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imaginedisish · 1 month

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Is It Casual Now? (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: So this one is a couple of requests rolled into one. I got some asks about dancing around feelings, and some others about a fight/make up sex...and this is what I came up with. This is (very obviously) inspired by "Casual" by the queen herself, Chappell Roan. (Gif is not mine--from a user called trashy on Pinterest). Enjoy!

Summary: I know baby nooo attachment, but we're...KNEE DEEP IN THE PASSENGER SEAT AND YOU'RE EATING ME OUT IS IT CASUAL NOW?

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI! Oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), cockwarming, so much smut, feelings, friends w/benefits/secret affair to lovers, Logan is afraid to love but goddammit he loves you, angsty asf, cursing, happy ending :), fem!reader/afab!reader, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,405 short...not...

Over the course of his very long life, some of Logan’s memories have shifted, melded together. Days become nights and nights become days, an inescapable cycle with an indeterminate end. But Logan remembers the day he met you vividly. You tripped him up; sucked him out of the monotony of what at times felt like a meaningless existence. You changed everything.

The summer air was hot and stuffy. He was standing in the hallway with Jean, Scott, Rogue, and Kurt. The door opened, sunlight filling the dark foyer. And then there you were, stepping inside, with Charles and Storm flanking you.

Your eyes found his immediately. “My X-Men, this is our new recruit,” Charles had said, introducing you to the team. But you were only focused on the man in the middle. The man with the leather jacket and the dark black hair.

“Hi,” you said shyly with a wave of your hand, eyes still focused on Logan. The rest of the team excitedly introduced themselves, but you weren’t listening.

Logan smiled. “Hi,” he said back. He was all you could see.

And he still is. But you’re dancing around your feelings—the both of you. You allow yourselves to give in, but only under the cover of darkness. Only in bed. Late at night. When the rest of the team is fast asleep. It’s always quiet; rushed steps down the hallway and soft taps on doors. Tripping into the darkness of a room to find the bed. A mess of limbs tangled together, moon high in the sky, cold light trickling through the curtains.

It’s the early hours of the morning, the dawn creeping in through your window. Logan’s arm is wrapped around you, his hand holding your breast. It’s so domestic, so intimate. But you know he’s going to leave—one of you always leaves. Lately, it hurts worse every time the bed goes cold.

“I should go,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. He tugs you closer, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He’s still hard, his erection brushing against the curve of your ass. You push back into him teasingly.

“Stay,” you beg, your hips rocking against him.

He kisses your neck. “Can’t. You know we can’t.”

Your heart drops. You don’t know how much more of this arrangement you can take. The leaving. The hiding. The secretiveness. “Why?” You ask, separating from him. You roll over onto your other side to face him. “Why can’t we?”

“We just can’t,” he grunts, pushing himself up and out from under the covers. He finds his clothes on the ground and starts to dress himself. You sit up too, tears suddenly brimming behind your eyes.

You shake your head. “That’s not an answer, Lo.”

“Please,” he says, tugging his beater across his chest. He leans over you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “You have to understand.”

You nod, but you don’t understand. He kisses you once more before stepping quietly towards the door. His hand hovers over the doorknob, like part of him can’t take this either. Like he has to fight some demon deep inside him not to crawl back into bed and pull you close. You know him; you can see it in his face, in the way he stands.

“See you later?” You ask, swallowing nervously. You need to hear him say it—need him to remind you that this isn’t over. You’re desperate for anything—desperate for him.

Logan smiles. “Yeah,” he nods. “Come to my room tonight, okay?”

You fight back your tears, plastering a fake smile on your face. “Okay.”

And then he’s slipping out the door, softly shutting it behind him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night…

His sheets are soft under your back. His arm holds you down, latched tightly over your hip, keeping your lower half glued to the mattress. His face is buried deep in your cunt. He’s lapping at you hungrily, needily.

“Thought about you all day,” he mumbles against you, the bassy vibration of his voice sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. His fingers pump in and out of you, fast and hard. “Wanted to taste you so bad, pretty girl.”

“Logan,” you whine as he takes your clit between his lips, sucking roughly. “F-feels so good.”

Your walls flutter around him as he sinks his fingers deeper inside you. There’s a hunger in his eyes, a desperation you’re well acquainted with. You feel it whenever you’re around him, whenever he’s pressing himself closer to you, pushing himself inside of you.

“Doing so good for me, darlin’,” he soothes, his thumb drawing circles into your hip. “Tastes so fucking good, so sweet.” His words are practically throwing you over the edge, destroying you, and then building you back up.

He’s knuckle-deep inside you, lapping at you, watching your every reaction to see what makes you feel good. The sight of him is overwhelming—his mouth latched onto your clit, hair a mess, sweat on his brow, lust darkening his eyes.

You throw your head back as he hits your sweet spot, his fingers scissoring inside you. “S-so close,” you stutter as he sinks into you. “Need you, Lo,” you whimper.

“Need you too, beautiful,” he murmurs between laps. “More than you’ll ever know.” The words—their vulnerability and meaning—push you over, your orgasm crashing in waves. “That’s it,” he coos, plunging into you. “Give it to me.” He talks you through it, soft praises slipping from his lips as his tongue drags along your clit. Lemme taste you come, sweetheart. So good. So fucking beautiful.

He pulls his fingers from your cunt long after you’ve finished. He licks one long stripe through your folds before crawling up your body and settling in between your legs. His lips find yours, and you can taste yourself on his mouth, on his tongue, wearing you like a badge of honor, like proof of his commitment to you.

Commitment. Right.

He made you feel so good that you almost let yourself forget. Your arrangement. This stupid, goddamn arrangement.

No staying. No telling. You. Him. The moonlight. And then nothing.

Logan’s face is buried in the crook of your neck, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive spot underneath your ear.

“Lo,” you whisper. He hums against you, not stopping. “Logan,” you chide again.

He pushes himself up, looking down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What is it, princess?” You swallow harshly, blinking back your tears. The expression on his face shifts as he recognizes the pain in your eyes. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head. “I want you,” is all you say.

“I want you too,” he says back, pressing his forehead to yours.

“N-no,” you choke. “I want you.”

He pulls up a bit, putting some space between the two of you. “You have me,” he says, confusion painted across his face.

“No, I don’t,” you mutter, shutting your eyes.

Logan rolls off of you and sits up against the headboard. “What are you talking about?”

You open your eyes, looking up at him. “I can’t do this ‘sneaking around’ thing anymore,” you start, tears flooding your eyes as you struggle to hold them back. “I want—” you cut yourself off. You can’t play down your emotions anymore. “I need you, all of you. Always. I’m tired of leaving, of hiding, of this whole casual thing.”

“Casual?” His voice is harsh, accusatory. “This isn’t fucking casual to me. You think I don’t care about you?” He reaches out to touch you, but you turn away, swinging your legs around the side of the bed. You grab your clothes from the floor and dress quickly.

You turn back to face him. “Why don’t you want to stay with me, then? Why are we only together when no one is looking?” You shake your head, your hands balling into fists. “Why don’t you want me all the time?”

He scoffs, standing from the bed and striding over to you. “You don’t get it. I do. I want you. I just can’t—”

“You can’t what?” You shout. You don’t care who can hear you. You’re not even thinking about the others right now. You’re only thinking about Logan. And then, the words shoot out your mouth, cold and angry. Empty. Strained. “Can’t love me like I love you?”

Your eyes widen, shocked at what you’ve just said. Your chest heaves, and you rush to the door.

“Wait, please,” Logan calls, running to catch you before you leave. “Don’t go.”

You twist the knob. “It’s too late now.” You open the door and slip out, trying to shove it closed in his face. But Logan pushes against you, keeping the door open and stepping out into the hallway. You turn around and storm down the corridor, ignoring his footsteps following behind.

He grabs your wrist, and you yank it away. You’re in front of your bedroom door now. Logan is just a few feet away. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

His eyes search yours frantically. “No, let’s talk. Let’s—”

You cut him off. “I don’t want to anymore, Lo.” You open your door, ignoring his pleas, leaving him on the other side as you slam it shut behind you. You rest your back against the cold wood, sliding down to the floor. You pull your legs into your chest, your head resting on your knees.

Your tears flow freely now, running down your cheeks. You sit like that for what feels like hours, sobs racking through your chest. But when your tears finally subside and you look up, you see the moon is still high in the sky.

You force yourself to stand, your knees weak as you push yourself off the ground. Your throat is dry from all that time spent crying. You decide to go down to the kitchen, to get water, to calm down. But when you open the door, you’re met with him.

Logan. He’s on the other side, his hand gripping the door frame, muscles flexing, towering over you. You try to slip under his arm, but he doesn’t let you, grabbing your waist and holding you in place.

“We need to talk,” he mutters, backing you into the room and shutting the door with a kick.

You cross your arms against your chest. “There’s nothing left to talk about.” But he isn’t standing down. Your thighs back into the edge of your bed as Logan leans down over you. You look up at him, doing your all not to give in to the voice that screams to touch him, to taste him. You take a deep breath. “We want different things. You don’t want me the way I want you, and that’s fine,” you lie; it isn’t fine at all.

“I never said that,” he huffs, his fingertips tentatively stroking your arms. You can’t pull away as his eyes find yours. “I just…” he trails off, taking your hands in his.

