#why did i choose a title that long

[aparticularbandit]

We Were Never Friends With Darkness And Would, In Fact, Prefer It Leave Us Alone: Chapter One

Summary: The problem with running from your problems before they become problems is that they don't just disappear. They're still there when you return, and as it so happens, sometimes they've gotten bigger than you can handle (if you could even handle them before).

Or: Kyoko makes good on what she told Yui and runs away before Yui can be used against her by the Victims' Relief Committee. But running away and remaking herself and hiding doesn't fix anything, and coming back later to a class full of people who might want to be friends with her only makes things worse.

Especially when one of those friends might just happen to think that she's kind of cute.

For DR Rarepair Week 2024 Day Five: Gift Giving/Peace, hosted by @dr-rarepair-week-blog.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: T.

AO3

next chapter

Kyoko runs.

If asked, she’ll never say that’s what she did.  It’s a tactical action.  When in a fight with a stronger enemy, sometimes it is best to pull back and regroup.

Never mind that Kyoko and Yui have been constantly and consistently winning each of their battles, never mind that right now things seem to be in a bit of a stalemate, never mind that if Yui does fall to their temptations then they can reach Kyoko no matter where she goes throughout the world—

Kyoko runs, and Kyoko determines to never open a single black envelope sent her way, and Kyoko uses her detective skills to hide herself as completely as she can because she would rather run and hide and disappear into the vast darkness of the world than confront the possibility of Yui’s hands being stained.

(Her very identity screams against this.  She’s on a case.  Even if she’s not being paid for it, she’s still tracking down the Victims’ Relief Committee with Yui.  That is the thing that she is doing.  No matter who dies, no matter who gets sacrificed, no matter what happens – this is what she is doing, and it’s shooting her rank in the DSC higher and higher, which means that Hope’s Peak has to notice her, that her dad its headmaster has to acknowledge her existence – but she will literally throw all of that away if it means….)

((It’s harder to run from Yui.  She tells herself that it’s necessary.  She refuses to say it’s because she doesn’t trust her onee-sama.))

Kyoko runs, and she runs, and she doesn’t look back.

~

That black envelope never comes.

Kyoko fulfills cases under another name, stealing from the ideas that Lico laid before her (What’s in a name?  If she leaves behind Kirigiri, then what is she?  Still the same, still the same, still the same), and sends those in months later to the DSC.  Her rank grows, but they cannot know where she is or where she is going, and so her original plan, at least in part, is still fulfilled.

Hope’s Peak still scouts her under that other name because they are better at finding wayward children to fill their coffins than the DSC is (or maybe the Victims’ Relief Committee always could find her and gave up the moment she ran; she doesn’t know what their plans for her were, and so she cannot say, can only guess, and the ache of that hole beats harsh in her chest every now and again, if she allows herself to think on it, which she doesn’t) – and Hope’s Peak still invites her because even under all of her disguises, her dad its headmaster still recognizes her (it makes her sick, he makes her sick, she makes herself sick) – and she hesitates before accepting.

It’s been years.

If Yui was going to do anything, she would have done it already, and either she did and the Victims’ Relief Committee never tried to break Kyoko’s heart by forcing her to return and confront her fall or she didn’t and the time away, maybe, saved her.

Yui’s an adult now.  She’s likely in college somewhere.  If she’s smart, she’s somewhere far, far away.  Somewhere safe.

(Kyoko knows better.  Yui would throw herself away to save someone else – anyone else – not because she thinks so lowly of herself, but because that’s her duty as a detective.  Not to find the truth, like Kyoko does, but to save people.

Yui would make a good Super Sentai or magical girl – the hero of the story.  She has so much hope and so much guilt and—

(The Victims’ Relief Committee tempted people of a variety of ages.  They could still tempt Yui as an adult.  But if she’s survived this long without giving in, then Kyoko likes to believe she will survive just a little while longer.))

Kyoko hesitates, and Kyoko accepts, and Kyoko puts herself in a place where the Victims’ Relief Committee could find her again, if they wanted.

(Kyoko runs her fingers along the black ribbons she’s never stopped wearing and wonders if she’s just giving in.)

~

At school, they call her Hibiki Haruko.

The name is as fake as Junko Enoshima’s smile (or Sayaka Maizono’s – both Ultimates chosen for their ability to fake a personality to the population on a large scale – or even Celeste’s entire everything – because from her name to her accent to her hair to her supposed heritage, everything about that girl is fake), but outside of their headmaster (and perhaps his scout), no one seems to know.  She’s learned, in her time away, to be gentle with people, to put on an air that makes her seem both trustworthy and forgettable, and she knows – she knows – that a few of them catch her out (Junko, again, who seems carefully curated to catch out those who don’t want to be caught, with those piercing eyes that cut right through her; but Sakura, too, who notes when she doesn’t go on donut runs with Hina, who tells her that if she ever needs anything (even if that means protection or a bodyguard) to just ask, and Mukuro, who looks at her like she’s someone familiar, like she’s seen her before, even if it isn’t Kyoko that she’s seen).  Sometimes Makoto gives her a curious look, sometimes it seems like he’s going to ask her a question, but either he gives up or he forgets before he asks.

The thing about running away once is that Kyoko – Hibiki – keeps running.

If they could use Yui, then they could use any of her classmates, provided she gets close enough to them.  It doesn’t matter that, in the end, they hadn’t used Yui, just like it doesn’t matter that there’s no proof that they would use one of her classmates. It’s that they could, and once she believed that enough to flee the literal country, that belief was never really going to die.

Sure, it’s lonely when the rest of her classmates pair up – or group up – and she’s left on the outside of the fish tank, one hand pressed against the glass, as she looks in on the rest of them.

But it’s safer.

For her them.

~

Junko drunkenly kisses her exactly once.

“Hibiki,” she’d slurs, “you’re so….”  Her voice trails off, and she falls forward until her forehead rests on Kyoko’s shoulder.  “So cute.”

Kyoko stays still, straight, as though that will do anything.  “Junko, you’re drunk.”  (But she can’t smell the alcohol, so maybe Junko is only pretending.  If she is, she’s doing a very good job of it.)

“No, I’m not.”  Junko brushes her nose along Kyoko’s neck, which makes it a lot harder to stand still, but she does it anyway.  “I’m just—”  She chokes back a sob. “You’re so pretty.  You’re like a ghost.”

How did Junko even get alcohol anyway?

(One of the upper classmen is literally the Ultimate Yakuza, and one of their own classmates is old enough to drink, and Kyoko’s asking how Junko got drunk.  She’d been talking about a huge party she wanted to go to earlier.  That was probably it.  Kyoko never goes to their parties.  At least, not for long enough to be more than an appearance just so that no one questions why she never goes – they can’t say she never goes when they’ve seen her there, even if only briefly.)

“You should…you should let me dress you up, Hibiki-chan,” Junko purrs soft in her ear.  “Celeste thinks she’s so pretty, but put you in deep violets, and you’d…you’d be….”

Kyoko flinches.

“No, no, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you.”  Junko wraps an arm around Kyoko’s waist and burrows her head into Kyoko’s collarbone.  “I’d never hurt you—”

“I didn’t say you would.”

But Junko pulls back just enough to search Kyoko’s face with those bloodshot eyes.  “You’re scared of me?”

“No­—”

“You’re scared of all of us.”  Junko’s eyes narrow, and she sways a bit, even though she sounds more sure of herself when she speaks.  “You don’t need to be,” she whines, drawing that last word out as her face grows redder.

Kyoko sighs.  “I already told you, I’m not.”

Junko takes Kyoko’s face in both of her hands, the tips of her deep red nails sharp against her skin, and she pulls Kyoko closer to her.  “Did I tell you you’re pretty?  Because you’re sooooooo pretty, Hibiki-chan.”

“Junko.  You’re drunk.  You need to go—”

Then Junko kisses her.

It is sloppy and uncomfortable (and doesn’t taste of alcohol, which means Junko’s definitely pretending) and then, suddenly, it isn’t, and it doesn’t matter because Junko should not be kissing her, no one should be kissing her, they will see—

Kyoko pushes her away, ignores the pain in Junko’s face (and even more ignores the whining “Hibiki-chaaaaaaan!” behind her), and runs away.

It’s an instinct.  A necessity.

And it doesn’t matter.

The next morning, Junko is gone, and a black envelope waits in Kyoko’s mailbox.

(At least they addressed it to Hibiki Haruko and not to Kyoko Kirigiri, but at this point, does it really even matter?)

~

Kyoko wonders, idly, what will happen if she never opens the envelope.

Technically, if she doesn’t open it, that’s just putting off the starting time.  It isn’t, strictly speaking, choosing not to play.  That would be opening the envelope and then choosing not to chase the trail.  If she never opens it, then maybe….

(She knows that isn’t how this works, but she wants to pretend.  She wants to pretend for as long as she can.)

Kyoko shoves the envelope into the inside pocket of her tailored jacket, glances at the single bullet mark scar in the center of her hand, and sets off to find the nearest detective agency.

~

In a world where she didn’t run, maybe Kyoko would have ended up working at Samidare Detective Agency.  Perhaps if she had, it wouldn’t look nearly as empty as it does now.  She can imagine more than the single desk in the back of the office, more than the single filing cabinet, more than an old desktop (not even a laptop, but a desktop so thick that she’s honestly surprised it still runs), more than an office that seems so pristine and dustless that it’s clear its single occupant rarely gets any cases at all – or, if she does, certainly doesn’t take any money from her clients to upgrade any of the rundown furniture scattered here and there.  The chairs don’t match.  The bookshelves don’t match, and they’ve barely got a book or two on them.

In that world, Kyoko imagines three desks: hers, Yui’s, and Licorne’s.  (Lico would be here, she’s sure of it.  He would travel back from wherever he’d landed to be part of their little family again, regardless of whether she wanted him there or not.)  Lico’s, of course, would be just as pristine as Yui’s now is, not because he didn’t get any cases but because he didn’t need anything to figure them out.  Yui’s would be covered with papers, the computer would be significantly better, and there would be multiple filing cabinets here, there, and everywhere.

Kyoko cannot imagine what her own desk would look like.  Her brain fails her there.

In this world, Samidare Detective Agency is as it is now.  Empty.  Unadorned.  Hidden in a little spot in an alley where there’s probably just as much crime outside as there is brought in here to be solved.  Kyoko has just enough time to run a finger along Yui’s desk and note the picture before the bell at the front door jingles.

“I thought I locked it.  Hope no one tried to steal the computer—”

“No one’s going to steal that thing, Yui onee-sama.  They’d lose money on it.”

“Well, it’s all I could aff...ord.”  Yui pauses with her right shoe half off, her fingers still curved into it, her other hand pressed to the wall to hold herself steady, and glances up.  She hesitates, the wheels in her head turning, whirring, and finally, she says, “Kyoko?”

Kyoko’s gaze drops.  “I’m sorry for worrying you, onee-sama,” she murmurs, tucking strands of her hair back behind one ear, “but yes.  It’s me.”  She sucks her lower lip between her teeth.  “And I….”  When she glances up, when she meets Yui’s eyes, her heart pounds hopelessly.  “I need your help.”

At her words, Yui softens.  She drops her shoe to the floor with a soft tap and eases, almost.  “Alright,” she says, hiding the smile that threatens to break across her face like the first glimmer of sunlight through a storm cloud.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

[toxintouch]

hii!! I just read cold spots and it was AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you wanted to continue the fic, but if you don’t mind could you continue with Veres part? I don’t know what you would write about but I just feel like that fic has so much potential to be a little 3 part series or something 🙏

<- Cold Spots TYSM ANON!! I put the Vere End at the beginning for ease of reading. For the sake of folks who would like to read this as a stand-alone... I think u can? With the knowledge that the premise of Cold Spots is that Mhin and MC/Sparrow went ghost hunting. Vere is said to have been responsible for a handful of local ghost stories, so…of course he makes some mischief.🦊 Also MC needs some Winter wear, stat.  A very light Possessive Vere warning in this btw, though perhaps in a roundabout way.  Plausible deniability is so important to him.

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

Heat Signature

“Poor thing.” Vere purrs.  “Your lips are so cold.”  He leans ever closer, his mouth hot over yours–hovering.  His other hand reaches for your face as well, nails trailing against your cheek in a teasing caress.

You feel even the thought of being cold leave your body, replaced instead by the unusual thrill he commands, that strange enthralling sway.

That heat you’ve come to associate with Vere; sweet tendrils of want that nestle in your bloodstream.

You squirm a little, though you can’t move much with him looming over you.

(You should probably do more to protest his intrusion into your room, you think to yourself, though, the majority of you is–curious, daresay even far too eager to–)

“Whatever trouble did you get up to that left you in such a state?”

At this you scoff, tilting your head back into the pillow and effectively knocking Vere’s finger from your lips.  

“As if you don’t know,” you accuse.

Vere looks entirely unperturbed by you shaking him off, his lithe fingers traveling freely along the newly displayed skin of your throat, making your pulse jump.

Vere chuckles at that, dark and silky.

“Being tight lipped about your adventures, hm?”  He angles your face just so, ensuring you meet his sharp eyes, his nose brushing up against yours.  “Not that it matters.  It so happens I do know what you’ve been up to.  Trespassing in places that don’t belong to you.”

“...It was an abandoned building.  I don’t think it really belonged to anyone.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Vere says, “everything in this city belongs to someone, darling.  You just don’t know what belongs to who yet.”  He peers down at you with laughter in his expression, though there's a distinct edge to it that you can't quite place.

“So, you're here because that building belongs to you...?”

“Hmm, amongst other things.  However shall I make you apologize to me for this most egregious offense?”  He asks airily, shifting until he’s beside you rather than perched over you, resting his cheek in his hand and letting his eyes slip closed. He's the absolute picture of unbothered leisure.  

(You’re not fooled–he’s simply waiting for you to let your guard down before he pounces.)

You open your mouth to deny any debts on your part (though, if your ghost hunting spot was indeed Vere’s hideout, you really do feel guilty) but Vere cuts you off before you can speak.

“Alas, I suppose it’s not mine anymore.  Within a week it will reek of wet dogs and cheap booze. It's a lost cause now that those drooling reprobates know it's inhabitable.  A pity.  By Eridia's standards it really was divine in its heyday.  Good wine, music, dancing.  There was this portrait artist who would paint the performances…”

His tone remains light as he reminisces.  But the look he pins you with is dangerous: his eyes gleaming bright, his canines bared in an irreverent grin.

“I had such hopes and dreams of reviving the place myself.  Some of the dances were very scandalous.  You never did share with me your stance on dancing, did you?”

You stumble out an approximate answer.  It’s…harmless information to give, isn’t it?

Though, judging by how pleased Vere looks, you wonder if you should have refused to say.  He looks positively wicked as he ponders your answer aloud.  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of talents to share.  In another life, perhaps I'd have put you on stage.  Though, I admit.  I find myself partial to a private show.”

And–as expected–the moment you let your guard down, he's in your space again, crowding you.  Heat and proximity and the softest brush of his lips against yours, light enough to send a thrill down your spine, curiosity and a want so deep it surprises you.

“Well?”  He purrs.  “Care to audition?”

You can't hide behind the excuse of supernatural sway or charm or the thrall of hypnotic sunglo eyes.  It's not Vere's power that controls you. It's your own gnawing desire; starvation and longing that draws you to him despite all sense.

Kissing Vere is heady.  Dizzying.  

Kissing Vere is like being in conversation with Vere–a constant of giving and taking, being chased after and running to keep up.  It’s enticing and alluring and decadent and never quite enough, over too soon even as you feel yourself losing air, the rush of blood and sensation threatening to overwhelm you.

He gives a parting nip to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

Then another one, playful, to your jaw.

When he presses his face into the side of your neck, you expect him to bite again.

What you don’t expect is for him to nuzzle into you, inhaling deeply before heaving a great sigh, his tail flopping lazily to land across you with a thump.

He’s officious as he rearranges the covers, ensuring your arms are tucked carefully away from him before he’s willing to fully settle into the bedding, pulling the blankets up around the both of you like a den.  He hums something low in his chest as he tucks himself up alongside you, long tail curled around your waist. 

It’s rhythmic–

purring.

And it’s…soothing, actually.

The weight of him, the warmth.  The incessant lamplight of the Amaryllis District, shining ever present through your window, is dim–tolerable, even, courtesy of Vere's magnificent shadow manipulations and the blankets sheltering you. 

The constant noise seems to fade away as well, obscured by the sound of purring. “Falling asleep when you have me in your bed, pet?  You really do try your luck…”

[ghost-bxrd]

Next chapter of „What you’re longing for (you claim to abhor)“ up later today 💚✨

[blood-carnation]

if, theoretically, i were to write the prequel to something stupid and it were in past tense.... would that be weird? (something stupid is in present which i normally like writing in better, but it fits better as past in the prequel, style-wise, bc there are so many timeskips)

should i write it in present?

[reinedeslys-central]

more for this nico-dealing-after-blood-of-olympus fic:

it's just like his brain is somehow - offline. Not willing to help him string up the words to this sentence that's sitting on his tongue. The disrespect.

He's still got to power through, though, and now he's just been standing here at the table for a good ten seconds without saying anything, gods, Will must feel so awkward trying to politely ignore Nico standing behind him. What to say, what to say, need to provide a functional human first(-ish) impression on the conversation -

Will bends his head further over the book he's reading, which seems to have a diagram on it. He shifts his neck to look at it from another angle, just enough for Nico to see the page's title: "Cross-sections of the Circulatory System".

Oh, so - a biology textbook. Cool, cool, that makes sense, since Will's the head camp medic, so maybe -

Before he can stop himself, he blurts out - "The, uh, the medulla oblongata controls parasympathetic ventilation, like, coughing and sneezing and stuff." Or - is that even correct? Damn, what if Will's going to make fun of him for getting it wrong, maybe he should try another one -

"..The pancreas secretes sodium bicarbonate, lipase, protease, and amylase into the small intestine to help with digestion." There, that works for a conversation starter. Will should definitely know about that since he lectured Nico about his starch intake last week in the infirmary.

("I don't care if they're all carbs, di Angelo, at this point you just need to eat, I don't give a pegasus' ass whether it's all carbs and fats -" - which, whatever. )

It takes him a moment to realise Will hasn't said anything back. In fact, he's barely even moved, only enough to squint at his textbook from a new angle. Clearly the most self-aware guy in the room, this guy.

He tries again. Can't have people calling him un-persistent, or whatever.

"So, the, lumen of the vein is larger than the artery, right? Since they have thinner walls?" Oh, curse me. His own insults to that zoom around his brain like a sledgehammer on nectar. And for all his embarrassment, what does he get? Nothing. Solace is still sitting, thumbing through the pages like he hasn't heard anything.

So much for Reyna making his promise to try having friends, and so much for Solace dumping out on him for pushing people away. If he's going to ignore him, and not even tell him why like - like someone who'd promised to be honest with him, then he can just catch up with his textbook in private and not have to deal with Nico's awkward conversation starters or help in the infirmary again.

Fuck it. He stomps away, shaking out his fringe and angrily pressing his thumb into the indent of his initials in his sword's hilt.

No need to let anyone think the Fates are playing favourites, because clearly Nico's in a league of his own with them. Even better, they must love him so much, because right at that moment, when he's suddenly, too irrationally angry to think about where he's going, he trips over a side table and goes careening headfirst into the shelf by the window.

Ah, merde.

"Hey, are you al- wait, Nico? What are you doing here, man? You okay?"

...And of course that's what finally makes Solace wake up from his biology-induced lotus casino haze.

As Solace bounds over, ostensibly to do his whole why-aren't-you-taking-care-of-yourself-better-nico-listen-to-me-I'm-a-doctor-so-I-know-best-and-you-don't routine, Nico resists the urge to melt into the wall, literally. Why did he tell Reyna he'd try making friends? Look where it gets him. Why, of all people, did he have to say he'd try hanging out with Solace of all people when Reyna demanded he give her some actual names to back up his promises?

- ..stupidi ragazzi carini con i loro stupidi sorrisi e le loro stupide lamentele e la loro mancanza di consapevolezza spaziale perché los tre Moirai sono così per me, mamma? perché, dei, perché....

Solace hauls him up halfway into his arms and starts asking him random questions, like:

"What's your name?" Rude, didn't he just call Nico from across the room?

"Okay, okay, cool, I deserved that one, can you tell me what day it is?" How is Nico supposed to answer that. He barely knows what day it is on a good day, he just follows camp schedule through osmosis most of the time, asking random campers what the strategies for the next capture the flag game are to get a gauge on how far away it is -

"Shit, c'mon man, help me out here, what were you looking for in the library anyway? I didn't know you were the reading type - " Which, again, rude? Does Nico not look like the reading type? Is it the black and silver? Does he not look smart enough or something? Hazel's a literal whiz, and Solace knows that, so it can't be a Hades thing.

"Come on, Nico, talk to me. You know why you came to the library, right? Can you at least tell me that?"

To talk to you, dumbass! Because you're ignoring me! Like I'm only worth your time when I'm a patient!

But it's not like he can just say that, because that would be weird. Joy of joys, Solace is getting even closer now, what the hell is going on?

"Uh - listen, don't freak out, maybe I'm freaking out, it's okay, stay calm, I'm calm, I literally do this every day, uh, can you just look straight at me, di Angelo? Need to get a good look at your eyes, figure out how bad we're dealin' here -" and he starts leaning in even closer what the literal fuck -

Is this Nico's punishment for insulting the Fates? Because, damn.

Also, because Nico's brain loves him, it abandons him once more in his time of need, forcing him to let out the weirdest squeak he's absolutely going to deny he ever made. He feels his cheeks warm, and jerks an inch away in a weird full-body shake like Frank sometimes does after returning to his human form.

Gods, what a nightmare. He lifts his hands up to cover his burning face and discreetly look for the nearest shadow when he notices Solace's ashen face, freezing.

Before he can get a real, human word out, Solace is suddenly stepping forward and cradling the back of Nico's head in a ridiculously warm hand while the other cards through his hair.

What the fuck. What the absolute fuck. He would say it feels like his soul is leaving his body if he didn't already know exactly how that felt. His eyes go wide as he wheezes, trying to stammer out a demand for Solace to fucking explain himself, taking liberties with his person -

Solace steps back, clearly confused. "No huge bumps, alright.. maybe shock?" His eyes widen again, as if he's just now noticing the state he's left Nico in.

"Shit, shit, it looks like shock, dilated pupils, difficulty breathing, hold on, di Angelo, let's get you to the infirmary - " Uh, absolutely not? 'Di Angelo' has had enough of the infirmary for a lifetime, grazie mille, Dr. Solace. There isn't even anything wrong with him this time! He's not the one asking weird questions and doing weird things this time.

Without any further thought, he turns around and starts fighting his way out of Solace's grip. If his favourite doctor's shocked cursing is anything to go by, it's the first time a patient's actively tried to escape his tender mercies.

Scratch that. Solace's arms tighten around his waist and the ensuing scuffle makes it clear this is not his first time. Shit, Nico might actually lose this one.

"Sunoffa- Nico! I'm trying to help, calm down!" Like hell you are, Solace. Let me the fuck go (so I can run away and wallow with the nymphs) and maybe then we'll talk.

He redoubles his efforts while pivoting to avoid the lamp on the table next to them.

"You fucking menace," Solace hisses, and if that hidden loss of cool makes Nico grin, well, what's a skull scarf for. Not every day you get to make Sir Doctor Extraordinaire stop being all sunshiney for a day.

Solace finally growls and stops fighting him. "Alright, you win! Hey, can't you stop aggravating your injuries for once?" Which. Wait, what injury? Nico's in perfect health!

"- and like, wartime's one thing, normal camp is another. Do you seriously not respect your body at all? Come on, you haven't even argued it! D'you seriously hate the infirmary that much? Are we a joke to you? You haven't even said anything since you hit your head and - " Nico lets the rest of Will's rant fly over him as he stills, and his mind goes, oh. Oh, this is hilarious. Okay, well, all he's gotta do to correct Will's little misconception is to say something then, right?

He opens up his mouth to cut Will off when he lands on his burning blue eyes and realises, belatedly, that Will's warm arms are still ever-so-gently and firmly cradling his waist, curling around the coarse fabric of his Camp Half-Blood tee.

As his brain goes offline for the the third and hopefully final time, Nico bemoans his existence and prepares himself to blurt out:

"The kidneys are where erythrocytes go to die."

