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bucky-fricking-barnes · 9 months ago

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The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

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

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

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

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

“How many does he control?”

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

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

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

“Not anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to pull away. You don’t.

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods. “That’s true.”

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

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

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

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sick or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asks.

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

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

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

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

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

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

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

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

“Of course they are,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

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

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

“That’s enough!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe James works on them?

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you did.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

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

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

“James—”

“Bucky.”

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

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

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

“Is that… a nickname?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

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

“Observant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old were you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

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

“Y/N, are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

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

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

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

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

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

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks.

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

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

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

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

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

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

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

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

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

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

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you look at me? Please?”

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

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

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

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

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

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

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

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

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

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

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

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

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

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

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

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

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

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

Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

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xzaddyzanakinx · 7 months ago

Text

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Seven: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink (Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation[Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is perfect boyfriend material. He’s also insane, but that’s okay. He’s thinkin’ some thoughts [diary entries from Ani AND you] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: July 14th

You’d better be so fucking glad that I’m not insane.

I offered you my weapon and you didn’t take it. You have zero self preservation skills, your fight or flight response is so low that it concerns me. You’re worse than a opossum, instead of playing dead you play pretend that it’s normal to have a home intruder with a knife in your bedroom.

You didn’t even attempt to get up and run, not that you could’ve. You wouldn’t have made it more than two steps without collapsing. You could hardly speak, slurring your words like a drunken fool.

You didn’t even call anyone after I left. Didn’t text anyone. Didn’t get out of bed until 1:00pm this morning. If I didn’t have the audio on full blast all night I would’ve busted back in and made sure you were still breathing.

Honestly I’m alittle jealous.

Stupid I know, to be jealous of myself. But you didn’t know it was me. Yet you still let me sit there, you let me talk to you, you let me scratch your head like a good little girl.

Did you really believe it was all a dream?

Do you remember it today?

Can you feel my hands on your skin? Can you taste my cum on your lips?

Did you know it was me?

Date

July 14th

You woke up groggy, way, way past the normal time your internal alarm clock jolts you awake. Disoriented wouldn’t even begin to describe how you felt right now. This was a feeling like nothing you’d ever experienced before.

Unlike last night when your mind was refusing to kick off the blanket of sleep while your body could scarcely react… now your mind was wide awake and running rapidly while your body was aching and not properly calibrated.

You’d been so utterly relaxed during your deep sleep that your muscles got the rest they’d been searching so desperately for your entire life. You felt loose, rested and smooth while also feeling as though you’d been stomped to a pulp by a stampede of angry cattle.

Your head felt swimmy, your lungs felt like they’d been working too hard. Your eyes still couldn’t fully focus either, so it was no surprise that you stumbled clumsily to the kitchen and spilled coffee grounds all over the counter.

You rested your forehead against your folded arms on the counter top, needed a moment to rest your eyes from the harsh lighting. The pounding in your head traveled from one side to the other, keeping a continuous presence behind your sensitive eyes. The moment of silence, well, it gave you time to think.

You had wanted so badly to believe last night was nothing but a weird ass dream, it wouldn’t have been the first time.

But your hopes were squashed when you woke up and saw your diary on the edge of your bed. Even the air felt disturbed, like your room itself was letting you know that it wasn’t all in your head.

He had said he wouldn’t hurt you and you believed him.

He didn’t hurt you.

But if not… why drug you? Was he planning on it and you’d interrupted his plans? Though being a kind, caring, crazy person he backed off instead of forcing you to endure whatever he decided for you while you were awake?

Or had you caught him after the deed had been done?

That ache. That horrible longing in your gut that just refused to go away… was gone. Not dulled, not in hibernation. You felt satisfied and sated.

He said he didn’t hurt you… maybe he just...

You shoved your thoughts into a corner and taped the box shut. That was absolutely sick, you cannot think that way. You can’t. What the hell is wrong with you? You shouldn’t be okay with that.

You should cry. You should scream and wail and cry and throw up.

But how could you be disgusted by a man that had taken away the yearning that had been so deeply rooted within you for so long? Maybe… maybe he didn’t even touch you like that.

Maybe whatever drug he’d given you had somehow flipped the reset switch.

“Sure.” You whispered to yourself, leaning against the countertop. “Sure, that’s all it is. Just that.”

“I have no reason to doubt him. If he wanted to hurt me he would’ve done it. I caught him, if he was truly a terrible person he probably would’ve killed me.” You reasoned with yourself.

“He just came to say hello.” You put your face in your hands, breathing deeply. “Yep. Yep. Yep. That’s all.”

You chose to ignore that fact that your panties were glued to your cunt that morning.

Conveniently over looked the obvious hickey on your left breast.

Pretended not to notice the taste of something salty in the corner of your mouth.

That’s all in your head. He didn’t do that, you didn’t feel sore. You would feel that wouldn’t you? You would’ve woken up right?

‘Right. I would’ve felt it. I would’ve woken up. So it was a dream. Yes.’ You nodded resolutely in agreement with your inner voices.

Some guy dressed as Ghostface was not in your bedroom.

You got out your diary to write about your night at the bar and how wonderful it was, and you fell asleep before you could put your pen to the paper.

Someone slipped something in your drink and it made you sleep very soundly. Someone who didn’t get the chance to take advantage because your two best friends walked you home.

Your subconscious knew that’s what happened and it made all that other stuff up. It’s time to reevaluate your bookshelf. No more dark romance. It’s turned your brain to mush.

Anakin. You should go ask Anakin to review the footage from the bar security cameras. Put your mind at ease that no one had even attempted to follow you home. Maybe you’ll see that no one even drugged you in the first place and you just have one hell of a hangover and an overactive imagination.

First things first though, scoop up those spilled coffee grounds and dump them into the filter. The water gets hot enough, it’ll be fine.

Absentmindedly grabbing your new hello kitty mug, you failed to notice the slip of paper inside until you almost poured creamer over it.

You quickly snatched it up and unfolded it.

‘Sleep well?’

——————————————————————————

“Anakin!” You banged on his front door and he answered relatively quickly.

He appeared in a pair of flannel checkered pajama pants and a short sleeved white shirt, socked feet and messy hair.

“I’m not picking my nose I swear, I’m changing my nose ring.” He grinned, one finger in his left nostril while he screwed on the ball to a new black steel ring, replacing the previous plain stainless steel one.

“M’sorry I didn’t mean to-“

“No worries baby, what’s up?” He asked, running a hand through his hair before shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Can you do me a favor please?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Of course, what’d you need princess?” He asked, his face full of sympathy. “Wanna come in? We can chat.”

He didn’t wait for you to answer, he simply stepped aside and held the door open, lifting that arm slightly so he could usher you underneath his arm and into his apartment.

“Need a drink or anything?” He asked, thumbing toward the fridge.

When you shook your head he gently grasped one of your elbows and brought you to the couch, he kneeled on one knee and held both your hands with his. He looked up at you like he was studying the most delicate piece of artwork on earth.

“What’s going on doll?” He whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Your eyes flashed at his lips quickly, and widened slightly, but you shook your head.

‘If only you knew.’ You thought, your inner voice giving a mirthless laugh.

“N-no.” You sighed. “Is there anyway you can convince your boss to let me look through the security footage from the bar last night?”

“Yeah sure, I doubt he’d care.” Anakin shrugged. “Why? Did you lose something?”

“Um no.” You said, contemplating on telling him your story, no matter how stupid it might make you look.

“You can tell me anything sweetheart.” Anakin cooed.

“It’s just… I think maybe someone slipped something in my drink last night.”

“You think someone drugged you?” He repeated, his hands tightening around yours.

“Well I don’t know for sure!” You said quickly. “I just woke up feeling weird and dizzy… n’ well I don’t know it doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll make sure we get that footage okay?” He promised, pulling you into his chest and smoothing your hair down your back.

You didn’t speak, you just let him pet you for a moment. The thought of telling him what had actually happened scared you. It made your stomach flip, twist into knots and yank your guts so tightly that you thought you’d never be able to eat again.

He’d think you’re nuts. He’d think you’re a liar. He’d think you wrote that note yourself. He… what would he do? If he believed you? Would he call the cops? Get angry at you for not doing it yourself?

You were vaguely aware of Anakin speaking to you and once he realized you weren’t comprehending a single word, he stopped. He leaned back to look at your face where it rested against his chest.

“Babydoll?” He said worriedly, waving his hand in front of your face to get your attention. “What’s got you all tore up?” He asked in a whisper.

You shook your head, hoping to scramble your thoughts back into order.

“It’s nothing, I just…” You breathed deeply, realizing only now that you’d started to cry.

The safety you felt with Anakin had allowed you to feel these confused feelings in a closed and controlled environment. You chided yourself for thinking he’d react offensively, you may as well just tell him. At least part of it… right?

“Hey, princess.” He said, his voice tinged with a worried kind of uncertainty. “You’re kinda scaring me, I need you to talk to me baby.” He whispered softly.

“I think someone broke into my house last night.” You blurred out suddenly, your words surprising yourself. The moment they left your lips the words caused you to shudder, eyes watering, staring at Anakin like a poor hopeless little kitten on an ASPCA commercial.

“What do you mean someone broke into your house?” He asked sternly, his hands firm on your shoulders.

“I don’t know. Maybe I imagined it.” You said embarrassedly.

“I checked all over the apartment this morning and can’t seem to find out how they got in. I just remember someone being there.” You added, biting your lip as you picked at the skin on your fingers.

“Do you want me to go look?” He asked softly. “You can stay right here, I’ll go look if you want.”

“Really?” You sniffled. “Will you?”

“Of course.” He soothed, cupping your face with both hands and wiping the remnants of your tears away. “You stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Anakin grabbed a thick Sherpa blanket…

Sherpa blanket? He has a Sherpa blanket? Hot. A man with good taste in throw blankets is a man worth pursuing.

He covered you up and patted your head, his fingers stalling momentarily as he gave you a wide-eyed, quizzical look as though he might ask you something or maybe had an odd thought. But, you could see him internally shaking whatever it was that crossed his mind away.

“I’ll be back in a sec okay?” He said, walking to his front door and shutting it with a click behind him.

Anakin walked into your apartment and idly stood in the kitchen, thinking to himself and wondering just how much you remembered. Boogie purred and looped around at his feet so he scooped her up and held her like a baby while pacing the room.

“What should I do? Hmm?” He asked, scratching beneath her chin.

“You have great advice usually.” He muttered. “C’mon… I- fuck.” He groaned.

“I can’t just ask her can I?” He huffed. “No, I can’t.”

“I’ll just… offer to put up some cameras,” he chuckled to himself. “Easy. It’ll make her feel better huh?”

“Thanks… good kitty.” He said giving her a peck on the head before sitting her on the kitchen counter and walking back to his apartment.

He popped his head around the corner to see you still sitting exactly where he left you.

“Good news is: there isn’t anyone there now.” He said with a sympathetic smile. “I can’t find any evidence of a break-in…”

“I know!” You said, exasperatedly throwing your hands up.

“Hush.” He said sternly. “Just because I didn’t find anything, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen okay?”

He doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t believe that your space had been invaded, that your sanctuary had been tainted. But, he believes that you believe it was. And that’s enough of a reason for him to play along for your peace of mind. Within reason of course. He’s not confirming your fears, he’s leaving it open ended but putting up a gate to keep it in check. He’s protecting you from yourself and your own anxiety.

Too bad he’s wrong. Although it’s real sweet that he’s trying.

“Okay.” You blushed at his change in tone, like he was speaking to a child having a tantrum.

You didn’t fully understand why, but every time he did that, it made your stomach flip- in a good way. It was… strangely comforting? Maybe? Or maybe it was just hot, either way you weren’t complaining in the slightest.

“Do you want me to set up a security system for you? Some cameras or?” He offered, sitting next to you and opening his arms which you quickly leaned into.

“Cameras?” You echoed, why hadn’t you thought to put those in when you moved in? You’re a girl, living alone, in a less-safe area of town.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Would that make you feel better?”

“I don’t know… maybe just those window and door alarms?” You suggested. “You know the ones that make that horrible screeching sound when they’re armed and someone tries to open the door?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“I had one on the back garden gate at my moms house.” He said, smoothing out your hair.

“Really? Why?” You asked.

“Cause she thought I was sneaking out.” He chuckled.

“Were you?”

“Yes.” He laughed. “I just wanted to go smoke with my friend who lived in the same subdivision as us. Apparently she’d been hearing the gate open and shut.”

“She was never one for confrontation, so I guess scaring the shit out of me was her way of telling me to stop sneaking out to smoke pot.” He smirked. “I screamed, like a real actual scream. Sounded like a little girl.”

“Oh poor you.” You laughed, looking up at him as you giggled. “My parents never found out I snuck out.” You said teasingly.

“Oh really? What were your methods?” He snorted.

“Well, we didn’t have a fence first of all.” You said. “Second, I was on the ground floor and my bedroom window didn’t have a screen in it.”

“Mmm.” He nodded, his chest rising and falling methodically. “Smart.”

“Yep.” You smiled. “So how bad did you get in trouble?”

“Trouble? None.” He chuckled, leaning back to look at you. “I was momma’s pride and joy, I could do no wrong. She just gave me a warning, unspoken. But still very, very loud.”

“Oh so what you’re saying is she let you get away with it huh?” You laughed.

“Pretty much.” He smiled, pausing for a moment. “So is that what you want then?”

“Yeah… I think I’d rather have those. Maybe it’ll scare ‘em off and make ‘em scream like a little bitch, like you.” You teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh baby, you wound me.” He sighed. “Guess you’ll have to find someone else to install them for you, huh?”

“What?” You sat up and furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“What?” He said mockingly. “You really want a little bitch installing your security system? My little girly hands just won’t get the job done.” He teased.

Little girly hands? Little girly hands?

Those hands were anything but little, everything masculine. Strong and firm. Long fingers that would lace perfectly in yours, those same fingers would feel at home between your…

“Fine, I take it back.” You said quickly, pulling yourself from your dirty thoughts. You couldn’t seriously be drooling over those veined hands while discussing your potential house invasion.

“Good girl.” He grinned. “I’ll order them for you okay?” He said, brushing his knuckle against your cheek.

“Thank you.” You sighed in relief, ignoring the shiver his touch sent through you.

“No problem princess.” He said softly.

Diary Entry: July 14th

God I feel so… conflicted.

I never feel conflicted when it comes to you. It’s so strange, this feeing. It’s like I’m being pulled in two directions.

I love you. So much baby.

I love the way you felt in my arms today. I loved the way you let me hold you, comfort you. We have such a good connection. Such a normal, real, blossoming relationship.

But I’ve went and made things complicated haven’t I?

I should’ve waited. I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve sucked it up and just watched through the cameras and kept my hands to myself. I have patience, I should’ve used it.

It’s just… you’re so tempting.

You love it. Whether you know it or not, I know it. I see it, hear it, taste it. You need me. Conscious and consenting or unconscious and oblivious. Either way, you need me.

So it’s really not my fault. I might’ve thrown the snowball that’s triggered the avalanche, but you’re not running from it. You’re letting it drag you under and doing it with a blush and blissful smile.

Ghostface has thrown an unexpected but possibly very interesting wrench in my plans. You reacted so strangely. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s eating me alive inside, the way you just… accepted it. It’s amazing.

Truly, it’s astonishing. This side of yourself that you’ve kept locked away and hidden from view, maybe even hidden from yourself until now. Do you have a Pit too? Did that surprising reaction crawl out of the depths of your enigmatic mind?

