#but Mob chooses to come die with this man

[brown-little-robin]

moment of all time...

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

three times

a/n: some time ago i asked you guys on a poll what dude you wanted in this story and you all chose bucky, so here it is! also, i partly blame you all for how unhinged it turned out... like you get maybe 6,69% of the blame for the push you gave me... the rest is just me being a hoe

summary: a tale of the three times a nurse was kidnapped by new york’s most notorious gang. 

warnings: dark!mob boss!bucky barnes x nurse!reader x doctor!peter parker, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, mob au, mobsters!steve rogers, clint barton, tony stark, scott lang, bruce banner, the gang is called the avengers, doctor!kate bishop, enemies to lovers, kidnapping, violence, weapons, blood, being drugged, alcohol consumption, possessiveness, kissing, clothed x completely naked, panty sniffing, dirty talk, manhandling, size kink, gaping, belly bulge, oral, fingering, fisting, pussyjob, in bucky's mind it's brat taming, dumbification, impact play, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, somno, bondage, mild knife play, mild gunplay, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 11.574

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You flinched jaggedly as the dark cloth bag was finally ripped off your head. Eyes immediately squinting, they still strained to take in the unfamiliar space you’d been dragged to. 

You were no longer in the hospital’s dark parking lot, nor were you in the black van you’d suddenly been tossed into, but instead, you found yourself in a dark living room. It was elegantly decorated, from the Persian rug to the dramatic, antique fireplace flicking behind the cluster of suit-clad criminals glaring down at you. 

“This her?” one of them grumbled. 

“Yep, one doctor as per your request,” the one who’d abducted you grinned, proudly planting a palm on his hip, “even choose a pretty one just for shits and giggles,” his starkly different mannerisms only made the others seem that much more intimidating. 

The broad-figured one with a shock of sandy hair then stepped closer to where you stood, “alright, here’s the thing, doc,” his head tilted slightly to get on your level as he spoke to you directly, “you’re gonna do exactly as we say and then everything will be alright, okay?” he stared in your eyes as you offered him a shaky nod, “okay,” he exhaled, “you got a name?”

“Y/n Y/l/n…” you uttered before hearing yourself try to correct, “but I–…”

“But what?” the same man croaked. 

“I-I’m not a doctor…”

“God damn it!” someone rumbled as everyone’s eyes flicked to the man who’d captured you, “we can’t fucking trust the new guy to do anything.”

“Well, she’s wearing scrubs,” he tried, frantically gesturing to your uniform, “I just thought–”

“You fucked up, Lang!” the first man who you’d heard speak barked loudly, “and now we’re not just gonna lose one of our brothers tonight, but also the head of the snake. Great fucking job,” a sharp click then caused your eyes to find the gun he yanked out, “and now she gotta die as well–”

“Wait!” you shrieked as both of your palms shot up in the air, “no! Please don’t kill me! I-I’m a nurse! I’m a nurse! I can help! Whoever’s hurt, I can help!”

Seemingly superior to the others present, the blonde one stared at you intensely for a while before exhaling a verdict, “shit… well, I guess it’s better than nothing…” his polished shoes then began to shuffle before he gestured to you, “come this way.” 

Hesitantly, you slowly shadowed him out of the living room, down a dim hallway, and into the chamber that bloomed at the bottom of the corridor. In the centre of the dark room, bathed by two glowing pendants, stood a large pool table, and upon the green felt, with colourful orbs haphazardly scatted all about, there laid a man, unconscious and bleeding. 

The brunette’s suit was sodden with crimson, though you couldn’t tell from here how much of it was his own. 

The gangster who was standing by the side and watching over the wounded individual glanced up at your arrival and asked his fellow men, “this the doctor?” 

“No, it’s a fucking stripper,” you twisted your neck at the sarcastic tone as the guy who’d only moments ago pulled a gun on you waltzed past you and entered the room as well, “yes, of course it is, Tony. How’s the boss?”

“Still alive,” he answered in a sigh and cast his glance back down upon the man on the pool table. 

Slowly stepping up, you carefully let your stare wash over the mobster, from the frazzled and blood-soaked attire to the metal-looking hand poking out one of the sleeves. 

“What happened?” you asked carefully. 

“Miss,” someone grumbled as they set a bag of supplies down beside you on the games table, “just fix him.” 

“If you wanna give your friend a better chance, then you give me as much information as possible about what happened to him,” you uttered as you found a pair of gloves and slipped them on. 

Letting out a sigh, the blonde fellow then said, “it was a shootout.”

Snatching up a pair of scissors, you began to snip in the man’s clothes, staring at the sleeve closest to you, “how many times was he shot?”

“I don’t know, he–… a lot of rounds went off,” he grunted, the events of the night weighting his broad shoulders down, “I wasn’t exactly counting.” 

Two bullets. That’s how many you found when his dress shirt was in tatters on the floor. One was lodged in his right arm four finger widths above his elbow, while the other had strayed a bit further north and buried itself in his bulky bicep. You also found other scrapes and scratches along his torso, assumingly from other bullets that hadn’t been as lucky as those two. 

The smallest of relieved sighs flowed from your lungs as you discovered that he wasn’t in a critical enough condition to be in need of a surgeon, at least not from what you could tell with the limited resources currently at your disposal. 

As you carefully set to work, first digging the bullets out before cleaning the wounds with saline, your lips slowly parted as you treaded a curved needle, “…so, not that I don’t love the change to my evening plans,” you didn’t dare shift your glance as you asked, “but don’t you have a regular guy for cleaning up these sorts of messes?” 

“We did… he died tonight, trying to stop that from happening,” the blonde man gestured to the injuries you began to stitch up. 

Blinking up to find his eye, you uttered sincerely, “I’m so sorry for your loss…” feeling yourself, even under such circumstances, uncontrollably slip into those compassionate parts of your profession. 

A slight scoff bubbled out of the gangster, taken aback by your unexpected gentleness, “yeah, me too. Banner was one hell of a guy…”

Once each of the wounds were sutured closed and you’d bandaged him up, you pushed yourself back from the pool table. 

“Alright,” you exhaled and glanced up at the criminals lurking in the shadows of the chamber, “I’m done.”

“Yeah?” one of them stepped up to get a better look, “he’s alright?”

“No, he’s not alright, he was shot multiple times and should be in a fucking hospital,” your eyes briefly fluttered shut as you heard yourself snap, “now, can I please go home?” 

Catching the eye of the blonde one, second in command, you watched as his jaw briefly clenched, the muscles dancing beneath his skin before he breathed, “no, you’re not done.”

“But I did exactly as you asked–”

“Like you said, he should be in a hospital right now, but we can’t have that happen, so instead, you’re gonna stay here till he’s out of the woods.” 

“What? I can’t–”

“You’re a nurse, right?” he croaked to shut you up, “so fucking do your job and nurse him back to health.”

Three whole days ended up passing by before Mr Barnes slowly began to regain consciousness. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” you snapped back into work mode, springing from your seat and leaning in over the bed which he’d previously been moved into. As the mobster instinctively began to sit up, his eyes barely open yet, you laid a soft palm upon his metal arm and uttered, “sir, please don’t move,” and watched as his clenched jaw almost silenced a groan, “one second, I’ll give you something for the pain,” before you shifted a moment to scavenge through the supplies you’d been given. Once the medicine was found, you exhaled slowly as you injected it, gently pressing down the plunger of the syringe, “there you go…” 

You let yourself suck in a deep breath before your sharp eyes washed over him, briefly assessing him as he woke, though as your gaze flickered up to meet his own, initially with the intent of checking his pupillary response, the manner he stared back at you caught you so of guard that a shiver trickled down your spine.  

“Sir, do you know what your name is?” you asked in a clear tone. 

“Mhm…” he hummed and continued to stare at you as if you were an angel, “Bucky…” 

“Bucky, great, that’s good,” you nodded, “and do you know where you are?”

His gaze didn’t shift away from your visage as he then murmured, “heaven…”

“No, I assure you, you’re not dead,” grasping the stethoscope draped around your neck, you shifted it into place to take a quick listen to his heart, “you almost were, a few times, but you aren’t.” 

As the steady thumping of his pulse filled your ears and seeped into your soul, his deep voice washed over you once again and layered atop the beat, “I’m guessing you had something to do with that?” 

Catching his unwavering eye a moment, you then averted yours and muttered, “I was just doing my job…” before retracting the stethoscope from his chest and casting your glance towards the door, “I should probably go tell the others that you’re awake.” 

TWO WEEKS LATER

“…and Mr Jensen in 401 is complaining of a headache, so you might wanna check that out as well.” 

“Alright, cool,” the doctor scribbled down the last of your words on the little notepad in his palm before his gaze flickered up to catch yours, “thank you so much, Y/n,” he flashed you a warm smile. 

Mirroring his expression, you hugged the charts in your grasp closer to your chest, “any time, Dr Parker.” 

“Peter, please,” his thumb extended to click the top of his blue pen before sliding it into the breast pocket of his white coat, “hey, I was gonna go grab a cup of coffee right now, do you wanna join?” he tried to keep his tone casual. 

Blinking back at him, your breath couldn’t help but get caught in your throat, “I–, uhm… I’d love to, but I get off in a little bit. Wednesdays are always just morning shifts for me.” 

“Oh, alright,” he nodded understandingly, though the gentle rejection still tainted his features slightly. 

“But another time,” you offered, successfully brightening his smile once more. 

“Yeah?” his elbow curled up to lean against the supportive railing that lined the hospital hallways. 

“Sure. I mean, I drink coffee, you drink coffee,” you awkwardly began to dig yourself into a hole, “the chances of us bumping into each other at the coffee cart are pretty high–” 

But your sentence was then cut short as Peter’s pager suddenly pinged in his pocket.

Fishing the small device out, his eyes flickered down to the small screen before he croaked, “oh, sorry. I gotta run.”

“Of course,” you swiftly waved a hand and watched as his feet began to shuffle into a run. 

“Talk later!” Peter called over his shoulder before he rounded a corner and disappeared into the maze of the hospital. 

Twisting around, your feet carried you the remaining distance towards the nurses’ station overlooking the ICU. As you laid the stack of files in your arms down on the counter, a familiar voice found your ears right before her visage popped into your periphery.

“Please tell me that that was what I think it was.” 

Your gaze stayed glued on the charts a moment longer as you ignored your friend’s prying, “hello to you too, Kate.”

When your head finally raised and you let her catch your eye, her wide ones questioned you before she expectantly poked once more, “well?”

“Well what?” you shrugged, though your feeble attempts at shutting the pending subject down failed as she shot you a glare, efficiently causing you to crumble with a sigh, “yes, he asked me out again–, or kinda. It was just coffee.”

“And you finally said yes?” she smiled keenly. 

Holding back your scoff, you simply uttered, “no,” before spinning on your heel. 

“Again?” she shuffled slightly to catch up to the pace you swiftly slipped into, “why not? He’s kind, he’s a doctor, he’s hot,” she listed off, counting on her fingers, “he’s literally perfect for you.”

“I know he is…” you tilted your head, almost with an air of shame, “he’s exactly the type of guy that I should be running after…” 

Though you liked him as a person and cared for him enough to call him your friend, those feelings you caught yourself forcing just hadn’t bubbled up yet. He was the kind of man that you deserved, that you should fall for, and certainly not the monster that still haunted you, that for some reason wouldn’t stop popping into your mind, especially at inappropriate times, like very late at night… 

“So then why aren’t you?” Kate asked as you entered the employee locker room.

And though thoughts of a gruff gangster caused your heart to swell, you still muttered, “I don’t know…” as an excuse before you popped open your locker and uttered, “hey… what do you know about mobsters here in the city?

“Other than the horror stories I’ve picked up in the ER, not too much,” she leaned against the row of cubbies beside your own as you dug out your bag and began to change out of your scrubs and back into the clothes you’d worn early this morning when the sun was still only a promise waiting to rise, “though I did grow up here, so I probably do know a bit more than you,” she acknowledged your move to the city only a few years prior, “why? Are you suddenly in the mood for a change in careers?”

Though the truth was on the tip of your tongue, you still found yourself obeying the commands the gangsters had sent you home with. Telling the cops was no use because they were all in their pockets, and confiding in a loved one also wasn’t a smart choice as that would only put them in danger. 

“Have you ever heard of someone called Bucky Barnes?” you asked, instinctively lowering your voice to a whisper. 

The ever light-hearted expression plastered upon Kate’s face fell at the recognition of that name, “yeah…”

“Really?” your brows rose, “what do you know about him?” 

“I mean, other than that he’s the supposed leader of the Avengers, not too much.”

“The Avengers?”

“Yeah, one of New York’s most notorious gangs,” she let out a breath, “from what little I know, they get up to a shit ton of stuff straight out of a De Niro movie or something, but their real money maker is cocaine… I mean, that’s why the head of the group is known as the winter soldier.” 

“How do you know about all this stuff?” you squinted back at her in slight amazement. 

“Went to med school with a few coke heads, might have dated one of them,” she blurted before shaking her head and getting back to the subject at hand, “anyways, Y/n, the point is, you don’t wanna mess with those types, trust me.” 

“I know,” you uttered quietly as you shrugged on your coat and pushed your locker closed, “I wasn’t planning on it, I was just curious…” 

As you dragged your foaming toothbrush over the last of your teeth, a loud knock suddenly rattled your front door, causing you to jump atop the pink bathmat in your tiny bathroom. 

Neck twisted out towards the entryway of your apartment, you briefly leaned over the sink to spit out the toothpaste slowly leaking out of your mouth, before your feet began to carry you towards the exit. 

One of your palms momentarily ran over the edge of your pyjama-clad arm as the night chill soaked through the cotton and made you yearn for the warmth of your bed. 

Though as you pulled on the handle, the haunting figures on the other side of the door caused your blood to freeze with recognition. Standing tall on the other side of the threshold, there stood two of the Avengers’ henchmen. 

“You need to come with us,” the one called Barton ordered coldly. Over the few days the gang had held you captive, you’d picked up on the names of many of the members, including the two that stood before you now. 

“What?” your chest rose and fell rapidly, “I–, please, I swear, I haven’t told a soul.”

Having them knock at your door was one thing, but even just the thought of criminals such as them knowing where you lived sent you into a spiral. 

“Yeah, we know you haven’t,” Scott put a hand on the doorframe, “that’s not why we’re here.” 

“What happened?” you murmured as you were led into one of the many sitting rooms in the mysterious manor they once again brought you to. In an armchair before you, half-empty glass of bourbon in metal hand and the sleeves rolled up on his blood-tainted shirt, there sat the big bad winter soldier himself, panting as he slowly sipped. 

Though when the sound of your voice filled the room, Bucky’s eyes only snapped up to yours for a moment before he shot a glare at his men.

“What is she doing here?” he grumbled lowly. 

“Boss, you busted your stitches,” Lang gestured tensely to the crimson slowly staining his crisp white shirt, “what else were we–”

Intersecting the conversation, the broad form of Steve stepped into the space between the gangsters and swiftly snuffed the pending argument out, “thank you, Barton, Lang,” he nodded to each of them, “you can go,” and you watched the pair that had brought you back exited the room. Shifting his weight, Bucky’s right hand man turned to you and offered you a polite smile, “Y/n, pleasure to see you again.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, not masking your disdain of the situation you’d been dragged into yet again, “I wish I could say the same…” before you shifted your eyes to the man in the chair, though still directed your question at Steve, “what do you need me to do?” 

As you shifted closer to the intimidating leader, ever drinking, surely to dull the pain, Rogers murmured as you kneeled down to assess, “I think it’s just the one on his shoulder that’s–”

“Yeah, I see it,” you cut him off, then glanced back over your shoulder at him, “do you still have that medical bag?”

“Yeah, one second,” he swiftly disappeared to fetch it, leaving you all alone with the feared mob boss. 

With the crackling fireplace off to the side as your only source of light, you cautiously raised your hands and asked, “do you mind taking this off?” motioning to the shirt he wore. 

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky sighed and sat down his glass before shrugging the item off. Though you’d stared at his bare chest for hours on end before, soaking in his reveal once again for some reason caused your heartbeat to pick up, though you swiftly averted your gaze in an attempt at staying professional. 

Not long passed before Rogers had returned with the supplies, and you’d commenced redoing his stitches. 

“So,” you murmured though your concentration, weaving his skin back together, “do I even wanna know how this happened?”

Blinking down at you, your face close to your work and therefore his skin, Bucky breathed, “probably not...” and as his stare only intensified over the next few stitches, his low timbre once again washed over you as the corners of his lips tugged into the slightest of smirks, “cute PJs, by the way…”

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly get a chance to change,” you felt your cheeks heat up. 

“Oh, I'm not complaining,” his gaze shifted to take in the way the cool night air had caused your nipples to become visible like pebbles beneath the thin stripy fabric, the comment making you shift tensely on your knees. 

Once the last of the knots were tied off and you’d snipped the end of the thread, you wrapped the wounds back up with clean bandages before placing the roll of gauze back into the medical bag. 

“Alright, uhm,” you shifted back, “you’re good now,” a slight winch shot through you as you watched him briefly test out his arm’s mobility, “just be careful, try not to use it too much.”

Catching your eye, he uttered softly, “thank you,” before shifting his gaze to the gangster by the door, “Rogers?” 

“Yes, boss?”

“See to it that she gets home safe.”

ONE MONTH LATER

“I’ve heard the risotto here is really good,” Peter noted as you both skimmed the menus resting on the tablecloth before you, the crystal chandeliers illuminating the restaurant cast a soft glow down upon the choices.  

“Yeah?” you briefly glanced up to catch the doctor’s eye, “well, maybe I should get that then,” you shrugged before shifting slightly in your seat, “hey,” you captured his gaze once more, “could you maybe order for me? I just need to–…” you trailed off, letting the thumb you discreetly pointed over your shoulder in the direction of the bathrooms fill out the rest of the sentence. 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he nodded. 

“Great, thank you,” you smiled as you rose. The long, cobalt-blue, velvet dress you wore briefly swooshed around your legs before the soft click of your heels against the polished floors carried you through the maze of tables. 

It was the third date you’d ventured on with the kind doctor. The third one and yet you still didn’t have any feelings towards him. 

Stubbornly trying as you might, you still couldn’t get the poison out of your system and do the right thing. 

Once you exited the ladies’ room, and big breath of courage in your lungs as you pushed open the door, it all seeped out as you walked through the small hallway that connected the lavatories with the dining space, and you accidentally bumped into two figures that waited in the space. 

Unsure of who was to blame for the collision, you immediately just muttered, “oh, sorry–,” before you glanced up at the pair and your apology crumbled from your lips, your frame immediately freezing up at the recognition. 

“Listen to me. You are going to quietly walk back to your little date, tell him that you’re not feeling well and need to go home,” Stark kept his voice hushed as both he and the other gangster slowly cornered you, the other one grasping your arm to keep you in place, “and then you’re gonna come with us.”

Sucking in a breath, you then tilted your chin slightly, “and if I don’t?” 

“Then we won’t hesitate to make a scene,” Barton shifted the edge of his jacket out of the way to flash you the gun strapped beneath, “so you can either walk with us and safe a life or you can not only have a dying gangster’s blood on your hands, but also everyone in this fucking restaurant.”

With the clench of your jaw, you glared up at them and murmured, “...fine,” before you ripped your arm free and began to walk back into the dining area and the table where Peter still sat. 

Flashing you a smile as you neared, the doctor swiftly said, “so, I ordered this chardonnay that the waiter said was good. You drink wine, right?”

“I–, uhm…” your fingers clutched the back of the chair as you tried to appear as you had before, even though now you felt as if your hammering heart might spring straight out of your ribcage, “Peter, I’m really sorry, but I gotta go,” you briefly scrambled your brain before adding, “the hospital paged me. There was a big accident downtown.”

