god Tartarus has plunged the Underworld into chaos and is plotting to ascend to the surface, aiming to annihilate both demigods and gods.”

Her gaze shifts towards you and Jungkook. "He has somehow taken control of my body, sending me vivid and disturbing dreams. He's furious and demands a sacrifice – a sacrifice of the demigods who once intruded into Tartarus six years ago. If we don't comply, he threatens to rise to Earth through the surface of Camp Jupiter, annihilating Camp Jupiter completely upon his return."

-

thanks for reading this far :) if u want then check out the

author’s note

[dabislittlemouse]

*:･｡ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ｡･:*

[Dabi/Shigaraki fanfiction]

Alright so I decided to make a recs post even though I got my tag #B.recs. Still, I feel like there are many talented writers out there who don’t always get much recognition and they deserve all the appreciation and support as well. So I decided to make a post, including my mutuals here as well uwu. Here are some of my favorite masterpieces that they’ve written and that have been stuck in my memory <3 I’ve read thousands of Dabi fics and it would take me a long time to put them all here (if I can even find them). But here are just a couple of them that I highly recommend reading :3

This post will be edited constantly, I will keep adding more fics in here and more writers eventually.

Heinous- MASTERLIST @mostlyheinous

Overheated (Implied Virgin!Dabi x Amateur Hero!Reader)

Dampened Spirits (NSFW Dabi x Reader drabble)

Oedipex Rex (Older Brother Touya //Little Sister F!Reader, multich)

Dabi x Shoto’s girlfriend (noncon)

Dirty perverted ShigaDabi with corruption kink

Dabi noncon drabble

Dabi’s first kiss

Shade- MASTERLIST @shadowsandshapes

Fortune Favors The Bold (Dabi/Reader multichapter fic)

Smoke and Vanilla (Dabi/F!Reader)

[Spicy] Dude, This is a McDonald's | (afab!Reader/Dabi)

[Spicy] You, Me, The Couch and Him (Dabi/F!Reader)

In Too Deep (Blue) | afab!Reader/Gojo Satoru

Opal- MASTERLIST @mossy-opal

Burning Desire (Dabi x Reader)

Succubus (Shigaraki x Reader)

To Lay Above (Incubus!Dabi x Reader)

Date Night (Shigaraki x Reader)

Not Yours Anymore (Shigaraki x Reader)

Chaos- MASTERLIST @shockinglysubmissive

The Video (Shigaraki/Dabi/OC)

Sensual sex (Dabi x reader)

Corruption (Dabi x Reader)

The Bet (Fem Reader x Shigaraki x Dabi x Mr. Compress x Spinner x Twice)

Beanie- MASTERLIST @dabislittlebeaniebaby

Things Happen (Dabi x Reader)

Like Morphine (Dabi x Reader)

Taming the brat

Fucking Perfect

Whipped Cream Dreams

Kay- MASTERLIST @hunajan

Bully (Dabi x Reader multichapter fic)

Rude Boy (Dabi x F!Reader SMUT)

Don’t do the crime (Dabi x F!Reader SMUT)

Camera (Dabi x F!Reader SMUT)

Dabi & Hawks HCs (you threaten them to sit on their face)

A- MATSERLIST @dabihawksluva

Teach me

Yandere Dabi headcanons

First time with Dabi

Ride me baby (Dabi x GN! Reader)

Monalisa (Dabi x GN! Reader)

@arvandus MASTERLIST

Touch (Dabi x Reader multichapter fic)

Dabi x Reader with a singing quirk

“You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.”

Dabi with a virgin reader HCs

Works by @ikatella

Russian Roulette (Dabi x Reader noncon, gunfucking)

Spades (pt2 of Russian Roulette)

The Cards We’re Dealt (Dabi x Reader noncon, kidnapping, possessive Dabi)

.

.

[redstarwriting]

potential hobie x goth!reader

was dying to read an enemies to lovers hobie x reader, and then i remembered i write LMAO. here’s a little snippet of the beginning of an enemies to lovers hobie x goth!reader ;) lemme know if anyone would actually be interested in this

The punk lifestyle is that of beliefs and hopes. The world can be changed. Anarchy can be accomplished, it’s not just a dream.

The goth lifestyle is that of cynicism and despair. Nothing changes, definitely not the world. Anarchy can never be accomplished, the selfish nature of humans assures that.

IT’S NO LONGER POTENTIAL!!! HERE’S THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THE CLASH! MASTERLIST TO COME! i. hey, ho! let’s go!

In theory, the two of you should have been great friends. Best friends, even. He’s called Spider-Punk, and you’re called Spider-Goth, this alone made Miguel assume the two of you would get along better than all of the Peters. Unfortunately for Miguel, he was dead wrong. It was fine at first, a good introduction. “Spider-Punk, meet Spider-Goth,” Miguel says, motioning to the two of you. You simultaneously turn your heads towards him, “Don’t call me that.” You look at each other, seemingly sizing each other up after speaking the same words at the same time. “Fine. Hobie, meet (Y/n). (Y/n), meet Hobie,” Miguel says as Peter B. Parker hops next to him, excited to see the two of you interact. Hobie clicks his tongue. “Goth, eh?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem with you or something?”

“Feisty for a goth.”

“Insitgative as all punks are.”

“...I don’t suppose there’s no reason we shouldn’t get along,” Hobie suggests, raising an eyebrow at you. “I agree. We probably think similar things… for the most part.”

“For the most part, huh?”

“Just that we have similar ideas, but most likely not the same,” you respond and he crosses his arms, his guitar moving loosely behind his back. “Opinions on anarchy. Go.”

