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[bucky-fricking-barnes]

The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

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

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

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

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

“How many does he control?”

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

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

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

“Not anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to pull away. You don’t.

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods. “That’s true.”

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

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

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

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sick or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asks.

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

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

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

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

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

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

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

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

“Of course they are,” you mumble. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

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

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

“That’s enough!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe James works on them?

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you did.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

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

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

“James—”

“Bucky.”

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

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

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

“Is that… a nickname?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

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

“Observant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old were you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

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

“Y/N, are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

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

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

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

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

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

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks. 

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

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

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

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

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

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

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

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

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

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

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you look at me? Please?”

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

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

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

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

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

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

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

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

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

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

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

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

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

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

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

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Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

[reiderwriter]

You'd Be Like Heaven To Touch♣️

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Female Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: After a whirlwind weekend, you're finally ready to go home and deal with the mess you created in Vegas. But you just cannot get your new Husband out of your head.

Warnings: Oral sex (F receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, no mention of birth control, and you're going to hate me by the end of this sex scene bye

A/N: They're officially out of Vegas! I'm so excited to share the next few parts with you guys, and we finally got our first taste of smut!! Also, the Reid in the gif is the exact one I'm picturing in this scene so yeah 🤡 smirk and all 😏

Here's the series masterlist, and my general masterlist!~

Prev. Chapter // Next Chapter

The race back to the hotel was easy compared to the ensuing rush to pack up an entire hotel room's worth of mess in the time between their arrival and their check-out time. Sure, they’d had to pack light as travelling FBI agents, but with the added mess you’d created in Spencer’s room, and the additional luggage of their marriage licence, the packing was needlessly more frantic than usual. 

When you finally did make it down to the lobby, you froze up a little, realising that you were the final one to exit your room. You watched as seven pairs of eyes shifted to you as soon as the elevator door opened, hauling your go-bag further up your arm from where it was slipping down. You thanked your past self for having the foresight to put some makeup into the bag, having used up a copious amount of your concealer to cover up any evidence of your night with Reid. You still kept a small distance from the others, just in case.

“Sorry, were you all waiting for me?” you smiled at them as you got closer, hoping that they’d not ask questions at what had taken you so long. Your eyes caught Reid’s and you could see that he was looking down at your neck. 

After an entire day morning and night in your company, you knew he’d seen the results of his handiwork. You wondered if the look that raked over you now was that of the dominant Reid from the night before, who you presumed marked you in such prominent places so people would know you were his, or that of the concerned team mate, who didn’t want to be caught and questioned by the others. You tried to shake both images from your head, not sure which would please you more. 

“It’s okay, you’re not late, the cars are being bought around now and the jet leaves in 30,” Hotch greeted you when you finally got close enough. 

“Late night, mama?” Morgan laughed at you as soon as he turned to you. “How did all that drinking last night go for you?” 

You were so wrapped up in Reid and what he may or may not be thinking that you had to pull yourself back to reality for a second to realise that Morgan had been talking to you. 

“What? Oh yeah, I guess. I don’t think I drank too much, but I did sleep like a baby, so who knows.” You laughed a little to punctuate the point, and then watched Morgan’s reaction closely. You were still looking for the two “agents” who had been witness to your marriage, after all. 

“Ooh, you didn’t sample the local goods last night then? I’ve heard that Downtown Las Vegas is the best place to meet single men, and you were just complaining that you hadn’t been out in a while,” Penelope said from beside the man. 

“No, no, the place Reid took me to was more library than bar, and as far from Downtown as you could get, so it was a nice and easy night for me.” 

“And if the local men are anything like our resident Las Vegan,” Emily jumped in, looking at Reid. “Then I’m sure they’re not really what Y/N is looking for.” She laughed and they all start making their way out of the lobby. 

You try to avoid meeting Reid’s eyes after that last comment, sure that you wouldn’t be able to stop the grimace of apology from coming to your lips. But you couldn’t help yourself, and you forced your eyes up into a small peak at his face, only to see his downturned eyes and the small smirk that was crossing his lips. 

You hung back for a second, needing to clue this out, and nudged him with your elbow. 

“What’s that look for?” you whisper at him in a harsh tone, hoping that no one was watching the two of you. 

“It’s nothing.” He says, but the smile stays on his lips. You give him another look, silently communicating that you’re not taking that first answer and he nods a little as he walks beside you. 

“If they could see the marks on your neck, they wouldn’t be thinking that I’m not what you’re looking for, right?” You could feel the heat in your cheeks, and you playfully whacked him in the arm a bit, before pushing through the doors of the hotel and feeling the sun on your cheeks once again. 

You watched him climb into the car you took earlier and stop yourself from following him. You were going to need some time to think about how you should take that last comment, and a half an hour drive outside of his presence would probably do you good. Climbing up into the other SUV, you take a deep breath, feeling all the restlessness of the night before creep up on you.

–X–

You don’t know where you are, but you know that you’re burning up under his touch. His lips are on your skin, working their way down from your neck to the valley between your breasts and all you can hear is the sound of your own lustful moans as his hands trail further still. 

You don’t know who it is on top of you, but you know that you’re dying for him to be there, to push his tongue into your mouth and make you submit to his will. His fingers wrap around the waistband of your panties and roughly pull them down, opening you up to him. You feel his lips ghost down further still, until he’s there between your legs. 

“Is this where you wanted me, baby? So desperate to have me, my little slut.” His words send another shiver down your spine as you roll your hips up into his face again. 

He lets out a small chuckle and gives you what you want, finally lowering his tongue again and letting it meet your desperate cunt. He sets his attention on your clit, and your eyes roll back in bliss, not caring who it is between your legs giving you this much pleasure, just desperate for them to keep going. 

“Don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” you beg, fisting a handful of your mystery man’s hair. It’s soft to the touch, a little curly at the ends and it feels familiar, but you’re unable to think about it for more than a second before he’s pushing a finger into you. 

“That’s it baby. Look at you, so fucking tight around my finger. You want me to push my cock into you, you’re going to have to relax for me baby, okay?” You still don’t know who it is, but you nod for him, knowing you want nothing except everything he’s telling you that you want. 

He’s thrusting his fingers into you at a relentless pace now, adding one digit every few thrusts, until he’s up to three. His face is still buried in your pussy, tongue still flicking against your clit, his other hand pushing you down by the hips as he forces you closer and closer to the edge. 

His hand drops down to your thigh, pushing your legs further apart, and it stays there feeling overly warm, almost burning you up from just that simple touch. 

“You’re so wet for me baby, going to take my cock now?” You whimper and nod your head as fervently as you can, begging him with your eyes to push into you. He finally pulls his head up to your own, and you’re finally face-to-face with your mystery man. 

“So wet for me, right baby? So wet for your husband?” Spencer questions you as he pushes into your wet, dripping hole, and you’re so surprised that all you can do in response is moan. 

With each thrust, he drops a moan into your ears, and you feel your climax building quickly. 

“Ah fuck yes, Y/N,” you claw at his back, desperate to pull him closer. 

“Spencer, don’t stop, fuck.” Your name begins dropping from his lips like a prayer as his thrusts get sloppier, wetter, deeper. 

“Y/N… Y/N……… Y/N….” 

–X– 

“Y/N, are you finally awake? We’ve been calling your name for a minute now.” Your eyes snap open and you come face to face with Emily and JJ from the seats opposite you on the jet. 

“We thought you might be having a nightmare. Want to talk about it?” JJ asks, her voice in a hushed tone as a look of sympathy crosses over her face. 

Whatever that was, it certainly was not a nightmare. But the scenario you were in now certainly was. 

“What? Oh, yeah. I don’t know, maybe it was a nightmare.” You desperately hope you sound convincing enough for them to drop the subject. The last time you’d mentioned a lack of sleep, half of the team had approached you with different home remedies and tips for getting your full 8 hours. The last thing you needed right now was the constant reminder that you’d just had a sex dream about Spencer Reid on the jet whilst surrounded by all your close friends and colleagues. 

Including the man himself, you realised, as you stretched your neck out from its awkward sleep position, and caught the sight of him there next to you. Your car had reached the jet first earlier that day, and it had taken all of two minutes after boarding before you’d been claimed by sleep, so you hadn’t realised he’d positioned himself next to you. 

A quick glance down had told you he’d done more than that. Wrapped around your legs, and so big that it stretched over his too, was a large blanket, the one that he usually used on your longer trips home. He was asleep in the seat next to you, you noticed after an embarrassing amount of time, head resting in one of his hands, lips slightly open, looking the image of tranquillity. 

His other hand was beneath the blanket, somewhere you couldn’t see, but as you shifted slightly in your chair trying to get comfortable again, you realised it was definitely somewhere you could feel. His hand had somehow fallen into your lap, and he had a firm but sleepy grip on your left thigh, the one closest to him. Now that you had moved, so did his hand, rubbing gentle strokes into your skin every few minutes. Slow enough that you were sure he was still asleep, but still enough to have am effect.

His hand was hot against your leg, and his touch burned. You remembered the sensation from your dream and immediately did your best to temper your facial expressions, not wanting to gather any more concern from the two women opposite you at the table than you already had. 

“Y/N? If you want to talk about it, we’re always here you know? This job can be overwhelming at the best of times, and we just worked a hard case. No one would blame you for needing to take some time for yourself.” Emily looked at you in concern now, and it was taking all of your will to keep your eyes on her, and nod at the appropriate time, your brain short-circuiting now that you realised Reid was so close. 

Where did this sudden infatuation with him come from? You’d always appreciated that he was a good looking guy, but you’d never thought about him so thoroughly before, and certainly not enough to lose yourself on the jet to inappropriate thoughts. 

It was the insanity of the weekend, you told yourself, it had to be. You’d learnt more about him and accidentally, possibly, maybe slept together, and now your body was just getting it out of your system. Either that or you’d just learnt too much about his preferences and your brain was just trying to come to terms with each revelation. 

You settled back into comfortable conversation with Emily and JJ, trying your best to convince yourself that your dream had meant nothing, blocking out any noise in your head that was suggesting otherwise. 

Especially the little thought at the back of your brain that was reminding you that you hadn’t removed his hand from your thigh, and that you really didn’t want to. 

🏷️@w-windyy @multifandom-on-the-side @reidandhotchsgirl @babybluecakes @bluecandycake @hugyourlungs @prentissesredtanktop @reidscaffeine @bethanyhaas01 @average-sunflower @academiareid @sailortongue @lover-of-books-and-tea @star0055 @daddy-dotcom @zaapsite @high-functioning-cosplayer @anniewhalelover @abbyshmaby @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @kat453 @ferrjulie @scoobydoopoo @kapeyama @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @jamiemuscatosslut @sharkcat1928 @dysphoricsanity @alyssaxstan @ghostheartbeat @beguiling3lavender @Casss2111 @zada-quinn @zatannas-wand @rebloggiest-reblogger @wishyoudaskme @imawhoreforu @kspencer34 @academiacoffeelover

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[cyanhydrangea]

The Programmer's Help [Bayverse Donatello x Reader]

Summary: Donnie helps his fellow scientist Reader with his invention

Notes: written in first person POV

'Sample number fourty one. Leaf number three. Length: seven point five. Width: four point three.'

I type the measurements in centimeters on my laptop quickly before I forget them. I sigh when I see the rest of the samples I need to take measurements of. It's dark already and I have no idea when this data recording will be finished.

At least the night cityscape view from my rooftop is beautiful, it refresh my non-stop working brain for a moment.

I heard light footsteps approaching me from behind and I take a look. I'm guessing Donnie makes his presence obvious for me to not startle me. He could have move quietly unnoticed if he wanted to, he's a ninja, after all.

"Hey, Don"

"Hey", Donnie looking at behind me and pointed, "Are those the plants installations for your research you told me?"

"Yeah, they're cool, right?"

"Very," he moved closer to the installations and we're now standing next to each other. "Piper betle, interesting" Donnie observe the plants.

I let Donnie take a look on my plants installations as I continue to measure the next sample. Sample number fourty two. Leaf number one. Length: eight point one. Width: five point three.

As I finished typing on my laptop and about to take another measurements, I see Donnie giving me a smug grin.

"What?"

"You record them manually?" Donnie ask me still with that smug face.

"I mean, I don't have any other choices??"

"Luckily for you," Donnie showing me a flash drive, "Once you told me you have to record one hundred sixty two leaf samples every once in a week, I made a software to help you record data in your spreadsheet using voice command so you don't have to type them manually"

I gasped, "How does it work!?"

Donnie take over my laptop to install the software.

"Try it" Donnie handed it back to me when he finished.

"Sample fourty two", the cell in row fourty two and column 'sample' is automatically selected and typing 42 by itself.

I paused in awe.

"Leaf number two, length eight point one", the selected cell automatically moved to row fourty two and column 'length' and '2', typing 8.1 by itself.