“Really?” he fished out his own beeper from his pocket and furrowed down at it, “I didn’t get paged, so it probably can’t be that bad.”

“Yeah, but nurses shortage, you know?” 

“Right,” he nodded, disappointment slightly polluting his understanding expression. 

“I'm really sorry,” you uttered as you picked up your small purse from the chair.

“No, it’s fine,” he shook his head gently, “hey, I get it,” he shrugged before waving a hand, “go.”

“Thank you,” you stood there a moment longer, unsure of how you should depart, “uhm… bye,” before you awkwardly shifted closer to his seat and leaned down to press a brief kiss to his cheek as you offered him a half-hearted hug. 

“Who is it this time?” you sighed as you were led into an elegant space, surely intended for parties judging by the long bar that stretched along the back wall. Glaring at the only man seated on one of the barstools, you asked impatiently, “is it you? Did you hurt yourself again?”

Glancing over his shoulder as you halted your stride halfway down the short steps, a smile appeared on Bucky’s face as he leaned a forearm against the bar top and bellowed, “Y/n! Come, have a drink with me,” he waved a hand for you to take the seat beside him. 

Standing your ground, you squinted back at him in confusion, “no, I can’t, I–, where’s the patient?” 

“The patient?” he echoed as if you were speaking a foreign language. 

“Yes,” you huffed, your annoyance simmering into a full-on boil, “the person who’s on death’s door, the reason why I, a medical professional, is here,” you placed your hands on your hips and asked once again, “is it you?”

“No, I’m phenomenal,” he pursed his lips as he snatched up the stout glass waiting for him on the marble counter, “never been better.”

“Okay, so who is it?”

Tearing his gaze away from you, he then uttered, “no one,” before raising the drink up to his lips. As your mouth parted and your glare nearly burned straight through him, the mobster casually added, “you look stunning, by the way,” before twisting in his seat to face you more, “I didn’t know they changed scrubs out with gowns.” 

“No, I–, I was on a date–,” you muttered faintly through your confusion, slightly shaking your head in an attempt to clear it before you raised a hand, “wait, excuse me, no one’s injured?” 

“No,” Barnes shook his head, “no one’s hurt or dying,” then added as if your reaction was a tad bit too dramatic for his taste, “you can relax, it’s fine.”

But instead, the opposite emotions roiled inside of you as you slowly ascended a single one of the remaining steps, “so you mean to tell me that your men threatened me, my date and a whole restaurant of people, then dragged me all the way out here again, for nothing?” you fumed.

“No, it wasn’t for nothing,” he shrugged, “they brought you back here because I told them to,” he kept his ocean eyes upon you as he once again repeated, “now, come drink with me.” 

“No, I don’t want a fucking drink,” you roared. 

But then, just as swiftly as you had raised your voice, Bucky’s steely hand dipped beneath his suit jacket and pulled out a gun.  

“I asked you nicely,” his stern tone rolled off his tongue slowly as he aimed the weapon upon you, “now sit your ass down and share a drink with me.” 

Carefully, you finally followed his orders and sat down at the bar beside him. 

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he uttered as he sat the gun down beside his drink. Raising up a hand to the silent shadow behind the bar, a glass was soon slid across the counter, one Bukcy pushed closer towards you, “here,” he said as you stared down at the orange peel floating at the top. As you lifted up the cocktail, the gangster beside you raised his own to click yours, “cheers.”

You briefly toyed with the thought of just taking a sip, though opted instead to down it all, both out of the desperate hope that the alcohol would aid the strange evening, but also in an attempt to fast forward a tad closer to your longed-for departure, ripping the bandage off instead of nursing it all night long. 

Though as you sat the glass back down on the bar, the bottom clanged against the marble much more forcefully than you’d intended as the fingers you clutched it with began to tingle. Blinking heavily a few times, your hand accidentally knocked over the empty drink as a numbing sensation began to bloom within your chest and spread throughout your body. 

Trying to get up from your seat, you mumbled foggily, “what the hell?” though quickly stumbled as your legs felt like jelly beneath your velvet gown.

“Whoa, careful now, angel,” Bucky’s calm gaze trailed you chillingly as you tried to steady yourself. 

“The fuck did you do?” you panted as your wide eyes watched him raise from his seat. 

“It's okay,” he uttered softly, “it’s all gonna be okay,” before your world turned to black and you passed out into his arms. 

When you finally stirred, you were no longer at the bar, nor any other room you’d been in before. You were in a bedroom, situated on a spacious mattress and alongside countless fluffy maroon pillows. 

As you sat up, a low rustling found your ears and drew your vision down towards the coldness clinging around your ankle. Strung between the bottom corner of the bedframe and your own foot, there shined a chain, one that, try as you instinctively did, you couldn’t snap out of. 

But then, as the door to the room creaked open and caused your body to flinch, a plea swiftly flowed out of you as you watched Rogers step inside, balancing a small tray with a glass and a tall decanter of clear water. 

“Steve!” you crawled to the bottom of the bed, “I–… help me, please,” you begged, hearing tears thicken up your voice as they rolled down your cheeks, “you’re a good man, deep down I know you don’t wanna stand by and let this happen. Can you unlock me? Please? Help me get out of here.”

But just as you waited for Steve’s lips to part, you instead heard, “shh, don’t waste your breath, honey,” as in strolled Bucky, causing you to swiftly scramble as far back on the bed as the chain would allow. 

Sitting down in a chair just out of your reach, the fireplace opposing the bed, directly behind where he sat, clacked and lit up his spine as he settled into the seat and directed his cold gaze upon you.

“Glad to see you awake,” he uttered calmly.

“Fuck you!” you swiftly spat as you hugged your knees tightly to your chest. 

“And with all of your charms still intact,” he tilted his head, a light smirk blooming on his lips as your vulgar language hadn’t fazed him one bit. 

“Let me go,” you demanded. 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, my angel,” his burly arms folded across his chest, “this is for your own protection,” he briefly gestured to the chain, “we wouldn’t want you to do anything stupid or rash now, would we?” one of his eyebrows twitched, “I can’t let anything happen to you,” he uttered as you continued to stare daggers at him, “you need to be kept as safe as possible so you can keep on helping me the way that you have.”

“What? You want me to be your gang’s personal nurse?” you scoffed, “is this your sick and twisted way of offering me a job, because if so, no thanks!”

“Yeah, no, this isn’t a job offering, I’m not interested in those talents of yours,” he leaned further back in the seat before he began to explain, “you see, for the past few years, I’ve had a serious string of bad luck. Deals have fallen through, rats have been found, the feds have been snipping at our heels and countless of my men have lost their lives,” he listed off, “but, then I met you,” his eyes flickered up to capture your own, “and it all turned around,” he uttered, “I tell you, when you’re here, it’s fate herself is on my side and nothing whatsoever could go wrong. Like having you has made me a fucking god or something, that’s the level of power you’ve bestowed in me,” a faint smile tugged at his lips as those words rolled off his tongue, “so no, you can not leave. You have to stay right here where I can make sure you’re safe and sound. Although, just because you get to be kept safe, that doesn’t mean you’re free of any consequences if you step out of line… it also doesn’t mean that I’ll deny anyone of your beauty if it pleases them… so, I guess it’s more along the lines of you just staying alive under my watch.” 

In the blind rage his words threw you into, your fingers wrapped around the bedside lamp before you chucked it across the room. Though just before it could strike the gangster’s head, he casually ducked out of the way, the lamp instead smashing on the floor behind him as a chuckle began to rumble within his chest. 

“That’s cute,” he laughed lowly, “you’ve got some bite. It’ll get you in trouble, but it’s adorable.” 

“I'm not interested in being your good luck charm, you superstitious fuck!” you yelled as he got up from his seat. 

Huffing out a condescending grin, “give it some time, angel,” he fastened the button on his dark suit jacket before smoothing a palm down over the front, “the human psyche is much more fragile than you’d think and can get used to some surprising conditions,” he ignored the scream that desperately tore from your lungs and instead turned to Steve standing by the door and asked him calming, “Rogers, would you mind cleaning that up?” gesturing to the broken lamp on the floor, and as he received a small nod in return, he murmured, “thank you,” before exiting the room and leaving you to your fate. 

“Seriously?” Steve let out a laugh when he finally coaxed the truth out as to why you hadn’t been touching any of the food they’d brought you, “and here I thought you were just a picky eater.” 

“Well, you’ve already drugged me once so what’s stopping you from doing it again,” you explained, glaring down at the plate before you as he attempted to stifle his laughter. 

“I swear, cross my heart, your pasta is not poisoned.”

Continuing to squint down at the food, you kissed your teeth, “prove it.”

“Really?” his brows floated up, “alright,” he sighed as he sat down across from you. Dragging your plate closer, he twirled some of the spaghetti onto the fork before slipping it into his mouth, “see?” he chewed, “I’m fine, and so will you be when you get some food in that belly of yours.”

Pushing it back towards you, hesitantly, you picked up the fork and slowly began to eat. It had only been little things you’d consumed the past couple of days being here, things you could be certain weren’t tainted, like the odd apple and such. 

Though as you chewed and finally began to settle your stomach’s nauseating rumbling, tears began to stream down your cheeks. 

No matter how hard you tried to beg, none of the mobsters would help you, as their loyalty was just too hard for you to crack. 

“Hey…” your bloodshot eyes then flickered up to Rogers as he noticed your weeping, “it’ll get easier, I promise,” he attempted in a soft tone. 

“How?” you blinked back at him hopelessly, “I am being locked up in a room by a maniac as if I’m just some trinket for him to own.” 

Throwing a brief glance over his shoulder, he then leaned in a bit closer to cautiously advise you, “…there might be some things you could do to change your situation…”

“What?” a spark suddenly flickered within you, “I’d do anything.”

“…you might consider trying to get closer to Barnes…” his words remained hesitant, “…if he begins to care for you, then he might treat you differently…”

“Like, he’d let me go?” 

“I don’t know,” he exhaled, “but maybe it could get that chain off your ankle,” he gestured to your foot, “baby steps.” 

ONE MONTH LATER

“Here,” Steve croaked as he suddenly burst through the doors to your room, a big flat box in his arms which he tossed on the bed beside you. Peeking inside, a folded-up bundle of black fabric met your eye, “put it on,” he ordered hastily, “make yourself presentable.”

“Why?” you blinked up at him, your brows knitting gently together. 

“Because the boss requested it,” he answered impatiently. 

“What, he wants to play dress up with me now? Treat me like a doll?”

Over the past month, you had gone from being scared out of your mind, barely sleeping at night, horrified of what they might do to you, till the paralysing fear slowly began to melt away as not much happened at all, in fact so little that you grew bored in your imprisonment, thinking that the big bad gangsters were just all bark and no bite. Perhaps that was a dangerous confidence to develop, growing cocky in your restlessness, but you couldn’t help it. 

Letting out a low sigh, “just put it on,” Rogers’ head tilted before he said, “I’ll be outside, yell when you’re done.”

Popping the lid off all the way, you then slipped into the black gown waiting within. It was long and simple in its beauty as it hugged all of your curves like a second skin. 

Right before you called out to the mobster in the hallway, you leaned in closer to the mirror on the left side of the room. The dark storm clouds visible out the gothic windows that filled up the wall behind you blossomed in the reflection alongside you as you momentarily fussed with your hair to make it match the elegant dress better. 

Once Steve had entered the room once again, the very last thing you expected was what he did next. 

Walking straight up to you, without a word, he bent down and unlocked the chain binding you to the bedpost. At first, a wave of hope washed over you till it was drowned out by the unsettling notion as to where he would take you and just what plans were on the horizon. 

Grabbing you by the arm, he dragged you out of the room and down the dark hallway you’d only seen glimpses of before. You tried to ask him what was going on, though he didn’t offer you any clue in return, only remained silent as he hauled you through the maze-like manor till a wide set of steps found you, leading you down into a garage where a group of the other gangsters already stood beside the black car rolled up by the base of the stairs. 

Standing in the middle with an arm resting against the roof of the vehicle, Bucky’s gaze swiftly landed upon you as you ascended the stone steps. 

“Well,” the mob boss’ eyes roamed your form, “don’t you look pretty.”

Biting your tongue, you greeted him politely, “Mr Barnes.”

“Shall we go?” he cracked open one of the car doors. 

“Where?” you tried, though your question only caused him to breathe out a smile as he ignored it and instead commanded softly. 

“Get in the car, angel,” his metal arm rested atop the door. 

Riding in a different vehicle than you, it was Clint who slipped in behind the wheel of your car and drove you the silent route towards the mysterious destination. 

Though once the car came to a stop, the door to your left cracked open from the outside and there to greet you was an outstretched metal hand to help you exit. 

You didn’t recognise the building that loomed before you, though it was grand and opulent with large steps leading you and all the other arrivals up to what sounded like a party already buzzing on.

“So, you needed a date,” you exhaled as Barnes took your arm and began to lead you up the stairs, a cluster of his men shadowing behind you both. 

“No,” he cocked his head, “I didn’t need it...”

Casting your glance around at the other guests that passed, you asked, “what kinda party is this anyway? Let me guess, human trafficking auction?” you were completely serious, though still managed to make the gangster laugh gently. 

“It’s a wedding,” his chuckle finished billowing out of his lungs, “or a funeral,” he tilted his head, “I'm not quite sure.”

“How could you not be sure?” you shot him a glance as you reached the top of the steps and he dragged you inside the marbled halls, “there’s a pretty significant difference.”

“They all just kinda melt together at this point,” he sighed, “I have at least one of these a week I gotta show my face at, just out of respect.” 

Taking a look around, you uttered, “well, do you at least know who this funeral wedding is for?”

“No fucking clue,” he exhaled before following the signs and leading you into the venue’s ballroom.

Turns out it was a wedding for some couple you hadn’t yet spotted, though you’d already read their names a thousand times with all the stuff they were plastered upon. 

You stayed quiet and lingered by Bucky’s side as he shook some people’s hands and made some small talk before the two of you found yourselves seated at one of the many round tables in the hall. 

Blinking up at the floral centrepiece, your fingers fiddled with the white tablecloth as the hours rolled by. Soon, not only the complementary glass of champagne you’d been handed back when you arrived was sloshing in your belly, but also quite a bit more alcohol as you decided that was a good tool to make the evening more bearable. 

It however also came with the hindrance of boosting your cockiness as you eventually found yourself poking the bear. 

“You know for a big bad gangster,” you stared over at him, leaned back in the seat next to yours, “you’re actually not that scary up close,” you pursed your lips, causing a chuckle to rumble within his chest because of just how untrue that statement was, “smiling at everyone, being polite. Are you sure you really are the big bad winter solider? The king of New York with no heart and only an imagination for torture…”

“Well…” he huffed out a short laugh as he met your gaze, “don’t you have me just all figured out.”

“Some of your guys may have filled me in a bit,” you tilted your head. 

“Have they now?” he continued to look amused. 

“Yeah, well, a bit at least,” you seized your glass and took another sip.

As you placed the flute back down on the table and rested your cheek in a propped-up palm, your stare only intensified into a squint as Bucky’s eyes flickered back around the room.

But as his gaze fluttered back to notice your gawking, he muttered, “what?”

“Why aren’t you mean tonight?” you uttered through the haze fuzzing up your mind. 

Tongue flicking out to wet his lips, his eyes briefly dipped before he uttered, “do you want me to be mean?” a playful smirk twitched at the corner of his lip in a threat to appear. 

“Is it all just a lie?” you asked, the subtext of his previous words flowing directly over your dizzy head. 

“What?”

Squinting back at him, you then breathed, “there’s always a part of me that’s still scared, imagining what you might do to me… but now,” you slowly drew out, “I don’t think you’re actually ever gonna do anything,” you blindly decided, “that’s not really who you are, they’re all just empty threats…” 

“Hm…” he hummed, a slight smile blooming upon his lips as he stared back at you, “okay…” before he leaned in closer to utter, “and just what makes you think that I haven’t already?” your face immediately dropped as his words caused your frame to freeze up, “tell me, Y/n,” his breath fanned across your cheeks, “did you sleep well last night? Or the night before for that matter, or–, well, just during the time you’ve spent here with me?”

As your shock not only showed in your expression but also in your complete lack of speech, he simply grinned back at your stunned features before grabbing you by the hand and breaking the moment. 

“Come on,” he dragged you with him as he then stood up himself, “let’s dance.”

With an argument on the tip of your tongue, the appendage, just as the rest of you, still remained too dumbfounded for it to come to fruition. You didn’t manage to gather your wits once again till he had you on the middle of the floor, wide hand on your waist as you swayed to the music. 

As his hold slowly tightened and he brought you closer to his broad frame, your breath suddenly hitched as you blinked up into his eyes, the air between you growing thick. The hand that grasped your own near swallowed your palm in a dizzying contrast. Goosebumps began to erupt across your skin as you felt your heartbeat thump not only in your chest, but also much further south, a mortifying clue to the dark truth you hoped he didn’t somehow notice. 

Gliding his palm up the length of your spine, it came to rest between your shoulder blades as he then drew you in closer and your gaze fell to the band strumming over his shoulder. 

“Does the thought of me playing with you at night turn you on?” he whispered in your ear and continued to gently sway you to the music, “because if you want me to wake you, all you have to do is ask. Though my attempts so far at rubbing your luck off on me have been rather eventful, I’m still sure it would be better if you gave me a bit of a hand…” 

Tilting your head back to blink up at him, you thought you were gonna spit him in the face for making such an accusation, till your stare acted of its own accord and fluttered down to fixate on his lips. 

It almost felt as if they were calling for you, begging you closer like a stubborn magnet. But before you could close the short distance that kept you two apart, Barton appeared in your periphery and tapped his boss on the shoulder. 

As he leaned in to whisper in his ear, you couldn’t pick up on the words over the music, though watched as Bucky’s face swiftly grew hard. 

“What’s going on?” you asked as the secretive message came to an end and the mobster’s wide hands faded from your frame. 

Ignoring your question, Bucky instead cast his glance over your head at one of the men behind you and ordered sternly, “Stark? Get her home, now.”

“What’s happening?” you tried again, though without success as Tony dragged you away and the remaining gathered to converse in hushed tones.

Perhaps it was because of the chaos of whatever was happening, perhaps just a simple mistake, but when you returned back to the manor, the shackle wasn’t reunited with your ankle. 

Not willing to let that gift slip through your fingers, you soon grasped that opportunity tight and made an attempt at your escape. 

Sneaking down the many hallways, you successfully hid from a handful of gruff-looking men before you realised you couldn’t remember the path to the garage or any other way out of the labyrinth of a building that kept you swallowed in the dark. 

However, your mission turned into a swiftly sinking ship as soon as you rounded the wrong corner and crossed the threshold of the last room you should have entered. 

In the centre of the space stood two chairs, both with individuals strapped to them, though only one of them was still alive. Before the seated pair and with his back turned to your frozen-up form, there stood Bucky. Returned from the party and with both his jacket and tie torn off, his sleeves were rolled up though still tainted in small crimson flecks of the deed he’d just done. 

“Come on, Vladimir…” Barnes uttered as he kneeled down in front of the battered man still breathing, neither he nor the other members in the room haven noticed you in the doorway, “just give me what I want and we can wrap this up.”

Wheezing painfully through his broken nose, the man met Bucky’s steely gaze before fulfilling his request, “…I’m sorry…”

“Hm?” he leaned in pettily, “what was that?”

“I’m sorry,” the tied-up man repeated with a laboured huff.

“Okay, getting there,” he nodded, “what are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for killing Bruce…” the name rolled off Vladimir’s tongue like a crackle to a bonfire. 

“And?” Bucky fished. 