Oh, Dei miei. That's not even right. "Well, no, I mean, the kidneys are where erythropoietin is produced, when the medulla oblongata detects a lack of oxygen in the body, which stimulates the growth of more red blood cells in the bone marrow..."

At least Will's shut up now, which is great. Nico can already feel the headache brewing from his ranting. Instead of backing off, however, Will absentmindedly adjusts his grip on Nico's waist and cocks his head to the side.

"...Did you come to the library to ask me to help you with your biology homework? Because, and I really mean no offense, buddy, but I kinda thought you were a year-round camper. Where'd you find the time to study AP Bio?"

Nico gives up and melts to the floor, ignoring Will's cries to groan and repeatedly thunk his head into the thankfully carpeted floor. This is how Nico dies. He prays for his father to open up the ground and bring him down to the palace for a visit. Will's still struggling to pull him up off the floor (if he's going to chase after him, he can deal with having to catch him, damnit), but only one thought is playing through Nico's mind.

Oh, I'm never going to live this one down, am I?

same fic different scene 0 - prologue-ish

[mythology-void]

okay so I was doing a Research™️ about ancient Greek etymology as one does and I found some Things that made me want to Violently Claw My Arms Off please allow me to force feed you my discoveries

So there are 2 words for "not" in ancient Greek, depending on the context: ou and mē. Having introduced himself in the Cyclops episode as " ou tis", or No-man, he then stabs Polyphemus in the eye. When Polyphemus' brothers come to check on him, they say this:

"... surely no man [mē tis] is carrying off your sheep? Surely no man [mē tis] is trying to kill you either by fraud or by force?"

Right after this, after the other cyclopes ditch Polyphemus, Odysseus's inner monologue goes something like this:

"Then they went away, and I laughed inwardly at the success of my clever strategem [metis]." (pronounced mEH-Tis)

Now, there's a difference between mē tis and metis. [mē tis] (pronounced mEH-Tis with a space between the syllables) is the literal translation for "no man". Metis is a word for extreme intelligence/cunning, which is something Odysseus is famous for.

Now, there are several examples of abuse of metis/intelligence in the Odyssey, but I think the juxtaposition between [mē tis], or the concept of anonymity, and metis, or extreme intelligence, is REALLY interesting. Odysseus's adoption of the title "No-man" was characteristic of metis--it was a really smart move that simultaneously hid him from the cyclops and avoided any future consequences. It was a highly effective strategy all wrapped up in a nest little package with a bow on it.

But when he revealed himself as Odysseus of Ithaca, effectively throwing off No-man (anonymity and [mē tis]), that was characterized as idiocy--he's essentially doxxed himself, and now he's doing to (spoiler alert) get tossed around the Mediterranean by Poseidon for the next 10 years.

This is really interesting because it lets you see the parallels/codependency between metis(intelligence) and humility. When Odysseus refused to allow himself to go unnoticed (hubris) he suffered for it. BUT when he declined instant glory/satisfaction (kleos) in order to achieve the long term goal of survival, he was rewarded with Athena's favor (pay attention. This part is important).

And this situation repeats itself MULTIPLE TIMES in the Odyssey--the EXACT SAME THING happens near the end of the book, with the suitors. When. Odysseus is dressed as a beggar and the suitors/Antinious are abusing him, he ACTIVELY CHOOSES not to react--he doesn't stand up and rip off his disguise and start hollering "TIS I, ODYSSEUS OF ITHACA! FEAR MY WRATH"

No. He sits there patiently and waits. He plans and schemes and quietly orchestrates their downfall without alerting them of it. Why? Because he learned his lesson the first time this happened. He buried his rage and adopted what was, according to Grace LA Franz, a more feminine form of metis, weaving a web of destruction for his enemies that ultimately resulted in their total annihilation (see Weaving a Way to Nostos: Odysseus and Feminine Metis in the Odyssey by Grace LaFranz). His patience allowed him to win the whole prize--no questions asked, no 10-year-long-business-trip strings attached--just the sweetness of a full victory. And he is, once again, rewarded with Athena's favor--both in the battle with the suitors and in the aftermath (cleanup/reuniting with Penelope).

This really reinforces the idea in the Odyssey that Odysseus's defining characteristic is not just his intelligence--it's his ability to learn from his mistakes. He used what he learned at the Lotus Eaters Island against Polyphemus--the Lotus Eaters drugged his men, so he drugged Polyphemus. He used what he learned from Circe and Polyphemus against the suitors--Circe used false sweetness and honeyed words to lure his men into a trap, so that's exactly what he did to the suitors. His hubris on Polyphemus' island cost his whole crew their lives, so he intentionally left well enough alone until the right time. He didn't just learn from his failures--he turned them into BATTLE STRATEGY.

i don't care what anyone says that is completely totally and objectively awesome

[caelivir]

between me and you, our little secret | suna rintarou

synopsis. rintarou can't keep hiding the fact that he is madly in love with you.

pairing. suna rintarou x fem!reader | wc. 1.3k | genres. secret & established relationship, fluff, down bad and jealous rinnie | warnings. suggestive in the beginning (i got carried away...)

notes. something came over me last night. the entire idea of this made me foam at the mouth. tbh this isn't supposed to be like a fic fic so that's why it's a mess 😭. title definitely did not come from a one direction lyric 👍.

either way hope you enjoy. and happy 300 (+19) followers. love yall.

you and rintarou both agree to be in a secret relationship. your reasoning being that you want to be able to have moments to yourselves without having to deal with the hassle of gossiping peers for now. (or in other words: not having to deal with an interrogation from the miyas).

it's full of sneaking around and hiding away from the prying eyes of your classmates. it's getting texts from him during lunch to meet him at the unused classroom on the third floor after school ends. you'd be waiting patiently, sitting atop one of desks there until he's finally able to slip his way in.

it's you being barely able to get a 'hi' in before rin's crashing his lips onto yours. his forcefulness causes your mouth to fall agape, and he doesn't hesitate to slide his tongue on yours. his hands stroke your thighs before they settle onto one of his favorite parts of your body—your waist. (the reality being he can't choose a singular one. he adores everything about you). your arms drape themselves over his shoulders as the kiss deepens. your mouths move together in perfect harmony, sending waves of heat down to your stomach and ramping up the speed of your heartbeat.

it's seductively messy and hot that you can't help the mewl that escapes your throat. rintarou bites your bottom lip in response before trailing sloppy, open-mouth kisses down your jaw and neck. it doesn't last long because he craves the feeling of your lips against his so rin guides his head back up to get another taste of you. he devours you entirely until your lungs are begging for a breath of air.

it's you having to remind rin that he's going to be late to practice if he doesn't leave now, and he'll whine and groan complaints to you until your insistence forces him to comply, but he doesn't leave immediately, not without stealing another kiss from you.

a secret romance with suna rintarou means being able to have restrain in public or group settings. that's a lie. neither of you are very good at it because your fingers constantly graze each other when you walk side by side when you're with the twins. and if you're feeling brave, you'll wrap your hand around his index and middle fingers for a brief, fleeting moment, but it's enough to make the both of you long for more.

at group dinners, in the chance that rintarou is able to find a way to sit next to you, he'll sneak his hand onto your thigh or hand, tracing anything and everything onto your skin, all while making fun of atsumu from across the table. polygons. misshaped lines. animals. the characters of his name. the characters of yours. hearts. i love you's.

or in class, suna always has his eye on you no matter what you're doing. there's a constant feeling that someone's staring at you, and every single time, it's him. you turn back and give him a beaming grin that makes his heart melt.

one night, when you and rin are cuddling in your bed, you sleepily tell him that you're ready to launch your relationship. you say that he doesn't need to feel pressured by you. you'll wait for him to be ready too, no matter how long it may take.

it's in that moment he's reminded how special, precious, and considerate you are. he decides right there that if you're ready, then he is too. the only problem is how exactly do you launch a relationship? where does he even begin?

he's stuck on it for weeks, and he swears that the longer it takes him, the more he gets tested. because where did that loser from class 3 come from? he's dropped by every single day to talk to you and for a very obvious reason. suna can see the damn hearts swimming in the guy's eyes.

the longer he watches these interactions, the more it pisses him off. what gave him the right to breathe near you? it takes everything in your boyfriend to not approach the guy and tell him to fuck off. you'd probably get upset if he did that so rintarou forces himself to let his jealousy simmer.

it only gets worse after a particularly grueling match. he was worn down. all rin wanted to have see you, have lunch with the team, and go home.

you always come to games to support him and the twins. it's a routine at this point. you'd meet up with them once they got changed and congratulate everyone on their win. atsumu would then beg you to eat with them, and you'd insist that it's fine. rintarou sees right through you. you're always going to agree because it gives you an excuse to be around each other without anyone questioning it.

however, what isn't part of the routine is seeing his opponent flirt with you. it's so obvious that you're not comfortable, and the bastard can't seem to take a hint. the final thread of rin's patience snaps. his jealousy boils over.

he drops his bag and is fuming when he approaches the scene before him. your eyes widen at the sight of your boyfriend because you have never seen him this angry before. he doesn't bother saying anything to the bastard before him. instead, suna wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in to capture your lips in a searing kiss that you reciprocate instantly.

atsumu's gasp is so painfully loud and dramatic that it probably could have been heard around the world, and rintarou continues kissing you regardless. the only reason he stops is because he still feels the presence of his opponent that had the audacity to even try hitting on you.

"you're still here?" suna scorns, raising an eyebrow as he looks the guy up and down.

"what the hell are you-"

"kissing my girlfriend. am i not allowed to kiss my girlfriend anymore?" rin challenges with a tilt of his head.

the guy snaps his gaze to you. "what? you never said you had-"

"i did." you clarify with a dead glare. "i said it multiple times, and you didn't care to listen, asshat."

the guy bites his tongue, red in the face with embarrassment or rage or maybe both, and hustles away. when he's gone, rintarou finally calms down. he looks at you, feeling guilt rise in his stomach.

"sorry." your boyfriend apologizes. "i didn't mean for us to go public like that. i just-"

you laugh. "don't worry about it, love. i was getting fed up too. besides," your lips pull into a teasing smirk. "it was kinda hot. you should get jealous more often."

suna frowns slightly. "i'd rather not."

"tsumu, ya owe me twenty." osamu says apathetically. this effectively snaps you and rin back to the audience you completely forgot you had. every single one of them is gaping at their middle blocker.

"like hell i do!" atsumu protests.

you blink at osamu, jaw falling open slightly. "you made a bet?"

"and?" osamu shoots back as if putting money on your friend's relationship isn't a bizarre thing to do. your boyfriend opts out of saying anything else, and you have to stifle a laugh.

"hey! don't think yer gettin' out of this! ya have some explaining to do!" the blonde twin points an accusing finger at the both of you.

"sure atsumu. sure." rin dismisses the setter as he's finally, finally, able to interlock his fingers with yours for all eyes to see. you squeeze rin's hand as a warm feeling spreads throughout your body. a smile blooms on your pretty face.

never again will suna rintarou ever hide you from the world. he loves you with his entire being, and he'll spend the rest of his life making sure everyone knows it.

[ellastone-olsen]

Could I request something Rhaenyra x Stark!reader smut with them being feral codependent soulmates? I love that trope. They would totally be unhinged and in love wives together plus the fire and ice parallels 😭 Like after Laenor “dies”, Rhaenyra’s goes looking for a new spouse and runs into Stark!reader and it’s just love/obsession at first sight?

My queen is cruel | Rhaenyra Targaryen

★Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!Stark!reader

Summary: your family comes from Winterfell to the capital at the invitation of the Targaryen family. Princess Rhaenyra announced that she would choose a new spouse. Your brother was a contender from the House of Stark, but it seems to the princess that another contender from the rulers of the north is more interesting.

★Warnings: NSFW 18+, soulmates dynamic, mentions of blood and alcohol, innocent reader, virginity loss, oral, fingering

★Word count: 3.1k

★AN: omg my first House of the Dragon fic, I hope I translated some titles and names correctly. Thanks for the request, it took me so long to write this, but I love Rhaenyra so much 💕

Rhaenys's bitter, heartbreaking cry is heard in the silence of the room. The woman looks at the burnt body that just a few minutes ago was her son. “Who allowed this?! Why wasn’t anyone around?!” Corlys embraces his wife in rage and grief. That day, sadness became the main companion of the grieving parents.

No one knows that on the shore, the one who is now considered dead is running towards the boat. Laenor Velaryon sails away to disappear forever from this life in which he was imprisoned. Rhaenyra gave him a chance at happiness and Laenor will not forget this.

Rhaenyra Targaryen is officially recognized as a widow. It is expected that rumors about the death of the princess's husband began to spread like a plague, from servants to other servants, and those to their families, from there the plague was transmitted to all seven kingdoms. Some believed in the official story, others, like the grieving mother, blamed the Targaryen family for everything, they said that the princess ordered the murder, that she was tired of her husband. But for Rhaenyra it was enough to know that this was absurdity and slander.

“So what are you going to do next?” Daemon approached unnoticed. Rhaenyra didn’t look at him, her gaze was directed far out to sea. "I think I'm looking for a new spouse." Damon thought the hint was crystal clear. He thought that she still wanted him, wanted to finish what they started that night all those years ago. “Rhaenyra...” He was interrupted, “No uncle, leave it alone. Kiss me and let me go. If you do not...” A ringing silence hung between them. The phrase did not need to be continued; he already understood it.

King's Landing was filled with lords, princes and princesses from all over Westeros. The royal family invited all the noble houses, announcing that the heir to the iron throne would thus choose a new life partner.

“I don’t understand why you took me with you.” Your carriage was approaching to the King's Landing. Your parents were, as always, calm and cool, as befits the Starks, the rulers of the north. Your younger brother looked around the windows excitedly, clearly excited about his first trip outside of Winterfell. “Your mother and I think that you also need to see the capital.” Your father, as always, spoke directly and to the point. You smiled bitterly. “Only we’re here to try to marry Rob to this pompous princess.” You didn’t hide your bias towards this whole thing, which was more like an auction. “Y/N just try to say something like that about the princess in public and you will disgrace the entire House of Starks.”

For the rest of the trip you rode in silence, only occasionally fiddling with the hilt of the sword hidden in a sheath under your heavy black coat. Perhaps you had a little curiosity about the princess. What does the one who will take the iron throne look like, against whom there was so much outrage just because she was a woman. You thought that she must be strong and stubborn just like her ancestors. The same as the previously lived Visenya about whom you once read.

The carriage stopped.

“Do I have to wear this? How will I take my sword with me?” Your mother stood in the chambers that had kindly been allocated to you and watched as a maid helped you lace up a black dress with antique long sleeves. “You don't need the sword today, honey. This is a royal ball and you are not a knight in service." You looked in the mirror, and even though dresses weren't something you wore often, it didn't look bad at all for your taste. Still, the velvet in tandem with the large fur coat that you took from Winterfell looked harmonious.

“But what if something goes wrong and I’m left without a weapon?” You insisted. After so many years of training, the sword became an extension of you, and going out without it was akin to death. "The Royal Guard will protect us all." Your mother tried to be gentle and calm your worries. The woman came up behind you and put her hands on your shoulders. “For just one evening, be a princess and not a rude warrior. For me." You covered her hands. "Okay, just for you."

All arriving guests entered the huge hall in turn, after which they were seated at long tables, which were bursting with an abundance of dishes kindly offered by the royal family. “The Starks of Winterfell,” the man shouted and your family entered the hall. You followed your parents straight to the table in the center, at which the Targaryen couple was already sitting with the king and that famous Princess Rhaenyra at their head. Finally, you were close enough that you could see a woman with dazzling white hair and sharp purple eyes. Your breath caught somewhere in the depths and you couldn’t look away. It seems at this moment the ice and skepticism inside you broke, burst into a thousand pieces. You had to lower your head according to the rules of etiquette, but you couldn’t tear yourself away from contemplation. And when she finally looked at you, when your eyes met, you realized that you had problems. “Your Grace, this is our son Rob and eldest daughter Y/N.” Your father, as the head of the family, introduced his children and added, “I hope that Rob can claim the place of your husband Princess Rhaenyra.”

At these words, you remembered why you were here and a little jealousy pricked somewhere in your chest. You were almost jealous of your brother. But who are you to be jealous, because you just met. This is all becoming too strange, but so tempting. You sat down and the evening began.

Wines of different varieties continually filled the glasses of rich gentlemen, everyone laughed, joked and discussed who the heiress would choose as her husband. The Lannisters were sitting next to you and you could hear snatches of greasy jokes about how their eldest son could have Rhaenyra in all poses. Anger boiled inside you, how could this bastard say such things about this woman. “And they also say that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The loud laughter of the Lannisters infuriated you even more. “Then your house is no better for having sworn allegiance to a whore.” You thought you said it quietly, but they apparently heard you.

“I didn’t hear what the pup from Winterfell was barking just now?” Everyone who was at your table fell silent and the whole room also paid attention to this. “I said what I meant.” The man was already deeply drunk and clearly in the mood for a fight. He stood up and you stood up next, you were the same height. “If you are so brave, then say out loud what you think of the princess.” Rhaenyra's purple eyes watched your quarrel carefully, it would be a lie to say that she did not look at you all evening, knowing that all the men in this room would be denied. She definitely liked your spark and wanted to see what happened next.

“I said that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The man said the last word slowly, syllable by syllable, everyone present was in suspense. King Viserys took out his favorite blade. "I'll cut out your filthy tongue." As soon as he finished the phrase, a knife, prudently hidden under a fur coat, appeared in your hand and pinned Lannister’s palm to the table. He tried to get it. “There are a lot of vital veins in this part of the arm; if you try to pull it out, you will bleed to death.” The white cloaks immediately drew their swords and stood ready. Rhaenyra's entire being was hypnotized in delight by your actions and words, at that moment she chose her spouse. The entire Lannister family stood up and was ready to tear you apart.

"Get them out." For the first time that evening, Rhaenyra's voice broke the silence of the event. The bastard's face lit up with a smile. “My princess, thank you...” But before he could finish speaking, the guards twisted his hands, pulling the knife out of his palm, causing the man to let out a bitter scream. The entire Lannister family was disgracedly eliminated from the feast; there was silence for several more minutes, only whispers were heard from different sides.

"What are you doing." Your father pulled you by the arm, urging you to sit down, and glared at you with eyes full of rage. “Your mother asked you not to take weapons with you.” “She asked not to take the sword, dear father.” Rhaenyra stood up. “Today, to our great regret, unpleasant and unacceptable events occurred for the royal court.” She paused, her gaze returning to you and a smile gracing her lips. “But let’s not let these events overshadow our holiday, let’s raise our glasses and have a feast.” The crowd cheered and raised their glasses as they praised Princess Rhaenyra's wisdom and resilience. The celebration continued until late at night, you drank several glasses of wine after the incident and by the end you were decently drunk.

All evening you kept looking at Rhaenyra, your head was filled with thoughts about how beautiful and wise she is, about how wrong you were, how you regret that you didn’t want to go to the capital. But then these euphoric thoughts were darkened by the fact of her imminent marriage to one of the men of these noble houses and perhaps even to your brother.

You headed to your chambers, every now and then passing by local servants. Your legs dragged you heavily, your mind only thought about taking a warm bath and washing away inappropriate thoughts about the heiress. The heavy door opened with a slight creak, letting you into the semi-darkness of the room. You thought that you asked the servants to extinguish all the candles, but for some reason they were burning. Your gaze caught on an unfamiliar figure standing with his back to you, and the knife that had recently been in the Lannister’s bastard was again in your hand, waiting to defend yourself from intruders.

"You're a little warrior aren't you?" A velvety voice broke the silence and the stranger turned to face you. You immediately lowered the knife. “Your Grace, forgive me, I didn’t know it was you.” You immediately bent your knee in front of her. You were absolutely at a loss and the whole situation was a little confusing, why was the princess, the heir to the throne, waiting for you in your chambers in the middle of the night? “No need for formalities, please stand up.”

She walked through your chambers looking at some of your personal belongings until she found the sword. “Oh, this is your main weapon, as I understand it, you don’t to swing a knife every time of course ...” she bent down to take a closer look at the sparkling silver blade. “Such a beautiful thing, to match the owner.” Her compliment made your already red cheeks flush. “Did you want to talk about what happened, Your Grace?” you desperately wanted to change the topic.

“Did your mother ever tell you the legend of soulmates?” You were dumbfounded by her question. “Your Grace, I don’t quite understand...” She continued to walk around the room. “Don’t they really tell such stories in the north?” Her tone sounded fakely upset. “They say I know one.” “Then tell me too.”

You didn’t understand anything, Rhaenyra Targaryen came to you at night to listen to fairy tales for children? Perhaps something was put in the wine and now you were hallucinating, but it seemed like everything looked real. The woman lit the fireplace and, unbecoming for a future queen, sat down on the soft fur in front of the fire. She looked up at you, inviting you to sit next to her, you obeyed. The crackling of logs, the heat of the fire and the soft floral perfume of Rhaenyra lulled to sleep.

“My mother... told me when I was a child that there was a belief...” you cleaned the throat. “That every person has their own soulmate, but not everyone is able to find it, it’s like a person who was created by the seven gods just for you.” Rhaenyra began to unravel her tight braid; her head began to hurt unpleasantly from her hairstyle. You watched out of the corner of your eye as her snow-white strands gradually fell onto her shoulders. “And how do you understand who exactly your person is?” She encouraged you to continue. “I don’t remember exactly, but they said that when you see him or her, you will immediately understand, just the first glance or the first meeting and…boom.” "Boom?" She asked again, not quite understanding your strange wording. "Yes." You were looking at the burning logs when Rhaenyra's hand covered yours. She has already unbraided her hair. “Do you want to brush them?” Something strange was clearly happening. But who are you to refuse, you nodded and took the wooden comb brought from Winterfell from the nightstand. Hands carefully took strands of silver hair and combed them, as if they would break from the wrong movement.

“Do you believe in this legends?” You thought for a second. “I’m not sure, or rather I didn’t believe it before, but now these fairy tales don’t seem so stupid to me.” You put comb down, combing all hair perfectly. “I don’t understand why these questions are asked, Your Grace.” Your head was a complete mess due to the mixture of alcohol and adrenaline caused by the woman next to you. “Please call me Rhaenyra.” She turned to face you. “You understand everything, little warrior, don’t lie to me.” The woman moved closer and closer until she placed one hand on your shoulder. "Your Grace...Rhaenira." She leaned in so close that her lips were almost touching yours. "I want you." You looked into bright purple eyes, which shone yellow in the firelight. “Tell me the wolf of Winterfell, do you want me?” Her perfume smelled so delicious, her soft skin, white as her hair, that the dress did not hide, begged to be touched, “I...yes please, I want you.”

Rhaenyra's lips touched yours, sharing the sweetness of the recently drunk wine. One of the woman's hands grabbed the collar of your velvet dress and began to pull it down your shoulders to free your soft breasts. She carefully laid you on your back, on the soft fur, holding the back of your head. Her lips moved to her neck, then to her shoulder and then wrapped around her pink nipple. The action caused you to place your hand on her head, stroking her silver hair. The princess's hands lifted the skirt of the dress to the waist and stroked the skin of your soft thighs. "Cute little thing." She giggled and touched your lips again. The kiss was untidy, but full of tenderness and desire. Rhaenyra relieved you of underwear, her fingers slipped inside without a barrier, you were completely wet, just for her, but then she remembered. “Is this your first time?” She stopped any action, waiting in horror for an answer. "Yes, my grace." Rhaenyra buried her nose in the crook of your neck and began to kiss you, whispering, “I’m sorry, I should have asked earlier.” Your hand rested on hers that was still between your legs. “Please continue, I want this more than anything.”

And she continued, gently pounding and curling her fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside that made you see stars and whine like a pup. "Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, oh please my grace." Your hand touched the sensitive bud for additional stimulation. “Oh fuck, fuck...I'm gonna...” “Cum for me, cum for your queen.” Her movements became faster and clearer until you came, squeezing around her long fingers, biting your hand so as not to scream from the new sensations that she was giving you. She pulled out and showed you her hand, which sparkled in the firelight from your release, and then licked every last drop, causing your eyes to darken.