I look at donnie in disbelief.

"Donnie, you're a livesaver! Thank you soo much!"

The programmer smile proudly, "No problems"

"Hold up, there's no way I'm gonna get this for free. What can I do for you?"

Donnie thinks for awhile, "Lend me books from your university library?"

"Deal"

I'm not a programmer so forgive me for any inaccuracies.

#CyanHydrangea

Date Written: 05/02/2024

[hotvintagepoll]

i found this blog by accident (i think the tumblr recommendations code or whatever figured out i have a polls addiction) and have had zero interest and experience in this topic but now. now i am so here. but i was wondering where i could go to watch movies with all these actors?? like i’m sure prime video or smthg might have a few classics hanging around but is there a service/website (of any legality) that specialises in vintage films and stuff? or is it really just physical media to get a lot of them? sry if this throws off your askbox, i didn’t know where else to ask! tyia <3

Hi!! I love this ask. Thanks for being here!

I don't know of any service that specializes in old movies, though HBO had a deal with TCM for a while that meant they had several classics on Max—I don't know if that's still a thing. In the meantime, though, the following websites all have "classic" channels that will be filled with great vintage movies to try:

Tubi—free streaming service that includes:

The Manchurian Candidate (Frank Sinatra, James Edwards)

The Philadelphia Story (James Stewart, Cary Grant)

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (Dick Van Dyke)

On The Town (Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra)

House on Haunted Hill (Vincent Price)

The Adventures of Robin Hood (Errol Flynn, Basil Rathbone)

A Streetcar Named Desire (Marlon Brando)

The Maltese Falcon (Humphrey Bogart)

Hoopla—free through many libraries:

The Court Jester (Danny Kaye, Basil Rathbone)

War and Peace (Jeremy Brett)

Barefoot in the Park (Robert Redford)

Cabin in the Sky (Rex Ingram)

Wings (Gary Cooper)

Kanopy—free through many libraries:

The General (Buster Keaton)

Flower Drum Song (James Shigeta)

Roman Holiday (Gregory Peck)

Seven Samurai (Toshiro Mifune)

His Girl Friday (Cary Grant)

Wuthering Heights (Laurence Olivier)

Sabrina (Humphrey Bogart)

Paris Blues (Sidney Poitier, Paul Newman)

Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (Conrad Veidt)

Youtube also has TONS of movies that have slipped through copyright or "accidentally" ended up there:

Charade (Cary Grant)

The Gay Divorcee (Fred Astaire)

Lying Lips (Carman Newsome, Robert Earl Jones, Oscar Micheaux)

Stormy Weather (Harold Nicholas)

Rebecca (Laurence Olivier)

The Cheat (Sessue Hayakawa)

The Lady Vanishes (Michael Redgrave)

Jungle Book (Sabu Dastagir)

To Sir, With Love (Sidney Poitier)

It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World (Peter Falk)

What a Way to Go! (Dick Van Dyke, Gene Kelly, Paul Newman)

And of course there are methods of other legality if you want to go searching for titles by hand :)

I haven't seen all of the movies I list here—this is just a sampling of some famous ones, and a few of my secret faves—so be careful if you have trigger warnings and things. Hope you find some great movies!

[writingquestionsanswered]

Every writing tip tells you to read a lot to write a lot, but I have been having a hard time reading after I started writing. Everything seems so predictable, you start a book and notice a hero's journey and boom you know exactly what the story is going to be, or after you learn how to foreshadow you get all the little references and know exactly what the thing is leading to. It just feels boring. Do you know any way to overcome this?

Trouble Reading After Writing

Honestly, that really is the one big drawback to being both a reader and a writer. Once you have a grasp on how to tell a story, flaws in others' stories are more apparent to you. And that's what's happening, unfortunately... if the hero's journey is that obvious, even to another writer, that's a flaw in the storytelling. If the foreshadowing references are that obvious to you, that's a flaw in the storytelling. Because top quality writing should generally pass muster even to other writers. And I say "generally" because it's all subjective anyway, so what seemed predictable to you may still not be predictable to another writer.

So, where you're at is where a lot of more experienced writers find themselves... the books you're going to enjoy will have to clear a higher bar, and sometimes it can take some time to find authors who meet your personal criteria... but you will. You may want to take advantage of e-book deals, library books, ARCs, and samples for a little while as you try to find books and authors that work for you. Because I'd say probably the number one key to this stage in your writing/reading relationship is to not be afraid to DNF. I used to really struggle with DNF-ing, so I would force myself to read the book and end up reading like a page a day if I was lucky. My personal rule is I give a book 3-5 chapters. If I absolutely hate it by the end of chapter three or so and it shows no promise or merit, I'll happily DNF. If it shows some promise or merit, I'll give it a couple more chapters to see how it goes. If I'm not invested enough to keep reading of my own volition, I'll DNF then.

But... keep at it, because you will find writers and books that work for you. Also: if you've read enough that you're to that point--where you understand storytelling so well that you can spot the flaws in others' stories--you're probably past the point where you need to be reading voraciously. Because the whole point of reading voraciously as a less experienced writer is to learn how stories work through firsthand experience. So, don't feel like you have to be inhaling books if you're past that point. Read what you want, when you want. A lot of writers don't read a lot while they're writing.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[johntayjinf]

i caved in and bought renoise

also sorry tumblr i constantly delete this because i have way too many mixing hiccups to fix... was being too hasty haha

for a tracker with daw features like track mixers, vst support, automation, filters etc., it's pretty impressive what you can do with it. finally i get to do hq music without having to wrap my head around more conventional daws; i like the inconvenience of modern tracker interfaces myself, actually.

the first time i had to arrange for something hq like this, the biggest obstacle and wake-up call i had to face was the fact that uh, my mixing skills weren't up to snuff. fixing it was a nightmare. biggest thing i didn't know at the time of arranging was that sidechaining the bass was really important, otherwise the bass drum (kick) wouldn't be heard and be overpowered by the bass. this was pointed out to me by a server member of ours, lolwe. they've been mixing for about 7-8 years and counting so they understand it pretty well... and actually the final mix was made just this morning to actually fix the entire mix lol.

other more minor mixing issues were ironed out with eq-ing, which i have a bit of experience of, though it was pointed out by dinebon_, yet another (new!) server member, who was primarily a bassist. they also pointed out some unwanted dissonance i had put in for the arrangement.

i understand that mixing is pretty much subjective and everyone does it differently, but it should be worth pointing out that there are some rookie mistakes that someone like me _can_ make. i may be a good arranger but this mix wouldn't have sounded better if it weren't for people giving me advice and pointers on how to fix things. i definitely think that getting input from a variety of artists who have different strengths helps to put a mix together and give listeners a more comfortable listening experience, so from now on, i'll be at the very least, sidechaining my basslines with the kick for better mixing. sorry if this doesn't sound great for everyone lol

the vst i used on the other hand, has _a lot_ of technical problems.

i think we all here love the sound canvas series of midi synthesizers, but i unfortunately do not have the money to buy the physical hardware (yet), so i stuck to the roland cloud sc vst. god, it is a terrible technical mess...

obviously the sc is sampled beautifully, and is iconic in the video game music world, but how the hell do you mess up a vst _this_ badly? it has _inverted stereo_, which is, a fad from waaaaaay back when. i'm happy i got to simply fix this through audacity but good grief, man. i had to export each instrument one by one just so i could identify which instruments were cancelling themselves out on mono and which ones weren't. genuinely horrifying stuff. there are also the in-built low-end and high-end boosters, but what about the mids? i'm going to assume that it's just a feature of the time but god i honestly wish they added middle frequency knobs. not that i can't fix that with eq post-production, but i'd rather not do that (especially for the main melody) unless if the problem really is a big deal. again, i love the sound canvas, but i wish that the vst were better; the technical problems i had to work with ended up souring the experience. i wish people could actually fix it some day and turn it into something greater. i'll likely use the vst again but i also want to mix in other instrument and sample libraries as well!

in the meantime, this arrange gave me a crave for kirby again. i love kdl3 sm, it is my favorite game of the gb - snes era of games. idk how but jun ishikawa writes these intoxicating songs for kirby and i am just left to rot listening to them. they are waaaayy too good.

[zahri-melitor]

If you want to read comics and you want to test the waters:-

Yes, RCO and clones exist, everyone uses them, I do it weekly too for titles I cannot access any other way (The Warlord) but let me tell you, it’s not the only option, particularly if you want to read reasonably modern comics back issues rather than deliberately suppressed obscure stuff. Plus, don’t you want to look at comics without worrying about getting viruses?

Your Local Library: your library probably has comics as trade paperbacks, and inter library loan will have more. It’s not the most consistent way to find things, but you should definitely look them up, there’s probably something there you’d be interested in reading. Good for having multiple presses, and most take suggestions for their collections, which is a slow but free way to read titles with highly detailed art like Wonder Woman Historia in person.

Digital libraries: my local libraries have ComicsPlus subscriptions, which I can use for free. Now you won’t get DC or Marvel on them, but BOOM!, Dark Horse, Image, Oni Press, Papercutz? All options. A really helpful way to easily sample other presses.

Internet Archive Library: the IA is again going to have an eclectic collection and be difficult to search, but it’s there and it has a lot of stuff and you’re not going to be worrying about computer viruses.

DCUI: if you’re in US, UK, Canada, AU or NZ, you can get a DCUI account. There��s a free trial available of course, and if what you’re interested in trying was published more than 6 months ago, you don’t even need to shell out for Ultra. It costs me less than a Netflix subscription per month, even for Ultra. There’s also a small handful of comics you’ll be able to access for free without ANY subscription - essentially advertising for new runs etc.

MU: just like DCUI, only Marvel, and available more places. Also runs on a subscription model. MU also has the quirk that you can manage digital ownership of individual issues also through their app (if you buy Marvel floppies there is a mechanism to obtain a legal digital copy within ~6 months of the publication date)

Local Comics Shops: you can also…buy floppies and trade paperbacks for yourself. If you really love a story and it’s out in trade, I highly recommend buying it for yourself to have forever. It just sidesteps so many future problems. An LCS is also more likely to have a back catalogue of titles available - if you’re looking for a trade published 8 years ago, they might have it while an ordinary bookshop won’t. If you’re less certain, events like Free Comic Book Day and Batman Day are largely a marketing exercise more than new original material these days, but they’re also a good way to get to handle and own actual comic books if you’ve never done that before.

Other bookshops: if you don’t have a local bookshop with a specialist comics and manga collection (I do) it’s going to be a bit like trying to find comics at your local library: you’ll see lots of stuff with Batman and Joker in the title, and a random selection of anything else. Sometimes you can get surprisingly good deals from them as collectors are less likely to use them to get titles.

Overstock/Remainder Sellers: always worth a look, particularly if you’re trying to pick up titles printed several years ago. My local one has found some absolute gems for me, at a significant discount (I have picked up parts of Dixon’s Nightwing run, Bennett’s Batwoman run, Rowell’s Runaways, some Wonder Woman trades from Rucka and Perez, Gotham Central, I just managed to get the second n52 Blue Beetle trade…)

EBay/second hand shops/Abebooks/Biblio: a decent way to measure what the actual value of a comic title is on the second hand market. Sometimes you can find that the market value is far lower than you expected (Cassie’s Wonder Girl series is remarkably affordable). In other occasions you realise DC is leaving a LOT of money on the table by not reprinting (look up Red Robin trade prices and weep).

Friends: do you know anyone else who likes comics? They may already own stuff they can loan to you! (Once I lent out my Birds of Prey collection to a friend and he returned it with the first two n52 titles added. Still unsure if that was meant to be a kindness or just letting me store them)

[odiesdayoff]

So Undercover (3)

pair: Dark!Edward Nashton x fem!reader

summary: You get a little too caught up in an undercover job to unravel the Riddler.

warnings: intimidation; threats; murder; gaslighting; stalking; mentions of past noncon/smut

Part 2

“He called me a whore. Said I needed to be taught a lesson.” You wrapped your arms around Edward’s neck and buried your face into his shoulders. He got to the library as fast as he possibly could, in just about twenty minutes from the time you called. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

He gently stroked your back and let you cry into his shirt. “They made you talk to a serial killer and didn’t think that he would target you?”

You shook your head. “It’s not even a successful thing. I barely know anything about him and he knows everything about me. I think he’s going to kill me.”

With how hard you were crying, Edward’s smirk was unseen by you. He couldn’t help it. You’d fallen right into his little trap. “It’ll be okay.” You pulled away from him and allowed him to wipe the tears from your cheeks. 

~~

It was all too…surreal. To say the least. Going back to the precinct, back to work after everything that happened. You tried to hide the heat that remained on your cheeks, surely leaving at least a small tint of color different from the hue of your skin. How could embarrassment feel so much worse after the fact? All you had to do was go into the commissioner’s office and tell him that the mission was pointless. It was like telling a parent that they were wrong. 

