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crystallinestars · 6 months

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How They React to Your Death

My HCs about how I think the Genshin boys would react to your death. I wanted to write Kaeya too, but ran out of steam.

This month has been terrible to me, so I was in the mood for angst. I don't know how well these turned out, but they were fun to think about.

Characters: Alhaitham, Childe, Heizou, Kaveh, Lyney, Neuvillette, Venti, Wanderer/Scaramouche, and Wriothesley

WARNING:

Reader has death descriptions. Some are more graphic than others, but I don't get into the nitty gritty details.

Spoilers for the backstories of all the mentioned boys.

MAJOR SPOILERS for Act V of the Fontaine Archon quest in Neuvillette's part.

Childe's part contains mention of suicidal thoughts.

Kaveh's and Venti's parts contain alcoholism

🎧 Alhaitham

Despite Alhaitham’s considerable wealth, no amount of money could cure your Eleazar sickness. His money could only buy treatment that prolonged your life a little bit, but ultimately your many years of battling the illness ended when he got news from the doctors that you had passed away in your sleep.

Alhaitham had accepted the news fairly quickly. He knew your death was inevitable, could see you slowly wasting away each time he visited you in the hospital over the past few months. So it was no surprise to him when the day finally came. The other patients and staff thought it strange how Alhaitham had no visible reaction to the news, but some chalked it up to shock when in truth the Scribe was simply accepting of that fact. There was no use denying something that already happened.

When Alhaitham came home that day, the house felt silent and empty. It reminded him of how the house felt when his grandmother passed away when he was younger. The sensations were similar. However, he did not cry over your death. Instead, he carried on his life as normal, or as close to it as he could now that you were no longer a part of what he considered ‘normal’.

At first glance, people thought that Haitham was unaffected by your death. Nothing about him changed. Not his mannerisms, his quality of work, or his expression. He remained the same reserved, stoic Scribe who had no time for trivial nonsense or extra work. He also never talked about you to others aside from confirming their question if you were truly gone. Alhaitham was like a well-oiled machine that worked efficiently like clockwork, keeping up the same even rhythm.

What they don’t see is how he comes home with the expectation of hearing your voice greet him upon entering, only to be faced with a defeating silence that makes his heart sink. They don’t know that Alhaitham wakes up throughout the night, expecting to find you snuggled up next to him in bed the way you used to before your sickness got worse, and you had to be hospitalized. However, you weren’t there no matter how many times he looked towards your side of the bed, and the Scribe could only sigh and try to fall back asleep while ignoring his aching heart.

No one sees how Alhaitham gets too lost in his books in the mornings and accidentally makes two cups of coffee instead of one due to force of habit. Or how, for once, he finds the silence of his house bothersome without your voice and the sounds of your activities resounding within the walls, and it’s enough to distract him from reading. He could be found reading at the House of Daena and Puspa Café more often from then on.

During his afternoon naps, Alhaitham sneaks back home and cradles your favorite blanket to mimic the sensation of holding your soft body in his arms the way he used to when you joined him for naps. He listens to recordings of you talking with him just so he can hear your voice again. He was glad he made the decision to record your voice at the hospital before you became too weak to speak. It gave him the chance to hear you one more time even if the sound of your voice made his chest hurt so much that he occasionally had to stop the recording to collect himself.

Nobody sees how Alhaitham finally picks up the fiction books you recommended him because they were your favorite. He prefers non-fiction, but these books are the last things he has left through which he could connect to your mind and way of thinking. He reads them all cover-to-cover even if he finds the story lacking or the writing not to his taste. He will learn to treasure each and every word because you once did.

What someone might see, as Kaveh did when he moved in with the Scribe, is a bookshelf filled with a few journals, a thick book with an emerald cover, and an assortment of fiction books that exist nowhere else in the house. Alhaitham never talks about these books unless asked, but their well-worn covers are a sign of frequent use, and sure enough, one can catch him reading a rare fiction book during one specific month each year.

🐋 Childe

You went missing after going out to collect some firewood in the woods near Childe’s home. A search party was arranged to find you with Childe in the lead, and he was also the first one to find your remains. Your body had been torn apart, blood and innards splattered across the snow, no doubt the work of some rifthounds. Usually, Childe would relish in such a gory sight, but not this time. Not when it’s your blood and flesh painted in the snow.

The sight leaves him numb. He’s numb when the search party comes to retrieve you, numb when he sees your parents weeping over your gruesome death, and numb when he takes on the duty of exterminating every rifthound he finds around Morepesok.

He wants to cry too, to grieve for you the way he needs, but refrains. He doesn’t want to appear weak and unreliable when his younger siblings mourn and cry over your death. You were like family to them, and your death broke their little hearts to pieces. Childe didn’t want to burden his siblings further by breaking down in front of them. He needed to remain a reliable older brother who could support them through this tough time, even when his own heart bled and he cried in his sleep when he dreamed about you.

Childe’s underlings noted that the Eleventh Harbinger became colder and more irritable after your passing. Any mention of your name would garner the speaker a harsh glare, and if Childe assumed what said person said about you was disrespectful, he didn’t hesitate to start a fight and beat the other person within an inch of their life. He became violent and unhinged, much like how he used to be when he returned from the Abyss as a fourteen-year-old boy.

Childe knew his behavior was irrational, and it pained him to see even his own family fear him due to his violent actions. He felt restless. Spending time at home among your belongings summoned feelings of longing and sadness, but even so, he couldn’t bear to throw anything away. He lived among the ghosts of your existence, however, it drove him mad with grief.

Childe needed an outlet for his emotions, so he took to fighting monsters and other strong opponents. He became even more reckless in battle. If before, the Harbinger sought out strong enemies to test his mettle against them and grow stronger as a result, now he sought out an opponent that would be worthy of taking his life.

Childe didn’t want to abandon his family. He loved them dearly and wanted to see his siblings grow up to be happy and successful people, but life without you felt so hollow. A part of him wanted to return to his family, but the sense of his family feeling incomplete never left him. You were just as much of a family to him as his siblings and parents were. He had plans to start his own family with you. But now… now, a part of him yearns to reunite with you in the afterlife. He promised he would stay by your side no matter what, and Ajax is not one to break his promises.

🔍 Heizou

Heizou was one of the first to hear about your stabbing that occurred in an Inazuman alleyway late that evening. You were rushed to a doctor to have your wound treated, but the robber who attacked you hit a vital area. Your blood loss was colossal, and it wasn’t long after arriving at the doctor’s that you succumbed to your injury.

To Heizou, the news brought on a sense of deja vu. He’s already lost a friend to crime in the past, and now he lost you to crime, too. The knowledge made him furious and heartbroken. He was angry at the robber for stabbing you just so he could steal some money that you didn’t want to part with, and he was angry at himself for failing to prevent this. After his friend passed away, Heizou swore to nip crime in the bud by discouraging criminals from committing crimes with the threat that he would find and capture them no matter what without fail. But what good did his resolve do if you still died because of an armed robber?

The heartache and guilt he felt ate away at him as the memory of your ashen face during your last few moments haunted him. He lost you. Never again would he get to spend time with you and make you laugh, kiss and hug you, or tell you he loved you.

His anger drove him to capture the murderer in record time, but hearing the criminal’s subsequent sentence for theft and murder didn’t comfort the detective. No amount of jail time would ever atone for the loss of your life.

After that day, Heizou lost his playful demeanor, becoming somber and reserved. He threw himself into his work, feeling pressured to capture as many criminals as he could in as little time as possible. However, his grief and exhaustion caused his mind to dull and make mistakes while investigating clues. It got to the point where Kujou Sara had to forcibly send him on vacation so he could take a break and properly process your death.

Despite his protests, Heizou knew he wasn’t much use in his current state, so he took this free time to visit your family and mourn together with them. He apologized for not doing a better job of protecting you, fully expecting your parents to lay blame on him for not protecting their child. To his surprise, your parents didn’t blame him at all. They even thanked him for catching the murderer and helping them to feel a little more at peace. Heizou’s interaction with your family helped him feel a tiny bit less guilty about your death.

The experience left him feeling a little less broken, so in the following days he sorted through your belongings in your shared home. He packed away some items to return to your parents, some things he put in storage, and others he gave away that he remembered you wanting to get rid of. A few of your items he kept for himself, one of which was a scarf you mentioned you bought because it was the same shade of green as his eyes which reminded you of him.

Heizou wore your scarf as a keepsake and good luck charm and would hardly be seen without it when he finally came back to work. What once served as your reminder of him, now served as his reminder of you, the person he loved with his whole being. But with the memories of you came the reminder of how you died. Though the memory was painful, it helped Heizou work up the will to keep pursuing his goal of eradicating crime. Even when the case was extremely tough with conflicting clues, your scarf would remind him to not give up, to not let another incident like yours happen again, and Heizou would persevere. He would continue to persevere no matter how long it took because he didn’t want innocent lives like yours to be snatched away so cruelly. Maybe one day, he will see you in the afterlife and proudly tell you all about how he achieved his dream. Until then, he will work hard to be worthy of the title of Inazuma’s best detective.

🍷 Kaveh

Kaveh had a lot of work to do. He was saddled with creating drafts for another large project while also trying to work on the commission for constructing a library in Aaru village for the children. Wanting to help alleviate his burden, you offered to take the finished drafts over to Aaru village yourself so he could focus on finishing up work for his other project. Kaveh tried to object, saying you really didn’t need to trouble yourself on his behalf, but you insisted, expressing your desire to help him finish his work sooner so the two of you could spend more time together again. After some deliberation, he let you go to the village by yourself, confident that you could make the trip since you accompanied him there several times before.

A few days later, Kaveh received news that you had died on your return trip from the desert. When he heard the cause of your death, his stomach roiled. You perished in quicksand just like his father. You died doing something for his sake, just like his father did.

Whatever future plans he was building together with you, whatever progress you made in helping him slowly heal from his trauma, it all came crashing down around him. Your death reopened old wounds Kaveh was only starting to heal from, as well as left new scars that tormented him every waking moment.

The first few weeks, Kaveh couldn’t stand to be in your shared home. It was full of memories of you, and each and every one of your belongings would stab at his heart like a blade. Moreover, the house felt so silent without you around. It reminded him of when his mother left for Fontaine, leaving him alone in a house too big for only him to live in. Now, he was reliving that moment all over again, but it was worse this time because, unlike his mother, he would never see you again.

Kaveh also couldn’t stand to look inside his sketchbooks. The pages were covered in various sketches of you, and looking at them only made the anguish and guilt grow in him tenfold. He blamed himself for your death, attributing it to being his fault just like he attributes his father’s death as his fault too. No matter what anyone says to console him, he will never stop believing it’s all his fault.

Fueled by guilt and self-loathing, Kaveh spent several weeks visiting Lambad’s tavern practically every day. One could even say he lived there since the architect seldom went home. He used what little money he had to buy alcohol, especially of the stronger kind. He wanted to numb the pain in his heart and to pretend that you weren’t really gone from this world. The alcohol helped to muddle his mind until his intoxicated brain conjured happy memories of you together, and Kaveh would mumble your name in a drunken haze. Other times it didn’t help, and Alhaitham, Cyno, or Tighnari could often find a drunk Kaveh quietly crying while slumped over a table and trying their best to drag him home while listening to his drunken babble of self-loathing and regret.

It will take a long time for Kaveh to feel okay again, and even then, he will never be the same optimistic and cheerful person he used to be. You were his muse, the one who made him feel like maybe he was deserving of love after all. But with you gone, he lost his creative spark. His designs no longer held the same extravagant and artistic flair they used to. Now, they’re more tame by comparison. With your passing, you took with you the little bit of joy he felt towards the world, and it seemed more bleak than it used to be when he was with you.

Kaveh refused to seek out love after your death. He’s lost too many people he held dear and has been left alone over and over again. The pain of being left behind and of feeling like he will only bring misfortune to those he cares about, made him seal off his heart. He doesn’t want to let people close to him like that again, and neither does he want to replace you. You were, and still are, very special to him.

Despite numerous years going by after your passing, Kaveh never forgot you, and he didn’t want your memory to be forgotten either. He built an art school and dedicated it to you in honor of being the one who inspired him so much in his creative endeavors. He hopes that your name will live on and continue to inspire future generations of artists long after he is gone from the world.

🎩 Lyney Having grown up in the House of the Hearth with Lyney and Lynette, the twins were practically like family to you. Though admittedly, Lyney and you developed romantic ties rather than familial ones the more you got to know each other. It was no surprise to anyone when the two of you became a couple, and Lynette even encouraged it.

Being a member of the Fatui, you were often sent out on dangerous missions to infiltrate enemy territory and report your findings back to Arlecchino. You were good at your job and had major successfully completed missions under your belt, but even the best slip up sometimes. After infiltrating enemy headquarters, you regularly reported your findings back to the House, however, one day the correspondence stopped. You went completely silent. The thought of you being caught immediately crossed Lyney’s mind, but he was hopeful that as an experienced agent, you would manage to find a way out somehow. You always have in the past, and after having worked together with you during joint missions, he saw first-hand how capable you were. To pass the time, he focused on polishing a magic trick he wanted to show you upon your return.

Days go by, and just as the magician is about to lose his patience and run off to try and find you, news about your body washing up on a riverbank reaches his ears. The heartbreak Lyney experiences upon hearing the news is indescribable. He felt lost, disoriented, and anguished. A part of him refused to believe the facts, but after witnessing the gruesome sight of your corpse, he had no choice but to face reality.

You were dead.

Lyney wondered at length about the cause of your death, and while his own guesses made his stomach knot, the autopsy report he read a few days later made him livid. Numerous torture and abuse marks were found on your body. It seemed that the enemy had captured and tortured you, hoping to force you to spill some of the Fatui’s secrets. Judging by the severity of the most recent wounds, you must have kept quiet because more brutal torture methods were used on you until the enemy figured out they wouldn’t get anything out of you, and disposed of you. Lyney knew how loyal you were to your family. You would never betray them even at the cost of your own life, but in that moment, he really wished you would have treasured your life more. Maybe then you could have survived. Maybe then he would have had the chance to hold you in his arms and tell you he missed you while you were gone. Maybe he would have had an opportunity to show off the magic trick he created specifically for your eyes only. But now, he’ll continue to miss you until the day death comes for him too. Lyney’s initial reaction upon hearing of your torture is overwhelming fury. Lynette had to hold him back from recklessly running off to take revenge against the enemy. It took a lot of reasoning on her part, but eventually, her brother calmed down.