“For hurting you…” 

“See? That wasn’t so bad now,” Barnes straightened back up, “an apology, a life for the one you took from me, and now there’s just one last thing left to do, and then we’re even,” he then took one step back and conjured his gun. Aiming it at the Russian, barely a second passed before a shot deafened everyone’s ears and a bullet blasted through the tied-up man’s arm, mirroring the injuries Bucky himself had sustained. The loud blast and the bloodcurdling scream that tore from Vladimir, however, caught you so off guard that a shriek slipped from you as you flinched, revealing your presence as everybody’s eyes suddenly shifted to train on you. Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky grunted, “what are you doing out? What is she doing out?” he shot his glare in the direction of Steve off to the side, “Rogers? Get her back into bed.”

“Yes, boss,” his right-hand man swiftly nodded before catching up to you in two long steps and seizing your arm. 

And as you were dragged back to your doom, your eyes caught the tail end as Barnes let out a sigh and turned back around to face his victim, “now, where were we? Right! I believe the other one was right around here,” another gunshot echoed in the manor as he shot Vladimir’s arm once more, “and now, we can’t forget about the ones that only skimmed me, so get up and don’t fucking flinch, it’s on you if I hit your lung.”

The chain reunited with your ankle jingled as you twisted on the bed to cast your gaze out the window. Heavy rain hammered against the tall panes as the restless city twinkled through the darkness of the night. In the corner of the room, Steve watched up like a hawk as you continuously failed to find rest. 

But then, just as you thought you felt your heartbeat return to a normal rhythm, the double doors burst open and in paced Bucky. 

“Is she awake?” he huffed, though didn’t wait for an answer before he heatedly went on, “okay, great.”

As his rushed steps halted by the foot of your bed, the look in his eye caused your body to shudder.  

“Rogers?” he kept his cold stare glued on you as he uttered, “go wait outside.”

Though you silently pleaded with your eyes for the mobster to stay, it was no use as Steve swiftly shut the doors behind him. 

As the man before you then shifted, your wide eyes finally noticed the bundle of rope in his grasp as he began to unravel it. Scrambling back, you didn’t manage to crawl far away before Bucky caught the chain and yanked it hard enough to force your frame down towards him. Though your struggling finally fizzled out when the gangster pulled out his gun, the very gun he’d just ended a life with, and aimed it at your head to get you to comply. 

“You know,” he uttered gruffly like a pent-up bull, “I’ve been nice, I’ve been real well behaved, kept my manners intact, been a goddamn gentleman,” the heavy weapon in his hand tilted slightly to emphasise his words, “but evidently, that’s not what you need to learn your fucking place,” he fumed before letting out a low exhale, “that’s alright…”

“Bucky, please,” tears blurred your vision as you held up your palms, “I-I understand, I’m sorry, you don’t have to do this.” 

“Oh, but I do…” he sighed almost softly as he then kneeled down closer and let the tip of the cool barrel stroke your cheek, “…if you don’t break a horse, then she’ll never be tamed…” his eyes trailed after the line he drew before it flickered up to find your own, “now give me your hands,” he ordered and hesitantly, you shakily obeyed. 

Since you couldn’t stay in your place, he simply had to tie you down better. 

Unfurling the rope in his grasp, the mobster then fastened the cord around not only both of your wrists, but also your free ankle. After each of the tight knots were tied off, he yanked each appendage to the nearest corner of the bedframe, spreading your limbs till you looked like a starfish on the mattress. 

Taking a step back to admire his handiwork, his fingers then dipped down into his pocket before a slight furrow found his brow as his touch didn’t locate the item he fished for. Placing the heavy gun in his palm down on the fireplace mantel, he then closed the distance towards the exit and cracked open the door just a smidge. 

“Rogers?” he extended a hand through the sliver, “give me your knife,” to which a switchblade was swiftly placed in his palm, replacing his own which was still lodged deeply inside the corpse of the Russian in the other room. 

Slamming the door behind him, he then crossed the room and silently began to cut your clothes off. The black gown you still wore came off with only a few slices, though your underwear, that he took his time with, slowly grazing the blade over your goosebump-ridden flesh before nicking the cotton clinging tightly to your frame. 

Once you were bare before him, his feet shuffled back slightly as he let his stare soak up every millimetre of you. 

A hand floated up to tug on his tie and loosen it slightly from around the collar still dappled with the blood of his enemy. Folding closed the knife with a faint flourish, he then sank down into the armchair directly behind him. The tattered panties he’d sliced from you were still clutched tightly in his hand as his eyes stayed glued upon your frame. Bringing the fabric up to his nose, his blue eyes then fluttered closed for a second as he breathed deeply, letting the scent of you flood his senses. 

But as he stuffed the cotton down into his pocket and let his palm drift to somewhere else, your eyes grew even wider as you gasped, “what are you–”

“Just shut up, please,” he groaned, sounding like he was at his very last straw as he brashly began to rub himself through his pants, “just for one fucking second, don’t be a brat.”

Your jaw couldn’t help but hit the floor as he shamelessly pulled out his cock, letting the intimidating hardness spring free of its confines before he spit in his palm and enclosed his fist around the fat girth. You wanted to look away, you truly did, but you just couldn’t, a flaw he obviously noticed. 

“You’re unbelievable…” he chuckled as his fist silkily stroked up and down his cock, the mixture of his own spit and the precum beading at the tip caused a sloppy melody to fill the room at each and every twist, “I mean, me being into you, that’s one thing, that makes sense, you’re the closest thing to magic that I’ve ever experienced, so of course that’s enough to get me going, but you… you’re the very textbook definition of a good girl and here you are pining after–, how was it again you put it? A superstitious fuck?” 

Stunned at his accusation, you tried to tear your stare away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Really? Well, I didn’t take you for a fool, but hey,” he tilted his head, “some folks are just that disconnected to their own feelings.”

Blinking back at him, you scoffed faintly, “you’re crazy, I’m not–…” but you couldn’t even say it out loud as you, deep down, knew that it was a lie. 

“Oh yeah?” he cocked a brow, finding your flustered state amusing, “then why did you almost kiss me tonight?”

“I–…I was drunk.” 

Letting out a dark chuckle, “alright, sure,” he then rose from his seat and crawled up on the bed with you before he buried his face between your parted thighs, “if you despise me so much, then why are you so fucking wet?” his hot breath fanned across your core. 

“I’m not–,” you tried, though your attempt then fell short as he proved you wrong, reaching out his touch to tickle at your lightly and let the wet sounds of your arousal slosh into your soul. 

“Hm?” the broad pad of his thumb gently brushed over your glistening petals, making them part for him, “if this isn’t because deep down you want me, then why? I’d love to hear you try and explain your way out of this one…”

“I-I–…” your eyes fluttered as you tried to fight the feeling, “I don’t…” 

Laughing lightly through the scoff that then bubbled out of him, he averted his gaze and said, “okay, fine. You wanna play that game?” his eyes flickered back up to find yours, “if you need a bit of help in order to admit the truth, then that’s what you’ll get,” he uttered before suddenly stuffing two of his fingers inside of you. 

Craning his neck, he tilted down to catch a taste. You tried to hold back your moans as his digits caressed you, but the softness of his velvety tongue came as such a shock that a little squeak managed to slip out past your lips. 

“I mean, if it’s any consolation,” his stubbly chin glimmered with your essence as he retracted slightly to smirk, “I personally think it’s kinda cute that you have a crush on me like a little schoolgirl…” 

He then sent his palm down upon your pussy in a wet smack, before repeating the action a couple of times to echo the jolt it shot through your body. 

“Fuck…” he groaned in a low rumble, “you are so much more pretty awake…” he revealed casually, “sure, you make some cute noises in your sleep, but not like this,” you instinctually tried to stifle the uncontrollable whimpers that flowed from your lungs, “you should really be thanking me for all of the time and effort I’ve put into stretching this little hole of yours out,” his fingers continued to pump in and out of you, “if I hadn’t, well then you might just split in two when I finally get my cock in there.” 

And as he leaned down to lap you up once more, you curled your toes as you felt him push you closer to the edge. 

“Mr Barnes…” you attempted with an air of respect through your pants, “please don’t–…”

“Why? Because it makes you want to kiss me again?” he teasingly taunted you before continuing his persistent licks, bullying your clit into submission. 

And as he kept going, even as you gasped, “stop–, a-ah!” he still kept his lips locked around your puffy pearl long after a gush of squirt wept around his fingers, keeping his efforts up till your hips were bucking back in sensitivity. 

But when his kiss finally ceased, he let some of your juices, that had flooded into his mouth, trickle out past his lips and back down onto your pussy, “fuck…” his low groan nearly caused the whole room to rumble, “nasty little cunt…” before he slapped your throbbing core once more, watching as the last little trickle weakly leaked out and soaked the sheets below. 

Lifting himself up to hover above your constricted form, you then squirmed as you felt him nudge the bulbous tip of him against you. 

“Does the idea of liking, or even loving, someone like me scare you that much?” he uttered as he gathered up your slick and smeared it with his cock, “does it make you feel all wrong and icky inside that I of all people make you feel the way that you do?” 

All of the air in your lungs was then suddenly knocked clean out as he, with one long stroke, slipped all the way inside, before pulling right back out to tap the weight of him against your poor clit with the hold he had at his base. 

“You won’t spontaneously combust if you admit it out loud, you know…”

He repeated the motion, plugging you up completely before he denied your cunt the chance of getting used to the stretch. 

“I just wanna hear you say it…”

And on the next time he filled you up to the brim, this time his hips didn’t retract.

Reeling as you fought to comprehend the manner his girth split you open, you gasped weakly, “I can’t…”

“Hmm…” his eyes above you narrowed slightly before he pointed out, “that’s not a no,” and he began to move, “finally getting somewhere…”

The gangster was in no way gentle as he started to fuck your pussy, the selfish force of it caused your body to jostle every time his heavy balls tapped against your slick skin, thereby conducting a lewd beat each time he slammed into you. 

Lowing himself to get even closer to you, his nose ghosted against your own from the proximity. The gesture made you assume that he was about to press his lips to yours, though they never touched, even as your own instincts overwhelmed you and made you dizzily tilt up to try and close the gap, “nah-ah-ah,” he swiftly clicked his tongue and moved out of your reach, “admit the truth and then I’ll kiss you all you want.”

With his length still embedded deep within you, he sat back up. His fingers dented your hips as he grabbed onto them and then began to sink them harshly down against his own, lifting your frame entirely off of the mattress as he used you like a toy. 

“Oh god…” you whimpered as your eyes fluttered down to notice the faint bulge that appeared in your lower abdomen, the thrusting imprint of his size visibly showing just how deep he buried himself inside of you. 

Once he’d plopped your hips back down onto the bed, his hands then instead floated up to play with your tits, the rhythm he offered you causing them to jiggle in his palms. Though once he’d fiercely pinched your nipples and parted ways in a brief tap, his fingers then drifted further down south till his right hand found your puffy clit. 

Casting his glance down as he rubbed your pearl, a smirk appeared on his lip as he spotted the way your cream coated his girth. Sweeping down to smear his touch against it, what he did next caught you so off guard that you jostled wildly in your binds in an attempt to hit him for his audacity.

“Ahh!” you yelped as he stuffed two of his fingers in your pussy alongside his already overwhelming girth, “Buck, no, it’s too much!” 

But your squeak only caused him to chuckle as he stared down at the way your little hole struggled to take what he gave it, clinging around him so tightly that loud groans began to billow from him as he soon painted your insides white and pumped you full of his cum. 

With heavy breaths, he withdrew his dick, though let his digits stay inside your warmth. 

“Maybe in time you could become more than just my good luck charm…” he murmured as he flopped down to curl closer to your core, “would you like that?” he nipped at one of your thighs as his load slowly began to leak around his thick fingers, “does the idea of me falling down to my knees before you and declaring my undying love entice you, angel?” 

“You’ll just have to do better,” he continued as his digits began to twist within you, “let me mould you and make you perfect for me,” another one of his fingers was stuffed inside of you, causing your eyes to flutter, “just let go,” he breathed, “shut off your brain and let it become a leaky mess just like your pussy already is for me,” he worked another digit into your creamy cunt before grazing the last one against your stretched out opening, “you don’t need to think, you just need to do exactly as I tell you to and everything will be okay,” his tone was soft as his thumb curled close to the others and sank into your pussy with a pop, “just break for me, it’s okay,” your body was shaking beneath him as his entire fist slowly twisted within you, “you’ll be so much more perfect ruined…”

Tears were streaming down your face as you unravelled once more, trembling violently as your pussy clamped down around his wide hand so tightly that it was forced all the way out, a drizzle of your nectar once again spraying out at the intensity. 

“Alright!” you let out a sob, “alright… I–… I don’t understand it… but, I–…” you caught his eye and confessed, “ever since the moment I met you, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you… even when I fall asleep, it’s like you’re haunting me in my dreams…” a faint shake found your head as you blinked up at him through your blurry vision, “I don’t wanna feel this way. But–… I do.”

It seemed as though time stood still as Bucky stared down at you, an unreadable expression tinting his features before he finally shifted, slowly leaning down over you and inching closer before he finally pressed his lips to your own.

A faint whimper was muffled against his kiss as you felt the world crumble around you. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it now…” he breathed as he ended the soft peck, “say it again,” his hand slid over your jaw, “practice makes perfect.”

Blinking up into his eyes, you uttered from the bottom of your heart, “I am yours,” a single tear rolled down your cheek as you still trembled beneath him. 

“Damn right you are…” his lips tilted into a smile. 

Fishing out the borrowed switchblade that still rested within the gangster’s pocket, he then sliced through the ropes and constricted you. 

Tangling your arms around his neck as you sat up, you captured his lips once again and felt his touch slide down under your ass before he scooped you into his lap. Your sore pussy wept against his cock, once again throbbing and hard as a rock against your core. As your tongue danced against his own, you couldn’t help but scramble even closer, pressing your body impossibly close to his own as you grinded down against him. 

“You are mine,” he groaned as he manhandled your frame in his hold and sank you back down onto his fat dick, “you are my most prized possession,” your bodies met in sticky claps as the aftermath of the rough round moments before still oozed all over this one where passion crackled behind both of your own desperate efforts, “I will never let you go,” he blinked up into your eyes as you rode him, both of you clinging to each other as the end crept ever nearer, “always need you–,” his sentence was briefly broken up by a moan as you rolled your hips, your pussy gripping around him and squeezing him tightly, “need you by my side…” 

Once your synced-up orgasms had both shuddered your senses and you were sharing each other’s breath, your eyes remained locked as his throbbing cock stayed buried deep within you.

“So, what now?” your chest rose and fell as you whispered into the night, the pitter-patter of rain splashing against your windows once again catching your attention as it swept over and mingled with your laboured pants of breath.  

Not shifting his gaze, his eyes briefly scanned your own in search of any ounce of deception, before his fingers dipped down into his pocket and conjured a tiny key, “now,” and he stretched down to undo the chain at your ankle. The click of the lock felt like a gasp of real air was finally filling your depraved lungs, “I take you to my room,” and he manoeuvred you around to slink one arm in behind your knees while the other stayed fast at your spine. As he rose from the bed, he plucked you up with him as well, carrying you in his hold as he exited the bedroom. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[yanderefarm]

yandere crime lord x sadistic male reader

cw;; torture, burn wounds, blood, gore, stockholm syndrome, yandere, drugs, kidnapping, murder, smoking, cruel reader

here he is.... my most fucked up bby girl. i wrote this a little differently than the others... i had a different vibe in mind.

achilles is the eldest son of a notorious mob family, the second most powerful in charge right under his father. he makes lots of big decisions, like his recent attempts to take over a smaller gang with cruelty and force. unfortunately being a sexy big shot comes with its own little vices, achilles likes smoking for instance. nasty habit especially for someone in his position, doesn't he realize how vulnerable he is when he's taking a smoke break? so easy for you to drug.

you flick some of the cigarette ash towards the man in question. he's on his knees arms tied behind his back and duct tape over his mouth. he keeps shooting you dirty looks. it's funny.

"such a waste..."

you run a red room service on the dark web. essentially, anyone with enough money can hire you to kidnap and torture whoever they want. some people hire you to make elaborate snuff videos with their desires all written out for you, other people let you and your audience decide what kind of torture would take place over your live streams. that's where the handsome man in front of you came from, the gang he'd been destroying had bought your services.

you had already explained that to him, as well as mocked him for his cigarette habit. now you were letting one of the cigarettes burn before your stream actually started, you didn't actually smoke it choosing instead to let him watch you waste it. his scowl was hot.

his screams were hotter. the first hour in, you had him covered in cigarette burns and his stomach flinching away from your touch. the second hour in, he had multiple gashes all over his trembling body. the third hour in, he had finally started to sob and his body was covered in lovely bruises.

"sorry guys, we can't kill him yet. but that means we get a toy for a little while!" you gripped his hair and brought his tear stained face up to the camera. "say goodbye to our friend!"

and that ended your first stream with your new toy. you cleaned him up and brought him to his new room.

"you'll probably be the show tomorrow unless I get another job. eat up." you gave him a nice dinner and pulled the duct tape off his mouth.

"... when will I die?"

"dunno. good work chilles, sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning."

that's how it began. the guy ended up being your show about half the week for the next two months. never enough to kill him and every day you cleaned up his wounds and took good care of him. he never cursed you or complained about his place he would ask you questions and thank you for the food. it was pleasant conversation, he was a nice companion in your otherwise drab life.

it was halfway into the third month when you got news that those gang members who hired you were dead. you'd been waiting the whole time for them to pay for you to kill achilles and now it was never coming. at least you made good money from your streams in the meantime.

"you're free to go." you stood in the doorway of achilles's room.

his eyes looked at you, slowly widening as he realized what you said. "wh.. why?"

"m gonna drug you up and drop you in front of your house. you won't know where you were but I'd really appreciate if you didn't try to come after me at all. "

"why are you letting me go? did something happen?"

"you should quit smoking by the way. maybe i won't be able to get you-"

you saw something in his eyes snap. those eyes that had been practically blank the whole time even when the torture made him lose his voice from screaming. now they were dark and hazy, significantly more threatening than he'd been before. he crawled on his hands and knees to your leg and looked up at you with tears in his eyes.

"why....? am i not.. did i do it wrong? i can be a good toy."

you were caught off guard by his reaction. "uh... well uh the guys who hired me like... they died without paying me to kill you. so like... i don't have a reason to keep you?"

"how much?"

"huh??"

"how much do you need to keep me?"

you reached down and gently carded your hand through his hair. "you don't want to stay here, dumbass."

"yes I do." he nuzzled his head into your hand.

"you really want to stay here and get tortured until you die? use your brain."

his darkened eyes looked up at you with the most pathetic look. "i want to stay with you."

"fuck" he's cute? he's cute. "ok...jesus, lets do this. you go home, get reunited with your family, try to get back to normal life. and I'll contact you so if you still want to be LITERALLY tortured over living your normal life I'll bring you back. ok?"

"you'll actually come get me, right?"

"yeah. I'll get you and I won't even make you pay."

"I'll be back soon." he rubbed his head against your leg. "please get your favorite tools ready."

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

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

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

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

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

“How many does he control?”

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

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

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

“Not anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to pull away. You don’t.

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods. “That’s true.”

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

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

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

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sick or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asks.

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

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

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

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

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

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

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

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

“Of course they are,” you mumble. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

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

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

“That’s enough!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe James works on them?

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you did.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

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

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

“James—”

“Bucky.”

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

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

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

“Is that… a nickname?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

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

“Observant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old were you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

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

“Y/N, are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

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

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

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

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

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

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks. 

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

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

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

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

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

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

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

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

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

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

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you look at me? Please?”

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

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

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

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

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

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

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

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

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

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

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

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

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

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

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

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Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

[auroralwriting]

Hi love! I’d like to request a mob!bucky fic where he is the man that runs New York and the reader is his wife who convinces him to let her start opening hospitals and homes for people in need etc. one of his rivals tries to take her while at a charity thing and calls Bucky weak and losing his touch so he literally destroys him to protect his woman.

