#we're planning a june wedding

[simple-and-cozy-life]

I think I might have a conversation about getting engaged or at least having the thought of setting aside money for a wedding.

I don't want to rush my love and he can propose when he's ready, but I want to see if he'd be interested sooner than later so I can get some plans in place.

It'll be two years until I finish up with my master, but I am going to be busy and I'm not sure if I can plan a wedding while stressing about school.

I also can wait and see how grad school treats me.

I'd also like the clarity of plans for the future and something to work towards.

It would also be so much easier to explain that we're engaged instead of being in engagement limbo of "we're engaged, just not officially".

I might at least mention something to him when we have a three hour car ride to his extended family this weekend.

Any thoughts, friends?

[sirpeppersto]

love is insane bc why am i getting starry eyed watching him inhale a burger

[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.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA

Would I be the asshole if I pull out of being a bridesmaid for my 'best friend'?

Background: E and I became best friends at 13 and we are both about to turn 43. we've been through a million ups and downs together. She has a crappy family and I became friend, sister, mother, support. In the last 15 years or so she has become a functional alcoholic and I have found it harder and harder to deal with her. I've bailed her out so many times. I've 'loaned' her thousands of dollars that I have no expectation of ever seeing again. I've tried to support her and given her advice when she asked for it (even though I knew she would ignore it) and listened to her problems (for hours and hours as she sucked down wine and got drunker and drunker). When she's not a drunken mess she's an awesome person, kind, funny, caring, generous and soberE was usually worth having to put up with dunkE.

Twice in our friendship we've had fights where it's taken us a long time to get back to speaking terms but there would be a text here and a phone call there, then we'd be back to talking for hours every other day. A year ago we had a huge fight and I decided I just needed to not talk to her for a while. I didn't even feel bad about not talking to her, it was almost a luxury to not sit on the phone and listen to her get progressively drunker as she slurped red wine. I did try the old tested route back to close friendship earlier this year. I would send her some texts when something big was happening or when I came across something I knew she'd like. But I would only get 1 or 2 word texts back. In February there was a major flood in our home town and I was freaking out about my family that still lived there - she was not, I felt like I was more worried about her mother than she was, I know they've got a bad relationship but we're talking a bodies floating around kind of situation. I was making multiple 5 hour mercy dashes with car loads of aid supplies and freaking out seeing these places we spent our childhood just destroyed and texting her about it and getting nothing back. I made a couple more efforts to contact her over the next couple of months but still nothing much back. Around May-June I decided I wasn't going to bother contacting her, I'd talk if she contacted me but I wasn't putting in effort anymore.

In September she sent me a text saying she was getting married in Jan 2025 and would I be one of her bridesmaids. I really didn't want to say yes. But almost 30 years of friendship, I felt guilty turning her down. And it felt like an overture on her part, like she was ready to make an effort. So I said yes and have been regretting it since. We are still not really speaking. We'll like each other's FB posts and that's about it. I mean there's still plenty of time for us to become friends again but I'm pretty much decided that if our relationship hasn't improved by the middle of 2024 I'm going to politely back out. It's going to be a backyard DIY wedding, she won't expect me to be heavily involved in the planning because she lives so far away that I couldn't do much more than turn up for the day and stand up with her. Me pulling out won't leave a hole in the planning so I know I wouldn't be an asshole for that. Where I might be an asshole is I think she would be really sad if I'm not there because I am the closest thing she's got to family, I know her mother and step-father won't be there and it's unlikely her brother will be. But I also kinda don't care because I'm sick of making the effort to be there for her when she's not making any effort for me.

So would I be the asshole if I pulled out of the wedding of my friend of 30 years?

What are these acronyms?

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

PRIDE MONTH PROMPTS 2024

They are here!!

Last year I released them in May, and I asked you when I should release it this year. You agreed I should release it early/mid april. And I think the perfect time is now! You have plenty of time to prepare your things for June!

So, here are 30 prompts, 1 prompt per day, for all of June! Use them for writing, or for art, or why not for something else creative you can come up with?

I will now write all the prompts in the list if it's hard to read, plus some explanations/suggestion what you can do for them.

Day 1. Actually, I'm not straight. Someone kicking off pride month by telling their nearest and dearest that they aren't straight, like everyone seems to think!

Day 2. Surprise! We're dating! A couple comes out to their friends ;)

Day 3. Early signs. Early signs someone was not straight, or not cis. Or both!

Day 4. Gender euphoria. Euphoooooriaaaaa forever to end of time /j Ok no but yeah, someone experiencing gender euphoria :) It's great :)

Day 5. Surprise! We're engaged! Surprise engagement! Did people even know they were dating?

Day 6. Proposal. You can choose to show the proposal for the couple at day 5... or a brand new couple! :D

Day 7. Pride flags. Are they making pride flags? Buying pride flags? Identifying pride flags? So much you can do! :)

Day 8. Prideful baking. A return from last year! Who's baking? Are they doing it with pride? Are they making rainbow cakes? This is also a way to make some ships be cute together as they bake.

Day 9. Wedding. To quote Sam from Glee: "YEAH! COME ON GUYS! GAY MARRIAGE GOOD!"

Day 10. Shenanigans at the Pride Parade. Time to let those characters run wild at the pride parade!

Day 11. Coming out as trans. Pretty self explanatory I think ;)

Day 12. Planning for a child. Two women, two men, maybe a trans couple... any not-cishet couple are planning for a child <3 Are they adopting? IVF? However they're doing it, they're gonna get that child :)

Day 13. Two moms. Two mommies thriving with their kiddos!

Day 14. Are they dating or not? People are speculating the relationship of some people.

Day 15. First crush. Aww, someone's first crush! Have they ever felt this before?

Day 16. Alternate universe. Go crazy with this! This could mean anything from "a universe in which this ship is canon" to "they live in a fantasy world". Do whatever!

Day 17. Realizing they're ace. Self explanatory ;)

Day 18. Two dads. Two daddies on request (Sorry I've watched too much of Papás por encargo (Daddies on request) to not make that joke). They'll do anything for the kids!

Day 19. I thought everyone liked both? What??? They don't?????

Day 20. Fruity sleepover. Anything and everything can happen at a sleepover!

Day 21. Pining. They pine so hard and yet... will their crush ever notice?

Day 22. Secret dating. Or are they as they secret as they think? How much chaos do they end up in to keep this?

Day 23. Dinner. Maybe just a normal dinner in a queer friendgroup. Or maybe someone coming out at dinner. Maybe the first dinner at their partner's house. Or maybe someone's making dinner for their loved one.

Day 24. Confession. Coming out confession? Confession to your crush? Just a confession about your favorite food in the middle of a pride parade? Yeah, you decide!

Day 25. Date. THEY'RE ON A DATE THE BABIES!!! Is it a good date? I hope so!

Day 26. Gender is a construct. Not everything is binary.

Day 27. Queer group meeting. You can toy around with this a lot. A group meeting with closeted gays? A group meeting with every character from your different fandoms that you headcanon as bi that you want to interact in the group meeting for disaster bi's? A group meeting for aces just vibing? Maybe we'll meet a lot of different groups!

Day 28. Accidental coming out. Oops!

Day 29. Alternate time period. You want to play out a little love story but instead they live in the 1950s? Or maybe they live in the future! Maybe they live in the medieval times! Woah!

Day 30. Growing old together. Look at them now. Who knew they'd find each other in the world and now they're here?

I hope I'm gonna see some of you in pride month! It's always a pleasure! Also, when the time comes in June, and you want to use one of these prompts, don't forget to tag me ;)

[thisfrailheart]

prompt: date | june 18 | word count: 470 | @jegulus-microfic

***

Eyes still closed, James pats the bed in search of his phone. He just wants to sleep a little longer please but the blasted thing keeps ringing. Barely managing to open one eye, he squints at the screen, unable to decipher a name even with his glasses on. Why am I wearing my glasses in bed?

He swipes multiple times but only manages to answer on the third try.

"Hello?," he croaks with a horribly dry mouth.

"Hello James." And oh, James takes everything back. He takes it back because he'd wake up for that voice any day.

"Hi, love," he says and smiles as he relaxes back into the pillows.

"James, do you know today's date, by any chance?"

It's a bit of a weird topic this early in the morning, he thinks, but he blinks his eyes open anyway. Tries to read the tiny numbers on his phone. "The…20th?"

"Yes, the 20th. Does that ring any bells?" And Regulus sounds amused, but there's something else there, too. Something that has James scrambling to sit up in a panic.

He pushes himself into an upright position and his whole body screams. The room spins and his stomach lurches. Once the merry-go-round feeling has stopped, Sirius' and Remus' spare room comes into focus around him. Why on earth-

"Shit!"

The stag do yesterday. The dinner today. He hears Regulus chuckle on the other end as he leaps out of bed. Turns on the spot two times because he doesn't even know what to do. "I'm so, so sorry, baby. How late am I?"

"Not late yet. You've got another hour. Make sure my idiot brother and the rest of your marauding friends make it on time?"

James takes a deep breath, panic subsiding just a bit. "Yeah. Yes! I absolutely will!" He sighs. "I'm sorry, love."

"We're fine, James. That's why we planned it like this, remember? Just go and get ready. I'll see you at the restaurant."

James doesn't really remember the stressful planning sessions months and months ago, barely remembers his own name right now, but it seems they'd been smart about it. He listens to Regulus' voice and a deep calm settles over him. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Now go get dressed, please, or you're actually going to be late." James can hear the smile through the phone.

"Oh, and James?"

"Yes, love?"

"If you're late to our wedding tomorrow, the phone call is going to sound very different." He hangs up with a laugh and James stares at his phone for a few moments, chest warm.

He sinks onto the edge of the bed. He's so very in love with this man, he thinks. His fiancé. Soon-to-be husband.

"Oh, fuck!" James jumps up, once again remembering, and rips open the door. "SIRIUS!"

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 18

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics, mentioning of pregnancy/babies, family planning, breeding kink* Flirting, sexy talk, nudity, tooth rotting fluff, Marcus has been getting buff. Summary: It's time for a White House wedding! Notes: Here it is, dears. The last chapter of Marcus Pike's soulmate story. Next week will be the epilogue, but I will be missing this beautiful family and all of its extensions like crazy. 😭😭 As always, please remember that the gif choice for each chapter does not reflect the appearance of the reader, only the tone of the chapter.