You pushed open the thick oak doors and immediately locked eyes with the man. Pete Savage. You didn’t exactly know what his deal was, but he was never one of the “good” or “not corrupt” cops in the bunch. The doors squeaked unceremoniously shut behind you. It was then that you no longer felt like an adult, but rather a kid who was called to the principal’s office. “I wanted to talk about the Riddler Case, sir. I, well, I don’t think it’s working.” The words articulated themselves much better when you practiced them in the bathroom mirror. 

He gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk and you hesitantly took a seat. You couldn’t control the way your leg began to bounce, even with your hand resting on it. “What’s the problem?” His voice was attempting to sound kind, though the hint of annoyance still seeped through. It was still up in the air whether he was only being kind because he felt bad for you or it was just because you were a woman. 

“I no longer feel safe in my home or at work. I don’t know if you’ve seen the report from the other night, but my apartment was broken into. That, and the… sample I provided.” The embarrassment crept up once again, blood rushing to your cheeks. Admitting that a crime so personal had occurred seemed to be worse than the crime itself.

He gave you a lone nod and sighed. Was…he stopping himself from rolling his eyes? “I’m aware. I couldn’t help but notice that there were no signs of a break-in and as for the sample, are you sure it wasn’t some residue of a night you don’t want to admit to your boss?” The smirk grew as he began to think of the situation. 

“He made a key. That also means he’s been there before.” The idea had only just come to your mind. What if he’s been in your apartment while you were sleeping? You wouldn’t put it past him. You had already asked your landlord to change the locks of your front door. “And at the library. He cornered me and threatened me.”

He folded his hands and leaned forward. “You’re aware that our insurance policy covers psychiatric care, right? We have no evidence to confirm that you’re in danger. I’ll relieve you from this case for your own sake.”

You wanted to scream, cry, protest, and tell him exactly how he was wrong. Instead, you weakly nodded. You should’ve known he wouldn’t take you seriously. “Thank you, sir.” Tears threatened to spill, but you held yourself together.

In the back room again, you sorted files while angrily whispering your complaints about the commissioner. Pete Savage was nothing but a ridiculous misogynist. Corrupt, too. How can you be presented with all this information and still claim that you weren’t in danger? Who knows what might’ve happened had you not been able to use the fire escape? Not like he would care all that much.

Annette leaned against the doorframe, watching you as she usually did when she didn’t want to do her job. “Thompson told me about some secret mission you were doing while I was away. Also, I heard you just got thrown off of it.” You didn’t know what to call her slightly mocking tone. Was it holier-than-thou? I told you so?

“I left.” Anything more than a curt response was more than she deserved.

“Mhm. Well, I wouldn’t do anything like that. Not in the job description.” Like she ever did what was in her job description. That would be far too much to ask of her. How you were getting paid less than her and remain her subordinate only cemented the existence of extreme corruption in this precinct.

You angrily set the files on the floor. Well, more passive-aggressively than angry. “I was just trying to help.”

You had to keep pushing the thought of the videos and photos existing as a form of blackmail to the back of your mind. So what if you lost your job? It’s not that you necessarily enjoyed it. Life would be so much better if you could leave it and this whole godforsaken city behind you. 

~~

The older man at the desk worked relatively slowly to take in your phone and laptop. He only raised a brow when you asked for the same makes and models to trade in. “Most people choose the upgrade plan for an extra hundred.” He would repeat this until you could no longer count them on two hands. 

The sun had set by the time you reached your apartment. Your landlord handed you the new keys to the locks right as you stepped into the building. For the first time in a while, you felt safe. Nobody was watching anymore. You could breathe. 

As soon as your laptop connected to the wifi, you started to look through the online job forums. The sooner you get away from the precinct, the better. With each link you pressed, the screen would flash entirely black, only for a fraction of a second. Must’ve been a buggy site.

You sipped your tea and continued to look through the job openings. It had been quite a while since you had to do this. You were lucky enough to get your job straight out of school. Maybe you’d actually get paid what you deserved this time. 

The screen flashed again, this time a deep shade of green. You lost control of your cursor. It inched towards the top of the screen, your eyes following it while running your finger across the touchpad. It opened a new tab and then started typing. 

<?> DID YOU THINK YOU COULD GET RID OF ME <?>

You nearly choked on your tea. The laptop redirected to the same website you used to chat before. You stood from your chair. How could he possibly get in so fast? After you had been so careful? 

<?> You forgot about the windows.

He was right. You hated that he was right. In the rush of trying to cover all of your bases, you’d forgotten one of the most crucial entrances to your apartment. For all you knew, he was already through and waiting for you to try and close them. 

The front door. You could leave through there, call the GCPD, and he’d have nowhere to go. A one-way ticket to prison, or more realistically, Arkham. And you’d finally have the sense of freedom and relief you’ve been desperately wanting. 

First, the deadbolt. Then, the lock on the doorknob. You expected to see your escape when you frantically swung open the door, but there he stood. A boot collided with the door when you tried to close it on him. One gloved hand wrapped around your neck, the other on your hip.

This wasn’t like the library. That was public and he had to somewhat keep his plan contained. One curious bystander trying to be a hero could ruin everything. You were entirely in private, especially after he pushed himself in and kicked the door shut. 

“You’re so predictable. Naive. How did I know you’d try to outsmart me? I’ll give it to you, you’ve got a lot more going on in that head of yours than any of those cops you work with or politicians you work for. You’re still nothing compared to me.” He pushed you further back into your living room as he spoke. Maybe he was right all along and he knew you more than you knew yourself. He saw right through you. 

You clawed at his hand, scratching the leather in an attempt to loosen his grip. “I’m done. I’m not working with them anymore!”

The hand on your neck moved to gently stroke your hair. It would’ve been comforting if not for the leather catching and pulling the hair by accident. His other hand pulled you closer, against his chest. “I know, I know. That doesn’t matter anymore.” He cooed, voice still distorted by the mask. “Do you still have my gift?” 

There’s no way in hell you would admit that you kept it. The biggest reason wasn’t sentimental, you just had no idea where you could possibly throw it away. It’s been gathering dust in your closet ever since that night.

You couldn’t tell if he was smiling at your hesitancy and subsequent lack of an answer. “Don’t worry, why use it when you have the real thing right here? After all, I deserve a thank you.”

“For what?” You stumbled back farther until you hit your kitchen counter. It was then that you knew you were cooked. He pressed his body against yours, feeling the heat of his jacket seep through your shirt. 

“Your promotion.” His hands roamed around your body. He slightly chucked at the sight of your confused expression. “I take it they haven’t found her body yet.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Body?”

He stroked your hair. “Can’t say I don’t do anything for you. There’s a phone in my back pocket for you to call her doorman to make sure. Maybe she’ll still be kicking.” 

Shaking like a leaf, you reached into his back pocket. The device you felt was a burner, blocky, and lacking a touch screen. The number, saved as DOORMAN , was preset and ready for you to dial. You held the phone to your ear and listened to the dial tone. 

The man answered with little to no emotion. Probably nearing the end of his shift. “Hi. I need you to check on the woman that lives in C11.” You couldn’t tell if the fear in your voice was evident through the microphone. 

“Who’s this? Why are you calling?” He didn’t seem to care. None of the urgency that you desperately needed was there.

You shook your head. “No, no. That’ll waste time! I think she’s going to hurt herself and I need you to go up there right now.” The Riddler’s hands trailed lower on your body, caressing your thighs. 

The doorman shuffled from his seat and you could faintly hear him walking up the stairs to Annette’s apartment unit. He knocked, but the door was opened slightly already. The squeak of the hinges was caught by the phone’s mic. 

He screamed and you didn’t need to know what he was seeing for your heart to fall to your stomach. The first tear broke the seal and you couldn’t stop yourself from crying. Hands pressed against your panties, trying to increase the friction of the fabric against your clit. “Who are you? Why did you do this?” The questions were directed towards you.

“I, I didn’t…” None of the words could form in your mouth. They could barely appear in your brain in the first place. The phone was snatched from your hand and the call ended. He threw the phone on the floor. Your hands were now free to try and keep his at bay. “What do you want from me?”

“At first, I wanted to see how much you GCPD pigs knew about me. I’ll have to admit, you intrigued me.” He caught a grip on your wrists and pushed your hands against the counter. “You don’t even know what you do to me, baby. I just want you.” If it wasn’t him, it would’ve made you swoon. It could have even been sultry. Maybe if Edward had said it.

“No. No, I’m nothing special.” You weren’t sure what your tactic was anymore. All you needed him to do was leave you alone. Preferably forever, but just tonight would work as well.

Through the mask, his eyes narrowed. He shook his head. “Don’t think like that. You can help me fix this city. Fix me .”

[gretavangroupie]

Vigilance (Chapter 13)

Word count: 12.1k

Pairings: Sam x OC, Jake x Reader

Warnings: 18+ as always, drinking, smoking, language, fluff, angst, smut.

This story is a collaboration with my best pal @gretavanmoon.

A/N: This chapter has to be broken into two parts thanks to Tumblr's character limits. I know this is a long one, but I hope you can stick with it until the end and then read part two! I promise this will be the only one that is this long. We will go back to our regular sized chapters next week. Enjoy!

READ CHAPTER 12 FIRST!

AUSTIN CITY LIMITS

JAKE POV

The time had come to return to the office space to regroup after most of Strange Horizons had wrapped up, and you were excited to discuss your new ideas with management. Many inebriated nights with your brothers had formulated a deep and diverse plan for the inevitable next leg of tour, and your ideas just kept building and building. 

The pandemic had placed a huge damper on your initial tour schedule, release dates and shows being pushed back dramatically. Not to mention having to deal with all of the new rules that were placed last year for venues…though it had been over a year since the world shut down, the effects were still massively trickling down. 

As you entered the office together, you thought back to over a year ago...the four of you had locked yourselves in a secluded cabin in the Smoky Mountains for a portion of time that you scarcely remember, only leaving to get supplies and food. It was there that you crafted a list of songs, some brand new and some dusted off from the depths of your library. 

The isolation that you felt being tucked away in the mountains was the perfect setting for the way you all wanted the album to be…loud, dynamic, mysterious, orgasmic and borderline perfect. Not a note out of place. You’d talked about making an album like this for as long as you’d been a band, and you’d decided it was time to make it happen. What better time to create it than in the midst of a worldwide shutdown? 

“Let’s make it sound like a film soundtrack, without the film…” Sam had said, setting the premise for exactly how he envisioned it. 

“Ha, a man after my own heart.” Josh had responded. “Are you saying you want to make the soundtrack to my first film before I even know what it’s about?”

Late nights had turned to early mornings of writing riffs, and introducing lyrics that spoke about the current state of the world and the more difficult subjects. Josh was truly in his element when it came to storytelling through his lyrics; you were absolutely blown away by his ability to talk about the here and now while making it sound like you were reading from a 500 year old novel. More often than not, partaking turned into conversations with the ghosts you were certain inhabited the old cabin’s walls, thrusting you into sleepless nights spent laying down haunting samples on Sam’s piano. 

Sam’s sonic concentration and being able to hear the music before you had even laid it down was perfectly tuned in…Daniel’s ability to think outside of the box when it came to bringing everything together as a whole...you found yourselves in a true state of enlightenment, visually and instrumentally, and you prayed that the outcome of your hard work was to be accepted well. 

Strange Horizons had been the trial run, and now it was time for your bigger idea to come to life. 

“We want to call it Dreams in Gold. A lyric from the magnum opus of the album, the crowning achievement of our careers so far. The premise of this album is a concoction of stories being told, dreams, if you will. We’ve got ideas all the way down to stage setting and album art. Every element is going to be intentional, and is going to tie into one another. It’s going to be all about details. The whole thing is going to be a journey, just like the storyline of the album itself. We want to include commissioned artists that we find organically, as well, to help with our visuals.”

“To begin with, we want to entice people to get back outside, hit the road and come and join us at shows. We’ve all been cooped up for too long and we want to show the fans that we’re still here. So, yes, we’re ready for another lengthy tour.” Josh began the meeting by condensing the details into a concise introduction to the panel of your management team. 

After a few hours of debating and compromise, the initial plans were set, and management was ecstatic about your new ideas. Things were truly looking great. 

You had one more small run of shows planned, a two-weekend span at Austin City Limits festival in Texas, then you were off to Los Angeles. Until then, it was time to relax, recharge, and enjoy every second alone with your girl.

HER POV

OCTOBER 2021

As you waited for the front desk attendant to finish with the person in front of you, your eyes flicked to the TV screen behind the desk, ‘Welcome to Austin’ it read in bright blue letters.