You scoff, shaking your head. “You can’t even tell me how you feel. You can’t even—” “Because it’s hard!” He says, his jaw working. “It’s hard when you lose everyone you love.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “You don’t get it,” he murmurs, squeezing your hands, his chest heaving.

“Logan—”

“You’re always around, always on my fucking mind.” He pauses, his eyes glossing over as the words fall from his lips. “I have never loved someone the way I love you. And if I lose you…if I can’t have you…” He trails off, pain clear on his face. “I will never be the same again. You changed me. And that’s terrifying. I felt safer keeping you at a distance but…” His breath catches in his throat. “I can’t go back to how I was before you.”

Your lips part as you stammer, searching for the right thing to say. “I-I didn’t know. I just assumed that you—” “That I was just fucking you?” He asks, tilting his head in disbelief. “This has never been just fucking.” He slots his knee between your legs, tugging you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I love you. Always have. From that first day.”

You lean into his touch. “I love you, too,” you whisper.

He presses his forehead to yours. “I can’t lose you,” he says. There’s a tremble in his voice. “It’s just you. It��s only ever gonna be you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you reassure. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

He nods against you. “I never meant to hurt you,” Logan husks. “Never meant to make you feel like I didn’t love you.”

“Logan, it’s okay,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. You need him closer, and you know he needs you too. His hands slip underneath your shirt as his knee nudges against your center. “Always gonna need you.” You can’t help but grind down on him, the pressure relieving the building ache in your core. “N-need you now.”

“Need you too, pretty girl,” he soothes. He guides you down onto the mattress. His palms spread across your stomach, tracing over your ribs—just under your breasts. “Wanna make you feel good.” He cups your tits, squeezing softly, his thumbs ghosting over your nipples.

Logan settles on top of you, balancing on his forearm, his knee still pressing into your all too-clothed cunt. He knows how much you need him—the way your hips roll against him, how you arch up to meet his touch.

“L-Lo,” you stutter, dragging your heat against him again. “Fuck me, please.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, his erection hard against your thigh. You can feel his resolve slipping. “Gonna give you what you want, pretty girl,” he groans. “Give you anything you want.”

Everything is rushed, frantic, needy. He’s sitting up, grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head, practically ripping it in the process. He hooks his thumbs into the waistbands of your shorts and panties, tugging them down your legs in one quick movement.

He takes you in, his eyes flitting up and down your body. “So fucking beautiful,” he breathes, his hand squeezing your hip reverentially before tearing off his beater and throwing it to the floor. He slips his sweatpants down his legs, and then his boxers.

Logan pushes you into the center of the bed as he climbs over you. He balances on his forearm while his free hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your entrance.

You can tell he wants to shove himself inside, to take you greedily, but he doesn’t. He’s holding back; going slow like he’s remembering this so he can think about it later, when he needs it most—savoring the feeling of you against him. His tip slides through your folds, teasing your entrance. He nudges against your clit, spreading your arousal.

But his composure quickly cracks. He’s suddenly sinking inside you deeply—down to the hilt—with no warning, taking up every inch you have to give him. He stretches you out, the size of him still no easier to take than that first time he fucked you. “Logan,” you whine, hands pawing at his back for support.

He swallows your whimpers with a kiss. “I’m right here.” His voice is honeyed as he talks you through it. “I’ve got you, pretty girl. Not going anywhere.” He pulls out and shoves himself back inside, deeper this time. His fingers are on your clit now, circling softly. “So fucking tight, so wet. Perfect pussy.”

His cock rubs your inner walls deliciously, pumping in and out. He’s on top of you, inside you, and he’s yours. He’s all yours. You wrap your legs around his waist as he rocks into you. He’s building his pace, letting himself go.

“It’s s-so good.” You stumble over your words, already fucked out. “Y-you’re so good.”

His thrusts are faster now, his hips snapping roughly into yours. “So soft,” he murmurs, biting your bottom lip and then licking away the sting he left behind. “So fucking soft and pretty. Taking me so good, darlin’.”

His words spark that fire in your belly. You can feel it spread down, down, down. The ache between your legs blooming, turning into something bigger. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him. He groans at the feeling as you take him deeper. All you want, all you need, is him. Logan. “Yours,” you whisper. “L-Logan I’m all yours. Not going anywhere.”

“Shit,” he curses, pounding into you, all the way hit after hit. “You’re all I need,” he confesses between thrusts, panting. He flicks your clit, pinching, circling hard. “Mine, all fucking mine. Never gonna let go.”

“Don’t,” you beg, his forehead pressing to yours. He’s all-consuming; he’s everywhere and he’s everything. “D-don’t let go,” you finish, your lips ghosting his. He takes the hint, and his lips crash down onto yours as he ruts into you.

You can feel yourself cresting, ready to let go. “I know you’re getting close for me, beautiful,” Logan growls, pressing a kiss to that sweet spot under your ear. “Can feel you squeezing me.” Your walls clench around him, and he groans. “Yeah, just like that, sweetheart. Feels so good.”

“L-Lo…” you stutter, unable to form a coherent thought as he fucks into you, stroking your clit faster and harder. You’re falling apart underneath him, every thrust pushing you closer to that peak. You throw your head back, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Eyes on me,” Logan demands, his voice thick and raspy. You listen, looking up at him. His eyes are locked on yours, lust-filled and dark. “Wanna see that pretty face when you come, darlin’.”

You can feel his pace faltering—can feel him getting closer too. But he’s relentless as his hips roll against yours, fingers still working your clit. It’s too much. “Logan,” you whimper. “I-I’m gonna…” “I know, beautiful,” he says softly. “Let go for me, wanna feel you come on my cock.”

He thrusts again, flicking your clit. And that’s all it takes for you to crumble. He watches closely as you come undone. You’re trembling underneath him, his fingers still circling your core. Your muscles contract around him, sucking him in, taking him deeper. You moan his name like it’s a prayer, something holy. But this is beyond that. This is something more, something different.

“L-love you, Lo,” you murmur, pleasure still coursing through your veins.

Logan curses under his breath, your words unlocking something trapped inside him. His cock throbs against your walls, and you know he’s almost there. “Love you too, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Love you so fucking much.” He slides his hand up your body and under your back, pulling you closer. You need the contact, and so does he.

“W-want you to come inside,” you whine, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

“F-fuck, yeah?” He stutters. His cock twitches again. “Gonna fill you up, sweetheart, give you what you need.” His lips find yours as he comes, kissing you hungrily. He’s warm inside you, painting your walls, filling you up just like he said he would. Logan’s head falls to your shoulder as his thrusts slow. He stalls inside you, staying there, not quite ready to slip out.

“Lo?” You call. He hums a yeah, sweetheart, into your shoulder. “D-don’t want you to pull out. Want you to stay inside.”

He mutters a fuck and presses a kiss to your collarbone. He maneuvers the two of you under the covers, careful not to pull out. You’re a tangle of limbs, still connected, still together. He’s half hard inside you, and you know he’s not quite finished just yet. But there’s later, tomorrow, forever. Everything feels perfect—the way it was always meant to be.

There’s one thing left to do; one thing left to ask.

“Logan?” You call again. He smiles at you, pressing a chaste kiss to your nose. “Can you stay?”

His smile widens. “Always gonna stay,” he soothes, pulling you tighter to his chest, his hands rubbing up and down your back. “You never have to ask again.”

You hum, burying your head into the center of his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says against the crown of your head. “Always will. Always gonna stay.”

Always.

tags: @babygirl-4986

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felassan · 1 month

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John Epler in the BioWare Discord (August 7th) -

John: "You can disable/enable helmets for cutscenes or at all times." --- User: "Will we be able to collect codex entries again?" John: "Absolutely. Codex entries are part of the series' DNA - plus, they're really fun to write." --- User: "Are there long curly hair options?" John: "There are!" --- User: "Are sub-classes locked to the faction you’re in?" John: "No. They're themed towards factions, but you can choose a specialization from a separate faction than your own." --- User: "Will subtitles from companions be on screen with their icons lit up like in Inquisition?" John: "Subtitles will appear center-screen and have the speaker name attached. So you'll see who's saying what." --- User: "Regarding the cutscenes findable in the game, will a gallery be available for re-watch?" John: "Not at present, no. Since our cutscenes are (almost all) real-time in-engine, this would be nearly impossible with our tech."

[character limit text break!]

User: "What are the chances for a third World of Thedas volume after The Veilguard's release?" John: "I can't comment on specific plans, but World of Thedas is close to my heart and I'd love to do more in general with our ancillary books and products, once we're able to come up for air from the game." --- User: "Can we edit our race during character creator freely or are we locked in by choosing race first like in inquisition?" John: "Lineage informs a number of options after that choice - you can always go back in CC and change it, but it's the first decision you will make and changing it will reset the following decisions." --- User: "I did have a follow-up on lineage - do the other lineages/races also have background choices the way elves do with city/dalish? CAN we play a qunari raised within the Qun?" John: "So a couple of things, just to be super clear on this. There is no 'city elf/dalish elf' switch (for example) that you can pick in character creator. Each lineage can be each faction, though, and that will provide a baseline for your character you can further refine through role playing. For Elves, as an example - Veil Jumper elves tend to be more 'Dalish' to reflect that background, while Shadow Dragon elves tend to have a background that reflects being an Elf in Minrathous. Other factions have their own nuance. Importantly, those things tend to be more focused on how you relate to that faction, while leaving more general 'Elf' topics as something you have more freedom with. Or, TLDR - while choices at CC define some baselines around your character, we like to give you the opportunity to build your character's background and beliefs through in-game RP. Hopefully all that makes sense." User: "That does, and is right in line with what Corinne said during the Q&A! I was asking whether we would see the same background variety in the non-elven lineages." John: "Yes! Sorry, that's what I was trying to answer - there will be plenty of opportunities to RP who you are/were as the other lineages as well."