When you came to your senses, you stood up, only to strip completely and push Rhaenyra towards the bed, urging you to sit on it. "Please let me return the favor." You knelt in front of her, lifting the skirt of her dress up to expose her stockinged legs. Your lips kissed every centimeter of skin, no one worshiped it like you. When your mouth reaches her pussy, you notice that her arousal has left a wet mark on the bed linen. The tongue draws a line along the entire length, collecting her arousal, and the woman moans, lowering her hand to stroke your cheek. “My little savior, tell me, would you have killed him if I had not intervened?” You kiss her palm. "Yes my grace." And you hug her sensitive bud with your lips, simultaneously pushing three fingers inside, immediately picking up a fast pace. "Oh Gods!" She moans and screams without being embarrassed to be heard, the way you stretch her drives the woman crazy. “Fuck, that’s it!” and “Yeah right there, that’s my good girl.” You fuck her, trying to please your queen as best as possible and feel how she clench around your fingers. “Fuck fuck Y/N!” She cums, for a long time, and you fuck her through orgasm until she whines from overstimulation, asking her to stop.

You move onto the bed and lie on top of her again, kissing her. “I didn’t believe in soulmates until I saw you.” She hugs you, covering your naked body. You lie there, again inhaling the aroma of her perfume and not believing in the reality of what happened. “I would like to believe that it’s true,” she replies and you think.

“Have you already chosen someone to be your spouse?” You say this quietly, in a whisper. It was at this moment that you remembered why your family came here in the first place and how you may have acted meanly towards your brother. She laughs and you don't understand. "Yes, I chose you."

You lift your head sharply, looking into those purple eyes to see if she's deceiving you. “But...what if people are against it, what will you do?”

She thought about it, she knew that there would be dissatisfied people. “Then I will personally give Syrax the command to burn to the ground anyone who questions my choice.”

[clownwritesfanfic]

I Could Be A Good Mother, and I Wanna Be Your Wife

Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Summary: Class 1A is given the surprise task of caring for baby dolls. Everyone is randomly paired up in two’s, and it’s just your luck that you get your crush as a partner.

Warnings: Bakugou may be a little ooc but I don’t care

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 6,512

Disclaimer: Reader is kept as diverse as possible but wears a skirt, uses the girls locker room, has long enough hair to run fingers through, calls herself ‘mother’, being able to birth a child, and was originally written with a fem aligned person in mind. This is safe for poc, and plus size readers. The majority of the fic is also safe for trans women readers but the bonus at the end is not. (Y/N) is used only once.

Important info before you read‼️

This fic was written originally with an OC of mine in mind, however, most people don’t read Canon x OC and while I normally wouldn’t care and wrote one anyway, I am very proud of this and want as many people to read it as possible and hopefully enjoy it. So with that in mind, I took out any describing factors and her name but I did keep some of her backstory and her quirk. If that bothers you, you can move on but I hope you read it anyway because I’m very proud of this.

Also, there is another OC of mine in this story, Usagi. She’s not integral to the plot and has no speaking roles. I had to add her to keep the class even, otherwise someone would’ve been a single parent.

Any feedback is very welcome and appreciated!

Title is inspired by ‘not a lot, just forever’ by Adrianna Lenker but the fic is unrelated.

———————————————————————

It was a Monday, a few weeks after the majority of Class 1A got their provisional hero licenses when Midnight and Recovery Girl entered the classroom. Aizawa had taken it upon himself to snuggle up in his yellow sleeping bag and take a nap after introducing the two women, leaving them to explain what today’s class is.

The students expected Midnight, considering she had taught a few of their classes before, but there were murmurs of why the school nurse was there.

“Listen up boys and girls! We have a very special and unique class for today!” Midnight announced as she raised her hand in the air, her leather whip clutched in her hand, catching the attention of everyone (who was awake) in the room.

“Today isn’t about hero work or everyday schoolwork. This lesson is special, it will help you all later in your lives if you choose this path. The path being….PARENTHOOD!” She exclaimed while striking an enthusiastic pose.

“Wait, what?!” “Seriously?” “What do you mean?!” A series of voices could be heard throughout the classroom.

“Settle down!” Midnight got the attention of the students. “This lesson is the most important lesson anyone can learn. Whether you want to become a parent or not, learning how to care for babies and children is a vital and selfless aspect of life.”

There were a couple hushed protests among the class but Recovery Girl talked over them. “You will have one week to care for these babies.” She explained as she pulled out eleven baby dolls of various genders and races. “These dolls are specially made for things like this. These babies will cry, make noises, “sleep”, “eat”, and soil its diaper like a real baby. They’re also able to record and grade you based on how quickly you can figure out and resolve its problem. And be careful what you say around it and how you say things. They can detect anger and verbal abuse which will drastically affect your score. Now…any questions?”

A bunch of hands were instantly raised. But that didn’t matter since Bakugou stood up and slammed his hands onto his desk and yelled. “WHAT THE HELL DO WE HAVE TO RAISE SOME DUMB BABIES FOR?! THIS IS THE HERO COURSE NOT A NURSEY COURSE!”

“Sit down.” Midnight said sternly. She took over the conversation. “While this lesson isn’t exactly meant to play into your hero work, this knowledge can be beneficial out in the field. For example, in some rescue operations, it can take hours for a child to be reunited with their family. Most of the time, medics will take the child and work with police to try and reunite them with their parents, but there are times where a hero must step in and care for and comfort the child. With older children around three to five years old, they’re easier to calm down. You can talk to them and explain the situation and reassure them. But babies and younger children are harder to console in high stress situations. If you learn these things now, you won’t be stressed if you ever get caught in a situation where you’re in charge of a small child. A lot of heroes are inexperienced with child care unless they are a parent themselves or have young family members. Think of this as getting ahead of a problem before it even starts. Make sense?”

Bakugou grumbled and sat back down.

“Eeeee This is going to be fun! We get to take care of cute babies!” Ashido squealed.

“I don’t think it will be that fun, Mina. Babies are a lot of hard work and dedication.” Asui chimed in, a finger lifted up to her lips. She had two younger siblings, so she knew a thing or two about raising kids.

“Correct you are, child.” Recovery Girl said. “The infant stage is one of the toughest stages of child rearing since they can’t communicate their needs and wants with words. It’s a lot of guessing and paying attention to their body language. However, these dolls do not move so you will have to rely on audio cues to guess what the child needs.”

Midnight spoke up. “You will be split up into groups of two all determined by a random draw. Because there are more boys than girls in this class, some of you will end up in a same sex partnership. You do not have to act as a real couple so don’t freak out if you’re partnered with someone you don’t have romantic feelings for. What’s important is teamwork on taking care of the baby. You are in charge of the child for the rest of this week, including the weekend. You may chose to either take turns or to split responsibility evenly. You will be given all the supplies you will need, if you end up needing more, Recovery Girl will help you. At the end of the week you will return the dolls and we will tally up the scores and see which couple has the lowest score. The lowest score is the winner since each mistake is marked based on how severe of a mistake it was. The higher the score, the worse you did. Any more questions?”

Iida quickly raised his hand. Midnight gestured for him to speak. He stood up and loudly asked “If we are to have the baby all day for the rest of the week, what do we do with it while training? You can’t expect us to take the baby with us! That’s highly dangerous and immoral and I would expect better from such a prestigious school!”

“Yes, you’re right. We don’t expect you to keep the doll with you while training. That’s why each of you will have to figure something out. One of you will have to sit out of training unless you can find a better option. Leaving the child in your dorm and hoping for the best is not an option and neither is bringing it to training and leaving it off to the side. It’s like real life. One of the parents has to stay home and care for the child. Sometimes they will get a babysitter but that is not an option for you since the scores need to come from you and your partner only for you to pass. If you really want to train that day, you’ll either have to talk it through with your partner, or train later in the day during your free time.” Midnight answered.

“Thank you very much for clearing this up.” Iida said, bowing deeply before taking his seat.

Midnight clapped her hands. “Alright! With everything out of the way, let’s draw for your partners.” She held up a blue plastic box. “In this box is twenty-two coloured tokens. There are eleven pairs. Each one of you will reach into this box and pull out one token, when everyone has a token, you will be given time to find the person with the same colour token. They will be your partner for the rest of the week. You may not switch partners. Each colour is already assigned to a baby as well, so you don’t get to chose that either.” As she finished explaining she walked around the room letting everyone reach in and pull out a token. When the box was empty she returned to the front and allowed the class to find their partners.

Midoriya and Uraraka had the yellow tokens, Shouji and Asui had the purple tokens, Mina and Kirishima had the red tokens, Kaminari and Jirou had the orange tokens, Hagakure and Yayorozu had the light blue tokens, Sero and Mineta had the black tokens, Usagi and Tokoyami had the dark blue tokens, Todoroki and Ojiro had the pink tokens, Iida and Aoyama had the green tokens, and Satou and Kouda had the white tokens.

You looked down at your brown coloured token and looked back up to scan the room. All your classmates were already paired up and either happily talking about how it would be to raise a baby together or complaining about their partner. You could faintly hear Mineta crying about not being paired up with a girl. You look across the room at Bakugou who was still sat at his desk, glaring at his token.

Upon closer look, you could see that it was the same colour as yours. You sighed, already accepting that you’ll basically be a single parent as you can’t imagine he’d want anything to do with this. You reluctantly stood up and made your way across the classroom to him.

“Um…hey. Looks like we have the same colour. Guess we’re partners for the week.” You said, gently.

“I can fucking see that. I’m not blind, dumbass.” He retorted.

Ah, it seems he’s decided to take on the verbally abusive and absent father route already. You’ll have to do your best to make sure you get a low enough score. You’ve never taken care of a baby before. You had baby dolls as a kid but they’ve never graded you before. This was a whole new challenge and you could feel the anxiety pooling in your stomach.

“Right…well. We should talk about how we want to do this.” You started. “I think we should take turns each day. I could take it today and you take it tomorrow and repeat. I know you probably don’t want to skip a day of training so I can take it during training even on your days. There’s not much really for me to train anyway so I can afford to lose a week of it.” You let out a weak laugh.

Bakugou growled. “Do whatever you want but don’t be stupid. You can train on the days I have it. Don’t stop your training over some dumb doll.”

“But…you would be stopping yours if you-“ You get cut off by the blonde.

“I’m already the best in this whole class! Missing a few days of training isn’t going to do anything. Besides, you’re weak and you need to be at your strongest so I can beat you and prove that I’m the best in this entire school!” He yelled. You think that was a compliment albeit he put it weirdly.

“Ha…yeah…okay.” You replied. Just then the bell rang and everyone started to put their stuff away. You went over to your desk to do the same.

“Please return your tokens to the box! And before you leave, pick up your baby with the matching colour onesie and the bag of necessities. You have the rest of the day to yourselves.” Said Midnight.

You slung your bag onto your back and walked to the front of the room and dropped your token back into the box. You waited for your classmates to fizzle out a bit so you could get your baby. The dolls were all lined up in car seats. You found the one wearing a brown onesie, a girl with blonde hair. You chuckled to yourself at the resemblance to your partner.

You grabbed the handle of the car seat and went to grab the big duffel bag next to it when someone grabbed it before you. You look over to see Bakugou standing over you, glaring off to the side.

“Move it.” He gruffed out as he slung the bag over his shoulder.

You left the classroom with Bakugou trailing behind you, still scowling. You turn around and start walking backwards to face him and hold out the car seat so he could see the doll nestled inside.

“Look. She looks like you.” You giggled. He glanced down at the blonde doll and huffed.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot.” He grumbled. You rolled your eyes and turned back around and followed your classmates to the dorms.

———————————————————————

Back in the dorms, everyone was changed out of their school uniforms and gathered in the common room with their new kids. Everyone of course…except for Bakugou, who very grumpily went to his room after dropping the bag of things off at your room.

You had went through the bag and found loads of diapers, clothing, a carrier that strapped to your chest, bottles, a pacifier, and some baby toys. You weren’t exactly sure why you would need toys, considering the baby isn’t actually real, but you guessed you’d find out the reason sooner or later.

You decided to change her out of her boring brown onesie so you picked out a cute outfit from the ones provided. You undid the buckles holding the baby in the car seat (why it came in a car seat when you don’t even know how to drive a car, you will not know) and gently and carefully lifted the little girl out of the seat, making sure to support her head.

As you laid her on the ground and started to undress her, she started making cooing noises.

“Oh! Hello….you must be awake now I guess.” You spoke to the baby as she cooed in reply. “Ha…I guess you are kinda cute.” You felt as if you were talking to yourself.

When your new daughter was dressed, you decided to go to the common room since you thought everyone would be there, and right you were. As you went down the hallway you could hear the excited chatter of your classmates getting louder. When you were in sight, Mina noticed you and waved you over.

“Hey! Come over here! We’re all showing off our babies!” She excitedly exclaimed. As you walked over, Kirishima stood up from his spot beside Mina and offered the space to you. You thanked him as you sat down and readjusted your baby in your arms.

“Course! What kinda man would I be if I didn’t offer a seat to a lady with a baby!” He replied. Ever so chivalrous, he is.

“Ha! That rhymed.” Kaminari pointed out.

“Awww you got a girl? How lucky!” Mina squealed. “Kirishima and I got a boy. We named him Kenji.” You looked down at her lap where the doll was laid on its back.

“You named it?” You asked.

“Well yeah! We can’t just keep calling him “it” and “the baby”.” She explained as if it was obvious.

Iida then chimed in, his baby tucked securely in one of his arms. “Yes, I suppose it would be beneficial to name the child. This is supposed to be taken seriously and we can not leave a child unnamed!”

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the room as everyone talked with their partners on what they should name their baby. You looked down to the small blonde doll in your arms that let out another coo and softly smiled.

“Riki…” You thought to yourself. “I’ll call you Riki.”

———————————————————————

“Riki?” Bakugou gawked. “You gave it a name?”

Bakugou was helping with making dinner, well, it was more like he forced everyone to let him do most of it because “no one was doing it right”. You were stood out of the way but within talking distance, your newly named baby in one arm and holding a bottle up to her mouth as she “ate”.

“First off, she’s a she not an “it”. Secondly, everyone in the class named their baby. We have to take this seriously and I’m not going to call her an “it” the whole week. Besides…I thought Riki would be a good name. It means “strong”….and since she kinda looks like you, I figured you’d want your kid to be strong like you so…” You trailed off looking down at the doll in your arms. “We can change it though if you really don’t like it.”

Bakugou huffs. “No…call it-…..call her whatever you want.” He continues to cook in silence. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks. You smile softly at him. Maybe you won’t have to do this alone after all.

———————————————————————

The first day goes by smoothly. You had a bit of a learning curve with changing the diaper but you managed after help from Yayorozu. Who knew she’d be so good at something like that?

You had just settled down into bed after putting Riki to “sleep” and were scrolling on your phone. It was about 10pm, most people were still awake but you knew the person you wanted to talk to most more than likely wasn’t. He went to bed at 8:30pm every night, even on weekends.

You stared at your screen open on Bakugou’s blank private messages page. UA made an app for the students to contact each other and teachers with. It worked like a regular texting app, every class had their own group chat and you could private message each other, even students from other classes. All of them were accessible to staff if needed though.

You didn’t know if you should even bother asking him if he’s still going to take Riki tomorrow. Plus you didn’t want to wake him up. You were about to turn your phone off when you got a message from Mina. You open up her message and see a picture of Kirishima with his hair down, asleep on one of the couches in the common room with their baby on his chest. You laughed quietly to yourself and responded with a cute reaction meme. You thought they would make an interesting pair for this project.

You turned off your phone and plugged it in to charge and set it on your bedside table. You got comfortable in bed and closed your eyes. It would take you a while to fall asleep so you started to let your mind wander. You realized that tomorrow Bakugou will miss out on training if he takes the baby. He already told you earlier today in class not to worry about it and to focus on your own training…but you genuinely couldn’t think on how training would benefit you.

Your quirk has always been more of a supporting quirk rather than one that could do well in a fight one on one. Your quirk is called Cheer, by speaking words of encouragement to someone, you can make your target stronger both physically and emotionally. The reverse also works, if you berate someone it makes them weaker. You can use it on more than one person but its effects get weaker the more people you use it in at once. There’s also a major weakness to your quirk. Anytime you berate someone, you gain confidence, but when you encourage someone, it takes away your confidence. Because of this you feel inferior to everyone else in your class. Even Mineta has a more useful quirk in combat than you do. You’re basically forced to sit on the sidelines and watch people fight. It helps in rescue operations but you still wished you could fight like everyone else. You only managed to get into the hero course because you racked up enough rescue points and got lucky with a three pointer.

It’s ironic that someone with an inferiority complex got paired up with someone with a superiority complex. It’s even more ironic that you managed to gain a crush on the bastard too.

———————————————————————

It was now Tuesday morning and Bakugou was sat in his room staring at the doll in its car seat.

You had entered the common room already dressed in your uniform with Riki in the seat. Hero training was the first class that morning so anyone who was in charge of their baby that day stayed behind and would join everyone later for normal classes. Your tie wasn’t done yet and your skirt was pulled up a little too high, showing off more thigh than you usually do, as you were in a rush since Riki wouldn’t stop crying and you couldn’t figure out why. She had finally managed to settle down when you gave her the included pacifier.

You weren’t much of a breakfast eater, especially if you were training in the morning so you didn’t go to the kitchen. You noticed Bakugou sat on one of the couches drinking something out of a mug. He was wearing a simple black tank top and sweatpants.

“Oh Bakugou! There you are. I’m guessing since you’re not in uniform you’re still taking Riki today.” You sat the car seat on the floor near him and started doing your tie. You knew you were just going to have to take it off soon to change into your hero costume but you still wanted to show up looking like you at least tried. “So I figured out that she makes different noises depending on what she wants. Most of the time she just wants to be held or given a pacifier so she makes really whiny sounds that almost sound like a cry. She was just crying now and the only thing that made her stop was the pacifier so she might start up again soon. I made a smaller bag of her things like diapers and her bottle just so you’re not carrying a big ass duffel bag later.” You were almost rivalling Midoriya with how fast you were muttering, you didn’t mean to but you didn’t want to be late and you kept fumbling with your tie.

As you were smoothing out your front, you felt a pair of hands grab the bottom of your skirt and start to pull down. You shrieked and smacked the hands away and turned around to see (to the best of your ability) Hagakure behind you.

“Oh my god, Hagakure! I had no idea who was behind me! You scared me thinking it was Mineta pulling at my skirt.” You laughed and grabbed onto the girls arms.

“Ahhh I’m sorry! I just noticed your skirt was up a lot higher than normal and you almost showed off a bit too much.” The invisible girl explained as you fixed your skirt. “Come on, we got to get to class!”

“Right, yeah, I’m coming.” You responded as Hagakure held your hand. You quickly turned to Bakugou again who once again had a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “You sure you’ll be okay? I know it’s only for an hour before I see you again so if you want to pawn her off to me next class then that’s fine.”

“Tch…how incompetent do you think I am? Of course I can take care of some stupid doll for an hour!” He barked back at you.

You felt Hagakure pulling you towards the front door. “Ok, well…see you later then!” You said as you finally took off with your friend, leaving Bakugou and a few others scattered around the common room.

“Heyyy, Bakugou! You get stuck on babysitting duty too?” Kaminari taunted, his baby settled in a carrier strapped to his chest.

Bakugou growled. “It’s not babysitting when it’s your own kid you idiot. And you look dumb with that thing on.” He stood up and grabbed the handle of the car seat and went off to his room. He could hear Kaminari complaining as he left.

Now here he was, in his room having a staring match with a doll. He wasn’t sure what to do for an hour, let along with a baby. He glanced up at some math homework left on his desk and decided to finish it up so he was ahead of everyone else in class. Ten minutes past when his concentration was interrupted by whining. He looked over at the car seat that was faced away from him at this angle and sighed. He reached over and turned it around.

“Jesus. She didn’t mention how fucking annoying it would be.” He muttered to himself as he undid the straps and lifted the baby out. “What the hell is your problem, huh?” He asked, surprisingly not as loud as he normally would. He thought maybe she was hungry and remembered you said something about a small bag with her bottle in it. He looked around but couldn’t find it. In fact, he didn’t remember seeing any bag with the baby anyway. He grumbled as he picked up his phone and opened up the messaging app and sent you a private message.

In the locker rooms you heard your phone buzz and decided to look at it as you were changing. You saw a notification from Bakugou and quickly opened it.

Katsuki Bakugou: hey, dumbass. she’s crying but I can’t find that bag you were talking about

You winced as you remembered that you never actually grabbed the bag in your rush to get downstairs.

You: damn I must have forgotten it in my room, sorry. feel free to go and grab it. my room code is 6678 it should be on my desk. you know which floor I’m on right?

Bakugou scoffed.

Katsuki Bakugou: yes I know. I’m not stupid.

You: never said you were <3 have fun lol

You didn’t realize you sent the heart. It was muscle memory from texting with your friends, but it sent Bakugou for a loop.

After he had quickly made his way to the second floor and grabbed the bag you mentioned, he went back to his room where he had left the baby on his bed. Her whining had turned into crying by now.

“Alright, Alright! I got your damn stuff.” Bakugou sat on the floor and settled the doll into his arm. He removed the pacifier and held the bottle up to its mouth. He felt relieved when the crying stopped. “This is fucking ridiculous.” He thought out loud.

He rested his back on his bed and started to drift off in to thought. Why did you send that heart? Did you mean to do it? Was it a reflex? Were you making fun of him? No…that couldn’t be right. You were one of the few that took him seriously. Sure you teased him sometimes, but not as much as the others. He thought back to a time where he accidentally overheard something he probably shouldn’t have that still made his heart feel weird.

———————————————————————

Bakugou was making his way to the kitchen to get something to drink. He could hear you and the other girls of Class 1A giggling and talking about random shit.

He was going to ignore the group when something made him stop in his tracks right before he would be seen.

“Sooo, who do you like?” Mina asked with a teasing voice.

“Who, me?” You asked as Mina nodded. All eyes were on you and you felt yourself blush. “Well…I guess I kinda have a thing for Bakugou…” You answered shyly, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“What?!” “Wait, Bakugou?!” “Really?” The girls cried out in unison.

“Why is that so shocking? You guys seriously don’t think he’s at least a little bit attractive?” You inquired.

Bakugou stiffened at the confession and he felt his heartbeat speed up. You…had a crush on him? Someone actually was interested in him romantically?

“You don’t think all his yelling and name calling is a turn off?” Uraraka asked.

“Hm…not really. Sure he says some mean stuff but…he doesn’t actually mean it.” You reasoned.

“I don’t know…he always seems to be serious about it. I mean he doesn’t even know our names.” Jirou huffed.

“Yes he does!” You laughed. “He’s not stupid. He’s a lot smarter than I think any of you give him credit for.”

“He is in the top our class academic wise as well as hero wise.” Yayorozu chimes in.

“Exactly. Have none of you realized that a lot of his plans actually work? He may seem like he’s rushing into things but it’s obvious he’s put clear thought into his plans. And the fact that he can make one up that quickly is impressive. He’s also more compassionate than you’d think.” You said, leaning back on the couch.

“Well I think you’re wrong with that.” Tsu replied.

“Because you guys are only seeing the surface level. You’re not reading in between the lines. For example, remember when we just moved into the dorms, the talk Mr. Aizawa had with us outside?” They nodded. “When Mr. Aizawa left, you could feel the uncomfortable tension in the class at being reminded of what happened. Bakugou grabbed Kaminari and made him go all dumb because he knew it would make everyone laugh. And it did! The tension was gone instantly! Bakugou really does care, he just doesn’t know how to show it like other people. And remember the school festival? He totally could’ve refused to play the drums but he did it anyway! That’s what I like about him. He’s not a cold hearted asshole, he just wants you to think he is. I use to be like that too.” You trailed off, looking ashamed.

“Wait. YOU were an asshole?” Mina prodded.

You sighed and nodded. “Yeah, back when I first got my quirk. I realized that putting other people down gave me a lot of confidence. I went on a power trip and started bullying everyone. I started to realize that the “friends” that I did have were only my “friends” so they could escape my words. Made me feel like shit when I found out. Now I hate using my quirk like that unless absolutely necessary. But yeah….I see through Bakugou’s walls and I guess it just made me fall for him.” You changed the subject.

“Wow…you’re whipped for him, aren’t you?” Mina teased.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don’t tell him that. I don’t need him on my ass about it.” You blushed and waved her off.

“You sure you don’t want him on your ass?” Mina teased again.

“OH SHUT UP!” You threw a pillow at her as the girls laughed.