It’s a mystery to me. One I will never crack, it drives me nuts. Knowing that there’s a truly unsolvable puzzle in front of me, I can pick and pick and pick, but I’ll never find all the pieces. You’re too smart, too clever, too perfect. Why would your mind maze be any different?

What have you got hidden in there? In that one place I can’t break into? The one part of yourself you can hide from me?

I’ve gotten a taste, a small one. Lightly salted, hardly seasoned thoughts sprawled on the pages of your diary. No one, not even me, writes everything down. There are things that will stay locked away in my mind, never to be spoken or written. I’m sure you have those things too. Probably not anywhere near as… depraved as mine. But strange and unusual enough that you’d never willingly allow anyone to learn.

As much as I hate that I can’t read your mind, I love it too. That hidden side of yourself that is only for you. It’s something I’m not sure that you would ever show me, not even when you’ve finally fallen in love with me. Not even when we’re too old to care about anything but our happiness… I don’t think you’d share it then either.

That’s a shame. It really is.

But you might share that side of yourself with Ghostface.

I know you.

I know you well enough to realize that the fawn who timidly, but let their curiosity guide them to speak with Ghostface is not the same doe that blinks up at Anakin with adoration.

You. Are. So. Much. Like. Me.

Anakin looks at you with a sense of love, pure and unfiltered. He wants the best for you because he cares so deeply. He wants to keep you safe and warm and forever happy. Because that’s his duty as a loving and caring partner. Your protector and provider.

Ghostface looks at you with love yes, but also obsession and deeply rooted perversion. An infatuation so strong that he’d shed gallons of blood just to get to you. He wants the best for you, in his own way. He wants to keep you safe while giving you the danger he knows that you crave. He wants to keep you warm by feeding the flame of your own twisted little fantasies. The ones so dark you won’t even write them in your diary. He wants to keep you forever happy too, just not in the traditional sense.

And if he gets to have his own fun along the way… well, we both know I’m a fan of killing two birds with one stone. Of course Ghostface would have some mutually beneficial, selfishly planned ideas too, right? He’s unafraid to be what Anakin tries to keep hidden.

Maybe we can have both? Separately… at least for a little while.

You can have us both.

We can have the fawn and doe.

That could be fun. I think I’d like that. You’re just perfect, you’re so perfect. I never would’ve imagined I would be lucky enough to find someone who was as fucked in the head as me. The theory is of course untested, but I have a feeling that I’m right. I think you’ll love Ghostface just as much as you love Anakin.

Because I love the fawn just as much as I love the doe.

The doe that blinks up at me like it’s been caught in the high beams of a truck. The doe that is clever enough to carry on a good banter with me. Sweet and kind and gentle. That’s the recipe for the perfect little deer, they’re such a gentle animal. Soft.

Just like you. They bed down in the softest grass, nest themselves up in a way that keeps them hidden and safe. You do the same, all those stuffed animals and the ridiculously thick and fluffy comforter you sleep under.

They’re smart. They can be sneaky and quiet if they need to be. They have hard and dangerous hooves if they truly need to use them. So do you, but you’ve proven that just like a doe, you’d rather return to the safety of your nest instead of bucking up to kick your problems square in the chest.

Even though they’re smart enough to know they’re prey, they’re too sweet, too pure to believe anyone could have bad intentions. That’s why the bucks have antlers. Sharp and precise, ready to clash into whatever threatens his doe, head first.

Sound familiar?

Then there’s the fawn. The you I’ve only just begun to know. Tiny, meek, fragile. A bleat so small and unsure that it’s comical, like the way you spoke to Ghostface.

They cower, hide. Walk on unsteady legs that cause them to flounder when they’re nervous. They get overconfident; leaping and running on those lanky limbs and regretting it when they fall to their knees, legs folded beneath them and calling out for their protector.

They have those innocent doe eyes all the time, not just when caught off guard. Like the you that Ghostface met. So curious and wrongfully trusting. They don’t realize danger until it’s too late, they’re just exploring the world around them and suddenly they’re gone.

That’s why it’s important that you stay within arms reach of me. That’s why I watch you so closely. That’s why you need me.

They’re so easily taken advantage of; the purity, the innocence, it’s a recipe for disaster if it’s left to develop on its own. But when it’s nurtured? Well cared for? Allowed to roam within reason? In the safety of the net it’s protector has spread out for them?

Well, they’ll blossom. Just like you. You’re so eager to learn and soak up all the knowledge you’ve been so curious about, but too afraid to seek out on your own.

Ghostface can help with that. He’ll keep you safe while giving you the room to explore. He’ll allow you to think that you’re independently experiencing a new world, even though he’s the one who’s crafting it for you.

What a surprise it’ll be when we tell you we’re the same guy. It’ll be your dream come true huh? Sweet and tender boyfriend material, bring home to momma, respectful and gentle Anakin. With a side of… well controlled obsession motivated lunacy.

See? I’m self aware. Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. I’m not a psycho, I’m. Not. That. Kind. Of. Guy.

But Ghostface is.

I love you. You love me. We can just merge the four of us together. Fours a crowd but twos a party or some shit like that.

Date

July 19th

Anakin waltzed into your apartment and locked the door behind him. In his break and enter self imposed uniform. No mask though, he just had it tucked under his arm just incase. He liked to be prepared, especially after you’d surprised him by waking up when he’d so carefully planned for you to do the opposite.

He scooped up Boogie for company, went to your bedroom and locked the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and climbed into your bed, staying standing to adjust the camera above your bed. He needed to uncover that lens. No reason to suffer with just the audio anymore, not when he had a perfectly good excuse that you were semi aware of now.

With task one complete he propped up his phone against one of your many stuffies to have the background noise of one of the shows he’s finally getting around to watching: Narcos. He can understand the hype around it when it was first released now and kind of wishes he’d sucked it up and jumped on the bandwagon to watch it with everyone else in the world back then.

With his work area set up he reached under your mattress with one long arm and pulled out your diary. He’d been impatiently waiting for you to formulate some questions and he’d hear you speaking to yourself about it the night before.

So he cracked open the little pink book and pulled out the red ink pen he’d brought along.

It just wouldn’t be as fun to use one of your cutesy little gel pens or just a plain old black one. But it would be fun to add just a dash more intimidation into the scenario.

It’s a proven fact that red is an uneasy color for humans. It’s one of those things that never fully went away when people developed past the primitive brain. Most people don’t even realize it, but studies show that red ink really does affect the brain. It’s very subtle but it’s still there. The mind is a strange place.

Red bad, blood red, scary.

That’s why all good horror movies have the killers write in red ink… or just straight up blood. It’s unsettling.

Anakin leaned back and got comfortable, flipping through the pages to read the few entries that he hadn’t yet, before moving on to the main course, a page titled: Answer Me

——————————————————————————

Your Diary Entry: Answer Me

Do I know you? If I don’t then who are you?

We’ve met.

Nice try, you’re not getting that out of me yet. Bold of you to ask though, I like that.

Just call me Ghost.

I’m sure that I know you, why else would you hide your voice?

Clever girl.

What do you look like?

You saw me. I didn’t realize you needed glasses.

Do appearances mean that much to you? Well, here’s what I look like under the mask:

Funny, huh?

Why me?

I don’t have enough room in this book to answer this question sweetheart.

So I’ll shorten it: you’re perfect, precious… and I love you because of it.

How did we meet?

You’re really confident that you’ve met me. It would’ve been embarrassing if you were wrong.

I saw you, you saw me. That’s how most people meet isn’t it?

Will you come back?

I’d have to be dead to be kept from you, even then you’d never be without me.

The afterlife is just a step behind the living.

It’d be fun to try out that poltergeist stuff anyway, don’t you think?

How did you get in? I checked and had a friend check… no sign of forced entry.

I know. I saw you both.

Not too long ago, you left your window unlocked. My main goal is to keep you safe and happy, you can’t be safe with an open window easily accessible by a fire escape. So I climbed in and closed it for you.

Have you looked for your spare key lately? I know where it is. It’s in my pocket. On my keychain.

How long have you been watching me?

I like the way you asked this. Not ‘how long have you been doing this’, not ‘how many times have you broken in’.

I’ve been watching you for quite a while now. Long enough that you should’ve definitely noticed by now. Just another reason you need me to protect you. You’ve been completely oblivious.

Go to the next page for the rest of this. I have more to say; you need a lecture.

Hello again, let’s continue shall we?

You’re utterly hopeless in the way of self awareness and keeping watch of your surroundings.

I walk you to and from work nearly everyday.

I sat on your fire escape every night for weeks, to watch you fall asleep on the couch, watching your little shows.

I’ve been to your sisters house, I’ve been to the library to see who is in your book club, I’ve even been to the gym with you.

You never noticed. That’s… forgivable. I’ve been very good at keeping myself hidden, ie. all the times I laid on top of the roof next door to watch you sleep through your bedroom window. But that was before I started visiting your home.

(Have you noticed that those curtains stay closed now? I always shut them for you because you’re forgetful.)

But you know what isn’t forgivable? Everything I’ve done inside your home that you’ve never noticed.

Sweetheart, I love you. I really do. But god you’d probably die without someone around to hold your hand. Haven’t you noticed that certain things seem to be growing into less of a chore and more of a manageable task?

I know that you have, but you thought it was all you, all on your own.

I’ve been making sure your favorite mugs are washed. I’ve been vacuuming because you never do it enough. I’ve been taking out the bathroom trash on the off occasion because I know you hate doing it.

I replace things for you. This one really gives me a giggle.

You’ve been using the same bottle of Persil laundry detergent for almost two months. Ever wondered why it stays half full? No?

Your favorite cereal never runs out either.

You’re adorable, so clueless.

It’s all helpful things sweetheart. No worries, I’m not just some weirdo creep. I do actually care about you and your well-being too. I love you.

You haven’t missed a single birth-control pill since I’ve been setting it out for you.

You’ve been sleeping so much better, in your own bed where you should be, because of that yummy SleepyTime tea. It’s nice to wake up feeling rested isn’t it?

I did my research, remember when you felt real down a while back? That’s when I started setting out your medicine and giving you that tea. I read that it was probably a hormone imbalance because you’re too forgetful to take your pill consistently.

I like to help, I want to help. It makes life easier for you and that’s what’s most important. That’s what a man should do, take care of the one he loves, keep her happy, safe and loved. I’m dedicated to you. I want you to know that.

Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked and you have more questions to be answered my curious girl.

If you didn’t plan on hurting me, why did you drug me, why did you bring a knife?

Valid question.

Am I being watched ALL the time?

No, I’m not a psycho. You deserve privacy, I’ve never peeked in on you in the bathroom in any capacity. I don’t always watch you in your bedroom. But I do listen. I like to hear you snore, it’s like ASMR.

I’ve never accidentally seen you naked if that what you’re asking. It’s always on purpose.

Why haven’t you made yourself known? Why no weird calls or notes or anything? Isn’t that a thing stalkers do?

No. It’s not. At least not for me.

I don’t want to freak you out. Leaving weird calls and notes would scare you. That’s the last thing I want.

I’ll start, let you get the full experience lol.

(Not creepy shit though I promise.)

What do you get out of watching me sleep? Have you touched me?

You’re beautiful, peaceful, angelic. It’s just nice to be in your presence. It’s calming in a way. Like how grandmas knit to wind down in the afternoon. Kinda like that I guess.

Maybe.

Are there cameras here?

Yes. But not everywhere, like I said, you deserve privacy.

They’re here for security reasons, but also because it sucks to sit in the rain on a fire escape. My ass would get frozen to the metal grate when it was cold.

I don’t use them for what you think though.

Will you ever tell me who you are?

Would you be able to cope with knowing my identity? I mean, there’s a reason I wear the gloves and mask, change my voice. Like I said, you know me in the real world. I won’t ever show you my face if it means losing you there.

I’d stop coming here like this though. If you wanted. But I don’t think you do. Do you?

You’ve obviously read my diary. Is that why you chose Ghostface?

What do you think? :)

There. Questions answered.

Don’t expect me in person for a bit, you should take some time to process. I know it’s a lot.

I’ll still be there for you though, I wouldn’t leave you completely. Never.

I have a feeling you won’t tell anyone. But I do of course have to ask: please, don’t tell anyone okay? It’d make me sad :(

Not even Lukey or Anakin okay?

I’ll warn you before I make an appearance next time.

Date

July 28th

The bell above the door at the Bluebird chimed and your head perk up immediately. There he was, right on time.

Anakin had been much, much closer to you since your meeting with Ghost. You still hadn’t told him. Probably never would.

Who would believe something so insane anyway? Anakin had handled the whole ‘home intruder and I’ve been drugged’ situation extremely well. He was very supportive, your certain that if you did ever share the information on Ghost with him, he would do his best to validate you, but he’d definitely make you go to therapy.

“My princess.” He grinned, walking up to the counter and sitting on a barstool, both hands palm up on the countertop for you to place yours in.

“Hey Ani.” You smiled softly, you loved this.

You loved what this had bloomed into. You never thought you’d fall for a traditional guy, but here you are, with Anakin.

“Whatcha got left? Almost done?” He queried, rubbing the backs of your hands with his thumbs while he gazed at you with those dreamy blue eyes.

“I’ll be ready to leave as soon as Sara clocks in.” You peered back into the kitchen, hoping to see her walk in the back door any moment.

“Good, we’ve got places to be.” Anakin teased.

“Do I have to go in my work clothes?” You whined. “I smell like french fries!”

“Mmm my favorite perfume of yours.” He snickered. “No, you don’t baby. I brought you a change of clothes. Dress or pants?”

“Oh? You brought options?” You asked in surprise.

“Of course I brought options. I’m not a mind reader.” He smirked.

“No, but you might as well be.” You laughed.

“Mmhmm.” He looked down at your hands and laced his fingers with yours. “Pants?”

“Yes please.” You nodded with a laugh. “See? Mind reader.”

“I wish.” He rolled his eyes. “Just know my girl well that’s all.” He smiled, one hand leaving yours to cup your cheek.

“Sara’s here.” He nodded to the back door as it was opening.

“Oh good!” You said, patting his hand on your cheek and spinning around to clock out.

Once Anakin had led you out to his car he opened the back passenger door and handed you one of your small backpacks with clothes in it.

“Change inside?” He asked, nodding toward the restaurant.

“Ew no.” You scoffed. “I’ll just change in the backseat.” You shrugged.

“Sure thing baby.” He laughed, gesturing for you to get in.

He stood outside with his back resting against the side of the car, ever respectful of you and your boundaries. Soon enough you knocked on the window and he moved out of the way to open the door for you and help you into the front of the car.

“Lookin’ good princess.” He let out a low whistle that had you blushing.

“Thanks.” You squeaked, despite being so comfortable with him, you couldn’t help but be bashful sometimes.

He was never not confident in the things he said to you. If he wanted to tell you something, he did. With his full chest.

Tonight was your first real, official date. Anakin had planned it all for you, you weren’t privy to his choices but you assumed it would be casual considering the clothes he’d offered you. He’d said ‘men should plan the dates and their girls should just enjoy them’.

Fuck feminism. Anakin made you forget you had the right to vote, he made you forget what it was like to do things on your own, he made you forget the horrors of being a girl left alone.

With him around you never had to lift a finger.

So it was no surprise that when you arrived at the restaurant he walked around, opened your door and offered you his arm. Not unexpected that he would order your food for you, somehow he always knew what you wanted, you didn’t even bother picking up the menu anymore.

Not a shock at all that when he got you home you didn’t have to do anything but lay back and be loved.

