After being attacked, Emilia moves from rural Ohio to Brooklyn to start a new job and move on from the past. Bucky Barnes x OFC
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
~Thomas Shelby ~ Thor ~
Vice 🌩️🔥
Thomas Shelby is expanding his company to America, Miami to be specific. He's already taken out who he thought was the biggest player. Little did he know, it's you who runs the South and you're looking for a new partner. Thomas x reader, Thor x reader
synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?
in this chapter : Steve is about to walk out of your life, causing you to let go of everything you two have, and everything that could be.
📝 yes, the title is inspired by Taylor Swift's upcoming song The Bolter. In my interpretation and in this story, it is meant to symbolize someone who runs from someone or something. A potential relationship. A loved one. And the choice is not easy, one that may bring a lot of remorse or catharsis? Anyhow - Steve IS a bolter. In the beginning, at least.
themes/warnings : language, angst!!!, pining, unrequited love, Steve is kind of an asshole for leaving (but we love him anyway)
word count : < 1k
main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist ▪︎ next chapter
This is it.
This must be what true heartbreak feels like.
Steve, your best friend and the unrequited love of your life, has decided to volunteer to return the Infinity Stones to their respective timelines. Very noble of him.
But he also confessed that he plans to stay with Peggy, now that he finally has the chance.
They can have the dance that was stolen from them, decades ago.
Steve can be with his true love it seems. And that person is just not you.
Well, fuck my life.
"Doll," he smiles ruefully, both of your hands encased in his, "say something."
Say something, he says. What is there to say - I'm in love with you, I want you to stay with me? Don't leave me? I want you stay - for Bucky, for Sam, for Nat. For everyone. For me?
What can you fucking say that will ever be enough? In the 7 years that you've known Steve, you've grown to love him. As a friend, as family. Then, almost inevitably, as the only keeper of your heart. And he knows this.
But he's still leaving. Because, at the end of the day, Peggy is the keeper of his heart.
To you, Steve has always been everything good. Golden boy perfection, with a heart that would put a saint's to shame. Sunshine, laughter, companionship, standing tall and unwavering in his ideals. His gleaming red, white, and blue tendrils snaking their way into the very fibres of your being and taking root.
But now, all you feel is empty. You were angry, when he first told you, days ago. You had almost screamed at him, told him how unfair he was being. You made a long, drawn-out case for Bucky. How he doesn't deserve this. But really, you were making a case for yourself.
Stay, you had said.
He simply smiled, without any mirth. Not like his usual on-brand Steve Rogers gesture of sincerity. He smiled and it did not reach his eyes. He was sad, or maybe he pitied you. And that made you even angrier.
Until minutes later, when you finally broke down, and sobbed quietly in his arms.
"I hate you," you muttered against the creases of his shirt.
"I love you," he said back, and you hated him even more for it. He doesn't get to say that to you, in that way. Not in the same way he would say to Peggy.
Now, right before stepping onto the platform that will cause him to vanish from your life, he says it again.
"You do know that I love you, right?" His smile is genuine, if not a little nervous. He hoped you would be as accepting as Bucky, and send him off with just a rueful look. A gentle, final word. A sweet farewell that he can take with him as a reminder of all the times you spent together.
"I know," you breathe, relenting. Steve does not like that your eyes are glazed over, empty. Like you're not taking him in at all. You take notice of the resulting sag in his shoulders, out of character from the dignified stride he sported as he was saying goodbye to the others.
A big part of you wants to remain indignant. So what if he's hurt or uncomfortable due to your coldness? It serves him right.
"Come here," he whispers, and it comes across a silent plea. Come here? Will you, please?
You take just one small step closer, but he is already ahead, wrapping his arms around your frame. Your stony mask breaks as your cheek presses against his chest, away from his view. His chest plate glistens from your tears, but you don't have it in you to wipe them away.
When he pulls away to look down at you, his heart breaks. He cradles your face in his hands as you look up at him through wet eyelashes, and it's almost enough to make him consider staying.
But then you say, "It will all be okay, Steve." You gingerly pry his hands from your cheeks, giving them a comforting squeeze. "We will be okay."
You look behind you, where Bucky stands watching the exchange, and he offers an encouraging nod.
You take a step back, mustering everything that you possibly can, all the love you have for Steve, to give him one last genuine smile.