“It’s the ideal society—”

“Good start—”

“But completely unrealistic.”

“Excuse me?” Hobie looks at you with a glowering expression. “Humans are inherently assholes. Selfish, shitty, assholes. As amazing as it would be to have anarchy running rampant,” you shrug, “It’s unlikely it will ever happen.”

“You can’t actually believe that,” Hobie says, exasperated, “I mean you actually think that we can’t achieve it? You get enough people angry and they rebel, they push for anarchy. I’ve seen it happen, I’ve led a rebellion.” You roll your eyes. “And do you live in a perfect anarchical society now?”

“Not yet, but we’re getting there,” he clenches his teeth and you sigh. “I admire your blatant idiocy disguised as an ambitious dream,” you say and he huffs. “Would you just talk like a normal fucking person and stop using these dumbass words and shitty poetic language?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, or are you as deaf as your ideologies?” This time you scoff. “I don’t have the time to be berated by someone who lives in their own delusions to try and feel the slightest bit less angry at the world for giving him the shitty cards he was dealt.”

“And I don’t have time to listen to the rubbish ramblings of a miserable twat who digs desperately into their black hole of a heart to try and feel something when the truth is they don’t even know what they stand for,” he fires back. You glare at him. He glares at you. As if on cue you both flip each other off before you web away. Peter’s voice cuts through the silence. 

“Well, that went horribly!”

[simonsrosebud]

@queenofcrazy27 Some high school Jack Young excerpts!!

(AFTER MOVING INTO TEMPORARY FOSTER CARE)

Jack stayed home while Ryan and Lindsay took the twins and Drew to the park. The thought of talking with them while the kids weren’t around was exhausting, he’d been avoiding having to do so for the past two weeks.

Instead, he put earbuds in and grabbed his stick. Ryan had a lacrosse rebounder in the backyard from when Katie used to play, though Jack didn’t think he mentioned her playing in college. Why waste the money on something so big?

And why choose lacrosse over exy?

With his music blasting it was impossible to hear a car pull into the driveway, or someone shouting Anyone home? through the front door.

If he’d turn away from the rebounder he’d see a tall brunette watching through the kitchen window. She slid the back door open and leaned against the door frame.

When Katie was told that her parents had gotten a foster placement, she assumed it would be a kid. Singular, and under the age of eight. She wasn’t expecting three kids to drop in. And she surely didn’t think she’d ever share a wall with a seventeen year old boy.

Jack slammed his ball into the rebounder until he lost control of it, and threw his stick down as he turned. He wanted to go home. Where there was no rebounder, no father figure in the household, and no social worker invading his life and personal space. He didn’t want to say that he regretted his decisions, but that was before he was basically forced to do it. How was he supposed to know how his mother was doing without being there? He didn’t trust other people to help her get better.

Jack jumped at the movement in the corner of his eye. He ripped his ear buds out. “Who are you?”

She stood a little straighter but didn’t uncross her arms. “Katie. I’m Ryan and Lindsay’s daughter.” They’d told Jack and his siblings about their daughter, but he thought she wasn’t coming home until the winter. “Who are you?”

“Jack,” he said. Jack picked up his stick and put his ear buds back in, and scooped up another ball. He lodged it at the rebounder and jumped to catch it, then spun from the force of it and shot the ball again. He caught it and let it drop to the ground. Before he could pick up another he just barely heard Katie speak.

He took one ear bud out. “What?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You play at school?” He pursed his lips and nodded. “Cool. Wanna order food? I’m hungry.”

Jack glanced between her and the rebounder. “Is that allowed?”

She turned back to him where she had a hand on the door handle. “Is what allowed?”

Katie frowned to herself on the way inside. “Ordering food? Yeah?”

Jack sighed and followed her inside.

For the week that Katie was home, she made it her mission to befriend Jack. She didn’t have much else to do.

Jack didn’t take a liking to her until the third day she was home. He couldn’t sleep in the too quiet house in his too nice room. He wanted his bed at home.

So he tried sneaking out. And as quiet as he was, Jack still got caught.

Katie was in the kitchen on her laptop as he snuck down the stairs, and stood when he headed for the door. “What are you doing?”

Jack jumped and froze with his hand on the handle. He thought about it for a second, and decided he didn’t care to lie. “Going home for the night.”

She walked slowly towards him. “I’m guessing you’re not allowed to do that if you’re sneaking out… Poorly, might I add.”

He scoffed. “Whatever.” He yanked the door open and left.

Katie went after him. “Jack, it’ll take you forever like that!” She stood in front of him and held onto his bike handles before he could climb on.

“Move.”

“No. You’re gonna get yourself hurt.”

“Leave me alone.”

“No,” she grunted as he tried moving out of her way. “You’re gonna get in trouble, you’re gonna get your mom in trouble!”

He stopped at that and leveled her with a stare. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Yes I do. Hello, who do you think their first foster kid was?”

Jack froze, surprised and suddenly more interested in what she was saying. “What?”

“I was only a baby, and got adopted a year later, but my birth mom killed herself when I was a baby and my dad just couldn’t provide for us, so he did some illegal stuff that got him locked up instead. He gave up his parental rights so I could have a normal life. It’s what your mom’s doing in a way, letting you guys stay here and be normal until she can get back on track.” She dropped her arms. Please don’t run.

Jack pulled his lips to a thin line. As inspiring as some may have thought, he wasn’t moved by her speech. He swung a leg over his bike and let it fall to the ground. He took a step towards the house, then swiveled around and pointed a finger at her. “We are not the same- You don’t know shit about me and my family. Don’t pretend that you do,” he said, and stomped back into the house- this time with no attempt at being silent.