———————————————————————

Bakugou had zoned out at that memory. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, it’s your fault for being so damn loud and talking about him in the first place! It’s been a few weeks since that and it’s still fresh in his mind. Did he like you back? He wasn’t sure. On one hand he was pissed at how you managed to figure him out so easily, but on the other hand…he felt comforted knowing someone understood him and didn’t make fun of him for it. He will admit that you weren’t that bad looking or as stupid as everyone else. He did wish you would see the potential you had with your quirk, though. He could feel his cheeks start to heat up and he scoffed, snapping out of his thoughts and looking back down at the doll in his arms.

“I guess…she’s not so bad…” He said softly to Riki.

———————————————————————

Training had finished and you and the rest of your classmates were on your way to your next class.

Upon entering the classroom you noticed everyone that had skipped out on training standing around, babies either in their arms, strapped to their chest, or in the car seat. Bakugou was sat in his spot, chin in his hand looking out the window to his left.

You had a few minutes to spare before class started so you walked up to your partner. “Hey! How’d it go? Was she fussy?” You asked as you squatted down to see Riki, who was in her car seat on the floor next to his desk.

“Tch, no. I told you I know what I’m doing.” He grumbled.

“I’m pretty sure none of us know what we’re doing but it’s nice to know that you’re taking this seriously.” You replied standing back up.

“HA? YOU THINK I WOULD’NT? YOU THINK I’M NOT CAPABLE OF THIS?” He yelled as he let off small explosions.

“Course not. I did kinda think you would end up leaving most of this to me though. But it’s nice that you’re playing along.” You smiled sincerely.

Iida started ushering everyone to their assigned seats as class was about to begin. You patted Bakugou on his shoulder and left to your seat near the back of the class.

He clenched his fists and glared down at his desk, he could feel his heartbeat going wild again.

———————————————————————

A few days had passed and it was now Friday night and you were at your wits end.

It was your day with Riki and she had been crying non stop for thirty minutes now. You were pacing your room with her in your arms as the doll “sobbed” louder and louder with each agonizing minute. You had no idea what was wrong; you tried feeding her, changing her diaper, holding her, giving her a pacifier, you even tried the toys that they provided but nothing was working!

You were close to tears yourself as you thought about how this would affect your grade and how pissed Bakugou would be if you ruined it. The whole week went by just fine, it never took this long for her to settle down. You had gotten lucky with the baby you were given as she was so easy to care for, but this moment right now was proving difficult.

Feeling like you had no other choice, you left your room with your still wailing daughter in your arms and quickly made your way up to Bakugou’s room.

You knocked on his door while still trying to shush Riki. When Bakugou opened the door, he looked like he had just woken up which made you start ranting.

“Bakugou, fuck, I’m so sorry to bother you right now I know you like to go to bed early but she’s been crying like this for like thirty minutes now and I’ve tried everything but she just won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do and I’m probably gonna make us fail cause I can’t get her to fucking stop and I just…” You panted “…can you please help me?” You nearly whined.

“Give her to me.” Bakugou reached out as you transferred her into his arms. He walked away with the crying doll, leaving his door open. You decided that was an invitation so you slipped into his room and gently closed the door behind you. You watched as Bakugou gently bounced the doll in his arms and started petting its blonde head.

You stared in awe as Riki started to finally quiet down until she was silent. You breathed out a sigh of relief but tears started to quickly gather in your eyes. Bakugou had opened his balcony door and stepped outside to the cool air. You ran a hand through your messy hair and followed them out onto the balcony. The not quite freezing but cold air nipping at your skin. It felt nice as you didn’t even notice that you were sweating from the stress. You bent over and rested your elbows on the railing and placed your head in your hands, trying to hold back your tears.

“She had been crying for so long…I tried everything but nothing worked. But the minute you have her she finally stops. What the hell am I doing wrong? Why am I such a bad mother?” You muttered more to yourself but your partner could hear you anyways.

A minute of silence went by as you tried to not let your tears fall when Bakugou finally spoke up, surprising gently. “Don’t beat yourself up over something you barely know how to handle.”

He leaned his back against the railing next to you. His arm barely grazing against your shoulder, his way of trying to comfort you. You sniffed and dropped your arms from your head and looked forward out into the dark courtyard.

“She’s been perfect this entire week. Nothing I couldn’t handle…but she just had to act like a total brat tonight.” You sighed.

“Hey.” Bakugou said sternly. “Don’t call our daughter a brat…that’s my line.”

You laughed at that, completely overlooking the fact that you called the doll “our daughter”. Bakugou softly smiled at your laugh, also not realizing exactly what he said. But her certainly felt his heart flutter as he looked down at the baby in his arms.

Bakugou decided he’d take her for the rest of the night so you could get some sleep. It was his turn tomorrow anyway.

———————————————————————

Monday had come by quickly, thus, ending the project. Recovery Girl had collected the dolls, and you couldn’t lie, you felt a little sad at the fact that you won’t have Riki around anymore. The class waited in anticipation to see whose grade was the lowest.

When the results came in, Midnight stood at the front of the class once again and started to call out the grades.

“Coming in last place is Sero and Mineta with a sixty-five.” Mineta started screaming about how unfair it was and that they got a faulty doll. “Todoroki and Ojiro have a score of thirty-four, Kaminari and Jirou have a thirty, Iida and Aoyama a twenty-seven, Usagi and Tokoyami with twenty-five, Shouji and Asui with twenty-one, Hagakure and Yayorozu with twenty, Mina and Kirishima with an eighteen, Satou and Kouda with a fifteen, Bakugou and (Y/N) with a score of eight, and lastly, coming in first place with the best score is Midoriya and Uraraka with a three! Good work everyone. I hope you all learned some valuable lessons from this experience!” Midnight finished.

There were high fives and cheers coming from the people with the lower scores and talks of what they could’ve done better from the people with higher marks.

You stared down at your desk smiling. Eight wasn’t so bad, right? Much better than what Mineta got.

At the front of the class, Bakugou has turned his head back to look at you and softly smiled to himself when he saw your relief. He turned back around to look down at his hands as he played with his pen. He could hear Midoriya and Uraraka being congratulated for the lowest score and for once in his life….he didn’t mind coming in second.

———————————————————————

Bonus:

Twelve years later, Bakugou had established himself as the number two hero with his own agency. You worked along side him as his number one sidekick. You both grew a lot since high school and grew closer from the experience. You managed to get rid of your inferiority complex and become more comfortable with using your quirk against villains rather than standing by and cheering on the heroes. You can also hold your own in combat pretty well now and you have a slew of support items to help.

But instead of kicking ass on the street you were laid out on a hospital bed after the longest 7 hours of your life. You were sweaty and exhausted, but it was all worth it as you looked at the little bundle in your arms. A head of blonde hair was peaking out of the blanket.

“What should we name her?” You whispered to the person leaning over you with their hand on your head and looking lovingly down at the newborn.

“…..Riki.” Bakugou said softly.

[mirkoluvs]

★ SUPER SHY

sanji (opla) x fem reader

genre: angst to comfort !!

notes: request !! this is a bit of a long one… also, yes. the title is inspired by new jeans hehe. also, request have been closed for a bit because my inbox is flooded… i appreciate the support and will open requests again soon once i finish most of them!

you were sitting as you listened to nami complain about how the crew was running low on money because of luffy’s food needs. you thought about bringing up her clothing addiction, but since you wanted the ship to stay intact, you kept your mouth shut.

“and i always tell him that we have enough to last us in the kitchen, but he never listens! i swear next time he spends money on food without telling me i’ll-“, “nami!”, sanji called out, walking out the kitchen with a tray of drinks. he quickly made his way over to the table that the two of you were at.

“nami, take this. it’ll help you calm down. i know luffy can be stressful”, sanji smiled, handing nami the drink. “why thank you, sanji”, she smiled back, taking the drink from his hand. “hey! what did i do?!”, luffy shouted from the front of the boat where he was watching usopp fish. sanji simply didn’t answer, continuing to smile at nami as he pushed off luffy’s whining.

finally, he turned to you. “for you”, sanji quickly said, handing you your drink and walking off. your eyes narrowed at the short lived interaction. it seemed like he didn’t care about you as much as he did nami. maybe you were overthinking it. but what if you weren’t? had you done something wrong? did you offend him or something?

“y/n?”, nami called out, tapping your shoulder. you jumped at the sudden touch, snapping out of it. “are you okay?”, she asked, a small bit of concern on her face. “yeah, i’m fine. i’m gonna go to the bathroom”, you smiled, quickly dismissing yourself. before she could further question you, you were already gone.

you quickly shut the bathroom door behind you, letting out a sigh. looking up, you stared at your reflection in the mirror. walking closer, you began picking at parts of your face.

is there something wrong with me? sure, i’m not as pretty as nami or other girls, but am i that bad that someone like sanji would barely acknowledge me…? he flirts with every woman he can, yet he always ignores me… that says a lot, huh?

before you could even realize it, there were tears streaming down your face. insecurities were swallowing you whole, it was unbearable. you leaned against the door, sliding down it as you tucked your knees against your chest and laid your head on your knees.

“hey, who’s in there? i gotta use the bathroom”, zoro asked, banging on the door. you jumped at his sudden presence. “sorry, i’ll be out soon”, you replied back, your voice unexpectedly quivering. you didn’t hear a response for a moment, the silence making you a bit nervous. “i’ll just wait, it’s fine”, he replied. before you could respond, he walked away. you sighed as you rested your head against the door.

the day passed by quickly as everyone was seated eating the dinner sanji had prepared. “where’s y/n? nobody ever skips dinner”, sanji asked, holding an extra plate. everyone looked around, shrugging. “i haven’t seen her since this afternoon, she might’ve fell asleep early”, nami answered. sanji rose an eyebrow but didn’t choose to question it.

after everyone, or so he thought, had left the kitchen, he started cleaning up what was left. “what the hell are you still doing in here?”, sanji groaned, being faced with the sight of the green-haired swordsman when he turned around. “quit whining, i can go wherever i want”, zoro fought back.

“did you say something to y/n earlier?”, he asked, picking up a random fruit on the counter. sanji rose an eyebrow as he continued scrubbing the dishes, “no? why are you asking me that”, he asked. “well, i saw her leave right after you gave nami and her those drinks. then i went to the bathroom and she was in there. sounded like she was crying or something”, he told him. sanjis eyes widened at what he said, pausing everything he was doing. “she was crying…?”, sanji muttered, turning to look at zoro who was playing catch with a random apple. “yeah, i guess. but if you say you didn’t do anything then maybe it was something else”, he shrugged, placing the apple down and walking out. sanji stayed in the same position he was in for a moment, thinking about what zoro said. he didn’t remember ever offending you, so what could’ve happened? he sighed, finishing up the last bit of the dishes left before closing up the kitchen.

soon enough, everything was packed away and sanji was able to go to sleep. he let out a yawn as he closed the kitchen door, rubbing his eyes. “finally, i’m exhausted- SHIT”, he exclaimed in shock, running into someone. “who the hell- y/n?”, he questioned in surprise. your eyes were wide as you realized who you had run into. you muttered small curses under your breath as you began to back away. “sorry, i’ll get going”, you started, beginning to turn around as you started to walk away. “no, wait”, sanji interfered, grabbing your wrist. your eyes widened at the motion. “were you gonna try to get leftovers?”, he asked. you let out a light laugh, trying to skim over the topic. “what? no! i just- well…”, you stuttered. yeah, you were busted.

“why weren’t you at dinner? nobody ever skips dinner”, sanji asked. his hand was still on your wrist as he looked into your eyes, a small bit of concern being prominent. “wasn’t hungry”, you muttered, looking away from him. he rose an eyebrow at your odd behavior, something was up and he knew it. “you don’t expect me to believe that when i just caught you trying to sneak leftovers, right?”, he asked, cocking his head to the side. “it doesn’t matter, just forget it. im going to bed”, you sighed, trying to pull your hand away from his hold. “tell me what’s wrong, y/n. did something happen? did someone say something?”, he asked, trying to look you in the eyes, something you were dodging.

“where is this concern suddenly coming from?”, you muttered just loud enough so he could hear you. that left him even more confused than before, his eyebrows tightening as he tried to figure out what you meant. the silence finally pushed you to look at him. you wanted to scoff at his confused expression. “you don’t care about me like the others, and you don’t have to pretend to because it’s just us here”, you told him, your voice a bit stern. his eyes widened at your words, shocked and lost. “wait, what? where is this coming from?”, he asked, a mix of concern and confusion lacing his words. “you always avoid me, sanji, and it hurts. it hurts a lot. you don’t look at me the same way you look at nami and other girls, you always keep our conversations short, hell, sometimes you don’t even look at me when we’re talking. i get it, maybe i’m not pretty like nami, or as entertaining as luffy and usopp, but is that really enough of a reason to hate me?”, you ranted, your voice cracking. once you started, you couldn’t get yourself to stop, it was a never ending pile of word vomit.

once you finished, you sighed, sniffling as you wiped a few tears running down your face. the silence was deafening as you looked at the ground, anxiously waiting for his response. “…is that really what you think?”, he finally muttered, his voice just loud enough so you could hear him. your silence clearly told him what your answer was. “y/n, look at me”, he asked. you remained still, your eyes staring daggers into the ground. he sighed, gently moving your head with two fingers so you’d face him. “listen to me when i say this. i do not hate you. it’s the complete opposite of that, actually. if i knew what i was doing made you feel like this, i would’ve stopped being such a wimp”, he sighed. you rose an eyebrow at his choice of words. “wimp?”, you questioned. “the truth is that i really, really like you. so much that i become a nervous wreck around you. that’s why i kept our conversations so short and never looked you in the eye. cause if i did, i’d probably explode on the spot. but to think that because i was such a coward that i had you feeling like this, had you skipping a meal all because i was nervous. i’m such an asshole”, he spoke, his regret being notable in his tone.

your eyes were blown open at his words, your jaw a bit agape. this whole time you thought he hated your guts, but in reality, it was the complete opposite. he was just nervous around you. you didn’t even know someone like him could get nervous around women. before you could reply, you felt his arms wrap around you, knocking the breath out of you due to shock. “im sorry, y/n. please forgive me. it hurts to see you cry, and it’s even worse knowing it’s my fault”, he apologized, his voice dripping with sorrow. you opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn’t even find words. you were shocked to say the least. sanji took the silence as a form of not accepting his apology, so he sighed. “it’s alright, i understand, i’ll-“, “NO! no, wait. i’m just shocked, that’s all… i forgive you… it’s alright”, you yelped, grabbing onto the sides of his arms. his eyes were wide for a moment, but quickly softened. a small smile grew on his face as he looked at you .

“you know what would be a nice make-up gift, though?”, you started. “what is it? i’ll do anything, you name it”, he answered quickly, pulling away from you to look you in the eyes. just as you were about to speak, your stomach let out a loud grumble. the two of you froze for a second. “guess my stomach spoke for me, huh?”, you laughed. sanji let out a light chuckle.

“one fresh plate coming up!”

© mirkoluvs. please do not copy, modify, or repost on other platforms. thank you !!

[hauntedrain]

For Years! | Max Verstappen x Reader |

Social media AU Summary: Max and reader get criticism over the status of their relationship.

✮▹ A/N: So sorry for not posting for so long. Life has been BUSY. but hopefully i can post more and write more! Love you guys <3

✰▹Warnings/Notices: Not edited. nothing really. reader mentioned to write music

Liked by Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, & 3,345,678 others

@Y/N: Lovely time lately.

view all 19,234 comments

user1: LMFAO MAX.

user2: Y/N you'll always been iconic

user3: sometimes I forget Max Verstappen is dating THE Y/N L/N.

↪ user4: SO TRUE. It completely passes my mind that they've been together before he even got to F1.

↪ user5: THEY'VE BEEN TOGETHER FOR 9 YEARS?

↪ user6: YEA ITS WILD.

↪ user7: wait but they haven't gotten married or anything?

↪ user8: Yea no. They also avoid the questions around it. Kind of weird to me.

↪ user9: But hasn't Y/N written songs about marriage and getting married? Why haven't they?

↪ user10: Maybe they just don't want to. Or max doesn't.

MaxVerstappen: Why did you choose that photo of me.

↪ Y/N: You want me to post the photo from yesterday?

↪ MaxVerstappen: NO.

↪ user11: LMFAO. PARENTS.

Liked by Y/N, Redbull, & 2,345,567 others

@MaxVerstappen: Great race and great win! Getting ready for next week. And thank you to @Y/N for making me but those glasses, best purchase.

View all 14,567 comments

Y/N: I told you they were a good investment

↪ MaxVerstappen: I don't know if you would call it an investment.

↪ Y/N: I'll post that picture.

↪MaxVerstappen: It was a great investment! better than a house!

↪ user12: better than a ring?

↪ user13: STOP. but no fr, wheres the ring Max?

user14: Okay nice win but when yall getting married?

user15: everyone needs to mind their business, maybe they're just not ready to get married and that okay.

↪ user16: But its been 9 YEARS. NINE YEARS. Its a red flag.

liked by 18,234 others

@F1GOSSIP: Max Verstappen and Y/N L/N have been criticized over the status of their relationship. The couple has been together for over 9 years however many fans have realized that there's been no movement in the relationship, family and marriage vise. Thought?

view all 5,567 comments

user17: I mean its their life but 9 years?

user18: Idk guys don't hate me but sometimes max doesn't seem interested in Y/N. Like all of the Monaco GP? seem happy around her.

↪ user19: Bro look at the pictures in the post. Does he seem unhappy in them? No he seems very happy.

↪ user20: Okay but lets be honest. Both only seem that happy in front of a camera.

User21: I mean for some of their relationship they were fairly young. Maybe they just wanna enjoy it little by little.

↪ user22: I think in 9 years you can enjoy a lot.

user23: I wouldn't marry her either. Max knows what's best which is why he hasn't done it.

Y/N has posted to their story!

liked by 6,678,567 others

@MaxVerstappen: happy 3 year anniversary @Y/N. love you much and cant wait for years to come. Also, people said I hated her? How could I?

view all 35,567,878 comments

Y/N: Guys my husband is kinda cool.

↪ MaxVerstappen: Kinda?

↪ Y/N: yea cuz im cooler than you.

↪ MaxVerstappen: Okay love.

user24: WTF 3 YEARS?

user25: max said hold my 3x WDC titles while I make everyone shut up about my relationship.

↪ Y/N: He just wins everything doesn't he?

↪ CharlesLeclerc: Yea its kinda annoying. you should distract him Y/N

↪ MaxVerstappen: Dont tell my wife to distract me, I'll lose.

↪ CharlesLeclerc: thats the point.

↪ LandoNorris: I just wanna win.

↪ user26: LMFAO WHAT IS HAPPENING

↪ Y/N: Im collecting them all

User27: And people said max didnt wanna marry her.

user28: Bro just keeps winning doesnt he. Y/N GIVE ME A CHANCE.

user29: if you look closely you can see me getting run over by an F1 car.

⭒❃.✮:▹A/N: I hope you guys like it! I need to post more but ive gotten so busy and haven't had the time. But I'll try to post more often. Love you guys! hope you enjoyed.

[andvys]

Eyes don't lie ⭐︎ S.H

⭐︎ Summary: Nancy got everything she wanted but at what cost? Her eyes won't leave you, her hands crave to touch you, she finds herself in daydreams with you, wondering what it would be like to kiss you, to feel your lips on hers instead of his -- the girl Steve left for her.

And Steve, he is still haunted by what he threw away for a girl he could never love the way he loved... loves you. And while they are longing for something, chasing for someone that they both broke, you are only out for one thing, revenge.

⭐︎ Pairing: Nancy Wheeler x fem!reader | Steve Harrington x fem!reader | mentions of Eddie Munson x fem!reader and Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

⭐︎ Warnings: cheating, mentions of unrequited feelings, mentions of breakups, previous steve x reader, stancy, angst, this is some unhinged au of I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss (iykyk). they're all in college (in Hawkins), mentions of affairs, no happy ending... yet? no smut yet, but it's coming I promise

⭐︎ Author's note: This was supposed to be a oneshot but after talking to @hellfire--cult (as always, my hero) we came up with more filth and this will definitely be getting a part two so buckle up hehe. Also thank you for choosing the title bby!!!

Also this took me way too long to post but I lost inspiration AND now I got it back and I can't wait to get started on part two!

Nancy could not focus on anything Professor Harris was saying, she couldn't care less about the numbers he was writing on the board, her mind was elsewhere and her eyes too, no longer focused on the green board or the young Professor that all the girls were lusting over as they sat there in their short skirts, twirling their hair and blinking at him cutely. 

While everyone was focused on him, her attention was fully on someone it should not be on, but no matter how many times she tried to look away, her eyes would always find their way back to you, tracing every inch of you, from your hair to your face, from your nose down to your lips, from your neck to your chest and then down to your exposed legs, skirt riding up on your thighs, skin glowing softly. 

Your eyelashes kiss the skin beneath your eyes every time you blink, your tongue traces your bottom lip before you bite down on it in concentration, your hair falls over your shoulder, locket nestled perfectly in your cleavage. 

She can smell your perfume from here, every time you pass by her, she gets a whiff of it and it causes goosebumps to rise up on her skin. 

Something in her belly stirs every time she sees you and it's nothing new, it happened the very first time she laid her eyes on you but back then you were always in the presence of the guy she now calls her boyfriend and back then, things were different, so very different. She thought that it was jealousy that she was feeling every time she saw you two together, she could not stop watching you both, but she placed her focus on the wrong person, she wanted the wrong person, she went after the wrong person.

Nancy was horrible for what she did,  and she knew it from the moment she started chasing Steve Harrington when he was still yours and it got even worse when she stole him from you. 

She killed the light in your eyes, she caused the sadness that found home in you, she took away your happiness and for what? Her eyes still follow you, her stomach still tingles and burns when she sees you talking to someone who stares at you a little too intensely, who looks at you the way he once did every time he pulled away from your lips and she can’t understand why, she refuses to let herself see why. 

Regret resides in her, it’s gnawing at her, making her sick on the inside for what she did to you and the feeling only intensifies when he kisses her – she blames the guilt that settled into her body, for making her obsessed with you, for making her unable to look away from you or search for you in the crowd. 

She isn’t the only one, she can see the way he still looks at you, she can see the longing gazes between you both, the way he stops listening to her every time his hazel eyes find you, the way his lips curl into a smile before it becomes a sad one when he stares for too long. She knows that he thinks about you, she knows that he imagines you when he is inside of her, she knows it when he buries his face in the crook of her neck, refusing to look at her, holding her tighter and moaning louder, though biting his lip just so he won’t say your name when he comes undone. 

Steve Harrington may be her boyfriend now but he doesn’t belong to her and she knows it, he is still yours, he always will be. 

And a part of her, doesn’t give a damn fuck – she just can’t see it yet, she refuses to. 

It’s been weeks, months, since he had left you for her and not a single day goes by when she doesn’t wonder why he did it. 

She compares herself to you and her mind can’t comprehend why someone would leave you, why someone like Steve would leave you for her. 

Sometimes when she can’t sleep at night, she thinks about you, about you with Steve, about what you looked like underneath him, how your face contorted into pleasure when he unraveled you with his tongue, how his large palm would press down on your lower stomach to keep you from squirming away from him, how you tugged at his hair, desperate and needy, grinding your sopping pussy against his face before he pounded you into the mattress, kissing and biting your skin, covering you in love bites, making you moan and whimper in need as your boobs bounced while he pleasured you, balls deep inside of you, cock filling you up so perfectly that it made you cry and drool all over the pillow beneath you – by the end of each fantasy that haunted her, her stomach was burning and her thighs were clenched together. It was because of him, it was because of Steve, she told herself but it was a lie, he was there, but he wasn’t who her mind focused on, it never was. 

“Cunningham might chew your head off if you keep staring at her girl,” Barb whispers into her best friend’s ear, making Nancy frown at her words. She turns around, catching the blonde cheerleader glaring at her but she isn’t the reason for her frown. “Her girl?” Nancy asks as she looks away from Chrissy with an eye roll.

Barb chuckles, shaking her head as she starts to gather her books, “come on, everybody knows that Chrissy has a crush on her, she follows her around like some lovesick puppy.”

The feeling in Nancy’s chest tightens, the pit in her belly growing as a snarl makes its way on her face. 

“Right.”

Nancy never really paid attention to Chrissy or the way she looks at you but now that Barb mentions it, she sees it too, especially when the cheerleader grabs your hand and drags you out of the classroom once the lesson is over, a possessive look in her eyes that is directed at no one but Nancy. 

“You never saw it?” Barb chuckles, rising up from her seat, she grabs her coffee that she’s been sipping on all afternoon, holding the paper cup against her chest. 