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Ch 16 ~ Ch 17

After the rehearsal dinner, you had gone separate ways. For the sake of upholding a silly little tradition, Marcus had spent some time with his parents at their hotel before going home to have a night of personal reflection. You had gone with your siblings back to the White House residence for a sort of last hurrah sibling sleepover. Both Alex and June will be moving out of the residence this month to live with their soulmates, making your parents officially empty nesters. They've promised not to get teary about it, but you can't be sure that will hold for very long.

It's after a few hours of board games with your siblings – Alex policed the hell out of Junie when she tried to cheat, as usual – that you're climbing into the bathtub of your guest bedroom. Donna Pike had gifted you a little self-care basket for tonight with your favorite bubble bath, scented candle, face mask, and several other indulgent bits, but the missing piece of this bath is at the other end of a phone call. Once you're settled in, you dial Marcus's number and put your phone on speaker to set it on a stool next to the tub.

"Hey Hummingbird." Marcus's voice is warm and soft, happy to hear from you. He had known one of you would call the other, but he hadn't wanted to interrupt any activities that might have been going on. He knew everyone was having a game night. "How is your night going? Is it sad to say I already miss you?"

"If it's sad, then we're both sad." You chuckle quietly and shake your head, wishing he was beside you instead of on the phone. "Remind me why we agreed to sleeping apart tonight?"

"Something about 'tradition'." He scoffs playfully. "But I don't think that I can sneak into the White House." He laughs. "Something tells me that it wouldn't go over so well."

"You wouldn't have to sneak," you remind him. Calling him was the best decision you could have made under the circumstances. You're feeling more relaxed already. "The Secret Service loves you. You could drive right up to the place and they'd wave happily to see you."

"Only because they don't have to background check me." He jokes, hearing a small splash and smiling. "Are you in the bath?" He asks.

"Of course I am." Another laugh, from both of you this time, and you splash more loudly for him to hear. "Aren't you?"

"Not yet." He pouts, jumping up off the couch and grabbing his beer bottle to rush towards your shared bathroom. "Give me two minutes though and I will be."

"Your Mom made me a little bath basket." It's still the single sweetest gesture you can imagine from your mother-in-law. She must have poked around your bathroom last time she was here to find out your favorites. "I'm going to be so relaxed when I crawl into that giant bed."

"And cold." He chuckles, turning on the water and immediately starting to strip after he puts his own phone on speaker and sets it on the edge. "You always want to snuggle close when you want to warm up."

"I'm not sorry to tell you." The guiltless grin in your voice is obvious. "That that has less to do with warmth and more to do with the sexy naked man."

"Is that why we always end up having sex?" He chuckles quietly as he finishes stripping down to climb into the bath. "It's sneaky and I like it."

"It's not really sneaky," you defend half-heartedly. But both of you are laughing and it doesn't matter. "I just get so distracted by my naked fiancé. But I bet my naked husband will be even more distracting."

"Maybe." He groans as he starts to slips into the water and reaches for his phone again. "How was your game night? Did Junie try to cheat again?"

"Of course she did. For a girl who is so upright about pretty much anything else, she is a ruthless cheat when it comes to board games. I almost wish she'd take up poker and make us all a fortune." The soft groans and splashing sounds of Marcus climbing into your large, sunken bathtub make you smile all over again. "Comfy, handsome?"

"I am, but I have to admit...this tub is a little big without you in it with me." He reaches for his beer bottle and smiles as he remembers another time he was drinking the bath. "I guess I'll just have to imagine it like we did when I was in London the first time we took a bath together over the phone."

"Oh, I'm definitely imagining it." You lean back in the clawfoot tub you're in and reach for the face mask to really indulge. "I have to say, this tub is very definitely one person-sized. No hanky panky in the Lincoln bedroom's bathtub."

"I bet we could make it work." Marcus chuckles. "I can't believe you're staying in the Lincoln bedroom without me." He huffs playfully.

"Yeah? Mr. I'm getting ready for the wedding in the Oval Office?" Blowing a raspberry at him over the phone makes you laugh because you can perfectly picture the exact face he is making in response. "I can't believe you talked my mom into letting you do that. Talk about bragging rights."

He laughs, shrugging even if you aren't there to see it and wearing a smug grin. "It's going to make for one hell of a photo though." He brags.

"History books, baby," you hum as you apply the jelly-like face mask to your skin and sigh at the cool contrast to the hot water surrounding the rest of your body. "It's going to be in history books."

He hadn't really thought of it in those terms, but you're right. "You aren't getting cold feet, are you?" He asks, smirking slightly because he knows you are just as eager as he is for tomorrow. "It would be pretty embarrassing if you didn't show up when the wedding is in your parent's backyard."

"The only thing I'm going to have cold feet over is magazines and papers and the internet having their hands on our wedding photos." It is what it is. And you know that. If you truly had objected, you could have easily eloped, or elected to hold off on getting married until your mother is out of office. This is the way you're doing it and that's fine. "No, my love, I'll be there with bells on. Maybe even literally," you tease. "After all, I never told you what my something blue is."

"Are you going to tell me now, or do I have to wait to find out until tomorrow?" There is something so comforting in knowing that you are less than twenty-four hours away from being his wife.

"Oh no, you absolutely have to wait." A fact which makes you giggle mischievously. The shimmering blue nipple covers that will be safely tucked into your white shapewear are just for his eyes. Sydney had suggested tiny blue panties, but you wanted to do something a little more creative for Marcus.

“Evil.” He hisses, but there’s no heat behind his words. “I think you just want me to drag you out of the reception early.”

"The very idea that we wouldn't leave the reception early is laughable," you tease. "I've seen the suit you're wearing, baby. You're gonna look like a whole three-damn-course meal."

“And I haven’t even gotten a glimpse of your dress.” He pouts.

"Which is exactly how it's supposed to be. Tradition, remember?" The two of you had gone along with almost all of them. You did, however, opt out of the garter toss at tomorrow's reception. There will be none of that.

“Much to my dismay. I’m rethinking this tradition shit.” He huffs. “Not sleeping next to you when I’m not on another continent seems like a crime.”

"You'll get to see my dress in..." You glance up at the clock on the wall. "A little less than twenty-one hours."

“I know, I can’t wait.” It’s easy to admit, he’s looking forward to this. He has been for his entire life if he’s honest with himself. You are his soulmate.

"Me either." The broad grin on your face is audible, which only makes you smile even wider. "I love you so much."

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He hums quietly.

That particular sound is so comforting that you practically purr in response. "And I can't wait to be your wife."

“Mrs. Pike.” He coos softly. “Are you ready for all the annoying paperwork changes?”

"Oh, absolutely." Just because he can't see you nod doesn't mean you aren't doing it. "It's all already printed out, filled out, and sitting in a folder in the office at home. My dad promised to file it for me while we're on our honeymoon. I just have to sign everything and bring him the folder at Constance's birthday party."

He should have known. “You’re perfect.” He promises. “You are just….perfect.”

"I'm excited to be your wife." Something you always knew you would be able to say to the partner you chose to stay with forever. You just never imagined anyone as wonderful as Marcus.

“Twenty hours and thirteen minutes left.” He muses. “But now I’m thinking we should have had a morning wedding.”

"That would have been a good idea." It was an idea that was bandied about, but you had ultimately decided against it. Though you can't remember why at the moment.

“Yep. By lunchtime we could be back in our hotel room. Or back home.” Marcus smirks at the small sound of protest you give.

"I'm extremely excited that your parents aren't starting their housesitting until after our wedding night." Matthew and Donna will be taking care of your place, collecting your mail, watering your houseplants, and generally looking after things for the two weeks you're in Scotland. But tonight and tomorrow night they are staying in the inn so you can have some privacy for your wedding night.

“Yes. I would be very unhappy to have them sleeping right next door.” Marcus snorts. “Because they would hear things.”

"And your parents do not need to hear things." Especially not when Marcus gets you going and you can't keep your volume down. "Just like my parents do not need to hear things. And we will not need to hear things when our kids are grown."

“Our little girl is going to be a good girl.” He teases. You’ve had the conversation about when your children are older and are both on the same page. There’s not going to be separate rules for girls versus boys. That’s not fair.

"Need I remind you that you routinely call me a 'good girl' while fucking me into oblivion?" You laugh, though, knowing that this is very much a non-issue at the moment. "Good girl is a relative term."

Marcus chokes on the mouthful of beer he had been about to swallow. “No. No. Please don’t remind me of that.”

“Daddy and good girl can stay sexy for now.” Your laugh turns soft and you lean back in your bath again, imagining how red his face must be.

“You’re such a brat.” He growls, shaking his head. “Do you want me to spank you tomorrow?” The two of you have ventured into spanking and light bondage, finding it a fun new expansion of your sexual experience.

“Oh, I absolutely want you to spank me tomorrow. I thought that was a given.” And as much as the thought is tantalizing, you’ve already promised yourself you won’t masturbate yourself to sleep tonight. Somehow the idea of Lincoln’s ghost watching over that is too creepy.

“Already needy.” He teases, having snorted out loud when someone asked about traditional roles in marriage during the sit down interview. Both you and Marcus believe that traditional roles have to be fitted to modern times and there have been several private jokes about that.

“Always needy.” The correction doesn’t really mean anything, but you hum it softly like a coo in his ear.

“Fuck.” Marcus groans, loving when you drop your voice into that pitch. It makes him shiver and his already hard cock twitches. “You’re making it hard to keep my promise to myself.”

That actually has you laughing so hard that you snort and you pick up your phone with your dry hand to bring it closer. “Did you make a no masturbating promise to yourself, too?”

“Of course, because what is one night?” He asks sarcastically.

“One night is nothing,” you huff, giggling that you both had the same idea.

“And now you’re talking about me spanking you?” He growls, shaking his head. “Baby, you know what that does to me.”

“I believe the phrase ’Spank me, Daddy’ almost made you cum in your jeans last week.” A fact which you fully intend to exploit at a future date. At many future dates.

“Fuck.” He hisses, pressing his thighs together to apply slight pressure to his balls. “You’re not being nice. How would you like it if I didn’t let you cum tomorrow as punishment?”

“On our wedding night?” You laugh in utter disbelief, knowing he’s bluffing but finding it amusing that he’s trying. “You wouldn’t.”

He wouldn’t and both of you know it. “No.” He admits with a chuckle. “You’ve got me there.”

A soft, warm silence settles between you, and you look at your phone screen as tenderly as if it was his face. “We should get some sleep, my love,” you hum quietly. Even though you’d rather stay up and talk to him all night. There is a lot to do tomorrow.

“Do you want to go to sleep with the phone on, or should I let you go?” There have been a couple of times where you’ve slept with the phone still connected and he smiles as he remembers you snoring softly through the line.