I understand if you are too busy but would love ya forever if you could write what has been in my head!

guard dog

mob!bucky barnes x wife!reader

bucky doesn't take too kindly to people hurting his wife.

word count: 1.7k | warnings: violence, cursing, bucky having a sweet spot for his doll ♡

i wrote this one so fast. thank you for this amazing request!! i hope i did your vision justice!

Everyone knew of Mr. James Barnes. He practically ran New York with every politician pressed under his palm, along with every rich business man and woman wrapped around his little finger.

The one thing you needed to understand about James, Bucky, as his wife called him, was that you were never to be messed with.

To Bucky, you were the epitome of innocence. No one was allowed to lay a finger on you or say anything that could even potentially upset you. You were his world, and he made sure it was protected.

Of course, he was absolutely right. You were truly an angel on earth, the truest definition of kind. Little did everyone know, while they were wrapped around Bucky's finger, he was wrapped around yours.

"Bucky, you cannot kill someone on a Sunday," You'd gripe. "Sunday's are holy days, and the days I make my cannoli. You don't want cannoli?" Bucky would give in, rescheduling to fit your needs. "And see if that guy wants a cannoli, too. If I were gonna die, I'd sure as hell want a nice, homemade cannoli."

You practically controlled his every little move. You kept Bucky somewhat grounded for a mobster. You also made sure to keep him from disappearing off the face of the earth.

"Hun, you mom's coming over for dinner tomorrow- No, I don't want to hear it! Anyone who had the guts to raise you and not lose their mind deserves a nice, home cooked meal with her family. Dinner, six o'clock, be there."

Your latest topic, though, was helping people. You didn't give too much mind to the people Bucky worked with, but your mind was set on the homeless. Some news report on CNN had utterly convinced you that you needed to be the change in the world.

"Buck, please!" You begged, latching your hands onto your husbands arm. "This is my calling!"

A small grin formed on Bucky's face, "I thought your calling was to foster little orphans. Or was it to start an animal rescue. Oh, maybe-"

"James, I'm serious!" Use of Bucky's real name was a sign you wanted him to take you seriously. "Please, I just want to help the innocent people out there who don't have anything or anyone."

With your puppy dog eyes gleaming at him, Bucky knew he couldn't say no. "Alright, alright. But I get to choose the place since I'm buying."

A large smile erupted on your face as you leaped to hug Bucky. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, baby!"

Bucky's wide palms rubbed your back softly as he kissed your head. "Anything for my precious world."

And so, the hunt for the perfect shelter was in place. Immediately, you called some friends to bounce ideas back and forth off them. Eventually, you decided on the name Feast. Food, emergency aid, shelter, and training. It was everything anyone could ever need. It was perfection.

Even Bucky had to agree, it sounded pretty solid. He was amused at the acronym, enjoying the excitement your project gave you.

After a few months, Feast was nearly up and running. To gather attention, you decided to host a gala. Bucky helped you invite anyone and everyone important. You needed to get Feast's name out there, and the big people were who would do it. Secretly, Bucky only agreed because he knew he could.. convince the ones who denied to lend a hand.

The night of the gala approached. You sat with Natasha, as she finished putting on her makeup. "Natty, you look so pretty already."

"Yeah, but you know Steve likes the shimmer. I just want to add a little bit more," Natasha replied, referring to her husband, aka Bucky's best friend. It helped a lot that your best friend was married to Bucky's best friend. Natasha and you did almost everything together.

"Steve would like you if you wore a cardboard box," You groaned. "Come on, we're going to be late!"

Natasha laughed as she stood up, "Alright, alright! You, Mrs. Barnes, are going to have a wonderful outcome I hear."

Your heart leaped at her words. "Really?"

"Yeah, I heard anyone's who's anyone is coming." You squealed at Natasha's words and lead her down to the limo where Bucky and Steve were waiting.

The moment Bucky laid eyes on you, he felt like he was falling in love all over again. "Doll," He breathed out, holding your waist carefully with both hands. "You're an angel,"

You blushed at his words, "You always know just what to say to me,"

"That's why you married me," Bucky teased, knowing all too well there were too many reasons to name as to why you married him. He still felt so lucky.

"You both look amazing," Steve complimented. "But if we don't get going soon, we'll be late."

Quickly, the four of you shimmed into the limo, having some champagne and listening to soft music while you made your way to the gala. You'd left all the interior planning up to Natasha, who's taste was the best in all of New York. You trusted her with your life. After making your way into the hall, it was solidified once more that Natasha was incredible.

The hall was beaming with gold and silver, a soft jazz band playing and a bustling bar full of the most appealing looking drinks you'd seen in a long time. You gave Natasha a thankful look as Bucky began to softly pull you away. He'd spotted the Mayor, and he was itching to make conversation.

It was probably two hours of chit chat later and you found your feet aching from your insanely high heels. You leaned up to Bucky's ear, "Hun, I'm going to go grab a drink. Want anything?"

"Rum?" Bucky muttered back as you gave an eager smile.

You sat at the bar, ordering yours and Bucky's drink. After a moment or so, you noticed the presence of someone in the seat beside you who wasn't there previously.

"Mrs. Barnes," You looked over to see Brock Rumlow. He, too, was a mobster. However, he wasn't one Bucky or Steve were particularly fond of. You didn't even know he was invited tonight. "What a lovely event this is."

"Oh, Mr. Rumlow," You said with surprise laced in your voice. "Thank you, it took a lot of preparation."

"I'm just surprised," Rumlow hummed. "Such a.. charitable thing your husband is endorsing."

You shook your head, "It was all my idea."

"Of course it was," Rumlow bitterly responded. "Barnes' pretty little play thing wanted a new passion project to occupy herself. How expected."

You felt your heart pang at his words. "Oh," You stuttered, losing any sense of confidence.

"I got you at a loss for words?" Rumlow's voice was low as he began to lean over your figure. It felt daunting rather than sultry. It felt dangerous.

"Rumlow, please back up a little bit," You pleaded as Rumlow's smirk grew. "I don't have any space."

"That's the point, baby girl." He continued to prowl over you like a hungry beast, ready to pounce on its prey. For a moment, you felt overcome with fear. The way Rumlow eyed you made you wish you had worn a more conservative dress.

Before you could blink, Rumlow was pushed back harshly. It caused you to jump up and into someones arms. You didn't even need to question who it was; you knew Bucky's touch anywhere.

"What the fuck were you doing with my girl?" Bucky growled as Rumlow shook himself out of shock.

"Just making conversation," Rumlow dryly responded. "She's a joy to talk to."

Bucky scoffed, "It looked like you were about to drag her out of here."

"And so what if I was?" Rumlow challenged. "What would you do, huh, Barnes? You've gone weak, she's making you lose your touch. You're just her silly little guard dog. No one's scared of you when everyone knows that you'd never do anything to upset your precious-"

Before Rumlow could even finish his sentence, Bucky was on top of him, punches pushing his head back and forth, left and right. The sickening sounds of skin against skin was too much for you to bare, but luckily, Steve had come right on time. He was quick to pull you behind him where Natasha was waiting to hold you in her arms.

"Don't you dare call me fuckin' weak!" Bucky yelled. All eyes were on the scene unfolding.

The crack of Rumlow's jaw was not to be missed as Bucky's fist collided with it so hard you could've sworn Bucky broke some of his teeth. "You think you can come here to my wife's gala and try me?"

You wanted to stop Bucky, but you could tell that with his anger, thee was no stopping him until he was done. More sounds of cracking, Rumlow's howls of pain, and the blow's of Bucky's beatings were all that echoed in the hall.

After a few minutes, Bucky slowly stopped, panting as he leaned over Rumlow breathlessly. It was then you stepped in, running behind Bucky and putting your hands on his shoulders. "Buck, c'mon. Let me get you cleaned up." Blood was splattered on Bucky's face, his fists drenched in it. You nodded to Steve who, once Bucky was standing, picked Rumlow over his shoulder and took him out of the building. Natasha waved the band who began playing, and everyone fell back into conversation almost as if nothing happened.

Bucky and you were silent as the bartender handed you some towels to clean Bucky up. "Did you see any of that?" Bucky asked softly, his tone much different than a few minutes beforehand.

"Steve pulled me behind him," You answered, wiping off Bucky's knuckles. They were already bruising due to the beatings on them.

"Good man," He nodded, knowing that he would have done the same for Natasha. They protected each other's girls, always. "I'm sorry this happened tonight. I didn't mean to ruin the gala."

You chuckled, forcing Bucky to look up and around. "Look, nothing's ruined. You don't think these people are used to this stuff?"

Bucky gave a soft smile in return as his fingers fell across your cheek, softly rubbing it. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Endlessly protect and love me, to start." You cheekily replied.

"Yeah," Bucky nodded, kissing you softly. "Always." He added as he pulled away. "Now, come on. I don't think we spoke to the Stark's yet."

[whumpthemusical]

Whump: The Musical Prompts!!

As stated before, this challenge will run from March 1- March 31, 2024. All fandoms are welcome to participate despite it being prompts based off of musicals. Once again, all types of media are allowed. This challenge has the standard "choose one for the day" style, but feel free to do all three prompts if that's what you want to do!! All types of whump are allowed, but please be respectful to your fellow audience members and properly tag it!! Some of these prompts are sensitive, so make sure you warn your readers correctly! There will be an ao3 collection and an FAQ post coming soon, so if you have any further questions or comments about this challenge, feel free to drop me a line. Happy writing, my beautiful ingénues, and enjoy the show :)))

The prompts will be listed under the cut for those who have difficulty reading fonts!!

Cats- Sabotage • Second Chances • "I Can Dream Of The Old Days."

Wicked- Mob Mentality • Propaganda • "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished."

Jesus Christ Superstar- Whipping • Betrayal • "Then I Was Inspired, Now I'm Sad And Tired."

Les Mis- Survivor's Guilt • Failure • "Drink With Me To Days Gone By."

Heathers- Poison • Reluctant Whumper • "Wanna fight for me?"

Newsies- Chronic Pain • Exploitation • "Let 'Em Laugh In My Face, I Don't Care."

The Last Five Years- Infidelity • Gaslighting • "I Will Not Lose Because You Can't WIn."

Hadestown- Deals • Doomed Narrative • "Doubt Comes In."

Sweeney Todd- False Imprisonment • Razors • "Have You Decided It's Safer In Cages?"

Rent- Substance Abuse • Poverty • "Feels Too Much Damn Like Home."

Bare: A Pop Opera- Outing • Religious Trauma • "Please, See Me."

Waitress- Unplanned Pregnancy • Abuse • "She Is Broken And Won't Ask For Help."

Tick Tick Boom- Atychiphobia • Working To Exhaustion • "Is This Real Life?"

Dear Evan Hansen- Deception • Broken Bone • "Words Fail."

West Side Story- Star-Crossed Lovers • Prejudices • "A Boy Who Kills Cannot Love."

Come From Away- Stranded • Aftermath • "Blankets And Bedding And Maybe Some Food."

Spring Awakening- Withheld Information • Suicide  • "I Don't Scream, Though I Know It's Wrong."

Hamilton- Hurricane  • Dueling • "I Will Kill Your Friends And Family To Remind You Of My Love."

Falsettos- Sickness • Identity Issues • "Death Is Not A Friend."

Into The Woods- Blame • Lost • "Nothing But A Vast Midnight."

The Great Comet- Abduction • Letters • "Did You Love That Bad Man?"

In The Heights- Grief • Homesickness • "I Know That I'm Letting You Down."

Be More Chill- Mind Manipulation • Panic Attack • "Everything About Me Makes Me Want To Die."

Moulin Rouge- Class Differences • Sex Work • "Come What May."

Chicago- Cold Blood • Trial • "He Had It Coming."

Six- Execution • Trauma Bonding • "Playtime's Over."

Ride The Cyclone- Unexpected Tragedy • Forgotten Whumpee • "I Hear The Anguish Of The Street."

The Rocky Horror Show- Obsession • Wrong Place, Wrong Time • "I've Seen Blue Skies Through The Tears."

Nerdy Prudes Must Die- Bullying • Ritual • "Who Will Pray For You?"

Jekyll And Hyde- Duality • Good Vs Evil • "If I Die, You'll Die."

Phantom Of The Opera- Disfiguration • Shunned • "My Power Over You Grows Stronger Yet."

[reesespeanutbutterfuck]

(im)perfectionist

vinny hong x jo!reader

jay jo's imperfectionist sister meets the flawful vinny hong.

part 1

part 2

pairing: vinny hong x jo!fem!reader

warnings: SFW, fem!reader, gifted!reader, cursing, mentions of blood & violence, mentions/flashbacks to vinny's shitty childhood. jo!reader (jay is reader's 1 year older brother, but they're in the same class), physical descriptions (resemblance to jay, jay's mother, heavily implied asian features) intelligent!reader, female rage, implications of academic pressure, middle child trauma, second person's pov (you, you're, your), ANGSTY, lowkey self-indulgent, SPOILERS everywhere, includes momma bear vinny but then reader is also kind of a momma bear, reader is NOT yumi, but yumi still exists here. lmk if i forgot anyth

note: i can't stop tossing and turning while reading s4 lol this is how i cope. vinny pls come back now im bawling my eyes rn

—

None of the recontres you had with Vinny Hong in the entirety of your life was normal.

The first time you encountered him was when you accidentally bumped into him in a vulnerable state while walking home under a light rain shower after a tiring day volunteering at the hospital your parents were working in. The light pouring rain hit your umbrella with soft thuds as you were finding your way through the alley you accidentally passed by after taking an alternative route, but getting a little lost in the process.

You shuddered when you heard a groan. You immediately looked around and kept your guard up in case it was a kidnapper. But no, it sounded like one of pain. Stopping your tracks and pulling over your feet, you looked around the alley. Your eyes expectantly scanned until your eyes found the source of the grumbling noise. There he was, slumped against the wall.

I knew it, you thought. It was a man. How cliché. His head was bowed down so he couldn't see you. Let me guess, a high school boy was mobbed and injured somewhere and now is left to die in a dark alley to be found lifeless once the sun rises?

You scoffed. If only you had all the time in the world to be a delinquent, that will most likely be where you're meant for. These high school boys are wasting their lives when they unknowingly have the time to choose to be a better person. You discreetly envied how these kinds of people can still choose how they'll live their lives, regardless of presence of sense for separating actions between good and bad.

And so you walked past the alley.

Your steps slowed down as the man groaned again, this time followed by a rustle. A slight pang of guilt forming in the pit of your stomach. Damn it, this wasn't–

You reluctantly looked back to where the man sat. You've always sworn your life you wouldn't meddle in anything that wasn't your business. But for some reason, the guilt of having the ability to help but refusing to, drowned your fixed principle.

Just as you were having an inner banter with yourself, your feet made the decision for you instead and took you to him. You pushed the button on your umbrella to automatically close it, pointing the sharp end to the stranger. You weren't even sure if he's still alive because he suddenly quieted down after that last groan. Only the light from the nearest post gave you an unclear sight of the man and the fluff of his fiery red hair.

One of his hands fell limp on the floor while the other was covering his wound. It seemed like he's been in the same spot for minutes yet the distinct bright colour of fresh blood told you the injury happened not very a while ago. You weren't sure of how to approach him properly, so you lightly kicked his leg once, but he didn't respond. So you kicked him for the second time, this time, harder. Finally, he responded by quietly groaning in pain once again.

“Who… the hell… are you…?” He weakly questioned as looked up to squint and take in your face, but your figure was against the light from the lamp post, so your silhouette was the only thing he's capable of registering. Even when in pain, his voice still sounded atrocious. Like he's someone used to speaking to people harshly. Luckily, you weren't intimidated for a single bit. It'll take a lot more than harsh tones to drive you away. You've been there.

You fumbled inside your tote bag to search for your phone, “Who are you to ask?” When you got ahold of your phone, you turned the flashlight on and you got a clearer view of the blood oozing out of this stranger's side, staining his hand in the process. It looked like a stab wound, judging from the volume of the blood oozing out from the wound.

“As expected.” You raised your hand to point the sharp end of your umbrella to him once again. “I will help you. But if you attempt to do anything funny, I'll stab you on your other side, too.”

Your first option as was to call immediate professional help. As you tried to dial the hospital hotline to call an ambulance, your phone kept indicating there was no service. The signal's jammed. You almost threw your phone to the nearest wall out of frustration as you hit the side of it with your palm. You side-eyed the man behind you.

Shit. Now what? This kind of stab wound is fatal, especially because he already lost plenty of blood beforehand. It wouldn't bleed that much if the penetration wasn't deep. It might have even hit a vital spot. Calling for help now will be difficult because of this deserted alley and the continuous pour of the rain didn't help either, plus, your phone has no service.

“I don't need… your help!” he glared at your silhouette and cursed himself as he shut his eyes tightly while attempting to sit upright, enduring the excruciating pain on his side.

“You're quite obnoxious for a dying man.” You looked around to search for more resources. This is a closed alley. If you leave him here for another minute to find help, he might completely lose his consciousness, he was already limp in the first place. You were left with no choice. Your hand hesitantly reached to fumble around your bag once again until you got an OS, gauze pads and sterilized medical stitching needles.

Your mother would be furious if ever she finds out you stitched a stranger's wounds. You can only imagine her yelling, "Patients are not your playthings and the Medical field is not your playground! Who are you to perform Medical procedures? You're not even a Doctor yet!" Yeah, for sure Dra. Jo wouldn't be so pleased to find out her daughter's attempt to fix someone up. You kneeled and looked at the stranger. You needed to gain his trust as professionally as possible.

“I won't ask your name since you're clearly hard to talk to. I'm [Y/N]. I'm no Guardian angel of yours. I do light voluntary work in hospitals and I have current trainings on how to attend to emergency patients. But I'm still a high school student so I'm not yet licensed. Anyway, going to a hospital will always be the safest option, but I have knowledge about stitching wounds, at least. I'm going to temporarily stitch you up so you don't lose more blood, then we'll get you to a hospital once I find phone service.”

You surveyed his overall state, he looked very pale, although it's easy to tell that he's naturally pale, by losing a lot of blood, he's getting even paler each passing second. You were running out of time.

“Do you consent to this?” You asked him calmly through your glasses.

He breathed out heavily. You knew he was wary and reluctant. Which is understandable. But if it's not you, who else will do it? You heaved a sympathetic sigh. As you unemotionally tell him about the circumstances of his skepticality, that you well acknowledge.

“Hey, you might have a family member waiting for you at home. They would be devastated to just hear from the news that you were found dispatched and lifeless out here in the morning.” you looked around, left and right. Right now, you're the best chance he has if he wants to live. “I won't force your consent out. I haven't touched you anywhere yet and I wouldn't if you don't want me to, so I can just leave you here without me being a potential suspect of your murder. But you should probably think about the ones that didn't know their last sight of you alive was the last they'll get, ever.”

He looks at you for a few seconds while he grits his teeth, before he slowly, lightly nods. Shutting his eyes and removing his hand from covering the wound, implying that he had put his trust in you.

You checked his carotid pulse first. Just as you thought. Erratic and weakened. And then looked over to watch the shallow rise and fall of his shoulders. Shallow breathing. He definitely lost a high volume of blood already. You hastily started disinfecting everything—your hands, the tools, even the gloves. You checked his expression. You gave him a heads-up before lifting the side of his shirt to attend to the wound properly. You began working up and stitching the wound on his right side. You looked at his face once again that's being covered by the shade of the unfinished constructions caging the alley, while going through your first stitch.

“I'm sorry, this is the only option, for now. I'll find more professional help after this.”

He had no more energy left to open his mouth and reply. He grunts in pain while you were busy ushing the needle through-and-through. You asked him to bite down on a cloth while enduring the pain, since you didn't have anesthesia and he can feel every poke of the needle on his skin. You stitched him with precision with your skilled hands. Your hands were painted crimson red during the process.