(MOVING BACK HOME)

Jack was excited to move back home, but when they did he had a few realizations. The first, was that he felt like he was babysitting his mother, which she did not like. She was stable and steady, but he’d spent too long playing grown up that he didn’t trust her anymore. As much as he wanted to have faith in her, he kept thinking ‘what if’?

He kept worrying she’d forget to pick the kids up at school. Every time he saw her sitting on the couch his mind went right to the worry that she was depressed again, or that she’d lost motivation. When he was at Exy he wondered what was for dinner and then wondered if she made something- if she even remembered that Tristan was allergic to bananas. For the first few weeks he double checked that his siblings had snacks in their bags for school.

Secondly, he hated their house.

It wasn’t any different than when he left, only a little more cluttered. What was different was that he suddenly couldn’t stand his mother coming in and out of his room to use the washing machine. He wasn’t used to the creak of the floors upstairs anymore, nevermind the laundry, and hated that he barely had any privacy. He missed the roof outside his window at Ryan and Lindsay’s, and having Katie next door when she was home for breaks. He missed being able to lock the door during the day when he was in a mood and the big backyard with the rebounder, and that Ryan was good at math and helped him with his work.

He missed not worrying about his siblings schedules and if they had everything they needed. Their car was left with his mother, since it was in her name, but Jack missed knowing he’d have a ride home from his Exy games because Ryan went to every one.

He wanted so badly to be normal. To have a normal family again and a father figure who cared, a mother figure who never had him worrying. He didn’t even realize how much he did worry about stuff until CPS forced him into Ryan and Lindsay’s home in the first place.

The third realization he had was that his relationship with his mother was practically ruined.

The love was there. The care was there. But Jack caught himself being irritated and annoyed with her more than he cared to admit. She was awkward around him because she was trying to make things up, or he was awkward around her because they both knew he was the one who called CPS. And on top of it all, after having a period of normalcy a part of him hated her and his father for robbing him of that, despite knowing that it wasn’t her fault she had a mental disorder. Just like it wasn’t either of their faults that his dad was a dick.

It didn’t take him long to recognize this, but when he did he hid out in his room for the most part. It took him two weeks of being home to take a different route home from Exy practice.

Lindsay opened the door with surprise and took a step outside to hug the sweaty athlete. “How are you, sweetheart?” She pulled away with her hands on his shoulders. “How's being home?”

He caught himself smiling, but not because of her questions. It just felt normal, being there. He hated himself for preferring it.

“It’s alright. Kinda weird.”

She nodded and opened the door wider to follow him inside. “Can’t imagine. Does your mom like her job?”

He followed her into the kitchen where she was prepping dinner. “Did you have foster kids before us?”

She turned. She wasn’t quite frowning, but there was a pull between her eyebrows. “One other before you guys. Why?”

Something about the way Jack stood in her kitchen made her guide him to sit at the table. She sat across from him. “Jack,” she said softly. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing bad, it’s just…” He put his face in his hands and huffed. “I fucked up everything, it feels so weird living there, now.”

“Why, honey?” She moved to sit beside him instead and put a hand on his back. “Jackson, look at me.” It took him a second, but he eventually pulled his head up and looked at her. “You did nothing wrong. You kept your siblings safe, and as a result your mom got healthy again. What feels weird about living there?”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “I don’t… It was just easier here. I feel like I’m always worrying if she’s gonna fuck up again or go down the rabbit hole. I love her, but just being around her knowing she fucked up so bad makes me… like… angry, or something.”

She hummed. “Is your therapist still covered by insurance?” He nodded. “Will you start going again, then?” He opened his mouth to argue. “I know, but these are things she can answer and help you with. I’m not gonna tell you this whole back and forth transition is easy, it’ll probably suck for a bit, but you have people at your back. Me and Ryan are always close by, too. Don’t think just ‘cause you don’t live here anymore means we don’t care about you guys. I love you like my own, no matter how much you absolutely reek.”

Jack laughed a little and jostled her shoulder with a hey.

“Use us, please, Jack. Mom needs babysitters, someone needs a ride somewhere, or you just wanna come over and hang, whatever.” She gave hum a pointed look. “Okay?”

Feeling better, his lips quirked up. “Kay,” he mumbled. He watched her stand and let her shake his head and kiss the top of it. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“What is it?”

“Chicken kabobs, mashed potatoes and corn.”

“Do I still have to set the table if I technically don’t live here?” Lindsay laughed. “I’m technically a guest.”

“Uh, yeah, no. Go shower first, I’ll even leave the table empty just for you.”

He nearly hopped over the bannister jogging up the stairs, and took them two at a time until he reached the top. Katie’s door was cracked open, so it was easy for him to shove his way inside and jump on her bed, jolting her phone from her hand. “Ew! Get the fuck off, you smell like death!”

Jack rolled on top of her, to which she screamed under her blanket and faked gagging noises. He sat up after enough torture and stood. “Miss me? When do you go to school?”

Katie glared at him. “Two weeks. It boggles my mind how early you guys start Exy.”

“Just summer sessions. Tryouts are next week, then we’ll start scrimmages and stuff for real.”

She hummed. “Have you heard from any schools yet?” Jack’s smile faltered just enough for her to notice. “We’ll figure it out.” She shot him the least pitying smile she could manage and watched him walk down the hall to the bathroom.

The next time Katie asked about college scouts and Exy recruiters, it was when she was home for winter break. Except then it wasn’t because she had faith in these big fancy schools, but because she was waiting desperately for a call from David Wymack. Not to her, but to Jack.