Once his bout of anger passed, Lyney broke down. Lynette didn’t hide her own tears as she held her brother in her arms while he cried. The siblings both missed you dearly and mourned your loss, but Lyney took your death especially hard. He felt broken. One of his most precious people was taken from him in such a cruel manner, and the mere thought of how you must have spent your last few waking hours made him feel horrible.

He was anguished and angry, and the potent concoction of negative emotions weighed down on his heart and mind. Gone was his cheerful smile and outgoing attitude, replaced with a cold and somber frown. His calculative side took center stage. Though his initial burst of outrage passed, he wouldn’t give up on his desire for revenge until the act had been carried out. Aside from the twins, Arlecchino also refused to take your death lying down. You were her precious child, someone she put in a lot of love and effort to raise, and this transgression angered her as much as it angered Lyney. Together with Arlecchino, Lyney and Lynette infiltrate enemy headquarters and make every person a part of that organization pay. The magician ensures that the perpetrators experience the same pain you went through during your torture, and by the time they’re done, not a soul is left alive.

Even after exacting revenge, Lyney barely feels a smidge better. Though your captors have been neutralized and won’t hurt anyone the way they hurt you ever again, it doesn’t satisfy Lyney. At the end of the day, all he wants is to have you back in his life. He consoles himself with pieces of your clothing. Your clothes smelled like you, and Lyney hugged one of your items every night, breathing in your scent and soaking the material with his tears as he quietly cried. It takes a long time for Lyney to get himself together and act like himself again. Though he could easily put on a fake smile for his audience, his heart still aches inside. He misses you no matter how many months go by, and Lynette has her hands full comforting him when he breaks down at night and cries about how much he wants to see you. Lyney would have had an easier time accepting your death if you had passed away more peacefully, but knowing you were tortured to death will forever haunt him.

Once he feels more like himself, Lyney incorporates the magic trick he originally wanted to show you upon your return into his magic shows. He only performs it during special occasions so it would leave a great spectacle upon his audience. It was once made to awe you, but now it awes his audience, and a part of him feels some semblance of catharsis in knowing he could inspire others to feel the same joy you made him feel using just this trick. At times like these, Lyney feels as if a part of you was still there with him, enjoying the show he secretly dedicates in your honor.

⚖️ Neuvillette

You were visiting your friend Navia in Poisson, when the Primordial Sea flooded the area and caused a great catastrophe that took the lives of many of its residents. Neuvillette was aware you were in Poisson when the disaster struck, and he tried to get there as quickly as he could to check on you. He would have arrived there immediately were it not for the pressing matters he had to settle prior. He hoped the Traveler and Paimon would find you and keep you safe since they knew you were the Iudex’s beloved.

When he finally made it to Poisson, to his morbid surprise, he found neither you nor Navia, but some Fatui members helping to mitigate the damage. When he asked about your whereabouts, he was told that nobody had seen you. Immediately, his thoughts ventured to the worst scenario, but he refused to believe in his fears until he could get confirmation. He held out hope that you were alright, and went in pursuit of Navia and the Traveler, hoping that maybe you were with them, or they knew what happened to you.

It wasn’t until he was saving Navia from getting dissolved in the Primordial Sea water, did he catch a glimpse of your face. You were trying to protect Navia from certain death, along with Silver and Meluse. At the time he was too anxious about saving Navia to fully register the implication, but an unsettling thought sprang in his mind that maybe you really were— No, he didn’t want to accept it.

When Navia regained consciousness, Neuvillette asked her about your whereabouts. Her answer pierced through him like an ice-cold lance. With tears in her eyes, Navia recounted how you were helping Silver and Meluse rescue the residents of Poisson when the Primordial Sea flooded in, and how she saw your body dissolve in the water along with her loyal subordinates with her own eyes. The news settled in Neuvillette’s stomach like a boulder, causing it to sink and make him feel nauseous. Dread filled him, but he could only muster a quiet “I see…” and stare off into the distance. He felt crushing sadness, but he wasn’t given time to properly process his emotions and your death until he managed to make it out of the ruins.

That evening, Fontaine was hit by a torrential downpour that lasted several days. The rain fell in heavy sheets, flooding the streets and urging most of the citizens to seek shelter in their homes. Only the Chief Justice had the gall to stand outside and let the rain seep and soak through his clothes.

Neuvillette let the water droplets cascade down his face, imitating the tears he wished to shed as the realization that he would never see you again settled in. It was strange. Though he was on land, each waking moment he was pursued by a constant feeling of drowning. His chest felt heavy as if burdened by a great weight that made each breath he took feel like a herculean task.

Neuvillette felt a lot of emotions he couldn’t find the words for. He was frustrated and angry that innocent civilians had died in the flood because nothing was done to prevent it. So many people died. You died. If nothing else, he wanted to get justice for your and the others’ deaths.

However, Furina refused to provide answers to his questions despite his probing and insistence that now was not the time to keep secrets that could potentially help prevent an even greater catastrophe. That was when he turned to seeking aid from his companions, in the hopes that Fontaine could still be saved. Neuvillette lost and gained many things in those few days. The citizens of Fontaine were freed of their curse, and Neuvillette had obtained a position of complete authority, however, it all came at the cost of the lives of innocent civilians, Focalors’s life, Furina’s mental state, and… your life. Those were great prices to pay, and Neuvillette mourned each and every sacrifice.

Now that he had some time to himself to process his feelings, Neuvillette recognized that what he felt was grief and longing. He wanted to see you at least one more time, to feel you in his arms again. To have you taken from him so suddenly was too painful. He never got to tell you one last ‘I love you’, and he could only hope that his words reach you wherever your consciousness might be now. Fontaine will see frequent rainfall in the coming months. It won’t be easy for Neuvillette to get over your death, and some part of him will always ache and yearn to see you again. But one thing he can do is strengthen his resolve to make Fontaine into a nation that both you and Focalors would be proud of. A nation where tragedies like these will never happen again.

🍃 Venti

Venti liked to climb up on high places like his statue in front of the Favonius church, the rooftop of the Cat’s Tail, or the great tree at Windrise. Today, you found him high up in the tree, absentmindedly strumming a new tune on his lyre. Wanting to surprise the bard, you tried your best to climb the tree as quietly as you could, but right as you were about to pop up and surprise him, the branch you were on snapped, and with a heart-stopping shriek, you plummeted down to the ground.

Your scream alerted Venti. He felt your presence before you even started climbing the tree, but he failed to foresee the danger until it was too late. He didn’t react fast enough to summon a gust of wind to safely lower you down. The sickening crunch of your skull hitting the ground made his stomach roil, and for a brief moment he felt as if the blood in his veins turned to ice. He felt frozen in place.

Snapping out of his momentary stupor, Venti rushed to your side to check on you, but the enormous pool of blood blooming around your lifeless body made him throw up.

Not again. He lost someone he loved once more. The painful emotions of losing you triggered a cascade of memories of seeing the broken body of that one boy he called a friend thousands of years ago. The same boy whose face he now wore as a way of honoring his memory and giving him an opportunity to live out his dreams of freedom through Venti.

Venti felt that same feeling of heavy emptiness once again as he cradled your lifeless body in his arms, your blood smearing the white sleeves of his shirt. One of the bard’s hands cradled your still-warm cheek, and he wept. To have you taken away so easily through such a small accident… it was too much.

Venti didn’t attend your funeral. He couldn’t bear to. However, he forced himself to watch from a distance as your loved ones gathered around your grave. He fully empathized with their grief.

In the following days, one could often find Venti at a tavern. He started with Angel’s Share, but after consecutive days of heavy drinking and drunken ramblings about how remorseful he felt and how you deserved better, Diluc put a stop to Venti’s visits. The Anemo Archon wasn’t getting any better from drinking himself into a stupor until he could barely hold himself upright. It was heartbreaking to see.

Even after being banned from the Angel’s Share, Venti would visit other taverns in the city and rinse and repeat. He so badly wanted to numb the pain in his heart and forget the awful memory of your lifeless body. Only after several bans did Venti finally stop coming to the city altogether. He disappeared for a while, and nobody was able to find him. Only after many weeks did the bard suddenly pop up in the town square with his lyre in hand.

During his absence, Venti wrote a few songs as a way to cope with his grief, and after a while, finally felt well enough to play them. As a bard, he was well-known in Mondstadt for playing cheerful and beautiful tunes, but this time his melodies were melancholic, even sad. They listened to him sing about a love he can no longer say ‘I love you’ to anymore, someone he can no longer forge new memories with and can only carry on in his heart as a memory. The music he played captured the attention of every member of the audience and touched their hearts so deeply that they, too, could feel the sorrow the bard was trying to convey through his melodies. His pain became their pain, too. The heartache was so profound, so raw and crippling, that many people couldn’t hold back from crying.

Venti wasn’t playing the songs to earn money or share his sadness with others. He was playing them for you. He hoped that his feelings would reach you wherever you were and that your memory wouldn’t fade away even if he remained the last person alive who knew of your existence. His songs will keep your memory alive in the hearts of the Mondstadt citizens, never to be forgotten.

☂️ Wanderer

You have been fighting chronic sickness for months, but despite the treatments, each week you seemed to get worse and worse. Neither the doctors of Sumeru nor even Nahida herself could figure out a cure for your condition. You were bedridden with barely any strength to move. Wanderer took responsibility for nursing you back to health by helping you get to places you needed, cooking all your meals and feeding you, as well as getting your medicine and administering it.

Despite his efforts, you could tell you wouldn’t last long. While you still had the strength to talk, you apologized to him for being forced to part from him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed, with a frown pulling at his lips. “Rather than talk about such nonsense, use that energy to get better instead.”

He didn’t want to face the facts, to accept the reality that you could disappear from his life. But then came a day where you no longer opened your eyes when he called your name, nor stirred when he tried to shake you awake. Your body was cold and stiff and so unlike what he was used to seeing you as. The life you possessed was gone in all senses of the word.

Something in Wanderer snapped that day. Falling to his knees, he let out a guttural scream that tore at his vocal cords. He unleashed a wail that carried all the anguish and misery he’d been keeping bottled up inside for hundreds of years. He’s lost so many people he cared for in the past. Each time he met someone he grew attached to, fate would always tear them away from him, and you were no exception.

He cried bitter tears in the privacy of your shared home, cursing Fate for doing this to him over and over again. He was angry and heartbroken. Though he lacked a real heart, the sensation in his chest felt like something inside him broke into a million tiny fragments. As if sharp needles pierced through his non-existent heart and caused him to scream until he lost his voice.

He wanted revenge, but how can one get vengeance against Fate itself?

You were gone, so cruelly torn away from his side despite his best efforts to keep you alive. You were the little ray of light that never gave up on him no matter how cold he was towards you or how much he pushed you away, and helped him heal little by little. You accepted him in his entirety and wormed your way into his non-existent heart, so how dare Fate mock him like this? Wanderer truly felt as if Fate was purposely torturing him by taking away all those whom he held dear.

Helpless and anguished, Wanderer reverted to the days when he used to be Scaramouche, the sixth of the Fatui Harbingers who was infamous for his callousness and mercilessness. His roiling emotions spurred him to repeat these spiteful acts against anyone who got in his way. It was the only way he knew of how to vent these overwhelming emotions that made him feel like he was choking on his grief.

It took Nahida’s interference to calm him down and get through to him that you wouldn’t want him to be like this. The Wanderer you fell in love with wasn’t such a hateful person driven by negative emotions, and though he was loathe to admit it, the God of Wisdom was right.

Having quelled the initial burst of wounded anger, Wanderer would think more clearly about what he should do from now on. He could keep all your items, photographs, and letters, but they would never replace you, only help preserve some of the memories attached to them, which a puppet like him had no need for. He won’t forget even the smallest thing about you, not as long as he’s alive.

Wanderer becomes a regular visitor of your grave, taking care of it so your name won’t be erased from the gravestone by time too quickly. He would frequently bring your favorite foods and flowers and place them in front of your grave, before taking a seat next to it and staring off into the distance without saying a word. He did this mostly at night so he could stargaze, just like how you both used to when you were alive.

Even centuries later, when everyone who knew you took their memories of you to their graves, Wanderer will remain to watch over your final resting place, unwavering in his devotion.

🐺 Wriothesley

You accompanied Wriothesley on another one of his swims out in the open waters surrounding the Fortress. Since you weren’t a vision holder, you had to wear a diving suit to breathe, unlike your beloved Duke. You’ve had these private little swim dates a few times before, so your guard was down when you swam through some jagged areas of the Fortress’s scaffolding. The shoulder of your diving suit caught on a sharp edge of metal and tore a hole in it. The tear was fairly large, and you panicked when you felt water rush inside your suit. Wriothesley was quick to freeze the hole and pull you up to the surface to get the suit off of you, but by the time he did, it was too late. You had inhaled too much water and were unresponsive. Wriothesley tried to keep his anxiety at bay and utilized all the CPR knowledge he learned from Sigewinne to try and save your life. He breathed air into your lungs and did chest compressions with enough force to hear your ribs crack, but even after 30 agonizing minutes of trying, you wouldn’t wake up.

Wriothesley had no choice but to accept the fact you died. Wriothesley doesn’t cry for you. He’s no stranger to death. His exposure to it in his younger years made him all too aware of how easy it is to die, and that death came for all without exception. As a result, he was able to accept your death a little easier than most, but it doesn’t mean he made peace with it. The staff and inmates at the Fortress all said Wriothesley looked the same as usual even after your death. He kept up his laidback yet intimidating demeanor and busied himself with the variety of work someone in his position was required to take care of. Only Sigewinne could tell that Wriothesley was not alright despite all the strained smiles he gave everyone. The bags under his eyes grew more prominent by the day, a clear indicator he wasn’t sleeping well. She saw how he threw himself into his work, barely taking any time to rest properly, as if wanting to keep his mind busy from the horrible memory of seeing your corpse. Though he tried to mask it, in truth, your death affected Wriothesley deeply. He had frequent nightmares about watching you drown and being unable to save you, and they would keep him up at night. He usually awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding from intense panic and dread until his mind cleared, only to be replaced with a stone-cold reality that made the feelings of guilt come rushing back. Out of habit, he turns to your side of the bed to seek comfort in your presence but seeing it cold and empty served as yet another harsh reminder that you were gone. Wriothesley can’t sleep after his nightmares, so he opts to work out or fuss over his gauntlets to distract himself from his feelings. It takes all his self-control to keep a lid on his emotions and not become the angry, irritable mess he knows he will be if he’s not careful.

When he makes tea, Wriothesley accidentally makes two cups out of habit. One for you and one for him. Even weeks after your passing, it was still a difficult habit to break. For the first while, Wriothesley would even stop drinking your favorite tea blend because it reminded him of you. Rather than enjoy the flavor, all he tastes is bile in his throat. The flavor of your favorite tea makes him nauseous because it makes him think about how you will never taste this again or have another tea date in his office.