Nancy shrugs, pretending not to care even though that thought is starting to take up every space in her mind. 

“Well, pay attention tonight, wait – you’re still going to Tina’s party, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s all Steve has been talking about,” Nancy grumbles, clearly not impressed by it or him. 

There is only one reason she will go to the party and it isn’t him. 

To… get drunk, yeah, just to get drunk, nothing more or less, only that. 

Not to observe and obsess over a certain someone. 

-

But it’s not what she ends up doing, not even in the slightest, she downs one drink and that’s all, she can’t even feel the alcohol in her system but she gets drunk on the way he looks at you as sick as it sounds, something within her burns deeply whenever she catches him, the fire only grows bigger when she sees the way you look at him, burning bright red whenever your eyes lock and Steve tenses up beside her – she knows all too well why he tenses up the way he does, why his knuckles are white as he holds his cup of beer tightly, why his brows are furrowed so strongly, why there is a scowl on his face. 

You are on the dancefloor, hands in your hair, a lazy smile on your lips, cheeks burning from the heat of the room and from your dancing, a skimpy little dress being the only thing keeping certain parts of you hidden, the glittery material keeps riding up on your thighs, dangerously high but not enough to expose your ass. You are moving your hips so smoothly, so effortlessly, your skin looks so soft and kissable beneath the string of lights above the room, you know how to move your body, how to put on a show, how to steal the spotlight in the room, how to make everything and everyone around you disappear – everyone except for Billy Hargrove who is snug behind you, hands on your waist, chest pressed against your back as his lips are dangerously close to your neck, ready to kiss and bite, ready to mark you up.

Nancy swallows harshly as she watches you, cheeks burning, chest rising up and down heavily, she licks her bottom lip as her eyes catch Billy’s hands moving to your front, palm pressed against your lower stomach to press you tighter against himself. She squints her eyes, nose scrunching in displeasure when you press your own hand over the larger one on your body. 

Steve scoffs under his breath, mumbling words that Nancy can’t make out in the loud room, she narrows her eyes at him, the red solo cup in his hand has dents in it, his eyes are dark, nearly black, his lips curled downwards as his focus is on nothing other than you and Billy. 

He is pissed and he is jealous, it’s written all over his face. 

Jealous over a girl he left, a girl he dumped – the girl he could never stop loving, the one he still craves and aches for. She knows it all, she always did. 

And now she can’t help but wonder why she doesn’t care, why there isn’t a single part inside of her that is filled with rage over seeing her boyfriend pine after his ex-girlfriend. Shouldn’t she be angry? Shouldn’t she feel hurt and jealous? Shouldn’t she feel possessive or even sad? 

She can’t feel any of those things when she looks at him – she doesn’t feel anything at all when she looks at him. Steve is a handsome guy, there is no doubt about that, he is one of the most good looking she has ever seen, from head to toe, he is gorgeous. His perfect hair, his soft hazel eyes, his lips – he is pretty, yeah, but his lips are rough and his hands are too, his skin not as soft as… the one of a girl. 

And when he talks of his future, she finds herself cringing, looking away to avoid the dreamy look in his honey eyes. Waves of nausea crash over her when he mentions marriage and kids, when he talks of a white picket fence and the RV he wants to explore the country with before going back to his small town life, with wife and kids. She hates it, it makes her sick. 

She looks up at him, arms crossed over her chest, bangs hanging in front of her eyes, her heart sinking into her stomach but not because of the way he is watching you, no, but because of the realization that dawned on her only now. 

Steve Harrington is her own personal nightmare. 

Steve Harrington is everything she never wanted. 

And he is only with her because of the summer they shared, the drunken nights, the giggles after smoking a joint together, the comfort he found in her while you were gone ‘doing god knows what with god knows who’ as he had said back then as though you would have ever done anything to hurt him, you worshiped the ground he walked in, the way he should have done for you too. 

You were in love with him and anyone could see it. 

She heard the rumors, the ones that drove him crazy, the ones that led him away from you and pushed him into her arms – well, not exactly, nothing happened between them until he officially broke up with you. But those rumors were only… rumors and yet, Steve believed in them, he believed Carol Perkins when she told him that you were seeing someone else while you were visiting your cousins in Chicago, that you were spending your nights in a dingy bars, admiring skilled fingers working on a red electric guitar, that your lips touched different ones, that your hands were too busy taking off his leather jacket instead of picking up the phone and calling him. 

He believed it with no evidence, he didn’t need it, his insecurities were enough to push him away from you – the sight before him only confirms the rumors of your sinful summer, though Billy isn’t the guy he was worried about during that time, he was always a problem, as well. 

He poured his heart out to the only who listened and that was Nancy, she comforted him with words, with alcohol and weed, nothing more, there was never a moment that could have led to anything more but her mind back then was wired differently than it is now – now she can’t understand how she misread between the lines so badly, how she mistaked platonic feelings for deeper ones, why she was so angry when you came back to college and to him, why the sight of you kissing your boyfriend filled her with so much rage. 

She was jealous. 

She was so jealous. 

But not because his lips touched yours but because yours touched his. 

It wasn’t a sight she had to endure for long because before she knew it, Steve slipped through your fingers after a big fight caused by the rumors he confronted you about, he didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself, didn’t allow you to tell him what had really happened that summer, he just dumped you, like it didn’t tear his own heart out, like he didn’t regret it the same moment he did it. He dumped you and then he left. He showed up at Nancy’s apartment, not caring about her weird roommate who gave him an odd look when he opened the door and stared at him for a good while, just watching the tears streaming down his cheeks before he called for Nancy, who held him through the night and kissed him in the morning, hoping for a taste of something she would only continue to dream about. 

Now they are here and they are together and they are more miserable than ever with each other.  

They are better off as friends and they both know it… deep down, at least. 

Your giggles break her out of her thoughts, she tears her eyes away from Steve and finds you walking into the room, completely ignoring her and his presence as you make your way over to the table filled with drinks and snacks, Billy close behind you, eyes heavy on your ass, bottom lip caught between his lips. 

Nancy rolls her eyes at him and Steve scoffs at the jock, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the blond.

“Harrington,” Billy smirks, nodding at him mockingly, “how’s it going?” He looks between him and Nancy, lifting his eyebrows at her but she only squints her eyes in response, glaring at him. 

“Peachy,” Steve replies with an unimpressed look on his face. 

You ignore the presence of the couple in the room, not paying attention to them or their interaction with Billy who won’t stop chasing you, especially after your dance with him – it was a mistake and you won’t make any bigger ones, not tonight. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Billy smirks, puffing his chest out as he takes a step closer to Steve, “you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he chuckles, looking Nancy up and down before his eyes flicker back to Steve’s, “either of you.”

“Why don’t you mind your own business, Hargrove?” Steve grumbles, eyes falling behind the figure in the back, taking in the sight of you so close to him now, the way your dress hugs your body, the way the strap of it falls down your arm and you don’t even bother to fix it, too fixated on the drink in your hand.

“Why don’t you lighten up a bit, hmm? Shouldn’t you be the life of the party, now that you’re with your ‘dream girl’?” 

Nancy nearly gags at the words of the blond. He always knows how to get under his skin and hers and she sees the way you tense up at Billy’s words, as much as you try to ignore the conversation in this room, you can’t unhear it. 

Steve tears his eyes away from you, looking into the blue ones before him, he takes a deep breath and unclenches his jaw, he opens his mouth to speak. 

“Hey guys, we’re playing truth or dare, wanna join?” Tina’s voice cuts him off, the brunette peeks her head inside the kitchen, looking between all of you with a curious spark in her eyes, a bit of mischief lingering in her eyes as well when she senses the tension. 

Steve rolls his eyes, scoffing in annoyance, “what are we fifteen–”

“I’m in.” 

All the attention is on you now, every pair of eyes in the room, staring straight at you as you stand there confidently, with a smirk on your lips, one that surely doesn’t match the look in your eyes as you are looking straight at your ex-boyfriend. 

“I feel like finding out some dirty truths.” You tilt your head to the side, sparing Nancy only a short look but one that leaves her swallowing harshly and blushing furiously. 

You hate her, she can see it in your eyes, you never fail to make it known either, not with words, but with all the glances and glares you direct at her whenever you catch her staring. 

Steve holds your gaze, intensely so. An unamused chuckle falls from his lips, “yeah, why don’t we uncover some dirty truths, Dolly?” He mocks you with the nickname from your childhood. “Let’s go, I’ve been dying to find out more about your summer.” 

If looks could kill then Steve Harrington would drop dead, right now. 

He never gave you a chance to explain yourself, he never even tried to talk to you about the rumors he had heard. When you came back, he pretended like everything was fine, he kissed you and held you, spent time with you, he was distant but he was still there… and then, he wasn’t. 

Nancy purses her lips, watching the way you slowly make your way towards Steve, ignoring Billy’s presence and hers as you halt before him, tilting your head to the side, you lick your lips as your eyes flicker between his eyes and his mouth. 

You are close, close enough to make her feel like she is floating, getting lost in the scent of your perfume, in the color of your eyes. Nancy isn’t sure if she had ever been this close to you before but something in her chest stirs when her eyes follow the way your lips curl downwards, the way your chest rises up and down, necklace stuck between your boobs, the softness of your skin. She digs her nails into her palms, fighting the thoughts in her mind. 

“Oh, now you want to talk?” You scoff and cross your arms over your chest, “we could’ve talked months ago but you were the one who just walked out on me after believing the shit Carol made up about me. I didn’t believe Tommy when he told me about your dirty little secret,” you mumble with nothing but hatred in your voice when you glance at Nancy. “But clearly I had every reason to believe him, unlike you, Harrington.” 

“Yeah, right.” Steve looks down, avoiding your eyes as he finds himself drowning in regret but also in denial. 

He had every reason to believe her, didn’t he? 

He remembers him, he remembers the metalhead that you befriended before he left his hometown to pursue his rockstar career, the same metalhead that Steve used to buy from, it was his fault that you had crossed paths with him anyway, he invited him into his home, you were there when he showed up to drop off the weed, Steve had asked for. The smirk that crossed Eddie’s face when he saw you skipping down the stairs in nothing but Steve’s shirt, should have worried him then already but it didn’t, not even when you invited Eddie in and he started showing up more frequently, not even when Steve was out of town, visiting his grandparents in Colorado, leaving you to spend spring break with your new friend. 

Only when he came back, did the sudden insecurity hit him, when he saw how close you and Eddie had gotten while he was away, when he saw the playful touches and heard the soft giggles, when he saw the sadness in your eyes when the metalhead left for Chicago after graduating high school. He got suspicious, he got insecure and it only worsened when you chose Chicago out of all places to spend your summer at — he knew you had family there but you never visited them before that, so why this summer? 

You never gave him a reason not to trust you but he was deeply insecure and scared that his fears would come true, that had pushed him into Nancy’s arms, the overthinking and the rumors that Carol had started about you and Eddie, the ones that already got around while the metalhead still lived here – Steve ignored them then but he couldn’t ignore them any longer when you left.

Steve felt sick to his stomach at the mere thought of what or who you could be doing, the thought that you had fallen out of love because of someone else made him feel blue, though your voice through the phone had sweetened his day and made him forget about what had previously made him cry but even that didn’t save him or your relationship that started to crumble without your knowledge. 

“What?” You scoff again, eyes glaring into his so intensely that it almost makes him shrink, “don’t act like you’re fucking innocent, we both know you aren’t.”

Nancy shifts on her feet, uncomfortably so, she glances at Tina who is still watching the interaction, amused and intrigued by it all, just like Billy. She rolls her eyes and looks back at you, a part of her wants to speak up, to defend Steve, tell you that nothing happened between them then but her words are caught in her throat. 

“Oh and you are?” Steve replies, taking a step closer to you, he looks down at you in anger, like his heart isn’t aching and yearning for you, like it’s easy for him to look down at you like you don’t mean a thing to him, like you aren’t still the girl that he would do anything for. “Don’t act like you weren’t messing around with the freak–”

“Don’t call him that,” you spit back, frowning at him. 

A dark chuckle falls from Steve’s lips, his eyes flicker with rage and jealousy. 

“Freak? That’s the first thing you’re going to address, not the fact that I just said that you were messing around–”

“I never did that.” 

At this moment, Nancy can’t tell whether you’re telling the truth or not, she was convinced that you weren’t messing around with Eddie Munson – she saw the way he looked at you, the way his eyes followed your every move, filled with softness and adoration, filled with lust. But she also saw the way you looked at Steve, you were devoted to him, only to him. 

Though Steve’s insecurities made her question you as well, especially now. 

“Yeah sure, you didn’t, Dolly,” Steve clenches his jaw. “You were just friends, hmm right.”

“Yeah, like you and Nancy,” you fight back, looking at him smugly, angrily. “You were just friends, right? When I came back to Hawkins, that’s all you were right? Just friends, huh? Funny how you dumped me shortly after you had befriended her.”

Her name fell from your lips and that’s all she could focus on, on the anger in your eyes that sparked something within her, that made her lick her lips. 

“I didn’t cheat if that’s what you’re saying,” Steve frowns, eyes lingering with disgust. 

“Of course you didn’t,” you chuckle in disbelief, “that’s why you had no problem getting into a new relationship only a day after breaking up with me, right?... I don’t know about you but I can’t imagine dating a friend, you do realize what it made you look like, right? A cheater, Steve, a goddamn cheater.” 

Steve swallows harshly, shoulders relaxing from the tension that resided in his body for the past minutes when he sees how glossy your eyes get, how pain is the only thing left in them, no ounce of anger showing anymore, only sadness and heartbreak that you had refused to show in these past months since he left. Seeing this, seeing through you, feels like a blow to his chest, something he refused to look at to avoid the regret is now right in front of him, on full display. 

You huff again, shaking your head as you take a step back and look between them, eyes meeting Nancy’s for a moment before you lower your head, glancing down at your drink, you bring it up to your lips and down the rest of it, you slam the empty cup on the counter and step back towards Steve, looking into the hazel eyes that you used to love so much, you pat his chest, “I wasn’t the one who left with no explanation, I wasn’t the one with the dirty secrets and I wasn’t the one who cheated and then accused you of doing it, asshole, so spare me your bullshit.” With one last glare, you step away from him and direct your gaze at the girl who can’t seem to tear her eyes away from you, you step towards her, unknowingly making her heart flutter, “I hope you can taste me when he’s kissing you.” 

You think that anger is what she feels from hearing your words but it’s not that at all, not even in the slightest. 

Her eyes follow you when you walk out of the room, brushing past Tina who looks like she is ready and excited to spread around what she just witnessed. The moment you are out in the hallway and making your way upstairs, she giggles loudly and runs off, making Steve roll his eyes. 

Nancy feels like something is pushing her, pushing her to walk the way you just did, to follow you upstairs, to talk to you… alone, to explain what had really happened this summer or these past few months. 

Billy’s laughter echoes through the room, a satisfied grin appearing on his face, one that Steve easily ignores, he slams his drink down next to your empty cup, not caring about spilling it. 

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” he announces, sparing a poor glance at Nancy before he walks out of the room and out of the house, slamming the front door shut so loudly that it’s even heard over the music. 

“Sure,” Nancy mumbles when he is outside already, uninterested. Her mind is in a haze, body angling towards the stairs. Billy’s eyes are on her, intensely so, but she doesn’t bother to turn her head to look at him, her feet carry her out of the room before she can rethink the decision her mind had already made. She pushes past the people in the hallway, ignores the curious glances from Carol and Tommy. 

Her heart is pounding in her chest as she walks up the stairs, fingernails digging into her palms, she bites down on her lip nervously, letting her body move on its own accord. She doesn’t know where to look first, where to go but it's like something is leading her to her wanted destination. 

She finds you in one of the bedrooms, sitting at the end of bed with tears running down your cheeks, sniffles sounding through the quiet room, the lights from the hallway illuminating the dark room, you jump in surprise when you notice her in the doorway. 

“What the hell do you want?” 

Nancy sucks in a sharp breath, the guilt in her continuing to eat at her when she sees the pain in your glassy eyes before your expression hardens at the sight of her. You wipe your tears angrily and push yourself up, smoothing down your dress, you blink, trying to get rid of the tears. 

“I’m sorry I-I just wanted to–”

“What did you want?” You snap back, frowning in rage as you stalk towards her like she is your prey. “Did you want this room to yourself? Am I in your way? Oh, I’m sorry, let me just make space for you.” Your voice is sarcastic, your face angry but it does nothing to scare her or push her away from here. 

“No,” Nancy shakes her head, knowing all too well what you mean by those words. She sighs, “no, I just wanted to check up on you.” 

Her words are clearly something you weren’t expecting, because for a good moment, you’re dead silent, staring at her with confused eyes and parted lips — ones that Nancy can’t look away from. 

It would’ve been dead silent too if it wasn’t for the voices downstairs, for the loud music or the sound of laughter outside. 

“Check up on me!?” 

The anger on your face and in your voice should be enough of a reason for her to leave the room and avoid you, her brain is telling her that but her body… her body is telling her something entirely else. Somehow, you look even better with the fire behind your eyes, the burning gaze you look at her with, sets her lower stomach on fire, your skin looks even softer beneath this lightning, your lips look so… so kissable.

She can’t deny it any longer, not after months and months of observing and pining, even before she met Steve properly. It was never him that she looked at, it was never him that she wanted. 

“What? So you can laugh in my face and mock me? How you stole my boyfriend!?” 

Nancy shakes her head, “n-no, I’d never do that… I am… I’m sorry.”

You chuckle darkly but a hint of sadness is there too, she can’t even miss it. You roll your eyes at her and finally decide to step away, to leave this conversation that you never even wanted. But Nancy doesn’t even let you pass, in fact, she places herself in front of the door after slamming it shut, standing in your way with a stubborn look on her face. 

“What the— get out of my way, Wheeler.” 

“No.” Nancy shakes her head again, blue eyes burning into yours, cheeks glowing red. “I’m sorry, I really am, I-I know you hate me, I would too, what I did was… was messed up but I’m really, really sorry!” 

You can only stare in disbelief, blinking, you can feel your heart pounding and your chest hurting from it. 

You don’t need that, you don’t want that. 

You don’t want no apology, not from her and not from him. 

He betrayed you and he broke your heart, stomped on it like it was nothing, and then, he just moved on, right away, like you never meant anything to him, like he never loved you, like it was the easiest thing to just forget about you and date someone new. 

And Nancy, she never owed you anything, no loyalty or sympathy, but what she did still hurt, a lot. And her apology angers you in ways you can’t even describe with words. 

“Fuck you.” The way those words leave your lips followed by the venomous look in your eyes should make her feel intimidated, it should make her draw back and let you leave but instead, she feels any of what she should feel. Your anger makes her feel something she had never felt before, some sort of anticipation, a curiosity she never felt with any guy, not the cute guy from summer camp last year whose name she forgot, not Jerry Carlson who was the first ever to ask her out on a date, not Steve Harrington, no guy had ever made her feel the things that burn in her now, only you. 

Fuck. 

Only you. 

She can’t tear her eyes away from your lips any longer, she can’t fight the desire in her that calls your name, she can’t fight the urge to move closer to you and the way your eyes flicker to her lips, even if only for a second, gives her the push to take a step closer. 

You have to feel the tension too, right? 

The fire between you – maybe it’s only anger on your part but maybe, hopefully, it isn’t only that. 

Nancy’s heart starts pounding, she suddenly feels drunk, hazy. Her feet move on their own accord, her feelings act on their own, she no longer feels control over her own body. 

“You and Steve are unbelievable, you know that right?” You snap at her, flipping your hair over your shoulder, arrogantly. “He fucked me over and you helped. You both got what you wanted, you got each other, so why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone!?”

She doesn’t answer you. 

She doesn’t say anything. 

She just looks at you. 

Her eyes are almost unrecognizable, dark and barely blue, a wild look lingers in them as she stares at you like you’re her prey, like she’s about to eat you alive, maybe it should terrify you but it doesn’t, you are too angry to feel anything else. 

Nancy watches the way you roll your eyes like some goddamn brat and she is beginning to lose her patience with your attitude – she deserves it, she knows she does but her feelings overwhelm her and your bitchiness doesn’t help much. 

Enough of her silence, you move forward, about to push her aside so you can make your escape, you reach for the doorknob but freeze in your place when her hand wraps around your wrist and she gives you a stern look and it only angers you more, even when there is a small part of you that feels intrigued by the way she looks at you. 

“I swear to god, Nancy,” you sigh. 

There is guilt in her eyes, beneath the flames that linger and it irritates you so deeply. 

If she is burdened by guilt at this moment, then she must’ve been back then too and it only makes you wonder. 

“Why did you take him?” You ask, trying to hide the pain in your voice, trying to hide what you have been feeling for the past months. 

“I never wanted him.” 

Her own eyes widen after those words leave her lips, not out of shock but out of relief – the truth that’s been there all along, finally uncovered and revealed, not only to you but also to herself because a part of her didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to admit it, that it was you, that it was a girl whom she wanted. 

A gasp tears from your mouth and your eyes widen, hand falling from the doorknob you were holding onto so tightly, your heart lurches to your throat and something stirs within you. It takes you a long moment to realize what is happening, to realize what she is doing, to realize what she just confessed. 

You feel warmth, in your body, on your body, on your lips. You feel her hands cupping your cheeks, you taste her raspberry chapstick, the rum she must’ve had earlier, you feel the intensity radiating off her. 

She is kissing you. 

Nancy Wheeler is kissing you after confessing that it wasn’t him who she wanted. 

Your ex-boyfriend’s girl is kissing you like her life depends on it – lost in the kiss, she looks completely in bliss, with her eyes closed and her lips moving against yours passionately, softly in a way only a girl's lips can feel. 

She kisses you in a way no one else ever has before, with a kind of desperation and need that can only come from someone who has been longing for this moment for a long, long time and to your surprise it makes your stomach flutter but your confusion guides you, you raise your hands and press them against her shoulders, pushing her away from you with furrowed eyebrows and puffy lips. 

Your heart is racing, your thoughts are too. 

What the hell just happened?

Nancy slowly opens her eyes, cheeks flushed and eyes needy as they flicker back and forth between your eyes and your lips, like she’s hungry for you, like she yearns for you, like she needs and wants more. 

You open your mouth to speak but not a single word falls from your lips because what is there to say? You are confused, more than that you are irritated by the fact that the kiss made your stomach burn and your legs shaky, that it left you craving for another taste of the girl that stole your happiness but she looks at you like you’re… something special and it makes your heart flutter and it makes you angry because she is still Nancy Wheeler. She is still the girl who is the reason for all your hurt, she is the girl your Steve left you for. 

She blinks, lashes fluttering as her eyes soften, vulnerability crossing her face. 

“I wanted you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, your face flusters at her confession. You don’t know what to think of it, of her. But that little voice in your head, that angry one that has been trying to take control over you these past few months is telling you to use this given opportunity to get back at him. 

She wants you. 

Steve’s girlfriend wants you. 

She looks at you like she is ready to drop everything and everyone for you. 

She is. 

Your eyes flicker to her lips, you can’t deny the fact that it felt good to feel them on yours and you can’t help but wonder what they would feel like in different places on your body. 

But you don’t know whether it’s the thrill, the curiosity or this opportunity that fell right into your hands. 

She wants you so very badly, you can see it in her blue eyes, the way she is practically begging for you to let her in, to let her have a taste, to let her have you, she is needy, not for Steve, no, not for him, for you, only for you. 

And who are you to pass up on an opportunity to have a good time and get your sweet revenge all at once? 

So after a lot of heavy breathing and contemplating, you break out of your trance and move forward, catching her by surprise this time, you grab her face and slam your lips against hers, earning a whimper from her the second you kiss her. 

Satisfaction rushes through you, numbing the anger and filling you with pleasure to know that this will ruin her. 

And him. 

Both of them. 

♡

tagging ppl who might be interested!!!

@thesickestqrmydcll @prettyboyeddiemunson @fanfic-fanatic-2024

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

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

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

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

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

“How many does he control?”

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

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

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

“Not anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to pull away. You don’t.

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods. “That’s true.”

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

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

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

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sick or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asks.

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

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

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

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

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

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

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

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

“Of course they are,” you mumble. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

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

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

“That’s enough!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe James works on them?

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you did.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

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

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

“James—”

“Bucky.”

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

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

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

“Is that… a nickname?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

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

“Observant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old were you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

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

“Y/N, are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

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

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

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

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

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

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks. 