[character limit text break!]

User: "are there companions gifts again" John: "Isn't the gift of your presence enough? More seriously, though - you very well might find things in the world that certain companions would appreciate!" --- John: "Rook is generally assumed to be anywhere from late 20s to late 40s, but ultimately we don't give Rook a specific age. You can RP them to be however old you want." --- User: "will conversations be zoomed in like a cutscene type or zoomed out like in DAI?" John: "While we do have some 'lighter' conversations for specific types of content, they use a more traditional over-the-shoulder cinematic camera. I created the simple conversation system in DAI and while it did what we needed it to do, we heard the feedback on the camera loud and clear." --- User: "The darkspawn look fairly different in veilguard. Is ot a simple redisgn like the demons or is it due to them being enhanced by red lyrium?" John: "I'm not going to tell you WHAT it is that's making them look different, since that's a spoiler, but it's more than just a visual redesign." --- John: "Need and inspiration, mostly. We can't bring in every single animal out there, especially since we want the ones we DO put in the game to be at the right level of quality. So we pick the ones that we know make sense in the spaces we're building, and also it's based on what the team wants to do. If someone is incredibly passionate about bringing in a specific creature, it's something we want to give opportunities to pursue wherever possible. As to the general ecology of Thedas - there are absolutely similarities, but it's not 1:1. A world where megafauna still exist as apex predators (dragons) is going to have some pretty significant impact on what else exists." --- User: "does the lighthouse have a kitchen, can we eat and drink? what sort interactables are there at the home base" John: "Not going to get into specifics on interactables, but there is more to do in the Lighthouse than conversations with companions. The Lighthouse does have a kitchen, and your companions acknowledge it/use it both narratively and ambiently. Some maybe better than others." John: "A little more expansion on this - we want the Lighthouse to feel like a 'real space' as much as possible. That means making it a space that makes sense and, eventually, feels like home to you and your team. It also means spending a little extra time on how the companions (and Rook) use and exist in the space. At this point we've made a LOT of personal hub spaces in DA and ME, and we've learned a lot from doing so." --- John: "It wouldn't be a DA game if we didn't have some returning characters. We've shown some of the more obvious ones, and hinted at others, but we want to keep some surprises for launch."

[source: the official BioWare Discord]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #mass effect

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bloomries · 11 months

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our compatibility is... 0%!?

includes : lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, and belphegor.

summary : you come across one of those 'compatibility' quizzes and decide to take it as a joke— only for the results to end up saying you two are NOT perfect for each other!? what!?

warnings : gn! reader. insecurities.

LUCIFER

Lucifer had always been very popular with his good looks, so you really weren't all that surprised to see the Devildom heartthrob on a magazine cover with the promise of a compatibility quiz inside. You decided to buy it just for laughs.

"Must you really?" He sighs, shaking his head at your childish antics. Lucifer, however, couldn't deny the little bit of excitement he felt knowing you'd score a perfect 100- except as you circled your answered and tallied up your score...

Lucifer scoffed, taking the magazine and putting on his reading glasses. Well this is just ridiculous! He shook his head, tossing the magazine to the side. "What do those idiots know anyways?" He glances at you, hoping you weren't too upset by the results, only for him to see you giggling. Were you happy with the results, or perhaps are you laughing at him?

Seeing his mood begin to sour at both of those thoughts, you rest your head on his shoulder and take hold of his hand. "We seem to have a habit of beating the odds, don't we?"

Oh? So that's what made you so happy? Knowing that you two some how managed to fall so deeply in love, despite being opposites, despite the odds being pitted against you two time and time again? Yes, he concludes internally, your love was extraordinary.

MAMMON

"Look, your super hot boyfriend is on the cover of this months magazine." He says, throwing down the magazine in front of you. You quirk a brow, forgetting earlier this month about his photoshoot, and flipped through the pages, smiling at the sight of him.

"You look very handsome," You coo, leaning up to give him a kiss before you flipped to that page. Mammon instantly grew hot in the face and tried to snatch the magazine back but it was too late, your interest was piqued.

"Ohoho? What's this? A dating quiz?" You wiggle brows, answering the questions in your head.

"Give it back, 's embarrassin'!" He whined, still trying to get it but it's too late, you've turned the page to get your answer and-

"Wha- we aren't compatible!?" You turn to face Mammon with a frown, giving him the magazine back.

"Wait what?!" Finally he snatches the magazine from you and reads the questions before frowning as he flips to the answer page and, "'m not even compatible with myself?" You both share a look before an eased laughter fill the room. "Who even came up with these questions 'n answers? My favorite thing is obviously-"

"Grim?"

"You!... But then grim, yeah."

LEVIATHAN

You had just been sent a link by an anonymous number, and seeing Levi's name in the link had you curious, so you opened it and was brought to a quiz on... how compatible are you and the third born, leviathan!

Peeking over at Levi who was still farming for materials on his phone, you decided to take the silly little quiz. You felt pretty confident in your answers, knowing him best. It wasn't until the 'YOU TWO ARE TOTALLY INCOMPATIBLE' screen came up that you gasped, catching Levi's attention.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, brows furrowed a little. You blink, before forcing a smile and nodding.

"Yeah, totally, everything is perfect!" You say, exiting out of the quiz and moving to cuddle up with him. "You know I love you, right?" He blushes, looking away and nodding.

"Y- Yeah, I do... I love you too..." His voice grows more and more quiet until you barely hear him- but you know what he says. You giggle, pressing a kiss to the side of his face.

"Good! 'Cause no matter what anyone says, we're a perfect match~" Levi tenses, before whipping his head around to look at you, tears in his eyes.

"Did... Did someone say we're not?" Deciding to not make him worry anymore, you shake your head, making plans to block the unknown number but not before telling them how terrible their quiz is.

"No, don't you worry~" Thankfully, he relaxes after that- and the quiz is taken down shortly after your complaint.

SATAN

"Oh, what are you doing?" Satan asked, peeking over your shoulder to look at your computer. He read the title of the quiz and to say the least, he pulled a seat up next to you. "A dating quiz, hm?"

"I like reading the scenarios that go with it. I always get you, of course." You say, rather proudly, as you click the last question. "See, I got-!? I got Mammon!?" You can almost hear the way Satan's jaw clenches.

"Well, it's all in good fun." He says, but his expression betrays his nonchalant words.

"This doesn't usually happen," You clarify, scrolling down, "watch you'll be in second place-... or last..." You mumble, seeing you didn't get a single answer right for the 'Satan' choice. "Not all quizzes are created equally, this one is obviously a bad quiz so- where are you going?"

The sinister aura he's carrying makes a chill run down your spine, and fear for whoever has to face his wrath. "I just remembered I have to pay Mammon a visit."

"It doesn't have anything to do with this quiz though, right?"

"..."

"Right?"

He clears his throat, a little blush forming on his cheeks, "I'll be going now."

ASMODEUS

"Look what came out today~" Asmo says as he jumps into bed beside you, giggling as he flips through the pages and admiring himself. "Don't I look good enough to eat?" He asks, showing you the pictures.

"Oh, you look amazing, Asmo!" You take the magazine and flip through a few more pages of him. He truly was gorgeous and such an amazing model.

"And~" Asmo says in a sing-songy way, flipping the page to a specific number, "Look at this, a dating quiz." Pink hearts surrounded the questions and several adorable pictures of Asmo decorated the page. "So, how compatible are we? 100 percent? 1000 percent? A million?"

"Uhmm..." Quickly answering the questions honestly, you frown. "Zero."

"Zero!?" He snatches it back from you, looking over the questions and answers. "H- How could you possibly get a zero? We're soulmates!" He whines, leaning into you.

"Well, it's just a silly magazine quiz, I wouldn't read too much into it." Asmo was clearly not satisfied with this though, as he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Honey, what are you doing?" You ask, hesitant because you hadn't seen him this worked up since they claimed his hot pink leopard print outfit wasn't 'cozy chic'.

"Obviously calling the magazine and telling them they made an error with the compatibility quiz! We'll just have them change all the right answers to whatever yours were." As sweet as that is, you take the phone away from him and help him get it off of his mind with some kisses.

BEELZEBUB

"Beel this is serious," You whine, "We aren't compatible!" Beelzebub furrows his brows. You're really that upset about the dating quiz? He sets his food down and turns to look at you, smiling weakly.

"But we are compatible."

"Well not according to that quiz!" Beel frowns. If he could, he's get rid of the quiz all together and tell you a million times over that you two are the most compatible people to ever exist, but he can't do the first part so...

"But we are." He says, "We don't need a quiz to tell us what we are or aren't." He takes a bite of his food, before continuing, "I can't imagine wanting to be with anyone else, ever."

Your quietness didn't go unnoticed by Beelzebub, who worries maybe he said the wrong thing. He offers you a fry as a peace treaty, and you take it, although you don't eat it right away.

"Beel?"

"Yeah?"

"You're right. I also... can't imagine being with anybody else either, so..." you take a bite of the fry, "let's just forget about that dumb, dumb quiz." He chuckles, agreeing easily.