“Are you going to tease me for snoring?” Like you can read his mind, you set the phone down again and start washing off the gently abrasive face mask.

Marcus laughs quietly. “No, I promise I won’t make fun of you.” He swears. “I think it’s cute.”

“You snore too, ya know,” you huff. But there’s no heat in it. Just soft affection from and for you both.

“I know. You don’t think I know that? With this nose?” He jokes, laughing at himself.

“I love your nose.” And if he were here with you, you would kiss it to make your point. The number of kisses you’ve left on the prominent, proud bridge is numerous. “I hope all our babies look exactly like you.”

“God no.” He groans. “I don’t want that. I would not look good as a girl.”

"Pike genetics are full-proof," you counter, washing off the last of your face mask and lifting yourself out of the bath carefully so as not to splash too much water. "All of your cousins are fantastic looking. I have no concerns for our kids."

He grumbles, unable to really articulate a rebuttal when it’s the truth that his cousins are all attractive. “I want our kids to look like you.” He murmurs.

"For better or for worse, I don't think we get to pick." Your bathrobe is nearby, and you slip it on to stay warm as you climb out of the bath. Marcus does have a point. You're always cold after a nice hot bath.

He sighs softly and smiles as he finishes his beer and hits the drain for the tub. “I hear they have those 3D ultrasounds now. Where you get a clearer picture of the baby? You think you would want to do that?”

"I'm on board if you are." The sound of both tubs draining in unison takes over for a few seconds but you step away from the tub to dry off and moisturize. "It might be kind of weird at first, but seeing more of the baby doesn't sound like a bad thing."

“Did you take a test tonight?” It’s silly but he had shoved a test into your bag in case. It’s still way too early, but he’s excited.

"I had my period less than two weeks ago," you remind him, although you grin at the idea and look over to see the small, wrapped test sticking out of your overnight bag. "It would be way too soon to show up on a test."

“Yeah.” He exhales in disappointment and sighs at his impatience. “Damnit.”

"Do you want me to keep taking tests during our honeymoon?" The lotion that Donna packed in your bath basket is the same scent as the bubble bath was and the whole bathroom smells perfumed and beautiful. "Or do you want to hold off until we get home again?"

“That’s up to you.” He doesn’t want you to feel pressured or have it take away from the trip.

"I think..." Once you're dry, moisturized, and wrapped up again, you pick up your phone to go back into the bedroom you'll be sleeping in tonight. "I honestly think if we test negative on our honeymoon it will upset us both. And we'll pretend not to be upset, which will make one or both of us pouty. Let's leave the tests at home, love."

“Agreed.” Marcus easily accepts that. “I don’t want anything but for us to enjoy our trip and not worry about anything. Not even your uterus.” He snorts. “Except when it comes to making sure it’s filled up.”

You hum in agreement. "And that is not a worry, it's a pleasure."

“Yes it is.” He agrees, wrapping the towel around his waist and padding into the bedroom to crawl into an empty bed. Hating how you aren’t waiting for cuddles already.

The sound of him getting into bed is comfortable and familiar, though you wish the mattress beside you was dipping with his weight. Unable to stifle a yawn, you clap your hand over your mouth to cover the sound and ask, “What time are you getting here tomorrow?”

“I’m just going to pretend like you don’t know I’m going to be there as soon as I can.” Marcus laughs. “Is there anything you need me to bring? Anything you’ve forgotten?”

“Just my husband.” Words that will be perfectly true in less than twenty hours. “I was very silly to leave him behind tonight.”

“Yes you were.” Marcus teases, folding his hand behind his head and laying with the phone on his chest. “Don’t worry, he won’t let you leave him behind again for a very long time.”

“Never.” You promise him without hesitation. “I’m never going to be that foolish ever again.”

“Are you curled up under the blankets?” He asks softly, imagining your nightly routine since he’s seen it enough.

“Mmhmm.” The stack of plush pillows doesn’t quite make up for his absence, though, so you tease. “It doesn’t smell like you. I might have to count sheep or something to get that rhythmic snore going for you to fall asleep to.”

“I just imagine you sprawled out here on my chest.” He admits. “Cold feet on my legs.”

“Cold feet, warm heart,” you tell him with a drowsy giggle, though that isn’t quite the traditional saying.

“The warmest heart imaginable.” Marcus agrees, knowing you are getting tired. “I love you, sweetheart. Close your eyes, I’m still right here.”

“I love you.” You have from the beginning, you came to terms with that a long time ago. And by this time tomorrow, you’ll be his wife. It’s almost the day you’ve been working so hard for, and you can’t wait.

Marcus is up early, his sleep is brief, but he feels rested. Energized because the day that has been planned for so long is here. He’s going to marry you. The phone is still connected and he smiles when he hears you start to stir.

It probably shouldn’t surprise you at all to wake up and find the call to Marcus still connected, but you smile sleepily and hum when your eyes fully open to show you how many hours you and your soulmate have been on the phone together just sleeping. “Good morning, my love.”

“Good morning.” He smiles as he sips on his coffee. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmmm…” Another hum, but this one comes with a small grumble as you stretch and sit up in bed. “How long have you been awake?”

He snorts. “Two hours.” He admits, grinning when you huff in annoyance at him not waking you. “I couldn’t sleep anymore knowing that today is the day.”

“Our kids are going to be early risers like you, aren’t they?” You grumble in a playfully accusatory tone. “I tossed and turned all night because I was impatient for today.”

“I just kept waking up and looking at the clock.” Marcus admits. “I’m excited. Must be something interesting happening today.”

“Must be.” Before you can say more, a soft knock on your door announces that the day has officially begun. “That’s my wake up call,” you tell him, and the energy in your voice lightens noticeably. “I love you, Marcus Pike. Get your cute butt over here so we can at least be in the same building again.”

“Do you want to exchange gifts before you need to get dressed?” He asks. “Or wait until we are alone tonight?”

“Let’s save it for tonight.” His technically doesn’t exist yet, for that matter, but you’ll be able to explain better at the house. The shed that you’re having built for him behind the house will be whatever he wants it to be, but when you return for Scotland it will be filled with paints, tools, other accoutrements of whatever hobbies he is enjoying at the time – and enough space for kids or a dog to come and visit him.

“That works for me.” He chuckles quietly. “Just needed to make sure I was going to bring it or leave it.”

“It can be a sweet, private moment,” you suggest, and giggle quietly when the knocking outside comes again and more loudly. “Right before you put a baby in me.”

“Birdie.” The nickname is growled out, his thoughts immediately on peeling you out of your dress.

“Love you, baby, see you later!” You cackle into the phone, making a smacking kiss sound before hanging up and jumping out of bed to throw your robe on over your nightgown. “I’m up!”

The door is thrown open and Junie, Sydney and Selena flood the room with happy squeals. Sydney carrying coffee cups which she picked up on her way to the White House. “Happy wedding day!!!!!”

“Ohhhh, thank you loves!” The cup from your favorite coffee shop even says the same, with hearts and well wishes written out by the baristas this morning — which only attests to how often you go there and how well they know you. “Everybody feeling bright eyed and bushy tailed?”

“We have been waiting until a reasonably decent hour. What are you still doing in bed?” Selena huffs. “I know Marcus has been up since before dawn.”

“Your cousin is well known for his ridiculously early rising.” You huff, with a teasing roll of your eyes. “I tossed and turned all night. Thank god nerves don’t make me nauseous because I am very excited for food tonight.” The grin you toss at the other three is devilish. “Along with other things.”

“I don’t want to hear about that.” Selena shoves her fingers into her ears playfully.

“She acts like I haven’t been fucking her cousin practically every day since we got together,” you snort, sipping the coffee Sydney brought you.

“La la la. I can’t hear you.” She singsongs playfully before she shoots you a grin. “How does it feel to be hours away from being Mrs. Marcus Pike?”

“And how is Clark Kent stacking up to the task of being a Pike soulmate?” Sydney asks, knowing full well that the teasing is a mandatory topic this morning.

All of you giggle at the way conversations are rapid fire and merging. Everyone boisterous and playful. “He’s amazing. Especially when he takes off the glasses.” Selena teases, shooting finger guns back at Syd. “Now…Mrs. Almost Pike?”

"I'm going to become a Victorian lady and only respond to Mrs. Pike for at least the next month," you inform them with an unrepentant grin. "Just so you know."

“As you should.” Junie snorts. “You’ve waited a whole year for this day.” Making sure that she doesn’t spill her own coffee, she flops down on the bed with you. “Ready to get pretty?”

“We are all already ravishing.” Holding up your paper coffee cup, you tap it against Junie’s, Sydney’s, and Selena’s in salute. “But it will be fun to play dress up.”

“The dress is already out. Mom had the protection detail bring it in.” Junie cackles. “The Secret Service was protecting your wedding dress!”

“Our wedding dress,” you remind your sister, reaching out to gently tap her nose like you’re punctuating a point. The alterations had gone perfectly, of course, and Alex’s vest will be stunning when he marries David next year.

“Right now, it’s your wedding dress.” She counters with a grin. “And mom has ordered another box to have it preserved in for after the dry cleaning.” She wrinkles her nose. “Because I know you are going to have sex while wearing the dress. That has to be some kind of fantasy for you two.”

You really can’t help it, you just sort of snort and burst out into giggles at the genuinely disbelieving and slightly horrified expression in June’s face. “I promise I will take it off first,” you assure her when you can breathe again. “That’s the dress you and I and maybe even our kids will get married in, I promise not to have sex while I’m still wearing it.”

“I don’t believe you.” She huffs, grinning at herself and taking another sip of her coffee. “I don’t believe you at all. Not when Marcus is going to want to throw you over his shoulder immediately.”

“Oh he’s definitely going to want to.” There’s no denying that. June has a point, it’s practically a kink for Marcus to see you do anything wedding related. “But the dress is an heirloom. We’re not taking any chances with it.”

Junie snorts and Syd grins. “Hey….don’t knock it.” She warns your younger sibling. “You might change your mind about wedding dress sex when it comes time for you to dance with the incredibly sexy soulmate you’ve just pledged to spend your life with.” She grins. “Wearing a tux.” That makes Junie bite her bottom lip and bury her face behind her drink as her brain suddenly completely flips.

“I think we hit a nerve,” you giggle, on the absolute verge of delight to see Junie just as flustered as can be.

“Shut up.” She huffs and rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning when you all cackle at her. “This is your day. Not mine.”

“Sure is.” A reminder which has you bouncing up out of bed and stretching delightedly. The sun is shining, the day is young, and soon enough Marcus and the boys will be downstairs getting ready, too. “Which is why I get to tease you with this big bright smile on my face.”