This wouldn't be your first time stitching. You've done this a couple of times, but only to a simulator. You pulled yourself together as you kept in mind that a person's life is in your hands this time.

While you were focusing on the stitches, all the stranger can muster are croaky groans, as the pain of the wound and the stitches stung, so you tried to do it faster. When you were done, while wiping your blood-stained hands, you noticed how his chest was rising and falling rapidly as he was wincing in pain. He tried to look up at you again, but his sight of you was blurry.

“Don't worry, that'll be removed at once when you're taken to the hospital. What I did is only first aid, and you already lost a lot of blood so we still need to get you to the hospital as soon as possible.”

You pushed your knees to stand up and find phone signal, but before you can, his hand rose and reached for yours.

“No.” He clutched your hand to stop you. His hand was rough—and also large. You have large hands for a female, but his hand almost completely enveloped yours.

The side of your lips shifted downward while looking down at him. “When I said trust me, I only meant temporarily so I can temporarily close your wound. I didn't mean with all your life."

“Just no hospital.”

“You must really want to die.”

He gripped your hand tightly from the severe pain he's enduring. You know how much pain he's going through right now and he didn't mean to do so, so you let him squeeze your hand.

“I would rather die, than pay a hospital bill.” he weakly held on to you, falling completely unconscious as his head fell on your lap. You furrowed your brows and put his head into a more comfortable position.

Oh, so he was serious on dying?

You coming to his rescue definitely doesn't just end with a few stitches.

***

© reesespeanutbutterfuck 2023, don't forget to support your creators by reblogging !!!

always remember to put seeking professional help as top priority if you ever encounter this kinda scenario irl

[amethysts-tavern]

Forgive my typos or grammar. Writing this one on my phone rather than the laptop.

Gale x gender-neutral bard reader. Gale needs some reassurance.

———

I choose you.

Every night before bed, you make the circle around camp to check in with your companions - to see if they need additional healing or want to talk about anything, maybe tell them that they did well in the day’s adventure or recommend some battle tactics.

This night in particular, camp is pretty quiet. It was an extremely rough day. Half of the party went down entirely while you and Gale were the only two who remained standing by the end, likely from staying back from the melee where you could cast your spells without fear of being run through with a pike.

Karlach thanked you for finishing the fight and helping to revive her at the end. She had done the most damage to the enemy, but had also suffered the most.

“That fucker just would not die!” she exclaimed rehashing her last few swings to you. “I’m glad you were able to finish him off.”

“Lucky shot on a dissonant whisper,” you tell her. “Had he advanced on me and Gale, we would have been toast. Thank goodness Gale thought to cast sleet storm, essentially holding those cultists at bay.”

“Yeah, that was amazing! Well, I hope you get some good sleep tonight. We all deserve it,” Karlach says before turning in.

“G’night, Karlach. Good job today.”

You make your way over to where Astarion is standing outside of his tent, staring up at the clear sky. He takes in a big cleansing breath as you approach.

“Enjoying the evening, Astarion?”

“You know, the one thing about being a vampire that never gets old is seeing the stars every night. It’s like a big comforting blanket in the sky.”

“I won’t keep you then. Just wanted to say good job today.”

“I was great, wasn’t I? I spilled so much cultist blood on the ice. Let’s do it again tomorrow. Tell Gale to have that spell ready,” Astarion says with a twinkle in his eye.

You chuckle as you turn to move to Gale’s tent. You usually save his visit for last, sometimes staying the night with him in his tent. But he usually waits outside for you. Tonight, he’s not where you expect him.

You approach his tent slowly, listening hard to see if you can figure out why he didn’t wait for you, but the tent is quiet.

“Gale, are you there? Can I come in?” you ask in the voice reserved especially for him, softer and warmer than what you use with the others.

There’s no answer for a moment, but you do eventually hear a quiet, “you can come in.”

“Are you ok, love?” your concern apparent, as you enter Gale’s tent, only to see his back to you. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no. I’m… I’m fine,” he replies, leaving you convinced that he is entirely not fine. You step gently toward the wizard, trying to suss out what’s bothering him. You put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. “What’s going on, hon? You know can tell me anything.”

There is silence for a moment and then he starts, “I’m not strong like Karlach. I’m not sneaky like Astarion. I couldn’t even help our friends when they fell,” he says just above a whisper. “I’m completely inadequate in battle. I don’t deserve to be in your party. I don’t deserve to be with you,” he hangs his head at the last part.

“What are you talking about? There’s a very good reason I choose to have you in my party every day. Your sleet storm was exactly what we needed in this battle! You slowed the enemies down so we didn’t have to deal with the entire mob at once! Without that quick thinking and spectacular ability, we would not have walked away with a victory.”

It was true. The giant mob of Absolutists would truly have done far more damage to your party if they advanced as a unit. But the moment they had to deal with a sheet of ice, they were sliding all over, not able to control their balance and landing on their backsides.

“And as for that last bit,” you say, wrapping your arms around the man that you love in a tight embrace, “I think I get to decide who is worthy of my affections. And I chose you. Brilliant, funny, loving you,” you punctuate the last sentence with kisses and nips at his neck. “And I will choose you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“But I could be so much more for you…” he starts.

You cross in front of him so that you can stare into his eyes. “Gale, I don’t want you to be anything else. I love you because of the man you are and how you make me feel. You are enough. In fact, you are everything I’ve ever wanted in a love. You are an honest and kind man. Your wit keeps me on my toes. You openly share your thoughts and feelings and listen to mine in return. I have never once doubted this relationship.”

You step in and give him another long, tender embrace. Your voice drops to a whisper, “And good gods! That thing you do with your tongue… it drives me wild!”

Finally, the corners of his mouth curl upward into a smile.

[yersang-dreams]

Tempest Estate

Page 2 of the MAFIA Series.

Current date and time: January 13, 12P.M

12 days passed since Rimuru's proposal had been accessed and he gave you time to accept his proposal or not. yet this pissed you off, you didn't want to stay with some unknown man you don't know, even if he was the well-feared boss of the city. this version of him is odd, he was gentle, kind, and caring for his people but Rimuru as a mob boss, who is normally seen as ruthless and influential in the modern world. maybe his gentle nature is still there.

who knows, maybe it stayed or maybe it's gone all under hidden that charming yet calculating poker face of his. you've done your research on his reputation both in the civil and the crime underworld, he was ruthless, cunning, manipulative and greatly intelligent — his power and money that he hold is off the charts of an usual millionaire, people could say he was a billionaire, his power are his men, himself and the intel he collects, he can get whatever he wanted when he demands it. after all, everyone inside the city was too scared to anger him and possibly die in his hands.

you thought he wouldn't come back, thinking he had found another woman after all he can be a womanizer and play with their hearts but instead, he's right in front of you with that smug yet annoying smirk on his lips. he came back, he obviously kept his promise and went back to you.

“So.. where's your bags, sweetheart?”

“You're infuriating.”

he chuckled lowly, the sound smooth like velvet and suave, his hands were inside the pockets of his suit pants, his men right behind him with stoic and cold faces. it was annoying enough to make you rip out your hair, but how could you refuse him now? now that you said you will indeed think about it for a few days then now he's right damn there, you could both sense and smell his money and power through his casual yet authoritative stance, even his dark navy suit speaks words, it was evident that it was expensive and tailored to his style.

“Come on, pack your things now. We must make haste now, the car is waiting outside.”

“... I could choke you.”

he chuckled once again this time a bit louder, his amusement was shown in his eyes that reflected the sun itself, he looked almost casual around you though his calculating and ruthless personality was still there. your eyes twitched at his response, all you wanted to do was to be free and away from him yet he is there, here, everywhere, again and again. it's a tiring repeated process, why did SHE choose you? SHE should've picked someone else, not you but here you are, standing in his familiar face, everything was already obvious now, every repeated process he doesn't remember, only you remember EVERYTHING, every single moment, every single action. the particular reason for the circumstance you are protected by HER.

Is this karma or my way of suffering?.. I'm cursed either way, still cursed in every way imaginable…

“A threat or a promise? Either way, it's very endearing if I must say.”

his tone teasing and filled with amusement, those golden eyes glinting with mischief and amusement, he was never this amused but here he is, close to laughing at your antics.

"Quite feisty, still as ever. Though… why does it look like something is protecting her?... An aura filled with purity, power, and authority of someone or something that I can't quite put my finger on…"

in his eyes, there was an aura colored with the power of every galaxy, as if fate was protecting you, he was able to see your aura. Of course he was a magic user, and surely you are too if you had that aura. on the other hand, the aura surrounding you looked like it was protecting you inside of it , not revealing your possible potential. fascination was his thoughts, most of every magic users’ aura will tell how strong they are, depending on their strengths, the stronger they are, the bigger and more powerful it is. 

his aura could be almost everywhere, he could control his aura, whether in his mood, it can be overwhelming and heavy if he's serious or furious, normally it is calm and controlled. but yours, was odd instead of seeing your aura, it isn't a magic aura, it looked like it was protecting you from everything, from the nothingness, from destiny.

this world was filled with mana, magic and powers that science tried to find but they declared it was chosen by the one who governs the cosmos, magic users of being born were around 20% to 45%, obviously most of the people in the world were born normal but at least around approximately 14% of the world's population are magic users. Rimuru, you, and his subordinates, Acardia, were one of them, each with their own expertise and magic. Arcadia specializes in transformations, and illusions, Rimuru focuses on every element that exists, super strength, and speed. there's a lot to add up to his category, let's just say he's powerful enough to continue his illegal operations for years, just like how his grandfather did.

“Why so feisty though, sweetheart? Yes, you're marrying someone who lives and thrives in a dangerous world but think about the riches and the treatments you can get from being my wife. Quite the privilege, no?”

“So, you're telling me that living from rags to riches? Quite ironic, yes? As much as I don't want this, people with jobs such as yours cause me trouble.”

his reaction was immediate amusement, indeed it was ironic that you will go from rags to riches, you already had experienced many lifes like this, , poor, moderate rich, you saw the differences between these lifestyles, poor learnt how to appreciate and thank for the smallest things such as food and clothes — while the rich were greedy, thriving for corruption, for power, for wealth, they had everything they could have and yet their hunger for both wealth and power doesn't seem to dissipate. but you remain you, as painful as it is, people always change no matter the era or the current age and year.

nevertheless, the world changes but such an immortal as you... doesn't. 

Current time & date: January 27, 2:43P.M

Two weeks passed, Rimuru didn't force you to sleep in the same room as you thought, he gave you your own room, thinking you will be uncomfortable sleeping with a man you barely knew.

He put some thought into everything, huh…

it was obvious how he thought about om everything before you moved to the Tempest Estate, the maids and butlers trained properly, the private chefs in the kitchen, the guards who 24/7 do night patrols to make sure no one intrudes, knowing Rimuru mostly gets intruded and targeted for assassination in an attempt to throw him off as the head boss. your room was free to design as you pleased, the four-poster bed was neatly made when he showed you around, and the rooms that intrigued you the most were the library, it looked like a heaven in a form of books and fiction, the gardens; beautifully taken care of, flowers in their full bloom, the form of tranquility and peace. the purple hyacinths in their full bloom, such beauty is appreciated, no…? 

you had your own study, your own walk-in closet, and everything else a woman could want but you remained indifferent, Rimuru had indeed the money to spoil you, your current position was a woman's dream, being married to such a powerful and wealthy man like Rimuru Tempest himself, despise his gifts, acts of service, your trust in him was still hollow and empty. Rimuru was close to being frustrated himself due to being unable to join your trust, and so, he decided to finally talk about it through dinner with you. just why can’t he gain your trust? what are you defending behind those defensive walls?

[  Timeskip  ]

it was dinner time, the maids laid down the plates, utensils, wine glasses; but instead of those plates being beside, it was across the table, Rimuru’s position was at the head of the table while yours was across his, the maids thought you deposed him to the point you wanted to seat across him every meal. Rimuru was already seated in his seat whilst waiting for you, one of the maids filled his wine glass with crimson liquid, the finest wine he ordered to be served at the table, a clear attempt to get you drunk after all, he chose the strongest wine inside his cellar. after some time you finally appeared, the maids greeted you as usual as you took your seat across from him, you were glaring at him this time as if you knew what would happen.

Rimuru stared at you in shock, he didn’t expect you to predict what he was going to do, before he immediately hid his shock by chuckling, raising his wine glass with a grin.

“So… what are you going to talk about?”

“?!”

“Well, aren’t you a sly fox? Yes, I wanted to talk with you through dinner. I am mostly surprised that you can tell, are you a predictor now? Hahaha~”

staring at him dryly, you had become accustomed to his teasing, you took a sigh as you crossed your leg over the other.

“So, what is it? What do you wanna talk about? You know we can talk while eating, it would be a waste to get the food cold... unless you want it cold.”

Rimuru chuckled once again, taking a sip of his wine before setting it down on the table, crossing his legs as well as he leaned forward on the dinner table, his smirk subtly growing to a casual smirk into an amused smirk. as expected, you always managed to handle things calmly.

A sigh left his lips, “this is going to be a tough one, even tougher than my fights or my men,” he thought internally, he thought he could get through those walls of yours through gifts, acts of service, and affection yet you showed indifference all the time.  your personality weirded him out since he had grown accustomed to women falling to his knees, begging for a minute of his attention or wealth, and you never did; instead, you insisted on making your own business which broke his ego, he can already provide for the two of you with his seemingly endless money, and yet you want to start your own business for your own benefit? how laughable this case was for him.

“Well… I have been giving you the most extravagant gifts, the luxury life, the money, that a simple woman would want and yet I still do not have your trust. Why is that?”

“Simple, I don’t at all. After all, you’re still a stranger despite our marriage contract, you are a man that I merely and barely know at all.”

“Damn, you are seriously so cold, can’t you spare a poor man from your cold attitude? At least, show some gratitude or something, ya know? You’re always so sassy, sending insults left and right, making dry and sarcastic comments no matter the situation or time. It’s like everything means nothing to you, are you such an unemotional woman?”

…

Oh.

“That question hit hard for some reason…,” you stared down at your hands, questioning why his words hit you harder than anything, were you really unemotional? Does that explain you had felt nothing but emptiness?

“... No. I am not unemotional, I am simply just unfeeling for people like you. You may be a criminal with good looks but you already know that you are not a saint. Humans have flaws, even you, you can call yourself the most perfect one but you are not. Flaws make the person, personality builds the person, pride lets you feel victorious after every fight. Trust me, I have met people like you who deemed themselves perfect only for their demise to fall on them.”

You gave him a blank glare, your words almost seemed wise like someone who matured and experienced everything, such words dumbfounded Rimuru; how did you know Rimuru even deemed himself perfect? Despite his crimes, he was arrogant enough to see himself as one of the most perfect human beings. Laughter filled the dining room, the maids ever being surprised while watching in the corner of the said room. 

“Wow, aren’t you a wise woman, eh? It’s hilarious, I seriously didn’t expect you to be such an intelligent woman but who am I to underestimate you? You’re always surprising me in every corner and area of expertise.”

Chuckling at his own joke before clearing his throat and gesturing to the food at the table in front of them.

“Let’s eat now, don’t want the food to get cold just as you said.”

After some time, the maids had taken the plates away as the both of you finished your meals, they began to place small plates of dessert in front of you; they gave you a fancy chocolate souffle while Rimuru got crystal macarons, the macarons being decorated in small pieces of gold leaves.

“Fancy much? I suppose I can expect nothing from someone who's been living in luxury.”

You scoffed before taking a small bite of your souffle, its dark chocolate flavor rich and creamy exploding in your mouth perfectly. Rimuru once again chuckled at your words, it's true, he had been living in pure luxury ever since he got taken in by his grandfather. Indeed, he was spoiled but he was honest and kind, he didn't want too much luxury; once in a while, he would make donations to charity or orphanages to support them.

“Well, well, yes, I have been living in luxury. But, I am honest and romantic, no?~”

You stared at him blankly as if truly unamused, you have gotten used to his teasing words, Rimuru could only laugh at your reaction.

Current time and date: January 28, 10:46A.M

Today was another normal day for you. Oftentimes, you take over some of Rimuru's work, especially the paperworks, knowing yourself that you cannot stay still at all. Rimuru was always grateful for your help everyday, though he did try.. keyword, TRY to reward you but you immediately decline, knowing what it will be.

This time, it was different, you could sense the tension in Rimuru's mind, there's been news and rumors spreading around the underground world; there had been a new criminal, named “Marionette”, the said criminal was a woman with unknown details and identity after all, her face was covered by a creepy mask, her voice often sounded cold and unfeeling. There's also another reason she's called “Marionette”, because her power revolves around controlling people and turning them into her puppets, like in a stage theatre, and she was the mastermind behind the scenes.

“So.. another new criminal? From what I read, she has committed heinous crimes.. similar to yours.”

“Hmm… yes, she has been going around like crazy, the only amount of times that people saw her was two times — it's hard to locate her, especially her identity. As you already know, the ones doing her dirty work were her ‘puppets’. This is a troublesome matter and I need your help.”

“Her power according to the documents are interesting yet scarily powerful. I am guessing it was blessed by the Goddess.”

Rimuru placed his arms on the table, leaning towards it as he spoke in a solemn tone.

His golden amber eyes widened at your sudden suggestion before he chuckled and smirked, leaning on his chair with a smug smirk.

“Indeed, I’m not sure how can we fight back without any information about her powers, strengths, and weaknesses; I’ll—”

“Leave it to me. I will go find any intel about her.”

“I suppose, I can expect from you, always being bold and confident.”

[ “Approved, it is wise to give her the job to collect the intel of the enemy while we can strategize and plan our moves.” ]

Rimuru easily gave his approval by nodding his head with a grin, crossing arms.

Well… that was easier than I thought, I thought I had to convince this time but seems like none… who cares? That makes my job easier to fool him.

You walked off to your room where Macarius was waiting for you, you met Macarius again when he was introduced to you by Rimuru as he got assigned to be your personal butler; obviously, because of this predicament, everything was easy for you now with Macarius and Arcadia by your side. After all, you always had a plan including a back-up plan.

“Welcome back, my lady… or shall I say.. Marionette?”

Correct, you ARE the villainess, the criminal behind it all. You are the Marionette that everyone has been targeting even Rimuru, your husband included.

word count: 2.8k ,, I am so sorry for the lack of updates eueueue, but here it is published on New Year as promised !!

[mortalityplays]

It's obviously kind of an oversimplification to say Gomorra is 'about' homosexuality. It's about a lot of things. But it's also completely true and I would even possibly argue that it is the load-bearing point of the show.

On a macro level, the whole thing is about the endlessly bloody and destructive struggle of a life in organised crime. But even in that sense it puts a very specific thematic point on the way love, relationships and blood relations are constant casualties of this way of life, and the effect of that relentless human loss on the players who keep choosing war over peace. Ciro blazing his trail by killing women, children and parents specifically is not a 'kick the cat' villain beat, it's the whole point of the material. Genny being perpetually struck down by his own nuclear family because he is competition to them is part of it. Being in the life means eventually sacrificing those you love on its altar. You murder your wife, you send your son to die in the jungle, you send your father-in-law to prison.

As we absorb that, we're presented with this succession of queer characters living in the periphery of the story. One by one they're introduced to us, they explicate themselves as divergent from heteronormative sex and gender roles, and then we watch them die or disappear. It's heavily implied that the 'lesbian' from the tower blocks may be a trans man, but she doesn't exist in a context where articulating that is an option, and she dies in a white wedding dress inherited from her father. Conte's relationship with a trans woman can only exist behind closed doors. He dates her sister in public, he puts off introducing her to his mother, he appeals to his catholicism to distance himself from his own sexuality. Gege panics and folds because he's afraid for his boyfriend and his daughter. What do I care about the guy fucking you in the ass? Genny sneers, before he beats Gege to death with the watch that signifies his connection to a mob family. Much like the harrowing shit the show delves into around race, the message is 'there is no mercy here'. There is no oxygen for the articulation of queerness. It can only survive unspoken, in negative space.