BELPHEGOR

"Maybe we aren't compatible 'cause you're annoying, that's why, now leave me alone." He whines, swatting his hand at you to try and shoo you away. You huff, not giving in as you ask him how he'd answer one of the quiz questions. When he gave the same answer as you you were resolute in your conclusion that this quiz was simple wrong. Belphie didn't really seem to care though.

"You're so rude." You say, "If it were the other way around you'd be all clingy and whining and saying how we're so compatible."

"Well I wouldn't fail the compatible quiz." He states matter-of-factly, turning around to face you. "Anyways," he rips the magazine from you and crumples the paper up, "not like these dumbasses know me any better than you do." He throws the paper over his shoulder and looks up at you. "So will you quit whining already?"

"So you think we're compatible?"

"If I say yes will you go to sleep already."

"Belphie!"

"Ugh! Yes, I think we're more compatible than anybody else in all three realms, and I really mean it, okay? So now just, c'mere, and go to sleep!" He lifts his arm and you snuggle in close to him, your happiness radiating off of you. "Stop smiling it's creeping me out."

"You looove me~"

"Yeah, yeah..."

(Seems your smiling was infectious, as Belphie fell asleep with a very content smile on his lips)

#obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #om x reader #om imagines #om headcanons #omswd x reader #omswd imagines #omswd headcanons #obey me fluff #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader

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1pepsiboy · 5 months

Text

Car video with Matt Sturniolo - Fluff! (request)

Matt Sturniolo x reader!

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: swearing, a little kissing

A/N: This one got away from me and I had to reign it back in because it's not supposed to be smutty lmaooo But here it is!

***

It’s close to midnight as Matt parks the van in a random spot at the favorite lot. The two of you got fries, chicken nuggets with sweet n’ sour sauce (mostly for him), and a large milkshake to share. You plan to do a car video to post on his individual channel.

You have no idea what you were going to talk about. Matt had fans submit their own questions for you two to answer.

After setting up the camera, which included Matt going out to check it, you start recording and picking at the food.

Matt starts the video off. "Hey everyone, (y/n) and I are here. Uhm... basically we're going to do our own car video without Nick and Chris. We don't really have a topic, but you guys submitted questions on instagram. Babe, have anything to start us off?"

Now, he looks at you as you’re mid fry. You chew quickly as possible, wiping your hands on a napkin, as he giggles under his breath.

"Thanks for the warning," you remark with a laugh. "Uhm, not really... I'm just here for the vibes."

"For the vibes?" Matt crooks a brow and looks you up and down. Then he takes a nugget and dips in the sauce.

You roll your eyes. "Don't yuck my yum."

Matt stuffs the nugget in his mouth. "Okay, Chris."

All you do is flip him off and take a sip of the milkshake.

"Just ask the questions."

"Okay, okay." He laughs as he readjusts in his seat after grabbing his phone. It's quiet for a couple minutes while he gathers them. "Oh, let's start with this one. What's our favorite thing about each other?"

"Well-"

"Oh, quick disclaimer, sorry babe." Matt shoots you a nervous smile. "I will edit screenshots of the questions onto the screen so you can see who they're from. And uh.. if you'd like to get featured in videos, follow us on instagram to see the next time I ask for questions. I'll put the @s on the screen and in the description below."

You slowly chew on your straw after taking another sip, patiently waiting for him to be done. It's already been fifteen minutes and you are almost positive Matt forgot the extra battery pack. Granted, you could've asked Nick where it was and brought it; too late.

"Okay, what were you going to say?" Matt prompts.

You think about making another snarky remark in how it'd been so long since he asked the question that you don't remember it.

Tapping the straw on your pursed lips, you pretend to think. "Well... I have many favorite things so it's an unfair question."

Matt lightly rolls his eyes. "Look, I know you love everything about me, but what's your favorite?"

"Oh, everything?" You laugh. "You think so highly of yourself, don't you, Matty B? Let's go the different route then." You look directly into the camera. "Guys, this kid will not accept anything sort of unorganized or clean. Not for more than five minutes if he can help it."

Matt's jaw drops and he snatches the cup out of your hand. "Your least favorite thing is how organized I am?"

"Yeah, live a little! You won't die if there's like a wrapper or two on your desk, or if the toothbrush isn't in the holder."

"You are an absolute monster, (y/n)!" Matt cracks. He points between you and the camera. "Don't believe a single word she says. She leaves more than a wrapper or two, and her skincare is all over my bathroom counter after she does her morning routine."

You shrug. "I don't see a problem with that, and I don't think the fans will either."

"Guys, leave a comment if you're more like me or (y/n)." He barely scoffs under his breath, eating another fry. "You're lucky you have other amazing qualities that I overlook the messiness."

Now, you couldn't help blushing. “Such as?”

Matt shakes his head, a smile spreading on his lips. “You’re understanding about a lot going on, you know, like the channels, life, and stuff. So it’s easy to talk to you about it, like if I’m ever anxious or something.”

“Top fucking notch quality right there,” you say. “Anything else? I love the praise.”

“I thought this was reserved for in private, babe.”

Your eyes go wide and you almost spit out the fry you just put in your mouth. “Matthew! Stop!”

Matt giggles under his breath. “Sorry. Uhm… You can rock a men’s polo and make the best playlists for me… Obviously you have such a vibrant personality.”

“That I do.” You nod in agreement. You reach out to brush back some of his hair, causing some pinkness to rouge on his cheeks. “I love how cautious you are about decisions, keeps me from letting impulsive thoughts win.”

“Which is a lot,” he shoots a look at the camera.

You can only roll your eyes in response. “Anyway… You’re the most caring person I know that will drop anything to help someone you love. The only time you won’t ask a lot of questions… Oh! You’re actually the best big spoon ever.”

He bites his bottom lip, failing to hold back a cheesy grin. “Really, babe?”

“Absolutely.”

You close the space between you, and Matt instinctively rests his hand in the crook of your neck. You crawl over the center console onto his lap when you realize it wouldn’t be just a few kisses.

Time gets away and you sort of forget that you are filming. Your hands roam each other’s bodies over and under clothes. Both of you leave butterfly kisses on the other’s neck.

The lights in the van suddenly dim away.

“Shit. Fuck,” Matt says, his lips pink from yours and hair tousled more than usual. “I think the camera died.”

“And we technically only answered one question.” You bite your lip with a laugh.

He laughs with you, running a hand through his hair. He lays back and looks you in the eyes. “I should’ve known not to start with that question.”

“Should we try doing this again on a different night?”

Matt sighs heavily. “Probably… It would suck to scrap all the footage though.”

A smirk rises on your lips as you move back to the passenger seat. “You want to include clips of us making out?”

“Obviously no.” He rolls his eyes.

“Let’s just keep going then. Use my phone to record.”

Matt kisses the crook of your neck. “You’re the best, babe.”

You shoot him a look. “Be careful, Matthew.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He throws his hands up in defense. (He really wasn’t that sorry.)

*You can request others from this list or send me new ones!*

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo request #fluff #request #car video #car video with matt

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wordsarelife · 6 months

Text

—gorgeous

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: being in love with your best friend might be a bad idea, but drowning your sorrows in alcohol might be your worst one yet

warnings: underage drinking, partying, no usage of y/n, a few suggestive remarks

notes: this is my official entry for the hogmarch challenge of @thatdammchickennugget using prompt 2: “are you speaking parsletongue or am i really that drunk?”

the night was rushing fast away in front of your eyes, easy chatter, at the start of the party, quickly turning into drunken singing and shouting along to the music that was drowning out everything else.

the dim blue light that was shining through the ravenclaw common room did it‘s best to worsen the drunken state many of your classmates were in.

mattheo was sitting on a couch, wearing his usual cool demeanour and being surrounded by his friends. they were known for getting a bit drunk, but never making an embarrassment out of themselves through loud singing or obnoxious dancing.

and normally you were known for sitting right next to them and doing the same.

even though it was dark, you could see mattheo's head turn and his eyes searching the crowd for you. you had excused yourself to get something to drink. that had been over ten minutes ago and you were really debating to just go to bed.

the night had turned out differently than you had expected and you weren't really in the mood to act like it hadn't.

"someone is looking for you" a voice behind you said and you turned around startled.

"harry" you said relieved when you recognized the boy.

it wasn't like the two of you were friends, after all you were coming from vastly different groups, but since a project in astronomy you had become acquaintances, sometimes sharing a few nice words at parties.

"why are you standing here all alone? why aren't you with your friends?"

"why aren't you?" you shot back, making harry quirk an eyebrow.

"well played" he complimented and smiled "i was trying to get away from dean and ginny making out"

"ouch" it wasn't really a well known fact that harry fancied ginny, but you had noticed it right away a few parties ago and he had been able to read you well enough to know that you had known.

"it's alright" he shrugged "i just don't want to sit next to it"

"who would?" you asked sarcastically as you eyes fell on the couple, hungrily making out on the couch, successfully pushing seamus off.

it seemed that a few people felt way too comfortable in the ravenclaw common room.

"oi, it's no fun with these two" seamus complained, sympathetically hitting harry's shoulder on the way to the table with the drinks.