David Wymack was the coach of the Palmetto State University Foxes, a Class 1 Exy team that hadn’t deserved the title until this year. Dead last every season since they were formed because the coach recruited athletes who had no chance of going anywhere else. It wasn’t the fate she necessarily saw for Jack, but considering the schools that had come to watch him pulled out because he needed a full ride they couldn’t offer.

With Kevin Day and this new Neil Josten on the line, though, the Foxes had been the talk of the Exy world all season. Katie didn’t know enough about Exy and couldn’t follow a game other than if the ball was going in the right way, but she knew this much: Kevin Day was the best of the Exy world, Jack had the background to qualify as one of these Foxes, and David Wymack was looking for strikers.

[multifariousqueer]

Don’t be late pt.2

GO READ PT.1 IF YOU HAVENT

A/n: Ahhhh I hope y’all enjoy this as much as I did. Lmk if I should write something else. As always, keep requesting

Warnings: none, miles being nervous, spoilers ig, your dad being a dad

So what was his marvelous plan? He was just gonna swing by his house, web his jacket and shorts, and swing over as fast as he could; the issue with this plan? He would’ve been 3 minutes late and he couldn’t take that. He could text you but your words rang through his head like a bell:

“don’t. be. late."

It was the one thing you asked of him and he couldn’t even do that. Reveal his identity? He didn’t even tell his own parents, let alone yours; forget it. Maybe just go to your window, web the clothes, change on the fire escape, swing down and ring your doorbell? That seemed like the best plan in the moment. So, Miles carried out the act; he was whimsical, quick and still managed to make it the only issue? He was a minute late.

“Where is he?” you mumbled to yourself

Suddenly, you heard a knock at the door and your parents voice:

“Hello, young man. How can I help you?” your parent asked

“Uhm, I am here for, Y/n. We’re dating and I was supposed to meet you” Miles said, nervously.

“Why did I add in the dating part?” Miles questioned in his head

“Oh! Well, hi; I’m Y/n’s mom. Don’t mind (y/d/n dads name), can be a bit mean” your mom answered

“It’s okay. It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Miles” Miles said, his voice still trembling

“Well nice to meet you, Miles! Y/n has told us so much about you, you’re all she talks about” Your mom said

“Mom!” you said

“Hey, Miles. You can set your jacket down in the closet” you said

“Okay” he obliged

Miles began to take off his shoes out of habit when your dad jumped in:

“woah dude, what are you doing?"

“Oh! It’s customary to remove your shoes in my house. It shows you have respect for someones house by not tracking dirt in” Miles informed

“oh. well don’t get too comfortable here, we don’t do that.” Your dad said, sternly

“Yes sir. I’m sorry.” Miles said, feeling embarrassed

“Y/d/n! Don’t be so mean to the boy.” your mom scolded

“He’s the one taking off his shoes and shit.” your dad said.

“Dad!” you started

“It’s okay, y/n. I mean it.” Miles reassured

The rest of the meal and day went well. Miles gave your mom the flowers, he reintroduced himself to your dad and gained a bit of his respect, and he managed to make them both laugh. You thought the meal couldn’t get any better until your dad brought out your favorite game:

“Let’s play Uno"

“Oh yay! I love uno but someone always beats me at it” your mom said looking at you

“Well what can I say? I’m the champ” you said, proudly

“Miles, are you good at Uno?” your dad asked, patting him on the neck

“yeah I’m pretty okay at it. Y/n always beats me tho” he replied with a smirk

“Hey maybe we can team up on her” your dad laughed

“Hey! No fair!” you laughed

“you know we’re kidding, y/n” your mom said before gesturing to Miles and your dad to team up

The cards were dealt and before you knew it, you had been down to your last two cards. Just when you thought you were about to sweep and win again, Miles puts down a +4 which you prepared for but what you weren’t expecting was for your mom and dad to put one down going back to miles who whispered an “I’m sorry” to you and put down another +4.

Your heart dropped in horror; you know were forced to pick up 20 cards. You stared in disbelief while Miles smirked and your parents picked up the cards and slid them over to you. You slammed your hand on the cards and slowly dragged them over to you.

“Hijo de puta” you cursed under your breath

“Hey don’t curse because you got +20’d” Miles laughed with a smug smile

As your entire family was laughing at you, Miles froze. You knew this look all too well because this was the look he gets when his senses go off. You looked in his eyes and followed his gaze to a man in a full black attire with spots, staring at you. Your breath hitched and your family took notice

“Is everything alright, y/n?"

“Mhm” you said, your mouth becoming dry

“I have to go. I am so sorry, something came up with my parents” Miles said

“Oh okay! It was nice having you, feel free to come by anytime” Your mom said as Miles rushed outside, stripping on the way

“What was his deal?” your dad asked

“His parents needed him for something” you lied

“They couldn’t wait until I showed him my rare coin collection?” your dad chuckled

All you could do was laugh and smile at your dad.

“Oh look! It’s spider-man!” your mom exclaimed

You snapped your head in that direction, earning a crack from your neck and you saw Miles getting rocked while the man in black escaped into a portal. You texted Miles:

You: Is everything alright?

Miles: notreally

You: Can I help?

Miles: nosorry

Miles: I’m gonna be gone for a while. This guy is bigger than I thought. In case I don’t come back, Mami; I had a great time and I love you

You: Miles don’t say that you’re gonna come back

You: You always do

You: Miles?

seen

[dilfsfordinner]

a/n- yeah, i’m still not over the leaks

——————————————————————————

“-it funny. Just the idea of Annabeth trying to sit quietly and draw all day,” you spoke into the quiet atmosphere of your bedroom, a queasy Megumi nuzzled into the valley of your chest, little sniffles coming from him as you read a chapter from one of his favorite books.