“So I…made you something.” Junie admits, looking slightly embarrassed as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out some hair combs. Some of the extra beading that had come from the extra material of the wedding dress had been too good to waste and she had also made a tie clasp for Alex.

“Oh my god, June.” The gasp from your lips comes all the way up from the pit of your stomach, as your sister pulls out a piece of cloth tied up in ribbon like she’s walked straight out of a Jane Austen novel to give it to you. “Honey, you didn’t have to do anything, but thank you.” She’s always been a bit craftier than you or Alex. Good with her hands. With visualizing a project and executing it well even when things inevitably weren’t perfect somewhere in the middle. When you take the little parcel from her and unwrap it, tears spring to your eyes almost immediately. “Junie…” The two little hair combs are perfect, and of course she would know that since she sat with you during your hair and makeup trial a mere two weeks ago. “They’re beautiful honey. You made these yourself?”

“Yeah.” She smiles softly, happy you like them, even if you’ve never been the type to dismiss the thought behind any gift. “There was extra material from the dress that couldn’t be used, but the beads were too gorgeous to let go to waste.”

"I can't believe you made an heirloom." Selena sighs, barely tracing her fingertips over the delicate combs when you put them down to hug your sister fiercely. "Have you ever thought about selling the things you make? The jewelry you made me for my birthday is gorgeous."

“Not really.” She admits with a slightly self-conscious shrug. “I don’t know if anyone would want to buy them.”

"Then we'll all be the very happy recipients of your beautiful handmade gifts," you promise your sister proudly. "But if you ever wanted to try your own small business, every single one of us would do whatever we could to help."

“It’s something to think about.” Sydney offers with an encouraging smile. “I think you would do really well.”

"You never know what the future will bring." Selena adds, and she aims a wink at June before judging you toward the door. "Except for today. We have two hours until the hair and makeup artists get here, which means we need to get the bride down to breakfast."

“Breakfast!” Selena moans happily. “Breakfast at the White House!”

“Nervous yet?” Juan smooths one hand down the front of his tuxedo and nudges Marcus’s side with a teasing grin. He knows that nervous isn’t quite the word for what Marcus is feeling now that it’s time for guests to start arriving and the evening to really begin, but his friend has been contemplatively quiet for the last ten minutes or so and a check-in seems the most minor of courtesies.

“Impatient.” Marcus is normally calm and collected, patience for days. Now, now his skin feels jittery, like he had three pots of coffee instead of the small glass of bourbon in the Oval Office about fifteen minutes ago.

“Like you’re about to crawl out of your skin, or like a kid the night before Christmas?” Juan asks, one eyebrow ticking up in Interest. The difference is important, though neither one is bad.

Giving a small laugh, Marcus’s shoulders roll back. “Both. It’s both.” He admits, looking over at Juan with a grin. “I don’t know how to even describe it. Except I wish this day could last forever and I want it to be over already.”

“Yeah.” The other man lets out a small bark of a laugh and shakes his head. There are some times when Juan is devastated to remember that there was many years when he and Marcus had lost contact. Marcus wasn’t even at his wedding despite Juan now being present for both of Marcus Pike’s. For as deep a bond as the men share, it seems like Marcus always should have been there. His emotional brother for so many years. “Come on,” he says, instead of voicing any of those thoughts. There is no need to make today bittersweet. “Let’s go greet your guests as they arrive. It’ll make the time go by faster and give you something to focus on.”

A task, something to do. That’s exactly what Marcus needs right now, because he really wants to go up to the residence and see you. The tradition is all that’s keeping him outside and he wants to keep from rehearsing his vows for a hundredth time. “Sounds good.”

“Alright, guys.” Juan turns to the others — to the other groomsmen in the Oval Office — and waves one hand toward the doors that lead the Rose Garden with a flourish. “Let’s get the night started.”

There is a knock on the door and it opens a bare inch. “May I come in?” Marcus almost laughs when the person the office belongs to is called in. Your mother is elegant in her mother of the bride gown and her smile is bright when she walks in. “I was hoping to speak with you a moment.” She admits and Marcus nods.

“We’ll be outside.” Juan offers, shuffling towards the Rose Garden door.

“I won’t keep you long,” she promises, smoothing the skirt of her satin gown as she slips into the room. She and the other parents had agreed on wearing formal black with accents of navy and gold to suit the wedding party and it had ended up looking quite elegant.

“Yes ma’am.” He won’t insult you by asking her if you’ve changed your mind, he knows that isn’t possible. He waits and moves over to the couch when she indicates a less formal audience than it would be if she sat behind the desk. Which every single one of the groomsmen did, including Marcus, and took pictures. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

“I wanted to check in on you earlier,” she admits, the pinched smile pulling at her lips having nothing to do with him. “Unfortunately the world at large does not particularly care that it is my daughter’s wedding day and I had to take a call. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Great.” Marcus laughs, wondering if she thinks he has cold feet. “Honestly, I’ve been wondering why we didn’t have a morning wedding all day.” He admits. “I love your daughter and I am humbled to be her soulmate and have her choose me.”

"I don't doubt the two of you for a moment," she assures him easily. "No one who has seen the two of you together could ever have any doubts."

Sitting down, he smiles at his future mother-in-law. “That makes me happy.” He admits. “All I want is to be a good husband and man.”

"You are a good man, Marcus." She might have voiced concern far before this if he was not, but as far as this man's relationship with her daughter goes, she has been that most rare thing: a contented and approving mother. "But you know as well as anyone does, that things won't always be perfect. Sometimes things won't even be good. You've been through a lot as a couple already, and I applaud the mature and methodical way you tackle your problems together."

“You’ve raised a remarkable woman.” Marcus hums, proud of the stamp of approval. “All of your children.” He looks around the office in admiration. “This— holding this office, having this job is amazing and something to be proud of, but I believe your greatest achievement is the caliber of children you’ve raised for the next generations.”

"I've held them to a high standard," your mother admits, unashamed of that fact even as some might have looked at it from the outside and thought her unfair or asking too much at times. And maybe she was, but it never stopped you, Alex, or June from rising to the occasion. In fact, her three children have repeatedly met an ever-rising bar of expectation for their entire lives. "So I have to say both 'thank you', and agree with you. If the only thing I ever accomplished in my life was raising the three of them, I would still consider myself a remarkably accomplished person." She smiles at Marcus, resting a hand on his arm in that same reassuring and gently proud gesture she has shown to each of her children throughout their lives. "For what it's worth? The two of you are going to be a beautiful example of love and support for your own kids. All of those tough times will only bring you closer together. And when you need your family, we'll be here for you. All of us." If there is a bit of water behind her eyes, she isn't ashamed of it. It is an emotional day, after all. "I'm very proud to count you among my children, Marcus."

It’s not surprising that her profoundly emotional words makes him tear up slightly. Today will be a day where both of you will have moments where the emotions of the day, the love, get the best of you. “Thank you.” He covers her hand with his one and squeezes the back of it. “They say that when you get married, you also marry your spouse’s family, and this is one family I am proud to be counted among.”

"I think there is something to be said for finding friends within your family." She smiles, returning the gentle squeeze from him before she rises from the sofa. "But friends who are chosen family might be ever dearer. We're always here for you. Both of you. Birdie's father and I couldn't possibly be prouder of the two of you."

“Thank you.” He smiles. “Any words of wisdom?” He asks, always willing to listen to those who have succeeded for as long as your parents have. He would be a fool not to.

"Keep talking to each other." She knows that the conversations happen. Sometimes she hears about them and sometimes she just sees the fruits of the emotional labor, but keeping up with them is sometimes the hardest part regardless of how rewarding and healthy it is. "You're going to reach a place where you feel like you should be able to read each other's minds and you might start to just assume you're thinking or feeling the same things. Instead, the second you find yourself assuming, that should be your clue to check in with each other." Her hand on his shoulder is steady, and she offers him a reassuring smile. "Especially when it comes to your kids. They're going to surprise you every single day."

“Wise words.” Marcus smiles at the happy thought. “Did Birdie tell you?” He can only assume you have, since your core group of people know, but he wants to make sure.

“This morning at breakfast.” She beams happily. News of an impending first grandchild had brought her to near tears at the table. “We’ll be proud as peacocks when you’re ready to deliver the news. Until then, there is already plenty to be proud of.”

“Good.” He grins even broader at the idea of announcing the newest edition to the family soon enough. “First, we have some vows to say though.”

“You absolutely do.” Just one glance out the window shows both of them that guests are beginning to arrive full force, and her smile softens even more. “Go and say your hellos, honey. Let yourself be excited. It’s your day together.”

“Thank you….mom.” He tried the new title out as he leans in to kiss your mother’s cheek and then stands quickly.

“Go on.” She chuckles a little, smile brightening as Marcus heads for the door. “Oh! Marcus. One more thing.” When he turns like an excitable deer in headlights, she smirks. “You did get a picture at my desk, right? It’s going to be great in the wedding album.”

His grin is guilty, and he looks over at the desk. “Absolutely.” He admits with a chuckle. “Who wouldn’t?”

Waiting has been the hardest part. Waiting just inside the confines of the White House to be signaled out by Miss Sharma. Two by two, your wedding party goes down the aisle toward the rose-covered archway where Marcus is waiting, with Malachi carrying Constance and her little basket of petals making the most fuss at the head of the line until it’s only you and your father waiting just out of view to make your approach.

“I know you’re ready, pumpkin.” With a tone that has nothing but love dripping from his words, your father tucks your hand around his arm proudly. “You look beautiful. Too beautiful to be on my arm, but I think you’ll find the man who compliments you perfectly at the end of this short walk.”

“Right now it seems like the longest walk in the world.” But you look over at your father — beam at him, really — and don’t even bother to stifle the boundless, giddy giggle that bubbles out of you. “You set a very high standard for how I expect the men in my life to treat me, Dad. I hope you know that. Marcus is the only person I’ve ever met who could surpass it.”

“He’s a good man.” He has spent time with Marcus and there is no one else he would want to be by your side. “He will be your partner in life and love, and make you stronger when you need his strength.”

“He’s more than I dreamed of.” Your fingers squeeze your father’s arm gently as the music changes, the quartet of musicians in the garden moving into a classic arrangement of Etta James’ At Last as your cue to start walking.

Marcus shuffles slightly, unable to stand completely still as the pre-determined music starts. It’s perfect for the moment and everyone in the audience turns to watch as you and your father step into view.