It was late, nearly 11:00pm when you finally arrived in Texas, flights delayed for nearly 2 hours due to weather. The van was late to pick you up at the airport and overall everyone was in a foul mood, yourself included.

“Next! Hi, how can I help you?” he asked.

“Hi, I just need to check in. Should be six rooms, under this name.” you say sliding the man your ID.

He clicks around on his computer for a few minutes, brow furrowing as he looks to you, “I see five rooms under this name. Looks like one was canceled about two weeks ago, and one was upgraded.”

“I’m sorry? Which room was canceled?” you ask.

“Looks like a Queen Non-Smoking…oh, actually the name on the room is yours.” he says, nervously.

“Mhmm, and the upgraded room?” you ask.

“Jacob Kiszka? Upgraded to a King Suite.” he answers. 

“Okay, and can you tell me who authorized the change?” you ask.

“Looks like it was Mr. Kiszka, ma’am.” he answers.

“Right... Okay. Well, that’s fine. Thank you.” you say, accepting your ID back from him.

“Here are your room keys, two in each pocket. The elevators are just to your left, vending and ice on each floor. If there’s anything I can do for you, just call the front desk.” he smiles.

“Thank you.” you say, grabbing the keys and turning back to head towards your group.

“Alright guys, let's end this miserable day. Sam…” you hand him his key. 

“Daniel…Josh… Summer…” you say in succession, handing them each their key cards.

“Jacob.” you say handing him his. 

“We have to be down here, in this spot ready to leave at 11:00am. The festival is being very stringent on timing, if we are late we don’t get any kind of sound check. Maybe a line check at best.” you say, as everyone begins rolling their luggage towards the elevators.

“Yes mother.” Josh replies with a smile.

As you all load into the elevator, everyone checks their floors, and presses their respective buttons, as it begins to rise. One by one they exit the elevator, first Summer, then Daniel, followed by Elle and Sam, leaving you, Jake and Josh in the tiny enclosed space.

Josh looks at the two of you, a knowing but contemplative look on his face as the elevator reaches his floor and the doors spring open. He steps out of the elevator, pausing to turn to the two of you. You can see the words on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back and smiles as the doors close again.

You don't look at Jake until the doors fling open two floors above. You step out, and make your way to your room, pulling your suitcase next to you as you walk. As you stand at the door you stare at the wall, not making eye contact with him as he steps up to meet you.

“Baby…” he whines. “Don’t be mad…”

You turn to face him. “I would like to go to bed.” you hiss.

With a huff he taps the key card to the door, letting it unlock as you push it open. 

He rolls both of your suitcases inside, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

You slip your shoes off and walk across the room, pulling the curtains shut as you start to undress. “You can't just…do that! What if…someone found out! I would have no way to explain this!” you say, raising your voice.

“It’s fine baby. No one is going to know.” he says, trying to ease your tension.

“Josh knows! He totally knows. He basically just told us he knows and he didn’t even say anything!” you say, pulling your pajamas from your suitcase.

You pull on your pajama shorts, and slide your arms through the top as you start to button the buttons. 

“Listen…” he says, making his way over to you. “If our secret is safe with anyone, it’s him. People will eventually find out love, and personally I’m ready to shout it from the rooftops.” he says, his fingers taking over buttoning up your top. As he fastens the last button he rests his hand on the back of your neck, “I have slept next to you almost every night for weeks now. I’m not giving that up. No chance.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You sigh, leaning into his chest as you wrap your arms around him. His bare skin on your cheek is warm, and calming. His very presence centering you and bringing you back down to earth.  “I’m not mad. I’m just…afraid of getting caught by the wrong person, you know?” you say.

“I know. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. I promise.” he says, squeezing you one last time before letting you go. 

He walks over to his suitcase and grabs his phone charger, plugging it into the wall as he strips off his pants. You knew you would never grow tired of seeing him like that. 

You slipped into the overly fluffy bed, and made your way to the middle, fluffing the pillows behind you.

“Oh you think you’re sleeping in the middle, huh?” he asks playfully, turning off the lamp.

He pulls the blankets back, sliding in next to you as he circles his arms around your waist. He lays his head on your chest, listening to the sound of your beating heart as he hums a tune..‘she’s a woman in a dream…’ 

“Thanks for not getting mad. I know it’s stupid and careless, but I… sleep better next to you.” he says softly into your chest.

“Mmhmmm… that’s the only reason right?” you ask.

“The list is endless of reasons that I need you.” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips and quickly pulling away to turn over to his back. 

You whine at the loss of his warmth, and you feel the bed shake with his chuckle, “Come on…” he says, opening his arms to you. You scoot further onto his side of the bed, and place yourself into his arms. 

He nuzzles his head into the top of yours, taking a deep breath. “Okay, my boss said I can’t be late tomorrow or I'll get in trouble, so I have to go to bed.” he says.

You giggle into his neck, as you twist your fingers with his. ‘Love you…”

“I love you too.” he says, and not too shortly after you both fall into a well deserved sleep.

—

JAKE POV

“I’ll go down first, then you come down in like ten minutes?” she said, a serious look on her face as she flicked through her iPad.

“You got it. Hey…” you said, pulling her by her waist.

She drops the iPad to her side as her eyes meet yours. 

“You’re killing it. Best coordinator we’ve ever had. So proud of you.” you say, really meaning every word. 

You could see her eyes beginning to grow misty at your words, so with a quick kiss, and a promise of later, you shooed her out the hotel room door to begin your ten minute wait.

—

Shockingly, everyone arrived downstairs on time and the van was parked and waiting for you at the entrance. Today was already going ten times better than yesterday, and you could tell Y/N was feeling less stressed because of it. 

As you all loaded into the van, you sat in the back with Josh, and scrolled through news on your phone.

Josh

11:07am: Anything you’d like to share?

You

11:08am: No thanks. I’m done sharing with my siblings.

Josh

11:09am: So…

You

11:10am: Later

The van arrived at the back gates, and you all made your way to the artist check in table, securing your wristbands and being shown to the area where your things were being loaded in. Your crew had been here since early this morning, getting the stage pieces loaded in and the gig boxes situated where they needed to be. Slated to go on at 6:30, you got there with enough time for a quick sound check, before spending the rest of the day exploring, and getting ready in your trailer for the day.

It was hot in Texas, significantly hotter than Nashville, and the sun beating down on you had you sweating even from just standing outside. You and Daniel drew the short straws on the artist interview, so as you stood and waited for your time slot, you turned to Daniel, “What’s up with you man? What’s going on? Where is Heidi?”

He clapped his hand against your shoulder blade and sighed, “She is…busy. At least that’s what she keeps telling me.”

You smiled as you shook your head, “Ahh…sorry to hear that dude.”

“Nah, you know what? It’s fine actually. Feels like things have kind of run its course, ya know? I’m starting to figure out who I am without her. Feels good.” he says, as you both take a step forward.

“Just want to see you happy brother, whatever that means for you.” you reply.

“Could say the same to you. Been a rough couple of weeks.” he says, trailing off.

“It has. But things are looking up.” you say, pushing up your sunglasses on your nose.

“Are they?” he asks.

You nod slowly, as the interviewer welcomed you to her table, relieving you from having that conversation just yet. 

—

A few hours and a few drinks later, you are feeling loose and free and happy preshow, for the first time since this tour started. Your skin felt stiff from the salt in your sweat and you wished you could just jump into the shower to rinse off. 

Making your way to the trailer, you stepped inside, but in the bathroom found no shower. Great.

Sam entered a few minutes later, and he was just as sweaty as you were. “This fucking sun is nuts.” you said, leaning against the couch.

“I know, I need a damn shower.” he said.

“Isn’t one. Already looked.” you replied.

“My hair is fucked. Maybe I can just wet it.” you said, staring off into space.

Sam grabbed two water jugs from under the table and held them up with a suspicious smile. “Like the old days?” 

It really had been a while since you did this, taking turns pouring water jugs for each other, not able to shower daily as you toured across the US in that tiny little van. Times had changed, but you knew you weren’t above it, and you never would be. You knew your roots.

Stepping outside you grabbed a lawn chair and took your shirt off, “Me first, then you?” you ask.

“Let’s do it.” he replied.

You sat down in the chair and threw your hair over the back, letting Sam pour the water over your head until it was completely saturated down to your roots. The water ran over your face and you wiped at your hairline, hoping most of the sweat would wash away. He continued pouring until the jug was empty and you felt your hair was clean enough. He ran his fingers through your hair, one last time as you heard footsteps approaching.

“What are you two doing?” Y/N’s voice filled with laughter as she watched on. 

“We are playing beauty salon! I have an opening at 5:00, if you’d like to book!” Sam answered enthusiastically.

She laughed and shook her head as she walked off, and you felt your chest grow warm, but this time it wasnt from the heat.

—

A few hours later, dressed in one of your favorite suits, you looked yourself over in the mirror feeling extremely confident about tonight's show. You knew you weren’t going to hold back. You were going to lay it all out there wordlessly confessing that the stars aligned in your favor after all these years. This one was for her. 

As you and your brothers took your shots and said your words of encouragement, you watched as Y/N checked over each of your outfits as you exited the trailer, saving yourself for last. 

As the door slammed shut behind Sam, you made your way over to her, iPad clutched to her chest as she smiled at you.

“I thought the green suit was my favorite… but now I don't know. You look…” she trailed off.

“Really? I wasn’t too sure about all the sparkly stuff at first, but it’s kind of growing on me.” you smile. 

“Jake…really. With your complexion, and your hair… you look so good. I have half a mind to make you change into something else.” she giggled.

Your favorite giggle.

“Anyways, you look perfect. Get out there, make me proud.” she smiled, and you laughed, knowing you were going to do just that. 

As you twisted the knob on the door, you stopped to look at her. “It’s all for you.” 

Her cheeks grew pink as she pressed a kiss to your cheek, and ushered you out the door. It really was all for her. It always has been.

—

As you made your way up the steps, your tech handed you your guitar and you took the stage, the crowd roaring violently in front of you. Your body felt like it was on fire as you played the opening notes, the deafening noise of the screams from thousands of people just fueling the flame. You finally had everything. You finally felt true happiness, and the best part was that tonight, when it was all over, and the room was quiet you got to share it with her.

The fire you had raging in your bones for this entire show continued to engulf you...you weren’t sure if it was the setting, the heat, or the fact that you finally had your girl back, but damn it felt good to be playing to a crowd again. 

You were two songs away from ‘Highway Tune’, and the sun was beginning to set. You took the tiniest of breaks, allowing yourself to look out over the crowd as darkness began to set in. The sweating, exhausted, blissed-out fans were having the time of their lives, and you were truly mirroring them tonight. You were giving it everything you had. You smiled as you made eye contact with a few of them, watching as they fell apart on their friends after you did so. Always so funny to see them react that way just because you looked at them.

Even with watching all these people, Y/N was filling your mind. All your thoughts, connected back to her. She was the one who was keeping this fire burning so bright. She gave you a reason. 

You glanced at Josh, then back out to the crowd again. As he spoke, something caught your eye…something, someone...very familiar in the audience. The crowd was an ocean of moving bodies, hindering your vision as you tried to zero in. You caught quick glimpses every few seconds, trying not to crane your neck or be caught staring. Was that…?

The cue came through to begin ‘The Weight of Dreams’, and your muscle memory kicked into high gear as you played, and scanned the crowd again. Red hat, white shirt. Your heart sank into your stomach. You were sure. 

You continued to play as you looked at Josh, making the eye contact only he, Sam, and Danny could recognize. You proceeded with the song as normal, trying to stay present with the crowd and your guitar. 

There he was again, in plain view. 

Fucking. Hell. 

The song went on, and you decided to forget for just a second. You trailed into your solo…7 minutes of most jarring guitar succession you’d ever written. The fire was still burning. 

You pranced around the stage wildly, getting closer and grabbing a few different angles. It also gave you a chance to hop onto the audience speakers for an even closer look. 

Positive. 

You wrapped it up, jumping back onto the stage, and rushing to the band mic. You looked to Sam intently, grabbing his attention as quickly as you could. You pressed your lips to the mic, and spoke as clearly as you could. 

“Hey, listen to me….11 o'clock, about ten rows back. Red hat, white shirt. Please tell me I’m wrong.” You held eye contact with Sam, and he nodded in understanding. 

Danny glanced at you, and mouthed “I can’t see that far.” You shrugged him off, motioning that you would explain later. 

Josh had been speaking to the crowd, and you were unsure whether or not he had paid attention to what you said. 

You began ‘Highway Tune’, and were determined to finish the show with a bang. About halfway through, you looked to Sam, who had a panicked look on his face. Shit, you must be right. You raised your eyebrows to him for confirmation, which he returned with a horrified nod. 