"back to you" harry grinned, seemingly uncomfortable with talking about his secret crush on ginny weasley more than necessary "why are you avoiding riddle? i thought you two were the best of friends"

"i'm not avoiding him" you said defensively, taking a big gulp from the vodka in your cup to prevent yourself from saying any more.

harry took a moment to study your facial expression, before he sighed in a tone that almost made you tear up "oh"

"no" you shook your head "no 'oh', stop looking at me like that, potter"

harry laughed dryly "too late" he shrugged "so, being the best of friends is your actual problem, huh?"

you didn't answer his question, but took another sip from the cup. immediately regretting it.

harry cringed "if you continue drinking at that rate you won't be able to speak a coherent sentence in a few minutes"

"maybe i don't want to speak coherent sentences anymore"

"so we're already at the point of drowning our sorrows in alcohol?" he raised his cup and took a sip "no, you're right, it doesn't look like you're unluckily in love with riddle at all"

you sighed "okay, fine, you're obviously smarter than you look" you rolled your eyes.

"well, ouch" harry said offended, but you could see a hint of mischief in his eyes. "am i allowed to join your little club of self-pity?"

"sure" you nodded "the more the merrier i guess"

"there's no better way to spend a party than drown yourself in self-pity with the girl you're kind of on good terms with"

"yeah, totally" you grinned "but i think if we continue talking at that rate we will be able to call each other friends in an hour"

"deal" harry laughed, before he grabbed the bottle of vodka on the table behind you, filling both your own and his cup back up. he put the bottle back and held his cup in your direction "to unrequited love" he said dramatically.

you grimaced, but raised your cup to clink against his. "to unrequited love" you toasted "and unexpected friendships" you added.

"yeah that too" he smiled before you both took a big sip from your cups.

"vodka is fucking disgusting" you complained and harry nodded, making a face that would allow the assumption that he had been thinking the same thing.

"at least it does the trick"

you and harry spend the next hour recklessly sipping vodka, while you were telling each other ridiculous stories. the vodka had a quicker effect than either of you had thought, making the both of you dance and refer to each other as friends sooner than you had predicted.

just as 'dancing queen' began to play and you were twirling on the dancefloor, did you notice the empty spot on the couch occupied by your friends. there was only one of them missing. before it could really register in your brain who exactly was missing, a voice rang out next to you.

"make room, potter" you and harry both turned around, looking surprised at the arrival of mattheo riddle.

"matty" you laughed after the few seconds it had taken you to recognize your best friend.

mattheo's arm darted to the side, catching you before you could fall to the ground. you had made the attempt to hug him, missing his body by a few feet. you had been closer to hugging cormac mclaggen who was standing off to the side.

"there you are" mattheo noted, gently taking your cup out of your hand, sniffing the contents and grimacing at the strong sent of vodka, mixed with a bit of orange juice.

"do you want some?" you slurred, grinning up at the boy, who's arm was still holding you steady.

"how many of these has she had?" mattheo asked harry, thinking he would be a little less wasted than you.

"like thirty-four thousand?" harry answered before him and you broke into simultaneous laughter.

"had to have been a lot" mattheo muttered, noticing the way you were laughing with the chosen one, gripping his arm, like you were old friends.

he let go of you, taking harry's cup as well, emptying the both into the bucket under the table with the drinks. he came back right in time to witness you saying goodbye to harry with a dramatic hug, kissing both his cheeks and lastly his forehead.

"yeah, that's enough" mattheo said, dragging your body back against his when he noticed you going in to plant more kisses on harry's face. he looked bad enough, the red lipstick you were wearing leaving marks all over his face.

harry smiled before he waved at you and turned around, stumbling through the crowd of students probably in search of his redheaded best friend.

mattheo rolled his eyes. "you're absolutely wasted, darling"

you turned around to look at him and unconsciously bring a bit of space between the both of you "is it that obvious?" you asked.

mattheo watched with a smirk, how you tried to balance yourself out, to just be able to stand. your arm ended up stabilizing your own hip and you almost fell full on to the side, when you moved your leg.

"not really" mattheo grinned "come on, baby" he softly gripped your waist on either side, guiding you in the direction of your friends. you closed your eyes, leaning your head against his shoulder, letting him walk you through the room willingly.

"have i ever told you how gorgeous you are?"

"i am?" he asked laughing.

"so gorgeous that it hurts"

"you're flattering me" he smiled, nudging your arm. "but maybe you should concentrate more on walking in the right direction"

he was right. it was taking you way too long to cross the room, thanks to your inability to still walk in a straight line, even with his help.

"hey" mattheo greeted, making the eyes of his friends turn on him. "i'm bringing her to bed"

"already?" enzo asked skeptically, checking his watch "it's only two a.m."

"hey guys!" you greeted when your eyes snapped open. you bend forward, plastering a kiss onto enzo’s cheek. "how the party you doing? good? good!" you smiled, nodding as your eyes fell closed, as you leaned back onto mattheo again.

"what?" theo laughed at your slurred words that had not made the slightest bit of sense.

"yeah, i get it now" enzo nodded understandingly, trying to rub your lipstick off his cheek.

"she's only been gone for an hour" blaise said unbelievingly "how did she get that drunk?"

"she's had approximately like more than a thousand vodka-o's according to potter" mattheo chuckled.

"potter?" draco repeated disgustingly "what has she been doing with potter?"

"harry and i are best friends" you gushed, giving draco an angry look. he rolled his eyes in annoyance, but without questioning your answer.

"let's not get ahead of ourselves, love" mattheo argued, a bit of jealousy in his voice.

"you don't have to be jealous" you softly touched his cheek "you know i love you more than anyone, honey"

blaise let out a loud whistling noise "seems likes she's your girl after all, riddle"

"oh shut up" mattheo said at the same time as you said "of course"

"better bring her to bed now" theo advised and you could feel mattheo nod next to you.

"i'll be back in a few minutes" mattheo promised, as he softly turned you around to be able to walk you in the direction of the door.

"no he won't" you slurred, turning your head in the direction your friends, gripping mattheo's neck and winking at them.

enzo hollored and theo laughed, while blaise repeated the whisteling.

"cheers to that" even draco was amused about you, as he raised his cup in your direction.

"i'll be back" mattheo assured again, pushing you forward.

"no you won't" theo shook his head, smirking as he watched his friend roll his eyes and gently guide you through the crowd.

"how about a shot of tequila?" you suggested to mattheo, perfectly awake again. there was no hint of the tiredness that had consumed your body only a few minutes ago.

maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the sound of a familiar voice indicating the beginning of the song 'whatta man' by salt-n-pepa, which was now booming through the boxes.

"no, no more alcohol" mattheo shook his head, suddenly being the kind of responsible he had never seen himself to become.

"oh my god!" you gushed when you finally reconized the song "that's my favorite song! let us dance, matty!"

he was distracted by two hufflepuff boys almost running into him, when you saw the perfect opportunity to escape his hold. stupidly enough, that was the only thing you could see, as you had promptly gotten lost in the crowd of people.

mattheo was at your side only a second after, making you realize that you had in fact just turned around, without moving more than a feet away from him.

"if you don't come with me on your own accord, i'll have to carry you" mattheo warned.

you giggled, clasping your hands around his biceps "let us dance" you pleaded, completely ignoring what he had said.

mattheo furrowed his eyebrows, still waiting for you to reply to what he had said, but you were busy watching a few ravenclaws and hufflepuffs downing shots. "or we could down some shots" you mumbled.

mattheo took that as answer enough, clasping one of his hands around your forearm and the other around your leg, as he bend down to throw you over his shoulder.

"matty" you protested, as he began to walk you out of the common room. you gave up arguing and continued to sing along to the chorus of 'whatta man' as mattheo walked you both through the crowd of people.

as soon as the door to the ravenclaw common room fell close behind the two of you, you slumped down on mattheo's shoulder, the tiredness hitting you immediately.

"do you want to walk on your own now, baby?" mattheo asked, but he could feel you shake your head. "can you use you words?" he was growing a bit concerned at your sudden mood shift, trying to make sure that you were still somewhat alright.

"no" you pouted "i don't want to use my words"

"you just did"

"i never let a man tell me what to do" you slurred and mattheo had to chuckle.

"clearly" he muttered under his breath.

he walked through the halls of the castle quickly, making sure that you wouldn't be discovered by one of the teachers. you would probably kill him if one of them saw you like this. you never really got that drunk often, so it was on mattheo to make sure that no one found out about it now.

he should've searched for you immediately after you hadn't come back. he shouldn't have waited an hour. but he was scared of annoying you. you were always together and he had taken your absence as a sign for you needing some space.

if he could, he would follow you around all the time, preferably holding your hand while doing so. maybe in another universe you would want him to do that.

"when are we there?" you asked, your hand wandering across his shoulder, before it finally found it's place in his hair, gripping it tightly.

"any second now" mattheo was trying to make sure not to shake your body too much, as he quickly walked down the steps to the dungeon. he wouldn't want you to throw up. "do you feel sick, sweetheart?"

"no" you muttered "i just want to sleep"

"i know, i know" mattheo patted the back of your leg "we're almost at the door"

he hadn't lied. it only took a few more seconds, before he whispered the password and the door to the slytherin common room opened, revealing the familiar green lighting as he walked you both inside. he crossed the room, climbing the stairs to your dorm.

he took his time to set you down on your bed, making sure that no quick movement could make you feel uncomfortable. he unfolded your blanket, spreading it across your body.

he was ready to leave the room, before you called him back.