If anyone had thought you wouldn't be holding back tears already, they would be desperately incorrect. Thankfully, your family and friends know you well enough that when you sniffle slightly at the top of the aisle, with your eyes brimming in unshed tears of joy, it's only smiles and nods of understanding from those you walk past. Not that you notice. Not that you're looking at a single person other than Marcus. Not that you could ever tear your gaze away from the matching water that has risen in his eyes, the two of you brimming over with tangible joy that almost makes you want to break away and simply bolt right into his arms.

The second he sees you, it’s like the air has been sucked out of his lungs. The moment barrels over him and leaves him breathless as the stunning vision of you captures his full attention. He can look at nothing but you, his heart pounding in his chest and his eyes filled with unshed tears that this stunning creature, beautiful and wonderful in every sense, wants to marry him. He can’t even help himself, “I love you” is mouthed as you walk slowly towards him to the romantic song.

Love. Love hardly seems like a strong enough word right now. You mouth back to him, “I love you,” beaming as tears leak from the corners of your eyes, and when you finally put your hand in his at the end of the aisle it feels like your pounding heart grows wings.

Marcus nods at your father, but his eyes are on you, unable to believe how breathtaking you are. “You’re stunning.” He coos, making a ripple of adoration for the couple run through the wedding guests.

“So are you.” His family necklace hangs at your throat and your grandmother’s altered wedding dress hugs your figure, enormous symbols of the coming together that your wedding means for your families. The very real judge standing before you in the Rose Garden as friends, family, world leaders, and everyone in between watching on fade into the background for just one more second while you look up at Marcus. “Ready?”

Both of you manage to project the biggest grins towards each other. "Absolutely." He promises. He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin gently. Nervous giddiness settles into his stomach and makes his entire body shiver in anticipation. Wanting this moment to be the perfect realization of the last year of planning.

However brief the formal ceremony might be, It’s stumbling tearfully through your vows that you know you’ll remember after today. The soft giggles from you and Marcus and the laughter and sniffles that ripple through the crowd as an echo of your happiness.

Marcus doesn't hear most of what the judge is saying, although he heard every word last night at the rehearsal. It was true what Juan said, once you see your bride, everything else fades away. The beautiful speech about soulmates and love is not even registering as he stares into your beautiful eyes.

"I," saying your full name almost sounds foreign for how much you want it to end in Pike already, "take you, Marcus Pike, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, as long as we both shall live." The traditional vows were good for both of you, but you had agreed to add a little personal touch of your own to them. Something that made your vows yours alone. "I promise to keep your hand in mine through the parts of life we have never navigated before just as steadily as the parts that we have. I promise to love you in the big ways as well as the little ones, whether it's planning vacations and birthdays, or fixing your coffee in the morning so you can have that extra second to breathe before work. I promise to be the best wife and partner that I can be to you. To love you as an equal and to nurture the life we have together just as much as I will nurture any children we have." Through tears, you can't help but laugh softly as you look into Marcus's eyes. "No matter how many sets of twins we have." His family, and yours too, you're sure, laugh at that inevitability and there may even be some applause. "You love me and complete me in ways that I never knew possible, and I will spend my whole life loving you the same. Your love has made me a better woman, and I will not stop choosing you. My soulmate, my husband, my true love, and my very best friend."

He has to take a moment. Choked up and threatening to break down into the tears that are surely going to be present in the video, not that he gives a damn if the entire world sees how emotional your vows make him. Swallowing harshly and clearing his throat, the family and friends gather chuckle when he has to clear his throat and he shakes his head. "How can I beat that?" He asks, grinning at you before he straightens slightly. "I, Marcus Pike, take you –" he says your name in the warmest tone, "to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, in joy and sorrow, as long as we both shall live." He vows proudly. "From the moment I met you, I was drawn to you. My heart already knew what my mind had not yet figured out. You are my match. My mate in life and love. The perfect balance that completes me." He smiles at you, pulling your hands up to lay joined over his heart. "More than my soulmate, you are a wonderful, vibrant woman. One that I choose every day. I choose to love you, to build a life with you that we will look back on years down the road with pride." Squeezing your hands, he hums. "I promise to listen when you need an ear to talk to, to hold you when you need a shoulder to cry on. I promise that I will stand beside you when times are tough and celebrate with you when they are good. To find joy in waking up beside you every day and thanking the universe for placing us together. To protect the life that we build, the children that we have and put you and our family first before anything else." He says your name again. "I am the luckiest man in the world to have your love and your marks on my body. I will always choose you, my one true love. My wife. My soulmate."

In that moment, you could care less about protocols or order of events, and instinctually close the small gap separating you and Marcus to kiss him. There is a smattering of laughter and a little more applause, but the kiss doesn’t last long enough for the judge to do more than raise an eyebrow at you as if to disapprove. “I couldn’t resist,” you admit sheepishly, taking Marcus’s hands again as another wave of laughter rises out of your guests.

"You don't ever have to resist with me." Marcus promises with a happy little giggle of his own. Both of you turn back towards the judge. He shrugs slightly, "Proceed." He tells the man, unwilling to say sorry for that candid moment.

"The rings?" The judge asks, looking to the wedding party to move the end of the ceremony along. Malachi pops up with Constance still strapped to his chest in his impeccably tailored suit. The nearly identical wedding bands are distributed to you and Marcus and the judge nods. "Repeat after me, please. This ring I give in token and in pledge, as a sign of my devotion. With this ring, I thee wed."

"This ring I give in token and in pledge, as a sign of my devotion." You have to take a breath as you place the band on Marcus's finger and finish the promise with a shaky voice that is filled with more happy tears. "With this ring, I thee wed."

Marcus stares down at his hand as you slowly push the ring onto his finger. Humming when it is in place and feels perfect on his hand. The rings that he has already given you are stacked on your finger, the promise ring, the engagement ring and now ready for the last piece. "This ring I give in token and in pledge, as a sign of my devotion." He turns the ring to show you the engraving on the inside of the band right before he slides it onto your finger to complete the set. "With this ring, I thee wed."

Two hands, one heart says the inside of your wedding band, and as the judge is finally pronouncing you man and wife, you barely manage to tear your eyes away from the place where he has added this band to the others that he has given you. It's his eyes you're staring into again when the judge has his last words on the matter: "You may now seal your union with a kiss."

It's only fitting that the kiss that joins you together in holy matrimony include the infamous dip that had been photographed and talked about before your soulmate status was even known. His lips are curved against yours as he holds you dipped down low to the ground, the guests clapping and cheering as the clicks of the cameras go wild.

If he’s showing off just a touch, you’ll forgive him easily. After all, it is the perfect full circle moment for the two of you, a year and half after that first dance.

Pulling you upright, Marcus kisses you again, happiness making him giggle against your lips. “Mrs. Pike.”

“Finally.” You breathe, giggling right along with him, and clinging to his arms for support. “Finally.”

“Finally.” It’s almost a crime to have to break away from you so that the two of you can face your guests and walk back up the aisle. Sydney hands you your bouquet and shamelessly wipes the tears from her eyes, ready to follow after you on her own husband’s arm. The ceremony was perfect, and now everyone is ready to cut loose.

Walking you back up the aisle, Marcus is beaming, his smile lighting up his face and there isn’t anyone there who can deny that he is happy. He kisses your hand and squeezes it when you look over at him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Flowers and all else disregarded, you throw your arms around his neck once you’re back inside the White House and pull him into a kiss. The judge, Juan, and Sydney will follow in a minute to sign the marriage certificate with you but right now you’re all alone.

“I can’t believe that we made it through the ceremony.” Marcus admits with a small laugh as he goes in for another kiss.

“Barely did.” Your giggles bubble over, pouring into kiss after kiss. “I’m sure the one story that will get told over and over is that I kissed you during the ceremony.”

“I was about to kiss you, so I wasn’t upset at all.” He admits with a grin.

With your arms around his neck and his own around your waist, the sparkling shine and shimmer in your eyes is endless. “We’re married.”

“Technically not yet.” He teases. “We have to sign on the dotted line and make it official.” Still, that’s just paperwork to him. Not important and those vows you just exchanged.

“Paperwork.” The derisive noise you make comes with a wave of your hand. “It will be filed in no time. The vows are the important parts.” You hum softly, warmed through with bubbling joy. “And the I do’s, of course.”

“The I do’s are the most important part.” Marcus agrees, feeling like he could move mountains and conquer the world. Anything is possible with you by his side. “And you look amazing in that dress.”

"Me?" You practically blow a raspberry at him and run your hands down the lapels of his tuxedo, careful not to muss his boutonniere or the square of gold fabric in his breast pocket. "What about you? I'm over the moon that my Dad convinced you to go to his tailor because you look drop dead gorgeous."

“You like that, huh?” There’s a slightly smug edge to his smile, preening at how your eyes light up as you stroke his chest. The workouts have been helping and he had actually found he didn’t fit into his old tux anymore. His chest and shoulders were too broad now.

"Oh yeah." And if it weren't for seeing your friends approaching through the window, you might just show him how much. Instead, you hum a promise for later. "I'm going to have fun peeling this off of you tonight."

“We don’t have to go right to the reception.” He smirks.

"There are already two Secret Service agents who have probably heard us have sex," you remind him, smirking as men of the same agency open the door from the garden to let your wedding party into the Oval Office. "We don't need to add more to the list."

He rolls his eyes playfully but he doesn’t protest, knowing that now is not the time to sneak away. Everyone will be waiting for pictures to be taken and then for your entrance into the reception.

The decision to have a live band rather than a deejay means that the band leader is the one introducing members of your wedding party as they filter into the ballroom. Juan's mother has whisked baby Constance away for the rest of the night and Malachi leads the rest of the party into entering the ballroom, but it is the announcement of Mr. and Mrs. Marcus Pike that has you nearly floating into the room with your hand in Marcus's.

“I like the sound of that, don’t you?” Marcus asks, knowing that instead of a receiving line, the first order of the night is your dance as husband and wife.

“I think it’s perfect.” You agree, hand in his as the two of you move into the center of the dance floor. You’ll have your formal dances and then dinner can be served, leaving the rest of the night to be a wonderful party for everyone to enjoy. At whatever point the head table moves to make speeches, you will grin and bear the embarrassment. For now, you get to dance with your husband.

The sweet strains of your song start to play and Marcus hums with a loving gaze directed towards you. “You’re perfect.” He corrects you gently, pulling you closer to him. “And you’re my wife.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear this new verse again since my bridal shower.” The gentle reminder of his exquisite stunt that day makes both of you smile as you start to dance together.

He chuckles and listens to the song as it plays to match up the time. “As you love me, the world turns round. The birds sing, with songs of joy. My heart and soul are always yours. And life will be, La vie en rose.” He croons to you softly.