"Go get your girl."
Read part two here.
The way I was making myself upset while writing this - god I love angst!!! ~~~
I was gonna keep going, make it even more brutal, but I'll save that for the upcoming parts. It will have some Bucky x reader as well 🖤
Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, language, alcohol consumption, 18+
Summary: you see your ex, Ari Levinson, at the bar
Part 2-Break You In Two
Masterlist
"C'mon, y/n," your friend, Kate, whined as she pulled your hand, practically dragging you down the sidewalk, your white sundress riding up your thighs at the quickened pace.
"One more stop before we call it a night. Please?" She pouted, "it's my birthday and I love this band."
You rolled your eyes. The buzz you had going was enough liquid courage to have you giving her hand a squeeze before you gave her an "okay" and let her lead you to the bar you were so familiar with.
Kate was a newer friend. She didn't know. Not that you let anyone know.
Your eyes scanning the line of motorcycles parked along the street, one particular black Harley catching your attention, a knot twisting in your stomach and you gripped your friends hand tighter.
Mark, the bouncer, raised a brow at you as you and Kate walked in, handing him your IDs before he was putting a stamp on your hands. Kate was already walking up to the crowded bar as Mark held your hand for a moment too long, concern etched on his face. You gave him a small smile, "I'm good," you assured him before walking inside.
You had never wanted to come back here. Back to the place where your world had come crashing down around you.
You met Kate at the bar as she turned around with shots in hand and you eagerly knocked it back. The burn of the alcohol gives you hope that you could do this. Maybe you wouldn't even see him. Just avoid his table. And his friends. And the bartender who knew you by name.
"Y/n?" the redhead called over the live band playing in the corner.
Shit. Why did you think you could do this?
You turned back to the bar to see Nat, a huge smile on her face as she ran around the end of the bar, then to you, and grabbed you in a tight hug. You hugged her back, a smile tugging at your lips. God, you missed her. She had been the one true friend you had, but after everything that happened you shut everyone out, even her.
She pulled back, holding you at arms length to look at you, "what're you doing here?"
"Um, it's my friend's birthday," you said, motioning to Kate behind you, who waved awkwardly. "She wanted to check out the band." You hoped the smile you had plastered on your face was convincing enough.
"Well you look amazing, babe," Nat smiled, "I missed you," she hugged you again.
"I missed you too,"
"Drinks are on the house tonight," she nodded to you and Kate before heading back behind the bar to grab your favorite beer. She gave you a sympathetic smile as she handed you the drinks, "He's at his usual table."
"Thanks, Nat," you smiled and walked toward the band with Kate.
Ari was sitting in the back of the bar. The table was crowded with the other men of his biker gang. He was laughing, tossing his head back at the wise ass remark Bucky made about the new kid, Peter, when he saw you. Nat was holding you in a fierce hug at the bar, you sundress fluttered around you and you were smiling. The sight of you made his heart stop. His lungs burned with the breath he didn't know he was holding.
He blinked, making sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He never thought he'd see you again. Not after that night. Not when he had fucked up so badly he lost you.
But there you are, looking as bright and beautiful as ever. And happy. He should have known you would be happier without him. The realization hits him square in the chest as wave after wave of memories of you flood his brain. Your naked body against his. He can practically feel your soft lips caressing his skin.
Bucky looked over to Ari after he cracked another joke and he didn't laugh.
"Hey, you alright man?" Bucky questioned, "You look like you've seen a ghost," he jostled Ari's shoulder before taking a swig of his beer as he followed his friend's line of sight and practically choked on his drink. "Oh shit."
You were dancing and laughing with your friend, forcing yourself to keep a smile on your face and not look back towards his table. A couple guys had joined you and you were being a good wingman to Kate, talking her up to the cute one and being nice to his friend. It was her birthday, she deserves to get some.
You downed the rest of your beer and yelled to Kate over the music that you'd "be right back" and made your way to the ladies room.
Leaning your hands on the sink, checking your reflection in the mirror, you took a shaky breath trying to steady your heart. You felt like you couldn't take a deep enough breath as the knot twisted tighter in your stomach at the realization of where you were. The haze of memories overtaking you. Of Ari behind you, your hands on the mirror as he growled in your ear "Mine." And then you were pushing down the sickening vision of what happened the night you left him.