A heavy comforter was thrown atop your bodies, his body supplying more than enough heat on its own, but the doctor said warmer was better anyway, especially when cold sweats would pelt his form simultaneously. “Athena expects her children to create things, not just tear them dow-”

“I thought Athena was the war one,” came a scratchy voice to your right, the usual teasing tone Gojo used with you gone from his arsenal, replaced by the signature rasps of a sore throat. Looking up from your book, you turned to look upon your very sick lover, his blue eyes red and shot from fatigue, slow blinks indicating he was genuinely awaiting your answer.

A sympathetic smile pulled at your lips as you just nodded and pulled him closer, his soft hair tickling the skin of your neck as he rested the back of his head against your shoulder, his long form sinking down the bed, hip just below your hip, side to your side.

“Then why would she like architects,” he mumbled, eyes closing to get his much-needed rest, relaxation melting his limbs before a jab was dealt to his side, ribs aching from a tiny elbow, its little bone just sharp enough to knock a cough out of him.

“Listen,” came Megumi’s irritated response, the boy clearly too tired to put up with your lover’s antics, huffing as he nestled back into the comfort of your arms, which used his back as a makeshift table, holding the book up once more to continue reading.

Stifling a laugh at the scowl you knew was gracing Gojo’s features at the moment, you read to your makeshift patients, trying your best to mediate between them and keep the peace whenever a petty argument rose.

…

“… I am Thalia,’ the girl said, ‘Daughter of Zeus’”.

Closing the book with a contented sigh, you peeked down to find Megumi sleeping soundly, his pale face finally gaining a flush of color after days of palidity. Combing his hair away from his forehead, you tested his temperature with the back of your hand, your hope for his recovery short-lived as his skin felt as scalding as ever.

“Fuck,” you whispered, worry for the little boy lying on top of you building as you imagined how bad he must feel and the fact that you couldn’t cure him on your own.

“He’ll be okay,” came that scratchy voice again, a warm hand rubbing smooth circles on your thigh, Gojo sensing your racing thoughts of desperation, could tell from your shift in mood alone that you were scared Megumi’s sickness could possibly get even worse.

“I promise,” he added, his own fingers carding through Megumi’s silky hair this time, the two of you watching the young boy, his uneven inhales slightly evening out at the feeling of his “father’s” touch.

The sight had the worry sitting in your chest dissipating, if only for a moment, and you relaxed back against the headboard, nodding to acknowledge that you trusted him, trusted that he wouldn’t let anything happen to Megumi.

“Besides, we’re unkillable, love” he somehow purred, rough voice aside. An incredulous scoff bubbled out of you at his comment, shaking your head in disbelief at Gojo’s pure nonchalance, his own laugh slipping from his lips. Once again, Satoru Gojo knew exactly what to say to push buttons, the only difference being that it was an adult elbow jamming into his side this time.

——————————————————————————

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Losing Hand

William Tell x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 8: Cockwarming

Summary: William tries to teach you to appreciate poker.

Warnings: cockwarming, p in v sex, cream pie, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1052

You shift a little on William’s lap. 

The deep press of his long, thick cock inside you is distracting you more than you want to let on. Not that William can’t tell. Even if he couldn’t feel every time you clench around him he’d be able to read you like a well-worn paperback. 

He doesn’t say anything though. 

Just lets you move and readjust. You notice the slight hitch in his breathing, the small bob of his throat. But they are minute. Hardly reactions at all. 

You sigh and look at your cards, trying to remember what William has been teaching you about poker. The worst card game in your opinion. And by worst you meant boring. TV and films always made it seem like it was full of royal flushes and straights, but really it was two of a kind. If you were lucky. 

“It’s all about playing the other players, not about the game.” He had said, with a small smile. Though he had at least agreed that poker wasn’t his preferred way to gamble. 

“I’d rather play an interesting game.” You’d grumbled.

You had known you’d been in trouble the second the words left your mouth and a wicked gleam flickered on in William’s eyes.

“Oh,” he smiled widely. “I’m sure we can make it interesting.”

Which is how you found yourself here. Your chest pressed against his, resting your chin on his shoulder, your thighs either side of his. 

You hold your cards behind his back, so only you can see. William does the same with his own. 

The position makes dealing a little difficult, but William’s promised that he’ll play fair and won’t look at what you’re dealt as he passes them over his shoulder to you. And you know that for William, a promise is a promise. 

After around ten minutes you noticed he loosened the top few buttons of his shirt. He was completely dressed, having just undone his fly. While you’d opted to take off your trousers and underwear. 

The cards you had were shit. Unhelpful in practically any card game you could think of. You sighed as you stared at them, trying to decide on what you wanted to do. 

You shift again, stretching your left leg. 

“Comfortable?” William growls in your ear, his voice low and dark. You feel his dick twitch inside of you. 

Somehow you manage to suppress a giggle and nod. “Yeah, you?” 

He grumbles something unintelligible. 

You pause for a moment, the realisation suddenly dawning that perhaps your current position was more frustrating to William than it was to you. Mr Oh So Calm and Collected. 

Sure, you were split open and knew that your slick was running down his balls and soaking into his trousers. But, at least you were able to keep some level of control. 

You pause and wiggle ever so slightly, not enough for him to really call you out on it.

But he groans. A small, low sound that you wouldn’t have caught if you hadn’t been listening for it. 

You stop moving. Leave it for a second before you start up again. This time you contract your walls, clamping down on him and-

“Fuck.” He hisses, grabbing hold of your hips and burying his face into your neck. 