Part Eight

Just realized that probably not everyone knows what a butterfly knife is, so here’s a gif (I’ll put one in the previous post too) like you’re telling me this isn’t Anakin’s weapon of choice??? Show off.

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut t @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @doblasftcisco o @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @rorysbrainrot @hopesworlld @lonaah @guiltycherries @syralix

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

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sunraies · 24 days ago

Text

This will contain spoilers for OBX4 Part 1. Ep4 used the most. Other plot lines missed out.

She's so gone

Pogue Reader. Hints of Rafe Cameron.

Warnings- Violence, animal cruelty, blood, mentions of drugs.

JJ Maybank's sister isn't the quite, sweet girl she was 18 months ago.

Just a little background as hard to explain/cover in a one-shot :

Y/N Maybank nicknamed May, MayB or MB

JJ Maybank's sister. (Obx 4 spoiler, you can chose if biological, Luke's or someone else's)

Naturally shy, kind and caring. Loves to read and enjoys nature and the beach. Quietest out of the Pogues.

Changed during the 18 months JJ and the Pogues were away, treasure hunting and fighting for their lives.

I may chose to do more with this nicknamed Y/N character if people enjoy her. Sorry if I'm rusty and seems rushed had this idea after finishing part 1.

*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*

The last 18 months had been hell on earth to put it lightly. While your brother and his friends were off finding treasure and as you found out from all the details later, fighting to survive, you were left behind. Left with no father, brother and friends to try and keep the only home you knew. You literally worked until your fingers and feet bled. Taking cleaning jobs around the Cut and Figure Eight, working as many hours as possible at the Country Club taking any shift they had going from lifeguarding and golf carting to bartending and waiting. Anything to keep your roof over your head, hoping the people you loved would be home soon.

Things turned darker when you got so desperate you used some of Luke's contacts to make money. It started small selling a few stolen pills to dealing using many cleaning jobs as a cover. You were almost caught by Shoupe a few times but he seemed to go easy on you, thinking you were still the grade A student, polar opposite sister of JJ Maybank. Before things got too serious the person to help pull you out was the last person anyone would expect, Rafe Cameron. Why he helped you was unclear but after many months of denying his help, you finally accepted having received a busted lip on a deal gone wrong. The money he loaned you save your home for a little while.

An odd friendship formed between the pair of you but never went any further as before it could the Pogues returned home, with life changing treasure and the news of Ward Cameron and Big John Routledge's death.

Rafe closed himself off to you and you had to go on like nothing happened.

Life got easier and so good with your family's return. They brought your home and land. Poguelandia was re-created and you got a taste of the paradise they had created on the island they told you all about.

After building the paradise. You helped run the shop, organised JJ's charters, helped Kie in the garden and kept the bills and books in check with Pope. You got to be your old self again, spending days relaxing, reading in the sun and enjoying the company of your loved ones.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

It had happened a few times over that summer, a storm over the Atlantic hundreds of miles away sent ripples right over the pond. Having grown up on the Outerbanks you told tell, you could hear it the moment you woke up. The flags on the roof and in the yard sung a perfect sympathy with the gulls flying over head.

"We're going to the beach!" You heard JJ yelled through your open window, the tell tell sounds of John B slapping him out of happiness confirmed the feeling in your bones. "Wakey-wakey everybody!"

It didn't matter what you had planned that day, it changed to hitting the brake. No matter what, everyone would stop. It was one time the whole island came together. That perfect summer swell.

"Yeah, baby, now that's the perfect swell. It's probably the best of the year" JJ howled as he checked his phone, tracking the swell making sure the broads were ready and prepared in time to hit the best waves.

Everyone woke with the tingle in their bodies and happy buzz of that beach day. You happily lounged in the hammock while the others prepped their boards. Planning to read on the beach as the others surfed.

Pope had decided not to join causing outrage. Sarah sat up quickly in the swinging chair and you almost toppled out of the hammock. "There'll be other swells. Someone's gotta keep the shop open"

"Pope. That's like saying there's other pizza to eat all right?" JJ exclaimed "like come on, now. You serious?"

"Wow" Kie sighed "Listen to your earth mother, Pope. She's like begging you to surf."

"I think my earth mother is telling me to maximise our intel" Pope wasn't having any of it. "The shop needs running as someone bet our tax fund" He glared at JJ who ignored him.

"Mines tell me to maximise the swell" Kie argued, looking for support.

"Wanna maximise this beach day?" John B looked at Sarah who agreed.

"I wanna maximise this tan" Sarah smiled before turning to you "May? Maximise beach day?"

"I'm gonna maximise this book" you waved your book bag having stood closer to Kie who hummed. They knew you wouldn't get in the surf but never missed beach day.

"Okay, everyone have fun maximising" Pope shrugged. "Cleo texted to say she's collecting bait, someone's gotta sale it"

"Lame. Tell her we're closed" Kie frowned

"Pope, hey, hey, rule number one, Pope, is no working on a swell day." JJ said, desperately trying to stop him as John B wrapped an arm over his shoulder.

"Rule number one" You echoed as Pope looked your way. Having worked the books with him, you knew the shop was sinking but didn't have the heart to tell the others yet. Pope still deserved a day off through but you understood why he was so adamant.

"Someone's gotta do this. If we want to keep business going" Pope shrugged "catch a nasty one for me" He smiled at a broken hearted looking JJ.

"I can stay, I can read while on the till" You offered but Pope shock his head.

"Go enjoy the sand, MayB" He smiled wrapping an arm over your shoulders before kissing your temple.

They all knew how much you worked while they were away but not the dealing side of things. You deserve a beach day, they'd seen a slight change in you but didn't talk to you about it. Taking whatever details of your time alone you'd give them.

Being in the Twinkie, cruising along the coastal road with the music blaring felt like home. Kie smiling happily while an excitable JJ disturbed John B and Sarah in the front.

"Look, John B" JJ grinned pointing over him "Look out there"

You laughed with Kie and Sarah as John B covered his eyes and pushed him backwards, causing JJ to flop over you and Kie.

"May, did you see!? The waves were huge" He grinned boyishly up at you as he held his arms wide, the size of the waves.

"Yeah J, I saw" you smiled softly down at him.

As soon as the Twinkle hit the sand, JJ slide the door open and happily ran his hands in sand while John B let her roll to a stop. Everyone laughed as they soaked up the sun. You laughed as John B almost hit JJ over the head with the umbrella.

"Half-baked Poguelandia" John B sighed as Sarah chuckled "its gonna be great"

Once everything was set, you happily flopped into a chair identical to JJ's, a matching set you had since he was 3.

Kie adjusted the umbrella for you before wrapping you in a back hug "all set, MayB. We'll miss you out there"

"Hey, beach bag guard has always been my duty" You leaned back into her, laughing as the chair wobbled you both "you guys catch the waves while I stay on dry land"

"Let's get those boards off!" JJ hurried over to the van while the roars of jeeps took over the peaceful sounds of the beach.

"Oh boy" John B sighed

"What?" JJ asked distracted by the boards.

The mood suddenly dropped as Kook jeeps rolled closer in a convoy.

"You're joking" Sarah muttered clearly annoyed

"Don't stop" JJ sighed while Kie shook her head "anywhere but here"

You all watched as Topper cruised by at the front. They clearly spotted your group as a random Kook called out look. Stopping a small distance away.

"Oh, you're joking. Of course, they stop here" Kie sighed, her thoughts out loud."Why wouldn't they? When there's a whole beach"

"We were here first," Sarah pouted. "So lame" she walked back towards Twinkie, unable to look at them as John B stared at Topper, unloading his fancy board.

"Let's go, Baby," you heard Rafe yell as he jumped out the back of Top's truck. You hadn't seen him in months. Your heart jumped a little before plummeting as Sofia cuddled into his side. You'd hear rumors but hadn't seen them together yet.

"Oh, great, my brothers here" Sarah sighed as Rafes eyes scanned the beach and your group before they locked in on you.

"Kie, don't worry, he's not getting near you" JJ confirmed her as you all knew about the boat incident. "I can guarantee that"

You wished the promise of protection was to you too but they didn't know, you hadn't told them of your betrayal. The life line you took from Rafe. The reason the house and land was still there to buy in the first place.

"Hey, ya'll. John B" JJ called from the top of the Twinkie "Sunshines coming"

You broke eye contact with Rafe, adjusting your shades, placing the book in your lap to watch Topper approach. You watched as Sarah whispered warnings to John B, most likely telling him not to bite if Topper provoked him.

They seemed tense but ended civilly as John B walked back to your group. You rolled your eyes as some dumb Kook yelled, "Go home Pogues" like they owned the beach.

Things seemed to go smoothly after that. The Pogues happily caught the waves. You jumped up cheering as Sarah successfully rode a big swell in. "YEAH GIRL!" You cheered, picking up her towel while she was briefly stop by Kelce and Topper.

As she walked over you noticed Sofia saying something to Rafe, but he swigged his beer and shook his head.

"You ok?" You asked Sarah as she thanked you for her towel and flopped next to you.

"I'm good" She breathed before looking away from the Kooks "I just wished he'd stop staring over here"

You nodded as you noticed Rafe watching you two. Was he looking at you or Sarah?

"Hey, forget it" You hummed handing her a can out the cooler "he probably doesn't know....." You stopped as Sarah raised an eyebrow. 'How to talk to you after everything' you wanted to finish but instead said "he's probably plotting. You know crazy Kook shit"

Sarah let out breathy laugh "you sound like JJ. Kook conspiracy!"

Sarah dozed next to you as you read but you found it hard to focus, re reading the same line as Rafe kept looking over. You were reading a sentence for the 5th time when you heard yelling from the water. Sarah sat up just in time for you both to witness JJ poach Topper, sending him toppling into the waves as JJ rode to the swallows.

The Kooks yelled at him, including Rafe, before he flipped him the bird, and JJ shrugged, making you and Sarah, even though it clearly broke whatever peace had been created. "Well, that didn't last long" you sighed

The peace seemed to stay for the rest of the afternoon. A few pity poaching and pushing out of the waves happened but it didn't amount to anything. You helped Sarah and John B load the Twinkie as JJ and Kie got the last of the boards on the top.

"Guys! There's a turtle hatch!" Kie gasped, rushing over to the moving sand. You all hurried after her.

"Holy shit! Look at these little nuggets!" John B smiled as baby turtles emerged.

"They're so little!" Sarah made little movements with her hands

"Adorable!" You smiled

"Wait, guys, give them some space. Don't touch them" Kie warned after her excitement.

"Wait, we gotta make a path, right?" John B asked

"Yeah, clear the way" JJ exclaimed before starting to make a part towards the shoreline.

"We gotta clear these footprints" Kie instructed. "Sarah, MayB, keep the gulls off"

"I don't see any!" Sarah spread her arms wide, looking up before wobbling. You caught her laughing before helping shield the baby turtles.

"A turtle highway!" JJ exclaimed.

"Follow the turtle highway. Come kids" Sarah happily called out to them, and John B joked he was their human daddy leading them to the ocean-ocean

"Go on, babies." you smiled before looking at Kie, who was smiling widely, over the moon to see a hatch and that you were all helping her. The turtles and saving the ocean was her dream, and this was a part of it. If this hatch made it, all of them with your help they had a 50% better chance.

Just as you looked back down at them, something fast moving along the beach caught your eye "guys" you muttered before the revving got louder "guys!"

"Hey!" Kie jumped up quickly waving her arms as she saw the jeep too. You both desperately waved your arms to stop whoever it was. All of you started waving and yelling

"Hey stop!"

"Stop!"

"There's a hatch!"

"Yo Stop"

"Go around!"

They didn't stop. If anything, whoever was behind the wheel accelerated more. You and Kie stood your ground till the last second, diving and tumbling out of the way before you could be hit. JJ desperately looked around, seeing Sarah had Kie, he helped you up, checking you over for any injuries. "Shit, you good?"

You hummed and nodded before he ran over to Kie checking on her.

"Fucking Assholes" Kie frowned, looking at the babies. The revving started again "Oh hell no!"

She stood in the path of the jeep again this time, all five of you stood together, yelling from them to stop. Again, they didn't, making you all jump out of the way. Kie got hit with a drink as the Kook you recognised as Ruthie drove by.

As the others checked on Kie, you looked over that the Kooks hollering and cheering. Noticing Rafe and Sofia not joining in. If anything, Sofia looked disgusted. Did they feel bad for watching you almost get run over? You hadn't spoken to Sofia much, but she always seemed kind. She clearly didn't belong in a good way.

Kie's gasp and cry of "no no no no" broke you out of your thoughts. Looking down at her kneeling in the sand, you noticed a murdered baby turtle in her hands. The tiny broken shell. Kie whimpered and remained for a moment before suddenly standing up and heading for the overly happy group.

"Stay here" she said before walking away. JJ ran after her as John B held Sarah back before calling out to you, but you didn't listen.

"Kie, I know I'm the last to say this. But not today" JJ tried to stop her.

"I don't care" Kie bluntly responded

"Kie, we need to be smart about this" you said softly.

"I don't care" she repeated

"No. All right" JJ sighed "Just we are little outnumber in this situation. Let's jus-"

"I don't care!" She snapped at him, looked at the both of you.

"Here she comes!" Topper called out "on a warpath. Get ready!" Ruthie smugly stood beside him as everyone watched Kie with you and JJ behind her to see what would happen.

"Look what you did" Kie held out the baby turtle. "Is this OK?" Ruthie smug ass look dropped suddenly glancing at the baby before looking away.

"No, look at it!" Kie urged."You drove right over it! there was a turtle hatch, you idiots!" Everyone looked uncomfortable.

"I understand your upset, Kiara." Topper tried some conflict resolution bullshit.

"No, I'm more than upset, Topper" Kie snapped at him.

"All right but it was only one" Ruthie sighed pointing back towards John B and Sarah "I mean look there's so many more of them" she shrugged like it was nothing "what a hatch is like 100 turtles? Most of them don't make it anyway"

"Yeah, it's like 1 in 1000" Topper added, like stating the facts Kie knew would help.

"Hey, you know what? You should so throw that to the seagulls. " Ruthie taunted "cycle of life, right?"

"Cycle of life!" Kie pushed her back, causing her to cry out in shock, and Topper jumped in to protect her "getting flatten by a truck is not the cycle of life!"

JJ got between Topper and Kie holding him away from her as some Kook held up her phone. Ruthie got close to Kie, "Your move, Kie." She clearly felt protected by her friend recording. "What you gonna do?"

"I would just walk away. We are not going this today" Topper warned JJ and Kie. No one was really paying attention to you. You were JJ's quite, sweet sister.

"There is something seriously wrong with you people!" Kie yelled at them before turning around and pushing a speaker over.

"Come on, Kie" You said softly, putting an arm around her, which she shrugged off.

"Yeah, that's right! Get back to your side, Kie!" Ruthie yelled. You glared back at them, pausing between Kie walking away and JJ staying.

"If you touch her, or any of us ever again. I'll come back and kill every single one of you" JJ threatened.

"Was that a threat?" Ruthie gasped as someone called out they had JJ on video.

"Come on" He said softly to you as you continued to watch Ruthie, blood bubbling away under the surface.

"Always knew he'd end up like his daddy" Ruthie muttered, clinging to Topper like some poor victim. You caught what she said and saw red.

Before anyone knew what was happening, your fist connected with Ruthies' nose. A horrific crack broke the stunned silence. Blood poured from her nose as she cried out. You shook your hand out, not sure if the crack was your knuckles, her nose, or both.