"Fuck this," you huffed, pushing off the sink and wiping the stray tear that fell without your permission. This was a mistake but you were not about to let him, or anyone else, see you break all over again.
A small gasp left your lips when you opened the door to find Ari walking towards you in the hallway. You forced a polite smile on your lips as he approached, "Ari. Hey. How're you?" The sound of your voice had him stopping in his tracks. You prayed he couldn't see that your heart was shattering into pieces at the sight of him. That you were trying so desperately to be unaffected by him.
"Y/N, I.." he shook his head, taking a step closer to you. His scent washes over you, bergamot, leather and a hint of whiskey overwhelming your senses. Your fingers curl around the strap of your purse.
His bright blue eyes are soft and hold remorse as he looks back up to yours, "Y/N, I'm sor-"
"I have to get back to my friend," you cut him off, slipping past him as you try to hold it together. You vision blurring and the pain in your chest becomes unbearable as you make your way to the door.
Once outside you press your back to the red bricks of the bar and take a deep, shaking breath, blinking back the tears.
Just breathe, You thought as you closed your eyes, your head thudding back against the wall.
"Smoke?" The sound of Bucky's voice had you snapping your eyes open.
You didn't trust your voice so you just nodded and accepted the Marlborough Red he offered, leaning towards him so he could light it for you.
You inhaled, closing your eyes as you let the nicotine burn in your lungs.
"He still loves you, Y/N," Bucky softly said as he leaned his shoulder against the wall beside you.
You gave a watery laugh, "That's fuckin' rich, Buck."
"He hasn't been with anyone since you left,"
"Then maybe he shouldn't have fucked someone else while we were together," you couldn't keep the venom from your voice.
Bucky didn't say anything, just dropped his head as he took a pull of his own cigarette.
You took another deep inhale of smoke before throwing the cigarette down and stomping it out with your heel. "I can't do this Bucky. This was a mistake. Tell everyone good bye for me, okay?" Your lips twitching up into a sad smile, tears threatening to spill, and he was grabbing you to pull you into a hug.
"I'm sorry he fucked up, Y/N," he squeezed you a bit tighter.
"Me too," you croaked out, still fighting back the tears as you let him go.
"You want me to take you home?" He offered as he put out his cigarette on the wall.
"No, I'm just gonna get an Uber," you pulled out your phone to text Nat to keep an eye on Kate before ordering a ride. Bucky nodded and walked back inside, giving a little wave before stepping over the threshold.
Ari was slamming shot after shot back. "She could barely even look at me, Nat," he hung his head.
"Ari, what did you expect?" She gave him an incredulous look and shook her head before taking out her phone. Bucky walked up beside him, clapping him on the shoulder.
Ari looked over to Bucky, his expression hopeful as his friend sat down next to him, hand still on his shoulder.
"Let her go, man," he shook him a bit.
"Is she still here? I just need to see her." He brushed off Bucky's hand as he stood up.
"Ari!" Bucky and Nat shouted together as he stumbled to the door.
You sat down on the leather seat of the car you ordered, you heard him call your name just before you slammed the door. "Go! Please," you couldn't hold the tears back now.
Ari ran to the car as it pulled away, calling out your name, his fingertips touching your window as it passed. He fell to his knees in the middle of the street as he watched you leave him again.
A/N: yeah Idk where this came from but I am apparently in an angsty mood😈
How would Bucky react if Bee came home one day and had a bouquet of flowers that one of the PTA dads gave her for Malyshka? 👀
Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumbleebee
Word Count: Drabble
A/N: Written on my phone, unbeta'd. Part of the bumblebee series.
Bucky carefully takes the flowers from Bumblebee's hands, his affable grin sliding off his face when he stands up, towering over you.
"Who gave you these?" His voice is deceptively calm, in stark dichotomy with the storm brewing in his keen blue eyes. His darkening gaze sends a shiver down your spine and it takes every ounce of your willpower to suppress your smile. This is probably not the best time to tease your mobster. Bucky knows the answer without even glancing at the card attached to the bouquet, he merely wants confirmation.
"Bucky," you stretch out his name, wrapping your arms around his neck, going on your tiptoes, you smooth the lines forming between his furrowed brows. "I barely remember the guy. Chris something I think. It's not important."