“William, what are you doing?” You tease. “We’re playing poker?” 

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” He mutters into your skin. His fingers press firmly against you, bedding the cards in his hand.

“I don’t know what you mean?” You said innocently as you clench around him again. 

He lets out a small moan, his heartbeat thundering in his chest. He mouths at your neck, scraping his teeth over your skin before he bites down softly. 

You let out a small gasp of surprise, your walls fluttering around him again. 

And William loses it. He stares up at you through his long lashes and rocks you back and forth, his hands bruising on your hips. 

Pleasure flares up your spine as he finally moves. That deep ache that had been festering even since you both started the stupid game explodes into full on need as the tip of his cock brushes against that wonderful spot inside. 

You bite your lip, trying to swallow your moans as you grip hold of his shoulders and move with him. Taking over the angle and tempo so that your clit grinds against him deliciously. 

He buries his head into your chest, mouthing at your breast through the material of your top. You let him for a moment, let him hide his face as he nears his peak. He’s too on edge to hold himself back for long. 

Gently, but with a force you know he needs, you slide your hand under his jaw and push his chin back until he’s looking up at you, his neck taut and exposed. 

His brows furrowed together as he tries to fend off his impending orgasm. Quickly, he lets go of your hip with his right hand and presses his thumb between your bodies, adding extra pressure on your clit. He doesn’t circle it but pinches it lightly with an alternating force that makes you gasp and squirm on his lap as he looks up at you with drunken lust. 

“Fuck, come on baby, please,” he murmurs between grunted breaths, “please, need to feel you squeeze my cock, need to feel you cum on me.”

You grind down on him, desperately chasing your high as he kisses you messily, groaning out fragments of sentences between breaths. “So wet for me, need you so bad, need you to-”

You whine into his mouth as your orgasm crests, pleasure rushing over you as he hits impossibly deep. Pressing into the very heart of you. 

William groans a fraction of a second later, his dick throbbing as you clamp down on him. He spills deep inside, his hips rutting to fuck his spend further. 

He holds you tightly as you both breathe heavily, sweat cooling on your bodies. He kisses your shoulder, nuzzling into you as you rest against him. 

“I quite like poker actually, if all games end like that.” You mumble sleepily. 

William chuckles and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “All our poker games can end this way if you’d like.” 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading! (Using a different tag list for kinktober so I don't overwhelm anyone.)

@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @campingwiththecharmings @minigirl87 @whatthefishh

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[happybird16]

Gojo x reader but not necessarily romantic. Silly fast food themed fluff but also i'm a little bit evil.

"What did you just say?" you ask incredulously, unable to hide your surprise at Satoru's admission.

The two of you are on your way back from a mission, the thrill of the battle still lingering in the air. Satoru had handled it himself with his usual confidence, while you had watched, impressed by his skill. You walk along a bustling sidewalk, the aroma of fast-food restaurants wafting through the air. Satoru, engrossed in his flip phone, has casually dropped a bombshell, and you can't ignore his words.

Satoru's head jerks up, his striking blue eyes meeting yours, confusion evident in his expression. "What? McDonald's? I've never had it," he replies, his tone laced with nonchalance as he emphasizes his words with an uneven shrug. He then returns to typing on his phone, a smirk playing on his lips. You can almost picture him boasting to Geto about how swiftly he dealt with the spirit.

"How is that even possible?" you exclaim, unable to comprehend the idea. "Everyone’s had McDonald's. The stores are everywhere; it's kind of unavoidable, even if the food is garbage." You playfully elbow him in the side, a mischievous smirk on your lips. "What, is it too cheap for your fancy rich-boy palate?"

"Nah," Gojo chuckles, elbowing you back in a playful manner. The two of you continue walking, navigating the busy Tokyo streets toward the train station. "Wasn't allowed to eat any of that stuff growing up."

"Really?" you inquire, memories of the delicious meals your childhood friend's mothers used to prepare flooding your mind. Satoru’s shoulders stiffen, his grip on his phone tightening involuntarily. You realize he wasn't allowed to have friends either. "Uh, forget I asked."

He looks away, his gaze fixed on the distant skyline. "They had me on a specific diet," he confesses quietly. "Even as a kid."

Despite his confident demeanor, it's easy to forget how little agency Satoru had over his own life. The realization makes you sad, something cold filling your chest. "You never wanted to try anything else? Ice cream? KFC?"

“Not really,” Satoru shrugs unevenly, though you sense he’s not being entirely truthful. “Sometimes I could convince the chef to make something sweet for me. I’ve had ice cream; she would make that occasionally if I asked.” His lips stretch into a forced smile, but beneath the surface, there’s a hint of profound sadness, casting a shadow over his features.

"Yeah, but that's not the same as ice cream from a truck. Or a milkshake. It's about the experience.” Suddenly, an idea strikes you, and you grasp Satoru’s bicep tightly, determination in your eyes. "Hey, come on, I just had an idea!"

"Wha- hey," Satoru squawks in surprise as you tug him behind you, trying to keep pace. "Where are we going?" he asks, his curiosity piqued.

You shoot Satoru an enthusiastic grin, your mind racing with excitement. “We’re going to fix this McDonald’s-shaped gap in your life experience!” you declare, leading him back along the sidewalk. Pulling out your phone, you quickly shoot out a couple of texts as you rush along the sidewalk. “Plus, it's getting late and I'm starving!”

“I don't know-” Satoru starts to protest half heartedly. He's a lot larger and stronger than you, you know for a fact that he could resist your pull or break your grip if he was really against it, but he doesn't. There's excitement blooming in his features, his smile wide and genuine.