There was one occasion when he tried to drink your tea shortly after your death. He thought maybe the flavor would remind him of the happy times he shared with you, but all it resulted in was a broken teacup from the force of his grip, and Sigewinne fussing over his cuts and burns. He didn’t drink your favorite blend for a long time after that, only being able to find enjoyment in it again many years later when the startlingly clear memory of your death didn’t hurt him as much. Wriothesley felt lonely without you. You were the friend and confidant he told his deepest and darkest secrets about his past, the comfort he sought after a difficult day, and the soothing presence that made him feel accepted for who he was without all the embellished titles. But after your passing, the Fortress of Meropide seemed cold and gloomy, as if devoid of the warmth it once had that made him call it home. It was as if your death snuffed out the little ray of warm sunshine he felt when spending time with you.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #heizou x reader #shikanoin heizou x reader #heizou shikanoin x reader #kaveh x reader #lyney x reader #neuvillette x reader #venti x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #wriothesley x reader #For some reason Lyney's part is the longest

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 4 months

Text

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

Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

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love-bitesx · 1 year

Note

okay but imagine pavitr trying to play wingman for hobie to get with the reader and how funny/cute it would be

longer requests will be out this week, thank u all for the amazing support!! love you guys sm

: ̗̀➛ WINGMAN. hobie brown x reader headcanons

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

oh, he would be so annoying. in the best way.

you’d joined the spider society not long after the others, immediately clicking within the dynamic and it wasn’t uncommon for you all to just hang out in each others dimensions after a mission.

at first, hobie thought you’d simply peaked his interest because of your unspoken nature. constantly standing up for yourself and other spider people, putting people in their place if need be, just your general backbone intrigued him. you felt different to the others. that’s all he thought.

that was, until one afternoon, you were all packed into your apartment, music playing from the stereos and pavitr talking everybody’s ear off about god knows what. hobie had been silent for a while, no reason in particular, he’d been fiddling with the badges on his leather vest, in his own little world. well, until he felt a hand on his knee.

“hobie,” your voice was low, subtle, hanging just below the decibels of the melodies booming through the room, “are you alright? you’ve been quite quiet.”

“oh, uh,” he was taken aback, possibly by your hand that still lingered on his jeans, or how close he suddenly realised you were, seeing the soft details of your face and pigment in your cheeks for the first time, “yeah, no, i’m fine.” he cleared his throat.

smiling back at him, you took your hand away, moving back to get involved in the conversation again, not thinking much of it. regretfully, hobie looked up and saw pavitr staring at him, clearly having watched the ordeal and the excited smirk on his face told him that he’d definitely seen hobie flustered. he sighed.

after pavitr worked out that hobie had a thing for you, it was over for him.

he couldn’t even LOOK in your direction, without the shorter man hopping into his personal space, nudging him hard in the ribs, singing something about kissing in a tree.

constant comments about you to hobie

“y/n, i love your shirt! hobie, doesn’t it look so cool?”

“y/n! hobie told me to tell you he loves your shoes.”

“doesn’t y/n look sooo nice today! huh? hobie? what do you think?”

he was in hell, actually.

there was only so many "yeah, nice" he could say to you before he started to sound like a prick

on missions, he was insufferable

constantly making you guys work together somehow

“miguel, i think me and gwen work best as a team, don’t you think? y/n and hobie should do this one together”

swinging through the streets of whichever earth you were sent to, hearing distant yells of pavitr calling after you both “aren’t they cute together?!”

“good morning, hobie,” you grinned, sleep still evident in your voice as you wandered into the headquarters, beckoning to miguel’s very early morning mission call.

god, he was so thankful to have you alone for once. relief settled itself on his shoulders at the absence of his best friends’ watchful eye, happy to interact with you comfortably.

“mornin’,” he spoke, stretching his legs mindlessly out across the length of the desk, leaning back onto his arms, “how’d you sleep?”

“oh my god, i had the weirdest dream—” you begun, hopping up onto the adjoining surface, eyes lit up with passion as you ranted about the dream you had just resurfaced from.

he watched you the whole time, lips curling into a smile at the way you threw your hands around in the air as you spoke, reeling into every detail about your nonsensical experience. nodding every so often, he was almost enthralled by you – taking this peaceful moment as an advantage to see you properly. you were tired, sleep still evident in your eyes, hair a little chaotic in places, but the soft glow that it gave you made his heart skip.

he’d totally lost himself in speaking to you, listening to the excitement lacing your voice, that he didn’t realise other people had arrived.

well, until he felt a sharp elbow to the ribs.

“you guys are so cute together!” pavitr’s sing-song voice pierced hobie’s ears, shocked at the newcomers, “i saw the way you looked at them, loverboy.”

the nickname stuck

he’d been addressed more by “loverboy” than his own name, and his insides churned every single time

even gwen started calling him it, to which hobie would send a threatening glare

when you eventually did end up seeing each other, whether that be dating or other stuff, you both swore to keep it a secret

hobie refused to give pavitr the satisfaction of knowing he was right

so you would sneak around together, kissing in places you shouldn’t, stealing knowing glances in meetings, secret touches when no one was looking

he loved the risk of it all

but it was one afternoon, you’d both slipped away into an empty lab at the spider society headquarters, giggling to each other like kids as he dragged you into the vacant room

his hands were all over you, lips brushing whatever skin he could see, your arms slung around his neck as you kissed him

“did you lock the door?” you asked

“i thought you did.”

“OH. MY. GOD.” a third voice yelled.

you yelped, jumping away from hobie as a last ditch effort to maybe save some face

it was too late, pavitr stood there, mouth agape

hobie sighed, hanging his head

“GWEN! THEY DID IT!”

pavitr stepped back into the hallway and ran down towards where you’d both left them, his voice carrying through the metal walls

“LOVERBOY DID IT!”

you stood there, unsure whether if you just remained still, you could avoid whatever consequences you both faced

that was, until you felt hobie’s arm slide around your waist, pulling you back into him, an unintelligible look on his face

“we can’t keep it a secret anymore, i guess.” you spoke first, he let out a laugh

“i don’t think that’s such a bad thing,” he kissed you, softly.

a/n: hope this was okay!! currently got a bunch of requests in the works, so keep an eye out for more!!! also anymore headcanon ideas would be so fun!! thank u

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown #atsv hobie #hobie my beloved #hobie #hobie spiderverse #hobie x reader #spiderpunk #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x reader #spider punk x you #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie x you

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idiopath-fic-smile · 7 months

Text

this one goes out to all my Singin' in the Rain ot3 truthers—

Cosmo Brown had always known it would end like this.

Cosmo was a lot of things—in fact, you could argue he was too many—but he wasn’t dumb.

From the early years, when Cosmo and Don were just kids playing for pennies in pool halls, to their stint dodging rotten vegetables on Vaudeville stages across the very backwaters of America’s backwaters, to their first real breath of success in Hollywood (and then the second and the third and the fourth), Cosmo would catch a glimpse of his handsome, charismatic friend from the corner of his eye—a flash of dark hair, that perfect tooth powder ad smile—and know that for all Don’s protestations, someday the guy was gonna meet a wonderful girl and get married, settle down, and very gently slip off to the far edge of Cosmo’s life.

So yes, Cosmo had seen Kathy Selden coming. Not the details, not her sense of humor or her musical little laugh or the madcap way she really threw herself into dancing with them around Don’s place at 1:30 in the morning—and okay, certainly not the part at the beginning where she had jumped out of a cake at a party, but he thought a fella could be excused for not correctly divining that.

The general outline of the thing, though, how Don’s eyes followed her around a room...he had been preparing for Don to propose to Kathy ever since she’d tried to throw a pie at Don’s face. And when the happy day came, Cosmo had been ready with his best man suit, his best man speech, a slightly updated version of “Here Comes the Bride” that’d had Don and Kathy laughing all the way down the aisle.

Don and Kathy would buy a house together. They would have a swimming pool and a dog and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little snot-nosed kids who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing!

Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise.

“What?” said Cosmo, hands frozen over the piano keys. He’d been busy with a brand-new assignment; on the heels of The Dancing Cavalier, offers were pouring in and he’d taken the first one scoring a movie that didn’t star anyone he was secretly in love with.

Don had looked a little wounded when Cosmo broke the news last week, but a guy had to start making his own way in the world. Besides, orchestrating layers of strings to swell as the camera zoomed in on Don and Kathy blissfully locking lips in radiant monochrome, oblivious to the rest of the world—well, Cosmo knew that dance, he had mastered the footwork, and he didn’t especially feel like a reprise.

It wasn’t lost on him that Kathy had dropped by his rehearsal space alone today. Of course, he had no idea what this meant—he didn’t think it was about the new job; Don didn’t tend to stay sore at him for that long—but Kathy was acting perfectly natural, and so probably the smart thing was to follow her lead.

“It’s a two-week transatlantic cruise,” she said now, gracefully dropping beside him on the piano bench. “We thought it would be nice to see Europe, take in the sights, get away from all the cameras.”

“Ah yes, such a wallflower, our dear Don,” said Cosmo solemnly. “Besieged on all sides by the love of his public, a tragedy of our times, up there with Lear! Hamlet! Caesar! The one with all the Greeks and the giant wooden horse, nay, nay, neigh.” He played a tragic little trill, for effect. Kathy huffed a laugh and smacked his arm.

“You know that’s not it,” she said. “Being watched all the time—we can’t always do what we want. It’s rotten.”

Tell me about it, thought Cosmo.

He was sort of seeing a fight choreographer named Archibald, who came from old money and was a “the third” or a “the fifth” but nice enough Cosmo might even forgive him for that. Archibald was trim and athletic, with dark brown hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples and enough discretion that Cosmo didn’t think they’d get caught. The only problem was that he didn’t laugh at Cosmo’s jokes, seemed to just tolerate them.

“What do you two even talk about, then?” Don had asked, when Cosmo had let this slip over drinks the same night he’d explained about the new movie project. (Cosmo had been trying to spend less time with Don and Kathy since the wedding but Don had said, “C’mon, pal, we miss you” and Kathy had laid one hand on his arm and peered up at him with her big green eyes and Cosmo was only one man.)

Cosmo had frowned, because Don hated Archibald, for reasons that were frankly mysterious. Then he’d looked up and grinned a grin he didn’t exactly feel and said,

“Tell you when you’re older,” and then Don had choked on his dry Martini even though Cosmo knew Don knew about Cosmo’s tendencies. It wasn’t something they discussed, and Cosmo had never properly gone with a guy before, but whenever a big-shot producer started complaining about all the degenerate queers in showbiz, Don always sharply steered the conversation someplace else. It was all very gallant and noble and knightly, and someday Don would play King Arthur and Kathy his lady Guinevere—

“Honestly, sometimes it feels as if we’re living in a fishbowl,” said Kathy now, in the present.

“And so your solution is to relocate,” said Cosmo, “to the biggest fishbowl on this here magnificent earth. The mighty ocean!” He struck up a sea shanty. “Oh blow the man down, blow the man down / way ay, blow the man down…”

Not everyone appreciated his musical flights of fancy, but when Cosmo turned, she was leaning with her elbow on the side arm of the piano, watching him with her chin on her hand and laughing.

“Just for two weeks,” she said. “So, are you coming?”

“With you two,” said Cosmo, just so there could be no misunderstandings. “On your one and only honeymoon.”

“Yes,” said Kathy.

“As what, your first mate?”

“Sure.” She grinned and threw him a quick salute. Cosmo was almost never attracted to women but in this case, he understood the appeal.

He swallowed. “You are aware of that ancient saying, ‘Two’s company and three’s a fast track to divorce court’?”

“You’re hardly a threat to our marriage, Cosmo,” she said, and he agreed, of course, in both directions, even, but it still stung to hear her say it out loud. For want of anything better to do, he gasped, clutched a hand to his chest and reeled backwards so hard, he threw himself off the piano bench, landing in a somersault on the floor.

Kathy spun around fluidly on the bench to face him, pleated skirt whirling a little, heels of her shoes clicking together.

“Oh, I said that badly,” she said. “I only mean that it’s more fun when you’re around. We have a better time, Don and me both. Remember the night we decided to make Dueling Cavalier a musical?”

“Do I remember the best night of my life?” Cosmo peered up at her from the hardwood. “Why yes, madam, now that you mention it, I believe it might ring a bell or two.”

“The best—” She frowned for a moment, and he remembered then that as a newly married woman, a newly married woman to Don Lockwood, no less, she’d no doubt experienced any number of evenings that blew that one out of the water.

Even besides that, it felt awfully revealing all of a sudden. Cosmo threw an arm over his eyes. He felt naked. He wished he was naked, because that might at least distract from whatever his face was doing.

“So it beats your time with Archibald, then?” said Kathy shrewdly.

Cosmo uncovered his eyes. He forgot, sometimes, that new as Kathy was to the moving pictures business, she was still a city girl, with a city girl’s worldliness. Also, Don had probably told her; that seemed like the kind of second-hand secrets married people shared with each other. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hardly a topic for mixed company,” he said.

There was a pause.

“So yes,” she said and smiled with a smugness that would’ve been unbecoming were she not as cute as a button.

“What do you and Don have against the poor man anyway?” he groused. “He’s never done so much as sneezed in your direction, and if he did, I’m sure he’d use a handkerchief.”

“For one thing, we know you could do better,” said Kathy, folding her arms.

Cosmo elbowed his way back to sitting, brushing himself off with dignity. “Well, better’s not exactly knocking on my door right now.”

“This town doesn’t have an ounce of sense.” She reached down to offer him a hand up, pulling Cosmo to his feet; she was stronger than she looked. “Listen, two weeks away, it’ll be good for you.”

“What about you two?” Cosmo protested as he reclaimed his spot on the bench, Kathy sliding to make room.

“What about us?” said Kathy with wide eyes.

“Two newlyweds might want some alone time?” he offered weakly.

Kathy shrugged. “I told you, there won’t be reporters or cameras. It’ll be plenty private.”

“What about your matrimonial needs?”

“Which needs?”

His eyes narrowed; she was a terrific actress but suddenly he wasn’t sure he was buying it. Kathy wasn’t dumb either.

“You have to know what I mean. Don’t make me play Cole Porter at you,” said Cosmo. She hesitated, and Cosmo began to pluck out a melody: “Birds do it, bees do it / even educated fleas do it…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s do it,” sang Kathy, finishing the stanza in her lovely alto, “let’s fall in love.”

Cosmo stopped playing.