“I love you.” Holding him close in the dance seems like such a small thing to do, but keeping each other in your arms as you move around the floor is a beautiful kind of ecstasy tonight.

“I don’t think love is enough to describe what I feel for you.” Marcus admits. “Worship is closer. But it’s still not quite there.”

“Just don’t put me on a pedestal.” It’s something you have to remember not to do with him sometimes — not let yourself get carried away as thinking of him as perfect or worshipping him as your ideal partner. You’re both human, and fallible, and while your communication has been good it has to be maintained. Now, dancing with him, you look up and find his eyes watching you. “But today has been…perfect so far. More perfect than I could ever imagine.”

“We are going to have our ups and downs.” Marcus doesn’t have any illusions of perfection. “But there is no one I’d rather weather a storm with.”

His hand presses to the small of your back, spread out over the tattoo that marks you so decidedly as belonging together. Being meant for each other. Being two halves of one complete heart. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” You murmur, and squeeze his other hand gently in the dance, swirling through the crowd of family and friends, and listen to the last lyrics as they ring out loud and clear.

Give your heart and soul to me And life will always be La vie en rose

______

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My Masterlist!

[scarletwandas]

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES S01E01 - Pilot THE VAMPIRE DIARIES S08E15 - We're Planning a June Wedding

[disgruntledkittenface]

i'm going out tonight (3.8k, M) | Established Relationship, Karaoke, Dancing, Semi-Public Sex

call me any, anytime (2.2k, E) | Canon Compliant, Exes to Lovers, Masturbation, FaceTime, Hopeful Ending

pretty please? (3.4k, E) | Girl Direction, Established Relationship, BDSM, Daddy Kink, Paddling

Red (4.3k, E) | Exes to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Swiftie Louis, Explicit Sexual Content

Suddenly Last Summer (44k, E) | Rich Louis, Strangers to Lovers, Mystery Elements, Open/Ambiguous Ending

routine surveillance (2.6k, E) | Dark Harry, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Open/Ambiguous Ending

when we're finished saying nothing (3.3k, M) | Girl Direction, Alpha/Alpha, Established Relationship, Nesting, Knotting

I Choose You (3.6k, NR) | Accountant Louis, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, No Smut

something to dream about (100 words, M) | Girl Direction, Drabble, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content

baby, you're the end of june (13.6k, E) | Alpha Harry, Omega Louis, Advertising AU, Accidental Courting, Friends to Lovers

Darling, so it goes (195k, E) | Royal AU, Famous/Famous, Falling in Love, Developing Relationship

subverting expectations (2.7k, M) | Girl Direction, Met Gala, Strangers to Lovers, Daddy Kink

comfort (666 words, NR) | Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Pick Someone Supportive, Halloween

this is my jam (4.5k, M) | Bathhouse AU, 90s AU, Strangers to Lovers, Exhibitionism, Hopeful Ending

making my way downtown (2k, M) | Dramatic Harry, Texting, Masturbation

pink like the paradise found (18.4k, M) | Girl Direction, Bartender Louis, Flirting, First Time

dream lover (5k, M) | Girl Direction, Real Housewives of New York AU, Flirting, Dirty Talk

face to face at the kitchen table (2k, NR) | Exes to Lovers, Hopeful Ending, No Smut

i must admit i thought i'd like to make you mine (50k, M) | Girl Direction, Fake Relationship, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Wedding Planning

come to me wild and wired (5.4k, E) | Girl Direction, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut

we should open up (before it's all too much) (43k, M) | Depressed Harry, Vampire Louis, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

just one look (and i fell so hard) (15k, M) | Meet-Cute, Fluff, Flirting, Strangers to Lovers, Broadway

black coffee in bed (3.4k, M) | Girl Direction, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut

an honest mistake (2k, NR) | Baker Harry, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Flirting

please forgive me if my lips quake (1.6k, GA) | Girl Direction, Meet-Cute, Flirting, Fluff

mix it up and down my body (2.5k, M) | Girl Direction, Established Relationship, Smut, Kink Discovery

bambi legs (11.5k, NR) | Girl Direction, Asexual Harry, Coming Out, Fluff, Flirting, First Date, No Smut

you came into my life (57k, M) | Queer Eye AU, Firefighters AU, Coming Out, Pining, Flirting, Fluff and Angst

tell me what you need (2.4k, GA) | Coffeeshop AU, Barista Louis, Fluff, Flirting, No Smut

caught up in your love affair (8k, NR) | Royal AU, Famous/Non-Famous, Established Relationship, Engagement, No Smut

[ettawritesnstudies]

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[fleurywiththesave]

Arranged marriage and mattdrai (or larsdunn you write both wonderfully) ♥

p.s the meet cute one lived up to it's name! Adorable!

thank you so much! i really loved writing that one. hope you like this too!

44. Arranged marriage

"The collar is too tight," Matthew grumbles.

"Maybe it wouldn't be if you stop acting like you were trying to escape from the suit," Taryn snarks.

"You're a literal infant, what are you even doing here?"

"I'm thirteen, you idiot."

"Like I said." Matthew really doesn't think the topic merits further discussion. It's his suit for his wedding and if he says the collar is too tight, it's too tight and needs to be fixed.

His wedding. Jesus fucking Christ.

Their parents had the bright idea when he and Leon were both in still in bantam. Merge two mini hockey dynasties for the future of the sport or whatever. He's not sure if anyone ever asked Leon what he wanted, but they certainly didn't ask Matthew.

He turned eighteen in December. It's May now. In a couple weeks, Matthew will play for the Memorial Cup. At the beginning of June, he and Leon will get married. And at the end of June, he'll be drafted by the Oilers and follow Leon to Edmonton.

Does it even count as being drafted if the Oilers have to take him? Matthew flatters himself that he'd go high no matter what, but sometimes he lies awake at night wondering how things might look different if his professional fate weren't sealed to someone else's. He'll never know what he could have done all on his own.

He knows that's not Leon's fault, but it's hard not to resent him for it. Purely by virtue of being the oldest, Leon is the one whose skill has decided their future. Edmonton.

They've hardly spent any time together, with Leon having spent the last however many years hopping back and forth between Germany and the Canadian prairie and Matthew in St. Louis, then Michigan, then London. Matthew knows almost nothing about his soon-to-be husband. Well, he knows that Leon is gruff and unfriendly, not particularly chatty, and hates smiling.

Or maybe that's just how he is with Matthew.

There's supposed to be a family dinner tonight, after everyone's fittings are done. Matthew's sure it won't be at all awkward. Maybe he can bribe Brady to throw a stink bomb or something so they can all go home early and he can pretend for a little longer that none of this is happening.

No such luck, of course. As soon as they all get to the restaurant, their parents shoo them into some stupid little lounge in the back and won't let any of the siblings in, saying that they need a chance to "get reacquainted" before dinner. Does it count as getting reacquainted if you were barely acquainted to begin with, Matthew wonders.

Leon instantly throws himself onto one of the obnoxiously fancy chairs and refuses to even glance Matthew's way. He looks as grumpy as ever, and keeps checking his watch and tugging on his hair. But even around Leon, Matthew can only stand silence for so long.

"So," he says. "How was your first real NHL season?"

Leon snorts. "Seriously? We're going to talk hockey?"

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"How about we don't talk at all?" Leon suggests icily.

"Is that what we're going to do forever?" Matthew asks. "Not talk at all?"

"Works for me," Leon shoots back. "I might have to marry you, but I don't have to like it."

"None of this was my idea, you know," Matthew snaps. "Everything that's happening to you is happening to me and I don't like it any more than you do, but I also don't plan to be completely miserable for the rest of my life just because my husband is a total dick. So maybe, if you pull your head out of your ass long enough, we can at least figure out how to be teammates, even if we're not going to be friends." Leon looks completely shocked by Matthew's little outburst, but Matthew doesn't give him a chance to respond, just turns around and stalks into the main dining room.

Dinner is...interesting, to say the least. Thank god for Taryn, who can talk to anyone about anything and has the Draisaitls completely charmed in about three minutes. Matthew tries to focus on that, but he's almost painfully aware of the fact that Leon keeps looking at him. His expression is unreadable and eventually Matthew starts to feel like there's not enough oxygen in the room. He manages to mumble out an excuse me before he bolts for the bathroom, where he splashes some water on his face and commands himself to chill the fuck out.

He's not entirely surprised that the door swings open and Leon walks in, looking...kind of contrite, actually, when Matthew makes eye contact with him in the mirror.

"You're right."

"I am?"

"Yes," Leon says. "I was being a dick." Matthew turns around and looks at him warily.

"You say that like it's not your default setting."

Leon snorts at that, but it sounds amused, not bitter like before. "I really am capable of being nice. I know I haven't been, and that wasn't fair. This isn't your fault."

"No shit, Sherlock," Matthew says, but he tries not to make it mean. He must succeed, because Leon doesn't immediately take back everything he just said.

"We should try to make this work. We both want to win, right?"

"We will win," Matthew corrects him, and Leon nods decisively.

"Can we start over?"

He's tempted for half a second to tell Leon to go fuck himself, but that would kind of defeat the purpose of his whole speech earlier, so he shrugs and nods. "Sure."

Leon holds out his hand and Matthew shakes it. His hand is huge and warm, swallowing Matthew's up.

"I'm Leon," he says, mouth quirking up slightly at the corner. For the first time ever, Matthew feels a tiny flicker of hope.

"Matthew."

[afyrian]

ch. 12 - june 22 masterlist

    music plays over a few speakers, a set of romantic songs on repeat. by this time half of the guests have disappeared to their hotel rooms and the caterers are gone, you're still grabbing a few forkfuls of cake. due to your initial 'wedding day' being a joke, you didn't quite know what to expect when planning it. 

  especially when you decided to commit to it a week before when you actually got married. leaving you less than two months to scrounge together something that actually turned out beautifully. all of the flowers were sourced from kiyoko's friend's shop, cake made the night before by you and the bridesmaids. everything was a little sloppy... the venue held in a grungy airbnb you got at the last second.

  but, honestly, you wouldn't change it for anything. especially not when you look over to see your husband and his friends dancing. the twins practically scaring away the rest of the guests with their moves. and yet it's the best thing you've ever experienced (which may be swayed by the actually delicious box cake you made). watching him laughing at midnight with no abandon is a good look on him.

  well, everything's a good look on him. the way he claps along to the beat, swaying to some romantic song that he doesn't know the lyrics to. you roll your eyes lovingly as he turns to look at you, waving you over to join him and the twins. 

  however, just as you're finally taking the last bite of your cake, rin's walking over to you, one hand out to grab yours. the feeling of his somewhat calloused hands around yours never getting old. "one more song," he starts leading you to the makeshift dance floor.