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

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

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

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

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

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

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

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

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

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

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you look at me? Please?”

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

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

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

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

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

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

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

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

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

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

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

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

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

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

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

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Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

[vaokses]

How long this love can hold its breath

Series Masterlist / General Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: It has been years since your mother took you from King's Landing to join her in Dragonstone. Years since you and Aegon have seen one another. Years in which he has refused, time and time again, to marry, even as you tour Westeros meeting suitors in search of a husband of your choosing. That refusal can easily be undone with a few words: it was you she chose, Aegon.

Word Count: 3.1k 

Warnings: Alicent's abuse of Aegon. Alcohol/drunkenness. Mentions of sex/prostitution. Usual Targaryen incest stuff. Arranged marriage stuff. Angst. Hurt and kind of no comfort for now.

Some AU/Setting stuff: Reader is a bastard of Daemyra (claimed by Laenor of course), firstborn child of Rhaenyra and heir to her mother's claim. She rides Vermithor. As you'll figure out thorugh this one shot, she and Aegon had a thing when she was still in King's Landing. How relevant or impactful that 'thing' was depends on who of the two you ask. I've stretched the timeline a bit. Rhaenyra spent a few years more in King's Landing (making Aegon around 16/7 when she leaves, and the Reader, the eldest of the Velaryons, around 14/5). Instead of six years in Dragonstone, the Blacks have spent around three there in this story. Viserys still lives (and is rotting slightly slower), Aegon and Helaena did not marry.

A/N: My first work in this fandom, so i'm a bit nervous. This is a bit of a prologue/alternate PoV for a series I have in the works, but I wanted to share it as a one shot since I think it also works as one. I hope you like this!

Title is from the quote "I've hoarded your name in my mouth for months. My throat is a beehive pitched in the river. Look! Look how long this love can hold its breath." - Sierra DeMulder

It feels as if he has just rested his head on his pillow when he hears the heavy doors being pushed open, and the familiar hurried steps of his mother as she enters his apartments. 

He isn’t sure why he bothers by now in telling the guards not to let her in, since she insists on overruling his orders whenever she wishes. 

Still half-asleep, Aegon reaches for the bedsheet covering his body, wary of any attempt she might make in her anger to pull it off him. Surprisingly, his mother stops a few steps away from the foot of the bed. 

Aegon feels her piercing gaze on him, and aware the choice is between caving and chasing after her, asking her what it is she wants; or waiting for the anger at his unwillingness to follow the unspoken command -and the thrown object, or the stinging hit, that comes after said anger-; he drags his hands over his face in an effort to wake himself further and asks,  

“What is it, mother?” 

“Where in the Father’s name were you? Three days, Aegon,” He winces at the reprimand. In his defense, he truly didn’t think they’d notice. Helaena would, perhaps, but she wouldn’t seek him out either way. “You were gone for three days.” 

“I wasn’t…far. I didn’t even leave King’s Landing.” 

She starts letting out a sigh, laced with disappointment and annoyance, but stops herself short, instead turning her back to him and pacing a few steps away. 

“I know where it is you go to…to satiate your vices, caring not for the shame it brings to your name and mine, behaving most unlike your station.” 

“Then why did you ask?” 

His mother won’t turn to look at him, her back turned to him and her hands joined in front of her. 

“Your sister was here.” 

His brow furrows in confusion. 

“My sister is always here.” 

“Rhaenyra was here, Aegon.” 

“Oh. What for?” 

Alicent turns on her side, considers him with eyes widened in afront and mouth curled in disgust. The question leaves her lips slowly, a threat and a dare all at once. 

“Are you still drunk?” 

He mulls over the question for a few moments, and realizes his thoughts are entirely too calm for him to be already sober. The numb haziness of the night before remains, a comfort. 

“I think I might be,” He admits, eyes darting to the side and lingering on the pitcher of wine on a nearby table. He wonders if it is empty. “Slightly.” 

When it seems his mother is intent on merely staring at him in disappointment, he motions for her to turn away and gets dressed. 

He can’t help but feel unseemly, standing before his mother in rumpled clothes and disheveled hair, while she stands tall with not a strand of hair out of order, not a speck of dust on her dress. Then again, even at his best he hasn’t managed not to feel small, unsuited, by comparison. 

Instead of letting those thoughts linger, aided by the comfortable haze the wine from the previous night -or nights, rather- provides him with, Aegon moves to sit on a table in one of the darker parts of the room. 

Alicent follows quietly, but she doesn’t sit. 

“I come here with news. You are to be married, n-…” 

He shakes his head with a mocking laugh, the defiance as easy as breathing, after four years of holding the same stance. He might not have a say in much, but he does in this. 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Your father has approved of this union. As have I.” 

He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Then you are welcome to marry her yourselves. I shall hope for a long and happy marriage for you three.” 

Sometimes, perhaps in foolish hope, in some hollow fantasy, he thinks his impertinence amuses his mother. He might imagine it, he’s quite certain he does, but sometimes he swears she furrows her lips to hide the faintest of smiles. 

But of course, she shows no give, betrays not a flicker of amusement, of softness, of anything. Try as he might to earn any of them. 

“I did not come here to entertain insolence.” 

“Why did you come here, mother?” He asks, not able to reign in the restless movements of his hands, fingers tapping an irregular rhythm on the table. “My stance hasn’t changed. And it won’t.” 

The restlessness building within her is betrayed in the small movements of her hands that increase in intensity the longer she looks at him. With a sudden movement, she slams a hand on the table between them and leans closer. 

“You cannot go on like this, Aegon, shrinking your duty because of the denial of a caprice of your youth.” 

“It was the one thing I asked for. I haven’t asked for anything since, nor did I ask for anything before.” 

His mother scoffs in response, looking away. 

“And that is reason enough for your wish to be granted?” She asks, derisive, almost jeering. Alicent leans back, straightens her stance again. Not too unlike Aemond adjusting his posture to strike with his sword during training, he supposes. “You have gone through your entire life doing as you please, not considering the cost to your family, to your House, to me, and you expected to be rewarded?” 

But he has considered the cost, has had no choice but to consider it, when every choice, every action, it seems almost every thought, is heavy with the impact it might have on his name, on his family. He has considered the cost, but try as he might no choice, no action, has been enough. 

“It would have…It would have changed things. If you had said yes,” He argues, an argument repeated, in his head if not aloud, a thousand times over in these passing years. And yet restlessness builds within him regardless, and he finds himself grasping at the table to keep his hands from fidgeting. “It was the smart choice. You know father would have been for it. You could have kept Vermithor on our side, and given them no choice but to play by our rules with their daughter here. We might have won this war you want so b-…” 

“All I have wanted is to make sure your lives are not forfeit when your father dies. It is not war I want.” 

“Then why did you say no?” 

She shakes her head as she looks away again. 

“The matter is settled. Long settled.” 

“Yet you never told me why.” 

He wants to hear it. More than an apology for denying him a chance at happiness, more than an admission that beyond the feelings of any involved it was the smartest choice, more than anything, he wants to hear her tell him why. 

She didn’t even hear his reasons, she didn’t even consider proposing the union to your mother, or Viserys. She dismissed him, and denied him, without even a second thought. 

He wants to know the reason why. If it was because she knew of you something he didn’t, and was certain you would have rejected him even at the cost of your home and life as you knew it, he wants to know. If it was because she believes him so monstrous that she wished to protect even the daughter of her lifelong adversary from him, he wants to know. 

If it was because in his weakness and his failings he has made himself into something even his own mother wishes to see punished, or because there was something he did -because it had to be something he did, there cannot be so many that were supposed to love him and refuse to for it not to be something he is doing wrong, something about him that is wrong- that not only managed to make his mother’s love for him vanish, but also earned him her scorn, he wants to know. He thinks knowing that to be the truth would splinter him in a way he isn’t sure he’d be able to recover from, but he is tired, and alone, and he wants to know why. 

He searches his mother’s gaze, desperate for an answer, any answer. She looks back, and yet all that is reflected back at him is contempt, disappointment, and what he fears is disgust. 

“It has been years, Aegon. You are being senselessly stubborn, holding onto this…this grudge against me.” 

He makes a face at her words, and grabs the pitcher in the table before him only to find it empty, the only wine remaining being that still in the half-filled cup. 

“It is not a grudge, I-..”  

“Weakness, then,” She sentences, and he doesn’t bother hiding the flinch at her words. His gaze lowers to the table before him. “You’re being a fool, if you think after all this t-…” 

His eyes are set on the half-full cup of wine before him, and he doesn’t dare move his gaze as he interrupts, “I am not marrying, mother.” 

She considers him in silence, and though for a moment he thinks a hit is to come -he doesn’t usually get away with interrupting her-, followed by her footsteps leaving the room, his mother takes a deep breath and insists, 

“It is not me or your father who request this of you. It is your King who commands it.” 

“The King, or his Hand?” He retorts. He grabs at the cup and downs the remaining liquid, making a face at the taste of stale wine, and presses on, “I’m guessing a Baratheon, to earn Borros’ support? Or a Tully, to secure the Riverlands?” 

For the briefest of moments, when his mother’s lips press into a thin line, hands fidgeting where they rest joined before her, he thinks he finally got the upper hand. That he proved he isn’t as blind to their plots and their increasing panic at Rhaenyra’s influence as he may appear. That he proved her wrong, that he showed he isn’t as incompetent as they’d like to think, that he… 

“A Velaryon,” Alicent admits, and any pride, any satisfaction, die out like flames in a room without air. His lips part, he knows not for what since all that leaves them is a choked breath, the beginning of a question, of a name. Aegon searches his mother’s gaze, attempts to find any truth, any certainty, but Alicent looks away. Her next words sound as if heard from underwater. “To keep you from certain execution when your sister ascends the Iron Throne.” 

“Do not toy with me, mother,” He means for it to sound like an accusation, like a demand, like anything but a plea, and yet that is what leaves his lips. Betrayed by the waver in his voice, by the iron grip on the glass, he goes on, “She’s touring the whole of fucking Westeros in search of a husband as we speak.”  

“She has made her choice, Aegon. It was you she chose,” She promises, and her voice is low and warm and almost comforting, so why does it feel wrong? Why does it make him want to crawl out of his own skin? “As for the tour, it will continue as scheduled. Rhaenyra deserted her own tour before time was due, she knows better than to repeat her mother’s mistake.” 

Breathable air is lacking by this chair, in this room, and he stands up, wincing at the too-loud sound of the chair scraping against the ground. 

He eyes a pitcher of wine in another table, and crosses the distance with quick strides, refilling his cup and draining half of it before turning to his mother again. 

“Why tell me now? I-If the tour is to continue,” If she can still change her mind, “Why tell me now?” 

“Your grandsire and I believed you might take this opportunity to amend your behaviors,” Alicent tells him, “So you might save your future wife the embarrassment, so you might protect her honor, seeing as you do not care for ours or your own.” 

She hasn’t said your name yet, he notices.  

Neither has he, but he has forgotten when it was the last time that he said it aloud. Intentionally, that is, he doesn’t count any time he let it slip past his lips when deep in his cups or buried inside some whore with the wrong shade of silver in her hair -and the wrong eyes, and the wrong voice, and the wrong smile, and the wrong touch-. 

Aegon can’t even remember when it was that he decided he wouldn’t utter your name again, all he knows is that through the years what started out of spite, as a way to deny the wound and the absence; has become something else. It has become to him something like a secret, something to be hoarded, to be kept his alone. 

Because there’s pride, and satisfaction, and something rotten but his, in having known you in ways no other did. In remembering you how he is certain -he has to be, it is of the few things he has left- no one has known you. 

And so he doesn’t speak your name. Lest in sharing any of the warmth of a bond long gone he loses it, dying embers to a strong wind; lest in admitting old truths he is left behind also by the part of you that he keeps safe, a secret only his. 

But now in his head resonate so loudly that they drown anything else -like thunder, like the beat of Vermithor’s wings taking you far up into the sky- his mother’s words.  

It was you she chose. 

Thinking of you has always meant the resurgence of the memory of the goodbye you refused to grant him, of waking to the reverberating cry of Vermithor as he took to the skies with you on his back and flew you away to Dragonstone; or the memory of your disappointment and your sorrow as he avoided your gaze and your words when you met again in Driftmark.  

Yet now the memory that comes forth in his mind is another. 

You smiled at him, daring and entirely too proud. But how could you not be, when you both knew he would oblige? How could you not be, when he hadn’t been able to tear his gaze from your lips since you had asked him for something as simple as a kiss? And your voice was softer than he’d expected -or perhaps he remembers it softer than it was, perhaps he sees something else when desire was all there was-, warmer than it had ever been, when you whispered, I want it to be you. 

And what harm can your name do that his own mind hasn’t inflicted upon him already? What ruin can the uttering of such a familiar word bring that the memories haven’t wrought already? 

So he says your name. Willingly, rationally, for the first time in years.  

He thought the foolish refusal to utter your name aloud kept you distant, kept the memory of you, the idea of you, as something far from him, gone from him. But he realizes now, with the shape of your name parting his lips and the taste of memories staining his tongue like ash; that you have been a distant memory, a distant dream, for a very long time. 

And the knowledge that you chose him, the helpless hope that blooms somewhere in his chest, they cannot do a thing against the horrifying certainty that the future he wanted, the future he mourned, is lost to him regardless of your choices now. 

What can he give you now, that that Tyrell knight the rumors say you were so enamored with cannot? How can he not fail whatever expectations you have of him, as he has failed all others? How could you want him now, as what he has made out of himself in these years you’ve spent apart? 

It was a comfort, he realizes now, thinking you lost. The comfort of knowing he couldn’t fail you, couldn’t earn your scorn when he had merely your indifference. 

A bitter, wretched little laugh leaves his lips then, and he turns his head -to hide, perhaps, the tears brimming in his eyes, the weakness his mother so loathes to see from him- and looks out the window towards the distant skies. 

Alicent doesn’t move, merely stands taller, prouder, and presses, 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

Of course, this is what he fucking wanted, but nearly four years have gone by since he asked to be allowed to marry you and was refused. Even if some part of him wants it, wants you, still, it matters not. 

It is what he wanted, before. Before everything got worse, before everything got louder, harder. Before he got worse. Before you forgot about him. 

His mother approaches him then, and though he jumps when he sees her reach for him out of the corner of his eye, she grabs onto his forearm and speaks again, forceful, determined, 

“Listen to me, Aegon. Your sister has secured her hold on the Seven Kingdoms, both through the strength of her dragons and through her eldest children’s diplomacy with the noble Houses,” His mother tells him, but he cannot hear her, not over the warring thoughts of finally, finally, finally, and too late, too late, too late. “Rhaenyra has allowed for this to happen because she wishes to extend an offer of peace, and you cannot squander this opportunity.” 

He turns to her and asks, quietly, forlorning, “Why now?” 

“What?” 

“Why now?”

Why now, that everything is worse? Why now, that he has become this? 

For a moment, a flickering moment gone in the blink of an eye, he thinks he sees sadness, sympathy, in his mother’s warm gaze. For a moment, he believes she will offer words or touch in the way she hasn’t before, in comfort or in reassurance. 

But her gaze falls from his, and her grip on his arm -too tight, almost bruising, yet wanted, needed, if it is all he can get- loosens as she lets go of him. 

“The betrothal will be announced when the tour is over. The wedding in a week’s time from then.” She tells him, detached, not unlike a messenger delivering a missive. 

And with that she leaves his apartments. The door closing echoes in his mind, and he is left behind with a loneliness he doesn’t know where to put, and a hope he doesn’t know how not to fear. 

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it, and I would love to hear your thoughts!

I am endlessly fascinated by the greens and their deeply weird dynamics, and I hope I did them a modicum of justice, even when changed in this AU and despite the influence of fanon in my interpretations of them.

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 10 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Yoongi x Hoseok

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: side character breakup, jungkook is still a little jealous lmao, alcohol, curses, they both are anxious to lose each other tbh, explicit content: hickey, breast play, oral sex (male receiving), jerking off, fingering, protected sex

☆word count: 10.1k

☆a/n: fun fact, this is the chapter that made me choose the title for this fic!! and this is also where the angst starts :') I hope you still enjoy reading <3 and thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Monday, March 25th 

You hate college. More specifically, you hate having to turn in multiple lab reports every week. There’s just something about building a lab report that irks you.

You don’t know how researchers do it. You think you’d go insane if you had to write report after report after report but…

You’re already going insane after all.

You sigh, rubbing a hand on your forehead as you look at the tables you’ve been trying to make for half an hour. Yoongi, sitting across from you, raises his head from his laptop, an eyebrow cocked. You offer him a tight-lipped smile, going back to your report as he doesn’t pry, focusing back on his own work.

As much as he spoke to you at the party last week, Yoongi has been a lot more silent today. You reckon you might know why - Hoseok said in the group chat that he’d come to study too, and he’s yet to show up. It’s evening now, and you have a feeling he’s just not going to come. 

You don’t know if you can entirely blame him - it’s Spring Break after all, and most people are trying to forget about college for the week. 

But you can’t, because you’ve got that lab report to work on and a final to study for.

You blink a few times, trying to bring your laptop back in focus, and then you go back to work. You spend another thirty minutes fixing the tables, not caring that the titles clearly could be better. Nabi said she’d go over everything you’ve done, and you know she’s much better with titles anyway.

You’re lucky she’s your lab partner. 

“Are you hungry?” Yoongi asks all of a sudden, and you startle, looking up at him.

Right in time, your stomach grumbles, and you let out a small laugh. “Yeah, a little.”

“Want to order burritos?” Yoongi suggests.

You nod enthusiastically, and he chuckles, picking up his phone. The smile that was on his lips dies almost immediately, and he deeply sighs. You furrow your brows questioningly, glancing outside of your study rooms.

Jungkook isn’t working today, yet you find yourself looking for him all the same. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask Yoongi, pushing Jungkook away from your thoughts.

Even though every thought of him makes you warm inside, giddy like a teenager with a crush.

“Hobi,” Yoongi simply replies.

You purse your lips, picking up your water bottle to take a long sip as you search for something to say. You settle on, “You guys talked after the party?”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah.” He pauses, sighing deeply again before handing you his phone. “Just choose which burrito you want.”

You grab his phone, quickly choosing what you want to eat as he remains silent, typing away on his laptop. You’re aware he’s avoiding the question, but you have a feeling he needs to talk. It’s in the way he worries at some dry skin on his bottom lip, an anxious tell you recognize all too well for having it too.

“How did the conversation go?” you ask as he finishes up the order, putting his phone back down on the table.

“It went okay,” he admits, yet he looks defeated. You understand why when he adds, “He told me he doesn’t want to be with me anymore.”

You widen your gaze. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi laughs bitterly, slightly shaking his head. “I feel blindsided. We were all happy before the party and now…” He shrugs vaguely, letting out a choked sound that almost passes as a chuckle. “It just came out of nowhere.”

“I’m really sorry…”

He shrugs again. “What can you do? I really just jumped in too fast without realizing that he was reluctant. I was stupid.”

“I don’t think you were stupid,” you say, trying to sound reassuring. “You’ve had feelings for him for a long time, and it felt like you were finally getting something in return. Anyone would have been blindsided.”

“I should have known when he insisted we take it slow and not share a room though,” Yoongi insists. “And though the sex was great there was a lot of stuff he was uncomfortable with. Not that I ever did anything without him wanting to do it but…” He wets his lips, glances your way before setting his gaze on his keyboard again. “I was his first guy.”

“Yeah, he told me,” you admit.

Pink dusts Yoongi’s cheeks, and you can tell he’s embarrassed by the turn of the conversation. So this time you don’t pry, letting him figure out what he wants to say next.

“I think he realized that he’s not into guys all that much,” Yoongi eventually says. “Like… he wanted to try it out and turns out it’s not as nice as he thought it’d be kinda thing, you know?”

You nod. “It sucks that it had to be with you though. You didn’t deserve that.”

Another shrug, like it’s all Yoongi knows to do right now. “Yeah, I guess.” He chuckles, a sad sound that makes you want to get up and hug him, though you know Yoongi’s not big on physical touch. “I don’t know if I should be mad or sad,” he admits a few seconds later.

“You’re allowed to be both.” He cocks an eyebrow as if not convinced. “I’m serious,” you insist. “You like him. Obviously, it’s going to hurt if he decides he doesn’t want to be with a guy. And obviously, you’re allowed to be mad too, because to you it can feel like he was leading you on.”

Yoongi meets your gaze. “Have you ever thought about becoming a therapist?”

His statement surprises you, and you laugh, scrunching up your nose. “No?”

“I think you’d be good,” Yoongi says. He sighs deeply again, picking up his phone. “Food’s on its way.”

You’re technically not allowed to eat at the library, so you end up eating on the steps outside when the food arrives, the fresh evening air welcoming after being stuck in a small, stuffy room for a couple of hours. Yoongi keeps pouring his heart out to you all along, as if he’d been holding everything in for too long, and the dam finally burst.

You’re happy to be there for him. Even though most of it is the same thing as at the party last week, you’re happy he’s comfortable enough to confide in you, and you try to cheer him up. 

“If you want,” you say after a time. “I could try to speak to Hobi. See what he really thinks about this all.”

Yoongi holds your gaze for a few seconds before looking away, his eyes shifting to the cloudy sky. “Nah, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says. “I’ll just have to move on.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod. “Your choice. I’ll be here for you.”

He smiles, sighing. “I know. Thank you.”

On that note you return to your study room and to the lab report awaiting you. Yoongi busies himself with his composition as you work, and you finally finish taking care of the text for the results about half an hour later. Nabi said she’d do the discussion, so you send her the link, asking her to tell you if she wants you to fix anything, and then you close your laptop, folding your arms on top of it.

“Done?” Yoongi says, pushing his headset down so that it rests around his neck.

You nod, dropping your face on your arms. “And I’m dead.”

“When do finals start for you?” he asks.

“Next Tuesday,” you admit.

“Isn’t that early?” Yoongi asks, gaze widened in surprise.

It might be. You only have one then though, and you still have two weeks of classes in your other courses before the rest of your finals. You’ll still take it - it means one less final during the true final week.

You tell so to Yoongi, who admits he doesn’t have finals, instead having projects in three classes. It leads to a conversation where you compare biology to his music major, and another fifteen minutes go by in comfortable silence when the conversation dies of its own volition, as you scroll on your phone and Yoongi keeps on working on his music composition.

You startle when someone knocks on the door of the study room. You glance that way, eyes widening when you notice Jungkook on the other side. Yoongi lets out a small laugh at your expense, and you get up, opening the door for Jungkook. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask as he walks in, two coffees in hands. 

“Thought you might need this,” he says, offering you one.

You take it with an eyebrow cocked quizzically, and then you watch him as he drops in one of the empty chairs at the table. He’s got a backpack with him, and he pulls out a laptop and a notebook from it while you and Yoongi are just stunned silent.

“What are you doing?” you ask again as you sit back in your chair. 

“Figured I’d come study here with you guys,” he explains simply.

You glance at Yoongi, who shrugs.

“Oh?” you let out, settling your gaze back on Jungkook.

“Unless you guys don’t want me to?”

Yoongi saves you by replying, “No, you’re all good man. I was leaving anyway.”

He clearly wasn’t, as you’re the one who finished writing your report and he was still in the middle of his composition, yet he still gets up, closing his laptop and putting it in his backpack.

“Text me if there’s anything,” you tell him as he’s sliding one of the straps of his backpack on his shoulder.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he nods curtly. “Will do. Thanks for everything.”

You offer him a small smile, and then he’s walking out, not once looking back. 

“Did you really have to come here?” you ask Jungkook, and it sounds far more accusing than you meant it to be.

“What?” he lets out. “Just wanted to see what the hype is all about when it comes to the library.”

You offer him a no-bullshit look. “Were you jealous because I was studying alone with Yoongi?”

Jungkook frowns, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. His lips jut out in the hint of a pout, and something melts inside of you, like it always does when it comes to him.

“He’s the one that left the second I got here,” Jungkook points out.

“Because he’s going through a hard time, dumbass,” you say, punching Jungkook in the shoulder. 

He rubs at the spot, his pout intensifying, if that’s possible. “He still could have stayed, I wouldn’t have minded.”

Jungkook isn’t wrong, and though you really want to be there for Yoongi, you know he’s the kind of person that needs space a lot. Or at least that’s the impression he’s given you in general, and you really hope he didn’t leave because Jungkook showed up.