"matty" you cried and he perked up, walking back to the bed. you threw the blanket to the side dramatically, revealing your trousers and shirt. "i can't sleep like this"

"oh" mattheo said dumbfounded "do you want me to take them off?" he asked slowly, gripping the waistband of your trousers.

"are you speaking parsletongue or am i really that drunk?" you giggled at the joke with your eyes still closed.

"you're really that drunk" mattheo answered, rolling his eyes at your unseriousness "and it's not funny"

"it's a bit funny" you opened your eyes and giggled at his facial expression "why are you so serious, matty?"

"i should've kept an eye on you" he answered "you don't like to be drunk"

"i can make my own decisions" you argued, crossing your arms.

"obviously" mattheo nodded "should i take them off?" he repeated his question from earlier, but the tone of his voice made you sober up immediately, well at least a bit.

"are you really angry at me right now?" you asked surprised.

"i had to leave the party to bring you to bed"

"that's not the reason you're angry" you said, knowing him well enough to see through his lie.

"okay, fine" he sat down on the bed and you sat up, drawing your knees to your chest and hugging them with your arms. "maybe i'm a bit angry that you would rather spend your evening getting drunk with potter than speaking to me"

"matty"

"no, it's fine" he shook his head "i shouldn't be angry about how you choose to spend your time. goodnight" he stood up from the bed, walking to the door quickly, so voice rang out before he was able to twist the doorknob.

"can you please just stay?" you asked and he turned around in surprise.

"what?"

"maybe i chose to spend time with harry, but i'm choosing to spend the night with you. isn't that more important?"

"that's not how it works"

"okay, fine" you said, tired of arguing "do you want to know the truth? spending time with you is super hard while i'm madly in love with you" even though you were a bit more sober than before, he could still recognize the drunkness in your voice, especially because you were never that bold.

"madly in love with me, huh?" mattheo repeated surprised, his signature smirk immediately replacing the frown on his face.

“it’s embarrassing, i know” you buried your face in your hands, hiding your rosy cheeks from his eyes. he softly took your hands in his, freeing your face of them.

"don't hide from me" he smiled "and it’s not embarrassing, because the truth is, that i'm madly in love with you too"

you smiled up at him. “can you kiss me then?” he smiled at your question, but shook his head.

“no more kisses tonight” he muttered, softly stroking your hair “we can do that tomorrow, as often as you want to, when you’re sober again”

“okay” you nodded.

he gently helped you to exchange your trousers for pyjama bottoms, before he took of his shirt and climbed into bed next to you. you cuddled close to his chest, your hair tickling him whenever you moved.

"blaise was right" you said finally "i'm your girl after all"

"you always were" mattheo whispered back, softly kissing your forehead, before the both of you fell asleep, holding onto each other.

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cowboybeepboop · 1 month

Text

Wild ride

"Damn, Y/N," he murmured, running his hand through your mildly tangled hair. "You're something else."

You smile, feeling utterly sated and content. "And don't you forget it, cowboy," you reply, planting a lazy kiss onto his bare chest.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 5206

Summary: Tyler comforts you through a panic attack after a storm. He then rescues you from your fight with Javi. You take a drive to a hotel and then things get very heated.

a/n: this is entirely a reader insert to the movie bc I thought it would fit so perfectly. Also this is the longest oneshot I’ve ever wrote lmao 😭 Hopefully you enjoy!

When you moved to New York it wasn’t just to get away from the place where your friends all died. It was because you couldn’t live there without feeling guilt about being the reason everyone was out there to begin with. The shame and guilt was burning you, inside and out. All for what? What did it get you? Nothing. If you couldn’t tame a tornado you were going to do everything in your power to help people prepare and get out before it was too late. So when Javi came to you asking for help with storm par, you wanted to tell him no. You wanted to say that there was no way you could ever possibly go back not after what you did.

But when he was explaining how they would be making a perfect 3D scan of the tornado and how it can be used to help save lives, you knew you had to help. He was right. You could get him close enough to the tornado in order to set up the portable units.

As time passes you find yourself more intrigued by the self proclaimed “Tornado Wrangler”, whatever that’s supposed to mean. At the same time though, he’s frustrating. Like all he cares about is chasing the storm and making money instead of realizing how much damage these things cause.

“Javi, we have to help.” You say sternly as he keeps talking about the stupid sensor. “Javi! It’s a small town, they’re going to need all the help they can get, we need to help.” He sighs.

“Alright, alright. I’ll look for it later, okay?” You press a hand to his arm gently. “You made a good call. They really do need our help.” Javi pulls off to the side of the road, taking the keys out. You quickly leave the truck and go off to help.

We worked through the afternoon, finding lost heirlooms, important documents, and small mementos that people had thought were lost forever. Each time, their faces would light up with relief, and I’d feel a small sense of satisfaction, knowing I could make a difference.

The sun had broken through the clouds, casting long shadows over the town. The cleanup was far from over, but the worst was behind us. People were starting to talk again, making plans to rebuild. There was a sense of hope in the air, fragile but growing stronger with each passing minute.

You’re watching Javi and Scott interacting with an old guy and someone who lost their bar. Your eyebrows furrow as they offer him a card. “Didn’t know storm par was in the business of helping people,” you hear the familiar cowboy’s voice ringing through the air.

”Well, from what I see they’re trying to make a difference.” You turn to look at Tyler, wrapping your arms around your upper body.

”That’s one way of putting it,” he narrows his eyes while looking behind you at Javi.

“What?” you clench your jaw.

“Do you even know who you’re chasing for?”, his voice raises slightly. ”How much more do these people got to lose before y’all are done making a difference?” His face tightens as he grinds his teeth slightly.

”Sorry, says the guy setting up shop selling t-shirts and mugs after a storm’s hit.” You turn around before he can answer. Pulling the keys Javi gave you out of your pocket. Right as you’re reaching for the door, Lily yells your name.

”Hey, take some food,” she hands you a brown takeout box and a water bottle.

”Oh, I don’t have any cash on me,” you give a half smile.

”It’s okay, that’s why we're always selling shirts and mugs, so we can help give people food.” You shake your head as your eyes widen slightly.

”Then you should keep it, in case you run out.” She hands you the water bottle.

“At least take the water, stay hydrated.” You nod and tell her to stay safe.

Once you get back to the motel you quickly take a shower. Sitting down on the bed with your laptop you look up “Marshall Riggs” you bite down on your cheek, your eyes closing after you read up on him. Pinching your nose bridge you let out a sigh, closing the device.

There’s a knock at the door, you get up slowly and open it. “Some of Javi’s crew said you were staying down by the rodeo.” You don’t say anything in return so he offers you a small pizza box. “Thought you might be hungry,” you take it and shut the door in his face.

You reopen the door, “Thank you, Tyler.” He smiles sweetly.

“How are you doin’, after all that?” Your head nods softly. “How about I show you something nice, city girl.” He offers you his arm.

”And what’s that?” Stepping out of your room you close and lock the door before taking his arm. He doesn’t reply but instead leads you to the stadium at the rodeo. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden light over the dusty rodeo grounds. The air buzzed with excitement and the scent of grilled food, mingling with the earthy smell of the arena. Families filled the bleachers, kids waving flags and clutching cotton candy, while seasoned rodeo-goers leaned against the rails, hats tipped low, eyes sharp with anticipation.

As the night wore on, the rodeo continued—steer wrestling, bronc riding, and more, each event bringing its own excitement and challenges. The crowd cheered, laughed, and gasped, caught up in the spectacle. In the arena, cowboys were competing in the team roping event. Dust kicked up as the horses thundered forward, riders expertly casting their lassos around the horns of the steers. The crowd roared with approval when a duo managed to secure a flawless catch, the announcer’s voice booming in congratulations.

“So tell me about yourself city girl,” Tyler’s voice is low and gentle.

“You know you keep calling me that,” you turn to him, “ but this isn’t my first rodeo, I grew up here in Oklahoma.” Turning back to the events in front of you.

“Would you look at that, I finally learned something about you.” His lips curve up as he admires your side profile.

Back behind the scenes, in the holding pens, a few of the seasoned ranch hands started to glance nervously at the sky. They could see it now—a line of dark, swirling clouds on the horizon, moving faster than seemed natural. A wind had picked up, too, sharper and colder than it had been just minutes ago. But the rodeo continued, the excitement and noise drowning out any sense of unease.

A leaf falls onto your head, you reach your hand up into the air as you watch the leaves fall around you. “Tyler, the air feels heavy, this isn’t right.”

In the ring, the next event was starting: the barrel racing. A young girl was about to make her run when a sharp crack of thunder boomed overhead, so loud it momentarily drowned out the announcer. The crowd murmured, looking up at the sky as the first raindrops began to fall. But as she rounded the first barrel, the wind hit, strong and fierce, whipping dust and debris across the arena. The rain intensified, turning into a heavy downpour that sent people in the stands scrambling for cover. The announcer tried to keep up the energy, but his voice was lost in the wind. In the distance, a low, ominous rumble filled the air—not thunder this time, but something far more menacing.

There's barely time to react before the rodeo’s emergency siren began to wail, a long, shrill warning that sent a chill down everyone’s spine. People were running, some heading for their cars, others diving for the nearest ditch or sturdy structure. The craze of people began pushing and trampling one another, Tyler quickly grabs a woman who fell. He helps her up to her feet and guides you toward the hotel you’re staying at.