“I do know,” she said simply, “of course I do, and we’re not worried about it, alright? Listen, do you want to go?”

Cosmo, who had been carefully not asking himself that question, stared down at the piano keys. Did he want to go? He thought back to that night at Don’s, the three of them giddy with excitement and inspiration and sleep deprivation, running through the house, clowning around and dancing with no audience except each other—he hadn’t felt like a hanger-on then, like a third wheel or an extra limb or a chaperone. He’d felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, one note of a perfect chord.

Still.

“I can’t swim,” he said.

“They’ll have lifejackets,” said Kathy.

“I’ll have to work.”

“We’ll bring a piano.”

“All my houseplants will die,” said Cosmo.

“All your houseplants are fake,” she said. This was true, although he wasn’t sure how she knew since she’d never been to his house. She sighed. “Remember the night of that first screening, when you were about to expose Lina and instead of explaining what was happening, Don told me I had to sing, that I didn’t have a choice?”

He winced, thinking of Kathy’s heartbroken, tear-stained face before they’d pulled up the curtain and revealed who was really singing when Lina moved her lips.

“Yes, and I feel just awful about it.”

“Well, Don doesn’t,” said Kathy. “Because he knew it would take too long to convince me to do something that mean to her.”

“Mean?” Cosmo echoed. “She tried to trap you in a lifelong contract and steal your voice. A common sea witch wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“But there wasn’t time,” she pressed. “And anyway, he knew how it would end.”

“What’s your point?”

“We already bought your tickets,” said Kathy.

Cosmo gaped at her.

“We’ve cleared the trip with everyone at Monumental and anyway, like I said, we’ll have a piano on the boat.”

Distantly, he was aware his mouth was still hanging open. Kathy reached over with one light finger under his chin and gently closed it.

“That’s better,” she said, folding her hands daintily in her lap. It was around this time she seemed to realize it wasn’t some routine, that Cosmo really was well and truly stunned. “Of course, nobody is going to force you to go with us if you truly don’t want to,” she said into the silence.

“These tickets,” he said at last, “are they refundable?”

“Gosh,” said Kathy easily, “I can’t imagine they are, no.”

The thing was, none of them were hurting for money or work anymore, so the fact that Don and Kathy might be out even a few hundred dollars didn’t catch at him the way it might’ve some years earlier. No, the thought that really seized his imagination was the mental image of Don and Kathy planning this together, Don and Kathy discussing the matter with each other, maybe over breakfast—toast and coffee in their dressing gowns, so sure it was the right thing to do that they’d decided to just go ahead and make preparations: oh and a ticket for Cosmo, of course.

He could do it, he realized. He could go. He wanted to go. It was foolish, but Cosmo was an entertainer; he’d been doing foolish things in front of a roomful of witnesses since he was in shortpants.

“I’ll pack tonight,” he said.

“Perfect!” Kathy hopped off the bench and straightened out her dress. “And bring something nice to wear at dinner for a night or two; it doesn’t need to be black-tie formal, a good suit will do.”

He nodded. “I shall leave the top hat and monocle at home. Two weeks, you say?”

“Yes, and another half-day on either side flying to the harbor and back.” She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “The itinerary,” she said. “Don and I are so glad you’ll be coming.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cosmo. “Say, where is that fella, anyway? What’s the big idea, can’t even stick around to ask his best pal to his own honeymoon?”

“He’s planning the trip,” said Kathy brightly. “Last-minute details. Anyway, he thought you and I should have a chat, one on one. He thought it might help.”

He blinked. “Help what?”

“Help us,” she said.

It was all starting to feel like a farce, like one of those old Vaudeville acts with a lot of fast talking.

“Did it?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Kathy warmly. She turned and began to walk towards the door. “See you at the airport tomorrow. Six AM sharp.”

“Six AM,” he said, and then, foolishly, “You know, I can see why he likes you.”

Kathy dimpled. “Oh, likewise!” She tossed him another smile and then she was heading out of sight down the hallway, shoes clacking rhythmically on the tile.

“Well,” said Cosmo to no one. He felt pole-axed, he decided. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt pole-axed in his life before, but there was no other word for it.

He played a chord, then another chord, then a few more.

“Pole-axed,” he sang, “out of whack, when you are near there’s only one drawback: I can’t be clever, no I lack the knack, Darling, I’m pole-axed, out of whack around you!”

It wasn’t exactly Cole Porter, but he’d take it, he thought, reaching for his pen. There was still an hour or two left before he’d need to race traffic home and dig out his suitcase. Apparently, he had early morning plans.

(ETA: if you didn't see, there is now a second part here!)

(ETA THE SECOND: the whole finished thing is now here!

#singin in the rain ot3 #i might write more idk but listen like you can probably imagine the rest of it #old-timey polyamorous shenanigans on a boat #pretty straightforward stuff #there's singing there's dancing and somehow don managed to 'accidentally' book cosmo in an adjoining bedroom etc etc

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ifimdreaming · 5 months

Text

come over?

luke hughes x reader

summary: you and luke have a secret/not so secret relationship

a/n: no warnings really, this is cute i think and very cringey fluff tbh. not proofread.

word count: 1.3k

Keeping your relationship with Luke a secret from your friends was a hard enough task as it is, but having to keep it a complete secret from your family was proving to be an even more difficult task. It has been over 6 months of you and Luke being together now and everyday you just want to shout from the rooftops just how much you love him.

Although you knew being in the spotlight was 100% not what you wanted, it was so much harder than you thought to have to sneak around and pretend to be single around some of your very closest friends. And Luke knew how much it meant to the public for you to be known solely as ‘Luke Hughes’ Girlfriend’ so you had both agreed on the whole keeping-things-a-secret thing until further notice.

Because of this, It had been almost 2 weeks since you had last seen your boyfriend. Both you and him being respectively busy, and also having absolutely nowhere to spend time together as your two roommates had not been out of the house for any extended periods of time lately. And in the midst of that, Luke and Jack had a guest staying at their condo since the beginning of the month, making it nearly impossible for you to spend any time there at all.

This had you up late at night thinking about Luke for what felt like the millionth night in a row. wishing he was beside you instead of just your childhood stuffed animals. Wishing he was rubbing your back, soothing you to sleep, kissing your neck gently, tracing shapes on your skin - there were so many little ways he showed you his love and you missed every single one of them. And as much as you hated what was at risk with you sneaking him over - laying in bed dreaming about it caused absolutely no harm at all.

Pulling you out of your daydream, you hear buzzing begin to come from your phone that is left charging on your nightstand as you are trying desperately to fall asleep. You look over to see that it is Luke calling you, at almost 1:00 in the morning. You wonder if he had been up thinking about you too.

You reach over and grab your phone to answer him, “hi baby” you whisper into the phone, not wanting to wake up anyone else in your apartment.

“baby I cant sleep. I miss you so much” he says with a tired rasp in his voice. He lets out a sigh on the other end of the phone and its almost like he is right beside you. You can hear the longing in his voice and can just sense how frustrated he is with the single sigh.

“I miss you too lukey. I literally cant sleep either - ive just been up thinking about you” you say honestly.

You have always been super honest with him about everything. Weather it be you telling him every single detail about how horrible your period is that week, how you absolutely dread doing the dishes and let them pile up for days before getting to them, how you refuse to go out past 5pm by yourself because you are terrified of being kidnapped, or explaining to him word for word why you love the movie ‘love rosie’ so much and how much it means to you when he agrees to watch it with you. Luke knew you so well and you knew him just the same. Because you always communicated with each other. about everything. No matter what.

Thats why what he said next came as such a shock to you.

“Ive been thinking too..’’ he trails off, his tone quieter than before

You stay quiet on the other end of the phone, curious about what Luke is about to say and suddenly extremely aware of the fact that it is so late at night and he decided to call you without warning. After your silent thinking, you hum a quiet ‘mhm’ in response, urging him to continue.

“Ive just been thinking.. maybe I regret keeping things, with us, a secret for so long. I know I- We agreed to hold off, especially because of how it would affect your life and everything. And I know thats a really big deal. I dont want you to think im being selfish..” he begins, but waits for you to chime in with your thoughts.

Things have worked well this way for so long, that it surprised you he felt this way. Especially because Luke is a very private person in general, you assumed this is how he wanted things. It broke your heart if you made him feel like this was all your idea in the first place. You just thought it would be best for the both of you.

“Luke I dont know what to say. Honestly i thought we were on the same page so I didnt offer to change anything…”

“How long have you felt like this?” you add, trying to speak loud enough but still with your voice in a whisper.

“I mean. I dont really know?” he says almost as a question

“Luke…” you urge him, hoping he will answer your question honestly.

“Well I guess - about a month now I guess? I know i shouldve said something sooner but I just didnt want to ruin anything. I know thats kind of..shitty..” He says regretfully

Theres the honest boy you know.

“I..I didnt know” you say. Honestly you ddnt know where to go from here. You wanted to tell everyone everything about your relationship at this very moment, but werent sure if thats where Luke was going with this.

“I- What are you thinking? I understand if you want to keep things the way they are. I wanna be clear that I really dont want to force you into changing anything. I just i couldn t keep it to myself anymore”

It was so exciting to you knowing how much Luke cared about you. The way he cares for everyone around him has always been something you admire about him. He has the biggest heart in the world and you only hoped to be at least half as caring as him. Clearly this has been on his mind for a while and he cared so mch about your feelings towards it that he didnt want to let his feelings ruin what you have.

“Luke I love you, obviously as long as you know that, thats enough for me. But i do want everyone to know that too.” you say as the lump in your throat grows and tears well in your eyes.

You honestly didn't know why this was making you emotional. But the combination of missing him, hearing him so delicately approach you with this, and knowing this might be the moment you get to share your love for him with the world, is making it hard to get your words out right now.

“I love you so much. and I want everyone to know I do too” he says matter of factly and your heart melts completely.

You both sit in comfortable silence over the phone for a moment as your slight sniffles fill the quiet air.

“I dont know why im crying..” you say through quiet laughter and hear Luke share laughter in response. He was so used to you being emotional over the most random things, this not surprising him one bit.

“What can i do baby?”

You dont even have to think twice of your next response but pretend to be contemplating anyway,

“hmmmm, come over?” you respond hopefully. It thrilled you to think he might actually say yes. Even at 1:00 in the morning.

“Absolutely,” he says with a laugh and you grin ear to ear with giddy excitement,

“give me 20 minutes”

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aryxchse · 2 months

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the same type of blue. | percy jackson x daughter of hera! reader.

a / n : the history book on the shelf, is always repeating itself. and i won't shut up about how logan lerman and his wife being sally and poseidon in my head

warnings : emotional, i can't warm up to paul im sorry, sally and poseidon should've been an endgame but idek how, mentioning past, you looking like sally, crying, some of the hera cabin power mentions that i had in mind

the moment sally jackson met you, was the moment she saw her teenage self in your eyes.

you were this funny and bubbly girl who was too nice for your own good. you had these mother instict in you that later she found out it was because of your mother being hera. you would always say what type of marriage you imagine with percy and how many kids do you want. one boy and one girl, doesn't matter who's the older. the girl was going to have percy's eyes, but the boy will have yours.

and it always put a smile on her face to listen you talk about your dreams so comfortly to her. because she saw herself in those dreams. they were once her dreams too.

percy looked and acted too much like poseidon for sally's own good. he would unknowingly make his dad's jokes, and would call you 'darling' like he did to her back then. all these little details would remind sally her past love.

it was a barbeque day for the jackson-blofis family at the montauk cabin. where you were obviously invited, and poseidon, obviously was not. he liked to show up in family gatherings once in a while, to spend some time with his son or suprisingly, estelle.

you and sally prepared the table as the boys made the meat while laughing at something. paul and poseidon had this awkward friendship that always made you giggle. and percy would chat with his biological dad more often, since he felt more comfortable with him. don't get me wrong, he loved paul. all of you loved paul. but poseidon's warm energy made him easier to talk.

you never thought you'd have a dinner with a god but here you were, eating a meal with one of the most powerful gods ever existed. poseidon was really good at making people forget that he's a god, the one that rules the seven seas.

after the dinner, percy and you started to clean the area as paul went inside to watch this new game he followed, you didn't really paid attention. sally stayed outside, smelling the sea's calming scent, her bare feet dipping in the sand.

she looked over were poseidon and estelle was playing. he made sand castles with her as he laughed like a true grandpa. it made sally chuckle too, seeing him acting all fatherly with her daughter.

"he wants to make up for it," you said, and it made sally slightly jump. you apologised while putting a hand on her shoulder. "you know, since he couldn't look out for percy and you."

sally's eyes started to water up, but she managed to crack a smile. "how do you know this?" she asked. you shrugged, "i can feel a parent's feelings, even if they're a god. weird power, i know." you chuckled at the end with her.

"he didn't had any choice," sally muttered, looking at the sea again. you nodded. "i know, but he still feels bad. he really loves you sally, still like the first time." your whispering words made sally want to breakdown right then and there, but she only sighed.

"baby!" percy called behind you, smiling like a little kid. you both turned around as you made your way to percy, giggling. once again, it reminded sally the good times. but she wasn't alone this time, poseidon could also see the similarities between them. how you had sally's hair back then like how she used it, and how percy was a literal copy of himself.

sally sat next to poseidon as he sat there silently, watching his son and his girlfriend chase eachother around the beach, just like he and sally did. estelle was asleep in his arms, the calm energy he radiated making the girl fall asleep immediatly.

"they're just like us." poseidon whispered, not looking at the woman he still loved. sally smiled, not that he would see. "yeah. but a better version." she responded.

"one that ends happily unlike us." he agreed, too afraid to look in her eyes. sally didn't said anything, and the past lovers watched their son having the time of his life with the girl he loved.

suddenly percy lifted you up on his shoulders and ran into the water with you, still being clothed. you whined the moment you swimmed up. "percy it's not fair!" you yelled at him between your giggles.

"m' wet too baby, see? there's nothing unfair in this!" percy laughed with her, hugging her waist tightly so that she won't slip away.

"you used to do that too," sally whispered to poseidon, smile hurting her cheeks at this point. poseidon mimicked her facial expressions as he nodded quickly.

"and you would always whine like her." he chuckled, making the woman laugh along with him.

percy stepped out from the water with the help of the waves, still holding you in his arms in bridal style. while he made his way into the cabin, he spinned you around once in a while to make you laugh.

"he's really your son." sally chuckled, watching the couple enter the cabin.

"he's our son." poseidon corrected. he finally faced the woman, and saw the tears perking in her eyes through a smile. this was sally jackson, the woman he loved the most. smiling through everything.

he made the tears go away with a flick of his hand, too afraid to touch her. "a proof that our love was real, not a dream i had."