“Come on, I'm paying. You can get whatever sounds interesting.” You see him start to protest again. “I don't think mommy and daddy will be happy seeing the charge on their credit card.”

“Fair point,” Satoru concedes. “Fine, but I'm paying you back somehow.”

You laugh, enjoying his playful banter. “Deal! Maybe you can repay me with some special training sessions,” you suggest with a teasing glint in your eyes. Satoru raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your proposition.

As you step inside McDonald's, the inviting aroma of fast food fills the air. Satoru looks around, his expression one of confusion, as if the entire place is completely foreign to him. Following your lead, he joins you in the rather large line forming along the front of the store, his curiosity piqued by the menu.

"You're definitely going to want a burger. And some fries. I'll let you have some of my chicken nuggets," you suggest, guiding him through the menu choices. His enthusiasm grows as he places an order for a variety of items.

Since it's busy, it takes a little while to get your order once it's placed. The two of you find an empty booth along the back of the store, trying to fit comfortably. It's almost comical how poorly Satoru fits in the booth, his knees banging against the bottom of the table.

"Hey guys," Shoko greets you coolly, sliding into the booth next to you and promptly picking at the fries before you can even have one.

"You guys got here fast," you reply, a hint of amusement in your tone.

"You say that as if the two of you didn't both text us to come," Geto replies, sliding in on Satoru’s side with a playful grin.

"Such a momentous occasion deserves an audience," you reply with a smirk, the shared laughter and camaraderie filling the small corner of the bustling restaurant. “Now the whole class is here!”

Satoru grins, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he awkwardly settles into the cramped booth, making room for Geto to fit better. The table is cluttered with an array of fast-food delights, from burgers and fries to chicken nuggets and shakes. Despite the limited space, there’s an air of camaraderie as you all dig into the feast.

“Aren’t you guys going to order too?” Satoru asks, his mouth full of fries, his eyes widening almost comically after the first bite. “Oh my god, that’s good.”

Geto snorts loudly, burying his face in his hand, trying to contain his laughter.

“Did you think all of this was for the two of you?” Shoko smirks, teasingly raising an eyebrow.

“They texted me their orders. Why do you think I ordered four milkshakes?” you chime in, a playful glint in your eyes.

Satoru pouts, although the effect is stifled by the fact that he’s still chewing on a mouthful of fries. “So I could try a bunch of flavors?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try our drinks no matter what,” Geto remarks, struggling to keep a straight face as he watches Satoru’s excitement.

Shoko, sitting next to you, smirks playfully. “So, Gojo, what’s the verdict? Enjoying your first McDonald’s experience?”

Satoru takes a triumphant bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully before grinning widely. “I have to admit, it’s not bad at all. These nuggets are surprisingly addictive,” he says, his enthusiasm contagious.

Geto chuckles, raising an eyebrow. “I never thought I’d see the day when Satoru Gojo indulges in fast food. Truly, a historic moment. I’m taking you to KFC next.”

Satoru nods distractedly, his eyes lighting up with delight as he sucks down his Oreo milkshake with fervor, clearly lost in the bliss of the moment. He looks like a small child, thriving on nothing but greasy food, sugar, and attention. “I think I've died a second time,” he quips between sips, a playful glint in his eyes.

You all share a laugh, the atmosphere remaining light and easygoing despite the passage of time. The evening stretches on, filled with laughter, stories, and the clinking of soda cups, creating memories that will stay with you long after the night is over.

“I’m surprised you guys came,” you comment much later, your voice laced with gratitude. Except for some of the fries, the food has pretty much been finished, and the table is bare but for wrappers and cups at this point. Satoru is still working on the remains of Geto’s milkshake, having already finished off yours and Shoko’s. The sun is low, casting a warm orange glow through the windows. The store is mostly empty now, and the initial energy and excitement have faded. “You two always seem so busy lately.”

"It is our final year," Shoko replies, her voice gentle yet weary. You notice the bags under her eyes have grown larger since the last time you saw her. "Though, to be honest, I mostly came because he's probably going to regret this in a couple of hours, and I want to be there to laugh at him."

The loud, airy straw-sucking abruptly cuts to silence. "Huh?" Satoru asks, his confusion evident.

Shoko replies flatly, "You're probably going to shit yourself later."

"Nuh-uh!" Satoru protests loudly, and the two of them engage in a playful squabble, their banter filling the air.

Concerned, you turn your attention to Geto. He’s seemed off lately, distracted, and it takes a couple kicks to his leg to gain his attention. "Don't you have a big mission tomorrow morning? In a village a couple of hours away?" you inquire, your worry palpable in your voice.

"Yeah," he admits, offering a tired smile while absentmindedly scratching the back of his head. "I should probably already be in bed, but..." He pauses thoughtfully, his gaze shifting among the group. "...this is worth it."

"Yeah," you hum in agreement, feeling a deep sense of camaraderie with your friends. These moments remind you of the profound bond you share, forged through battles and shared experiences. As you continue to chat and enjoy the remnants of your meal, you can't help but revel in the profound sense of contentment that washes over you. Surrounded by friends, indulging in a simple pleasure like fast food, you savor the moment, cherishing the genuine connections that make life's challenges easier to bear.

You never want this to end.