You wrapped up the show without a hitch, proud of the way you all had played. You took off in a sprint, looking for Y/N. You needed to see her face, but she was nowhere to be found. 

The rest of the guys ran up beside you, panting and out of breath, sticky with the sweat in the Texas heat. 

“What the hell was that about? Who did you see?” Danny asked, worry in his voice. 

You looked to Sam, your face down and fallen with dread. 

“It was Andy.”

—

Panic, dread, fear, the overwhelming need to find Y/N…all of it taking up your mind at once. You all pulled off your in-ears and disposed of your instruments with the techs as quickly as you could.  You were pacing around backstage, not bothering to talk to anyone or give anyone the time of day. You just needed to find her. Make sure she was safe. You looked behind you, all three of your brothers following you doing the same exact thing. My boys. 

“Hey, there she is!” Sam yelled from behind you, pointing over behind a trailer in the lot. The four of you rushed up to her, almost crashing into one another as you came to a stop. You inspected her, almost completely forgetting you couldn’t take her into a full embrace. 

“Hey! God, what the hell is wrong with you guys?” She asked, stunned by your sudden presence. 

“We uh, just couldn’t find you. We were wondering if you….wanted to go catch St. Vincent  with us...we need to leave now if you do.” You spat, thinking on your toes. 

She looked at you sideways. “You guys just stepped off stage...don’t you need to like…Go pee or something? Change clothes? Sit down?” 

You glanced back at the guys, just as sweaty as you, all still dressed in your stage clothes. 

“Yeah, yeah, we'll change really quick. But, meet us back here in 10?” Sam said. 

Her face grimaced up in confusion. “Uh, I have to close up with the crew…” she glanced at her phone checking the time. “I’ve got a lot to do still...before I can–”

“Don’t worry about it. Get what you need to do done, and meet us back here ASAP. We’ll wait for you to walk over.” Josh said, throwing you a knowing glance. 

“Alright, yeah okay...I’ll text Elle and meet you back here...” her face was wrought with confusion at your display. She walked away, radioing to someone about something. 

You took back off as a group, walking quickly and scanning the grounds. Your head felt hot and your eyes felt glassy. You finally made it to the trailer, and you were all quiet until you shut the door, the A/C feeling like it could knock you down. 

You immediately sat on the couch, putting your head in your hands. “What the fuck is he doing in Texas?!” You yelled, standing back up and beginning to undress. Sam had gone over to the mini fridge, and he pulled out a seltzer for everyone, popping the top on yours and handing it to you. You practically chugged its contents, not realizing how thirsty you were. 

“Man, chill out. Maybe he moved here. Just going to the festival…” Danny offered, trying to give the benefit of the doubt. 

“Yeah maybe. But remember how fucking insane he was…he was the last person I expected to see when I looked out there. Just really…strange...right?” You asked. 

The rest of them nodded in agreement. “Yeah, really fuckin’ strange.” Josh said, pulling off his clothing and hanging it on a hanger. “But, don’t stress out too bad. We’re all here, there’s thousands of people around…it’ll be okay. Just an anomaly.” 

You could always count on Josh to bring you back down to reality. He was right, it was probably just a huge coincidence. A wild one, but a coincidence nonetheless. But, Andy knew who you were, who the band was…why did he come to watch? And stand fairly close to the front near you, at that? 

You shook the thoughts from your head, trying to stay positive. Everyone continued to get changed and started downing drinks, pregaming for the rest of the shows tonight. 

“Hey, I don’t think we should tell Y/N he’s here. It would probably ruin her night, don’t you think Sam?” You shot Sam a look that screamed ‘please agree with me’.

“Yeah, I agree. We’ll never see him again, so. Let’s just let her have a good time.” Sam played along. 

“Jake, what the actual fuck were you on tonight? I’ve never seen you solo like that before…that was nuts, dude...I thought you’d never cue me to stop.” Danny said, plopping down on the couch. 

“Yeah no shit!” Sam said. “My feet were getting sore.”

You grinned, knowing all too well why you were playing better, but not able to speak on it quite yet. 

“Ahh, I dunno. Must be something in the air...” you offered. 

Josh approached you slowly and talking quietly, wearing his knowing face. “Hey, are you and Y/N okay? I know things were still really rocky last time we talked…” he had sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

“Uh, yeah actually. We’re okay. We talked a little bit without ripping each other’s head off, so…” you couldn’t say anything more right now, though you never kept any secrets at all from Josh, this one needed to be kept as long as possible. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t kind of enjoying the idea of sneaking around. 

He looked at you again, squinting his eyes. 

“What?” You asked. 

“Hmmmm...nothing. But you’re a fuckin’ idiot if you think I don’t know when you’re lying. We do share the same brain cells, you know.” He said, walking back over to join Danny on the couch. 

You slipped on a more comfortable pair of shoes, and placed a flat-brimmed hat on your head. “Alright, let’s get going. We don’t want to miss the shows. I wonder if Duran Duran can still...Duran?” you said in a faux british accent.

Sam shoved your shoulder as you passed by him. “Ha ha, that was such a good one Jake.”

“I’m full of them. I’ll be here all night.” You flicked the brim of your hat, and tossed back the rest of your drink, crushing your can as you exited the door. A sharp pain flew up your arm when you dropped the can in the trash, an all too familiar feeling that hadn’t hurt this bad in years. 

——

Y/N had magically finished up what she needed to do in that short amount of time, and managed to find Elle, too. You all met at the corner of the lot, and walked over to backstage of the next show. The sun had set now, and you were finally starting to relax a little bit after seeing Andy earlier. He gave you an eerie feeling, almost one that creeped you out, for some reason. You felt confident that Danny and Josh were right, and he was just here for the festival. 

Y/N had changed into a short little green dress, that was low cut in the front and flowy, and sat right at her mid-thigh. You knew she had chosen that exact dress to tease you, and she watched as your sunglass-covered eyes traveled up and down her body, undressing her with each glance. You slowly shook your head back and forth, letting her know that she was indeed making you suffer. 

You all stayed side stage for the majority of the next two shows, and the night was going well. You kept your distance from Y/N, and watched from afar as she danced and drank with Elle. Occasionally, your glances would meet up, and you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away from her. 

You were feeling fairly tipsy, conversing with other musicians and people in the industry. Suddenly the delicious and familiar aroma of marijuana slid past your nose, and you followed it to its source. Josh and Sam, of course. You excused yourself from the conversation you were having, and went and joined them. 

The whole group shared what must have been three or four joints, as the last artist played into their late-night set. The haze in the air was heavy, and you felt the fuzz climb into your face and extremities. Ahh, there it is. 

Things began to move in slow motion under your hooded eyelids, the music sounding louder and better..everyone started to dance and move their bodies with the beat. Your eyes drifted to Y/N, you could tell she was feeling it too. 

“I gotta hit the head, you wanna go?” Sam shouted over the music in your ear. You nodded, noticing your full bladder. He took Elle’s hand and pulled her behind him as you followed them off the stage. 

“My god, I’m really fuckin high…” Elle giggled at herself as you made your way across the lot to the restrooms.

“Yeah same, I scored some good shit down here.” Sam laughed. “We’ll wait for you out here, babe.” He said as you separated. 

You and Sam stood next to each other, relieving yourselves in the urinals. 

“So, when did you and Y/N finally fuck?!” He asked, loudly as ever. 

“SAM! Goddamn, could you talk any louder? What is wrong with you? What are you talking about?” You spat at him from across the divider. 

“Duuuude, don’t play dumb.” You could recognize his stoned voice from a mile away. “Come on. Unfortunately, I know her body just as well as you do, now. Maybe even better…? I know what she acts like when she’s been…satisfied.” Your mouth hung open at his words. He did nothing but stare at you, raising his eyebrows up and down. 

You buttoned up your jeans, and walked over to the sink to wash your hands quickly, avoiding his question. You busted out the door, with him following close behind. You stood by the restroom entrance, waiting for Elle. 

“Jaaaake, don’t avoid my question. I’m not stupid, I can read her body language. And yours too, if we’re being honest. You guys are gravitating towards each other again.” His words had begun to slur slightly. “How long ago?”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Chicago.” 

He bounced away, clapping his hands loudly. “Ha! I knew it!!” 

“Sam you can’t tell a fucking soul, do you hear me?” You got into his face, trying your best to threaten him like you did when you were kids. 

He held his hands up in submission. “I promise.” You turned away. 

Suddenly he was next to you again. “I will say though, she’s become a bit of a freak in the sheets, if ya know what I mean. You better start building up that stamina…” he said quietly. “You’re welcome.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter. It wasn’t funny, it shouldn’t be funny, but it was. The whole situation, sharing this conversation with your little brother. All of it was so fucked up. 

He started to laugh with you. You grabbed his shoulder, speaking through shared belly laughs. “So I’ve noticed, Sam. Appreciate that.” You shook your head at the awkward but hilarious conversation. 

Elle emerged from the bathroom finding the two of you in stitches. “What are you two laughing about?” She said as you started the walk back to the stage. 

“Oh nothing, just that him and Y/N finally slept together.” Sam said. 

“Sam, I swear to god.” You said. 

“OH MY GOD! You finally boinked?!” Elle said, a bit too loudly for your liking. “It’s about fucking time, Jake. What took you so long?!”    

“Jesus Christ…” you said under your breath. “Elle, love, you promise me right now you will not tell a soul, okay? Her job is really…on the line.” 

“I got it, Jake. She’s my best friend. I promise.” She zipped her lips and threw away the key, and you actually trusted that she would stay quiet. 

—

You made your way back to the stage, suddenly feeling uneasy. You glanced around at the crowd, just waiting to see a red hat bobbing its way around. You found Y/N, still dancing and having a good time as the band wrapped up its last song. 

“You guys want to come back to my room for one more smoke?” You asked the group, suddenly feeling the need to leave. Everyone nodded in agreement, as you started back down the steps. 

“You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go take some stage shots. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Summer said, waving your group off.

The hotel was only a few minutes drive from the venue, and Sam had insisted the driver stop at the nearest gas station so he could buy beer. You could tell everyone was still feeling exceptionally high, but it was a nice feeling. You felt a little more at ease the further away you got from the venue. 

Everyone gathered back in your room at the hotel, changed into comfortable clothes and toting cases of beer. You could afford to get cross faded tonight. Josh brought his speaker and asked Elle to hook up to the Bluetooth. Some Cajun-sounding flute music began to come through it, some gritty messy metallic sounds you thought sounded familiar. 

“Elle, what is this?” You asked her as you sat down to roll a few more joints. 

“Ry Cooder, he’s amazing.” She answered, pulling her lips from a bottle of Corona. 

“My god, yeah, did he play with Taj Mahal?” You asked. 

She shook her head. “Yep. I think they’re actually releasing an album together next year. So you’ve seen Southern Comfort, right?”

You grinned and nodded. “Yep. That must be why I know this.”

You could definitely see why Sam was attracted to her now. 

Y/N joined her on the bed, popping the top off her own beer. Your eyes met hers for just a second, but long enough to linger. She’d changed into a thin and silky dress, with a flannel on top. Oh my god.Your flannel. The one you gave her at the lake, the one she borrowed every time she came over when you were younger. She actually kept it. Your face must have fallen at the sight, because she gave you the slightest wink while she sipped her beer. 

Your hands suddenly became weak, the tiny ground pieces of weed falling from the sides of your half-rolled joint. 

“Jake, what’s taking so long over there?” Josh asked. 

“I’m rusty, you come fucking do it.” You answered. 

You opened the double-door window of the room and turned on the vent of the bathroom so the smoke could escape, and you rolled a towel and tucked it under the door. It felt like high school again. It was still warm outside, and the breeze came in through the curtains, bringing with it a peaceful and relaxed feeling. Everyone was feeling themselves, passing several joints and listening to Josh tell elaborate stories. 

Your bed was king sized and the room was larger than a standard room, so you found yourself feeling thankful you’d upgraded to a room large enough to accommodate everyone comfortably, completely by accident.

Everyone eventually gathered in a tight circle, seated on the bed. Y/N found her way over to you, sitting directly beside you. Shit, she was feeling it. And Danny and Josh didn’t completely know yet. At least, you thought they didn’t. Her hair brushed your shoulder, sending the smell of her directly to your nose. It was intoxicating having her that close, in that sexy dress, in your flannel…unable to touch her.

Danny had brought a deck of cards and a game of poker ensued. “We don’t have any chips, what could we use?” Elle asked. 

“Ooooh we could use the hotel shampoo bottles and bars of soap and these quarters in my pocket.” Josh answered, laughing at himself through a goofy stoned giggle. 

“Did someone say chips? I’m hungry…” Sam asked no one in particular. 