#poseidon the man you are #I WANTED AN ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE OF THEM BEING TOGETHER #god sally and poseidon are my roman empire #your mother is a goddess among humans #MAN #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #percy jackson series #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson headcanon #pjo show #pjo tv show #percy x you

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wholoveseggs · 2 months

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Me again :) I'm just requesting those as they come to me, so feel free to ignore. How about Elijah and reader being in a relationship, but Elijah being pretty vanilla and gentle in the bedroom. So, reader sits him down to share each other's desires and kinks. He finally opens up, revealing a world of dirty thoughts inside his mind, one of them being da breeding kink. I picture it very conversation driven as they build tension.

Fantasies

gif credit @winchesster

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You get Elijah to open up about his desires and he discovers a few of yours, leading to a night of fun and exploration.

♡♡ Thanks for the request sweet @originals23 I adore all of your requests ♡♡

4.8k words - Warnings: smutttt, discussions of kinks & sex, lots of cum & orgasms, praise, breeding kink, public sex, fingering...

When you started dating Elijah, you expected a lot of things. You expected him to be the perfect gentleman and he was. You expected him to be kind and considerate and he was. And you expected him to be the perfect, loving partner and... Well, he was that too. He was everything you wanted and more, but sometimes... Sometimes, he was a little too gentle.

The first time you had sex with him it surprised you, mostly just how sweet and tender it was. He had you on your back, pressed into the mattress as he made love to you, taking his time, kissing your lips, your neck, and even your forehead before he came. You didn't expect it and you had to admit it was a little frustrating.

He was one thousand years old, an immortal creature of immense power, a man that had seen and experienced so many things, and yet, in bed he was just… the complete opposite. He was a soft lover, a romantic, a gentleman in the bedroom and you adored him for that, but there were times when you wanted more.

At first, you chalked it up to him wanting to make sure you felt good, but it soon became clear it was just the way he was. He wasn't shy, not exactly, but he wasn't open about his desires either. He was quiet in bed, mostly just letting out the occasional groan. The wildest thing he had done with you was smack you on the ass while you were riding him and, well, that just wasn't enough. You loved him so much, and you wanted to explore your sexual fantasies with him, but... You didn't know how to tell him.

All of this was on your mind when the two of you were at Rousseau's, cozied up in a quiet corner booth, drinking bourbon and chatting about everything and nothing at all. His arm was draped behind you on the booth, his hand idly stroking the nape of your neck and he was laughing, a deep and beautiful sound, his head tipped back as the corners of his eyes crinkled.

You loved this version of him. Relaxed and happy, with no care in the world, no responsibilities, no Mikaelson family drama, no nothing. Just the two of you and your love.

You'd had a few drinks, making you extra chatty. Your hand was on his knee and you were leaning against him, telling him some long winded story about something. You couldn't quite remember what it was, because his fingers kept brushing the nape of your neck and distracting you.

He noticed, of course, and when you trailed off and fell silent, he leaned down and whispered, "What's on your mind?"

"I..." You shook your head and finished your drink, setting it down on the table a little harder than necessary. "Can I ask you a question?" You said softly, turning towards him, your eyes flicking from his lips up to his eyes.

"Of course." He smiled at you, his eyes sparkling. "Anything."

"You tell me all these interesting stories about your past, but you never talk about... your... uh… sex life." You flushed red, stumbling over your words. You had no idea why you were so nervous. He had touched on the subject a few times, but never in any sort of detail.

He chuckled, looking away briefly, his smile growing, the corners of his eyes crinkling once again. "You want me to kiss and tell?" He asked, amusement in his voice.

"Yes. No. I don't know." You huffed, reaching for his hand, needing some kind of connection to him. "It's just... We've been dating for a while and... Well, I feel like I know almost nothing about your desires. Like… what you're into."

He took a sip of his drink, watching you curiously. "Tell me yours first," he said. "Then I'll share mine."

"Mine?"

"Yes, yours." He chuckled. "We all have them, don't we? Fantasies we like to indulge in."

"I... sure, I have them." You bit your lip. You knew your face was bright red.

"What is the wildest thing you've done?"

You hesitated, thinking about your past. You'd never been in a serious relationship before and the only thing that had been somewhat close was the occasional hookup, but those were few and far between.

"Uh... Well, this one guy I dated really liked roleplaying, so we used to pretend to be strangers in public places and stuff." You felt your cheeks flush as you looked down at the table, avoiding his eyes. "It was... It was fun."

"What else?" He was leaning back, relaxed, watching you intently, but there was something about the way he was staring at you that sent heat straight to your core.

"It's your turn," you said quickly, wanting to steer the subject away from you. "Tell me about one of yours."

"Mine?" He smiled that knowing smile of his, his eyes sparkling, but he didn't hesitate to answer. "I enjoy watching."

"Watching?"

"Yes. Watching." He laughed, finishing his drink. "There was a witch I was with for a short while and she would touch herself while I watched."

"Oh." You shifted in your seat, biting your lip. "And... And did you touch yourself too?"

"Sometimes," He set his empty glass down on the table and leaned back, stretching his arms out over the back of the booth. "Other times I would simply enjoy the show."

"That sounds hot." You licked your lips, picturing him sitting back and stroking his cock, watching some naked girl touching herself.

"It was." He turned his head towards you and looked you up and down, a playful glint in his eyes. "Your turn, tell me a fantasy of yours,” he said, his voice a low purr.

"Oh, okay." You shifted in your seat again, fidgeting. This whole thing was getting a bit intimidating.

"Come now, don't be shy." He said softly, his hand brushing against your arm. "I told you mine, didn't I?"

"Fine, fine, uh..." You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You weren't embarrassed, not exactly, but it was hard to open up. This wasn't exactly going the way you planned. "I've always wanted to... I've always wanted to be dominated, but like nothing too rough, just..." You paused, taking a shaky breath. "I don't know how to explain it, but I've always had this fantasy of a man pinning me down, making me do whatever he wants, making me submit."

"Is that so?" He asked, his hand settling on your shoulder. His touch was light and gentle, but his fingers squeezed lightly. "Have you ever done that before?"

"Not really. You have to really trust someone to let them have control." You opened your eyes and found him looking at you, his eyes dark, his lips parted slightly. "Also, some men just aren't very good at it, they have to enjoy it as well."

Elijah chuckled, nodding in agreement. "That is very true."

"What about you?" You asked, your eyes searching his. "Have you ever...?"

"Done what you just described?" He cocked his head to the side and thought for a moment. "I've been on both sides plenty of times, but I prefer the dominant role. I find it..." He trailed off, his eyes roaming over you, his gaze lingering on the exposed skin of your thighs, the swell of your breasts. "I find it very appealing."

"Of course you do," you teased, relaxing a bit. "What else do you like?"

"Well, now, I couldn't possibly reveal all my secrets to you, could I?" He said, his hand settling on your thigh, his thumb stroking the skin there.

"What is a kink if not a secret?" You laughed, reaching out to touch him, sliding your hand under his jacket and rubbing his chest. "What about, uh, what's the most bizarre thing you've ever done?"

"That would depend on what your definition of bizarre is," he grinned, his fingers slowly slipping beneath the hem of your skirt. "I've had sex with vampires, witches, werewolves, humans..."

"No, not what," you rolled your eyes, trying not to giggle. "I mean... I don't know... Like... What's the wildest kink you've ever explored?"

"Ah." His eyes sparkled as he moved closer to you, his hand slowly inching lower. "Are you sure you're ready to hear it?"

"Yes, of course." You shifted, spreading your legs apart for him, wanting him to touch you.

"Hmm, maybe another time." He slid his hand higher, his palm pressing against your pussy. "I'd like to hear another one of yours."

"Elijah..." You sighed, moving your hips, rubbing against his hand.

"Tell me, sweetheart," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

"Fine, okay." You closed your eyes and leaned back against the booth, focusing on his hand, his fingers. "There was this one time, with this one guy..." You gasped, his fingers pressing against your panties, stroking you.

"Yes?"

"He wanted to... To come inside me and... I didn't let him, obviously." You opened your eyes and glanced at him, finding him watching you, his eyes dark and intense. "But... I've thought about it a lot since then."

"Oh?" His fingers slid beneath your panties and he groaned, feeling how wet you were. "You're soaking," he murmured, his eyes still locked on yours. "Tell me more."

You could tell by the look on his face that this was definitely something he was into, his eyes burning, his lips slightly parted. "He said he wanted to fill me up," you said softly, biting your lip, trying to ignore his fingers. "He wanted to make sure I was... uh... filled with his cum," you whispered, feeling yourself blush. "I told him no, but... I couldn't stop thinking about it."

"Is that so?" His fingers brushed against your clit, making you whimper. His lips were inches from yours, his breath hot and sweet.

"Yes," you moaned, closing your eyes, your hands gripping the edge of the booth. "I would think about him, about what he'd do if I let him."

"Would you like to explore that with me? This fantasy?" He asked, his thumb circling your clit, his fingers teasing your opening. "I'd love to try it with you," he whispered, his tongue licking the shell of your ear.

"Yes," you whimpered, spreading your legs wider, wanting more.

"What would you like me to do?" He asked, his teeth gently tugging on your ear.

"I'd like you to... To pin me down and..." You took a deep breath and forced yourself to say the words, knowing that's what he wanted to hear. "To fuck me, fill me up with your cum, and leave me a mess."

"A mess?" He laughed, his fingers slipping into your cunt, pumping in and out. "Like you are right now?"

His lips were still by your ear and you could hear the smirk in his voice, his fingers pumping firmly, you gripped his arm, squeezing him tightly.

"Wait. Eli- someone could catch us," you gasped, glancing around the bar. You couldn't see anyone watching, but there were still a few patrons at the bar.

"Relax, no one can see you." He kissed your neck, his thumb stroking your clit, his fingers fucking you. "Now tell me," he murmured, his tongue sliding over the soft skin of your throat. "Would you like that? To be left a mess, your thighs slick with my cum, your pretty pussy dripping?" His teeth scraped across your skin and you shivered, unable to hold back a moan.

"Answer me, darling." His fingers curled inside you, hitting a spot that made you see stars. "Would you like that?" He asked again, his lips trailing lower. "For me to fuck you, make you mine, claim you?"

"Yes," you whimpered, bucking against his hand. You couldn't remember ever being this wet. "Yes, yes, please," you moaned, your nails digging into his forearm.

"You have to stay quiet baby," he said softly, his lips brushing against your collarbone. "Can you do that?" His thumb pressed against your clit and you couldn't help but cry out, a loud moan slipping past your lips.

He chucked, his hand stilling inside you, his other hand cupping your jaw, turning your face towards him. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide, his lips slightly parted. He kissed you, adding a third finger, stretching you. You couldn't take it anymore, your orgasm crashing through you, moaning into his mouth.

"Elijah," you whined, breaking the kiss. You were still shaking, his fingers still inside you, his lips brushing against your jaw. "Fuck," you gasped, trying to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let you go. You had completely forgotten where you were. Thankfully the bar was practically empty, only a couple of people around, no one sitting near you, but it was still a public place and you were completely exposed.

He smiled, pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean. "We should be getting home." He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours.

"Yeah, yeah, we should." You sat up, adjusting your skirt, smoothing it out. You were still shaking, still wet. He was watching you with amusement, he had never seen you so turned on. "You should call a car," you said, not meeting his eyes. Your cheeks were flushed and you could feel your heart beating in your chest.

"I could." He reached for his phone and started typing out a text. "Or I could get a hotel room." He looked up from his phone and smirked at you. "You can finish telling me about your fantasies," His eyes raked over you, his smile growing. "Unless you'd rather just show me." He winked and hit send, his phone vibrating immediately with a reply. "Car's on the way," he said, standing up. "Shall we?"

He led you outside and you followed him blindly, not saying a word. It was late and the streets were mostly empty, the streetlamps casting a warm glow over the city. The wetness between your thighs was cooling and you shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Elijah put his jacket around your shoulders, taking your hand and leading you to the waiting car. He opened the door and helped you in, sliding into the seat next to you. You sat silently, staring out the windows as the driver took you to the hotel.

"I can't believe we did that," you whispered, a bit nervous.

He kissed the side of your head, intertwining his hand with yours and bringing it to his lips, "I guess we both enjoy a bit of exhibitionism,"

The hotel he rented was incredibly fancy. The lobby was massive, filled with plush chairs and couches, a grand piano in the corner, soft music playing in the background. You stood by the desk, Elijah talking with the receptionist, signing papers, making arrangements.

To the untrained eye he looked the picture of composure, but you could see how worked up he was, his shirt slightly rumpled, his tie loose. You could feel the heat from his body, the warmth of his hand on the small of your back. The two of you barely spoke the whole way here, both of you eager for what was to come.

The room was on the top floor, overlooking the city, the lights sparkling. You took in the sights, admiring the view, before turning towards Elijah, smiling. He sat on the bed, pouring two glasses of champagne. He held out a glass to you and you took it, taking a sip.

"This is nice," you said softly, setting the glass down on the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed. You felt nervous now, you didn't know what to expect from him.

"It is," he said, his voice soft. His fingers trailed up your leg, "come here" he gestured, and you obliged, moving to straddle his lap, his hands on your hips.

You kissed him, his lips warm and soft, his beard tickling your face. He pulled away, smiling, and kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding into your mouth. You moaned, grinding against him, his cock hard beneath his pants. He slowly peeled your clothing off, tossing it to the floor, leaving you in just your panties.

His eyes roamed your naked form, his gaze hungrier than ever. He lowered his mouth to your breast and swirled his tongue around your nipple, sucking on it lightly. With his other hand he gently massaged your other breast. You moaned softly, your head falling back as he worshiped your body.

He looked up at you, admiring your flushed skin, half-lidded eyes and puffy, pink lips. He couldn't wait to fill you with his cum, have you dripping and full.

His hand went up your thigh and dipped below the waistband of your panties. His finger slid between your pussy lips, gathering your arousal, before moving up to circle your clit. You moaned, grinding your hips, chasing the pleasure.

He hummed in approval, watching your face as he teased your clit, before pushing two fingers inside. He pumped them in and out, curling them slightly, searching for that sweet spot.

You gasped as he found it, clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his waist.

"I can feel how you tighten when I touch here," he whispered, his lips against your ear, his fingers pumping firmly. "Your pussy will milk my cock so well, won't it?"

You whimpered, feeling yourself grow closer. His thumb brushed against your clit, his fingers never ceasing. You arched your back, bucking your hips, your body begging for release.