“I was done though,” you admit, patting your closed laptop. “I was thinking about heading home.”

Jungkook flicks your nose, taking you by surprise, and you sit back in your chair as you shriek. It earns you one of his bunny grins, and you truly are melting like snow in the sun. “Well then you’re going to have to stay with me for a little longer, mmh?”

You tilt your head to the side, though you can’t help the smile that tickles the corners of your lips. “And do what?”

“Study?” he sarcastically lets out. “Do whatever it is that you bio majors do.”

You end up doing so, rereading your notes for your first final. It’s boring, and you don’t think it’s really productive when Jeon Jungkook is sitting next to you, stealing quick glances in your direction. 

You catch him for what feels like the tenth time, and you roll your eyes. “Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

“Because,” you offer as an explanation. “We should go home.”

He narrows his gaze at you. “Why?”

“People could see us here.” And go and tell Taehyung about it.

“I’ll handle Tae if he gets upset, don’t worry,” Jungkook tries to reassure you, but it does the opposite.

Indeed, a drop of lead forms in your stomach because, what if Taehyung learns?

You don’t want him to know. It’d complicate everything, ruin everything. 

“Besides,” Jungkook adds, “I’ll have to handle him in April anyway.”

You frown, a confused crease streaking across your brow. “Why?”

Jungkook meets your gaze. “I’m going to Paris with Jimin to see your brother at the end of the semester.”

Your heart starts racing in your chest, anxiety flooding your blood. “Oh?”

Jungkook toys with his piercings, scanning your features carefully. “Yeah. It’s been planned for a while.”

“You didn’t tell me.” You’re aware you once again sound accusing, but you can’t help it.

Not when you see the expiration date of your relationship with Jungkook flashing in your mind.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I just didn’t think to tell you? I thought I mentioned it when we Facetimed Tae the other day.”

You can’t blame him for not explicitly telling you - the trip has likely been planned for a while, and it’s not like you speak about your brother a lot. Though you mention him once in a while, you’ve both been good at avoiding talking about him. Now that he’s mentioned the Facetime call though, you do recall, and it’s like a hand is squeezing around your heart some more.

“No worries,” you say, and you offer him what you hope is a reassuring smile. “When do you leave?”

“April 29th, I think? I’ll check.”

You nod, and you look away from Jungkook to stare at your laptop instead, though your gaze loses its focus as your brother invades your thoughts. You think about what he’d say - you know he’ll be furious, and he’ll likely kick Jungkook out of your apartment. 

Jungkook will never be able to handle Taehyung. Not when he’s being an overbearing asshole like only he knows to do.

“Peach,” Jungkook says in a small voice that almost sounds whiny. “Why do you look so upset?”

“You can’t handle Tae,” you say. You worry at your bottom lip and then take a deep breath. “It’s really better if he doesn’t know.”

Jungkook remains silent for a few seconds, though he nods his head. “Okay.” He nods again, offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Do you want to head home then?”

“Yeah,” you answer without a beat of silence. “Yeah, I think we should go home.”

Jungkook’s gaze drops to his laptop, and you feel bad. You truly do - he looks defeated, much like Yoongi looked like earlier.

“Can we watch something when we get home though?” you quickly ask.

You can’t help it. You can’t stand the sight of Jungkook upset - it’s just wrong to you.

He immediately brightens, a small curving his lips upwards. “Yeah?” 

You nod. “Yeah, definitely. Should get some cuddles in too.”

His smile widens, and he meets your gaze, the usual mischievous twinkle back in the depths of his eyes. “Sounds like a plan.”

And it really is. You think, you don’t need more with Jungkook. You don’t need the relationship to change, don’t need anyone to know. Because it’s simple right now, and there’s beauty in its simplicity. 

Wednesday, March 27th

“Don’t!” you shriek, but Jungkook ignores you, stealing the TV remote from your hands.

“We’re not watching your reality TV show,” he says as he plops down on the couch into a lying position.

You glare at him, frowning as you fold your arms on your chest. “You like it.”

“Sometimes.” He flashes you a bunny grin that makes you gulp around a sudden lump in your throat. “But right now, I’m in the mood for a movie.”

You look up to the ceiling, searching for salvation yet finding none. “What movie?”

“Just come here,” he says, opening his arms for you.

You can’t resist. His gravity is too strong, and he pulls you in, like he’s the sun and you’re the comet. 

Though you might come from the Kuiper Belt, you know you’re bound to crash into him anyway.

Once you’re nestled in his arms, Jungkook resumes his scrolling on Netflix. 

“What about this?” he asks.

“Extraction?” you say as you eye the movie he stops on. “I’m not in the mood for action.”

“Then a romantic comedy it is.”

You chuckle against him, pecking the mole on his neck. He chooses the movie Always Be My Maybe, and then tightens his grip around you.

“I like that movie,” you say.

“You’ve seen it already?”

You reach for his hand before he’s able to change it. “Yeah, but I don’t mind,” you reassure him. 

He nods, and that’s how you end up watching the movie, slowly dozing off on his chest. You’re in and out of sleep, watching the bright screen whenever you wake up, and when the credits roll in, Jungkook yawns over you.

“Were you sleeping?” you ask, faking offence.

“You were,” Jungkook points out, flicking your nose as you raise your head to look at him. 

You move your face away, resting your head on the couch. “Barely.”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, and then you both burst out laughing. 

You like this. You like the intimacy of being with Jungkook in your own home, like that in between these walls you get to call him yours. It’s treacherous, but oh so inebriating, like he’s summer wine you’ve become addicted to.

Instead of watching another movie, Jungkook goes to his room to retrieve his speaker, and he puts a random playlist on while you fetch a rosé bottle from the fridge, where you’ve left it before watching the movie. You’d decided to spend the evening in despite both your friends and his friends asking to hang out, and so you’d gotten a bottle earlier today.

That, and the board game Ticket to Ride, your favourite board game.

“That’s not how it works,” you complain a while later, when you’re one glass in and Jungkook grabs a locomotive and wagon card from the five on the side.

“What?” he lets out.

“If you take a locomotive you can only take one card,” you remind him.

It’s his first time playing, and though the game is fairly simple, you’ve noticed Jungkook has a tendency to try and cheat his way to the win. You’re tempted to let him keep the two cards when he offers you puppy eyes, yet you stand your ground, holding your hand out.

“Give me the wagon back.”

“Take it from me,” he teases, lips stretching in a smirk.

“Oh, you want to play this way?” you reply in the same teasing tone, and Jungkook toys on his piercings.

“Maybe?”

You get up from where you’ve been sitting on the floor, walking to the other side of the coffee table. Jungkook watches you, an apprehensive yet excited look in his eyes, and he laughs the second you drop behind him, hands aiming for his sides.

He leans against you, his large frame almost enough to make you crumple to the floor, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him close.

“Give me the wagon,” you repeat.

“Or what?”

“Or I’m not playing the game anymore.”

He looks over his shoulder at you, a pout on his pink lips. “Okay then, take your wagon back.”

He gives it to you, and you smile victoriously before pecking his cheek. “Thank you.”

You walk back to your side of the table, though you stop halfway, eyes brightening.

“I love this song!” 

Jungkook leans back on his hands, tilting his head to the side as Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol starts playing.

It was your favourite song growing up. You used to listen to a different version of it you’d heard on Grey’s Anatomy, and you’d listen to it whenever you felt sad. Whenever you needed to feel like you weren’t alone in the universe, like someone was waiting for you, somewhere.

And as you look down at Jungkook while the lyrics start, you know someone was waiting all along.

“Sing it for me,” Jungkook says, smiling softly.

You can’t help the blush that creeps on your cheeks. “I don’t know how to sing. But you do!”

He chuckles, yet immediately starts singing as you offer him a hand to pull him up to his feet. He obliges, and he rests his large hands on your waist as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close. He sways you to the music as he softly sings, cheeks dusted in pink, and you pull him even closer, resting your head on his chest.

Simple intimacy. That is what you and Jeon Jungkook are made of, and you think, if he’d ask you to lay here, in this moment, you’d lie with him until eternity took you in its hold. Until you’d be nothing more than dust between the stars - remembrance of what was once great. 

But April is looming closer, a giant towering over the both of you, one step away from crushing you under its boot.

“You know,” Jungkook says while the song continues in the background.

“Mmh?” you let out, looking up to meet his gaze.

His eyes are heavy with emotions, and you swim in them, bathe in them. You feel complete, cherished, and you hope he knows you feel the same way.

You hope he knows you’ve been falling in love with him despite the odds.

“I’ve never been like this with anyone before,” he admits, his voice gentle. “I’ve had situationships, I guess, but nothing like us.”

You smile softly, your heart racing in your chest. “Me neither. You’re the first.”

It’s true. Though you’ve sort of dated Sam Hwang for a few weeks during the summer, it was nothing like it is with Jungkook.

Sam Hwang never looked at you the way that Jungkook looks at you.

Jungkook leans forward, resting his forehead against yours as he keeps on swaying you both to the music, the song nearing its last chorus. Your eyes flutter shut from the proximity, and your breaths mingle as you fall silent for a few seconds.

“I love having firsts with you,” he whispers.

You almost reply that you love him. The moment calls for it - the atmosphere is that of romance,  the music is close to your soul, and he… He’s the blood in your veins and the oxygen in your lungs. Yet you can’t say it - you’ve never told anyone you loved them before. And you’re not even sure you truly love him. Yes, you have feelings, but everything is overshadowed by the knowledge that you’re bound to end.

You don’t want to tell him you love him and make it too real only to have him slip from your fingers the second Taehyung learns.

“Me too,” you instead reply. “I love spending time with you.”

It’s as close to the truth as you’ll get, and he allows it, pressing a soft kiss on your lips. It’s slow, patient, like the whole universe will pause for you two. He pulls away when the song ends, bending to grab his phone on the table. 

He restarts the song, and the second his phone is back on the table again, you pull him back in, tiptoeing to kiss him again. He wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tight against him, and you sigh at the pillowy softness of his mouth, at the way his piercings feel just right pressing indents in your lip. His free hand cups your cheek, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head to the side.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, almost hesitantly, but you open up for him immediately, tasting the rosé in his mouth as he kisses you deeply, languidly. The kiss never accelerates, yet it’s infinitely passionate.

Much like that first kiss you’d exchange, during the power outage on Valentine’s Day.

You think you knew then - he’d kissed you so softly, like you were fragile, just a flower petal a second from being blown away. Even then, he’d cared for you, and it’d scared you.

But there’s nothing scary about this. There’s nothing scary about the way he gently hikes your shirt up to slide his hand underneath it, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. There’s nothing scary about the way he sighs when you run your hands through his hair, gently tugging at the soft strands. There’s nothing scary about the way he backs you towards the couch, spinning around at the last second so that he can sit down.

There’s nothing scary about him pulling you in, always, so that you straddle his lap, connecting your mouths again a second later. No, it’s only natural. He’s the wind and you the leaves. He’s the sun that shines on you, his moon.

You were always meant to collide after all, and though the aftermath might be terrifying, all you can do right now is enjoy it while it lasts.

Jungkook tentatively grinds up, his arousal evident as he presses against your clothed self. You let out a breathy sound that makes him push his tongue in your mouth, and you suck on it, earning a grunt from him as his hands drop to your hips to drag you on him again. You grab at the hem of his shirt, disconnecting your mouths just long enough to pull the fabric off him, and then you’re kissing him again, crashing your lips on his hard enough that you think you taste blood, though you don’t care.

You just want him. Need him, so viscerally you think you’ll combust.

“Peach,” Jungkook lets out as you move to his neck. 

Unable to resist, you suck a hickey on him, a bright purple mark on the spot where his shoulder connects with his neck. He groans, leaning his head back against the couch to give you better access as you lick at the spot, soothing the sting.

When you straighten, Jungkook meets your gaze, his chest quickly going up and down. You’re just as out of breath as him, and when he reaches for the hem of your shirt, you let him take it off you, leaving you in only your black lace bralette. He looks at your breasts, cupping them in his large hands as he sighs appreciatively.

“Every time it’s like you get more beautiful,” he murmurs, and he looks up at you then, his eyes crinkled at the corners in what you can only call adoration. 

“Kook…”

His hands return to your waist, and he wets his lips, playing with his piercings. You grind against him, and his eyes immediately flutter shut.

“You think we can fuck out here?” you tease, rolling your hips.

“On the couch that your brother bought,” he replies, and there’s something so sinful about the thought that you know you’ll do it.

It’s not like Taehyung is around and will know.

So you bend forward, capturing Jungkook’s mouth in another languid kiss while you unbutton his pants. When the button comes undone, you straighten, standing between his legs so that you can pull the jeans down his legs. You leave the boxers on, eyeing his length as you kneel, hands resting on his thighs.

“Can I suck your dick?” you ask.

He chuckles. “Yes. But please be quick, I want to be buried inside of you.”

You narrow your gaze at him, but let out a laugh despite yourself. 

You focus on his dick again then, on the wet spot at the top where his purple underwear has turned darker. You bend forward, littering small kisses along his shaft, and you tentatively lick at the wet spot, the taste of his precum filling your mouth. And though you’d planned to tease him, to be the brat you know he likes, you give in right away, pulling his boxers down just enough so that you can lick at his slit.

He lets out a breathy sound that has you bite your lip as you look up at him through your lashes. He’s got his head thrown back, eyes closed, and from this angle, all you can see is his sharp jaw.

You pull his boxers down more, and he helps you by raising his ass for a few seconds. His dick springs free, already rock hard, and you immediately grab the base to hold it up as you finish taking off his boxers, letting them tangle around his ankles. You’re quick to lick a long stripe from between his balls up to the tip of his cock, and then you take him in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around him.

He bucks his hips, fucking up into your mouth, and you moan when he hits the back, your eyes immediately watering. 

He lets you lead after that, hands lost in your hair as you bob your head up and down, working him closer to his high. You love the feel of him in your mouth, love the way he grunts and praises you under his breath, and you think you’d be able to come from just hearing him, pleasuring him. 

It doesn’t get to that though. When Jungkook truly nears his high, he pulls you away from his dick, and you meet his gaze to see his pupils are blown wide, filled with so much lust all you can do is obey when he says, “Go get a condom in my room, mmh?”

You nod, and you get up to walk towards his room, feeling his gaze burning on you as you pass the threshold and head to the night table. You pull a condom out, and you walk back to the living room to find Jungkook jerking himself off, his grip on his dick tight enough you know it has to hurt a little.

“Put it on for me,” he says, and he stops jerking off, holding his dick up for you. 

You sit next to him, pulling the condom out of the tinfoil package, and then you roll it on his dick. He hisses as you do so, but the second it’s on he pushes you back until you’re lying on the couch and he’s hovering over you. 

His hair falls in his eyes, and you quickly push the strands back. He leans in, pressing his lips on yours for a kiss far softer than what you expected, and you smile against him.

He grins when he pulls away, eyes shining with lust and adoration again, and then he’s taking off your pants, taking his sweet time. Kissing every inch of skin revealed, from your inner thigh to a spot below your knee. He stops after that, instead eyeing the wet spot on your underwear, and then he pulls at his piercings, sending you a dark look that makes you go molten.

“I want to fuck you in this,” he says as he finishes taking off your pants, his free hand going to your hip where he traces your underwear. “Want to ruin your panties.”

“Do it,” you challenge him.

He doesn’t need to hear more before he’s returning over you, and his hand pushes your panties to the side so that he can run a finger between your folds, and then circle your clit. You grind your hips, seeking more friction, but Jungkook doesn’t oblige, instead pulling his finger away from your pussy.

“Be patient,” he whispers, and then he kisses you again.

The kiss is feathersoft, gentle, and you lose yourself in the very essence of him. You don’t care - you just want this moment, forever. A scene constantly replaying, away from the atrocity of the world, with your favourite song as the background music.

“Please,” you beg in a soft murmur when he pulls away from your lips, and this time he obliges, returning his hand to your pussy. This time, he pushes in, and you sigh against him as your walls clench around his digit.

“You’re already so wet,” he says, and then he’s kissing you again, his tongue lapping at yours. 

You moan in his mouth, hands lightly scratching his back as he adds a second finger. You can hear squelching sounds between your legs, and you’d be embarrassed if it didn’t feel so good that you can’t form a single coherent thought.

“Fuck,” you curse, and Jungkook chuckles, pecking your cheek.

“You take my fingers so well, peach,” he praises. “Will you take my cock just as well?”

You moan again, and you nod your head yes. “Yeah. Please.”

He smirks, pulling his fingers out of you. You both eye them - they’re covered in your juices, and it’s decadent, sinful.

Even more so when Jungkook puts them in his mouth to clean them thoroughly, drinking in your juices. 

“So sweet,” he whispers after, and then he shifts, straightening between your legs so that he can align his dick with your entrance, your panties still pushed to the side. He meets your gaze, his own dark with lust. “How do you want me tonight?” he asks, rubbing his dick on you slowly.

“Just fuck me, but come near,” you say, pulling on one of his wrists so that he leans over you again. 

He smiles, infinitely soft despite what you’re doing, and then he pushes in, ever so slowly. Inch after inch, Jungkook spears you with his dick until he bottoms out. He stills there, and you wrap your legs around his dainty waist to keep him as close as possible. He obliges, stealing a deep kiss on your lips, and he slowly pulls out before slamming to the hilt again, and you moan in his mouth.

The rhythm he establishes is slow and steady. Deep, in a way that makes you see stars in his gaze. Or maybe that’s just the way the light reflects in his eyes, or the emotions still swirling in the depths of him. You don’t know. All that you know is that you’re falling and falling, with no chance to ever stop now.

You’ve crossed too many lines to ever be able to stop. So you’ll enjoy it while it lasts. Chase all the cars around his head until you can’t anymore, until the last nail is in the coffin and you have to say goodbye to this, to him.

But for now, you enjoy. And you enjoy as best as you can, eyes fluttering shut as he slightly picks up the pace, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. You hold him close, arms and legs tight around him, and you moan as he makes love to you.

At least that’s what this feels like. And you wouldn’t want it any other way. You just want the warm proximity of his body on yours, of his lips kissing your mouth. Jungkook gives you all, and you hope he knows you’re giving all to him in return.

Everything. You’ll give him everything until you have nothing left to give, if he so takes it.

“Fuck, peach,” he whispers. He slows down his rhythm, meets your gaze. “I’m really in love with this pussy of yours.”

You know why he says it that way. Know exactly what he truly means but can’t say, and you take that too, keep it locked up in a safe corner of your heart.

“I know,” you whisper, cupping his cheek, and he rests his forehead on yours again.

“I’ll fuck you like this every day,” he says, and it sounds like a promise.

A promise that maybe you’ll make it past your brother’s return.

“Please do,” you beg, and then you’re kissing again, and he’s pounding into you harder, seeking completion for the both of you.

You come before him. Nails digging in his back while you arch yours, walls pulsing around him. That’s what sends him over the edge, and Jungkook climaxes, his head falling in the crook of your neck as he comes and comes.

He’d paint you white if it wasn’t for the condom, and the thought makes you grind your hips instinctively. He kisses your neck in retaliation, and you moan softly, tilting your head to give him better access.

When you’ve come down from the high, you glance towards the coffee table and your abandoned game of Ticket to Ride. The sight makes you laugh, and you press a soft kiss on the mole on Jungkook’s neck as he asks, “What’s got you laughing?”

“We never finished the game,” you remind him.

He lifts his head just enough to look at the coffee table. “Damn,” he lets out. “I totally forgot about that.”

You can’t blame him. When you’re together, you forget about everything, too - he becomes the center of your universe. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Should we finish it?” you ask.

He meets your gaze, pecks your forehead once. “Shower first?”

You can’t say no to those big doe eyes, so you follow him to the bathroom.

And while he washes your back, you hear the clock ticking, your expiration date looming closer with every second that passes.

Saturday, April 13th

The movie theatre is packed. 

You’re waiting in line for popcorn with Nabi, Namjoon and Ria, while Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi go to the bathroom. The hall of the movie theatre is loud, and you’ve been standing in silence with your friends as you wait for your turn, though you’ve been eyeing the menu as you’re trying to decide what to order.

You settle on a medium-sized bag of popcorn to share with Yoongi, and Namjoon and Ria grab different candies and chocolate bars for themselves and your other friends. You’re walking towards your movie room when you notice an all-too recognizable tattooed boy, who stands taller than the group that surrounds him.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and he grins broadly as he waves at you.

Four pairs of eyes turn to look at you - Jimin, Sera, Lisa and Eunwoo - and you smile at them, though your gaze quickly shifts back to Jungkook.

You’d told him you were coming to the movies with your friends before going out for drinks. You’re not surprised he’s decided to pull up - despite everything you’ve told him, he’s jealous of your friendship with Yoongi. Which you reckon is funny - Yoongi is trying to fix things with Hoseok, and all you’ve been doing is offer help to him when he needs it.

You don’t think the relationship is fixable, but you haven’t had the strength to break it to Yoongi yet. Not when they had a moment last week, and he’s been far too happy about it since then.

You walk over to where Jungkook’s standing, your friends in tow. It’s hard to stop yourself from hugging him, but you manage to do it, instead greeting everyone and smiling at Jimin as he asks what movie you’re going to see.  

“Dune 2,” you reply. 

Jimin snorts, saying, “Thought so.”

It sounds ominous, and you slightly furrow your brows, glancing towards Jungkook. He only shrugs his shoulders as he purses his lips.

And that’s how you end up mixing friend groups for the movie. You’re not surprised when Jungkook manages to sit on your left - he’s clearly been scheming for this all along. Yoongi, entirely oblivious, sits on your right.

“I haven’t even seen the first movie,” Yoongi says as he leans towards you. He quickly glances further down the row, where Hoseok sat with Namjoon and Nabi.

Jungkook mirrors Yoongi, and he’s so close you catch a whiff of the detergent he uses to wash his clothes. “It was practically a walking simulator in the desert. Not much to miss.”

Yoongi nods, sitting back in his seat. He offers you a knowing look, and then turns towards Seokjin and Ria on his other side, joining whatever conversation they’re having. You purse your lips, before sliding your gaze back to Jungkook.

“What are you doing here?” you ask through gritted teeth.

“My friends wanted to see the movie,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “Thought we could go at the same time.”

You look up to the ceiling, though a smile is playing at the corners of your lips. “What a coincidence.”

He grins. “What a coincidence indeed.”

It makes you chuckle, and before you can say anything else, the light of the movie theatre dims, leaving you in only the glow of the screen as it comes to life.

You eat your popcorn as many movie trailers pass on the screen, Yoongi taking some once in a while. The movie starts when you’re halfway done with the bag, and soon you’re lost in the scenes, too focused to eat.

That’s when Jungkook strikes, stealing a handful of popcorn from your bag.

“Hey!” you whisper-shout, and he winks at you as he eats a mouthful of the snack. 

“What?” he whispers back once he’s swallowed.

“That’s mine.”

He flicks your nose, leaning closer to say directly in your ear, “What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours, peach.”

You narrow your gaze. “You haven’t even bought any snacks.”

He shrugs. “I knew I’d steal yours.”

You roll your eyes, slightly shaking your head as you look back towards the screen, and he chuckles softly. Scenes flash in front of your eyes, and you get lost in the action. It might be an hour later, or just a few minutes, when Jungkook pokes your knee, attracting your attention.

You glance at him, but he’s focusing on the screen, his skin looking honey-like in the light. You furrow your brows in question, but when he doesn’t say anything, you shrug, looking back at the screen.

He does it again thirty seconds later, and this time he’s stifling a laugh when you glance at him.

“What do you want?” you whisper as you lean closer to him.

“You,” he replies simply, his eyes darkening as he meets your gaze.

You gulp. “We’re in the middle of a movie theatre with all of our friends.”

“I know,” he says, shrugging. “I’ve just been thinking of how you feel around my…”

You punch his shoulder before he can finish his sentence, and Lisa throws you a look that makes you sit back in your seat, folding your arms on your chest.

“Just focus on the movie, Kook,” you mumble.

He chuckles again, but before he can say anything else, Lisa nudges him. He glances at her, leaning closer when she whispers something you can’t quite hear. 

His whole demeanour changes after that, and he sits back in his chair, a slight pout on his lips. Gone is the playfulness, but you think it’s safer that way. He’s way too obvious when you’re in public, and though Taehyung still hasn’t said a thing, you know it’s bound to explode in your face soon.

Jungkook is leaving for Paris in just a few weeks after all. 