And there's no argument that the show is about the negative space between Genny and Ciro. Neither of them know how to articulate their relationship. They're best friends, they're worst enemies, they grew up together, Ciro raised Genny, they're brothers, they're father and son. They use the word love. They also use the word hate. They come as close as anyone ever gets to putting bullets in each other's brains. They keep taking turns to ask each other can we do this now? and the answer is always not yet. Even when they're on the same side, they can only discuss the nature of their relationship by proxy, through their mutual relationships with others. Pietro is one. And I could write a fucking essay on the Enzo situation.

The negative space is physical, too. They hover around each other. They talk nose to nose. In the first season they can't stay apart, they grab each other, they pepper each other with kisses. After the life erases all of their visible human connections and sets them at odds, they're shot like orbiting planets. Empty space takes up entire frames between them. Ciro is fucking constantly looking at Genny, to the point that shots are composed around his furtive glances. After they finally reveal themselves to Analisa, Ciro catches Genny by the arm to pull him away from the meeting. That's not a gesture we ever see between other characters, especially in a context like that. They are constantly either 1 inch or 12 feet apart.

But most of all, there's negative space in the title. Gomorra. Yeah it's a play on Camorra. Don't worry about it. Don't think too much about it. Just ignore the primary association with that word that floats into your head when you hear it. It's absent from the show, right? It's absent from the life. This is a mafia show about two straight friends.

[use-your-imagination98]

How to save GH

This is a tiny project that I've been working on. GH is in a bad place. It's stale. No romance. No intriguing stories. No heart. The focus is on characters no one cares about. So, I let my creativity run wild and create stories that use vets, legacy characters, and built on history.

This is pretty, pretty long. But this show has one million characters and needs a lot to fix it. If you take the time to read it, god bless you 😂

"TOXIC" CAST CULL

“Pikeman” decides to target all of Port Charles with a deadly toxin. TJ, Portia, Finn, Terry, and Elizabeth all work to create an antidote with help from Patrick and Robin via telephone. 

It is revealed that Pikeman is revealed to be an alive Lorenzo Alcazar who is intent on finally ending Sonny’s reign once and for all.

We see Gladys, Dex, Cody (who is revealed to not be Mac’s son), Willow, Sasha, Mason, Austin, Finn, Gregory, Diane, and Olivia each die from the toxin. After the 11 deaths, the hospital crew was finally able to create an antidote. The rest of the town is saved.

Gladys, Dex, Cody, Sasha, Gregory, Finn, Austin, and Diane’s funerals are off screen. The Quartermaine’s decide to have a double funeral for Willow and Olivia. 

Immediate aftermaths:

Stella and Marshall move to Arizona because Port Charles is too much for them

Hayden comes to collect Violet and move her immediately out of Port Charles

After losing her dear friend, Alexis is spurred to get her law license back.

ANNA, VALENTIN, AND A GROWN UP EMMA

Anna discovers that Valentin was responsible for setting fire to her house. She isn’t fully blindsided because she suspected her Cassadine lover was keeping secrets from her, but it didn’t stop her from being gutted. Robin and Patrick agree to allow Emma to finish college back in Port Charles to support Anna. Emma, desperate to discover why Valentin would destroy her grandmother’s house, starts investigating. 

During her investigation, Annie Donely returns to assist. They track Valentin to a secret meeting with Lorenzo. They discover that Lorenzo was threatening to kill Charlotte because Valentin was going to quit being his right hand man. Lorenzo did not want to reveal himself until he was certain he could take Sonny down for good, but Valentin’s closeness with Anna, who is close to Sonny, was becoming a problem.

Emma and Annie reveal to Anna their findings. Anna confronts Valentin with the discovered facts. He reminds her that they both agreed to kill one another if their children were threatened. She asks how he came to be Lorenzo’s partner. Valentin explains that it was motivated by just wanting money and power. But when he heard that Lorenzo was planning to attack Port Charles, Valentin wanted out. 

Anna declares that she will help take Lorenzo down for good, but they can’t tell Sonny because Sonny will have Valentin killed for his involvement with Lorenzo. Anna and Valentin, with some help from Annie and Emma, work to rid Port Charles of Lorenzo Alcazar.

However, their plans are spurred when Emma’s best friend from college, Lila Rae comes to visit Emma. It is revealed to Emma that Lila Rae is Alcazar’s daughter, which puts Emma in a tough spot: Does she stand by her friend or help bring down a mob boss criminal?

Cameron Webber also returns home after tearing his ACL. He enters into a love triangle with Emma and Lila Rae. Does he choose his old friend or the girl he was attracted to at school?

LULU RETURNS WHILE DANTE SPIRALS

Lulu wakes up from her coma around Christmas 2023. Laura rushes to the care facility with Kevin and Nikolas by her side. When Lulu is questioned about herself, it is discovered that she woke up thinking it is August 2006. She believes that she just turned 18, her mother is catatonic, and that she was never wanted. She is shocked to see her mother awake. Laura gently explains to her that it is 2023 and that Lulu is a 35 year old mother of 2. Lulu is shocked and scared that she can’t remember anything.

She is quickly released from the care facility and back home in Port Charles on New Year’s Eve where a clearly drunk Dante shows up to drop off Charlotte and Rocco at Laura’s.

Lulu has no recollection of Dante, the kids, or becoming friends with Maxie. She clings to her mom, Kevin, and Nikolas. Rocco and Charlotte are desperate to reconnect with their mother, but Lulu is very hesitant. WIth some advice from Laura and Maxie, Lulu begins to make inroads with her preteen kids. 

Dante, already messed up due to his mother’s death, goes into a deeper spiral at the return of Lulu. Sam is Dante’s voice of reason and after months of drinking him into a stupor and going on probation at work, she is able to get him to see that his drinking is becoming a problem and seek help. Once Dante gets clean, Dante proposes to Sam.

Sam, worried to go down the marriage path again, especially after the failed engagement to Patrick, initially says no. She is happy with the way things are with their family. Dante promises not to push but saves the ring in case she ever changes her mind. 

THE END OF ESME:

Esme is curious about her past. Thus, she continues visiting her mom, Heather, who spoon feeds Esme about her past with her adopted family. Heather reveals the truth: Esme killed her adoptive parents in a rage. The reveal sparks Esme’s memories before the second jump off the parapet to return. 

Laura and Kevin were able to find where Mason, Austin, and Cyrus were hiding Nikolas. Nikolas woke up shortly after they found him and he revealed that Ava was the one who struck him. The trio return to Port Charles with Laura vowing to never allow Ava anywhere near her family again. Nikolas agrees to not report Ava for the blow to the head if she returns Wyndamere to him. Ava agrees.

A returned Nikolas begins making amends with Spencer and Elizabeth for his actions. Spencer is wary of letting Nikolas in his and Ace’s life, but Trina is able to convince Spencer to give his father one last chance. Spencer moves out of Wyndamere and into his own apartment, but continues to have a large presence in Ace’s life to Esme’s chagrin. Ace’s time is split between Esme at Laura/Kevin’s house and Wyndamere with Nikolas.

Esme is angry with the overlooming presence that Nikolas and Spencer have over her son. She overhears Nikolas discussing getting full custody with Kevin, Spencer, and Martin. She hears Spencer reveal to the three men all the evidence of her crimes against Ava, Cam, Joss, and Trina to use against her in court. Esme rushes to Pentonville and vents to Heather. Heather conspires with Esme a plan of revenge against Spencer. 

Esme and Heather’s plan includes framing Spencer for small to large crimes. At first, it's a break in at Wyndamere where she steals a family necklace which ends up in Spencer suit jacket. She trashes Ava’s gallery and splatters paintings with fake blood, similar to Spencer’s first run in with Trina at the gallery. Spencer keeps getting arrested or questioned by the police, but Martin is able to defend him from charges being made. 

Esme is furious. The night before the custody hearing she picks a massive fight with Spencer on the docks. Spencer gets angry enough that he raises a hand to her, but never follows through. However, Spencer is caught raising his hand by Esme’s uncle, Kevin. She asks to speak to Spencer alone and Kevin takes the launch to Wyndamere to join Nikolas, Ace, and the rest of the family for dinner. When they are alone, Esme “apologizes” for picking a fight and gives Spencer a hug. He pushes her off and gets on the launch.

Esme returns to Laura and Kevin’s and gets busy bruising herself all over her body and rips her clothes (all with gloves on). When Laura and Kevin return home, they see a battered Esme with torn clothes. She cries that Spencer r*ped her and she wants to report it to the police. A piece of Spencer’s hair is found on Esme’s shirt and he is arrested and charged. Due to the charges against Spencer, the custody hearing is delayed and the normal custody schedule remains. 

Martin is unable to procure Spencer’s bail and release. So, Spencer is in prison until the trial. He gets visits from Nikolas, Laura, and Trina. He proclaims his innocence and they all believe him immediately. He wouldn’t touch Esme, let alone r*pe her.

Trina begs Taggert for help in proving Spencer’s innocence. They get Spencer to tell them his every step on the day Esme says she was r*ped. Meanwhile, Laura, Nikolas, and Elizabeth put their heads together and watch Esme’s every move. Kevin is torn. He wants to believe his niece, but knows Spencer wouldn’t do anything like that to anyone. 

Trina discovers that Esme never had a r*pe kit performed on her. All the police have is Spencer’s hair on her shirt. There is no proof that Spencer violated Esme. And Esme can not account for the time from the docks to when Laura and Kevin returned home. Laura is able to get Trina a private meeting with DA Robert Scorpio. Trina explains her theory: Spencer and Esme got in a verbal fight. Esme was either close enough to Spencer that a piece of hair fell on her shirt or she purposefully embraced him. Then, went somewhere private and bruised herself. She set him up. Laura is impressed and Robert agrees. He suggests that Trina forget art history and become an attorney. 

Robert questions Esme, who slips up when trying to retell her original story. She originally claims that Spencer r*ped her behind Laura/Kevin’s townhouse, but instead says he r*ped her in their townhouse. Robert arrests her for her false story of r*pe, as well as all the other crimes she framed Spencer for. She is sent to jail for 3 years. Spencer is freed. 

Soon afterwards, Trina visits Esme in Pentonville. Trina finally unleashes all her anger at Esme. Trina explains that she was sick of playing the nice guy to Esme just for a baby. But that time is over and Esme can rot in jail.

Spencer’s third stint in jail made him realize it is time to act on his feelings. He sets up a romantic evening at the gallery and finally proposes to Trina. Because of Portia's meddling, they elope with a returning Cam and Ava as their only witnesses. They get a romantic honeymoon.

Kevin, guilty that he could never save his brother, works on trying to save Esme through prison visits. However, when she asks him to help her remove Ace from Nik and Spencer's clutches by lying to a judge, Kevin refuses.

Esme is furious. She really believed that her uncle Kevin would help her no matter what, especially over helping Nikolas and Spencer, who are not his blood. Esme breaks out of jail and attacks Kevin at his GH office (similar to Carter and Lucy's attack on ER). Kevin is stabbed multiple times, but his biggest injury is Esme basically stabbing his throat.

Liz finds Kevin bleeding out and screams out for a doctor. While Deanna is prepping Kevin for surgery, Liz calls Laura. Laura, a returned Lulu, Martin, Lucy, Mac and Felicia wait for TJ to finish operating. Nik calls Spencer, who is on his honeymoon, to tell him about Esme's latest crime and Kevin's condition. Spencer and Trina rush home to be at Laura's side.

Kevin survives, but he will never be able to speak again. Dante and Jordan find Esme hiding out at an abandoned carnival and arrest her. After hearing from Martin that Esme has been arrested, Laura rushes to the PCPD to confront Esme. Laura finally tells Esme off (no more sweetheart here). Esme is jailed for life, but shows no remorse because she was able to take away something precious from Kevin like Ace was taken from her.

KEVIN’S SILENCE

This story spurs from the end of Esme. Waking up after his stabbing, Kevin discovers that he can’t talk. He, along with his friends and family, are told that the stab wound to the throat was deep. They had to remove his voice box. Kevin slips into a depression while dealing with the fact that he can never speak again. Laura and LuLu, specifically, start attending ASL classes with a disgruntled Kevin, so that they are able to communicate. 

Kevin’s thoughts get darker and darker. He then decides to take his own life. He rationalizes that without his voice, he can’t do his job or be the man that his wife, family, and friends need. There will be an entire special episode centered around Kevin writing his s**cide letter. Everyone else is silent. The only voice we hear is Kevin reading out his letter during his last interactions with those he mentions in the letter: Mac, Felicia, Lucy, his step kids/grandkids, hospital staff, and finally Laura. Laura finds him at home with empty pill bottles all around him and calls an ambulance.

Kevin survives but continues to be very dark and depressed, specifically towards Laura. Laura’s attitude that love can conquer anything angers him. The married couple have a harsh argument in the hospital room where difficult things are said. Lulu intervenes and is able to relate to Kevin: he lost his voice for good and she lost her memory for good. She convinces Kevin to give her mom a second chance once he gets to Shadybrooke for rehab.

After a month apart, Kevin asks Laura to visit him in Shadybrooke. They discuss his depression over losing his voice. She admits that she will miss his voice, but it's the person behind the voice that matters. They reconcile.

Kevin’s ASL teacher bonds with Lulu and they strike up a romance. We later learn that he is Kevin’s son from a one night stand before Kevin showed up in Port Charles.

NIZ REVIVAL AND LUCKY RETURNS

When Nikolas returns to town, he is set on making amends with the people he hurt, specifically Spencer and Elizabeth. Spencer is cautious to forgive Nik and allow him back in his life. Trina helps Spencer with his conflicting feelings over his father. Elizabeth reads Nik the riot act for leaving her high and dry. She explains that she almost lost her job for helping him keep Esme locked away. He apologizes and sends her an apology note everyday attached to her favorite flower. 

Elizabeth is touched and warns him that if he ever embraces his full Cassadine side again, she is done helping and protecting him. Nikolas, free from Victor’s grasp, free from Spencer’s rightful anger, and free from the blackmail Ava relationship, realizes that he still loves Elizabeth. He decides to embrace this new and improved version of himself and asks her out on a date. Elizabeth says no. Every time they get intertwined, they get in trouble. Nikolas argues that they were young and high on emotions. Nothing is holding them back. He will go as slow as she would like. But if he doesn’t try, his life would have a missing piece and be filled with regrets.

Elizabeth is touched and eventually agrees to a date. While she was expecting to be wine and dined, he took her to an art class and had pizza afterwards. Elizabeth was touched at his simplicity. He reveals that he has always loved her since they were teenagers and never wants her to change who she is for him. He would rather change to fit into her world than her changing to fit into his. They go back to Wyndamere and sleep together. 

When Laura gets re-elected as Mayor, a big inauguration party is thrown by Nikolas. Lulu decides to invite Lucky without anyone knowing, assuming that he would not show up. During the party, Lucky shockingly arrives. Elizabeth is stunned. Cam, Jake, and Aiden are angry. Nikolas and Laura are surprised. Before Lucky makes his way into the depths of the party, Laura pulls him aside outside. She tells him she loves him and is so happy he is here, but if he doesn’t plan on sticking around for his sons, he needs to leave now. She explains that the boys have gone through rough times and he never showed up, but he returns for a party. So he either leaves for good or joins the party with the intent on sticking around for his sons.

Lucky takes a few minutes, but he decides to return to the party. Cam confronts him and advises him to stay away from their mother and her boys. He reveals that Liz is happy with Nik and doesn’t want Lucky screwing it up. Lucky congratulates Niz on their relationship and gives them his blessing. Niz are surprised. 

A few weeks pass and Laura encourages Lucky to at least try to make inroads with the boys. She bluntly tells Lucky that her grandsons don’t need a father because they have a wonderful mother who raised them on their own, but those boys deserve a good dad. Lucky visits Elizabeth at work. He asks her how he can not only attempt to fix his relationship with the boys, but with her as well. She recommends family therapy, but only if the boys are up to it.

Lucky attends solo sessions and Elizabeth shares that the boys will try family therapy. Aiden thaws the quickest to Lucky, while Cam remains cold for a while. During Lucky’s solo sessions, we get insight into why he has stayed away so long: In fear of becoming a drunken, absent husband and father like Luke, he thought staying away was the best option. But by doing so, he became an absent partner and father in the process. 

Lucky apologizes to Elizabeth for all the infidelities and hurtful words he has said to her in the past. They agree to be best friends and co-parents. Lucky gets his life back on track in Port Charles. When Carly gets the Metro Court back after Olivia’s death, she sells Kelly’s to Lucky for a dollar. 

SCOTT’S DAUGHTER FALLS FOR LUKE’S SON

Serena returns to town a lawyer, like her father. She reunites with her parents, Scotty and Lucy. They are so excited to see her and she reveals that a position in the DA’s office opened and she decided that it was time to come home. Lucy is so excited to introduce her to Martin.

One day, she goes for lunch at Kelly’s and actually bumps into Lucky. He accidentally spills water and lemonade over her. He apologizes profusely. She agrees to accept his apology and not charge him for dry cleaning if she can get a free lunch. Lucky agrees. They strike up a flirtation and she ends up going to lunch at Kelly’s everyday, but they never give each other their first names.

Lucky, with encouragement from his brother, asks Serena out. She agrees. They decide to catch dinner and a movie. While having dinner at the Metro Court, they bump into Scotty who freaks out at the prospect of his daughter dating Luke Spencer’s son. Lucky and Serena are shocked at the other’s parentage, but agree to continue on their date. The chemistry is palpable and they sleep together.

Scotty is vehemently opposed to the relationship, but Lucy is excited as she sees this as another way to become even closer to the supercouple Luke and Laura. He eventually becomes less vocal as he sees how happy Serena is. 

Lucky and Serena’s happiness comes to a bump when Serena falls pregnant. Serena wants the baby, but Lucky is against it. He was already a terrible father to the boys. He’s scared he will abandon this child as well. BUT he doesn’t say this to Serena and breaks up with her. Serena does not wallow. She’s a strong independent woman and decides to keep the child. 

Lucky is lost without Serena. Elizabeth, Lulu, Laura, and eventually the boys convince him to get her back and be a partner and dad to the baby. Serena does accept his apology but does not take him back. She experiences some difficulties and is put on bed rest, she is scared she is going to lose the baby. Lucky rushes to her side and declares his love. She realizes that her birth mother never got a second chance at life and love. Serena forgives Lucky. She gives birth to a preemie baby girl, who they name Ruby Dominique. 

MAXIE/SPINELLI REUNITE AS GEORGIE SHOCKS THEM

As Maxie and Spinelli realize that they belong together, their lives are thrown for a loop when Georgie suddenly gets ill and ends up fainting in the middle of dinner at the Metro Court. They rush her to GH where doctors run many tests on her. While Maxie and Spinelli are waiting to see Georgie, Terry approaches them. They automatically think it is cancer, due to Terry’s concentration. She asks to speak with them privately. Terry initially calms their nerves by saying that Georgie does not have cancer. She is, however, pregnant at 13. 

Maxie and Spinelli are in shock. Maxie calls Felicia and Mac to the hospital and reveals what Terry has just told them. Felicia can’t speak and Mac questions whether Georgie has been sexually abused by an older man. He takes it upon himself to background check and investigate every male teacher and adult in Georgie’s life. Maxie and Spinelli are able to see Georgie and they reveal her impending motherhood. Georgie is shocked. They start asking her millions of questions, but Georgie panics and kicks them out.