“There! Let’s check for a basement,” you nod as you both run inside. There’s a couple arguing with the clerk, you’re checking around for a doorway that might lead to a basement. Tyler tries to ask the man working the front desk but to no avail. “Outside, there’s an empty pool.” You yell to Tyler, “we can try there” he nods and you begin leading the young mother and daughter out the door, Owen’s and the man follow close behind. Once you get the mother and girl down you jump in. Directing them toward the open piping. “Hold on there, cover her head.”

You grasp onto the pipes holding on tight as you feel Tyler’s chest pressing against your back. He keeps his hands tight around the bars, he keeps himself tight against you making sure you don’t move.

“You’re gonna be okay, keep holding on. I’ve got you. I’ve got you” he’s whispering into your ear. You tightly squeeze your eyes shut feeling as though you’re being transported back to the day when you lost everything.

It started with a flutter in your chest, like the faint rustling of wings. You tried to ignore it, chalking it up to nerves, but the flutter didn’t go away. Instead, it grew stronger, spreading through your body like wildfire. Your breathing quickened, shallow and rapid, each breath feeling like it wasn’t enough, like there wasn’t enough air.

It started with trembling hands, and then your whole body followed, shaking uncontrollably. Feeling lightheaded, as if the ground beneath you had suddenly disappeared, leaving you suspended in a void. My chest tightened, squeezing tighter and tighter, making it even harder to breathe.

As quickly as the storm had begun, it passed over. Tyler wraps his arms around you. “Y/N? Is everything okay?” Your body continues to shake as you can’t seem to breathe. “It’s okay, just follow my breathing,” he turns you around so your face is in his chest.

”Deep breaths, in and out,” Tyler gives gentle directions as he rubs his palms over your arms.

”I think I’m okay now..” your voice is soft and hoarse as you choke the words out. His cold, rough hand gently brushes the hair from your face.

“You look like you’ve been through hell tonight.” He says, while helping you out of the pool. You stifle a small laugh in response. Boone and the rest of his crew come up to the pair of you, asking if you’re both alright.

“Y/N, baby. Are you okay?” Javi appears behind you, his hands gently pressing into your hips as he pulls you into a tight hug.

Tyler feels a pang of jealousy as he watches Javi slide his hands lovingly around your hips and pull you into the hug. He tries to shake the feeling, reminding himself that it’s not his place to care. Still, he can’t help but feel a sense of protectiveness wash over him.

“I came as soon as I heard,” his eyes filled with worry as you looked up at him. “Where did you hide out? The pool?” You just nod in response, finding comfort in his arms. Javi keeps repeatedly asking if you’re okay, running his fingers through your hair and resting one hand on your waist.

“Yes, I’m okay. It’s okay,” you pull away from him, giving a soft smile. “I was with Tyler the whole time, he made sure I was okay.” He nods but his eyes flicker behind you.

“Javi, your little girlfriend is fine, now let's get to work.” Scott says loudly, catching the attention of Tyler and Lily. “Apparently this place was family owned so I’m gonna start working on numbers. Riggs is gonna want those first thing.” His voice and face are both emotionless and cold, sending a slight shiver down your spine.

“Wait wait,” you hold onto his arm. “What exactly is Riggs getting out of all your data collection?”

“What’s the matter?” He scratches his neck and awkward expression flashing over his features.

“Is profiting off of people’s tragedy part of your business plan? Why are you doing this?” You pull away from his body.

“Riggs is offering these people a way to move on with their lives.” He takes a step back from you, his voice raising slightly.

“Swooping in and taking advantage of people, who have just lost everything” you take a deep breath to steady your shaky voice “You have no idea what that’s like”

“I don’t know what that’s like?” His fist clenches “How about losing three of my best friends while you were trying to land a big fat grant for your science project?”

Your eyes fill with fresh tears as you look up at him, lip quivering. “Take your keys, I’m done.” You toss them at his feet walking off as fast as you can. Finding yourself drawn to Tyler and his wrangler team.

Tyler witnessed the whole exchange, and his protective instinct flares up again. He watches you stomp away from Javi, a mixture of anger and concern etched on his face. He notices the tears in your eyes and the wobble in your lip. He steps forward and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

“Can you just take me somewhere please?” Your voice trembles while Javi yells after you. Asking you not to leave like this.

Tyler shoots a warning glare over his shoulder at Javi before turning back to you. “Of course, darling. Anywhere you want to go.” Owen’s voice is soft and soothing, a stark contrast to his rough exterior.

He gently takes your elbow, steering you away from Javi, and his crew. Tyler leads you over to his Truck in the parking lot where the motel once was, his hand still on your elbow. Tyler opens the passenger door and guides you onto the seat, shutting the door before making his way around to the driver's side.

A sigh escapes your lips as you relax into the seat. You softly massage your nose bridge keeping your eyes squeezed shut as a tear escapes one of your eyes.

Tyler watches you silently as you try to regain your composure. He can sense the pain and hurt radiating off of you, and he wishes he could take it all away. After a few moments, he breaks the silence. “Hey, look at me for a second.” He puts his hand on your knee rubbing small circles into your skin.

You open up your eyes, turning to look at him. Your lip still quivering slightly. Tyler’s heart aches as he looks into your tearful eyes. He reaches out and gently wipes the tear away with his thumb, his rough hands surprisingly tender against your face.

“Hey, you don’t need to worry about anything right now. You’re gonna stay with me tonight, okay?” His hand travels down your cheek as he leans over and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Before he starts the car he reaches into the backseat pulling out one of his hats, putting it on with his signature smile.

“You know, you deserve way better than that,” he turns the keys in the ignition. “You can do way better than him anyway.” You giggle while brushing your teary eyes.

“Do you think Javi and I are a couple?” Your once sorrow filled eyes light up with your laugh. A small smile tugs at the corner of Tyler's mouth as he watches you laugh. The sight of your smile warms his heart, and the pang of jealousy eases a bit.

“I mean, he seemed pretty possessive of you back there. And the way he was touchin’ up on you…” he lets his voice trail off, his jaw clenching slightly at the memory.

“Don’t tell me that makes you jealous,” a small smirk decorates your lips. You lean closer to his side, turning your body to further face him.

Tyler’s breath hitches as you lean closer to him, a wave of electricity coursing through his veins. He tries to keep his cool, but the hint of possessiveness flickers in his eyes once again.

“Jealous? Me?” he scoffs, trying to convince himself more than you.

Your eyes light up “Oh you’re totally jealous,” you brush your fingers over the skin on his arms, moving your hand to meet his.

A shiver runs down Tyler’s spine as your fingers travel along his skin, his heartbeat quickening at your touch. He tries to maintain a cool demeanor, but the flutter in his chest gives him away.

“Jealous? Of that jackass?”, his voice a little rougher this time. He looks down at your hand in his, noticing how small and delicate it looks against his own, rough and calloused hands. He swallows hard, fighting the urge to interlace his fingers with yours.

“Is that so?” You interlock your fingers with his as you lean over to kiss his temple. “It’s okay to be jealous, just tell me you don’t like seeing other men touching me,” you whisper into his ear, your voice filled with amusement.

Tyler takes a sharp breath as you interlace your fingers with his, his hand clamping tight around yours. “It does make me jealous,” he admits, his voice a gravelly whisper. His free hand squeezes the steering wheel, the muscles in his arm flexing tightly. “Alright, I don’t like seeing other men touchin’ you.” He brushes his thumb over the top of your hand.

A blush quickly rises up your face as you squeeze his hand firmly. Resting your head against his shoulder you bite down on the inside of your cheek. “Are we almost to a hotel?” Your heart races as you feel the muscles in his arm flexing.

Tyler glances out the window at the passing scenery, trying to distract himself from the feeling of you resting against his shoulder. He clears his throat before speaking, his voice still low and rough.

“We’re almost there. Just a few more minutes.” He rubs his thumb over your knuckles, the gentle movement betraying the tension in his body. He can’t help but steal a glance down at you, taking in your blushing face and the way you bite down on your lip. He fights the urge to pull you into his lap and press his lips against yours.

Using your free hand you run your fingers over his thigh, letting your mind wander as you think about your plans for the night. Trailing your hand closer and closer to his hips teasingly.

Tyler’s breath hitches as you run your fingers along his thigh, his body tense as you trail your hand closer to his hips. His mind starts racing with impure thoughts, visions of you pinned beneath him, your skin against his. He swallows hard, his muscles tensing further as he tries to control himself.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game, you know that?” his voice low and rough, almost coming out as a growl.

“Yeah?” You run your fingers over his golden belt buckle, “I like dangerous games,” your tongue poking out as you lick your bottom lip.

Tyler swallows hard when you touch his golden belt buckle, his body shuddering under your touch. He shifts in his seat, trying to hide the effect you’re having on him while also struggling to keep his eyes on the road.

“Oh yeah? How dangerous are you willing to go?” he asks, his voice thick with desire. He glances down at your tongue on your lip, his eyes darkening as he imagines what it would feel like against his skin.

“That depends, love,” you press soft kisses into his neck, moving your hand from his, resting it on his chest. “How far are you gonna wanna go?” Your eyes flicker to the hotel sign as the truck pulls into the parking lot.

Tyler lets out a shaky breath as you pepper kisses along his neck, his heart stuttering at the feeling of your lips on his skin. He places a hand over yours on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart thundering beneath your touch.

“Damn, darlin’, you’re really testing my limits right now.” he manages to say, his voice a growl. “But if it were up to me I’d go as far as you’d let me.”