[margowritesthings]

What’s Mine Is Mine

pairing: lh!Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 1159

warnings: possessive Arthur, spit kink, low honour Arthur, shameless filth, very suggestive, mentions of sex

moodboard

a/n: i simply Cannot Write Drabbles... thank you so much @elifsukirdaghehe for the spit kink request and anon for the low honour Arthur request! I hope this lives up to your expectations! This is very heavily inspired by this bc its one of the hottest things ive ever seen lol

also click the link at the end for a wonderful surprise and say thank you to @cowboydisaster

tagging: @cowboydisaster @cassidylynnj

“I do believe these belong to me…” Arthur quips, a cheeky grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulls the pile of chips towards him. A relatively old guy with a fantastically twisted handlebar moustache throws his cards down, cursing as he walks away from the table empty handed. A low chuckle reaches your ears when you squeeze Arthur’s shoulder, proudly standing behind him while his winning streak continues.

“Baby, we’re in the money!” He smugly exclaims, completely ignoring the grumbles of his fellow players. You roll your eyes playfully, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. The action gives your outlaw a pretty fantastic view of your chest, if only for a brief moment, but of course he catches it. The envious eyes of every other man at the table follow you back up to a standing position.

“I’m gonna grab a drink. You want a whiskey?”

“Thanks, darlin’.”

You catch the coin that is expertly flipped through the air, winking a silent thanks to Arthur and swaying your hips just a little more than usual when you strut to the bar. You know all eyes are on you, as does Arthur, and you know how crazy and possessive that drives him, usually culminating in mind-blowing sex that sends you dumb to everything but screaming his name. He loves knowing how much everyone wants you, knowing that he’s the only one who will ever have you. 

It’s only a few strides to the bar, the next hand in Arthur’s game already being dealt by the time you lean one hip against the wood. 

“What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ with a dog like that, huh?”

The unpleasant feeling settles in your stomach almost instantly as the worst kind of booze breath reaches your senses. Rolling your eyes, your gaze falls to the origin: a man, probably in his 30’s, with a clean shaven face and a suit that didn’t quite fit right. He isn’t completely unfortunate looking, you’d have to give him that, but the invisible layer of slime coating him from head to toe is enough to send women running for miles. That, you’re sure of.

Glancing back to the table, you see Arthur engrossed in the game. Maybe it’s the devil on your shoulder, or the promise of the kind of fucking that can only be fuelled by the fiercest jealousy, but you subconsciously decide what simply has to be done. The buzz of four drink and the electricity in the air only found in a packed saloon of an evening spurs you on, dragging your fluttering eyes back to the stranger and plastering a sickly sweet grin to your plump lips. 

“Why, you reckon you could show me a better time, cowboy?” Your drawl is sickening, but it does the job as a flash of false hope ignites the man’s features. 

You place your elbow on the cool bar, sliding down to place some of your weight on it. Naturally, your chest never rises and falls so dramatically with each seductive breath, but you can smell a free drink a mile away, and this one is much closer than that.

“Oh, don’t you know it, baby, I-I could show you the time of your life.” He’s nervous, clearly not used to making it this far without having a drink thrown over him.

What’s more, Arthur has noticed, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds with the most delicious frown on his face. You can practically hear the territorial growls being ripped from the depths of his throat, low and gravely and vibrating your very being.

The bartender finally arrives, glancing awkwardly between yourself and the other man, not knowing who was there first and who to serve. Luckily for him, and for your grand plan, your slimy admirer speaks up.

“I’ll have a beer. And whatever the lady likes.” He gestures to you, all bravado and ego as he places two coins onto the countertop. 

“Whiskey, please. Neat.”

The bartender nods and turns to get the drinks, leaving you alone to be gawked at.

“Oh, I love a woman who can handle her drink.”

“Really? Do you know something, mister, that is just fascinating.”

Every nerve ending in your body is set aflame as you feel a hand snake around your shoulder, resting just above the hem of your low collar. Arthur’s sarcastic drawl has dropped about three octaves. He’s mad. 

“And who might our new friend be, sweetheart?” His theatrics boom around the room, earning a few sideways glances from curious patrons, most certainly hoping for a bit of evening entertainment. One wrong word from your ‘friend’ might just make their dreams come true.

Standing beside Arthur, the once-hopeful devotee is realising just how large the outlaw is, how his strong arms fill out the sleeves of his duster coat and how one of those sleeves is hemmed with a bloodstain you just couldn’t seem to get out. 

You’re saved from having to introduce your pawn to your king when the bartender places two drinks between the three of you, one beer, one whiskey. 

“Aw, for us? Y’shouldn’t have.” The arm draped over your shoulder wraps tighter, twisting around so that Arthur’s thick fingers cup your jaw and squeeze your cheeks. You’re tucked so close into him that the movement forces your neck to crane up to look right at Arthur. You’re putty in his hands, his dominating stance moulding you to his whim. The action is enough to brand you as completely and utterly his, but it’s Arthur and that just isn’t enough.

He tips his own head back, throwing the whiskey into his mouth in one swift movement. A firmer squeeze on your jaw opens your mouth and you lock eyes with Arthur as the fiery liquid is spat from his mouth into yours. It burns your lips and warms your throat. You feel it all the way from your head to your toes, and you’re not talking about the drink. It takes you a second to catch your breath after you swallow, Arthur’s thumb wiping a little droplet of the spirit off your chin and popping it back into your mouth. You suckle on his thumb, just for a second, letting the rest of the busy saloon melt away. In that moment, it is just the two of you, your plan falling oh so cleverly into place. You’re gazing lovingly, seductively at each other, which Arthur only breaks to turn to the man kind enough to pay for the drink he’d just spat into you.

“Hey, cheers, pal. Real nice of ya’ to treat the lady.” He pats the man just a little too hard on the shoulder, sending him stumbling a few steps. You don’t notice, too entranced by your possessive cowboy to notice anything else. 

“Let’s get you home, missy. Seems I gotta teach you some manners about talkin’ to strangers, huh?”

God, yes.