"You dare speak of my family again" You seethed "and it will be more than just your nose. TURTLE MURDERING BITCH"

Chaos broke out as Topper went for you, JJ pushed him away as he broke out of his shock. John B sprinted over as Kelce took as swing for JJ. Shockingly, Rafe got between the four of them.

"Get the fuck out of here!" He yelled at JJ and John B "get her and go!"

JJ scribbled over to you, grabbing you arm and pulling you away "Holy shit, holy shit" He muttered "what the fuck? How the-" He was stunned just as much as everyone else.

"We have that on video?! Right?!" Ruthie cried, holding a towel to her nose, but her friend shook her head, having stopped when JJ and you started to walk away. She'd only caught the aftermath.

Back the Twinkle, Sarah held your hand, checking the bruising and broken knuckles. "You got a serious swing there, May"

"Well, J taught me" you shrugged.

"I taught you for emergency situations!" He ran a hand through his hair."That was not an emergency!"

"She looked too smug" You said sighing softly.

"Yeah, now we gotta deal with Shoupe" JJ sighed, knowing he'd probably already been called. The death threat was bad enough.

"May, hasn't got a record. She'll be fine" Kie said "but girl, you did what I wanted to do!"

"Plus Shoupe hasn't had to deal with MayB before. She's normally covering your messes. " John B pointed out calming JJ a bit.

"Um, yeah. Kinda not the first time" you muttered.

"WHAT?!" JJ and John B yelled, John B slammed the breaks in shock, bringing the Twinkie to a sudden stop just outside Poguelandia where blue lights flushed.

#rafe cameron #outer banks rafe #outerbanks #rafe cameron imagine #the pogues #obx pogues #jj maybank

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chaifootsteps · 4 months ago

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tbh one thing i liked about the instas that i dont think the series will bring back is him wearing casual clothes outside of work. the concept of a gay male sinner from the 1940s embracing modern day fashion from the current era because of how cute it is without anyone caring because its hell, (with the implication he mightve been doing this for decades beforehand before he came to the hotel,) is just really cool concept to me :3 it gave him a fashion identity outside of his sex work (something the show really doesnt do at all,) and it let him explore a more cutesty side to his character, but in a really natural way! i also just liked it because most of the sinners we saw tended to stick to dressing from their era, which made angel stand out more.

but this isnt present at all in the series, and even weirder, the one time he has a chance to put on pajamas in episode 2 like the girls have, where hes alone in his room with fat nuggets, he doesnt. maybe we wouldve had time for that if there wasn't a joke dedicated to showing how tone deaf and christian charlies morals are for the bisexual daughter of lucifer morningstar.

all the clothes he wears, there's more of a focus of his outfits from posion rather then anywhere else. i hardly see as much fanart of that stupid ugly ripped finale suit, as much as i see fanart of the latex suit angel wears while singing about being unable to help swallowing poison. either that, or the outfit he wears while dancing with val. love the fluffy spider butt, but cmon. we can get an angel dust design thats more spider in a natural way, but we can't see him wear casual clothes when he isnt working? or even see him in a full suit? (i really miss the purple suit from the instas, no stupid pink stripes, full suit for both arms, and his boobs were out w his tie instead of being hidden away like they are in the finale, which was perfect for his character </3)

him wearing clothes separate to his identity as a pornstar also helped him reclaim some of his freedom under his contract, obviously being unable to choose what val makes him wear on set. that's what angel dusts actions reflected in the instas and the comics too. (the "work shit" box comes to mind, i hate that borderline on screen rape is fine for an amazon funded show, but a box of dildos is too much,) even the addict mv shows this, with angel wearing just a pink sweater and some purple shorts when laying with cherri. or even just the casual, but cute outfit he wears when he blows up that club with her.

its just one of the few things that made him feel human, especially when fashion is bound to change in so many ways when youve been in hell for 77 years like he has. this part of his character being missing (along with the implication he even has a life outside of his work in the series; pilot ad was coping with work with hard drugs, being an teasing asshole as a defensive mechanism, getting into turf wars and murdering mafia goons. but still dresses cute and gets to be cute w his friends in his own time! series ad is coping by self destructing and letting people drug and fuck him so he'll be "broken" but then gets better by going out once after being waterboarded at work, only to not relax and be a mom to a joke character at a club called fucking consent,) is one of the reasons im still bitter about the instas being nuked. but not the only reason.

viv will always takes the credit for them anyway, no matter if she feels they do or not, because her fanbase isn't smart enough to realize someone else wrote these stories they still love. even if theyll be the first one to remind you they arent canon, because the creator said they arent. but my honest to god confession is that sometimes the instagrams feel more like the canon hazbin hotel to me, even months after s1 dropped, simply due to the nuance and detail it has compared to the actual series. it wasnt perfect, but you could tell there was passion there- passion that now, only the leads are allowed to put in hazbin so their favorite character can get more screentime and attention.

Thank you, Anon, for this absolutely beautiful writeup. It was true, seeing the difference between the outfits Val forced him into versus the outfits he chose to wear on his own time was one of the most interesting aspects of Instagram Angel Dust. It was a more safe-for-work extension of the "work shit" dildoes that didn't make it to Amazon Prime (while his graphic on-screen gang rape did) and it was powerful.

Of course, there are practical logistical reasons why cartoon characters wear the same outfit, but if only one character in HH was going to have a big wardrobe, it absolutely should have been Angel. But of course it wasn't, because as far as Viv and Raph were concerned, the only Angel outfits that mattered were the ones that fed into their shared fetish.

#Anonymous #vivziepop critical #image reply #hazbin hotel critical #angel dust #actual blog post #viv stuff

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sunghoonnsupremacy · 3 months ago

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FAT BLUNTS AND KISSES. parksunghoon x reader

genre : fluff

warnings : smoking weed, mentions of other drugs

word count : 415

summary : smoking weed with bestfriend sunghoon on a random evening.

smoking weed was something you always loved doing. when you were 16, you attended a calamity party and got introduced to all kinds of drugs, choosing a liking to pot. your bestfriend, park sunghoon wasn't the same. he was a self respected guy. at least, that's what he called himself. you never cared that he didn't smoke, but he did.

“give me a hit.” sunghoon says blankly, looking at you through his messy bangs. you scoff, raising an eyebrow and lifting the joint from your lips. “are you serious?”

he glares at you, puffing his bottom lip out in a pout. “im serious. i wanna try it.”

you shrug leaning to the other side of his bed and passing him the joint. “fine, but don't buzz out on me. it's a fat blunt.”

sunghoon takes the joint, awkwardly holding it between his fingers and trying to mimic the movements he saw you do. he places it between his lips, inhaling strongly and coughing loudly, grasping his shirt.

“jesus- fu- fucking hell-” he wheezes, covering his mouth. you roll your eyes at his reaction. “dude, have you never smoked before? not even a cigarette?”

he pouts, glaring once more. “of course i have. it just.. wasn't as strong as this.” he brings the joint to his mouth again, inhaling slowly this time.

he successfully gets the smoke into his lungs, exhaling with closed eyes. “that's.. actually kind of nice."

you smirk, taking the joint from him and taking a hit yourself. “i know, dummy. that's why i smoke it.”

he reaches out for it, asking for another hit. you happily give it to him, the blunt half finished.

after passing it back and forth, both of you are now stoned. except, one is controlling it better than the other. you glance over at sunghoon, his head lolled back and his finger twitching.

“hoon? you good?” you ask, stiffling a laugh. he turns his head to you, opening his eyes that are bloodshot red. “never better.��he shuffles closer to you, laying his head on your stomach as he traces patters with his slim finger on the soft skin.

you close your eyes, letting your self relax under his bodyweight.“your skin tastes good.” he nips at it with his teeth, sucking the mark with his plump lips.

“thank victorias secret for that.” he hums, closing his eyes and falling asleep. you roll your eyes, scoffing in disbelief at how the weed affected him before falling asleep yourself.

#enhypen #-sunghoonnsupremacy #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon #sunghoon oneshots #sunghoon fluff #enhypen fluff #enhypen oneshots

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blurryhowlett · 12 days ago

Text

Your beauty never ever scared me

TW: self harm (sorta)

————————————————

If there was one thing that Wade absolutely hated, it was having as much self awareness as he does. It wasn’t just about how he knew that there were people out there who watched him all the time or was even a comfort to people.. which he still didn’t understand that, he was as fucked up as a serial killer and he knew that. He wondered if he was so fucked up that god made him this way and put him through all this torture just because he feared that the devil might be no match for Wade Wilson and if Wade took over hell then- well, maybe he should keep some things to himself. There could be some minors reading this and he really didn’t need to traumatize people from their own world. What he was getting at is that maybe there’s a reason why Wade had to go through this, a reason that he could not die. As much as Wade was all for coping with his dark sense of humor, that didn’t stop the fact that Wade absolutely hated himself.

Did you guys know that? Well, buckle up, this isn’t the sweet fluff you were probably expecting.

Wade understood that he could only cope for so long and sometimes- just sometimes, he needed a good cry in the shower and a nice line of coke. At least the pro side of not dying is that he can do whatever drugs he wants and have zero consequences. Take that suckers, you must be so jealous!

Who was he kidding? There was nothing to be jealous of, he looked like a dried up ballsack and that was putting it lightly. When he first had gone through his torturous experiments, Wade had made sure to cover up all the mirrors up and if he was having a really bad night, he would smash them until he lost his fingers.

Now, he wasn’t looking for pity. God, no. That was the last thing he needed. He didn’t need no ‘poor Wade and his ballsack of a skin suit that he has to wear for all eternity.’ What he really needed was a hug. And maybe some hardcore drugs that actually did something to him for once but mostly a hug! The funny thing about all of this is Wade is a huge hypocrite.

Now, we all know you’ve been scrolling by fast to try to see when Logan was going to hop into this fanfic and you can relax, we are getting to that.

Wade was all for showing himself out of his suit and showing his skin around Logan. In fact, he didn’t even seem to care. It was all going perfectly fine, he was fine with this. Hell, he would walk around in his underwear half the time and he was actually okay with that. Well.. until him and Logan started dating. Yeah, you heard that right, dating. And before some of you are still trying to hold onto some type of desperate proof that Logan wasn’t queer in the slightest, pick up a goddamn comic book for once.

Anyways, this isn’t the story that goes deep into how their relationship started. All you need to know is that it did start nonetheless and Wade was ecstatic to be known as Wolverine’s boyfriend. The only downside? Wade became insecure again. It started slow, Wade keeping his clothes on around the house which seemed unusual for the man. Next, he would be sleeping in hoodies instead of his hello kitty pajama set and god does he love that pajama set. At first, Logan didn’t seem to notice and would brush it off as Wade just being cold. Can anyone blame him? Logan wasn’t no damn telepath, he couldn’t read wade’s mind and frankly- Logan wouldn’t want that.

But it really started to catch Logan’s attention when Wade would stay in his suit just to watch a simple movie in the living room. The most he would do was lift his mask up to show his mouth so he could share a beer with Logan but besides that, he was covered up from head to toe. Logan would question it and Wade would only crack a joke, saying something like ‘you sound desperate for me to get out of my clothes, peanut.’ But Logan wasn’t an idiot and he knew Wade long enough to know that he was only deflecting and putting his walls up.

Ironic, right? This time it was Logan trying to break down Wade’s walls.

But now it was getting late and the two of them had planned for another movie night, it was their nightly routine. The two of them would sit on the couch, Wade would try to cop a feel of Logan’s groin and the two of them would share drinks and put on a movie. They would take turns and tonight, it was Wade’s turn to pick out a movie and Logan hoped it wasn’t another Barbie movie. Logan lov- woah, they aren’t there yet. Logan cared for Wade but he didn’t know if he could sit through another Barbie movie, the last one was about mermaids and he swears that Wade only puts these movies on to piss him off.

Guess it doesn’t piss him off that much because his ass stays on that couch and he drinks enough to be able to crack a smile at the sight of Wade’s eyes lighting up when one of the characters burst out into song. God, Logan hates musicals.

But besides the fact that he’s starting to get hungry and doesn’t want to wait any longer for Wade to get out of the shower, he starts to notice that Wade is taking way too long for just a ‘quick’ shower as Wade had put it. This time, Wade didn’t even offer Logan to join him- joke or not, Logan could feel a knot forming in his stomach with anxiety. So, he pulls himself off the couch with a grumble and starts to make his way down the short hallway and towards the bathroom. He stands there for a moment, starting to overthink his actions.

Is he being too paranoid? Logan was always known for being overprotective when it came to people he cares about but this was Wade and he was just showering. Yeah, guess he answered his own question. This was Wade and something was clearly going on with him and he needed answers.

“Wade?” Logan calls out, his knuckles tapping against the bathroom door. “Wade, it’s been like thirty minutes, you’re gonna make the water bill go through the fucking roof.” He tells him and even if he tries to sound annoyed, he’s genuinely concerned.

He could hear Wade scrambling in the shower, shampoo bottles falling into the tub with a thud that echoes in the bathroom. “Wade, what’s going on in there?” He calls out to him again, his heightened senses picking up on heavy breathing and.. sniffling? Was he crying?

Logan looks down to see mary puppins now in between his legs as she whines at the bathroom door, Logan shushes her and snaps his fingers while pointing back to the couch and she listens.

“I’m just washing my ass, peanut! I’ll be out soon!” Wade finally calls out, his voice slightly muffled from the sounds of the running water.

Logan’s face crinkles and he knocks again, “yeah, you’ve been washing your ass for thirty minutes. You said you needed a quick shower, it’s gonna be almost an hour now actually.”

Wade doesn’t actually know how to respond to that, he doesn’t know what quick joke he could pull out of his ass this time and he also wouldn’t be able to explain the blood spilling into the drain from scrubbing his skin so rough with his loofah.

Logan doesn’t like the silence. It’s like having a toddler, if there’s no noise coming from them..then there’s a serious issue because just like a toddler, Wade shouldn’t be this quiet.

“Wade, can I come in?” Logan sighs, his tone is more gentle this time and it makes Wade want to have whole new breakdown. He wants to crack a joke, wants to say ‘jeez, can’t a guy have a metal breakdown in the shower?’ But he didn’t know how honest he wanted to be with Logan at the moment so he finds another way to humor him.

“You’ve been really keen on wanting to see my bare ass, peanut.”

“And you’ve been really keen on hiding it.” Logan claps back and it actually stuns Wade for a moment. Actually, it stuns him so much that he could start to feel his throat become tight and the tears start to well up in his eyes. He felt stupid, this was stupid because no matter how many times he tries to scrub away at his skin- he wasn’t no goddamn lizard and he wasn’t gonna be able to peel this off and regain his normal skin. Normal. He hates the fucking word and envy’s the word at the same time.

Wade finally crumbles and turns the water off, taking his towel and wrapping it right around his waist before sinking into the tub and pulling his knees up to his chest. He could see Logan’s feet from underneath the doorway and it only makes him more anxious.

“Will you let me in? Please?” Logan pleads with him, his tone soft and Wade could never say no when he gets mushy like that. “Um.. yeah.. yeah, go ahead..” Wade tells him, watching the doorknob turn before it finally swings open.

Logan takes a moment when he steps inside the bathroom, it was hot and he could still see the steam rising in the air from how long Wade had been showering. “Sorry about the hot water..” Wade mumbles out to him and Logan only shakes his head and kneels down near the bathtub. “Don’t be, I’m more concerned about all of.. this.” Logan gestures to the blood stains in the tub and the bloody loofah. Wade didn’t even realize how hard he had been scrubbing until Logan actually points out how much blood there was.