A few days later, Georgie is still giving her parents the silent treatment. Felicia comes over with ice cream and cookies in an attempt to get her granddaughter to open up. Georgie makes Felicia swear not to reveal to anyone who the father is until Georgie plucks up the courage to tell him. Felicia agrees and Georgie reveals the father, but the audience does not hear the name. 

Felicia tries to calm Maxie, Spinelli, and Mac’s worries and concerns. They deduce that she knows the father and attempt to pull it out of her. But Felicia stays loyal to Georgie. We see Georgie text an unknown number and ask to come over to Maxie’s house (Maxie and family moved into Lulu’s house before Lulu woke up). A knock is heard at the door and when Georgie opens the door, the camera pans up from the bottom and it is revealed that the baby daddy is Jake Webber. 

Georgie reveals to Jake that after their two time romp, she is pregnant. Jake goes into a panic. But Georgie reveals that she is getting an abortion. She can’t be a mom at 13. As she reveals her intentions, Maxie and Spinelli come home and hear her. Jake agrees to whatever Georgie wants to do, because it is her body.

Maxie and Felicia accompany Georgie to the clinic to get an abortion.

JOSS/CARLY MIRROR CARLY/BOBBIE 

After Dex’s death, Joss learns that Jax has unexpectedly passed away as well. Josslyn begins sleeping around with any man just to numb the pain. Soon, Josslyn discovers Carly having a flirtation with Lorenzo. She notices Carly is enjoying the flirting and ignoring Drew more and more. Josslyn became close to Drew during the Crew relationship and respected him for taking the fall for the SEC mess.

She finds Drew drunk at Charlies and cozies up to him. She gets a tipsy Drew to open up about her mom. He reveals he knows Carly in entertaining Lorenzo’s advances. He is angry because he put Carly above Scout and his other family. They end up falling in bed together. When Drew wakes up more sober, he is shocked that he slept with Josslyn and has her promise to keep this a secret. Josslyn agrees. However, she plans on seducing him again.

After Drew catches Carly and Lorenzo making out, Drew runs into Josslyn. They talk and end up in bed again. They continue this secret affair for months. However, when Carly goes to tell Josslyn the news about Bobbie, she discovers Joss in bed with Drew.

Carly is FURIOUS. She orders Drew out to have a word with her daughter. Carly and Josslyn get into a huge argument. Terrible words are said. Josslyn reminds her mother that she learned everything from her mother, even sleeping with her mom’s partner. Carly scoffs and goes to exit, but turns around to reveal the news about Bobbie. Will the death of Bobbie bring mother and daughter back together after a huge rift?

TJ/KRISTINA ONE NIGHT STAND

After things fall through with the surrogate, Molly’s (with a more age appropriate recast) baby rabies gets even worse. She even decides to quit her job at the DA’s office to focus on becoming a mom. TJ is upset that she didn't discuss her plans to quit with him or her increasing attempts to adopt a baby. Molly and TJ get in a huge fight. He declares that she isn’t even thinking of him anymore and she is letting her obsession with having a child take over her life. He leaves their apartment in a huff.

He goes to Charlie’s to drink away his anger. He vents to Kristina about her sister and she eventually gets drunk along with him while venting about Molly. They sleep together and immediately regret it. TJ tells Kristina that he is going to tell Molly the truth about what happened. Kristina begs him not to. Molly will never forgive them, but TJ says he doesn’t keep secrets.

TJ returns home and admits to Molly about his tryst with Kristina. Molly is enraged. She breaks up with TJ and heads directly to Kristina’s. She accuses Kristina of setting out to ruin her life. Kristina throws back into Molly’s face that Molly is ruining her own life with her baby rabies. They keep trading barbs back and forth. Alexis arrives after getting a call from TJ and intervenes. Molly admits that she can’t stay here anymore and Alexis assumes she means in the room. But Molly clarifies that she means Port Charles. She decides to leave town and go stay with Ric.

Roughly 6-8 weeks later, Kristina realizes that her period is late. She takes a test and it is positive. She contemplates not telling anyone and getting an abortion, but she hears Molly’s voice in her head telling her she can never complete a task and won’t ever accomplish anything. Kristina decides to have the baby and breaks the news to TJ. They decide to co-parent amicably and once she hits 12 weeks, they break the news to their shocked families.

SONNY’S FRUITY KIDS

After Willow’s death, Michael is beside himself. He is raising two kids alone and is not sure if he can cope. He didn’t really have the best examples of parents growing up. A few months following Willow’s death, a smile returns to Michael’s face and there is a pep in his step. Ned, Brook Lynn, Joss, Carly, and Sonny all question this happy glow he has. All Michael reveals is that he has found someone, but is keeping it private because of the kids. 

Brook Lynn goes to visit Michael at ELQ one day and stumbles in upon Michael, shirtless and pants undone, kissing Paul Wu (Selina Wu’s nephew). Michael is embarrassed and orders Paul to leave. Brook Lynn tries to calm down a clearly panicking Michael. Michael swears her to secrecy. Brook Lynn questions why he doesn’t want anyone to know. Is it because he is related to Selina Wu? Michael replies that Paul’s relationship with Selina may complicate things in Sonny’s mob world, but it’s not his biggest concern. He reveals that Paul is a man and he is scared of what Carly, Sonny, hell even Monica would think of him.

Brook Lynn promises her silence, but tells Michael she loves him for exactly who he is. It doesn’t matter who he loves. Michael meets with Paul and apologizes for his outburst. Paul agrees to keep their relationship private for now, but not forever. Michael has an inner battle on revealing his true self and relationship to his parents and family. 

A pregnant Kristina meets Annie Donely at Charlie’s after Annie comes in for a drink. They strike up a conversation and are clearly flirting. Their flirtation continues for a few weeks before Kristina takes her upstairs after a shift. Kristina tells Annie about her predicament with TJ and Annie surprises her by telling her she’ll stay by Kristina’s side. A pregnancy doesn’t scare her. Kristina is touched, but soon becomes worried for her dad when she discovers that Annie works for the WSB and is looking into stopping mob activity in Port Charles.

When Kristina is six months along, she suffers a miscarriage and is devastated. Molly’s words haunt her again. Kristina thinks Molly was right and she can’t accomplish anything. Annie tries to help Kristina through the aftermath of losing her and TJ’s baby boy: Thomas Stefan.

FAREWELL BOBBIE

Bobbie left town to go visit Lucas. A week later, Carly gets a call from Lucas. He went to wake up Bobbie for breakfast, only to find that she passed in her sleep. Carly spreads the word. The town is shocked.

Carly, a visiting Lucas, Michael, and Josslyn plan the funeral. The entire town attends. Lesley Webber and Noah Drake visit to pay their respects. The funeral goes on for 3 show days. We get eulogies from Carly, Lucas, Scott, Laura, Noah, Elizabeth, and Lucy. Flashbacks are intertwined with the eulogies. Bobbie’s portrait gets hung on the GH wall next to Amy’s. 

Josslyn and Carly agree to allow some time to pass for the anger between them to mellow. Carly admits that she was not a good daughter to her mom in the beginning and she lost some years with her that she can’t get back. She doesn’t want to lose any time with her daughter.

Also at the funeral, Lucas stumbles upon Michael’s secret and gives him advice and a listening ear.

TAGGERT IS THE FATHER

Selina Wu is revealed to have switched the results of the paternity test to keep Curtis in her clutches. She learned that he was contemplating working with the WSB to take down the mob underworld. So, to keep him in line, she changes the results and begins threatening his “daughter” Trina when she needs him to do her dirty work.

When Selina asks Curtis to host a meeting of the 5 families and demands 51% ownership in his club, Curtis freezes. He refuses to be involved in the mob life and she catches him secretly calling the WSB to report a mob meeting. Selina orders her men to kidnap Trina. However, the kidnapping backfires badly and Trina is shot.

Spencer is beside himself, Portia is scared, and Taggert and Curtis rush to GH. TJ declares that Trina has lost a ton of blood and needs family to donate. Curtis jumps at the chance, but when he is asked his blood type, it is not Trina’s match. He doesn’t think anything of it, but when Portia says she can’t donate because they are not a match, Curtis puts two and two together: He is not Trina’s father. Taggert is!

Taggert, torn between being elated at Trina being his but also scared for Trina’s life, rushes off to give his blood, which is confirmed to be Trina’s type. Curtis is furious. He lashes out at Portia, accusing her of changing the results to get him to forgive her for the 20 year lie. However, Portia keeps maintaining her innocence. 

Curtis calls Stella, who moved to Arizona with Marshall, and tells her about everything that has happened. She tells him to pull his head out of his ass and be a STEP father. Blood doesn’t make a family, love does. 

Curtis returns to GH and sits vigil with Portia, Spencer, and Taggert. He gets a text from Selina asking him to meet in the garage. Curtis excuses himself and meets with Selina. He unleashes his anger about Trina and lets it slip that he assumes Portia changed the results. Selina reveals that she was behind the switch and demands he hand over 51% of his club to her or Trina won’t wake up. Curtis agrees and rushes back into GH.

Spencer sits vigil with Trina and we get flashbacks and even visions of how Spencer sees their future. As Spencer lays his head down on her hand to cry, another hand comes up to pet his head. Spencer looks up and sees Trina is awake.

Once Trina is more alert, Portia and Taggert reveal that Taggert is really her dad. Trina is happy, but also sad for Curtis. Curtis comes to visit and reveals having her as his daughter for the time he did was the happiest time of his life, but the DNA doesn’t change his love for her. He will always, always protect her. Taggert overhears and begins investigating what Curtis is hiding and why Trina needs protecting. 

NEXIS RIDE AGAIN

After Olivia’s death, Ned finds himself a single dad to Leo. Brook Lynn and Chase move into the Q mansion to help her dad cope, especially since Monica is getting older. When Ned basically becomes a recluse, Brook Lynn calls in reinforcement: Tracy, Dillon, and Alexis.

Tracy takes the tough love approach, but that gets her nowhere except kicked out and sleeping on Laura’s sofa. Dillon tries to help his brother by comparing how he felt when he heard KiKi was killed. Ned still remains cold. Alexis decides to take matters into her own hands. She literally drags Ned out of the house by his collar and takes him to the park for ice cream at night. 

After they finish their cones, Alexis tells Ned to lay with her on the grass to look up at the stars. She tells him Olivia is one of those stars. Ned scoffs and asks when she did she become a lovey dovey person who talks to the stars. She replies that she’s not, but to help him, she will do anything. After that little date, Ned and Alexis start seeing each other more and more, but deny that they are dating.

When Tracy questions Ned and Sam questions Alexis about Nexis’s status, they both respond that they are nervous to take that leap since the last time it ended with Alexis running from the altar.

Ned admits to BLQ that he is scared it is too soon after Olivia, but BLQ tells him life is too short. Take his shot. And if he gets hurt, her, Chase, and Dillon will be there to catch him. Tracy, who now is back working at ELQ, asks Alexis to be ELQ’s legal counsel, hoping it would derail Ned from dating an ELQ employee. Ned, finds a work around in ELQ bylaws, and asks Alexis out on a date, much to Tracy’s chagrin.

Alexis and Ned are back together, but Alexis remains concerned that she can’t do normal and will constantly be pulled towards whatever bad guy bats his eyes at her. We will see Alexis struggle with a “normal” man, but work to fight for the relationship.

BRENDA RETURNS

After Nina is outed as the person who reported Carly and Drew to the SEC, everyone is expecting Sonny to drop Nina. BUT he surprises everyone by standing by her, but decides to postpone the wedding. Sonny explains to Kristina that he’s made MANY mistakes in his life yet a lot of people forgave him and gave him a second chance. He needs to start doing that for others.

When Lorenzo’s attempts at finally destroying Sonny ramp up, Sonny gets a shock when Brenda turns up. Sonny and Nina’s relationship is sent into a tailspin. Brenda is back to visit with Brook Lynn and help her set up LnB  records 2.0. 

Sonny is immediately drawn back into Brenda’s presence and Nina is worried. Carly was one thing, but Brenda… she is the love of Sonny’s life and the one that always got away.

Nina tries to convince Brenda to leave town and that BLQ will be fine without her crowding her. But Brenda sees right through Nina’s act and warns Nina that Sonny will drop Nina in a hot second if she asks. 

We see Brenda reconnect with Ned and get an update on Lois. 

Lorenzo gets word that Brenda is in town and realizes that she is his ticket to destroying Sonny. He puts a bomb in Brenda’s car and when she leaves her dinner with Ned, her car explodes. Ned calls 911 and then Sonny.

Sonny, who just ran off with Nina to the courthouse to elope, gets the call that Brenda has been attacked. He leaves Nina and rushes to GH. Brenda’s life hangs in the balance. Sonny sits vigil at her bedside, much to Nina’s chagrin.

Sonny, not knowing that Nina is listening, promises Brenda the world. He promises that if she wakes up, he will quit the mob life. Hand over his empire to Lorenzo and he and Brenda can leave PC. They can have a new life.

Nina is furious and starts to act unhinged. Ava tries to calm down her best friend by explaining that Sonny is just speaking words that would make Brenda wake up.

Brenda wakes up, but what is Sonny really going to do? Will he leave his world, kids, and Nina for Brenda? Or will Brenda always be left standing in the rain for Sonny?

WHO KILLED ESME

After all of Laura’s kids return, the whole Kevin is silent arc, we get a big murder mystery: Who killed Esme?

Leading up to Esme’s death, a group of people visit Pentonville: Laura visits Cyrus, Nikolas visits Esme, Ava visits Olivia Jerome, Spencer visits Esme, Martin visits Cyrus, etc.

When Esme’s body is found in her cell, the police look Cyrus as suspect number one. He is in jail and Esme has hurt his family. He is the perfect target. They question him and some of the wardens. They quickly discover that Cyrus was in his guarded cell for hours before and after Esme’s murder. So, it couldn’t be him.

Nikolas is questioned next because he was the one who visited her. He is questioned by Jordan. He admits to visiting Esme, but only to tell her to stop sending him threatening letters regarding killing him and kidnapping Ace. Nikolas offers picking up Aiden from school as his alibi. Jordan lets him go.

Ava is their next suspect. She hates Esme. They question why she was meeting with her sister. First, she admits she just wanted sister time, but Jordan sees right through that excuse. Ava admits to taking over Olivia’s connections but leaves it vague enough for Jordan not to worry. Jordan asks Ava if she asked Olivia to kill Esme for her, but Ava scoffs at the notion. Ava admits that if she wanted Esme dead she would have done it herself a long time ago. With Ava’s honesty and a watertight alibi, Jordan lets Ava go.

Before Jordan has time to question Spencer, evidence is brought to the station. A scarf that belongs to Laura was found with Esme’s blood on it. Laura is immediately called in for questioning. When presented with the scarf, Laura is shocked. She admits to wearing that scarf, but swears she put it in her purse because she gets heated when she has to yell at Cyrus. Laura’s only alibi was being at her mayor’s office alone, but no one was there to confirm. And coincidentally, the security cameras glitched during the time Laura swears that she was there. Jordan has no other choice but to arrest Laura for Esme’s murder.

The town is shocked, but does not believe Laura did the crime. Martin tries to get Laura out on bail, but the judge denies her bail since she already has 2 murders on her wrap sheet (Theresa Carter and David Hamilton).

Heather angrily confronts Laura in jail with a shank, but Cyrus jumps to Laura’s defense. He defends Laura and insists Laura would NEVER kill the mother of her grandson. Laura pleads with Heather. Heather eventually agrees that killing Esme wasn’t in Laura’s style. The trio form a comedic bond in prison.

The town works to prove Laura’s innocence. Sam, Felicia, and Spinelli use their PI skills to look at every security camera and track down any and every witness to Laura’s moves that day.

Kevin, Martin, Spencer, Cam, Lucky, and Lulu visit Laura and all find it curious that Nikolas hasn’t visited. Cam brings up that fact to his mom. Liz questions Nik on why he isn’t visiting his mom and after an argument he admits that he can’t face her. Liz wonders if Nik thinks she actually did it. He says no, but their lives would be easier if everyone believed she did. Liz becomes very curious at Nik’s stance.

Liz finds out through some snooping done by Spencer and Cam that Nik’s alibi is picking Aiden up from school, but she knows for a fact that Aiden went home with a friend that day. She talks to Aiden who admits that Nik paid him $10,000 for his silence. Liz is furious and confronts Nik. He tries to talk himself out of it, but admits to it. Liz accuses him of being the one to kill Esme. She loves Nik, but he used her kid and she won’t stand for that. She tells Jordan that Nik lied about his alibi. 

Nik is questioned again. This time admits that he can’t provide a rock solid alibi. Meanwhile, Felicia was able to find a cleaning lady who admits to seeing Laura at the office during the time of the murder. Kevin can’t thank his friend enough and Laura is freed, only for Nikolas to be locked up.

Nikolas admits to Cyrus that he was meeting with a hired hitman to kill Esme, but didn’t go through it. He couldn’t tell the police that. It would only disappoint his mother, son, and family even more. 

Lulu is spending the night with her new boyfriend, Garrett, also Kevin’s ASL teacher. While he is out of the room, he knocks off his wallet from the side table. She picks it and its contents up, only to find a picture of a young Kevin. When Garrett returns, she questions him about the picture.

He admits that Kevin is his father. Lulu wants to rush and tell Kevin. Garrett stops her. Lulu is confused and says that Kevin would be thrilled at a son. Garrett says he can’t ever know because it will make things worse. Lulu says what? Garrett admits to killing Esme after learning that Esme was also sending Kevin letters threatening his life and he wanted to protect his father. Lulu is shocked. Does she keep her boyfriend's secrets or free her brother?

[msfbgraves]

Let me get this off my chest: when I did read that Terry had slipped up and cheated on Daniel, I was pretty disappointed that the story had gone in that direction. Terry’s a bad man—hell, he commits murder over and over again for crying out loud!—but I truly loved that he was good to Daniel, and for Daniel (for the most part), and adored that boy like there was no tomorrow. Like he would die if anything happened to him by another hand or his own. That fierce love and devotion he had for this little omega who was bartered away to him was intensely romantic. Two very different sides of the same story—Mob!Terry and family man!Terry, and I loved the disparity between them. Two very different sides of the same man. 

But the cheating threw me, and I did seriously dislike it, but it didn’t make me want to stop reading, or dislike the overall story—just really dislike that one part of it. Anyway I thought, this is your story and you can do whatever you want! We can choose to stay and read or leave. 

But then the reveal of what happened “that night”, the full extent of Terry’s revolting behavior was shown and. UGH. See, when you first wrote that part, from what I recall, the way it was worded just sounded like rough, but not unwanted sex—that Daniel was furious and hurt that Terry had taken his anger at Michael out on him and used him like that. It didn’t read as rape to me.

But recent things you’ve posted have shown that indeed it was. The part where Daniel was so scared and sad that he sought protection even from his little Alpha babies was heartbreaking and this, more than anything, proved how violent and painful and disgusting what Terry did to him was. The same person who said he’d treat him like a Queen, but also bought him jewelry when he fucked him like a whore. Maybe I should have seen it coming, in a way. 

Just…anything good Terry does from now on is always going to be stained by the rape, as well as the cheating—but especially the former. Nothing he does now—buying Daniel flowers, playfully teasing him, being wonderfully affectionate with him, tenderly making love to him—is going to change the fact that Terry came home one night and fucked him so brutally that their own babies covered Daniel with their own bodies without even knowing the full extent of what happened between their parents. They just sensed that Daniel was broken in some way and acted upon that instinct. 

It just makes all the good times ring hollow, all the sweet gesture and declarations of love from Terry seem like ash. It makes me wonder just how Daniel can stand to have this man touch him again after this, and how he can stay in a marriage where these things happen by the hand of his own spouse. One time is one time too many, that’s what. It reminds me of those Shoujo mangas that use rape as a vehicle for drama and conflict, but the girl always forgives and stays with the guy who never really changes. 