"I remembers Mommy. Mr. Cole gave 'em to you and remembers how he—" Bee states, squishing a stray lavender petal in her palm, blissfully unaware of what she started when she skipped in the house straight to Bucky to show him Cole's flowers."—he wanna touch your butts. You remembers?"
Don't laugh. Don't laugh.
"Thank you, Bumblebee." Bucky sees your lips twitch and a dark, menacing glint creeps over his bearded face. God, he's sexy when he gets like this. One day you'll figure out why that particular look makes your knees weak.
"You welcome, Papa," she sings out. Done with her part in this fiasco, she heads off to her playroom, leaving you alone with Bucky.
"Oh Cole. Right. That one. Yeah, they might be from him," you admit.
"Cole Turner. Farmer. Divorced father of two. Works upstate. Asthmatic." His gaze flicks to the flowers crumbling in his grasp. "Cheap."
Bucky knows all about the farmer, ever since the man first flirted with you. Bucky's been biding his time, content to let you handle him.
Until now.
If the way he's crushing the stems in his large tattooed hand or the way his heady gaze pins you in place wasn't enough to reveal how your mobster feels about another man giving you flowers, his accent slipping out as he lists off what he knows, says more than his words ever could.
Oh, he's furious.
And jealous.
It's not a bad look on him. You glance down and see the veins along the back of his hand, your eyes trailing up to his thick bicep barely contained by his tailored suit, and over to his face just in time to catch his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not bad at all.
Still, you can't let him hurt the asthmatic farmer even if Cole can't take a hint.
"James, whatever you're thinking, the answer is no." You clutch the sides of his jaw, making him look down at you. "I don't care about the flowers. Or what's his name. I love you." His expression doesn't change but you see his eyes soften. Pulling him down, your lips brush over his ear as you whisper. "I only want you. No one else. And if you agree to leave him alone, I'll show you how much you mean to me."
He knows that and he trusts you. He's not concerned about that. Bucky believes you're fucking irresistible and he can't blame other men for wanting you as badly as he does. Actually, he can and he will. Bucky drops the flowers and takes your face in his hands, his warm palms brush over your cheeks as he tilts your head back. "I'm going to need a lot of convincing Malyshka. It's going to take all night."
"Promise you're not going to do anything to him."
"I won't hurt him," Bucky offers with a casual shrug.
"Bucky."
"That's the best I can do. And Malyshka, you should be focused on how you're going to handle all the things I'm about to do to you." A smirk pulls at his lips and his unrelenting gaze skates over you in one smooth pass. His voice deepens, the sound vibrating over your skin as his lips find the side of your throat. "Remember what happened the last time you promised to make me feel better?"
Oh.
"I--"
"Don't worry, I'm about to remind you."
The following Monday.
You're dropping Bee off when you overhear Keaton talking to another mother. "We'll need someone to cover Cole's snacks for the rest of the year. I can't believe he up and left like that."
Your eyes widen as you subtly glance over your shoulder, listening carefully while taking Bee's little backpack off.
"What happened?"
Bucky what did you do? Without being too obvious, you take a step closer to the gossiping duo, their voices carrying over the sounds of the classroom.
"Apparently he just inherited a house in D.C. He told Kristen that it was left to him by some uncle but one of the conditions is he has to live there for ten years to keep it," "And get this, right after he finds out about the place, I'm talking two seconds after he hangs up with the lawyer, he gets an offer to take over some vendor that's a mile or two from his new place but they wanted him to start immediately. So he...." Her voice starts to fade as she strolls down the hallway.
No, he didn't. Laughter spills out, you slap your hand over your mouth to conceal the sound and wave goodbye to Bee. You spend the entire walk back to the car teetering between amusement and astonishment.
Bucky's waiting for you, leaning against the side of the car. A gorgeous, colorful bouquet of flowers in his hand. But it's the smug grin on his face that has your attention. He doesn't have an ounce of shame in him and you both know he'll do it again.