He looks out the window as the truck pulls into the hotel parking lot, his mind racing with all the possibilities that the night holds. He leaps out of the truck running to your side to open the door for you.

“Well, you better hurry up and find us a room then,” you shut the door behind you. You pull the hat from his head, placing it on yours.

Tyler watches you stride ahead of him, his eyes drinking in the sight of his hat sitting on your head. He adjusts his jeans, trying to hide the stiffness growing in his groin as he follows you up to the hotel check-in desk.

“You’re a damn tease, you know that?” he mutters to you as he gets the room keys from the attendant. You flash him an innocent smile as you step into the elevator.

“But you’re too cute when you’re flustered.” Looking up at him you press both hands against his well-built abs. You slip your thigh between his legs as he reaches for the buttons on the elevator, pressing into his groin.

Tyler’s breath hitches at the feel of your hands on his stomach, his muscles flexing under your touch. His heart nearly pounds out of his chest as your thigh brushes against his stiffness, a guttural groan escaping his lips at the contact.

“Jesus, darlin'...you’re gonna be the death of me.” he pants, the words thick with lust. He struggles with the elevator buttons, his hands fumbling as his mind becomes increasingly clouded with need.

You stand up on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear “That’s the plan,”. You move one hand up to his jaw, pulling his face to yours. “Are you gonna kiss me yet?” You mumble.

Tyler swallows hard as you tease his ear with your hot breath, his body growing taut with desire. He looks down at your face, his gaze fixated on your lips as you speak. The words send a shiver down his spine, his restraint slipping by the second.

“You want me to kiss you, darlin’?” his lips hover just above your own. He runs a thumb across your lower lip, his eyes darkened by lust.

“Tyler, I want you to do much more than just kiss me.” Your arms wrap around his neck as you press your chest against his. “Please,” you breathe out. The elevator dings as you get to the floor of your room.

Tyler’s control snaps at your words, a low growl escaping his lips as you press against him. He grabs your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you close, the pleading tone of your voice nearly undoing him.

“Don’t gotta ask me twice, darlin’” He mutters, his voice low and gravelly. He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you out of the elevator and towards your room. You giggle into his ear while he unlocks the door.

Tyler grins at the sound of your giggles, his chest rumbling with a satisfied chuckle. He kicks the hotel door open, his eyes locking on the queen-sized bed in the center of the room. He sets you down on the edge of the bed, towering over you as he places his hands on your thighs. You both kick your shoes off really quickly before getting back to it.

Your hand goes to the back of his neck as you pull his face to yours. You kiss him with hunger. Your free hand sliding up his shirt as you feel his smooth abs.

Tyler groans deep in his throat as you pull him towards you, his body responding instantly to your touch. He devours your lips with a primal need, his tongue exploring your mouth as he presses his body up against yours. His muscles twitch under your hand, fire spreading through his veins as you glide your fingers across his abs.

“Goddamn it, Y/N… you're makin' me crazy.” he gasps, his voice thick with desire. He kisses you again, his hands roaming up your thighs, tracing the curves of your body with rough yet tender caresses.

Your hands trail down his abdomen, landing on his belt buckle once again. Your fingers fumble with his belt before successfully pulling it out. Breaking the kiss you quickly remove your shirt, throwing it to the corner of the room.

“Mm Ty…” sucking on your bottom lip as you lean back on your hands while looking up at him seductively.

Tyler sucks in a sharp breath, his body tensing under your touch. Once you remove your shirt, revealing the soft skin beneath, his gaze trails over your body, his eyes darkened by lust. He watches you lean back on the bed, your eyes locking with his in a sultry gaze.

“Mmm darlin’...” you sit up and pull him closer by the loops on his jeans, his strong legs coming between your own, spreading them apart. Lifting up his shirt you press kisses all over his tanned skin.

He reaches his hand out to touch your exposed skin, his fingers gently tracing your collarbone. “Then why don’t you do something about it baby?” You ask in a low tone.

His hands rest on your waist, pulling you closer as you spread your legs even wider for him. “Oh baby, you don't know what you're gettin' yourself into” he whispers, his voice rumbling with need.

He suddenly grips your hips tightly and flips you onto your back, his body hovering over yours as he pins you against the bed. Reaching up you pull his shirt over his head almost moaning at the sight of his toned body.

He smirks as he watches your eyes rake over him, his ego growing at your reaction. “You like what you see, Y/N?” He asks, his voice rough with desire as he looks down at you, his body pressing against yours.

“Most definitely,” you capture his lips in a deep kiss, maneuvering to put him on his back, straddling his hips. Moving back you unbutton his jeans and slide the zipper down. Pulling the pants off his hips you smile to yourself as you see how worked up you got him. Your hand slips into his boxers wrapping around his length.

He lets out a guttural moan, body arching into yours at the contact. “Oh God, baby…” he gasps, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a string of curses. Tyler's sharp intake of breath was your reward, and you relish in the feeling of power it gives you. He grips the bed sheets tightly as you pull his dick out, wrapping your lips around the tip.

“Fuck,” he moans as you pull off and sit back on the bed, making sure your teasing antics continue. All you really want is for Tyler to take complete control and you know exactly how to make him. With slow, purposeful movements, you remove your bra, freeing your breasts and running gentle hands over your own body, nipples hardening under your touch. Then you sit back, pulling your panties off, giving him a show.

Tyler's breathing quickens, his desire palpable. "Damn it, Y/N, you know what I want," he said, his voice thick with need. "Stop teasing and give it to me."

A slow, seductive smile spreads across your face. "I'm not teasing, Tyler," you say, reaching for his hand and placing it on your thigh. "I'm just getting started." Guiding his hand, you slowly part your legs, exposing your wet, eager pussy to his touch. Tyler's fingers delve between the folds, his touch both gentle and demanding. You moan, eyebrows furrowing as you squeeze your eyes shut, your head falling back while you relish in the sensation.

"That's it," you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as your eyebrows furrow with pleasure. "Touch me, Tyler. Make me cum." Your voice comes out in a gentle beg.

Tyler's other hand joins the first, exploring your most intimate places, his thumbs circling your clit as he plunged his fingers into the tight hole. Your hips buck as you begin riding his hands with waves of pleasure crashing over you.

"Yes, just like that," you pant, your body trembling. "Oh, God, Tyler, don't stop. I'm so close."

Tyler quickens his pace, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "Cum for me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice hoarse with desire. "Let me feel you fall apart."

With a sharp cry, you climax, your body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure rips through your entire body. Tyler continues working his magic, drawing out your orgasm and prolonging the exquisite sensation.

Finally, as the waves of pleasure subside, you collapse into the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch a breath. Tyler hovers over your frame, his eyes smoldering with a mixture of triumph and desire.

"That," he said, his voice raw, "was just the beginning. Especially after all of that teasing you did,” his voice low and sultry. Tyler's lips curve into a devilish smile as he positions himself between your trembling legs. In one smooth thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. Moaning at the stretch, your body welcomes the invasion.

Tyler begin to move, his hips driving into you with a rhythmic pace. Meeting his thrusts, your nails digging into his back as you urge him on. The bed creaks in time with their passionate dance, the sound of your guys’s passionate gasps and moans filling the room.

"Harder, Tyler," you moan, your body craving much more. "Fuck me harder."

Tyler obliges, his movements becoming more urgent as he plunges into you again and again. The room echos with the sounds of your carnal coupling, the air heavy with the scent of sex.

Your body coils tight once more, climbing towards another orgasm. "I'm gonna cum again," you cry out, voice hoarse. "Don't stop, Tyler, please don't stop."

Tyler grunts his response, his own orgasm building. He reaches between their bodies, his fingers finding your slightly swollen clit and rubbing it in circles. It was all the stimulation you needed, and with a shout of release, you shatter into pieces, juices flooding around Tyler's hard cock.

Feeling you contracting around him, Tyler finally let go, thrusting deeply into you. Moaning into your ear as he spilled his seed, filling you with his warmth. You both cling to each other, breathing coming in ragged gasps as the two of you ride out the waves of your shared ecstasy. Collapsing onto the bed, bodies still joined, Tyler rolls onto his back, bringing your exhausted body with him so laying sprawled on top of him.

"Damn, Y/N," he murmured, running his hand through your mildly tangled hair. "You're something else."

You smile, feeling utterly sated and content. "And don't you forget it, cowboy," you reply, planting a lazy kiss onto his bare chest.

a/n (again): sorry just wanted to say that I’m working on making some more twisters smut, but i also have top gun maverick smut if y’all wanna check that out 😝🙏

#smut #tyler owens #twisters #twisters 2024 #glenn powell #glen powell #Tyler owens reader #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens x you #tyler owens x reader smut #tyler owens x you smut #twisters2024 glen powell

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 8 months

Text

The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

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

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

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

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

“How many does he control?”

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

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

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

“Not anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to pull away. You don’t.

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods. “That’s true.”

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

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

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

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sick or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asks.

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

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

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

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

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

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

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

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

“Of course they are,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

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

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

“That’s enough!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe James works on them?

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you did.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

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

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

“James—”

“Bucky.”

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

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

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

“Is that… a nickname?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

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

“Observant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old were you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

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

“Y/N, are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

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

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

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

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

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

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks.

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

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

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

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

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

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

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

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

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

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

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you look at me? Please?”

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

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

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

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

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

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

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

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

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

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

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

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

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

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

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