  "never pegged you as a dance floor kind of guy.. unless you're extremely drunk," you let out a little laugh, taking your other hand and wrapping it around his.

  "well, tonight we're changing things up," he brings his free hand to your waist, bringing up close against him.

  you rest one hand on his shoulder, the other still intertwined with his. the two of you take a moment to sway to the music as it changes to a slower song. he's quite a nice slow dancer compared to what you previously believed about him. especially due to the fact that you had never slow danced together (unless you count a grade school formal). 

  rin leads you slowly around the dance floor. your head rests on his shoulder and you can almost hear his quickly beating heart. the way he’s nervous and you can feel bits of sweat on his palms. however, you know that he has nothing to be scared of. he’s the only man you really could love.

  "thanks for marrying me," he mentions, leaning his head back a little to look into your eyes.

  rin has the same look in eyes that he had that day he made you breakfast. chasing you down the hallway with flour covering his apron. and when he finally caught you, you could practically see the love in his eyes. even if you didn't quite catch onto what they really looked like until now. "i just couldn't help myself, especially when you look at me the way you do," you bite your lip, trying to hide back a smile. 

  "well it's a fairly spectacular sight, if i do say so myself," he leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

  the past month or so has taught you one thing about the man you love. that he's passionate in his love, not necessarily rough. but definitely passionate in the way his fingers curl into your clothing. by the way he forgets anything else around him when he simply tastes your lips. him only prolonging it by kissing the corners of your mouth and your forehead.  

  "get a room!" atsumu shouts over the music.

  however, the only response that rin will give him is a simple wave of his hand goodbye.

a/n: that’s the end of the longest contract!! i’m so happy i got this far with this cause i’m so bad at finishing projects.. but thanks for reading!

[yourforeverokay]

What happens in Vegas doesn't stay in Vegas (Elvis Presley x Reader) p.1

word count: 1,4k

warnings: a few curse words, drinking

summary: It was your husband's 30th birthday. You tried to be a good wife for him, so you bought tickets to Elvis' much wanted Las Vegas concert at the International hotel. The evening doesn't go the way you planned it though. What happens when you get ditched and catch Elvis' eye?

a/n: Hey everyone! I'm starting a series!! but I'll still continue making those short imagines of Elvis. I hope you guys liked this and please leave me some requests, if you have any. I would be happy to write something that you would want me to! Thank you all <3

"Happy birthday darling!" you yelled in excitement after handing John, your husband, your gift. It was in a tiny red envelope which made your husband raise his eyebrow. He thanked you with a half-hearted kiss and took the envelope from your hands. He opened it slowly with confusion plastered all over his face. He then took out a small brown piece of paper. He turned it around and noticed the name "Elvis" written in big letters and the number 17 on it. "Honey is this what I think it is?" his eyes grew wide. "YES! I finally got my hands on these bad boys." you laughed. John embraced you and lifted you off the ground. "Thank you, thank you and THANK YOU." he said while spinning you around. You were so happy that he liked the gift. He hasn't looked this happy ever, not even on your wedding day.

-

It was the 3rd day of June, and you were getting ready for the show in your hotel room. You had booked a room for a few days and while it was expensive, it was so worth it. Comfortable bed filled with a mountain of pillows, delicious breakfast and amazing view out of your window that shows Las Vegas in its all glory. You were not happy with one thing though. Your husband had brought 3 of his friends with him so he could "have the best experience possible" of Vegas. That meant getting drunk daily while wasting thousands on those cursed games. You wanted this to be the time dedicated for only the two of you. He had been working over-time every day and night so was it wrong for you to wish to spend some alone time with your own husband?

The door opened and you looked over your shoulder to see all 4 men stumbling through the door, already tipsy. "And did you see those fucking ti- Oh look who's here getting all dolled up for me." John walked over to you and caressed your shoulder. "You smell of whiskey." you said while continuing to apply mascara. "Well, is that a crime?" he cupped your face and you almost poked yourself in the eye. He turned you to face him and gave you a wet kiss which you did not enjoy. All of his friends started to laugh in the background. "Stop it." "Don't be like this sweetie. You know you want me. Why else would you cover your face with all this crap? It doesn't make you any prettier." Laugh erupted again behind him. Why was he acting like this? "The show is starting soon so we're going to go get some drinks before the King steps on stage. Don't take forever." John kissed your lips again and gave your cheek a pat. Frown made its way on to your face and a teardrop almost fell to your cheek but you had to keep it in so you wouldn't ruin your makeup. You looked at your own reflection on the mirror and you tried to smile to make things better. To make yourself forget what had just happened. To make yourself happier.

You finished your makeup and hair which was higher than usual. You wanted to look your best so maybe, just maybe, Elvis could notice you. Your seats were quite close to the stage, so it was possible. You laughed at the thought of that happening. You changed your clothes and put on a beautiful dress that you had bought for this occasion. It was sparkly and short with sleeves. You also wore your favorite knee-high boots. You checked that you had your tickets and a wallet with you and left the room with excitement boiling in you.

-

The hotel was packed with stylish, rich people that we're all going to different places in a hurry. Some were going to the bar to get drinks for the show, some were trying to find the closest bathroom, and some were just chatting with their people. You were trying to make your way to the showroom, but you accidentally pumped into someone. "I'm so sorry. It's so hard to make your way out of this pla-" your sentence was cut short when you noticed who you had pumped into. You recognized the man immediately...Jerry Schilling. "Don't worry about it. I hope you enjoy the show." he said to you quickly while walking past you. You saw him go through a door and closing it as fast as he opened it. Nobody had noticed the incident.

Finally, you found your way to your seat and surprisingly the table was empty. You glanced at your watch. It was 20:45 and your husband and his friends were nowhere to be seen. The show was starting in 15 minutes and the room was beginning to fill up. People were coming in from all the doors and still no husband. You sat down and tapped your finger anxiously on your thigh. 10 minutes pass and still no one. You considered leaving the room to check the bar if they might still be drinking but the lights closing stopped you. You glanced towards the main entrance while the golden curtains opened revealing all the musicians ready in their places. See See Rider starts playing. Still no husband. You decided that you were going to enjoy the concert even though he wasn't here. You spent all this time and money for this, so you had the right to enjoy the night to your fullest. A loud scream took you off your thoughts and suddenly the crowd was going crazy.

There he was. Elvis Presley in his white suit looking illegally good. His black hair was slicked back, and his blue eyes were shining bright. He looked at the crowd in awe and you couldn't stop looking at him. Everyone including you were mesmerized by his presence. "How are yall doing tonight?" he said smiling while putting his guitar around his waist. The crowd went crazy once again. In just seconds, your husband was out of your thoughts.

30 minutes had passed, and you were enjoying your time until something happened that almost made you choke on your own saliva. "Whatchu doing here all by yourself, pretty lady?" Elvis said while pointing his index finger at you. He had just finished singing The Wonder of You. All the lights and people's heads turned to you. "Me?" you pointed at yourself, almost being unable to answer. He nodded. "Well, my husband and his friends ditched me, but I couldn't help missing out this concert." you yelled so he could hear you. "Well, come here then." Elvis put his hand out for you. You stood up from your seat, knees shaking, and walked over to him. Elvis kneeled down to your level and embraced you. "Darling don't be blue and worry about him, I'll make it up for you, just wait." he put his microphone away from his face and whispered into your ear which gave you goose bumps. Elvis gave your cheek a peck and smiled at you. It looked genuine. You were too shocked to answer so you nodded and walked back to your seat, knees still weak. For the rest of the concert, you thought he was just playing around and not being serious but suddenly you felt a tap on your shoulder. It was Jerry, and once again your eyes grew wide. "Hey, Elvis would like for you to join him at the backstage after the concert ends. We have to leave now before people notice though." Jerry said to you while offering his hand. You thought for a moment because you were worried that your husband would get mad at you but before saying anything you grabbed Jerry's hand and left the room with him. Before going through the door that was placed at the very back of the room near the entrance, you glanced at the stage and noticed Elvis watching the two of you. He gave you a small wink which made you blush. You stepped through the door and Jerry closed it behind him.

[pardi-real]

Honeymoon Knight / Chapter 10 - Villa Butlers’ Views on Marriage

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~ Later on ~

Having left Rosetown, we arrived in the city of Maroota. Unlike during Christmas, Maroota in early summer is quiet and serene.

Hanamaru: "Hehe... Finally, it's our turn as the villa butlers."

> "Let's have fun, guys"

Teddy: "Yes! Likewise, please enjoy!"

Yuhan: "Please have a great time, my lord."

Hanamaru: "Winter in Maroota is bustling, but in this season it's calm and it's not a bad thing at all.  Being able to hang out with you… made all that hard work pay off. So, how about taking it easy today? By taking a nap maybe?"

Yuhan: "Honestly... Show a bit more enthusiasm in front of the lord, Mr. Hanamaru."

Teddy: "By the way... We're here in Maroota now, but last year around this time... How did you spend it, my lord?"

> "Me?"

Teddy: "Yes! During last June's Bride season... Did you spend it like this, out and about?"

> "No, it was different"

Muu: "Yes, last year the lord... took wedding photos with all the butlers! We also asked everyone about their views on marriage. It was so much fun!"

Teddy: "W-wedding photos…!? Between the lord and butlers!?"

Yuhan: "Was it perhaps… a request from the Grovaner family to do so…?"

> "No, it wasn't"

Hanamaru: "Well, I guess not. Ain't no way they're requesting some butlers’ views on marriage anyway."

Muu: "Ah, speaking of which..."

Yuhan: "Oh, Muu. What is it?"

Muu: "I want to hear what everyone from the Villa thinks about marriage!”

Teddy: "Wha, wh-what!?"

Yuhan: "That's… rather sudden."

> "But, I might be interested too”

Muu: "Hehe… I know you'd think so too, my lord."

Hanamaru: "Anyway, why would you wanna know about our views on marriage, Muu?"

Muu: "Last year, I had so much fun hearing various views on marriage...!"

> “It's good to hear everyone's thoughts”

Hanamaru: “Knowing what the others are thinking, huh… yeah, that sounds exciting. Then, for the sake of letting the lord know about us… Let's start with the Views on Marriage Tournament.”

> “T-tournament?”

Teddy: “By tournament, did you mean there'll be winners and losers?”

Hanamaru: “Nah, sorry. I didn't think that far.”