"You're ridiculous, you know that right?" You say, taking the flowers from his hand. That cocky grin of his widens as he opens the door for you. "And insane."
summary - When it comes to relationships, Jake Seresin is hardly conventional. He exchanges money for company and stress relief. He clears out a Tiffany's just because he can. He gives you everything you want like it's his job. But the one thing Jake Seresin doesn't do is fall in love - no matter how badly you wish he did.
warnings - sugar daddy au, ceo au, grumpy x sunshine, language, brief smut, reader has a somewhat toxic relationship with sex, themes around sex work and objectification, Jake is 6'7" because I said so
word count - 3.0k
million dollar man masterlist
Your body bounces slightly on the firm mattress, the bed sheet already sticking to your perspired skin. It’s almost uncomfortable—like hotel bedding—and it rubs up against you in a way that has you arching to get away from it. Your hand falls limply next to your head and you extend it downward to grab a grounding handful of the sheets under your raised thighs.
A pillow slides under your tailbone, keeping you propped up, and then he’s sliding back in and continuing his pace. A large hand grabs at your breast, squeezing it lewdly as the new angle has gentle moans leaving your lips and your eyes fluttering closed. His head drops to your chest, following his hand and biting and nipping at the skin roughly. In your head, you can see him looking at you, those green eyes teasing and lustful as he covers you in hickies. It feels good.
“Fuck,” he groans, raising his head suddenly. “You’re so tight.”
You preen, feeling saliva cool on your skin, and pat blindly for his hand. You want to hold his hand. But suddenly both his hands are holding on to the meat of your hips, fingers squeezing into you so hard you know it’ll leave bruises in the morning. You take it though, it almost feels good, your body bouncing as he thrusts into you harder.
Grunts fill the room, deep and masculine, overpowering your soft gasps. Eyes cinched closed, you let a hand trace up sweaty, muscled skin, your fingernails digging into his tough shoulder when a particularly rough thrust has you shifting against the mattress.
Still shrouded in darkness, your fingers trail up the soft skin of his neck and tangle in blond strands. They’re soft and just slightly wet against your skin. They remind you of something, it stirs in your belly like a kindle of recollection. You know the feeling and you’ve felt it before. Something so familiar, but so long ago you’ve almost forgotten.
It hits you suddenly.
A feather boa.
His hair almost feels like a feather boa against your palm and fingertips. But not just a feather boa, no, a purple one. The purple one your mother had that she’d whip out every Halloween, laying it out on her shoulders on top of her black dress. She wore the same thing every year, a black dress, a pointed hat that she’d always take off at some point during the night, and a purple boa. “I’m a witch,” she told you when you asked. And you wanted to argue that the costume hardly made her a witch and that she couldn’t just dress up as the same thing every year, but then you couldn’t really imagine her being anything else.
She’d hand out candy and the pointed hat would slip down to her eyes as she leaned down to drop chocolate bars in pillow cases—that was part of the reason she always took it off so quickly. She’d gasp softly at the costumes she saw, complimenting them and playing along with whatever they were dressed up as.
“Oh! Good evening, your majesty.”
“Batman… you probably want dark chocolate, right? No? Good choice.”
“A witch! I’m a witch too! Here, you get extra candy.”
When the night got later and the trick-or-treaters were few and far between, your mother would put on festive music on her old portable speaker. She’d dance in circles around your living room, playing with the boa and tickling your cheeks with it as she tried to convince you to dance with her. Being a tween, you never agreed easily, rolling your eyes and ducking away in embarrassment. But she’d get you eventually and then the two of you would be a dancing, laughing mess of purple feathers.
“Yeah, that’s right. It feels so good you’re crying, huh?” Large thumbs wipe your wet cheeks and it’s enough for your brows to cinch together. You hadn’t realized you started crying.
Your hand falls from purple boa hair, wrapping around that firm shoulder as his thrusts become more intense. A dominant hand wraps around your thigh, holding it open as you feel as though the air is being pushed from your lungs. There’s a stretch you feel, though it’s a familiar one, right in your pelvis and you let your grip on his shoulder tighten.
“Ja—” It comes out a strained gasp, hardly the beginning of a word and more a garbled mess of sounds. Your back arches, your eyes rolling, and throughout it all the steady thrusts continue.
Finally, you let your body deflate, regulating your breaths as a guttural groan fills your ears and then the thrusts stop. You wince when he pulls out but say nothing, blinking your eyes open as his weight lifts from the bed. Goosebumps rise on your skin from the sudden chill and you delicately reach for the bed sheets, pulling them over yourself as Beau rolls the condom off and starts getting dressed.