"I didn't hear you," he said in a soft lilt, his lips ghosting along your neck.

"Yes, yes, it will," you moaned, panting heavily.

He smiled and pulled his hand away, making you whine at the loss, he left you so worked up. You felt his erection twitch against you, his hands gripping your hips.

"You'll have to be a good girl for me, won't you?" He said, his voice husky. "So I can give you what you need."

"Yes." You sighed, your fingers working at his tie, struggling to undo it. His words making you flustered, he had never been much of a talker in bed before. This vocal, dominant side of him had you reeling, the way he was speaking to you, touching you. It was driving you mad, and you needed more.

He watched you pull his tie off, his hands on your hips as you fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Your fingers finally succeeded, pushing his shirt open and running your hands over his chest. You leaned in and kissed him, sucking on his bottom lip.

He broke the kiss and grinned at you, suddenly flipping you over onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He looked down at you, his gaze hungry, his eyes dark. You reached out, grabbing his belt, undoing the buckle, wanting to feel him. He leaned back, letting you, his cock straining against his pants.

You pulled his belt off and threw it aside, his pants and boxers quickly following. You stared at him, becoming wetter from the sight, he was so beautiful, so big, his cock was thick and long, already hard, a drop of pre-cum leaking from the tip.

He smirked at you and reached down, taking himself in his hand, slowly stroking.

"Touch yourself," he said, his hand moving up and down. "I want to watch you."

You bit your lip and obeyed, opening your legs, running your fingers along your pussy, gasping as they glided over your clit. He smiled, his gaze heavy, his eyes hooded.

"That's a good girl," he praised, his hand speeding up, his grip tightening. "Does that feel good? Do you like it?"

"Yes," you whimpered, nodding eagerly. You couldn't believe how much his words were affecting you, your fingers slipping inside, the sight of him above you, stroking himself, it was too much.

"I bet it does." His voice was thick, his breathing heavy. "You look so beautiful when you're enjoying yourself."

You couldn't help but smile, blushing at the compliment. He smiled back, letting go of himself and crawling over you, his cock brushing against your core. He kissed you, his lips soft and warm, his hands roaming down your thighs, lifting them up, pressing them into your chest. Your hips sprung up and he tapped his cock against your pussy, his hips grinding into yours. You groaned, the friction making your cunt ache. He continued to tease you, his cock sliding over your clit, your wetness smearing all over his length.

He kissed you again, his lips bruising, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. He grabbed his cock, lining himself up, the head of his cock spreading you open. He pushed in slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, his hands found yours, intertwining and pressing them down onto the mattress.

He groaned, burying himself to the hilt. He stayed there for a moment, letting you adjust, before starting to move, his hips moving slowly, rocking back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of you. The sight of him above you, his hair disheveled, his chest rising and falling with his breathing, his eyes locked on yours, was almost enough to make you come.

He kept a slow pace, his cock stretching you, filling you, his hips rolling into yours. The hot, wet sounds of your pussy making him groan.

He let go of one of your hands, his free hand reaching down, his thumb brushing over your clit. You gripped his forearm, holding onto him, your eyes locked on his, as you both lost yourself in the pleasure.

He was letting out these soft groans and grunts, his jaw clenched, his breathing heavy. His hips were starting to falter, his cock twitching inside you. He was so close.

He leaned forward and kissed you, his hand squeezing yours. You felt him tense, his hips thrusting forward sharply, burying himself to the hilt. He let out a strangled groan, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing, filling you with his cum.

You looked down, watching as he pulled out, a string of cum connecting you, his fingers pushing inside, fucking his cum into you, his thumb circling your clit.

He leaned forward, kissing you deeply, his fingers pumping in and out, his thumb teasing your clit.

"That's it," he murmured against your lips. "Such a good girl, letting me fill you."

You could feel his erection pressed against you, he was still so turned on. You could feel the pressure building, his fingers pushing into you, his thumb stroking your clit, filthy wet noises coming from between your thighs.

He pulled his fingers away and replaced them with his cock, your combined fluids slick and warm, dripping down your thighs. You groaned, his cock sliding back inside you easily, his hips meeting yours, his body flush against you.

He pushed your legs up further and you hooked your arms under your knees, spreading yourself open for him.

You watched his thick cock sliding in and out of you, a trail of white fluid clinging to his cock every time he pulled out. The sight of it was enough to push you over the edge, your orgasm tearing through you, a strangled cry falling from your lips.

"That's it baby, squeeze my cock." His voice was low, his breath hot against your ear.

Your pussy pulsed around him, your orgasm continuing, making you feel like you were floating.

He buried his cock deep, his hips circling, his pelvis brushing against your clit, another wave of pleasure washing over you, the aftershocks of your orgasm intensifying. You felt his cock twitch, his hips jerking forward, a fresh wave of cum filling you.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his cock pumping his cum into you, his body shaking, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. He kissed you, his lips soft, his tongue slipping past yours.

He continued to rock his hips, his cock throbbing inside you, his cum spilling out, trickling down your ass, soaking the sheets. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, your hips moving in tandem with his. You wanted to stay like this forever, to keep him inside you, his cum warming you.

"Elijah," you whimpered, your pussy clenching around his cock.

He chuckled, kissing you slowly, his tongue exploring your mouth.

"You like being filled, don't you baby?"

You nodded, feeling a fresh wave of arousal hit you, your pussy growing wetter.

He grinned, kissing you again, his hips grinding against yours. You gasped as his cock brushed against that spot inside you, the pleasure building. He started to move again, his pace slow and deep, his lips never leaving yours.

"I'm going to keep filling you, until you can't take anymore." He whispered, his voice heavy, his hips thrusting forward, his cock hitting that spot again, sending shivers up your spine. "You want that don't you?"

"Yes," you whined, feeling a bit dizzy. You felt so full, so warm, your cunt was stretched so tight. His cock was rubbing against all the right spots, his lips brushing against yours, his beard tickling your skin.

"Do you want to have my baby?" He asked, his lips ghosting along your neck, his teeth nipping at the tender skin. "Want to have me pumping you full, filling you, making sure my baby grows?"

"God, yes." You gasped, his words making you moan. He was so close to you, his body covering yours, his cock buried inside you, his hot breath fanning over your face.

He leaned back, his cock coated in white, pulling out slowly, before pushing back in, a low moan escaping his lips. He was so turned on, his eyes hooded, his cheeks flushed, his pupils blown.

"Look at your perfect pussy." He growled, his eyes fixed on the place where you were joined, his cock covered in your combined fluids. "You're so full, aren't you? My cum spilling out of you."

He was fucking you so slowly, his hips rolling into yours, his cock stretching you. It was too much, too intense, you couldn't take it. You reached down and rubbed your clit, desperate to find release, desperate for him.

He grinned, watching you touch yourself, his eyes glued to your face, your eyes screwed shut, your mouth falling open. He started to fuck you faster, his cock pounding into you, his pace rough and demanding.

You felt yourself start to fall apart, the pressure building, your clit throbbing. He was pounding you so hard, so deep, his hips snapping forward, his cock bottoming out.

He kissed you again, his lips hot and slick, his tongue caressing yours. You moaned into his mouth, another orgasm hitting you, making you see stars, your pussy clamping down on his cock. He groaned, his hips stuttering, his cock swelling inside you before releasing another hot load of cum, your combined fluids spilling out, pooling between your thighs.

He kept moving, fucking you through your orgasm, his pace slower, his hips circling, riding out his own release.

His hips stilled, his cock resting inside you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He let out a low moan, his cock twitching, the last of his cum filling you.

You watched him slowly pull out, the tip of his cock brushing against your clit, more white fluid pouring from his cock. He groaned, tapping the head of his cock against your swollen clit as he softened, his cum dripping onto your stomach.

You were still reeling, your whole body tingling. You felt so empty, so warm, his cum coating your thighs.

He kissed you again, his hand moving up to stroke your cheek, his other hand resting on your thigh.

"You were so good for me." He said softly, his voice hoarse, his eyes meeting yours. "So beautiful."

You blushed, smiling up at him, the praise washing over you. He smiled back, leaning in, his lips brushing against yours, his kiss tender and sweet. He moved off the bed and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm cloth.

He cleaned you gently, wiping away the mess, before lying down next to you, pulling the covers up over both of you. He held you close, his hand stroking your back, his breath warm against your skin.

"There are so many fantasies to explore," he murmured against your skin. "So much for us to try."

"Oh yeah?" You asked, running your hands over his shoulders, your fingers tracing the marks your nails had left. "Like what?"

He grinned, his hand trailing down your side, cupping your ass.

"Well, I did have this idea for next time…" he said, his voice low.

You laughed, pressing closer to him. You loved him so much, and knew there was a lot more love to give. You were already looking forward to his next fantasy, and hoped he was looking forward to yours.

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sethvzekiel · 9 months

Text

141 + könig x cold! squadmate

gn! reader. lowkey inspired by widowmaker from overwatch, mostly platonic unless you squint. reader is very close to laswell in a platonic way + set backstory.

reader x price, gaz, ghost, soap, and 141! konig bc bias. messed with the timeline a little in post-mwii but they’re still 141 and recruited konig. 3k words.

part 2 here.

warnings: canon-typical violence mention. strong language.

callsign is azrael but only mentioned once or twice.

price

Azrael. Angel of death. What the hell did you do to get a callsign like that? Price was almost afraid to ask — if it’s anything like Ghost’s callsign, it can’t be a happy story.

Your file was almost entirely blacked out, but the scant few that he could read was impressive, if not bloody. Laswell always called on you for her most delicate tasks, plenty of it related to human trafficking and stealth operations. You’re not tied to a single company, more a solo merc than a soldier among many, but you’ve served alongside enough armies that your lack of a badge doesn’t matter.

And there’s that feeling again in Price. The dulled rush of anticipation, of knowing that he’s got a good one in his hands, bursting with potential. Laswell recognized it the moment she saw him reading your file for the first time.

“Don’t poach all my good men, Price,” she sighed, but gave him your contact details, regardless.

He wasn’t surprised that you turned him down. Your file was rather explicit in telling him that you’re more a lone wolf than a mainstay. But by the fifth rejected call, he had to play the ‘Laswell’s Christmas drinking buddy’ card and get her to convince you.

It was then that he'd seen you in person for the first time, in the cold light of one of Laswell's safehouses, and it'd be a cold day in hell before Price lets himself get intimidated by anyone, but hell was feeling a little chilly that night.

Still, he'd recruited Ghost. He'd recruited König. Surely, he knew how to handle you.

…right.

Your problem, which Laswell already warned him about, was that while you followed his orders in a professional sense, there was a difference between obedience and genuine respect, the second of which you’d only reserved for Laswell.

Price wasn’t particular about demanding respect from anyone and everyone, but he also had the urge to help you open up, to untangle that knot of bitterness and cold that kept you silent. Yet the distance between your ranks was too wide, with a wall of ice damn near impenetrable for Price. Not that he was the type to give up when faced with such challenges.

If you smoked, he’d easily offer a cigar, but if you didn’t, he’d do most of the talking as you silently stood by him during his smoke breaks just by his office window.

You reminded him a little of Ghost that way, ever the silent shadow with haunted eyes and an icy composure. You also insisted on calling him Captain, which wouldn’t have been an issue if not for how robotic you sounded, even in small talk.

When it got around that Gaz managed to get you to warm up, Price felt half relieved, and half like he'd just been upstaged. That was his job as captain, damn it. He watched you grow from the sidelines, slowly defrosting as you spent more time with the others.

The day after your first leave together out to the pub, he wanted to shut Soap up because of how much he bragged about you taking care of him. Something about you giving him hangover cures and making him food. But he couldn’t have been prouder when he told Laswell the same story.

During your smoke break chats by the window, Price always gave you advice through his stories and musings.

It was only on the last day of your contract that you said anything yourself.

“Kate trusts you.” You spoke suddenly, under the moon of a quiet night.

Price didn’t respond immediately, afraid to break the sudden fragile atmosphere between you two, and silently urged you to continue.

“...she was captured on your watch.” The accusatory sting in your tone was like a knife in the dark.

Price dipped his head low. “And we fought like hell to get her back. We don’t leave our men behind.”

“I know.”

A long silence followed. You were assessing him. Mulling over whether this task force was worth your time or Laswell’s trust. Price could see it in your eyes, and as much as he’d want to convince you to stay right there, that olive branch was already extended a long time ago by Gaz, Soap, Ghost, and even König. As captain, it was his duty to keep you in line. As Price, he wanted to earn your trust. To trust you himself to make that decision.

When his last cigar for the night burned low, the sliver of smoke joining the creeping sunrise, you hummed.

“See you later, Price.”

You retreated back into his office, and from behind him, Price heard the rustle of paper. You left without another word.

He might have rushed to his desk to see what you’d done to his paperwork, and a low, rough chuckle bubbled from within his chest.

You signed his offer.

ghost

‘Laswell’s attack dog.’ That was the cruel summary of your file.

Ghost was the first person Price consulted with on getting you in the team. From how Price and Laswell described you, it slowly dawned on Ghost just how much Laswell trusted you.

If the 141 fails, Laswell will send you.

Naturally, that made Ghost a little wary of you. He trusted Price, he trusted Laswell, but he didn't trust this outlier. You're another sniper, too. Just what he needed after König joined up. Wonderful.

He wasn’t subtle in his caution against you, but it wasn’t supposed to be subtle. It was a warning.

You didn’t cause trouble. Quite the opposite, in fact: you were quiet. Too quiet. Always tending your gear or spending hours at the range, seeming to only have the next battle in mind. He had to check the security feed to make sure that you were going to your room at night and getting food instead of living at the range 24/7.

By that point he’d decided to go to the range and see you for himself.

“Where’d you learn?”

He couldn’t help but ask as you perfected a whole round of targets. You weren’t startled by his presence, already having heard his quiet steps long before he saw you.

“Picked it up as a habit,” was your frosty reply. “Then did it for money.”

“How old were you?”

“Ask Kate.”

There it was. He had his suspicions about how you came to be so attached to Laswell. If you’d served in enough missions, or if there was something deeper than that, with how you would kill for her without question or how Laswell trusted your strength, yet still discreetly asked Price to keep an eye on your well-being.

“Suppose I won’t,” he said, and that was enough for your to pause and turn back to him.

“Thought you were grilling me for info, LT.”

“I know when not to pry. You better not bring old enemies to us.”

“The dead can’t walk.”

Were you cold? Distant? A bit mean? Yes, yes, and yes. But Ghost was patient. So long as you weren’t a threat or nuisance to the team, you could stay. You were even one of the more obedient ones, so he wasn’t complaining.