It douses you, and you finish watching the movie with a lump in your throat, one that doesn’t disappear even when you’re at the bar later, your friend group mixing with Jungkook’s far too easily. Of course, Jungkook notices, and he sits next to you, nudging you.

You glance at him, noticing the concern in his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“No,” you lie, but he sees through it immediately.

“Is it your cramps?”

You’re on your period. Obviously, he knows, and he’s been sweet about it, buying you snacks and putting his hands, always warm, on your lower stomach while you cuddle. 

You purse your lips, shaking your head. The concern doesn’t disappear from his features though, and you feel bad. Enough so that you say, “I’m just…”

You trail off as Lisa appears, sitting on the other side of Jungkook with two beers in hand. She gives one to Jungkook, who thanks her quickly before setting his gaze on you again. Yet she lingers, and you find yourself unable to speak, shrugging your shoulders.

“If there’s anything, just let me know,” Jungkook says, and he offers you a small smile that does nothing to tame the worry in his gaze. “I don’t mind heading home earlier.”

You nod once, and the conversation dies as Hoseok appears on the other side of the table, cheeks red with the shots he’s already downed.

“Not drinking tonight?” he asks you.

You shrug. “Not really in the mood.”

Hoseok narrows his gaze in his suspicion. “I’ve never seen you not in the mood to drink.”

You chuckle. “Well, now you have.”

You’re relieved when he lets it go, especially as you sensed Jungkook tensing by your side, an indication that he was going to intervene if Hoseok didn’t drop it. There’s a short silence, during which you notice Hoseok looking at Yoongi where he’s drinking with Namjoon and Seokjin, a few tables over.

You glance at Jungkook, motioning towards Hoseok. Jungkook frowns, not understanding, and you quickly pull out your phone to text him.

[10:37 pm] You: i want to talk to hobi about yoongi but not in front of you guys

Jungkook pulls out his phone to read your message. He doesn’t reply, yet he nods, turning towards Lisa. “Where are Sera and Jimin?”

“Ordering something at the bar,” Lisa replies, entirely unaware. “Why?”

“Want shots?”

Lisa beams under Jungkook’s gaze, and you taste bile in your mouth as they get up and walk away together, Jungkook shooting you a quick glance over his shoulder.

You can complain all you want about Jungkook being jealous of Yoongi, but you’re just as jealous of Lisa after all.

“What’s up with you and Yoongi?” you ask when they’re out of earshot, gaining Hoseok’s attention.

“Man…” he trails off. “I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel.”

“Is that why you’ve decided to switch universities?” 

You’ve been asking yourself that question for weeks, but Hoseok has been good at avoiding you, clearly realizing that you’ve grown closer to Yoongi.

Hoseok widens his gaze, and the blush on his cheeks deepens. “No? I said it’s because I’m following a professor.”

“What professor?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow.

Hoseok shrugs, his eyes dropping to a knot in the wood of the table. “Why do you care?”

“You’re my friend,” you remind him. “No matter the history that we have. I’d be sad to see you go.”

He chuckles, and it’s a lot more bitter than you ever expected to hear him. “Listen, I don’t really want to be questioned. Is Yoongi the one that asked you to ask me this?”

“No,” you say. “Not at all. I’m just worried about you.”

“About me?” he repeats. “I’m all good, Y/n.”

He doesn’t sound convincing at all, so you say, “Just make sure you don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“I already did,” he admits, and his glance towards Yoongi is far too telling. “I’m not into him like that. I don’t even know if I’m into men like that.”

“Have you told him?” 

He shrugs. “Here and there. I think he knows.”

You think so too, as Yoongi had mentioned it when you’d studied together a few weeks ago. 

“Just make sure you’re honest with him, and honest with yourself,” you say after a few beats of silence.

Hoseok purses his lips, nodding once. “Will do.”

The air turns awkward as Hoseok just keeps on staring at the knot in the wood. You feel bad - you used to be a lot closer to him, and in just a few weeks, your relationship shifted. But you think it might be for the better - you can’t imagine how Jungkook would feel if you were close to someone you used to sleep with, considering he’s jealous of a friend you’ve never done anything with.

Not that that would stop you from being friends with someone. Especially not when April 29th is coming soon, and with it, your situationship - you’re not sure you can call it a relationship - will end. 

“Where are you moving?” you ask.

“San Diego,” he replies quickly, and a shy smile appears on his lips, like the thought excites him. “I can’t wait to not have to deal with winter anymore.”

“I can imagine,” you say, chuckling. “Though winter wasn’t too bad this year.”

“If there was an inch of snow then it was bad.” He says it wisely, and this time you laugh as he breaks into a smile.

The conversation is easier after that. Still heavy, because you both know the friendship likely won’t survive the distance, but you still manage to have fun as you speak about classes, about life, and about what he’ll do once he’s in California. Half an hour passes like that, and then you move to the bar, agreeing to grab a single drink.

You settle on an Amaretto Sour, and Ria and Nabi join you at the bar. You end up doing Lychee bombs with them, and then you follow them all back to the table where the rest of your friends are, along with Jimin, Sera and Jungkook.

You’re relieved to see Lisa isn’t there. Not that she’s not nice. She always is, despite her obvious attraction towards Jungkook. And though she clearly senses that something’s happening between you and Jungkook, she’s never said anything, and you respect her for it.

You sit between Nabi and Ria, and Nabi quickly melts against Namjoon next to her. You snort at the sight, turning to say it to Ria, who seems to be in a staring contest with Seokjin across the table.

You don’t really know what’s happening between the two. Ria mentioned that she’s not interested in him, saying he’s just gotten out of a relatively long relationship, and you’re not close enough to Seokjin to know his opinion.

You’re just observant, and you know just how much the air fills with electricity when these two are concerned. Lightning is bound to strike at some point, and you just hope it does so without hurting anyone.

You wonder, is that how the people around you perceive you and Jungkook?

The evening unfolds, calmer than your usual outings - you find yourself going home just a little after midnight. Jungkook’s with you, and he unlocks the door as you slowly walk up the stairs, shooting you a glance.

“You sure everything’s okay?” he asks as you finally reach the top.

You purse your lips, meeting his gaze. The streetlight down the stairs reflects in his gaze, and he looks angelic, innocent like this.

“Yeah, I’m just…” you trail off. “You’re leaving soon.”

His features soften, and he opens the door for you to walk in, following behind you. “I know,” he says once he’s shut the door.

You turn the lights on, meeting his gaze. Unable to help yourself, you cup his cheek, thumb swiping at his skin. “Want to share a bed tonight?” you ask.

As if you haven’t been sharing a bed for weeks already.

“Yes, of course,” he immediately agrees, and he covers your hand with his own, tugging you closer. “If you kiss me first.”

That makes you smile, like only he knows to do, and you tiptoe, pressing your lips on his in a featherlike peck.

“That doesn’t count,” he complains, lips jutting out in a small pout.

“Then kiss me,” you challenge. “Kiss me stupid.”

You don’t need to ask twice - he closes the distance between your mouths, lips ravaging yours, and you lose your hands in his hair.

Later, after you’ve sucked his dick in the shower - you don’t like having sex on your period, but you still wanted to make him feel good - you lie down in your bed, the fairy lights making the atmosphere far gentler than it should be.

It’s treacherous, and you lie with your head on Jungkook’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Chasing Cars is playing on his speaker, and you hold him tighter, putting all of your love in the act. He kisses the top of your head, mouth lingering against you.

“I’m happy you came tonight,” you admit. Indeed, despite the anxiety of Taehyung learning, you like hanging out with Jungkook. Like spending as much time as possible with him right now - the clock is ticking after all, and the sound resembles that of a bomb about to go off.

“Me too,” he whispers. 

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Have you talked to Taehyung recently?” 

The question takes him aback, and his eyebrows knit together. “I speak to him almost every day, why?”

Because you’ve been avoiding your brother like the plague. Because you know the second you speak to Taehyung, you’ll blurt out the truth, and you’re not ready to face his reaction yet.

You doubt you’ll ever be ready.

“How is he and the girl doing?” you ask. “Ariane?”

“Good,” Jungkook answers. “They’re pretty much official now.”

Your lips stretch in a thin line, and you rest your head on his chest again. 

You don’t want him to see the jealousy in your gaze.

“Good for him.” It sounds just as flat as you feel - like a tire pierced with a nail, emptied of all air.

Jungkook must feel it too, because his grip around you tightens, like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. As if it’d save you from the looming heartbreak.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jungkook whispers a while later, when you thought he was asleep. 

You hope he doesn’t take your silence personal - you just don’t think you can figure it out.

Taehyung would never let it happen. So silence is what you offer Jungkook, and you wonder if the beat his heart skips is an indication that he’s breaking, much like you are breaking too.

Sunday, April 28th 

Time goes by fast. Sometimes, you think it’s even faster when you’re trying to hold on to something - like sand slipping through the fingers of a fist held tight, time has been slipping away.

The end is near. 

You’re sitting on Jungkook’s bed, watching him as he packs his suitcase. He’s been lazy, stopping often so that he can kiss you, hold you. He’s been clingy lately, much like you’ve been.

Like you’ve been trying to fit a whole relationship in just a few weeks. 

Jungkook lifts his head from his sock drawer, meeting your gaze. He smiles, but there’s sadness behind his pupils, lurking in the depths of his eyes. You want to take it away, but all you manage to do is smile a weak smile.

“I wonder if they’ll want to go to the Catacombs,” Jungkook says.

He’s been saying random stuff once in a while as he packs, grasping for a conversation you haven’t been able to join in. But you try, you always try, and you know he’s not mad at you for it.

Jungkook could never be mad at you. 

It’s strange how he changed in the last four months. You think back on the Incident, that dreaded Incident you had believed to be the most embarrassing thing in your life. Today, you know it wasn’t. It was the start of something great, something you wish never had an expiration date.

But nothing gold can stay, or so they say.

“I bet they’re creepy,” you answer. “Not sure I’d go if I were you.”

“I assume you’re the kind of person who gets scared while watching horror movies too, huh?” Jungkook teases, and he walks towards you, hands full of socks.

He drops them in the suitcase at your feet as you slightly shake your head, a teasing smirk growing on your lips. You doubt it meets your eyes, but it’s the best you can do.

“Says you, who prefers watching romance over action,” you tease.

Indeed, the first few times you’ve watched movies together, he’s suggested going for action first. But he never once appeared disappointed when you chose a romance movie, instead beaming at you as he nodded enthusiastically. It was adorable, endearing, like everything is when it comes to Jungkook.

You can hardly believe he used to sleep around, used to be the most renowned fuckboy in your college. Nowadays, Jungkook appears more like a hopeless romantic, and it’s easy to figure out why.

As someone who never received love from his family, he’s been craving it his whole life. At least you think so, and you’ve been giving it to him, pouring it to him, by actions rather than words.

“Nothing beats romance,” he declares, and you chuckle as he plops down on the bed next to you.

You turn your head towards him as he lies down, one hand on his chest.

“Is that why you cry in every movie?”

He frowns, a pout adorning his lips. “I don’t.”

You cock an eyebrow, because obviously he does, and you both burst out laughing at the same time. 

No matter how dreaded the circumstances are, the chemistry between you and Jeon Jungkook is undeniable. And as you look at him, you wonder if there’s a universe out there where you’re allowed to be with him. Where older brothers aren’t a thing, and where you get to call him yours, to scream it from the rooftops.

It douses your enthusiasm, and your smile falls as you look away. 

Jungkook sits up, cupping your cheek to force you to look at him again. He scans your features for a few seconds, and you stare at his eyebrow piercing, as if that will keep you from crumbling.

“You know…” he lets out. He sucks on his lower lip piercings, pulling at them so hard you think it has to hurt. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “I really want to make us work.”

His simple sentence empties everything in your head, in your soul, until there’s just him left. 

“But how?”

“I’ll speak to Taehyung,” he says, for what has to be the thousandth time. Indeed, you’ve had that conversation before, but you never once agreed. “I’ll speak to him in Paris, and then when I come back this doesn’t have to be over.”

“This?” you repeat.

“Us.”

You sigh, and you look between his eyes. Hope lights his gaze, and you think there has to be a museum out there to exhibit such beauty. 

Jungkook is breathtaking in every way that matters.

“Tae will kill you,” you say, and the hope slowly withers like flowers in the fall. “Try to have a nice trip instead.”

“Then we can talk to him when I come back,” Jungkook suggests. “Together. I can use you as a human shield if he tries to kill me.”

You snort, and the hope reignites in his gaze. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then he’ll be mad,” Jungkook simply states. “I don’t want to lose you, peach.”

Fuck. You’re in love, and you’re in love deep.

“You might lose his friendship,” you say, but your resolve is melting away far quicker than you expected. Because he’s offering you a silver lining, a life vest in the storm that’s been raging inside your head for weeks.

“I honestly don’t care,” Jungkook says, but you see it in his eyes: he cares, and he’d be hurt. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

You highly doubt so but… what if he does? What if he forgives Jungkook, forgives you?

Then you wouldn’t need to travel to another universe. You’d have this one, and you’d have Jungkook.

Maybe you should try.

“Are you sure?” you ask, voice smaller than the atoms holding your body together.

He nods vehemently. “I am. 100%. I don’t want to lose you when we’ve barely just started.”

“Kook…”

He kisses you then, as if he needs to show you with action instead of words. You end up tangled in his bed, your bodies connected on a level deeper than the physical, yet you wouldn’t dare say it. And he doesn’t either, not even when you inevitably go to bed later that evening. 

You’re nestled in his embrace, a few minutes after he’s turned his LED lights off, when you say, “Kook?”

“Mmh?”

“Don’t talk to Tae in Paris,” you say. “We’ll wait for you to come back. And we’ll talk to him together.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. If that’s your wish, then I can do it.” He’d said so earlier after all.

You nod. “I think it’s better if it comes from us both instead of just you.”

“Makes sense.” Jungkook kisses your forehead, and a soft smile spreads on your lips. “And peach?”

“Yeah?” you murmur.

“If you miss me too much, feel free to sleep in my bed and wear my clothes, okay?”

“Okay.”

He kisses your forehead again, and despite the words exchanged, you fear it might mean goodbye.

Prev | Chapter 10.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

no but why did I forget how sad this chapter was? Help, they are so afraid to lose each other :') anywayyys what did you guys think about this chapter? Did you like it?? Please let me know:)

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[milkloafy]

TOO LATE TO BE YOUR FIRST LOVE, BUT I’LL ALWAYS BE YOUR FAVORITE — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: megumi has known you since childhood as his sister’s annoying friend. now, years later, he sees you at a nice restaurant and wonders why you’re all alone. ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: fem!reader, fluff, aged up au, gojo is…here xD, bsf brother / sister’s bsf au, reader wears a dress, megumi checks reader out, reader gets stood up by her ex womp womp… ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.9k+ ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: first jjk fic and i’m starting it off with a banger cliche ! i can’t help it okay megumi’s sister is soooo pretty pls by my bsf in another life :3 also ik this title is so long i literally could not think of anything so i was like okay yeah sure let’s listen to miss sabrina carpenter and then bam! here we go i guess! 

“Be good to my kouhai, okay Megumi-chan?”

Those were the words that rung through his head as he saw you sitting at a table for two, alone and dolled up in a nice dress with pearls around your neck. 

Megumi didn’t claim to be an expert in your life or personal preferences, but from what he did know of you, you weren’t exactly the type to take yourself out on a date all alone. It drew too much unwanted attention towards you that you likely did not want to deal with.

That was something he certainly resonated with.

After watching you pick up your glass of water and put it down five times all in the span of one minute, he almost felt bad enough for you to head over there and take you out of your misery. Unfortunately, an aggravating voice beside him reminded Megumi why he was in this fancy restaurant in the first place.

“Isn’t that right, Megumi-kun?” 

“Huh?” he asked, turning his attention back to his own table. 

Gojo was leaning forward on the table with a smug look on his face, a look that Megumi learned was never good. Although Gojo had shades on blocking his gaze, Megumi sensed Gojo was looking directly at you.

“I said she’s pretty, isn’t she?” 

Megumi glared at the white-haired pervert with an irritated look on his face. “She’s not for you, old man.” 

Gojo laughed as he held his arms up innocently. “I meant for you. You’ve been staring at her for a while now. It’s kinda creepy, actually.” 

“That’s Tsumiki’s friend,” said Megumi, choosing to ignore Gojo’s comment. “One of her closest. Not sure why she’s here by herself. I just want to make sure she’s not in any kind of trouble.” 

“Well, let’s examine the evidence,” Gojo declared, clearing his throat before counting his fingers on one hand. “One, her hair and makeup are done real nice. Two, she’s in a fancy dress. Three, she’s been giving that glass of water a death glare for the past few minutes.”

Megumi raised his brow, unamused. “Okay. And?”

“Your sister's friend over there has just been stood up,” concluded Gojo, leaning against the back of his chair in satisfaction. “Now, if you’re going to do something about it, I suggest you do it before Yuuji and Nobara get here.” 

“Why?”

“Do you have to ask? The moment they arrive they’ll follow along behind you and see what you’re doing,” cautioned Gojo, as if he wouldn’t join them in an instant. 

Megumi made a face at the thought, but he knew Gojo was right. Itadori and Kugisaki would stick their noses into any and everything that involved him and would somehow find a way to embarrass him yet again. 

Standing up, Megumi sighed. “How long do I have?”

“I told them the reservation was for ten minutes ago. So you should have at least twenty minutes now.” 

“Thanks,” Megumi grumbled, heading over to your table with an awkward expression on his face. He hoped this wouldn’t embarrass you further, but he could deal with your potential attitude as long as it brought you some comfort. 

Though you may be annoying at times with how often you teased him and called him girly nicknames he hated, you were still his sister’s best friend. Helping you save face seemed like the good thing to his sister would want him to do. 

“Hey.” 

Startled, you looked up from your phone and saw Megumi standing next to your table, his arms folded across his chest. 

The moment you met his gaze, your eyes brightened and you waved at him.

“Gumi-chan!” you sang as a greeting, voice too loud for the formal ambiance of the restaurant.

“Shh! Are you crazy?” hissed Megumi, looking around frantically to make sure Gojo did not overhear you calling him that. However, judging by the shit-eating grin on Gojo’s face, Megumi knew Gojo heard and would never let Megumi live this down. 

You giggled at his embarrassment.

Megumi huffed. Shouldn’t you be the embarrassed one here? 

“Long time no see,” you said, motioning for him to sit across from you in the opposite seat. “What’s little Megumi doing at a fancy place like this?” You paused, gasping in surprise from a story you totally just made up about his situation, he assumed. “Don’t tell me you’re here on a date! I have to text Tsumiki! They grow up so fast…”

“I’m the same age as you,” he mumbled. 

You reached over and pinched his cheek. Megumi swatted your hand away. “You sure act younger, though!”

“Shut up.”

Megumi sighed, wondering why he wanted to comfort you in the first place. You seemed just fine to him. 

“I’m not here on a date,” he finally replied, hoping you hadn’t yet sent his sister any incriminating texts about his non-existent date. “Gojo-sensei is treating some of his students out for a graduation dinner.” 

“Aww! Graduation, already?” you cooed, as if you didn’t also just graduate university this year. “They really do grow up so fast!”

“You can stop talking now.” 

You laughed, knowing better than to take his grumpy words too seriously. Megumi was glad he didn’t have to explain that side of himself to you.

“What about you?”

“Me?” you parroted.

“Are you here on a date?”

You slowly brought up your glass of water to you and nodded. “Supposed to be…”

“You’re dating someone new already?” asked Megumi, thinking about the annoying ex-boyfriend of yours you finally broke up with a few months ago. 

Hesitantly, you shook your head, toying with the pearl beads on your necklace. “Not exactly…”

He raised a brow, waiting for you to stop being so vague. 

“He’s not someone new,” you mumbled, your voice clouded with embarrassment. 

“He’s not new?”

“Oh, Gumi! Are you really going to make me say it?” you cried, puffing your cheeks in indignation. “My ex, alright? I was supposed to be on a date with my ex right now. And he stood me up!”

Megumi blinked, his mind jumping through hoops to piece together what you were implying. “Let me get this straight.”

You made a defeated noise of agreement. 

“You broke up with your ex, he groveled and begged for your forgiveness, you agreed to go on a date with him for god knows why, and he still stood you up. And now you’re here, sad and alone.” 

You groaned, covering your own ears. “It sounds even more pathetic when you say it out loud. God. I’m so pathetic, Gumi.”

“Hey,” said Megumi gruffly. “What would Tsumiki do if she heard you say that just now? You’re not pathetic. Your ex is the pathetic one.” 

“You’re right,” you sniffled, nodding at his word. “But I still can’t help but feel that way, though.”

For the first time tonight, he saw a dejected expression cross your face. It always unsettled him to see you unhappy.

“He’s dumb for standing you up.” Megumi rubbed the back of his neck, looking away uncomfortably. “Listen, you deserve someone better than him, okay?”

“Someone like you?” you teased with the start of a grin forming on your face.

Megumi rolled his eyes in annoyance, but deep down, he was glad to see your smile return. 

“Eh? Who said you would deserve someone like me?” he retorted.

You giggled, putting your hand over your heart dramatically. “Ouch! You wound me, Gumi.”

He shrugged. 

“And here I thought you would feel bad enough for me to finally give me a chance,” you proclaimed with an exaggerated sigh.

“Shut up.”

His short words didn’t disguise the heat from spreading across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. You always toyed with him like that… There was no way you actually meant it, he told himself.

“Hey,” he said, about to suggest something he might later regret. “Instead of sitting here alone, do you want to join me?”

Your eyes widened at his invitation and his ears turned an even darker shade of pink.

“Not alone! There’ll be others there,” he said hastily. “For the graduation dinner, remember? But they won’t mind.”

You tapped your index finger to your chin a few times, as if thinking hard, before agreeing easily. “Sure! Beats being alone. And, just for the record, I would have said yes even if it was just us two.”

Megumi scowled. His poor face wasn’t able to catch a break from all the annoying heat rushing to it. “Let’s go, then.”

As you stood, you smoothed your dress down and adjusted the length so you wouldn’t accidentally flash your ass to those seated behind you. Immediately, Megumi found his gaze wandering to where the hem of your dress hugged your soft thighs. His throat grew dry. 

When he managed to tear his gaze away from your body and back to your face, he noticed you looking at him always expectantly, as if waiting for him to explain why the hell he was checking you out for so long.

Megumi cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t sound too strained. “It’s a good thing you were stood up, you know?”

“Huh?” you asked in confusion.

“Your ex doesn’t deserve to see how you look in that dress anyway.”

“Oh,” you managed to say, averting your gaze as a bashful look took over your face. This was the first time in ages that Megumi has seen you look like this.

He smiled to himself, savoring the sweet look of shyness on your face. Typically, you were the one teasing him, much to his annoyance. It was nice to get some payback sometimes.

“Thank you, Gumi,” you murmured, fingers toying with the hem on your dress, only making it rise up higher on your thighs. 

“Just the truth,” he said with forced nonchalance.

As the two of you approached the table, the contentment Megumi felt was instantly doused when he saw Gojo, Itadori, and Kugisaki all ogling at you with their mouths wide open.

“Oh ho ho! Is this a friend of yours, Megumi-kun?”

“Hey, I’m Itadori!” 

“Run while you can! You’re too pretty for him, got it?” 

You waved at the table, somehow not scared away by their obnoxiousness. “Hi! And yes, his sister tells me that all the time!” You looked over at Megumi and winked. “But I think he’s just as pretty.”

Megumi groaned as he sat down in an empty seat, putting his head in his hands in exasperation as he heard everyone laughing together. He was already regretting introducing you to his idiot friends. 

But as you took a seat next to him, he peered at you through a crack between his fingers, and he couldn’t help but feel pleased at the joyful expression on your face. If it was up to him, that’s the only way you would look.

Along with your shy expression, of course. Megumi would pay to see that again as well. 

You met his eyes through the sliver of space between his fingers and grinned at him. His found his worries fading away. 

Megumi sighed to himself. Maybe he should thank your scumbag ex for standing you up, after all. Turns out he quite liked your company. Maybe even as more than just his sister’s annoying friend.

As if you were able to read his mind, you blew him a kiss from the seat beside him and his face reddened once more.

Gojo whooped and hollered at the interaction and Megumi felt himself sinking further and further into his seat.

Never mind, he told himself. You were still the pain in his ass that would never go away.

But maybe Megumi didn't want it to.