“I..” Wade starts and the only thing that comes out is some sort of strangle cry, wiping his hand over his face as he lets out a bitter chuckle. “Jesus fuck, I’m sorry-“

“Will you quit with the apologies and just talk to me?” Logan asked him, grabbing at Wade’s wrist and tugging it away from his face. Logan just looks so concerned that it motivates more tears to form and roll down his face. “I just..I needed to feel clean.”

Logan glances around the bathroom once more before his eyes fall back onto Wade and during this moment, it makes Wade want to hide away forever. “I think you accomplished that..” Logan said and Wade only lets out a scoff. “I didn’t, I still look like this..” Wade gestures to himself with a look of disgust on his face. “Like what?” Logan asked him and Wade looks at him in disbelief. “What do you mean like what? Like this, like some type of meat sack or a hairless ballsack with cancer or whatever the fuck I am.”

“Y’know, I don’t really appreciate you talking about my partner like that.” Logan tells him, his voice is firm but there’s still that gentleness that lingers.

“I hate what they fucking did to me.”

“I know.”

“Not even killing Francis made me feel better and that was mainly the whole fucking point.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to make you feel better.”

Wade turns his head at him, his knees still pressed up against his chest and his towel is close to slipping. “Obviously I killed him for revenge too..not just to make me feel better about myself or to feel like I was finally in control for once when it came to him but I really thought I was over this shit.”

“Is it me?” Logan asked and Wade feels his heart break a little.

“No, it’s not because of you per say..” Wade starts and he finally struggles to come up with words, “it’s just.. now there’s this sense of pressure. Being your boyfriend is a whole different level of vulnerability.”

“I can understand that part.” Logan tells him, shifting to now fully plop his ass down onto the cold bathroom floor. “Entering this relationship with you has given me struggles too.”

“I just..” Wade lets out another bitter chuckle because all he’s good at is laughing at his pain, “I just don’t want to fucking hate myself anymore.”

“Then we will just have to work on that.” Logan tells him, his hand finding wade’s as he starts to press his thumb into his palm, pressing soothing circles. Wade does it to him, he learned a lot of new ways on how to be affectionate thanks to Wade. Wade melts within the touch, grateful for how Logan is being his rock while he was just a puddle of insecurities. “I don’t know if I could ever like myself, Lo. I don’t think that’s possible, not looking like this for the rest of my life and that also means forever.”

Logan takes a moment before speaking, “do you fully believe that?”

“I do.” Wade nods, no hesitation in his answer.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to like you enough for the both of us.” Logan finally says, “because there is nothing wrong with you, Wade.”

Wade tries to turn his head away but he feels Logan’s rough hands cup his face and forces him to look back at him. “Don’t hide from me, you don’t need to hide from me. There is nothing wrong with you. Look at me, Wade. I need you to believe my words. I need you to trust me enough to understand that I’m being truthful when I say that I fucking adore you just the way you are.”

Wade is speechless and maybe Logan finally found a way to shut him up, maybe he just needed to be more emotional with Wade. He knew that he can be closed off, he feels guilty for that. He knows that he needs to do better when it comes to expressing his feelings for Wade and he also knows that right now- Wade needs that more than ever.

“What they did to you, it was the most fucked up shit. They will burn in hell forever, what’s that guys name? Frank?”

“Francis.” Wade corrects him and his stomach churns with dread at the innocent question, he hated when that man would constantly ask him his name but he knew Logan didn’t mean any harm.

“Yeah, Francis. He’s burning in hell as we speak and if I ever find my way down there because we all know that heaven doesn’t want me- he’s gonna wish he was facing the devil instead.” Logan snarls out and it turns Wade on despite the moment they were having.

“You’re too good for me..” Is all Wade could really say and Logan lets out his own chuckle. “You seriously got it the wrong way around, Bub.”

Wade lets out a snort, a smile tugging at his lips despite the tears rolling down his face. “This is so fucking gay..”

“Since when did you care about that?” Logan asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t, I think this is actually the perfect amount of gay.” Wade tells him and he finally starts to grin.

“Good.” Logan tells him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Now, let me get you your cat pajamas and go watch whatever movie you want. It’s your turn tonight anyways.”

Wade beams and he feels like his heart might explode. “It’s called hello kitty.”

“Right, hello kitty.” Logan says, standing up from the floor as he grunts. His bones are old and no matter how unbreakable they are, his back still somehow aches. Wade stands up next, keeping his towel firmly on his waist as he steps out of the shower. “I’ll clean the blood-“

“Don’t worry about it.” Logan tells him as he heads out of the bathroom as he heads for the bedroom, “and tell me what you want to eat so I can order!” He calls out from the bedroom and Wade’s stomach does a somersault. He was glad that blind Al was away because he would never hear the end of how all their loving makes her sick- but she means it in a good way.

As Wade finally steps of the bathroom, taking a moment to himself after that heavy conversation.. Wade realizes that if he had to go through all of his shitty life again if it means to have Logan, he would do it again in a heartbeat. Wade wouldn’t have it any other way.

Guess in a way, this was some sweet fluff that you were most definitely expecting.

#deadpool and wolverine #deadclaws #deadpool 3 #worst wolverine #wolverpool #wade wilson #wade x logan #james logan howlett #logan wolverine #hurt/comfort

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angrelysimpping · 2 years ago

Note

Can I request a full thing with m!Whitney and m!Kylar actually working together because that ask just 👀👀👀

Hhhhhhh i know what this ask was referencing but I cannot for the life of me find the post. If I find it at some point, I'll add the link but until then, sorry! ><"

Contents: AMAB Whintey (he/him); AMAB Kylar (he/him); GN Reader (you/you, they/them); drugging; noncon; abduction; penetrative sex, reader receiving; oral sex, reader giving; multiple partners

Words: ~2.4K

"Fancy meeting you here, slut.”

You nearly drop your bag at Whitney’s voice. It was nearing six, birds chirping away, morning fog creeping across the ground, yet to get burned away. The bully didn’t really strike you as a morning person, one of the reasons you had decided to slip out of town before noon. In theory, you wouldn’t run into anyone you knew.

Your theory was incorrect, apparently.

You try to collect yourself, plastering on a smile as you look at the bully. “Wh-Whitney! Didn’t think you were an early bird.”

Mentally, you kick yourself for the stutter, but he doesn’t seem to catch it as he slings a strong arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close to his side.

“C’mon,” he grunts, not even bothering to wait for you to agree with him, starting to drag you along. "We've got somewhere to be."

Your heart sinks. "Somewhere" with Whitney probably meant you on your knees in some dark alley so Whitney could make a quick buck. You didn't have that kinda time. The bus you needed to catch out of town would leave, with or without you on it. You'd waited too long, made too many plans, to let that fall through now.

You duck out from under Whitney's arm, holding onto your bag tightly as the bully swipes at you.

“Sorry, but I have to-”

“Skip town. Yeah, yeah. We know already.”

You freeze, body going cold. Skip town? How did Whitney-?

His arm wraps back around your shoulders, tight around your neck, as he starts walking again. You’re too stunned to do much but walk with him.

You hadn't told anyone. Not a single soul. It’d hurt keeping a secret like this to yourself, never sharing it with anyone. Not even Robin, whispering with them late into the night, knowing you had plans to leave. It had burned, behind your eyes and the back of your throat, as the other orphan clung to you and talked softly into the night about the future. A future where the two of you had taken the orphanage from Bailey, made things better.

A future you knew you’d never see, bus routes shining bright in your mind's eye as Robin talked of renovating the old orphanage.

Hell, you hadn’t even said it out loud, afraid of somehow jinxing it. The closest you’d ever got to writing it down were scribbled equations, trying to work out how much you needed to make and how fast you could make it. A single slip of paper that you then shredded.

Bailey may have done a shit job in raising you, but the paranoia they’d instilled in you had come in handy from time to time.

As Whitney starts to take you down an alley, you try to wiggle out of his hold. You don’t really succeed, the bully snarling as he shoves you into the cold alley wall.

“Behave,” he growls, caging you against the wall with his arms, body pressing against yours. Eyes going wide, you shrink in on yourself. Whitney has done a lot of fucked up things to you, and you’ve never taken it laying down. You’d fight him off in the halls, throw shit back at him in class. Sure, you might have fooled around with him a few times, sucked him off in the bathroom or rode him in the park, but that was something else — your own self-destruction and giving into impulse.

This wasn’t that. No matter how Whitney hurt you, he never seemed so…serious. Not like now, expression dark and eyes intense.

“You can do this easy way or the hard way,” the bully continues, “I really don’t care.”

When you don’t move, don’t try to push him away, he smiles, shoulders relaxing a bit.

“Good slut,” he murmurs, and you hate how heat rushes to your face, pools in your gut. You hate this stupid fucking town, hate the person it’s made you into, a person who gets turned on by one of their biggest harassers praising them.

You duck under Whitney’s arm, sprinting to the closest end of the alley.

You don’t make it far, Whitney’s arms around your middle and lifting you into the air.

“Let go!” Your shout comes out as a hiss, air forced from your lungs as he squeezes you. Writing in his grip gets you nowhere, nails digging into his strong arms lost on the bully as he staggers back, taking you with him.

“Fuck, he was right ‘bout you not coming quietly.”

Him? It only strikes you now Whitney’s earlier use of the term ‘We’, but you don’t get a chance to think about it. Whitney pins you face first to the alley wall, cheek pressing against the rough surface as you keep squirming, making him struggle to get something from his pocket.

The prick in your neck is almost unnoticeable, but the effects are near instantaneous, your world spinning around you as your body goes slack.

The last thing you see is Whitney pulling out his phone, swearing under his breath as he makes a call.

Your head hurts.

That's the only thing you can think about — the pain in your head.

A steady, dull pounding. You can feel it in your teeth, in the back of your eyes. It feels a little like when you took stimulants to help focus on solving the maths competition except worse. At least then you could stumble to bed and curl up. Your limbs feel like lead, unable to move even a single finger no matter how hard you will it. Then there’s your mouth, unbearably dry. Almost like someone had stuffed it full of cotton.

Some tiny part of you knows that you should worry, that you should panic over how you’re cold and in pain. That part of yourself is small, though, muted and made fuzzy

"...can't just leave th-them like that!"

Is that Kylar? You try to open your eyes but struggle. Your eyelids feel so heavy. Maybe you should just go back to sleep. Then the pain would be gone, too.

"Oh, what, you think they should just be able to do whatever? Walk right out the door?"

Whitney was here too? Strange.

"W-what if they need to use the toilet."

"They can piss themself for all I care, serves 'em right."

"You can't-"

There's a thud and you try again to open your eyes.

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do."

It takes what feels like a monumental effort, but you finally manage to open your eyes.

It takes even more of an effort not to close them immediately, the world fuzzy and spinning around you. Not the orphanage, you think dimly. Even with your mind muffled, you’d know the orphanage ceiling anywhere and you’re not there.

“-won’t hurt them.” Kylar’s voice catches your attention, grounds you slightly, the world settling somewhat, if still too bright. Trying to turn your head makes the blood pound in your ears, but you manage it.

Whitney. Whitney pressing Kylar against an unfamiliar basement wall, sneering, towering over the loner. Saying, snarling really, something, something you can’t hear to Kylar. Something that makes Kylar's expression darken.

The pounding in your ears lessens and you can make out the last of Whtiney’s words.”-not too bad, anyway. Would have left otherwise, jumped on the first bus outta town.”

Kylar’s eyes flick from Whiteny’s face to where you lay, eyes locking onto yours and making your stomach flip. His eyes are bright, hazy. You know that look, the same one that had taken over Kylar’s expression when he’d first declared you as his, pressing a knife to your classmate’s throat in the middle of English class.

You try to speak but everything is muddled, whatever Whitney had drugged you with still lingering in your system.

You blink but it must have been longer than just a moment.

How else would Kylar get on top of you so fast? Nuzzling into your neck, the soft words that pour past Kylar’s lips tinged with a hard edge as he keeps mumbling for you never to leave him.

Something warm and wet coats your thighs. His cum? You’re not sure. You’re not even sure where your clothes have gone. You’d been wearing them, hadn’t you? Now it’s just the soft fabric of a bed underneath you and the weight of Kylar on top of you. And…something else, something between your legs.

Whitney. You know it’s Whitney’s doing, know the ache of his cock forcing you open over and over again. You can hear him, swearing under his breath as your body shakes with each of his thrusts, but you can’t see him, Kylar cupping your face so you can’t look away from him.

Gasping as a calloused hand roughly strokes over your sex, the sound is quickly muffled as Kylar takes it as an invitation to press his mouth to yours, tongue sliding past your lips. It’s now you become aware of the hard cock pressing against your thigh, Kylar rutting against your naked body while Whitney fucks you. With a tiny, high-pitched whine into your mouth, Kylar cums, and something in you knows this is your fate now. Stuck as these two boys plaything.

The low moan of despair that leaves you is mistaken as lust, Kylar giggling as he comes down from his high. “Love you,” he mutters into your neck, arms wrapping around your middle. “Don’t leave me.”

“Us,” Whitney grunts, another harsh thrust making you gasp and shudder in Kylar’s arms. The loner’s eyes narrow, glaring at Whitney, but the bully doesn’t care. He grips your chin, pulling your face away from Kylar’s making you look him in the eyes for the first time since you saw him in that alley.

“You won’t leave. Remember your fucking place.”

There’s something in his eyes that scares you. A similar look to the one you’ve seen in Kylar’s before. You can’t really think about it as Whitney’s cock hits something deep inside you that makes pleasure wash over you, back arching as you moan.

Whitney smirks, “Told you they’d like it.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to Kylar, dots connecting only as the loner’s breathing hitches at your side. It’s with growing dread that you can feel Kylar’s cock twitching against your thigh, taking an interest again.

You try to distance yourself, to put space between you and your body. Maybe this was all some kind of sick dream, a far too real feeling dream. You can almost do it, with drugs still lingering in your system. You can tune out Kylar’s mumbled words, Whitney’s sneered comments. You can almost phase out the ache between your legs as Whitney’s cock carves out your insides.

That semi-blissful state comes to an end as Kylar straddles your chest, cum smeared cock resting against your lips.

“L-love?”

“Responds better to slut.”

Kylar shoots a dark look over his shoulder, making Whitney laugh, before turning back to you. With a trembling hand, Kylar strokes the side of your face, pausing as he feels small cuts from where Whitney had pressed your face into the wall of the alley. “H-he hurt you?”

You want to scream. Whitney was hurting you now, his cock bruising your insides, nails digging into your thighs, but Kylar was focusing on a few scrapes and bruises? “Kylar…” you try to say something, anything, but your tongue feels too thick for your mouth.

His eyes light up, a wild grin stretching across his face as his thumb glides over your lips. “I-I’ll take care of those,” he says, thin fingers ghosting over the curve of your cheek again before brushing over your mouth again. “J-just, just, p-please?” His cock presses against your lips once more, and you don’t have it in you to refuse. Begrudgingly, you open your mouth as much as you can with your body still feeling unreal, letting Kylar slide his cock into your mouth.

“You don’t have to ask ‘em shit, idiot,” Whitney grunts from between your legs, but Kylar doesn’t seem to hear him, too entranced by the sight of your lips around his cock.

Maybe it was because Kylar ignore him, maybe it was because he was just a dick, but Whitney reaches out, cupping Kylar’s balls from behind and giving them a squeeze.