That changed when he partnered with you on the field for the first time. It was also your first mission with the others, as you were usually the sniper from the far back instead of charging in with them.

Amid the sands and gunpowder, you were a machine. No enemy slipped past your combined strength, and you complemented each other’s combat styles perfectly. He goes in with the heavy fire while you shot down snipers like you already knew exactly where they were.

“Fuckin’ splendid, soldier,” he said on the way back, when everyone else was asleep.

“I try, sir.”

He looked forward to training with you from then on, silently one-upping each other’s skills from shooting to sparring in an endless chase to the top. The competition grew notorious enough that other soldiers began approaching you for advice on how to improve themselves or to compliment your skills, garnering a reaction from you that only Ghost could tell was embarrassment.

Despite not being as close to you as the rest, your standoffishness and frigid personality were things that Ghost was familiar enough with that he could see right through you.

“Aw no, another Ghost?” Soap once complained when Price sent them your file. Ghost had only scoffed then at the ridiculous notion.

Now, though, as you silently fussed over your teammates while insisting that you weren’t at all concerned, it made him feel a little warm inside.

Nothing wrong with a second Ghost if it meant more people looking out for his comrades.

And with how you seemed to have König wrapped around your little finger, Ghost could at least trust you with keeping him in line.

gaz

He can’t explain why, but there’s something about you that reminded him of his old anger; the frustration he had with how much injustice the world let slip between the cracks, the helplessness he’d felt before he met Price.

Your relationship with Laswell… it’s a little like his own with Price, but in the place of brotherhood or mentorship is something quiet and mournful, the kind of loyalty forged out of a dark place. It’s clear that you view Laswell as a kind of savior, the type you’d owe your life to. It’s the only way to explain why you only come back to her.

Gaz kept his distance, unlike Soap. He could tell when you needed space and respected it — unlike Soap. Or Price. Or — he couldn’t believe it — Ghost. It’s just Gaz being respectful, definitely not related to feelings of intimidation or fear. Maybe.

Funnily enough, it’s that wordless consideration of your alone time that made Gaz the first person you warmed up to. It was only a brief chat about when the next resupply for ammo comes in. You’d been running low for a while and your kit is rather specialized, but Gaz was the first you’d spoken to without hostility or work in mind.

With that ice broken, the next conversations were slow-going, but easier. Shared watch duty where Gaz babbled mindlessly about everything he'd been thinking about, just to keep himself awake, while you listened silently, but intently.

Gaz didn't know that you were actually paying attention until you started setting out his favorite tea in the morning without a word or clearing your throat before entering a room because he hated getting startled. Those were things he'd only told you at night, when he thought you were barely tolerating him.

Instead of a terrifying shadow, he started to see the human side of you. The considerate side that you tried to hide with a bitter scowl when he brought it up. Dare he say it, it was a little endearing, like the grumpy stray cat he used to feed as a kid.

When the rest of the 141 noticed, he'd automatically been designated as your unofficial 'translator.' He could decode any of your blank (and sometimes terrifying) expressions to the letter.

"Quit it, Soap, they need a nap."

"Captain, you're bumping into their injured shoulder, sir."

"LT, might want to hide your tea stash, think they saw your cup."

"König, come back! We just wanted to compare gear!... Eh, sorry mate, he's gone."

"What d'you want, black coffee or... latte? Huh. Two lattes, please."

Usually, when you'd be paired up with Gaz, you're the sniper supporting him from far away. Your quiet murmur over the comms, even in a firefight, instantly calmed him down and Gaz swore that he worked better when he knew you were watching him.

Post-mission naps on your shoulder didn’t sound too bad, either. That was a privilege he wasn’t going to give up to anyone. No matter how annoying about it Soap got.

soap

We know Ghost's attitude didn't stop Soap from getting all buddy-buddy with him.

But even then, your demeanor, as sharp as a coldsnap and twice as biting, gave him pause. He's spoiled with reactions from other people to his presence, whether it's reciprocated friendliness or annoyance at his energetic personality. Total apathy, with a tinge of hostility, only came from Ghost and you. And Ghost warmed up to the guy already, so your silence bothered him a little.

Not that he hated you, but it stirred a competitive urge to challenge your coldness and finally get you to crack.

Mercifully, he somehow didn't end up getting killed in the process of fighting for your attention. He's not subtle about it, though: other people on base always referred to him as your 'pet dog' when he's looking for you.

"Hey, your Scottish Terrier came by, was yowling for your attention."

"Put your dog on a leash, would you? He won't stop interrupting R&D to ask where you are."

"Feed your pup, sergeant, he looks pitiful from over here."

But you didn’t look down on him the way others do. You didn’t see some kid trying to play hero, who got lucky because Price took a shine to him and had no other skills to speak of. You looked down on him the same way you did at everyone else: a detached gaze from your metaphorical ice castle, nothing more. And in a twisted way, it’s refreshing.

When he found out that you'd gotten close with Gaz before anyone else, he was ready to whine. Ghost certainly got the worse end of his complaints. Since then, he'd butt into yours and Gaz's conversations, especially when you started joining the boys for lunch instead of eating alone.

It was only on your first leave together, your first civilian outing, that Soap realized that you were closer than he'd thought.

While he was drinking at the pub, you carefully watched him, silently looking out for signs of him getting too drunk, at which point you'd begun secretly ordering watered-down versions of his drink until it was practically juice.

Even with how wasted he was, he saw through your trick, but all was forgiven by the next morning when you'd cared for him through his hangover in your own, grumpy way. You even cooked breakfast for him, but he wouldn’t tell you that it was practically tasteless and mostly hangover cures. The thought counts, right?

And wow, he would not stop rubbing the fact that you took care of him all over 141’s faces.

“Watch your back, Gaz. I’ll be takin’ your spot soon!”

“Johnny, it’s two in the fucking morning.”

“You can’t be their favorite and Price’s at the same time. Pick one!”

“No. Besides, think König is second to me, not you.”

“The fuck?”

könig

You reminded him of the deep winters of his deployments in the north. Cold, cruel, yet beautiful. Sorrowful. Lonely. Silent. Calming.

Make no mistake, the first few months with you around, König was sure he was going to have a breakdown. Your lightless stare bored holes into him, no matter how hard he tried to hide from your field of view. It took enough of his energy to resist the urge to hide behind any of his new 141 teammates. Seriously, how did he get along better with Ghost than with you when you didn't even have a mask?

It didn't matter if you’re built like Ghost or the scrappiest operator around: your chilling aura always left König with his hands clammy and breaths a little short.

If Gaz pre-friendship was giving you space, König was running from you at first sight.

But when König watched you grow close with the rest of the 141, his sharp eyes catching that lightning-fast flicker of tenderness on your face, it was over for him. He had to see it again, like sunlight glancing off fresh ice.

Cue the big guy trailing after you helplessly, like a fidgety shadow, that the other 141 members politely pretended to ignore. Not that he's any good at hiding.

König may have done a good job at absolutely shattering his terrifying image with his actions at base, but when you're on the field, he's an entirely different person.

A beast. A hunter. A king of the battlefield. He's covered in blood from head to toe, glee rushing through his veins as he bludgeoned two men with his bare hands. For a moment, he wondered if you would be impressed with his kill count. You must be. Then he thought for another moment. Then another.

And he remembered that you were his partner for this mission, and that no, this was not a good look for him.

Slowly, horrified, he turned back to you. You looked over the aftermath: a warehouse filled with bodies, not all of them slain with bullets, and broken weapons. König barely heard you convey your victory to Captain Price over the comms, even if you were right in front of him.

It was only when you clapped him on the arm that he snapped to attention: both from your touch and the miniscule smirk on your lips.

"Don't forget to watch your six."

"You... are not... afraid?"

"Just glad I'm not on your bad side. Let's go."

On the next missions, König would restrain his bloodlust a little, if only to see you in action himself. You moved smoothly and quietly, just like a shadow leaving death in your wake. He watched you snuff out an entire enemy safehouse without anyone noticing.

You truly were the Angel of Death, going from door to door, taking lives like it was divine decree. There was never a more beautiful sight.

König was... stuck to you like glue, to say the least. He'd slowly begun joining you at target practice, or sparring, or running into you around the base and coincidentally offering his help with the reports you meant to file.

Whether you noticed or not, he didn’t care. Actually, he wouldn’t mind if you noticed how helpful he’d been. The more you saw him as reliable, the more you’d be willing to be his buddy on the field, yes? And the more he’d get to see you in action, no?

Now, if only the others would stop hogging you for a second… he could interrupt that conversation you were having with Ghost… if Ghost wasn’t looking… any time now…

#cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #konig x reader #cod fanfic

2K notes · View notes

sanakimohara · 8 days

Note

Ok hear me out…

Jeongin finding out you have a chocking kink and him finding out he has a size kink on accident…. Because look at his hands… need them inside me and around my neck asap!

“A PERFECT FIT” Y. J.

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A/N: I'm backkkkkkkk! To be transparent, I have over 40+ requests in my inbox right now, so I'm starting from the bottom! Please forgive me for not answering your prompts earlier (I intend to make up for it). This was an eye-opening request, so I hope I did it justice!

[ MDNI ] + [ NSFW ] + [ CHOKING ] + [ SLIGHT DEGRADATION ] + [ MENTIONS OF CREAMPIE ] + [ IMPLIED SIZE DIFFERENCE ]

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“Innie…I don't know what to choose..” your brows scrunch together slightly as the array of jewelry being shown to you expands. The subtle sparkle each item radiates almost overwhelms you, but seeing them makes your heart flutter nonetheless. Jeongin laughs softly, amused by how distraught you look though you're only picking out his anniversary gift to you, “Nothing is too much, hun. Pick whatever you want. Take your time, sweetheart.” He reassures with a gentle smile, motioning the clerk to halt their jewel showcasing. They do as he asks without a word, patiently waiting for a sign to step back in, and hopefully successfully secure a sale.

The two of you looked more than qualified to make an obscene purchase. Dressed nicely for a special occassion that was nothing short of wistful dream come true for you.

One year together…with all of its ups and downs, you'd managed to keep Jeongin wrapped around your finger, and he, in turn, guarded your heart like no other person had before.

Your awed expression shifts to subtle excitement while admiring the jewels at your fingertips.

“They’re all so wonderful… this one here is nice. Oh, but look Innie! That one comes in a set- Ah I'm getting ahead of myself aren't I?…” You bite back a giddy smile, gaze raking over every little detail, and Jeongin feels compelled to by the entire store seeing you so happy.

The diamonds glittered like little stars in your eyes, glinting in the high-end stores' ambient lights and pulling your attention in every direction. When Jeongin mentioned going out on a shopping spree, you hadn't expected him to take you here first, but who were you to complain? Not many men you knew would go to such lengths to celebrate a first anniversary, and even fewer would urge you to pick whatever you wanted without a budget.

You supposed Jeongin had far surpassed your expectations of a good partner long ago, but his tendency to spoil you at random wasn't something you'd gotten used to fully.

With a deep breath and a cheerful hum, you suggested a solution to your dilemma of choice. “How about you help me decide on a few choices, and we can go from there.” He holds your gaze for a long moment, smiling wide as your voice hangs in the air, soft and soothing in the quiet atmosphere.

The silent moment lengthens as he stares at you, unmistakably taken with your gentle doe eyes peering up into his piercing ones for an inevitable compromise.

“Seems fair to me,” Jeongin finally obliges your request, stepping so close that you must crane your neck to maintain eye contact with him. You nearly lose your breath after being so close, blushing intensely as he smirks at you. Even after a year, he managed to cluster you with ease, uncannily flirtatious on a whim, and incredibly full of himself -an unfortunately addictive trait of his you found domineering in every sense. You'd never considered letting him know it, though.

The impending tension oozing off Jeongin doesn't relent as you lower your eyes to his chest, smirking at the sight of your lipstick stains peeking through the collar of his shirt.

You intended to add a few more markings on him if he kept towering over you with a shameless glint behind his eyes. Jeongin wouldn't refuse the exchange either.

“What should I try on first, then,” you playfully cooed at him, glancing away from his skin to the sparkling white and gold jewelry on the pristine glass display counter.

One piece could easily be worth a year of your rent and bills combined….

Jeongin couldn't care less about the price of anything when it came to you, unable to put a price on your adoration for him and selfishly delighting in being the only man to put a smile on your face. “Let's see, this one and this piece would be a good start. I saw you eyeing these two as well..” He quickly pointed out his favorite pieces for you to try on, knowingly choosing a few you also favored. Your smile grew as his considerate nature shone through, watching his nimble and long fingers clad in silver rings gesture over various jewelry pieces. Jeongin could feel you eyeing him, merely stealing a sultry glance your way as he motioned the salesperson close again. “We’ll try these on first.” he identifies the items to them, and you watch as velvet-gloved hands remove a diamond tennis necklace, white gold lock bracelets, pure white rose studs with a matching locket, and finally, a three-stack silver and ruby ring with a low hanging charm necklace.

They were all so captivating in your eyes, each gleaming at the tips of Jeongins fingers as he scrutinized them. His touch was featherlight, but his focus was unwavering; specific scrutiny clouded his eyes as if every diamond needed to measure his standards or reflect his appreciation of you.

After a few moments of inspection, they seemed to pass his test, the diamond tennis necklace being the first to rest in his palm as he turned to face you. “Turn around,” he murmurs, a sweet but borderline smothering command. “Hm,” you chirp, afraid to speak in case a tremor of anticipation slipped through it, willing yourself to exhale correctly as you turn on your heel to face the nearest full-length mirror.

God, please don't do this to me…

Your breath catches again as Jeongin stares you down through the reflective surface, not so innocently drinking in your appearance, teeth catching his bottom lip as his eyes finally catch yours. The look was clear, somewhat frightening to you in such a public place, but exciting nonetheless. He wasn't shy about eye fucking you in others' presence since the beginning of your relationship, but this instance felt entirely different from the other times. The usual jolt of pleasure you felt heightened realizing the difference in his desire, those cunning eyes of his shrouding a hidden intent, and one you couldn't quite figure out at the moment.

The weight of his stare keeps your heart racing, numbing your thoughts to dull white noise as he steps close to you, invading your space like always but making it a point not to touch you directly. It's almost sickening how much you want to break for him right then, stilling a soft whimper of his name in a rushed breath as he holds the dainty necklace up in front of you both. He doesn't spare the jewelry a glance as he speaks lowly, pacing his words as he studies your more petite figure shrouded in his larger frame, “I don't think you need another necklace, baby.. You already have one specially made for you anytime you want it..” he leans in closer, breathing fanning the back of your neck and lobe of your ear in gentle waves as his free hand slithers up your chest to grasp your neck gently….