An hour or so passed of talking, laughing, drinking, and smoking. Your head was absolutely spinning at this point, and Y/N’s hand just happened to keep landing on your knee. She was letting loose. Sam glanced up at you from under his hooded lashes, looking at her hand, then back to you, his eyebrows raising again. You felt a flush find your face as you realized just how high you actually were. 

The room was full of smoke, a haze falling onto everything as everyone basked in their intoxication, and all you could feel anymore was a draw to her. She was like a hot magnet that you were being pulled to, unable to think about anything else other than having your way with her. 

“Jake, that flannel looks very familiar...” Josh said, motioning to Y/N. You sighed. You couldn’t handle it any longer. You were over hiding her. You were in love with her, and your best friends deserved to know it. If anyone in the world could keep your secret, it was the people in the room with you right now. 

“Well Josh, that’s because it’s mine. I gave it to her when we started dating when we were younger and I just…never asked for it back. I let her keep it.” You leaned back on your arms, feeling a sudden surge of confidence. He smiled at you, almost as if he was proud. 

“Y/N, why didn’t you ever give it back to him?” Josh pressed. 

The group went silent. She looked at Josh, somewhat surprised, but catching his drift. Then she brought her eyes to meet yours, deep and glassy and full of love. She placed her hand on your knee, lightly brushing her fingernails over it. 

“Well Josh, because I love it too much. It makes me feel good. I want to keep it forever, keep it safe and loved...” she answered him, never removing her eyes from yours. 

“And Jake, will you ever ask for it back?” Josh went on. 

You kept your eyes locked on hers, and grabbed her hand, intertwining your fingers with hers. 

“No, Josh. It’s hers now. She can keep it for the rest of our lives.” You answered, your voice low and steady. Her face bloomed into a smile that went from ear to ear. 

Josh chuckled as the group finally stirred. “Ha, well I guess it’s fucking settled then, isn’t it?” He said, reaching over and patting you between your shoulders, firmly holding your neck and shaking you side to side. 

“Well hell yeah!” Danny exclaimed, coming across the circle and bringing the two of you in between both of his arms, hugging you tightly. The next thing you knew you had all fallen into a giant pile, laughing and hugging and falling off the bed in fits of giggles. 

The relief that fell over you was immense…these were your best friends. The people you trusted the most in the world. The ones who would go to bat for you, and for Y/N, no matter what the circumstances. 

In the cloudy air of the room, you felt your inhibitions begin to fall away. You found her in the pile of laughing bodies, and met her eyes, knowing that in that moment, you didn’t care who in the world knew it. You grabbed her face, and pulled her into a long and loving kiss, eliciting cheers from the rest of the group. 

Her cheeks went flush when you pulled away, but she grabbed you back, pulling you in for one more. Sweet and passionate, but with something else hidden behind it. You knew that look from long ago, she didn’t want to wait much longer. 

Everyone began to sit back up and find their seats on the bed again. Keeping direct eye contact with her, and bringing your face close to hers, lips almost touching, you spoke. “Hey, it’s been fun, but do you think you guys could get the fuck out of here?” Your eyes were unabashedly flicking from her eyes to her lips, plush and pink and waiting for you. 

They all laughed in unison, and your ears went deaf to everything surrounding you. All you could see, all you could hear and feel, was her. Suddenly, you found yourselves alone, sitting on the bed, starving for one another. 

Like clockwork, she quickly crawled over and pushed her lips into yours, her hands furiously wrapping in your hair, pulling it and tangling it between her fingers. She stood up on her knees, and you brought your hands underneath her dress to cup her ass. Her tongue was immediately in your mouth, searching deeply for parts yet unexplored. You felt a deep hunger in your gut for her, something that felt like starvation that could never be satiated. 

You growled into her mouth as she bit your tongue, pulling it from your mouth and into hers. The wind picked up outside and blew across you, lifting her dress a little, revealing more of her body to your naked eye. 

She yanked on your hair at the back of your neck, pulling your head backwards to look her in the eyes. You scanned her eyes from left to right, reading a story that was only half-written. She smiled a devious smile, and connected your lips again. You squeezed her ass cheeks hard, pulling them apart and pulling her body into you. You separated yourself from her lips, and began kissing her throat, her neck, her collarbones, and in between her breasts. God, they were so beautiful. 

You picked her up by the waist, forcefully lying her down on the bed. You began to pull up on her dress, successfully removing it over her head.

“You thought you could wear this dress, and MY clothing, in front of everyone, and expect me to not want to fuck you right here? Torture isn’t nice, love.” you said, pulling her arms above her head and pinning them there, diving into her neck again. 

“No Jacob, torture isn’t for the meek.” She responded, making your eyes roll back in your head. Oh, so it’s gonna be this kind of game. Let’s see what Sammy was talking about…

The both of you were blazed out of your minds, your eyes heavy and red, not to mention the drinking you’d both been doing all night. You decided to let it work to your advantage, though, watching her as all your inhibitions went straight down the drain. Nothing felt off the table. 

You buried yourself in her hair, letting your tongue graze over her ear as you held her arms steady above her.  You had one knee beside her, and one knee between her legs, hovering above her as she dug her fingertips into your sides. “Jake…” she spoke. 

“Hmmm?” You breathed into her ear. 

“You have entirely too much clothing on.” she said. 

You pulled back, realizing she was correct. She was down to her lace bra and panty set, while you still had everything but your shoes on. You sat up and began to unbutton your shirt, keeping your eyes glued to hers. She reached up and grabbed your hands, stopping their movements. 

“Hang on a sec, let’s make this interesting.” she said. Her eyes were heavy and solid, thick with intoxication from the weed, and from you. With that, she unbuttoned the rest of your shirt, but left it hanging over your shoulders. Then she reached down to your belt, unbuckling it and undoing the zipper. 

“Let me help–” you said, reaching to pull your dark jeans off. 

“No, leave them on. Come to the edge of the bed.” She commanded, signaling with her finger for you to follow her as she rolled off the end and into the floor. 

She perched sitting on her knees, and you did what she told you, sitting with your feet on the floor right in front of her. She lurched forward, bringing her face between your legs. She rested her hands on your knees, pulling them apart a little bit to gain more access. She brought her mouth to your hardened length, dragging her tongue across the tip that was still covered by your boxers. 

The indirect contact and the warmth of her mouth felt like heaven. She began nipping at it with her teeth, causing you to inhale quickly. You brought your hands to her head, envisioning the last time she’d done this, not long ago on the floor of your study. 

She cupped her lips overtop of your head, blowing warm air into the fabric. Your brain was buzzing with intensity, but you needed more. You needed to feel her. Almost as if she heard your thoughts, she reached her fingertips into the hole of your boxers, and freeing you through them instead of pulling them down. That’s different. 

Suddenly her mouth was completely taking you into her throat to the hilt, your tip hitting the back of her throat as she immediately swallowed around you. 

“Motherfuck, Y/N…”  you hissed through your teeth. She’d taken you completely by surprise. She began bobbing her head, taking you as deeply as you could go, running her flattened tongue across all your sweet spots. She was starting to remember them. Her hands that were rested on your knees climbed up to squeeze your thighs, massaging them with her fingers. You tilted your head back in pleasure, letting your eyes fall closed. 

“Hmm-mm...” she hummed ‘no’ around you, causing you to peer back down to her. She took her pointer and middle fingers making the ‘two’ signal, pointing to first your eyes, then hers. Eyes on her. She wanted you to watch her. 

Good god. 

You kept your silent word, watching her every move intently as she glided her mouth around your now soaked dick, popping her lips around it every so often, and squeezing your base with her hand. You felt yourself beginning to unravel, watching her mouth on you was like seeing something you weren’t supposed to see…so sinful…but so enticing…

“Shit baby...your mouth…is fucking heavenly...”  

You grabbed her hair in your hand, remembering what she had said last time. ‘I want it…’ 

She nodded her head, again giving you the go-ahead to control her movements. You felt the knot in your stomach begin to tighten, feeling yourself near release. You tightened your grip on her locks, using a little extra force now as you pushed into her mouth, in and out with a bit more speed. 

“Baby, I’m close…you’re almost…” the knot in your stomach began to unfurl, as the buildup approached. Just then, she removed herself completely, standing up and towering over you. She wiped her mouth clean with the back of her hand as you felt lost without the contact, so close to your release. 

“Ok, you can take your shirt off now.” She said, a devilish smile crossing her face. 

You were basically panting with desire. “Wha–what?”

“You didn’t cum. Good job. You can take your shirt off now.” She said, not giving you much explanation, but feeding you enough information that you could see where this might be going. 

You looked at her sideways, and slowly removed your shirt, tossing it into the floor. You leaned back on your elbows, eyeing her half-naked body standing before you. What next? You felt like you could jump out of your skin with excitement, the fog still heavy in your head. 

“Up the bed…” she commanded again, motioning to the headboard. You did as she asked, your lower half still clothed with your dick still poking through the open hole of your boxers. She crawled on top of you, snaking her way up to meet your mouth with hers, laying wet and searing hot kisses to your lips. 

She pulled away, turning herself around backwards and straddling you, her hands steadying herself on your thighs. She turned her head around to make eye contact with you, your eyes open wide with surprise. 

She slowly shook her hips from side to side. 

“Pull them to the side.” She said, demand thick in her voice. Yes ma’am. 

You exhaled loudly, feeling a rush of blood to your face, and then straight to your already overly excited member. You did as she asked once more, hooking your finger in her lace thong, pulling it to the side. She arched her back so that her opening was pointed toward your face, and you felt your head plummet to her, your tongue immediately between her folds. Her mouth was on you again, as quickly as your tongue had found her. 69? Seriously, where did this woman come from?

You went to town, feeling like you were starving to touch her in any way you possibly could. You let your tongue do the talking, sliding it’s way up and down her slit, burying your face in her pussy. She tasted fucking phenomenal. You brought your hands to grasp the front of her thighs, trying to pull her toward you.

You felt her mouth bobbing at a sickening pace, not too fast, and not too slow. Her tongue was like silk, and it kept the saliva pooling inside her mouth while she flicked your tip, causing you to buck your hips into her. 

“You can grind into my mouth, baby.” She purred, running her closed fist up and down you while she spoke. You took that as an invitation to slowly rock your hips up and down, slowly making circles and fucking into her face. 

“So can you.” You responded. You felt her hips begin to gyrate slowly, positioning her sweet spot exactly where she needed it. You found her clit, and tightened your tongue muscle so that it pointed directly onto it. You quickly bobbed it in and out of your mouth before you pulled it all the way in, and began flicking it with your tongue again. 

“Fuckkkk yes Jake. Oh my god…” her whimpers spurred you on, and apparently her too, as she then took you extremely deep again, tightening all of her mouth and throat around you. You felt yourself nearing release again. Her fist was working you, bringing you closer and closer to the white hot heat. 

She pulled off again, turning herself around to face you. You let your head fall back against the pillows, a sheen of sweat beginning to cover your face. 

“Damnit baby, you are killing me.” You laughed into the room, bringing your hands through your hair. “What’s with the punishment?”

“Not punishment, baby. Are you enjoying yourself?” She asked, slithering her way back up between your legs. 

You shook your head maybe a little too fast. 

“Yeah, yes. I’m enjoying myself.” You answered. 

“Okay then, it’s not punishment. You can take your pants off.” She said, a smirk forming on her face before she gave you a sweet peck on your still soaked lips. 

“Errrhhhh…finally.” You said, clipping your thumbs in your bottoms, pulling them both off in one swipe. You bounced back on the bed, bringing your arms around her and pulling her down into you. You allowed yourselves a few minutes to indulge in one another, kissing into each other furiously, finally feeling your naked body brushing and pressing up against hers. You suddenly felt like you were leaving her untouched, so you gripped her hips, pulling yourself down the bed underneath her. You hooked your fingers in her thong and pulled it down, signaling for her to bring her legs together so you could pull it down over her knees. She obliged, surprisingly. 

“My turn, love. Climb up. All fours.” You tapped the backs of her thighs, making her inch her way up the bed. She listened, positioning herself overtop of your ready and waiting mouth. You opened wide, smiling as you stuck your tongue out. She was looking down at you between her legs, and she let out the sweetest giggle. You gripped around her folded legs as she lowered herself down. 

“Mmmm...” you growled. “You think you can ride my face, baby?” 

She didn’t even have to answer, she’d already made contact with your mouth. She instantly started grinding and bouncing, her wetness covering your entire face. But god, you didn’t care. You wanted to drown in her. Taste her forever. It was something you’d never forgotten. And now it was something you were sure you couldn’t live without. 

You looked up at her body, reveling and rolling her hips in circles as your tongue danced inside her. She felt so warm, so delicious. You brought your hand to her mound, finding her clit with your thumb. You began swirling it, massaging it while you kept working inside her with your tongue. You were suffocating, fighting for air, but you couldn’t care less. You could do this all night. 