Kylar squeals, bucking forward into your mouth. You try to relax your throat as best you can but it still hurts, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“D-don’t-!”

“They like it,” Whitney cuts him off. “Tighten up real good when you fucked their throat. Do it some more and they’ll cum in no time. Then we can switch. That’s what you want, right freak?”

Kylar’s eyes seem to glaze over at the thought of being the one in between your legs, the one fucking into your sore hole. “D-don’t,” Kylar repeated, all venom gone from his voice as he idly rocks his hips forward. “Don’t c-call me th-that.” Whitney doesn’t respond, only breathlessly laughing again as he continues to fuck you.

The worse part is, Whitney is right. Your body has been trained to crave pain with your pleasure at this point. Between Kylar slowly fucking your mouth and Whitney rearranging your insides, you’re actually starting to feel good. You know it’s a natural reaction, but that doesn’t stop your face from burning when you do cum on Whitney’s cock, moaning on Kylar’s dick as the loaner pants above you.

“F-fuck.” Kylar presses his hips flush to your face, cum hitting the back of your throat, and leaving you no choice but to swallow.

Whitney’s not far after, his pace picking up, swearing under his breath as he chases his own end. With a soft sigh, Kylar rolls off you, curling back around you, pressing soft, almost sweet, kisses to your clammy skin as Whitney finally spends himself inside you.

Whitney says something to Kylar but you can’t hear them, your ears ringing and mind drifting as you try to process your new lot in life. You’re not even sure when they move away from you, bickering amongst themselves. It’s only when Kylar scurries over, holding bandages and a warm washcloth, that you realize Whitney’s left the room.

“Don’t w-worry, love,” Kylar coos, running the warm cloth between your thighs. “I’ll get you c-cleaned up and b-bring you some f-food, okay?”

You don’t respond, letting your eyes shut as Kylar starts to take care of you.

#tw noncon #tw abduction #tw drugging #cw noncon #cw abduction #cw drugging #degrees of lewdity #whitney the bully #kylar the loner #tw multiple partners #cw multiple partners

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no-quit-lucy · 6 months ago

Note

Lucy shows up at Tim’s house after elevator scene to help tend to his wounds

Read on ao3 Rated M w/c: 4,123

“Lucy?” Tim asked, pulling open his front door with his uninjured hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m trying to rack up your bill,” Lucy tried to joke though she could tell it didn’t land. “I brought food and gauze.” She pulled up the two grocery bags at her side as proof.

“You don’t have to do this, Lucy,” Tim said, repeating the same words she said to him in the elevator just a few hours ago, not stepping aside to let her in. He didn’t feel he deserved any more of her kindness. He owed her too much already.

“Do you ever think about what I want?” Lucy’s anger poked through the edges of her resolve.

She wasn’t there to fight with him. He had already proved he wasn’t willing to fight with her anymore. Exhausted, she dropped her anger and let it blow away in the breeze.

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair–” Lucy began to apologize, thinking this was a horrible idea and she should have just left it alone.

“No, Lucy. Please,” Tim begged softly, making room for her to enter his house. “I’m sorry,” he said, knowing it wouldn’t make up for the hurt he caused.

“Thanks,” she brushed past him, keeping her head down and avoiding his eyes.

Beginning to place the bags on the counter, she looked around trying to find their dog, having expected him to run up to her in greeting by now.

“Where’s Kojo?”

“I don’t know, he’s been hiding from me.”

Tim kept a respectful distance away from Lucy, still trying to size up what she was doing in his house.

“Hmm,” Lucy triumphantly hummed to herself, nodding and fighting the smile breaking on her face. Good boy, she thought.

“What— what are you doing here, Lucy?”

Lucy paused in taking out her ingredients, thoroughly disappointed. She thought he knew her better than this. Since the breakup, she kept having to correct her assumptions about Tim and what goes through his head on a daily basis. Being around him was giving her whiplash. She thought she had him nailed down, but apparently, she nailed down the wrong guy.

“I’m taking care of you. Look, you said it yourself. You didn’t have that guy. He could have killed you. Hell, he stabbed you four times, Tim. I know how you get when you’re injured. That much hasn’t changed since I met you. You’ll do the bare minimum to keep yourself from getting an infection, push yourself to be fine when you’re not, and whether you want me to or not, I still care about you and I’m not letting you suffer just because you think you deserve it.”

“Lucy,” Tim tried to protest.

As much as she thought she didn’t know him anymore, she still knew him better than most. Better than himself some days.

“Fine,” Tim relented, seeing the assortment of ingredients that went into his favorite dish. “You’re taking care of me.”

For one night, he could put his self-deprecation aside and let her take care of him. It was past time he began repaying her kindness.

“Now are you gonna go find Kojo or am I going to have to do everything for you today?” Her mouth turned up in a smile, seeing a matching one on Tim’s face.

During dinner, he admitted his legs were sore and his back hurt. Jumping into the bed of that truck had not done him any favors. The gashes on his arms stung a bit, his long sleeve under armor had done a pisspoor job of stopping the knife. Two stabs to his left leg, one to his right, and the fourth low on his waist, Tim preferred not to take the good drugs the nurse had sent him home with.

Riding only on extra-strength Tylenol, Tim had (tried to) relax on the couch and let Lucy take Kojo for his evening walk alone.

Not long after coming back from the walk, Kojo was snoring on his dog bed in the corner, and Tim was nervously flipping through channels, hoping Lucy would just go home so he didn’t have to deal with the emotions her presence was bringing to the surface. Avoidance tactics were still his go-to method for armor.

Lucy pulled out her bag of first aid supplies and walked them over to his en-suite bathroom, but only after taking a pause and a breath before entering his bedroom.

“I suggest changing the gauze in here so you can go to sleep right after. It’s getting late and you need the rest to heal,” Lucy called out into the living room where Tim was still sitting.

He closed his eyes and recalled his confession to her in the car. Despite his less-than-ideal experience, he needed to get back on the therapy horse and keep riding it until he was in a better place.

So instead of wallowing in self-pity, he chose to shut off the TV and utilize one of the tools Dr. London had armed him with. He put a name to his feelings and acknowledged their presence without judgment.

He started with regret, for pushing Lucy away and shutting her out before he could let her talk him out of his bad decisions.

Outrage, for not appreciating her enough when he still had her.

Anger, at himself, that she was here now, being Lucy, when he knows he broke her heart.

Loss, for the person he was when he was with her.

Hope, for the future he could have, if he keeps working on himself.

Failure, for what he had robbed from Lucy, what he couldn’t give to her.

Remorse, for not getting help sooner.

Frustration, for losing his therapist and needing to find a new one.

Despair, for wanting to fix things but not knowing how.

And finally, guilt, for Lucy, being here, having his back, after all that had happened, for all that he continued to leave unsaid.

Painfully, he stood up and carefully made his way to his bedroom, shocked to see her touches reignited in the room like a beacon on a foggy day.

“Lucy,” He sighed, “What is all this?”

There was a lit candle on his dresser, a mini dehumidifier on his bedside table, the smell of some sort of root or herb in the air, and a bottle of CBD oil in the middle of the bed.

“It’s too much, you don’t have to do all this,” Tim peered around the corner of his bathroom door to find Lucy donning gloves with antiseptic wipes and fresh bandages dominating the counter space formerly occupied by her small collection of toiletries.

“Tim, I’m taking care of you,” her voice was stern, hard, and rigid. He didn’t have a choice in the matter. He could see the determination and pleading in her eyes. “Please,” she added after, softer, more forgiving.

“Okay,” Tim relented with his head down. “You’re taking care of me.”

“Good, now take off your pants, I need to see your wounds.”

“Lucy,” Tim protested weakly, hand on his hip and begging for this to not be as painful as it was.

“What? Not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before,”

Their eyes met in a challenge, eye contact having been fleeting and rare, too hard to face and too agonizing to hold.

Tim broke away first, sighing and moving to take off his shoulder sling.

Seeing him struggle with a simple task, Lucy stepped forward to help him.

He stepped back and held up his good hand in a motion to stop.

“I need to do this on my own,” he stated, his words conveying a message deeper than just undressing himself.

Lucy turned away, busying herself with re-checking her supplies. “Fine, let me know when you’re ready.”

Hearing the grunts from his efforts, Lucy did her best to preoccupy herself with something, anything, other than rushing to his side to take away his pain. That wasn’t her privilege anymore. Being here now was already overstepping an unspoken boundary. But after the height of adrenaline, the rush of almost losing him, stepping over that boundary was a selfish but necessary move on her part. She saw that and acknowledged it, doing it anyway, knowing she’d willingly face the consequences of whatever happened tonight even if it meant ignoring her hurt and anger toward him for shutting her out– just for one night.

“Ready,” he called out after getting settled on the bed. All of his injuries were on his front, easily accessible from his seated position. Sitting was much less intimate than laying down, he thought.

He kept his underwear on, knowing the waistband covered half of one stabbing and the material on his left leg covered the mark on his upper thigh.

She got to work on cleaning the knife scratches on his forearms first, focusing on her task and mentally steeling herself that this was just a body that needed care, not Tim who needed her. The gloves helped desensitize her from the feel of his warm skin.

Finishing up with the ointment on his arms, Lucy quickly looked up at him and away, uncomfortably taking up a familiar position kneeling between his legs.

“Sorry,” Lucy whispered, accidentally knocking her elbow against his knee trying to take off the old gauze from the slash on his right leg.

Tim held his breath, tense and looking far above her head.

He missed Lucy. He fucking missed Lucy a lot. Despite his crass comment in the car earlier, their sexual chemistry had always crackled louder than a raging forest fire. Having her here now, kneeling in between his legs after saving his life, he couldn’t help but be reminded of how good she used to make him feel.

How fucking phenomenal they were together.

How fucking much he missed the comfort of her touch.

“Tim,” Lucy said, forcing him to look down at her.

Fuck, he missed her.

Fuck, he wanted her.

Fuck, he didn’t deserve her.

Not anymore. Not now. Not yet.

“I need you to lay back to get the one on your stomach. And it’ll be easier to clean up the last one on your leg with your um, underwear off.”

“Lucy–” Tim groaned, already starting a list of reasons why he could take care of the last two gashes on his own.

“Let me take care of you, Tim,” Lucy pushed again, frustration rising to the surface having foreseen his resistance.

He rolled his eyes and stood, losing his balance slightly and falling forward, reaching out to steady himself with her shoulder. She bracketed his hips, holding him in place and pushing back slightly against the gravity of his fall.

“Sorry,” he said as both of them regretfully removed their hands from each other.

“You need to drink more water,” Lucy announced, standing up from her kneeling position and practically running to the kitchen.

When she got back, Tim was supine on the mattress, his discarded underwear held over his junk to preserve a modicum of modesty while looking tense and tight and nervous.

He didn’t watch her, as she walked toward him with the water glass. He looked anywhere but at her.

“Sit up,” she instructed, leaning over him to grab the pillow from the other side of the bed to stuff under his back.

They were close enough for Tim to get a hit of pure jasmine, pure Lucy, and he held his breath again, looking up at her with wide eyes of wonderment and taking the outstretched glass.

“Relax, Tim, I won’t bite,” she soothed, resisting the urge to push back his hair like she used to, instead, picking up the ointment and gauze to finish up on the last two scrapes as quickly as possible.

Still, he hadn’t resumed his normal breathing and Lucy decided she had enough of his obsolescence.

“Do some 4-7-8 breathing before you suffocate yourself, Tim,” She snapped off her nitrile gloves and disposed of the dirty bandages, leaving him to breathe. She came back soon after, asking with her eyes if he was okay with her getting on the bed next to him.

He exhaled his breath, closed his eyes, and decided to allow it with a terse nod of his head.

Carefully, Lucy sat on the bed and picked up the bottle of CBD oil.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked, fear apparent on his face.

“I’m going to massage your legs,” she said, shaking the bottle and kneeling beside his hips.

“No, you’re not,” Tim fussed.

“After a serious trauma like you survived today, your muscles are tensing up and will only hurt more if you don’t massage the area to restore normal blood flow. You said your back and legs hurt, you said you’d let me take care of you. You need this, Tim,” her fierce protector emerged, stating her position as non-negotiable. What she didn’t say, was that she needed this too.

Tim gulped, knowing she was right. It's just… the last time he let her give him a massage, the night morning ended much differently from how he expected tonight to go, no matter what his second brain advocated for.

He took another measured breath and settled against the mountain of pillows. “Go ahead,” he consented, closing his eyes and mentally cataloging player stats from decades' worth of Dodgers games. If baseball failed him, he’d move on to football, followed by hockey, police procedure, or fucking golf if it got that bad.

At the first touch of her oil-slicked hands at his fucking knee, he knew not even golf would be enough to keep his erection at bay.

“I’m going to acknowledge the inevitability now, just to get it out of the way,” Tim said after she worked her hands up to his mid-thigh. He still covered himself with his underwear, wishing he wasn’t so damn turned on in her presence.

“What’s that?” Lucy asked, so focused on her task that all she had in her brain was a map of his jīngluò.

“I’m uh, going to, uh, react to your hands on me, um, touching me. Just— just ignore it. I’m going to do my best to pretend it’s not happening, but uh, I just, I don’t know. This is uncharted territory, I feel like I’m in over my head.”

Lucy took her hands off him, giving him a moment to gather his composure.

“It’s okay, Tim. I know what I’m getting myself into. May I?” She shifted further away from his top half, planning to use the distance to pull the energy from his hip down and out through his toes.

He nodded in approval, remembering how indulgent her touch felt.

“Your qi is really blocked, Tim,” Lucy knit her brows together in a frown.

The last time she was here, massaging him, he wasn’t half as tense as he was now. Granted, all they’d been through the last few months had been more than enough to dirty up his rivers of energy, but what Lucy was encountering now, was a serious imbalance in his homeostasis.

“I’d make a quip about what not having you with me does to me, but I don’t think we’re there yet,” there was hope in his statement. A quiet hope that made her pause. His voice was drowsy and husky, a perfect mix for a cocktail of bad decisions.

“It might not take as long as you think to get there, Tim,” Lucy started with his right leg before moving over to his left and repeating the treatment exactly, making sure to be careful around the edges of his bandages.

Her hands pressed into his thigh, sliding around the sides and using all ten of her digits to dig into the taut muscle. She spent time focusing on his calf, massaging away knots and blockages to the flow of blood and energy. Her hands moved back and forth, up and down, inside his leg and up toward his pelvis. She was achingly aware of and avoiding his crotch, only once softly brushing the back of her knuckle against his nutsack on accident. When he flinched and sucked in a breath, she apologized and focused on his outer hip instead. There, he felt himself stretched and loosened, free from the tension of a hellish fight.

Once his legs were sufficiently massaged, Lucy made another selfish decision and began to dig her thumbs into the pressure points in his feet. She had the hot spots memorized, knowing where Tim held his tension and knowing exactly how much pressure to exude to get him to release it. He was still too tense for her to feel comfortable leaving him in such a state. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself as she greedily let her hands roam his body.

When she pressed her knuckle into the sciatic nerve at his heel, she watched as Tim finally let go and rode a wave of energy release, giving in to the sensations of her touch, relaxing his palms at his side, and allowing his underwear to fall off his growing erection, too blissed out to notice or even care. She made sure to rub the inner base of his big toe, hoping to ease the tension in his neck before moving on to the space below his four other toes, targeting the trapezius muscle of his injured arm.