“Mm-” you gulp down a moan as he squeezes your throat, letting the metal of his rings sink into your skin like a branding iron before placing a chaste kiss on the juncture of your jaw and neck. The smile on his face feels evident on your skin, warming it with sudden heat and making you forget where the two of you were. He seems to fail, too, taking the chance to nip at your ear playfully, earning a surprised flinch from you. “J-Jeongin, we are in public-” you protest in a whisper, cheeks a red hue as he relents his hold on you and pretends that nothing vulgar has happened, but the pleased expression on his face says otherwise.

“You say that as if it'll stop me, honey. It won't…” he cockily responds, the bright smile returning in full force as you glare at him in response. “You’re such a shameless pervert,” you mutter back, knowing the insult won't phase him but rather rile him up further.

He doesn't mask his lack of cordialness, always entertained by small thing like you pointing out his schemes with an attitude of a propriety despite enjoying his public admvaces. “Dont be so mean, baby. I'm only having a little fun…” Jeongin lifts the necklace with both hands and you carefully move your hair to let him clasp it around your neck. The glimmer it gives off compliments your skin, drawing your attention like a magnet, but it's quickly refocused as he whispers in your ear again.

“And don't act like you don't get all worked up when I do.”

If your cunt wasn't weeping before, it indeed was now, crying to be touched by him and distracting you for the rest of the time you spent trying on jewelry.

Jeongin took every chance to mess with you, subtly rough with you each time he made you try on a piece, cooing in your ear how pretty you looked in each one, and purposefully giving you no personal space if no one was paying the two of you any particular attention.

He couldn't help himself.

Each time, you shivered closer to him as cold jewels touched your heated skin, making his chest tight with greed for more. The picture-perfect image of you all dolled up, admiring diamonds he'd gladly give you and so willingly allowing his advances to continue. Every necklace around your neck prompted him to replace it with his hand again, a growing addiction he couldn't wait to satiate and savor all at once. The softness of your smaller hands rests on him as you trace over silver and gold. The confidence in your opinions on each piece slowly dwindles with every whispered promise of him fucking you in them later, and your will to be indifferent is completely forgotten as he swipes his card for it all.

It drove Jeongin insane, so much so that the rest of your date went unfinished, put on complete stand-by as he dragged you into his dorm.

You stumbled behind him as the electronic door clicked shut, trying to giggle as he kicked his shoes off, dropped his coat and keys on the couch, and practically did the same steps for you.

There was no use in telling him you could do those tasks yourself; he gave no time even to discuss the mundane steps and swept you into his bedroom seconds later.

“Jeongin… oh fuck!-” You squeal as he kicks the door shut, tugging his shirt off as you trip back into his bed from the force of his shove. You move to stand up and help him undress, but he's much faster than you. His body slides between your legs, the coarse black fabric of his jeans an excellent contrast to the overly warm skin of your thighs, and you groan quietly from the contact. “Wait…” you mumble helplessly, eyes sliding shut as he leans forward, a hand finding your neck while the other reaches for his belt. You stare in awe, watching his fingers work the silver button out, the zipper pulled down next, but the band of his boxers is left untouched as he holds your jaw upwards. “Wait? For what, hun? Haven't we done enough of that today?..” he croons at you, inching closer until you have no choice but to lay flat underneath him with your gaze fixed on his.

Dryness invades your mouth seeing his eyes darken, cunt starting to pulse his name the longer he stares, and the apparent bulge of cock pressing on you not helping at all. Jeongin reads the depravity taking over your expression, growing hot when you squirm underpin helplessly, chasing his lips for a heated kiss that initiated messier ones after. You gripped at his forearms, nails digging into his skin as his muscles flexed under your touch, intending you trailed them into his amber hair.

His tongue dived for yours, toying with it until you were out of breath, drool slipping down both your chins as he pulled back a bit. You tried to speak but gasped instead as he choked you a little more complicated, smiling as your eyes rolled back, and a soft whimper flew past your lips on instinct. Jeongin should've felt ashamed of how his heart soared seeing you so distraught because of him, how tiny you looked, struggling to breathe under his hold, but all he could think about was doing it again with his covk buried in you.

It was all you could fathom, smiling like a fool as he loosened his grip seconds later to kiss you softly as an unspoken apology. “Too much?..” he inquired quietly, ready to stop himself from doing it again if you were uncontrollable. Still, the delighted hum you responded with said otherwise. “Do it again…as much as you want,” you breathed into his ear as his lips found other skin to attack, baring down on your jeweled neck before trailing to the collar of your top.

Jeongin lifted his eyes to yours, one look you understood well enough not to ask what it meant, and nodding complicity to. He kissed the valley of your breasts as a wordless thank you, sitting you both up to strip your top half naked. You shivered as cool air hit your skin, the chill soon dulled away as he laid ontop of you again.

His hands wandered your body, playing with the flesh of your breasts and rolling your nipples to stiff peaks between his fingers. Your curves got plenty of his attention, groped at every opportunity when you arched up against him, arms around his neck to keep him close for one tongue kiss after the next. “So cute..” Jeongin mumbled as you moaned against his lips, fingers wrapping around your throat like a missing puzzle piece, and you tugged his hair in response as the added pressure made your new diamond choker dig into your skin.

He smirks at the slight pain in your eyes, “Hurts?”

You nod as best you can, hips unconsciously raising to meet his as fear-induced heat floods your core. Jeongin smiles wide, “Awe, you poor, sweet, little thing… it's supposed to.” his voice turns ice cold, matching the force he uses to pin you down underneath him as he hikes your skirt to rest above your hips and tugs at your panties so hard threads audibly rip.

You want to panic as the need to breathe hits, but you can't bring yourself to as his free hand slips past your underwear to cup the soaked mound hidden there. Stars pickle your vision as he prods his middle finger on the first, carefully timed strokes of your inner walls, causing them to clench down on it, and he adds another to challenge the reaction. Jeongin groans, seeing your thighs quiver violently, slowly getting slick with cum the longer he pumps his fingers into you, “You're tight as ever, baby. Haven't been filled in a while since I've been gone…almost makes me feel bad.”

His taunting sounds distant, only becoming apparent when his grip on your neck loosens, “J-Jeong- god!” you hiss as he adds a third finger, twisting and stretching them with lethal intent. Your legs open wider on his bed, hands fisting the covers and his wrist, but your eyes staring far off into space as he coaxed your climax out. “Don’t wanna come yet…” you protest quietly as he leans down to spit on your cunt, pushing it further in you with a satisfied hum, and you shudder as the new substance taints your insides. “Oh, but I want you to, little one. I gave you such a pretty gift today, and it'd be wrong not to get my money's worth..” he feigned concern, curling his fingers to hit your sweet spot on, knowing he hit it when you yelped and nodded your head vigorously in agreement.

“Yes! Yes!… Yes, Innie, please!” you tried to stay still but felt a particular rush hit that had you crying out and trying to run from him instead. Jeongin halted your attempts with a squeeze on your neck and deliberately slowly circled his thumb on your clit. The contrast of no air and sudden stimulation made you come undone in seconds, come gushed onto his hand like a small river. You groaned as he worked you through the high, not caring at all that you squirted all over his hand and sheets.

He only wanted more after the fact, commenting on how wonderous your release was like he'd won a prize, “All that from a small thing like you. How lucky am I, hm?” Jeongin slipped his hand from between your shaking thighs, passing his come-coated fingers up your body until they reached your lips. His cock twitched as you mindlessly kitten licked them, tears treating to run from your eyes as you sucked on them gently. Even your mouth felt confining, struggling to take his fingers but still willing to, and the apparent tight fit left him reeling.

Too tired to think straight, you lapped at his fingers like candy, occasionally gagging as drool dribbled down your chin, and the unexpected air loss beginning to make you dizzy but not delirious enough to pass out.

The feeling of his bare cock finally resting on your slit brought you back to your senses in a matter of minutes. His fingers left your mouth empty, the spit on them used to lubricate his length from tip to base. You watched in a daze as he pumped his fist twice, his low moans clouding your thoughts and the sight of his skin collecting a thin sheen of sweat along with the love-drunk expression on his face, burning memory in them.

“Jeongin..” you call out to him sweetly, meeting his gaze as he pushes into slowly, groaning your name like a practiced melody as your cunt throbs against every inch of length. “Relax..” he warns you, breathless as you stare at him wistfully, willing your body to do as he asks. The stretch of his cock is familiar, welcoming even, but it still has a burning edge to it. He's a lot to take on a good day, taking your breath away with one stroke and tearing you apart with the next. “Trying..” you whisper against his lips as he lowers his head to rest on yours, not breaking eye contact as he buries himself to the hilt in your warm walls.

“Mmm, and you doing so well, too,” he praises you quietly, losing his breath as he drags his hips back to slam back in a bit harder than the first time. You jolt under him, moaning loudly while locking your legs around his hips to keep him deep. “Selfish, aren't we?” Jeongin chuckles at your attempt to keep him still, admiring the lazy smile on your lips as you nod yes, not caring if he could break away with no effort.

Only an hour ago, you asked him for a piggyback ride to his car, tired from walking around the shopping center, taking advantage of his taller stature for your gain. Now, here you were begging him to invade your smaller one and stay inside it, and the stark difference had his blood running hot.

Jeongin could overpower you, and in turn, you begged him to.

The hold you had on him didn't last long as the realization crossed his mind, sabotaged by his decision to unlock your legs from his waist before pressing your thighs up and open for unrestricted control. “Oh god damn it!..” you drawled helplessly as he grinned down at you, clearly proud of himself as he began to pound into you at his own pace. Fast and direct thrusts that had your toes curling, chest heaving, and insides twisting with pleasure. Your head lulled back, eyes fluttering shut as Jeongins definitive hits abused your sweet spot and forced your body to comply with his size.

Jeongin hissed as your neck came into his blurred view, red lines from his rings and your new necklace evident, but the actual detail captivating him was the light bruises his fingertips left. He'd have to make up for the blemishes later, but for now, he wanted to add more, taken by how fragile you looked underneath him and quite proud of his handwork.

You felt the coil in your stomach tighten, cum leaking from where you two connected, and your head emptying of any thoughts the closer he brought you to coming again. He studied every movement you made, how your body tensed when his cock entirely nestled into you, the immediate rise of your lower stomach when he went further, and the tremor in your moans strengthening as he fucked you into a complete stupor.

She's so tiny…so soft… so fucking warm.

He reveled in the observations, bringing himself to his end and driving him to hit you harder. The firm grip of both his hands around your throat left you disoriented, on the verge of snapping as he restricted your breaths while simultaneously giving your cunt deliberate strokes. You claw at his wrists just as it became too much, a relieved scream erupting from you as your high crashed down.

Jeongin smiles at you incredulously, taken aback but nowhere near displeased.

“That's what gets you off, little one? Being fucked like a slut. Come on, tell me the truth,” he teases you lowly. His gaze shifted from your face contorted in pleasure to the cream cum ring connecting you both. He watches your mouth fall open as he fucks you through a second high. “Hmm, n-no!” you try to answer but give up as words allude to you, replaced by cries of his name. His hips are faster for a second, cock twitching inside you as your nails prick his wrists.

He's close, and you take advantage of that, putting pressure on his hand to choke you harder, and he takes the hint in a split second.

“Tell me if it's too much…” Jeongin grunts loudly, hips snapping faster and breaths coming short as your cubt involuntarily closes in on his cock. The pleasurable aftershock of his thrusts adds to the tingling buzz engulfing your body as oxygen leaves your lungs. You want to answer him, want to breathe even, but can't while gasping for air while the coil in your tummy snaps to pieces.

“Shit! Fuck!” his voice vibrates the room, guttural whines tumbling from his mouth as your arousal spills on him for the second time, but the distracting feelings, unless his form and the pressure on your throat vanishes. “Jeongin!…” you gasp for air, shaking uncontrollably as the world returns to focus for you.

He laughs dryly, hearing you shout his name first despite being on the brink of passing out seconds ago, a proud grin plastered on his face when your gaze fogs over, and the last of his patience leaving at the sight.

“Dont move..” he buffs, and you nod obediently, mewling quietly as a familiar warmth envelops your cunt, his release streaming down your slit as he slowly pulls out. Jeongin appears mildly entranced at the mixture, tapping your thigh appreciatively, and you whine at the gentle contact. “Easy, hun.” he saunters closer, clearly just as exhausted as you are, slumping beside you to catch his breath. You blink the haze from your eyes, able to land back on earth with little effort, but your body still feels unsteady as you could up close to him.

“Never knew you were into that Innie,” you whisper hoarsely, lips grazing the skin of his shoulder blade. He shudders violently, sensitive to your broken voice and mentally fixed on the high you shared. His brows turn downward, jovial confusion in his expression as he lifts his head, “Into what, babe?” You giggle at the question, assuming he'd been fully aware of his new kink, but obviously, he wasn't, which amused you.

“Choking, silly. You almost made me pass out…not that I would mind.” you fall flat onto your back as he laughs tiredly, “I'm not, but you are.” his retort is definite, an observation, and one you don't negate.

“True, but that's not the only thing new for you, Innie…”

He shifts, standing to begin cleaning you both up, and you sit up to follow but halt as he kneels to take off your skirt and ripped panties. “And what do you mean by that?” Jeongin peers at you curiously, taking his time to undress you. “Hm, I don't know… I just got the feeling you like that I'm smaller than you. You've never been so rough before, and it was nice to be treated so….easily.”

A smile crosses your face as he freezes, eyes narrowing up at you, “Now, look who's the pervert..” His teasing makes you scowl at him briefly; a solid thump on his head follows, “M’ not a percert!..”

“Says the girl, pointing out my kinks-”

He flinches and laughs as you lunge at him, catching you the moment your weight pins him to the ground, “You talk a lot of shit Yang Jeongin…” you hiss playfully.

Your hands raise to pinch his cheeks but Jeongin is quicker, gripping your wrists with one hand, and the other grasping your hip. “Ah!” you squeal in surprise as he flips over, holding you down while you wriggle under his weight.

The struggle is electrifying and playful but tense. The exact excitement he felt earlier bloomed again, seeing you put up a fight to lose when his lips met your parted ones.

You were right.

He'd never admit it.

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This was my first request since being gone so long. I feel like I did okay, but please give me feedback cause I don't know if my style has changed since then. Anyway, I love you, babies, and thank you for all the love and support!

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

You know, if I had a dollar for every time I imagined how good Jeongin might look fucked out, I'd be a millionaire already. (I'm back on my unhinged shit, as you can see) credit to the creator. 🖤

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