Do I still love your fic? Sure. I’m still grateful for your writing and these fills even if I don’t like the ones like this. 

But…Terry’s character is totally done for me in this fic. He’s absolutely irredeemable at this point. This is a line you don’t ever cross and he crossed it with a vengeance. It’s infuriating that he’ll never face any real consequences because we all know Daniel won’t leave him ever because of the pups, to avoid bloodshed between the factions, and because he still deeply loves this monster. Terry Silver truly gets his cake and eats it too and it’s awful. Daniel is pretty much a love martyr at this point. Problem is he’s always been too good for Terry. It’s just that now we’re really seeing it. Always surrounded by truly shitty men—his father who bartered him away while being creepily close to him, his sociopathic brother Michael who thought the trade off was for the best, and now his own spouse who thinks he can do whatever because sweet, pretty, darling Danny-boy will still love him. Yikes. 

Anyway, just one question, don’t feel pressured to answer it, but—

What made you write what happened between them as rape? 

Nonnie, this is in response to your ask, so I'm writing it down here, but not all of it is in response to you being the only one asking this or instigating what may come across as a somewhat strong reaction. I am not addressing you alone or specifically. These two days I have been sent so many asks and reactions, some of which I frankly think are upsetting. So I am taking the opportunity to get something off my chest myself, because, well, evidently that seems appropriate to people. You have laid the reactions of many asks out very eloquently, so I am answering here. You are definitely not being singled out, though!

When I started the first minifill of Knights and Pawns, between me, my word processor and God, I had watched that other Terry, the "good" version of Terry Silver as laid out by the big man himself, Thomas Ian Griffith. And even that guy, though handsome, athletic, loyal and insanely protective of his girlfriend, who could have passed for a female, omega version of Ralph Macchio, had problems the film did not want to address. Again, we're supposed to like this dude who does not take no for an answer. His girlfriend breaks up with him, and when he feels this has gone on long enough, he simply breaks into her home and stays. But he's vulnerable! He brings a kitten! And she... goes along with it. A male audience may take this as "See? Sometimes you have to take control and your sweetheart will stop being silly." And why not? He's hot. Strong. Tender. Very affectionate. And he broke into her home and could kill her with his pinkie and track her down as she runs, plus, in the whole film his main problem is that he 'snaps' and seriously hurts people. But he plays the piano! And he cuddles!

What a dreamboat, huh. And well, canon Terry Silver we have all seen in action. And canon Terry Silver too can absolutely tone it down. Cheyenne may really not have a clue. I am sure he really is a great hugger.

And I have always been fascinated by arranged marriages, political marriages. So often, another war between France and England was ended by: "after the young King of England slew the Dauphin, to broker peace, a marriage was arranged between the King and the Dauphin's sister." Just imagine that on a human level, please. Just try to get your head around it! This guy killed your brother and now you need to have sex with him.

Nonnies, please - that is the setup of the fic.

A guy like Terry Silver - whose good guy version also gets scary if he wants to - and you have to marry him. (Or you stop dating and he simply won't leave, which is scarily similar.)

Now Terry is an emotionally smart guy, plus he really needs tenderness. He's not going to batter his spouse, that's no way to build a home. And he wants one, and many children too.

And readers kept asking for sweet situations and I am a writer who has to run things by my character. And Terry was like "sure, I would do that." And then people were asking well, how spicy is the sex? Very spicy, thank you. But I had already established he doesn't take no for an answer.

As for Michael, he just happened. Do we really think mob families have no scary people in them? Uh, I don't. And I'm not a puppeteer. Michael happened without my planning him, because he is the son of a father who rose to power because he was so good at stabbing people to death it became his family name. That has to go somewhere.

And now, somewhere in the background, Michael and Terry would interact. And clash, because Terry would want to take over the whole operation and Michael wouldn't let him, and I think they're intellectually very well matched, and power wise too. Michael is a beta and Terry is an outsider and son-in-law so welcome to immovable object vs unstoppable force.

And please also don't pretend that women in history were not supposed to bear the brunt of a man's anger during sex. Men keep putting it in their own story: "He was angry, and things got a bit rough. She was upset, not gonna lie, and he felt he went too far too. Gotta watch out with that, it doesn't feel good." But that is often followed by: "She then straight up and left! Wtf? Baby, it wasn't like that!"

Terry and Daniel would both - especially in that culture- rationalise it as "spicy sex that got out of hand."

Why did I write that? Because that's how it felt to me. That scene with the puppies? Always there, I simply didn't put it in, at first. Because people were not gonna like it. Well, story doesn't care. Story is boss, not me. And if that feels trite, it's how it works. Once, I wanted Draco Malfoy to rise above a situation. Well, he didn't. He couldn't. Then, I wanted Sansa Stark to lose to Tywin Lannister. But she was like, "seven hells, you can fuck right off with that." I was curious whether or not the wedding night sex between Terry and Daniel would be scary and nasty. But there, Terry was like "No."

But it already happened weeks ago. And people were willing to go "Yikes, but let's not get into it." And that is exactly what Daniel and Terry would have done. And the cheating Terry simply wouldn't have mentioned. He was angry at Daniel for not accepting his apology. He used to fuck kitties all the time (which I mentioned more than once). He knew he was wrong the night before, frustrated, he fucked that out yesterday, and since this kitty offered (he did not seek her out), why not do that again? He doesn't want to be around his pups like this, anyway. Maybe it helps?

It didn't. In fact it finally made the penny drop.

In many gangster films, the penny never drops. And when a whole film is about the penny having dropped, as in Godfather III, people hate that too. You cannot win.

But anyway. Terry finally realised he literally fucked up spectacularly.

And then: nothing came of it, he never does it again, it could only hurt Daniel so why should he tell?

But ah! That detail people were not willing to overlook! The real damage had already been done but apparently this is easier to glance over. Remember, nonnies. This happened before Anthony was born and people did not react as strongly.

Which is everyone's right.

But now. They first kept asking for details. Which I supplied. Then. The anger. The disappointment. At me, personally. Why could I not keep giving people the good stuff? Why did I put that in?

Because I'm trying to be true to what I feel. Because I feel that it is a canon part of Terry, whether Silver, McCain or this amalgation. Because I never promised anyone anything. Because this isn't a genre novel. Because people ask? It was supposed to be a one shot! I did not submit an outline and collect an advance. But the anger! The absolute moral righteousness with which people come into my house and say, "you upset my moral values, you had no right to ruin my enjoyment, and I want you to know" - no, people did not perceive or chose to ignore a darker undertone, and now feel betrayed when I, in response to yet another audience question, am not playing along... and they feel it is perfectly OK making their feelings known.

Well.

Neil Gaiman is on here. Suppose I was upset with a storyline turn in Sandman (which I am not. I have no opinion on it as I haven't seen it), and I went into his askbox to make my opinions, my heartbreak, my disappointment known. Would that be OK? We all know it's not. We know it's rude.

I am glad of the passion the story provokes. But please, people, can you remember this is the equivalent of saying: you gave me more than twenty gifts, and kept giving while I and others kept asking for more. But this gift I do not like. In fact, it ruined all the enjoyment of the other gifts. And rather than be grateful for the other gifts and deal with my disappointment in my own time, I want you to know. Because you hurt me, and you should feel bad about it."

Who. Do these people think. They are. What gives them the right? Why do they need to get it off their chest.... at me?

Look I hate Bridgerton. I hated the conclusion of Game of Thrones. But I do not think the writers are morally obliged to write things that align with my values or are consistent with a previous tone and I am not going to write to them personally to make my feelings of dislike known. Because that, in my view, shows a profound lack of respect. Btw, it is exactly what Terry did: he was so full of feelings he needed to get out, he did not care what getting his feelings out meant to the person he was engaging with. And everybody hates him for it.

Then don't do it yourself. The severity of actions of course one can't compare. But the underlying mechanism is the same.

Rather ironic.

[sixty-silver-wishes]

Whats the plot of The Cabinet of Dr Caligari

An unboxing video goes terribly wrong.

…Okay, I know I’ve made that joke before lol. Anyway, it opens with this guy named Francis sitting on a bench, telling a story to an old man, which he claimed were events that happened to him and a woman he says is his fiancee. The majority of the film consists of the story he tells.

So, there’s this old guy who shows up in town wanting to see the town clerk. He introduces himself as Dr. Caligari, and wants a permit to display an attraction at the traveling carnival (it’s not directly mentioned but iirc it’s Oktoberfest?) in the town of Holstenwall. The clerk dismisses him because he’s busy, and is later found dead.

Francis and his friend Alan go to the fair together, where they see Caligari’s exhibition. The attraction in question is a somnambulist named Cesare, whom Caligari keeps in a box (don’t worry; it gets worse) and claims he can see the future. Alan, for some reason, decides that out of everything he could possibly ask, wants to know when he’s going to die. Cesare tells him he’ll die at dawn the following day.

Francis and Alan walk home from the carnival with their friend Jane, whom they both are attracted to, but agree to let her choose between them. However, the choice is suddenly made very easy for her when that night, Cesare enters Alan’s window while sleepwalking and stabs him to death. When Francis finds out about Alan’s death, he decides to investigate the murder, immediately suspicious of Caligari and Cesare. A different suspect is caught, but turns out not to be the murderer. Jane’s father has ties to the (incompetent) police, and is also involved in the investigation.

Later, Jane grows suspicious of the fact that her father has been away for so long and goes to Caligari’s tent to investigate. Caligari, being the sketchy creep that he is, instead shows her Cesare in his box and wakes him up, causing Jane to flee.

That night, Cesare is sent to kill Jane, but right as he’s about to stab her, puts down the knife and instead reaches for her head. Jane wakes up, startling him, and he grabs her and runs out the window, chased by a mob until he drops her and collapses. Francis, however, has been watching Caligari and what he thinks is Cesare all night, and when Jane recovers and tells him that Cesare kidnapped her, he doesn’t believe her, only to find out that it was a dummy of Cesare in Caligari’s caravan to provide him with an alibi. (We’re also not going to get into the implications of how Caligari made the dummy. It gets worse the more you think about it.)

Francis goes to the local insane asylum and asks if they have a patient named “Caligari.” He is told that the asylum director has returned, and when he enters the director’s office, finds out that the director just so happens to be Caligari. Because apparently they let this guy be in charge of a mental institution.

That night, while Caligari is asleep, Francis and the other asylum doctors investigate his journals. They find an old book titled “The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari,” about an 18th-century Italian mystic named Caligari who hypnotized a patient named Cesare and used him to commit murders, using a dummy of him to avert suspicion. The asylum director’s own diaries tell of an obsession with becoming the character Caligari from the book, and replicating his methods to find out if it was possible to get someone to commit murder in their sleep. Caligari (the asylum director) acquires a somnambulistic patient, who becomes his “Cesare,” and is implied to have been the subject of nonconsensual experimentation.

When the director comes back to his office, Francis accuses him of being “Caligari” and responsible for the murders. He responds with shock, and lashes out when Cesare’s body is brought into the office. Caligari is restrained and put in a cell, where Francis claims he still remains.

As the camera zooms out, we see that Francis is still in the asylum, where he’s been the whole time. Some of the other characters from his story are there as well- the woman he claimed was his fiancee is Jane, who herself is delusional and thinks she’s a queen. Cesare is there too, but seems completely harmless. (Alan is nowhere to be seen.) The asylum director enters, and Francis attacks him, recognizing him as “Caligari.” Francis himself is restrained and brought to the same cell depicted in his delusion, and the director wrongly assumed that Francis thinks he’s the book character “Caligari,” having no idea how complex Francis’ thoughts are. He then states he knows how to “cure” Francis, and the film ends.

[dealwithgod]

im not a feminist theorist (through laziness) so i cant say when 'toxic masculinity' or its equivalent emerged but i think it must have been easily identified, and its consequences, at least in the 70s.

in mikey and nicky, the vietnam war makes a literal mention so it is a very present topic.

and masculinity being defined as obfuscating real feelings, joking, lying, subservience to the big man, etc is embodied in nick. he's the one the mob boss liked, the one mikey's dad liked (in implied preference to mikey himself), etc. he's also the one who starts fights for the hell of it; whether in reaction to direct fear of death or because he's so used to getting his way. once again, in his street fight with mike, it's inferred it's both.

but still, i wonder if the audience doesn't all cry for him. if we're supposed to? if this is also elaine's genius, to have someone so absolutely, awfully bad, portrayed by someone so ridiculously and immediately beloved by the camera and thus the audience... for cassavetes to be nicky is to underline the danger of "boys will be boys." > a sentiment clued in on by mikey's wife talking about girls talking shop classes and boys taking sewing classes.

im so devoured and destroyed once again by this film. i wish she had been allowed to make a 4 hour fucking long film because compared to the garbage probably coming out at the time up until now (i would scream like ani screamed in anora if i had to pay ticket price for that dogshit film), it could've been something even bigger. as it is, it is one of the greatest films i've ever seen.

three times.

and because SHE is such a talented writer AND director she could tackle themes present in anora: the immigrant experience, race relations, the mafia, and then do MORE because she was actually thinking lmao. im so sorry but now i understand why yall hate sean baker. if i have to watch an actual film after his it's llke ...huh... you're still... working this shit out i guess.

and no one can be good at everything! there's so many rough edges to mikey and nicky but the end result is beyond anything i usually see and moves me every single fucking time.

you're MAKING ME FORGET THE KADDISH.

I FALL TO MY FUCKING KNEES. you are making me forget the prayer to mourn you because i will be the one to oversee your death, my beloved. i will, obfuscated, watch you die while choosing a life where no one remembers my own childhood or my self like you do, my friend. i will listen to you scream for me to save you, to cure you like i always do, because i have been your ever-present nursemaid, and still i love you. you broke the watch that symbolized what my manhood meant, over my little brother, and you fucked me over because you could, but still i wanted you to get away. because i loved you. i just couldn't love you enough to save you.

[unhingedwomandiaries]

Today I learned there's a special circle of hell reserved for gardeners. Not the fancy ones with their color-coordinated wellies and Instagram-worthy herb spirals. No, I mean the desperate bastards like me, waging war against nature's middle fingers - also known as weeds.

Mom used to say gardening was therapeutic. This from the woman who filled in our pool after Dad died like she was disposing of a body. Turned it into some kind of floral cemetery where good intentions go to die. I spent my early twenties "helping" her, which really meant destroying my spine while she watched from her commander's post, barking orders like some decorated general of the Garden Wehrmacht. "Put some muscle into it," she'd say, as if I wasn't already channeling every condemned soul in history into each pathetic thrust of the spade.

Now here I am, engaging in my own horticultural bloodsport with these fucking patio weeds. These aren't normal weeds - they're the serial killers of the plant world, coming back to life more times than a slasher movie villain. It's 21 degrees out here, the exact temperature at which my tired tendencies start blooming like unwanted daisies.

My knees feel like they've been worked over by a mob enforcer. I could use a foam pad, but that would be admitting defeat.

And then there's my mother-in-law, bless her. Asked for a chaise lounge once and got a footstool instead. It's like asking for a clean getaway vehicle and getting a unicycle with a flat tire. She'd probably suggest I use a spork to dig these weeds out, then act surprised when I consider testing its effectiveness as an impromptu tracheotomy tool.

My husband keeps swooping in with his "better method" of weeding, like some messiah of the mulch. His technique involves as much precision as a drunk surgeon, but God forbid I suggest otherwise. It's like choosing between death by a thousand cuts or one swift beheading - either way, I'm still fucked.

The Americans have it sorted with their chemical warfare approach. Just nuke the whole garden and start fresh. But no, we're in England where we'd rather die of exhaustion than admit defeat to nature. It's like some twisted form of national pride, right up there with apologizing to inanimate objects and passive-aggressive tutting.

Sometimes I dream about living in a concrete wasteland, where the only green things are the mold in my neighbors' bins and that questionable curry from the take-away down the street. But then I remember: life always finds a way. Usually right through my perfectly laid paving stones, like nature's own little fuck you.

At least I've found new additions to my list of things that give me the ick. "People Who Make Gardening Look Easy on YouTube" are now slotted right between "Man Who Revs His Motor Bike at 3 AM" and "Woman Who Brings Her Entire Life Story to the Checkout Counter."

[xgenesisrei]

The Original Trip to Jerusalem

It often escapes our notice that the crowd on Palm Sunday is not the same crowd that was gathered on the day of Good Friday. This is an important point to consider lest we perpetuate the mistaken notion so popularly retold every Holy Week that we have a rather fickle crowd who explodes in exuberant praise one day and in the next days transformed itself into a mob crying for blood and jeering on Jesus to be executed. But no, a closer exegesis of the relevant passages would reveal that such is not the case here.

We have to note that the people who barraged the gates of Jerusalem and shouted “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” (Luke 19:38) were the pretty large crowd from the underside of Galilee who followed Jesus all the way to Jericho (see Mark 10:46), and now “went ahead of him” to enter Jerusalem (Matthew 19:21). They are the crowd from the countryside, the poor, the peasants, etc., who have accepted Jesus’ message, who He claims to be, and on a separate occasion were very much ready to make Him king (see John 6:14-15).* 

They saw Jesus as coming from their own ranks, the nobody from Bethlehem who dared defy the powers that be and announced the coming of a new order. 

In Jesus, they saw a glimpse of hope and of the much awaited freedom they can only utter in their dreams.

But the crowd that shouted “Crucify Him!” on the dawn of Jesus’ final trial was totally a different set of people. Luke 19:39 alerts us that the Pharisees were among them, pointing us to the direction that the people comprising this crowd were the inhabitants of the district city capital -the benefactors and beneficiaries of the status quo forged by the Sadducees with the Romans, including the rest of the Herodians among the elite and the people holding the power in Jewish society. They were the ones who would lose a whole lot should the ragtag bunch of Galileans create another uprising against the Romans. “Don’t you realize that it is better for you to have one man die for the people, instead of having the whole nation destroyed?” says Caiaphas, the high priest (John 11:50). In other words, for these people, Jesus has to die so as to keep things in order and ensure the security of their prestigious and powerful positions.

For sure, Jesus had his own plan independent of what these group of crowds have in mind. One wanted to make Him king, the other wanted him killed. But in the course of executing God’s project of redemption, Jesus fell into the trappings of a corrupt system, found himself tried illegally by a corrupt Jewish court, and came face-to-face by a crowd vigilant to protect the established order. He ended up being handed over to die a criminal’s death by a spineless Roman governor who himself is protective of his own appointment from Caesar.

If so, we have to note that Jesus was put to death (not only for the sins of the world but) because and through the instrumentation of systemic corruption so deeply entrenched in the institutions of his time, both political and religious. In a shameless connivance, they committed a most unjust ruling against a perceived enemy of the state. 

Jesus was a victim of the ‘system’  that keeps those at the periphery away from where political decisions concerning them were made. 

He was killed by people who wanted to perpetuate the order of things and prevailing allocations of power. This is a system that in benefiting a few has failed the poorer majority. This is an order that, at any given moment, would rather choose a Barabbas over a person who voices out the need for radical ‘change.’

Lest we got distracted by the devil in the details, let us be reminded that the bigger confrontation of the first Palm Sunday is between those who want to perpetuate the ‘system’ by protecting the structures of power and those who hope in seeing the existing order change for the better. Jesus has already died to renew the world, there is no more reason why we cannot say that things need to stay the same. On such a question, to which crowd will you belong?

-Rei Lemuel Crizaldo (Palm Sunday 2023)

*Note: This is the same line of exegesis made by RT France in “The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary on the Greek Text” (p. 429-430) and also argued by Andreas J. Köstenberger and Justin Taylor, to quote “Don’t say the same crowds worshiped Jesus on Palm Sunday and then cried out for his crucifixion on Good Friday.”

And for a contemporary visual commentary on the Palm Sunday story, see artwork below entitled ‘Linggo ng Palaspas’ from Sining ni Sid.