Lucy blushed, (and smirked), hearing the familiar gasps and groans she was eliciting from his throat. Pressing harder, she watched as his back arched and his cock thudded against his belly when his hips hit the mattress on the downfall. She had stayed silent during the massage, though in her head she was coaching him through his releases.

That’s it, Tim. Let go, feel the tension ease, feel your body relaxing. You’re safe.

She hit another pocket of deep tissue in his heel and was rewarded with a shudder and deep guttural groan followed by a whimper. He was putty in her hands, finally relaxed after months of consistent tension.

I’ve got you, Tim. You’re in good hands, let me take care of you.

His eyes snapped open at the first words spoken in over an hour, surprised at how aware he was of the sincerity of her tone and hammering of his heart and of his dick.

Lucy stopped, embarrassed she had spoken the words under her breath instead of in her head. In a room filled with his pants and moans, her whispers were a shout fallen upon desperate ears.

“Lucy,” Tim cried, distress shocking her to crawl back up the bed and kiss him.

“Tim,” Lucy gasped into his mouth. Their kiss was hungry, starving, like he’d been thinking about her every day since he shipped off on tour and he just returned home.

Grabbing his face with both hands, she kept him pressed to her, not letting him go no matter how bad of an idea this was. She needed him, needed to feel he was alive, that he was okay, that he wouldn’t leave her before she was ready to let him go.

“Luce,” Tim slipped, desperate to follow her mouth wherever she led them. With his arm that wasn’t sprained, he lifted his hand and covered one of hers on his face, grasping it like a liferaft meant to keep him afloat. He then pealed it from his cheek, moving it down to settle over his hammering heart, where it should have been the entire time.

“Let me take care of you,” Lucy asked, pressing her hand over his pec and moving it down, down, down, until she brushed past his abs, settling it low on his belly. “Let me take care of you, Tim,” she said again, barely finding the space to speak between pushing her tongue past his lips and sucking his into her mouth.

He reached up to her side, fisting the hem of her shirt in his hand and tugging, tugging her desperately over his body. She spread her legs, swinging one over his hips, and hovered above him, mindful not to settle her weight on his injured thighs. Her hand continued its journey south, finding her treasure with a familiarity only known to those who spent hours studying the map of his body.

Tim groaned into her mouth, feeling her hand close around his head. He released her shirt from his grip and replaced it with a handful of hair rooted to her skull. He held her face close, afraid of letting her go ever again.

Lucy worked her palm up and down his length, using her other hand to support herself on his chest. She couldn’t get enough of him, and as much as she wanted this to last, she knew he was close to a release, having spent the last two hours unintentionally edging him with her attention. She slowed the movement of her hand, taking a few moments to savor his bittersweet kisses while she still had the excuse to take them from him.

“Tim,” Lucy pulled back, checking in with him to see if he was okay with what was happening.

Seeing the raw anguish in his face, her lip began to quiver and she hid it from him by stealing his lips in another life-altering kiss. Throwing all caution out the window, Lucy gripped harder on his cock, moved her hand slower, and arched her back to press her chest against his. There was no stopping what was going to happen tonight. No going back, no remorse, no regret.

She sat up on her knees, still hovered above him, and as fast as she could, whipped off her shirt and threw it somewhere in the room. She leaned back down to taste more of him, arching her fingers down the root of his cock to splay over his tightened ballsack. Tim moaned into her open mouth and flexed his hips up to seek more of her touch.

Silently, Tim cursed the lack of two functioning arms, forced to sideline one and overwork the other. Tenderly, he ran it up and down her back, trying to touch as much of her as he could, not knowing if he’d ever have the chance again after tonight.

Lucy moved her hand off his dick again, earning a verbal protest in the form of a whine from Tim which was quickly withdrawn when he realized it was so she could free her breasts from her bra. Once the garment was also thrown elsewhere in the room, Tim gently used his injured arm to wedge between their chests and pinch and tug at her nipple leisurely. He wished he could do more, but he knew he was beyond lucky to be where he was at all.

“Am I hurting you?” Lucy asked, slowing in her movements.

Tim had begun to only breathe in, huffing in short breaths and barely exhaling at all. That, accompanied by his desperate nips and worried noises gave Lucy pause.

He rapidly blinked open his eyes, gazing up at her and using all his effort to complete a series of 4-7-8 breaths. Once he got himself under control, he slowly blinked his eyes at her, focused enough to respond to her question.

“You can’t possibly hurt me more than I’ve hurt you,”

“Tim,” Lucy sadly gasped, pressing her forehead to his, pulling away to pepper kisses along his face, cradling it, and living in a moment where there was no hurt between them at all.

“Lucy?” Tim asked, breaking the spell only to cast it stronger, “please take care of me,” his request was full of pain, of longing, pure desperation and need.

“Always,” Lucy promised, kissing his lips, “Tim–” She wanted to say the words so badly, I love you, but she knew she shouldn’t.

Instead, she removed the rest of her clothing and carefully mounted him, being mindful of his scars, new and old. She moved on top of him with her knees drawn up at his hips, keeping her chest low and face close to his. They kissed and kissed and kissed, kissing until his finger couldn’t jerk at her clit any longer and they were both coming with open-mouthed gasps into each other’s space. Afterward, she held him, cradled his head in her chest as he drifted to sleep.

In the morning, she was gone before he woke, her scent in the bed the only trace that she had been more than a dream, more than a mirage. A message waited for him on his phone. It was from Lucy and it read: I took Kojo for a sleepover. I’ll bring him back tomorrow evening. Thank you for letting me take care of you, Tim.

#chenford #chenford fanfic #chenford fic #lucy x tim #the rookie #the rookie fanfic #the rookie fic #tim x lucy #aapilucychen #aapi lucy chen #celebratinglucychen

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aurora567 · 9 months ago

Text

Little Mouse Ch. 15

Warnings this fic will contain mature themes. Such as but not limited to teasing, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, very unhealthy relationships, some elements of non-con/rape, threesomes, drug use, breath play, voyeurism, branding, sex.

Summery: Rin is starting to see those around her more as people. and of course some spicy fun time with Dabi

Word count: 6222

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"If you two continue your going to give this old man a heart attack," the voice above her had her jump though she had nowhere to go to actually get away from Dabi as she was pinned between him and the bed. But that didn't stop her from pushing Dabi back some and squirming her way around and to glance over the side of the bed at Compress as he was laying there those hazel eyes glancing over at her as she checked on him.

"You'd like that old man," she could hear Dabi's snide remark to Compress but she paid it no mind aside from the fact it earned him a smack to the chest with the back of her hand.

"How are you feeling?" She asked even though she could hear Dabi click his tongue off of his teeth for the smack he earned himself.

"Like I lost an arm," was that his attempt at a joke? Rin wasn't completely sure but still she softly sighed and shook her head at the man laying on the bed.

"Here I'll give you a little something to help the pain. But you have healed up as much as I can do myself. Just gotta let your body do the rest. Shigaraki says he knows someone who can make you an artificial arm but we need you to heal up first," Rin said as she grabbed the first aid kit she had beside the bed. Pulling out a vial and syringe, she quickly filled the syringe before placing the vial down beside the first aid kit.

"You touch that vial and I'll rip your fingers off," she said coldly as her eyes remained on the syringe. But both men in the room knew who was talking to at that moment as if she had been able to feel Dabi eyeing up the bottle of morphine.

"Awe you're no fun," Dabi said as a wide grin pulled at his lips.

"I have a limited supply and Compress will need it. Also you would probably kill yourselves with that much," Rin said as she stood up and leaned across the bed as she gently took Compress's right arm in her hands and carefully slid the needle under the skin in the bend of his inner elbow and into the vain.

"This will ease the pain. Stay in bed and I'll go fetch you some food. You may feel a bit off but please try to eat and drink as much as you can," she said softly as she watched Compress's eyes softly start to glaze over as the strong pain killer also seemed to give him a little high.

She watched as Compress relaxed into the bed seeming to not have any issues now that the pain in his body was numbed. Without having to worry about him being in pain for the moment she turned her attention to Dabi. Keeping him away from her small drug supply was now her main concern.

"Come on. Let's go get some food. He's gonna need something to eat," she said as she started to push Dabi out of the room making sure that she never turned her back on him.

"You know it's the middle of the night. Where the hell are we gonna get food," he complained though he didn't fight her as she pushed him out of Compress's room.

"Convenience stores are often open twenty four hours. Though we really need more healthy foods that will have to do for now. I wonder if Shigaraki could get me a heating plate or something and some actual food so I could do some cooking?" The question had been mumbled softly more so meant for a self conversation but it's not like she cared if Dabi heard her talking to herself. After all out of the two of them she was the more sane one, or at least she hoped she was.

"Lead the way Princess," Dabi said, letting her take the lead down the hall.

"You know I hate when you call me that," she growled softly remembering how he had called her that when he first kidnapped her. And that was still a bit of a sour thought. And yet at the growl from her Dabi burst out in a deep laugh enjoying the way she growled at him. His shy and timid little mouse was growing a backbone which made her all the more fun to bug.

"And that's why it's so fun to call you that," he said simply with a wide smirk. As he followed after her with his hands stuffed into his pants pockets and his eyes lingering on her ass as she walked ahead of him.

"I hate you," she growled softly under her breath as she walked ahead of him heading for a back door, and stormed out of the warehouse with Dabi on her heels.

"Love you too princess," jeez she just wanted to turn around and punch him. But that too would probably give him what he wanted. He enjoyed ruling her up. It entertained him was what she believed he liked to say.

"Once we get to the convenience store you stay hidden outside. I don't need anyone spotting that burnt mug of yours and calling the cops," she said as she walked down the street with Dabi now falling in step with her. Of course she could hear him click his tongue off his teeth.

"Don't worry I'll stay hidden. Though it's not like it would matter. I'll just burn up whoever tries to call the cops," Dabi said simply having no issue at all in killing someone.

"No! We need to stay on the down low. That means no picking fights and no killing people unless it's a must have," she hissed at him as she shot a glare at him as she watched him scowl unhappy with being told what to do. And yet he didn't actually argue with her. After all, they both knew she was right. Just starting a fight with people and pulling in hero's would cause them issues.

Weaving their way through empty streets and dark back alleys they found a decent looking convenient store. Of course Rin told Dabi to stay hidden in the alley way as she left him to run across the street and into the store. She still had a small bit of money on her so she made her way through looking for simple and cheap things. Of course she ended up grabbing some instant ramen for her, Dabi and Compress before she made her way through the store looking for anything else that may catch her eye but nothing did. Though a flash of blue across the street for a split second had her sighing. It was only a second or two that she saw the flash. But she wasn't stupid she knew what Dabi had just done. And after she just told him not to go around killing people. Of course she knew that leaving Dabi alone invited distaste, so she wasn't much surprised. Instead she grabbed her things and rushed to the front counter to pay and then rush out and across the street.

Of course the sight that greeted her still made her stomach turn even though she had tried to steel her nerves. But still the sight and smell of a burnt corpse had her biting back the urge to empty her stomach. It was probably a good thing she was hungry.

"Holy fuck Dabi," she growled as a hand covered her nose and mouth as if that may keep the horrible smell out.

"What's the matter princess?" He asked, smirking as he watched her reaction as she tried not to empty her stomach at the sight of the lump of burnt flesh before her.

"I said not to kill anyone. I was gone for fifteen minutes," she growled, turning her eyes to him as she glared at him rather than continue to look at the sight of the mangled corpse.

"He knew who I was. I couldn't let him just walk away," Dabi said simply with a shrug of his shoulders as if it was no problem.

"Ugh whatever. Come on let's get the fuck out of here before someone sees something," she said before grabbing his arm and leading the way down the alley and back towards the warehouse. At least now she had an idea of where the warehouse was now that she had been allowed to leave without being portaled around.

Of course Dabi found it incredibly funny to watch the woman nearly run back to the warehouse with him on her heels. After all, it was entertaining to watch how paranoid she was as they headed back. While he on the other hand didn't give two shits. After all, Dabi felt strongly he could burn anyone to a crisp who stood in his way. But Rin was far more realistic. She knew she didn't have a strong enough quirk to take on just anyone. She never even made it onto the ranking board when she was a hero. So there was no way she would be able to fight with someone who was ranked top fifty if not even top one hundred. And she is even less strong now than she was three years ago even. Sure her quirk abilities have been honed a little better but still she would never be able to hold her own in a fight with a top ranking hero. Or so she felt at least.

Once they had returned to the warehouse Rin was able to breathe again as she took a deep breath of the dusty and stale air welcoming the calming sense of safety. That probably should have rang out red flags right there. She honestly felt safe with these people. Sure they were a little crazy and insane. But she no longer felt like they were going to try and kill her. Well Dabi might still try but it almost felt like he was no longer as rough with her as he had been before. It had been a while since he smashed her face into a wall. And he only grabbed her throat when they fucked. That's an improvement? Right?

Ugh once again she didn't want to think about how horrible it was that she felt so safe and welcomed. Even as they were greeted as they entered through the large door. Toga gave a forced smile but that bubbly energy she typically had seemed miss placed. The loss of Big Sis Megs had seemed to hit her hard. Though it was a flaw of working around killers, you never knew when someone was going to die.

It wasn't till Shigaraki approached them that Toga walked off. She looked exhausted. Was it staying up nearly all night ? The rough day they had? Or the most likely answer was that it was both. But before Rin could think to ask she ended up with Shigaraki glaring down at her. Though she was starting to find the man less and less intimidating as long as she stayed out of arm's reach that is.

"How is Compress doing?" Was the scratchy question that came from Shigaraki as he looked down at her with those red eyes.

"He's stable and seems to be doing well. We grabbed him some food which will help him even more," She said as she raised the hand that held the bag of stuff she had grabbed from the convenience store. Shigaraki seemed happy to hear that as he simply gave his head a nod to her. But the hand that nearly violently scratched at the raw skin of his neck told her that something else was bothering him.

"Shigiraki come with me please. There's more your healer would like to talk to you about," She said softly, giving him a soft smile hoping he would not snap at her for walking him to do something she said.

She watched the man scowl at her and for a moment she was expecting the man to snap at her and tell her once again that she was not allowed to give him orders. She knew to be careful, trying to remember to talk to him more like this was some sort of game than real life as he seemed to take that the best when she had something important to say. Though she rarely played rpg or mmo style games so it wasn't exactly easy for her. But still she tried her best and that's all she could do, though it seemed to be getting easier as Shigiraki seemed to be growing more friendly with her or maybe more civil was the better choice of words.

"Fine. Let me know what you have to say," He said simply as the clawing of his neck seemed to slow to a simple little itch and he nodded his head.

"Thank you," she said softly with a bow of her head. She started to make her way out of the main room and decided to head towards the little makeshift kitchen area. She waited till they were out of the main room and no one else was around before she dared to ask her next question.

"There appears to be something on your mind? Does it have something to do with the Yakuza from tonight?" She asked him softly as she glanced over at him.

"Yes. He's a very important player. He needs us more than we need him but still it would be best if we could get him to work with us," Shigiraki actually answered her. She was a bit surprised he told her something that could be important.

"He has an impressive quirk and a lot of ties to the underworld. I imagine he would be an important person to have around," She said simply after a second of thought. She could see why that man and his group could be important. They were a strong group to still be alive and not how did Compress put it? Extinct? It showed that someone his age who was currently running the immoral group was not someone to take lightly. He was strong, in multiple aspects. Other people rarely will follow another person for no reason. Whether he controlled his group with fear, strength or something else was hard to say. But no matter how he ruled, the fact that he looked not much older than herself meant the man was also dangerous.