Her sounds were like music to your ears, filling up your mind with the dirtiest thoughts. You fought to bring her there, you wanted her to spill herself around you and into your mouth, but instead you decided to play her game.  

You reached up and unclasped her bra with one swift motion, pulling it down her arms and tossing it away. You lifted her off of you. 

“Get my flannel.” You said, pointing to where it lay on the floor. She glanced over to it, then back to you, obviously pissed you stopped the ride of her life. 

She reached over the side of the bed and picked it up, offering it to you. 

You removed yourself from underneath her, “Turn around.” She gave you another side eye, but did what she was told. 

You took the sleeves of your flannel, straightened them out, and gently pulled both of her hands behind her. You tied the sleeves of the flannel around her crossed wrists, leaving them a little bit of wiggle room. She peeked over her shoulder, making the most seductive eyes at you. You brought your mouth close to her ear, and grazed her cheek with your hand. “This ok, love?”

“You can tie it tighter, if you want.” she said. 

Fuck, that’s exactly what Sam was talking about. 

You laughed a low howl, pulling the sleeves a bit tighter, causing her back to arch. You noticed her body reacting, so you gripped the back of her hair, pushing her face down into the bed. You pressed your length up against her ass, and brought your face close to hers again. 

“You thought you could tease me all night, edge me…well, time’s up. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t see straight.” You weren’t sure where these words were coming from, it wasn’t your normal bedroom talk. But she seemed to be enjoying it a bit too much. 

“Just fucking do it, Jacob. Don’t make me wait any longer.” 

You felt your face get hot...you’d seen her a thousand different ways before, but never quite like this. This vulnerability mixed in with her confidence was making your high come back full force. Your mouth had gone dry now from the after effects of the weed, your vision feeling delayed and stippled. Your ears felt like they had cotton in them, and the dopamine was swirling through your body. You could tell she was still faded too; her movements weren’t quick and calculated, but instead slow and sultry. And you were fucking loving it. 

You noticed that the double door windows were still open, so you stood up to close them and the curtain. 

“Leave them open. I don’t mind.” She said, surprising you. 

“But someone might be able to see-“

“Let them watch.”

Holy. Fucking….

You dropped the act for long enough to truly press her. 

“Wait seriously Y/N?” You asked. “You don’t care?”

All she did was shake her head. “No. I really don’t care. Now please come back.”

You shrugged it off, leaving the doors standing wide open, the act you were about to perform on full display for anyone who might happen to see. 

You returned back to her, getting back in the headspace you needed to. Her hands were still tied behind her back, most of her face covered up by her hair. 

The wind was blowing around again, sending chills all over your body. It was cooling off outside. You took yourself in your palm, stroking a few times before making contact with her. You ran your tip up and down her slit, collecting all the wetness that you could. You grabbed onto the flannel, pulling it back toward you a little bit, eliciting a tiny moan to fall from her lips. 

“Tell me how bad you want me.” You spoke, leaning down toward her. You eased the very tip into her, not giving her too much too fast. 

“I want you so bad, Jake. I want all of you, need all of you. Please.” She murmured. 

You clicked your tongue. “Hm. I can’t really hear you, love. I said tell me how badly you want me...” you pulled back again on her wrists, still teasing at her entrance. 

“Damn it, baby. I said I need you to fuck me, please! I want to feel all of you inside me, don’t hold anything back...” she raised her voice just slightly. 

With that, you felt your cock twitch, and you released her wrists, and grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling it as you finally entered her, pushing all the way in until you couldn’t go any further. 

Pure. Fucking. Bliss. 

She cried out with pleasure as you began to pull back out, watching yourself leave her, practically dripping. 

Expletives left both of your lips at the sensation, you felt like you completely forgot how to speak. Nothing in this world, not a single thing you love could ever compare to how you feel for her, how she feels around you.

You began to work at a steady pace, pulling in and out of her, basking in the feeling of finally having her again. And how amazing she felt like this. You grabbed her hips, and she stepped her knees apart a bit, allowing her back to arch more for you. Her torso was at an almost 90° angle; you wished you could see this from a side view. 

“Did he fuck you like this? Huh? Tell me, did he fuck you this good?” You asked, wanting to ignite something in her that in all reality, you didn’t care about one way or the other. 

“Mmmm sometimes… yeah he did...” she cooed.

“Hmmm, well. I’m going to fuck every single memory of his body off of you, whether you like it or not.”

“Let’s see it, Jake. Prove it. Prove to me you’re better...” 

Her face was buried in the sheets, her expression fucked out and contorted as you pounded into her hard. You slowed your pace, making her cry out again. If you weren’t mistaken, you were sure she had tears in her eyes. The good kind. 

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Y/N. Tell me you’re never gonna leave me. You’ll never go anywhere ever again…” you were panting, trying to keep up with yourself as your body wanted to fly harder and faster into her. 

“I’ll never leave you, Jake. I promise. I love you so fuckin’ much…please don’t stop…” she whimpered.

You continued your assault on her, not letting up except to snake your hand around her front, finding her sweet spot again with your fingers. It made her cry out, you could tell she was getting close. 

You grabbed the knot of the flannel, untying it quickly, letting her hands fall back to her sides. She lifted herself up and looked back at you as you pulled out, also dissatisfied with the loss of contact. 

“What the fuckkkk Jake...” She half laughed. 

“Go get in the shower. Make it hot.” You demanded, walking over to the mini fridge and pulling out a few little bottles of tequila. The feeling of being intoxicated while fucking her was a high you wanted to keep chasing...neither of you had any guard up, and no holds were being barred. Would it be a rare occasion? Maybe. But you were determined to finish it with a bang. 

A wild smile came to her face, her hair was an absolute mess, her lips were swollen and her cheeks were pink. Beautiful, always so beautiful. And the way she looked at you? Made your stomach fall directly through the floor. Like you were the only human left on earth, and she wanted to own every single bit of you. 

She scampered off to the bathroom, and you heard the water turn on full blast. You reached for the two plastic cups wrapped up in the ice bucket, pouring the tequila into them. You grabbed a tiny can of soda water, adding just enough to add bubbles to the shots. You stuck your pointer finger into them, giving them a tiny stir. You brought your finger inside your mouth and sucked away the excess, following her into the bathroom. 

HER POV 

The bathroom mirror and glass walls were already steaming up within the 30 or so seconds you’d been in the shower. You turned on just a bit of cold water to offset, and stepped under the water. You let it flow over you, closing your eyes as it cascaded down over your face and hair. You stood, waiting for what felt like ages, waiting to feel him again. Where the hell was he? You were still dripping with desire, and you didn’t want it to rinse off…

You heard the door open, and watched through the fogged glass as he entered the room carrying two cups. You opened the glass door for him, steam rolling out as you did so. He smiled, handing you the cup. “Didn’t want to go get ice. Didn’t think you’d care...” he spoke, his voice still sleepy and laced with his high. 

“You know I don’t mind, baby. Thank you.” You smiled and took the cup. He held his cup up to yours, clinking them together, before you both shot back the liquid. “We’re gonna be so hungover tomorrow…” you laughed. 

He laughed in agreement, and walked over and stood under the oversized shower head, letting the hot beads soak his hair and body. Why was everything he did so fucking attractive? 

Once he was sufficiently rinsed, he brought his hands back over to you, bringing your back to the wall. “Mmm, where were we?” His mouth found yours in an instant, picking up right where you’d left off. Except this time, your hands were free to touch him, grab him, squeeze him and stroke him, all the things that made him feel good. You wanted to make him feel good. 

The hot shower poured over you, making each touch of his hands feel like electricity. His hand found itself between your legs again, his fingers knowing exactly where to go. Knowing your body so well…

“Ahhh, still wet for me, are you baby? You ready for me to fuck you again?” He growled into your neck. “It sure feels like it...”

You could do nothing but nod as he slipped two fingers into you, pumping them slowly. 

“Ahhh, shit baby...” you breathed, biting into his shoulder. “I need you so bad...”

He hummed low, working his fingers in and out and shaking them lightly as he entered, giving you a whole new rush of pleasure. 

You suddenly got an unwelcome flashback of just a few short weeks ago, you and Sam in another shower in another hotel, tangled up with your leg hitched over his hip and your tongue in his mouth. 

You bent in half as he teased you with his dick…smacking you across the ass when you didn’t listen…

You shook the thought from your head, hoping that that wouldn’t become a normal occurrence. They did feel…very similar. 

Thankfully Jake was able to pull you back to reality, his eyes looking deeply into yours, beckoning you back to him with his unwavering and unfaltering passion for you. 

He sat down on the small bench in the shower, and patted his lap. “Come here.” 

You waltzed over, wiping the water from your eyes, and placing your knees on either side of him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and positioned yourself above him, sliding yourself down onto him. 

The ride was hot, steamy, sweaty and cloudy. You were still incredibly stoned, your vision still blurry, your movements delayed. The tequila hit you both at the same time…your eyes struggled to stay open to even look at each other…you rode him slowly, feeling every single centimeter of him as you pulled yourself up and down, tightening your muscles as you went.  

He massaged your ass, kissed your shoulders, held your hair as your hips bucked and rolled. You were certain you’d never ever felt this much ecstasy before in your life, whether it be from the smoke or the drink, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. It was mostly him…he was intoxicating all on his own…breathing your name over and over through the water dripping from his lips, his brow turning down into a frown as he looked down and watched himself enter and leave you...your tits bouncing as you fucked him slowly, intently, with as much love as you could muster…

…you felt it growing again, deep inside you, a blazing fire that you’d been chasing after all night. You began to whine a bit, rolling your head on your shoulders in circles as you concentrated on fulfilling your goal. 

“Huh-uh baby, eyes on me, remember?” He said, the steam rolling in front of his face. You were sure you were going to combust at any moment, and the eye contact only made it worse. 

“I’m right there too…just keep riding me...just like that baby…god, fuck you feel so amazing…”

His face contorted into the most beautiful look of pleasure as he lost eye contact, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he cried out. His body convulsing, his arms shaking, his hands grasping and pulling your hair as he came into you, hot and slow, your name spilling from his lips until he had exhausted all the breath in his lungs…

…you weren’t far behind...your release came in the same way, a buildup of intensity, starting low and quiet and exploding into a million tiny white lights passing behind your eyes as your muscles contracted around him…you held on to him for dear life…gripping his shoulders and hair until you both found yourselves panting, coming down from the most tantric and beautiful scene your young bodies had yet to endure. 

He was it. He was everything. Perfection in a person. Nothing else, no one else would ever compare. You knew in your heart that you’d fight for him for the rest of your life, no matter what the consequences might be. 

SAM POV

Your eyes felt bone dry as you tried to pry them open, the cold air blowing from the air conditioner drying them out even further. You were warm under the sheets, not wanting to move just yet, as you noticed Elle sprawled across you. Her curls were splayed around her head in a perfect halo, and you couldn't help but stare. 

Blinking a few times, the dryness started to fade away, giving way to the massive hangover you were sporting. You rolled to your side and grabbed your phone, flipping through your notifications and swiping them away. Your mouth was dry and all you could think about was how perfect a scalding hot coffee would feel slipping over your tongue. 

Dragging yourself from the warmth of the sheets, you stood up, and pulled your messy hair into a bun at the back of your neck. You quietly walked over to your suitcase and pulled out a pair of shorts and a shirt, pulling them on as you looked for your wallet.

Finding it in your pants from last night, you slid it into your fanny pack, and slipped on your birkenstocks. You set your phone to vibrate and dropped it into your pocket as you grabbed the room key and slipped out the door. 

You took the elevator down a few floors to the lobby, milling around watching as festival goers checked out to return home. You made your way to the little cafe, and ordered two coffees, one black and one with room. You paid for the two cups and made your way over to the small table that held the cream and sugar, pouring in just the right amount of both, just how you knew she liked it. You smiled to yourself as you did it, thinking back on the days you spent wishing you could do just this.

As you stirred the coffee, it turned a caramel color and you knew you got it right. You placed lids on the two steaming cups and started back towards the elevators. Walking past the front desk you smiled and said hello to a few people who recognized you, none of them wanting to take up too much of your time. But as you stepped closer to the elevator, the doors opened, and people filed out. 

Someone caught your eye, however, sporting the same red baseball hat as the day prior. You turned to look at him, to really make sure it was him, and as his eyes met yours you knew you had your confirmation. You would know that face anywhere.

Mother fucker.

He quickly walked away from you as you stepped into the elevator, watching as he made his way into the lobby and disappearing out of sight. Your heart was racing at his proximity to Y/N. Why was he here? Did he know she was here?