You watch him from where you’ve propped yourself up on the pillows. How he buttons up his shirt quickly and pushes back graying brown strands from his face. It’s when he’s firmly situated in his slacks, fingers moving to zip up the zipper and adjust his belt that you finally build up the nerve to speak.
“Are you coming back tonight?”
Beau sniffs, not even looking up from where he’s sliding his belt buckle through the strap. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
He doesn’t expect an answer from you—he never does—but you give him one anyway. “Okay.”
Not another word is spoken between the two of you. Beau looks down at his phone, lets out a quiet curse, and leaves without even looking at you. The second he shuts your door behind him, you fall down to your mattress, fighting the way tears fill your eyes by shoving the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. You let out a shaky breath, ignoring the dull ache between your thighs as you lock your bottom lip between your teeth.
This is the third time you'd pictured Jake Seresin while you were getting intimate with Beau. The third time you imagined his olive green eyes and his rugged hands trailing all over your body. The first time had been an accident, it had happened almost immediately after you’d met him. Beau hadn’t liked seeing you so close with the successful hotelier—especially when he realized you were wearing Jake’s jacket. Beau had you in the back of his car, but your thoughts couldn’t help but drift to the handsome stranger who had spilled his drink on you and suddenly it was his voice that was groaning in your ear and his hands holding you firmly by your hips.
You felt guilty. Of course you felt guilty. It felt like infidelity. Regardless of what your relationship was, you did have a relationship with Beau and he certainly wasn’t paying you to think about other men while you were having sex with him. You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t think about Jake again. That he was just some man who paid attention to you and that’s why you feel this way about him.
So the next time you had sex with Beau, you focused on him, and the way he spoke, and the way he touched you. And you couldn’t finish. You faked it—not that Beau could tell the difference—and you spent the night alone in bed wondering if you’d ever see Jake again. Finally you just gave up on trying to be a good person and went back to pretending that all the intimacy you were experiencing was at the hands of Jake Seresin. It was just easier that way and Beau never really seemed to care that you hardly ever opened your eyes—he probably preferred it if you're honest. It was just easier.
You hold your breath until you’re sure that Beau has left. The sound of the front door closing just makes it to your room and, after five minutes, you still haven’t heard it open again. Carefully, you get up, stretching out your somewhat sore limbs as you rock on your feet hesitantly. Beau’s gone, you know he is, but still you can’t help but wait for him to come back.
That’s how it was when you first started living with him, you felt like a new puppy. You’d spend your days just waiting for Beau to come home and your nights trying to hide your excitement when he did because he never had that excitement for you. In the beginning, you craved his attention. You reveled in the moments he’d take care of you, the moments where he was even a tad bit soft.
As time went on, you got a better sense of what Beau Simpson wanted from you. He wanted someone to fuck when he was stressed and someone to be beautiful and polite at parties so that people would think that Beau had finally settled down with someone high class. He didn’t want someone who waited on the couch for him to come home or someone to take to dinner just because. Beau Simpson was not often inclined to take care of you.
Eventually you stopped expecting him to. You took the morsels of comfort you could get from him and didn’t ask for anything more. You stopped waiting for him to come home and you stopped wishing you could change him.
Your legs are still a little shaky as you make your way to your closet. You drop down to a squat, pushing past the skirts of expensive dresses and the rack of even more expensive shoes. Patting around a bit blindly, you wait for the sound and feel of plastic under your fingers. You pull out the bag, sparing another glance at the door even though Beau is long gone.
That night, Jake had insisted that you keep his jacket and, after Beau had finished reminding you who you belong to, he didn’t give it another thought. It had been far too easy to sneak the jacket up to your room.
You don’t really know what compelled you to keep it, but something about Jake Seresin had taken over you obsessively. And it’s not like you’d ever see him again, not while you were with Beau at least. Sliding your arms through the sleeves, you wrap the large jacket around yourself. It still smelled faintly of Jake, cedar wood and musky vanilla, and you feel your body relax under the soft fabric.
And maybe it wasn’t such a mystery why you couldn’t stop thinking about Jake. He was the first person in so long to treat you like you’re a person. There’s something about that—your whole conversation with him and the way he spoke to you—that you just can’t forget.