"Yes my master had talked about him and he is importants," The mention of that faceless man she had met when they had tried to kidnap that poor blonde boy had a shiver run up her back. She had learned later that the man that stood toe to toe with All Might was who Shigiraki called Master. That man was terrifying in its own way.

"Then it's probably important that we try to mend the bridge with him then. So how do you plan to do that?" She asked as she paused in her steps for a second before walking into the little kitchen area. Well all it really was, was a room with some counter space and a sink. But it worked as a cooking space for Rin.

"I do not know,'' was the reply Shiggy gave her which didn't surprise her. She had always had a feeling that Shigiraki was not the brain. He was the puppet that was simply being controlled. But now came the concern that with his puppet master gone there was no one to keep Shigiraki in check other than Kurogiri. But Kurogiri was more like a babysitter and there was no way he could control Shigiraki. This was a bit of an unnerving realization.

"May I make a suggestion?" She asked, waiting till he nodded his head before she continued, "I would suggest trying to talk with him again. Though maybe leave the League here. Take Kurogiri with you so you can get away if a repeat happens. Try and figure out what you can do to get the man on your side. He would be a good ally to have so making him happy is not a bad thing."

Shigiraki knew she was right, having Overhaul on his side would be incredibly convenient for them. And she wasn't wrong, trying to make that annoying man his comrade was not going to be easy. And Shigiraki was not overly happy with the thought of having to meet up with that man again. But it would be unavoidable if Shigiraki wanted the man and his strength to be a part of the league's forces. Shiggy needed to swallow his pride for once and do something to try and fix the issues that were standing in his way of this task.

The days to follow seemed to blend together as Rin cared for Compress till someone Shigaraki called Giran delivered some sort of new metal arm for Mr. Compress, it was easy enough for Rin to install it for him. Though it seemed Compress had bounced back pretty quickly making jokes and already showing off his sleight of hand magic tricks even with only one hand. But all that time together she had grown to know a bit more about the man behind the mask who she used to not trust at all. He told her stories of how his grandfather and father were both criminals. He grew up with this life unlike the others who appeared to be people who fell through the cracks. Which explained why he was still so sane compared to the others. Or maybe he was just a different sort of insane? Rin wasn't sure anymore what made a person sane or not now a days.

And with the new arm he really seemed to come back to life. He seemed so much closer to his old self which was relieving. It also meant Rin no longer had any reason to hide from Dabi, though she wasn’t able to do that well even when she was caring for Compress. Dabi was more often than not her loyal shadow, groping and grabbing her ass any chance he could. But at least he kept his pants on while others where around so it won her a few days or no rough sex. But of course that only meant she found herself assaulted every time she was alone. And yet she often didn’t mind. It was such an odd relationship they seemed to have. Was it fair to call it a relationship? Probably not fuck buddy's was probably more accurate but nonetheless Rin wasn’t exactly sure what the best way to explain it even was.

In the meantime it had seemed that Shigaraki was trying to take her advice as he eventually reached back out to the Yakuza leader that she had briefly met that night when Compress lost his arm and Magne her life. Supposedly Shigaraki was supposed to meet the man again. Then again Rin didn’t know what day it was or how long it had been since she had offered the man her advice and thoughts on the matter? Had it been three days or three weeks? Her internal clock was gone now.

Walking back into the main room after what felt like days of staying hidden at Compress’s bed side she was greeted by a few familiar faces. Though some were missing. Shigaraki and Kurogiri were missing, as was Dabi for once. Were they all together? Or had they all set out on their own missions? She probably wouldn’t know the answers till someone got back.

Toga was quick to spot the woman and go bouncing towards her all the while rambling off quickly about how happy she was to see Rin and how lonely it was without her. How annoying it was that Shigaraki was giving Dabi and the others orders while she was stuck with nothing to do. And so as usual Toga was happy to gossip about whatever little thing Rin had missed while caring for Mr.Compress. There wasn’t exactly much to gossip about. She was mostly just bored and unhappy Shigaraki wasn’t giving her stuff to do like a lot of the others. So she was spending her free time around the alleys and along the shadows of the underworld.

Rumours were spreading like wildfire about the downfall of both All Might and All for One. Who was going to fill either position? Not only was there no leader for the hero’s, but there was also no leader for the underworld. Who was going to fill that position? Sure the league of villains had been making a name for themselves but there were a few others who wanted that spot. Though Rin didn’t really care about who wanted or got that position. Though she had a feeling Shigaraki was going to be aiming for that title. After all it was his master who held it before him. In a sense it seemed only correct that Shigaraki would be the one to step up and take that position. Unless the man had a kid? Hmmm maybe Rin didn’t want to be thinking too hard about that man and what he did with his life behind that tv screen.

“Toga do you know where Dabi is?” Finally at some point Rin was finally able to ask as she looked around noticing after half an hour Dabi had still not returned while she was sitting and listening to Toga ramble.

“Not a clue. Shigaraki has been giving him some orders about new recruits but I’m not actually sure what the hell he’s doing,” Toga said with a shrug of her shoulders. Of course the blonde kid would know the gossip from the shadows but wouldn’t have a clue what some of her fellow league members were up to.

So this meant that Toga wouldn’t have an idea on when in the world Dabi would be returning. And now Rin was trying not to pout like a child. Hell when in the world did she actually start to enjoy that annoying murder's attention? Maybe it was cause they didn’t try to kill each other any more and just enjoyed some rough sex? It was hard to say. Maybe it was the same time she started to see the people around her as that. Real people who fell through the cracks. The system failed them, society failed them. And this was their way of lashing out, or they were trying to in some twisted way fix how fucked up the system was. Was this the right way to go about it? Rin really didn’t know that answer anymore. On one hand she felt it wasn’t but another side of her felt it was the only way to actually make a difference. When had the world turned so grey? What used to be black and white, good and evil. No longer felt that way when she could no longer tell where that line was.

Well this sucked so now she was stuck waiting around in the big main room for Dabi to return. Though at least Twice spotted her zoning out barely listened to Toga which irritated the poor girl. Twice was quick to join them sitting on the other side of Toga more than happy to reply to her chatter and gossip. Rin flashed the man a soft smile as a silent thank you to the man who just helped her out and kept Toga from throwing knives around at her. And so Rin sat there silently waiting for Dabi to return. Not even aware that as she was waiting she ended up with her head rolling forwards and her eyes drifting shut as she fell asleep.

How long was she asleep for? She no longer felt she was leaning against a wall or crate or what did she even fall asleep against in the first place? She couldn’t remember any more. But she did know the warm body beside her was incredibly welcoming as she found herself cuddling up against the warmth. Though the vibration of a low chuckle only continued to pull her brain from the fog of sleep before she slowly forced her eyes open to look up at those bright blue eyes that were apparently watching her sleep as she had nuzzled up against his chest as he was laying back just watching her. Apparently she was back in their bed. How she got there she didn’t have a clue.

“Good morning princess,” was the greeting she received from him. Which she tried to glare at him for.

“I hate when you call me princess,” she groaned, still half asleep. Which only had him laughing lightly some more.

“And that is why I love calling you that,” he said as he laughed and watched her continue to glare at him.

“When did you get back?” She wanted to change the subject from the annoying nicknames he often liked to give her.

“A while ago. But you were fast asleep in the main room along the crates. You know you snore when you sleep sitting upwards,” of course the snide little comment earned him a back handed slap to his chest which only made him laugh at her once again.

“What have you been doing?” She was curious to know what Dabi’s been doing with his time away from her. And for a split second he was quiet.

“Shigaraki has me on recon looking for good people to join him,” well that was a short answer that didn’t exactly tell her anything more that she already knew.

“Any luck?” She simply asked, she knew she was being nosy but she was curious what the man was doing.

“No. They're all just a bunch of useless pieces of shit,” she couldn’t help the soft snort that escaped her when she heard that answer.

“I have a feeling Shigaraki should have left that job to someone with slightly less standards than you,” she said simply as she looked up at him and could smell the burnt flesh that clung to him. She didn’t want to ask what he did with the people who did not meet his strict standards for those who wanted or should join the league.

“Nah we can’t just let any idiot join,” he said simply as a hand reached over and she watched him grab a pack of cigarettes before pulling one out and tucking it between his lips before a small brilliant blue flame lit from the end of his index finger. She really only saw the blue flames when they first met. At that time she didn’t exactly stop to admire the flames. Even such a small flame was so hot that it didn’t even need to touch the tip of the cigarette for it to start burning the tobacco. And yet Rin just watched eyes completely zoned in on the flame as she watched it continue to flicker even as he inhaled the lung full of cancer.

“Well aren’t you easy to impress,” was the chuckle that greeted her ears before she forced her eyes to look away from the flame to look up at him before looking back at the flame.

“Do you know how hot a blue flame is? Actually don’t answer that question. It’s amazing to see that you can create a flame that reaches nearly 2,000 degrees Celsius. It’s amazing that you're even able to create such a hot flame,” though the look of his hand and the burnt skin was a very quick reminder that clearly his body couldn’t handle his quirk. And it was easy to see why nothing would withstand that crazy high heat without burning to some degree. But still it was odd to see a body housing a quirk it clearly could not handle.

“Yeah yeah I get it super hot blue flame is cool,” complete sarcasm laced his voice as he rolled his eyes at her. Though a part of him was thankful she didn’t mention his burnt skin.

“It’s beautiful when I don’t have to worry that it’s going to burn me,” Rin answered rather bluntly. After all it was true, the blue flame was breathtakingly beautiful when she didn’t fear it was going to burn her to death.

Though that comment and the clear bluntness of it did surprise Dabi a little. He had never seen his flame as beautiful before. Still couldn’t even though she seemed sure it was. His flame felt more like a curse, the only thing it was good for was killing people and being strong. Exhaling the lung full of smoke into the air above him he watched her nose scrunch up as the smoke filled the air around her. He felt her body tense up before she started to cough.

“Geez can’t you smoke outside?” She whined, raising a hand to try and wave away any smoke that lingered in front of her face as if that would magically make room for new clean air for her to breathe.

“Don’t like it you can go outside,” of course he would tell her to go outside if she didn’t like him smoking around her. Just as she was pouting she had no desire to get up. Oddly enough it was nice for once actually cuddling up against the man. He never let her cuddle, but she must have done so in her sleep and he couldn’t pry her off. And so she didn’t make any movement even as he purposely blew smoke into her face when she didn’t move.

“Ass,” she cursed as her eyes watered and she started coughing again as Dabi laughed at her. Well at least one of them was enjoying themselves.

Rin still wanted to know what was all going on, she may have been more welcomed now than before but it was still clear they didn’t fully trust her with the way they kept information from her. I or maybe it was Dabi who didn’t trust her since Shiggy seemed so much more willing to chat with her and didn’t seem to give just a single barely a sentence reply. That’s who she needed to talk to if she wanted actual answers.

“Do you know if Shigaraki is back yet?” She asked to pick her head up off his chest about to push herself up and off of him but froze as she watched the scowl that crossed his face at her question.

“And why the hell do you want to know if he’s back?” Was the hiss that greeted her. Well fuck she probably shouldn’t answer that question but she still did anyways.

“I want to chat with him,” she said simply, which had things take a one eighty, quite literally as she found herself with her back against the bed. A hand wrapped around her throat as Dabi had her pinned. Which earned him a scowl from her.

“Why the hell do you want to chat with that crusty ass?” Once again this was another question she should have known to not answer.

“None of your business but I find him fun to talk to sometimes. At least he chats with me more than you do,” she growled up at him as he glared down at her. Clearly Dabi did not enjoy that she was about to get up and leave him to go look for some other man. The hand around her throat tightened in response, cutting off a bit of the blood going to her brain. Which in turn brought some high she had started to enjoy as she struggled not to moan. Though the look on her face and the way her eyes had nearly rolled back into her head gave away the pleasure she was feeling. That hard his scowl turned to a smirk. So much for wanting to go find Shiggy to chat.

She felt his body lean into hers as the hand continued to tighten. It wasn’t till his hips ground against hers did the moan she was trying to suppress escape her. And that was exactly what Dabi wanted as his lips crashed against hers. Her head was swimming and yet she happily returned the kiss. Her questions would have to wait a little while before she would be able to hunt down those answers.

Hands were all over the place. Hers were roaming along the edges of his shirt before tugging them up. His free hand was nearly ripping at her own shirt. It took seconds for clothes to go flying, and Dabi showing off his skills at unclipping her bra with one hand while still keeping her pinned down. The best she could do to help him was to try and arch her back off the bed. Fingers pinched at her nipples drawing more moans from her though they were a little quieter due to the difficulty of getting the air out of her lungs. She even found the hand warming up a little as he teased her body and watched as she could only squirm and moan beneath him.

The second his fingers let go of her nipple they instead headed south giving no warning before two plunged deep into her depths. That had her back arch, her hips thrusting up against his palm as he smirked down at her. Though that didn’t last long either as her pleasure was building as his fingers worked and all of the sudden the fingers disappeared. Her muffled cry gave away how desperate she was to have the fingers return to their job. But the wide shit eating smirk on his lips gave away that his fingers would not be returning up that position.

When had his boxers come off? Then again she couldn’t remember when her own panties were ripped off. Both probably hit the floor at the same time. For a second the fingers around her neck relaxed a little allowing blood to rush to her head making her light headed as Dabi lined himself up. A single rough thrust buried him deep within her body. She cried out in pleasure at the sudden assault on her body as her walls quickly tried to adjust to Dabi’s large size. His piercings just seemed to hit every spot perfectly as she moaned happily before the fingers around her neck tightened once again cutting off the blood to her brain and even cutting off a bit of her air.

Though her brain was fogged up and seemed to just want to shut down, her body continued to move on its own as her hips moved in time with his as they both chased their highs. One hand had found its gripping his upper forearm of the hand that kept her pinned down. Finger nails digging into the toned flesh. Which brought groans from him but he made no action to stop her nor pull his hand from her neck. Neither of them ever got away from sex without some sort of marks. Claw marks and hand marks were nothing new for either of them, a little blood drawn or bruises were now normal for her life.

Dabi’s pace had never slowed even as Rin found her climax first, her head rolled back. A cry of pleasure escaped her as her body spasmed beneath him. Instead his pace became wild and rough as he chased his own climax before a low groan escaped him and both body's became still. The sound of heavy breathing was all that filled the room as Rin blinked her eyes pushing the black dots away as the fingers around her neck fully released her and the hand moved away as Dabi rolled off her to look for the half smoked cigarette he had tossed to the ground when things started.

With her breath caught and the weight that kept her pinned down gone she slowly sat up glancing around the room for her clothes as Dabi found what remained of his cigarette and lit it back up with that beautiful blue flame of his. Oddly enough Rin found her emerald green eyes glancing over the man's bare body. The scarred skin drew her gaze, and of course she couldn't help but lean forwards and reach out to run a finger along a line of stapled skin. That probably wasn't the best decision as his hand grabbed her wrist with an incredible tight grip. She winced softly at the pain that shot through her wrist.

“What do you think you're doing?” he growled at her as his grip nearly broke the bones in her wrists.

“Your scars are mesmerizing,” She said simply as she looked up at him to watch the surprise cross his face as he dropped her wrist as if she had just burnt him. No one had ever said anything about his scars like that. And he did not know how to reply or even react to that. And so in a panic he tossed on his pants and without a word had left the room and a surprised Rin who was still naked in bed and was stuck watching as Dabi now ran from her.

#boku no hero #mha #bnha smut #no beta read #bnha dabi #dabi #dabi smut #dabi x oc

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