Your hands were shaking as you stepped out on your floor, feeling like you had to watch over your shoulder as you walked to your room. Stacking the coffees you tapped your key card to the door, and entered the room quietly. Elle was thankfully still sleeping, so you placed the coffees on the desk, and kicked your shoes to the side of the bed. You grabbed your phone and sat on the couch, trying to figure out what to do. With shaky hands you opened your texts, found the brothers group chat and began to type.

You

9:08am: 911

9:09am: He’s in the hotel. 

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Taglist:

@gretavansara@jordie-gvf-admin@starshine-wagner @eyelinerjake@gretavanfvckface@gretavanmoon@misshunnybeebee@fretaganvleet@gvfpal@joshkiszkas@ascendingtostardust@raviolilegs@sammysprincess@gvfpal@objectsinspvce@lallisonl@gvfpal@raviolilegs@jaketlover@ascendingtostardust @indigostreakmorgan@jakemarrymeibeg@fakeplastiqtree@radmads-gvf @fwzco @katelynn-gvf @writingcold @jakesgrapejuice @jakekiszkasbabymama @emsfallingsky @gretavanbear @ejoygvf @beebloopbleep @mackalah @weneedsomehealing123 @reesetrippingthelight @lightmylove-gvf @wetkleenex-gvf@fulltimecynical @little-bit-of-monica@ageofbajabule @ageofsinners@indigostreakslut @profitofthedune @katelynn-gvf @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @joshskittytickler21 @mp0801@starcatcherry @samsbirks

[sampleaudiodeals]

[krazetv]

Violin Intimate (60% Off) by Inlet Audio | WALKTHROUGH & PLAYTHROUGH

[magz]

Humble Bundle have deal for legal FL Studio Basic version, plugins, n samples.

(Read humble bundle details carefully in link. Loops, samples, plugins, 20% off FL Studio coupon.)

$35usd n get everything in bundle. Deal end December 28, 2023.

FreeCodeCamp also make tutorials for " music production with FL Studio" :

[pespillo]

Hey you mind giving me a quick rundown of the Emperor's Acolyte AU please? :)

Around 9 years ago, Belos sailed off to the other side of the world to meet with the Titan Trappers, along with Collector and the past Golden Guard. During the time meeting them, Belos came to known that the Trappers had successfully kidnapped the very last Titan known alive, a direct descendant of the Boiling Isles titan, the leader had come to tell them that even if tempted to sacrifice it right after it had been born and found, he knew that they needed to put all their collective effort in raising it up until its first True Cry (their powers awakening) to be able to communicate with the Grand Huntsman and thus bring forth a new era of glory of their cult.

With interest, Belos had kept Collector away from this conversation, but let them known that he had come across the tablet and it was in his possession , ready to be awakened when needed. Thus they thought of striking up a deal ; Belos had more than enough resources to raise the titan for sacrifice, and he would give them the tablet in the given time, and when the time comes after the Day of Unity they would reunify for a grand sacrifice, and the world left behind will be for the Trappers to conquer. With this deal made that baby titan was sent away with Belos back to the Isles, and the GG was tasked with giving the Trappers the tablet (on the notion that it "belonged" to them as a relic), but after he wandered off by curiosity , he saw the shrine of the Huntsman and the carnage of the murals, and decided this was not people to be trusted, believing in the Will of the Titan meant that that child deserved to live, thus the GG purposefully misplaced the tablet back in the Isles (ending up in the depths of the Bonesborough library) and gave the Trappers a decoy (Belos did expect Collector to remain silent for the next decade, and the Trappers expected the tablet to be not activated in any way) .

And so Belos raises Childe (the only kind of name he´s given King), alongside with Hunter right after knowing the GG´s betrayal n swiftly killing him off, Childe has been raised to believe that he was saved from a group of witches by Belos that wanted to kill him, and that actually, all of the witches and demons of the Demon Realm would want to kill him if they knew he was a Titan, that they are parasites to the Isles and he was brought into this land to take him to a new paradise. But that he has to help him to bring the Day of Unity so he can wipe out all these supposed maggots away from his father and lay his soul and divine mission to rest.

Belos routinely experiments on Childe throughout the years, he´s taken off half his horns to drill bone samples, he takes his blood to see if he can use it on a portal, even getting to the point of drinking his blood because it makes him think it gets his curse under control, all while treating him like a pet, and making the child resentful and volatile towards others, like an attack dog, making him think he´s the only person in this world that understands him. Childe has come to known about Hunter being a grimwalker and is under the impression they are dolls that are just made to obey, Belos has told him they dont really feel Real Emotions, just copying what Real People do.

Kikimora has become aware of King being a Titan simply because Belos needed someone to take care of him when he´s busy with Hunter, and she´s been made to make this an oath to obey the Titan´s will (this will backfire for Belos later).

As years pass by Childe knows the DoU is fast approaching, but so is his curiosity about the world around him outside the castle, his illusions of grandeur and arrogance makes him seek out more, things get even dicier when Luz comes into the picture along Eda, thus thats how everything unravels and Childe will come to realize about Belos betrayal and his own past and more.

[nyupreservation]

Preserving Leaf Paintings in an Anglo-Indian Commonplace Book, 1822-1825

Hello, I’m Alexa Machnik, a third-year graduate student at the Conservation Center, Institute of Fine Arts, NYU. I first came to the Barbara Goldsmith Preservation & Conservation Department in Fall 2022 as a student in the graduate course, Conservation in Context, taught by Laura McCann, Director of Preservation. During this course, we delved into the world of library conservation, exploring the value systems that guide preservation decision-making and treatment action in academic research libraries. One of my class projects involved rehousing delicate leaf paintings from an early 19th-century commonplace book, or friendship album, part of the Fales Library holdings in the Special Collections at NYU Libraries (figs. 1-2) [1]. In honor of Preservation Week, I will share the intriguing history of the book and discuss the decisions that were made to preserve the leaves.

Figure 1 [left]: Front cover of the commonplace book, bound in gold-tooled red morocco leather.   Figure 2 [right]: Ownership label of “Jane Harriet [Blechynden]” on front marbled pastedown.

The book in question was compiled by Jane Harriet Blechynden (1806-1827) in England between 1822 and 1825. It holds her personal collection of handwritten and acquired materials, with contributions from her sisters, Emma and Sarah, who wrote original poems about sisterhood, separation, and their Anglo-Indian ancestry. The three women were the daughters of a British merchant residing in Calcutta, and while born in India, they were educated in England [2]. There is not a great deal known about Jane Harriet’s life in England, but her impending return to India in 1825 is documented in an emotional verse by Emma (fig. 3):

“Thus in parting my sister we’re breaking a link / Which may ne’er be united again / And firm as that chain was ‘tis painful to think / That absence may send it twain.”

Figure 3: Excerpt from the original poem, “Parting and a Meeting,” signed by Emma.

Jane Harriet’s book offers insights into her personhood, social connections, and sensibilities as an artist and collector. In addition to written entries, she inserted a compendium of acquired materials–pressed flowers, her own original drawings, and numerous paintings–between pages of the book (figs. 4-6).

Figures 4-6 [left to right]: A small sampling of the ephemeral treasures found in the book, including a dried pressed flower, a drawing on pith possibly by Jane Harriet, and a cut-paper silhouette.

Notably, six of these paintings are executed on the dried leaves of the Bodhi tree, a sacred plant indigenous to Asia with distinct spade-shaped, long-tipped leaves (fig. 7) [3]. Although leaf painting has origins in Buddhist traditions, by the time Jane Harriet collected her leaf paintings, it had already evolved into a form of Chinese export art in Europe. Her leaves depict secular scenes of contemporary life in China and botanical subjects, which are typical of the export genre (fig. 8). Their inclusion in the book implies that Jane was among the many people who partook in the avid collecting of China trade goods during the first few decades of the 19th century, a time when European fascination for Chinese culture and art was at its peak. 

Figure 7: A leaf painting, as found loose in the book and partially lifted to show the thin, translucent nature of the leaf support.

Figure 8: Another leaf painting from the book, oriented with the leaf tip at the bottom of the image, depicting flowers and a butterfly.

The initial rush of excitement that I felt at finding the leaf paintings soon turned to concern as I gave thought to their long-term preservation at NYU Libraries, where researchers are expected to handle the book. The leaf paintings were loose in between the pages, which raised a series of “what ifs” about the potential dangers they could encounter. What if the leaves slip from the book? What if they bend or break as the pages are turned? What if the painted surfaces become abraded? The paintings were made with opaque pigment-based watercolors on exceptionally delicate, skeletonized leaves that have been primed with a thin organic coating. Despite being intact, their inherent fragility means that they are vulnerable to even the slightest touch. After considerable discussion, the Conservation Unit decided that in order for the leaf paintings to be preserved and safely accessed by researchers, they should be housed separately from the book. 

I thoroughly examined the condition of the leaves and the painted surfaces in order to make a housing recommendation. Despite some minor damage, all were in stable condition. Thus, the ideal housing would provide support to prevent any further damage, such as paint loss and leaf breakage, and at the same time allow the leaves to maintain their translucency. To achieve this, I opted to mount them in double-sided window mats with a support made from clear polyester film, or Mylar® [4]. The addition of the Mylar® would not only create a stable surface for the leaf paintings but also enable the viewing of both sides (fig. 9).

Figure 9: View of the double-sided window mat with a Mylar® support.

My next challenge was to figure out how to mount the leaves onto the Mylar® support without the use of adhesive [5]. After consulting with conservation staff and creating mock-ups, short, discreet Mylar® tabs were selected as the best option to secure them into place (figs. 10-11). For this process, I positioned a single leaf painting onto the support and selectively placed the tabs around its perimeter, making sure the tabs did not overlap any areas of paint. I then used a handheld spot-welding pen to fuse the tabs to the support. Since this process was done in-situ, near the leaf, it required lots of precision practice and encouragement from colleagues before I felt confident enough for the task.

Figure 10: Detail of a mounted leaf painting. Notice that the Mylar® tabs are welded just outside the leaf and extend minimally over the edges, holding it in place with gentle pressure.

Figure 11: The backside of a mounted leaf painting viewed through the Mylar® support. This gives researchers access to the painting’s verso, where an underdrawing and other signs of artistic process can be discerned.

At the time of writing this post, I successfully housed the six leaf paintings in their double-sided window mats (figs. 12-13). This housing project, while complete, is just one part of the ongoing effort to preserve the commonplace book, and the Conservation Unit is continuing work on other elements of the book to ensure its safe return to Special Collections.

Figure 12: Example of the completed housing, showing the front of a leaf painting.

Figure 13: Back of a leaf painting.

Though my involvement in the project has come to an end, I have gained a very special appreciation for the commonplace book and the preservation challenges it presents. The experience of learning directly from NYU Libraries Special Collections was especially invaluable, providing me with opportunities to participate in complex decision-making processes unique to large research libraries driven by user needs. Before signing off, I’d like to extend my gratitude to my supervisors, Laura McCann, Director, and Lindsey Tyne, Conservation Librarian, and the entire team at the Barbara Goldsmith Conservation Lab for their unwavering support and enthusiasm throughout this project. Thank you all very much!

Notes:

[1] A commonplace book is a centralized place for an individual to record information, whether it be their personal thoughts or quotes from outside literary sources. Friendship albums, by contrast, contain handwritten entries from the family, friends, or acquaintances of the owner (often female). Both forms of commonplacing sustained popularity in Europe and America throughout the 19th century. To learn more about this fascinating literary genre, see Jenifer Blouin, “Eternal Perspectives in Nineteenth-Century Friendship Albums,” The Hilltop Review, Vol. 9, Issue 1 (2016) and Victoria E. Burke, “Recent Studies in Commonplace Books,” English Literary Renaissance, Vol. 43, No. 1 (2013), 153-177.

[2] Much of what is known about Jane Harriet (also known in her family as Harriet) comes from the Blechynden papers in the British Library (Add. Mss. 45578-663). This large holding contains the diaries of her father, Richard (Add. Mss. 45581-653), and older brother, Arthur (Add. Mss. 45654-61). For a secondary account of the Blechynden household, see Peter Robb, Sentiment and Self: Richard Blechynden’s Calcutta Diaries, 1791-1822 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2011).

[3] Michele Matteini, “Written on a Bodhi tree leaf,” Anthropology and Aesthetics, Vol. 75-76 (2021), 45-58. 

[4] The design of the double-sided mats is based on an instructional guide made available by the Library of Congress. “Double-Sided Mat,” Library of Congress, accessed 1 February 2023. 

[5] We chose not to use adhesives or traditional paper-hinging techniques to mount the leaf paintings for several reasons. As noted, the paintings are on fragile, non-paper-based supports that have an organic coating, which may be derived from plant gum. The leaf supports are thin, translucent, and highly vulnerable to breakage, so applying hinges directly with adhesive might permanently alter their appearance or risk further damage to the leaves over time, especially if they need to be removed from the housing in the future.

Photographs: Alexa Machnik