Yuhan: “How sloppy… However… it might be a good opportunity to let the lord know more about us.”

> “Will you tell me what your views on marriage are?”

Yuhan: “Certainly. If my idea works for you, I'll share as much as you desire.”

Hanamaru: “I’m okay with it. I was the one who brought it up, after all.”

Teddy: “Of course, I'll also tell mine! But I’ve never really thought about marriage before… so I might end up saying unrelated things.”

Hanamaru: “Well, won't we all? And so, for the first one… go ahead Teddy, do tell.”

Teddy: “Huh? I go first?”

> “Can you tell me, Teddy?”

Hanamaru: “Of course for this kinda situation, it gotta start with Teddy, the Villa group's marauding captain!” 

Teddy: “Uhm~... I'm not planning to be the marauding captain… but understood! It's important to say this kind of things boldly, so I'm fine being the one to go first!”

Thus, the Villa butlers’ ‘Views on Marriage Tournament’ began.

Teddy: “Up until now… I've never thought deeply about marriage… but basically, I want to make my partner smile! There are many difficult and unfair things in life… I want to protect my partner from those dark things with my strength. As long as there's a smile… we can overcome even the tough things.”

Hanamaru: “I see… sounds like Teddy's marriage partner would be able to smile everyday.”

Teddy: “I can't say it for sure, but if possible, I want them to spend everyday with a smile! For that, I'm ready to do anything!

For example, I'll make breakfast every morning… Brew coffee… or carry their shopping bags. I won't let my partner carry heavy things! 

Oops… I'm sorry. Will this be acceptable as my view on marriage? I feel like… I'm saying unrelated things in the end though…”

> “It was really wonderful”

Yuhan: “Indeed. Mr. Teddy’s kindness came across.”

Teddy: “Hehe, thank you very much!”

Hanamaru: “Well, next is… Yuhan, go ahead.”

Yuhan: “So it's my turn.  Well… I… don't have many expectations for marriage. If I have to say… I want to have a house in a natural, mountainous area. I don't need anything luxurious or extravagant.

If I can live quietly together with my partner… I couldn't ask for anything more. Quietly, modestly… respecting each other and living peacefully.”

> “It's so like you, Yuhan, it's wonderful”

Yuhan: “Fufu, is that so? Thank you very much.”

Teddy: “Yes! It's just like you, the reliable and kind Mr. Yuhan!”

Yuhan: “However… if I were to be like myself… I want to make my partner's heart pounds while we're supposedly living quietly.” 

Teddy: “Huh? Making their heart pounds?”

Yuhan: “Yes. While I do prefer living quietly, I also like some excitement. That's why… I think this excitement in moderation is necessary when living with them.”

> “Excitement in moderation…”

Hanamaru: “Right… I'm always nervous under Yuhan’s supervision.”

Yuhan: “Mr. Hanamaru will definitely laze around when left unsupervised after all. I'd like you to be more nervous if possible…But… well, setting the unrelated talk aside, that's all from me.”

> “Thank you for letting me hear it”

Yuhan: “No, if this kind of talk from me is acceptable to you, my lord, let me do so… anytime you'd like.”

Muu: "Well then, lastly… Mr. Hanamaru, please!”

> “Tell us, Hanamaru”

Hanamaru: "Alright, I got it. Well, you see... I don't have a clear idea, but I think it's better for us to live as we are together. If my partner wants to depend on me or even dominate me… whatever they like, I don't mind. If they can show their true selves and feel at ease in front of me... That's the best.

Also, communication is important, I guess. Talking about things like the weather when we wake up… or just sharing thoughts that randomly come to mind... Even trivial things are fine. 

I want it… a relationship where we can say, ‘I can talk to this person about anything.’ That way… maybe when something difficult happens, we can help each other right away, right? 

Well, being an adult means we need to put up with lots of things. At least, with the two of us…  I wanna help them so they don't need to hold back so much.

Having tea together on the porch… spending time chatting with just the two of us… How about it? Do you think it's good?”

> “Yeah”

Hanamaru: “But, such a peaceful everyday life… can collapse with a sudden trigger. That's why, no matter what happens… I will protect my partner and everything my partner cherishes.

Marriage is not just about the person you love… It's about protecting everything your partner loves. So, my view on marriage is something like this. 

What do you think, my lord? Did you fall for me again?”

> "Um, well..."

Yuhan: "Really… Completely ruined with just one word."

Teddy: "But... I think Mr. Hanamaru's thoughts are cool!"

Hanamaru: "You think so? Thanks, Teddy."

Muu: "Hehe… I had fun hearing everyone's thoughts!"

> "Thanks, guys"

Yuhan: "No, likewise, thank you very much for listening to us."

Teddy: "Yes! Once again, thank you for getting to know us a little more!"

Muu: "Oh, by the way... There's still something I haven't asked everyone!"

Hanamaru: "Hm, what is it now?"

Muu: "Yes, I asked the butlers in the main building last year, but... Are you all married?"

Hanamaru: "...*chokes*!!"

Yuhan: "Married...? Are you talking about us?"

Hanamaru: “Th-that was so surprising... I choked."

> "Come to think of it, we never asked"

Teddy: "Uh, um... The three of us are not married."

Yuhan: “None of us are married… and no one among us has been married."

Muu: "I see! Thank you for letting me know!"

Teddy: "Huh? Ah, yeah..."

Hanamaru: "...Muu, you sometimes ask such outrageous things out of the blue.”

note: marauding captain is yugioh's official English translation for the term. It's like someone who attacks/charges first in a shock troop/assault troop in a war.

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[peachdues]

PEACH'S 2K MILESTONE EVENT

Hello, friends!

First of all, thank you all so much for helping me reach 2,000 followers. When I started this blog back in June, I never imagined my writing would reach so many of you, and I am so, so grateful to each and every one of you.

To celebrate, I'm hosting a milestone event that is open to all of you. You may start submitting requests as soon as you see this, but I will start writing for it tomorrow (9/4).

Some ground rules

First, I will accept requests for any KNY character, but I reserve the right to decline to do certain prompts if I feel uncomfortable with them.

Second, I'm sorry, but I will not write for Muzan or Douma, or really any of the upper moons. The only one I'm willing to write for is Akaza.

Third, if you submit a request for a prompt, please include the prompt itself, and the character you are requesting. If the prompt is one of those that can be either NSFW or SFW, please make sure to clarify that as well!

Finally, please be patient! I do work full time, I have a honeymoon next month I'm planning for, and I'm all-around busy. I will answer as quickly as I can!

Without further ado!

PROMPT REQUESTS

There are two components to this milestone -- the first is a prompt request. You may submit a request from the following prompts (smut, angst, or fluff) for any character, and I will answer with a short blurb (not a full-length fic).

THE VIRGIN SERIES

Exactly what it sounds like -- the character's first time

SMUT DIALOGUE PROMPTS

"Lift your hips up for me, sweetheart."

"We can't keep doing this," "But we can't stop, either."

"Why're you trying to hide from me, baby? Let me see your face."

"Kiss me again. Right there."

"Show me how you make yourself feel good."

"Who do you belong to?"

"If you keep saying my name like that, I'm not going to be able to hold back."

"One more, baby. Just one more time for me."

"I'm going to fuck all memory of him out of you."

"Fuck, that feels s-so good."

"I promise I'll be gentle."

"Oh? So you like it when I touch you like that?" .... "Yeah. You do."

"So what if I want to fuck you? What are you going to do about it?"

"I'm jealous because I want you so fucking bad that I can't think straight."

"Turn around."

"Look at me. There you are, pretty girl. Keep your eyes on me, yeah?"

"Fuck, you taste better than I imagined." "You imagined it?" "Only every night since we first met."

Insert mommy/daddy kink of choice here.

"What's the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?"

"Please, please let me cum inside. Please."

"I want to try something new."

"I'll share her with you -- but just this once."

"You know no one else can make you feel this good, baby."

"Are we really still arguing while having sex?"

"I love you. I love you so fucking much."

"P-please, I want to touch you so badly."

ANGST (SFW OR NSFW)

I can't do this anymore -- I can't keep playing this game with you."

"We're only strangers to each other now."

"I love you. I'm sorry that's not enough."

"You're too late." "I know."

"I should be the one you go home with. Not him. Never him."

"Stay with me. Please."

We were like gasoline on fire. And now we've burned out."

"I can't believe you just said that to me."

"I almost lost you."

FLUFF PROMPTS (SFW)

"Woah, woah, woah. I'm here. I'm right here."

"What do you mean you don't know how many parking tickets you have?!"

"I wanted to cook dinner for you." "Yes, I see you've tried!"

"I just wanted to see you, okay?"

"Wait -- are you asking me out on a date?"

Late-night pregnancy cravings

pillow-talk

The night before your wedding

"Happy Anniversary, my love."

"Nope, don't wanna hear it -- you need to sleep. No arguing."

"Have you eaten yet?"

"It's after midnight, what are you doing?" "You said you were feeling down."

"If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?" "I'd choose to be right here."

FOLLOWER'S CHOICE

The second part of this milestone event is the Follower's Choice. I will post a poll on Monday, 9/4 at 12PM EST for the following event.

Follower's Choice: pick a teaser from one of the following WIPs to be released this month (between 500 and 1k words). I will then let you all pick whether that teaser is NSFW or SFW. Note that Seasons in Love is the only WIP that will not be NSFW.

The Bitter & the Sweet (Part I) ♢ Rengoku x F!Ice Hashira Secret Pregnancy AU

The Great War (Part I) ♢ Giyuu x F!Shrine Maiden Secret Pregnancy AU

Mirror, Mirror (multi-part) ♢ SaneKana Royalty AU

Rengoku x Giyuu x F!Reader

Seasons in Love (Part 2) ♢Sanemi x F!Reader College AU

[thatlastdanceofchances]

We're half-way through the Ianthology (yes, I'm counting Torchwood One: I Hate Mondays in it), how are we feeling?

Next month is going to be a pretty big Torchwood month with both the Torchwood One box-set and a story about Ianto's father (finally!).

But this week was pretty eventful as well, Missing Molly got released and we have some news for upcoming monthlies.

First, we have information about June's audio featuring Andy and Norton.

Look at Andy's face!!! He's so happy to be there! ;-)

Sergeant Andy and duplicitous 1950s Torchwood agent Norton Folgate find themselves trapped inside a house in the seventeenth century. Can they arrange a wedding before all of time collapses?

Norton? Duplicitous?!?!?! How dare they?!?!?!

Also, the next bundle of the monthly range is now available for purchase on the Big Finish website, which means we have at least 12 more of these planned! :-D