Getting up, you make your way back to bed. Exhaustion hangs heavy on you and you know you should at least clean off first, but you’re too tired. Physically and emotionally. Jake’s jacket stays wrapped around you as you pull up the blankets and finally let your eyes droop. You wonder if he’d think you were human now—if he saw you like this. If he’d still call you beautiful and answer your questions like they’re worth answering.
You only get a few hours of sleep before your body wakes you again, but you blink your eyes open to find that you feel rested.
Letting out a breath, you gently peel yourself from bed. Delicately, you put Jake’s jacket back in the bag and hide it in your closet. You’ll take a shower, you decide as you pad to the en suite, picking up your phone from where it had been lazily discarded among your clothes on the floor. The device lights up as you lift it, two notifications revealing themselves once you get the item closer to your face.
Missed call from Penny
Penny: Call me when you have the chance.
Your nose wrinkles in confusion and you continue your walk to the bathroom. Penny had always been a notification you looked forward to seeing on your phone. She’s kind and was one of the first people in this life to actually care for you. She scooped you up where Pete had left you discarded and made sure you were always safe and comfortable with the men you were living with.
While she checked up on you occasionally, most of her texts came around the time your contracts were expiring and Beau still had several more months before that would ever become an issue. Fearing the worst, you click on her contact quickly—still standing naked in your bathroom as you bite at your nail anxiously.
“Hello?”
“Penny?” You check quietly. “You said you wanted me to call you?”
From the other end, Penny sighs and you feel your stomach plummet. “Honey…” She starts, sympathy heavy in her tone. “Did you ever have a conversation with Jake Seresin?”
You feel sick. She knows. She knows that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Jake Seresin, that you sleep in his jacket, and want him to want you more than anything. She probably thinks you're pathetic and naive. Just some little girl who likes pretty things. She’s probably here to remind you what your job is and to whom.
“Honey?” Penny tries again and you realize you haven’t responded yet.
“I have,” you confirm quickly. “I did the night Beau took me to his hotel opening.”
Penny’s quiet for a moment and you take the time to swipe your bathrobe from its hook and throw it over yourself. Something in you tells you that this isn’t the kind of conversation you want to have naked in a bathroom.
“Did you tell him about your arrangement with Beau Simpson?”
Her words dump over you like ice water and you almost drop your phone. “What?” You lock eyes with yourself in the mirror and they’re wide and startled, you feel like a little kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. Your chest starts rising and falling more quickly. Your throat feels like it’s constricting, like you can’t even bring oxygen into your lungs let alone keep it there.
“Honey,” Penny starts again slowly, a sense of knowing in her voice as she speaks to you calmly. “I need to know if you told Jake Seresin about your relationship with Beau—”
“It was an accident!” You confess finally, tears pricking at your waterline.
Penny sighs heavily. “I know that, I know. But apparently he came to Beau Simpson a few hours ago and revealed what he knew of the situation in a… less than private way.” Penny stops speaking for several beats. “Beau Simpson called me a bit ago and said that he no longer wishes to continue your arrangement. He— He requested that you be gone by the time he gets back tonight.”
“What?” You’re hyperventilating now, eyes darting around the bathroom. Everything's happening so fast. You just woke up. All you wanted to do was take a shower. Beau wanted you to leave? He didn’t want you anymore? That can’t be true, just a few hours ago he wanted you. He wouldn’t just discard you like that. “He can’t— I— We have a contract! He signed a contract, Penny!”
“You broke that contract, honey,” Penny tries to put delicately.
“But I didn’t mean to! Please, I didn’t mean to! I don’t want to go! Why is he making me go?” You feel hysterical, tears rolling down your cheeks as you sink to the floor of your bathroom. Except, it’s not yours anymore.
You just don’t understand. Mere hours ago he was having sex with you. And now he never wants to see you again? You know Beau Simpson doesn’t love you, you know that. But you thought he at least cared about you—he was nice to you in his own way and he bought you so many things. But suddenly you make a mistake and all that doesn’t matter?
No.
No, you may have made a mistake, but it was Jake Seresin who weaponized it. Because all he saw you as was a way to get back at his so-called rival. That’s the only reason he bothered talking to you in the first place—he saw you come in with Beau. And then you told him something that he could use against the older man and suddenly pretending to be interested in you and answering your silly questions was all worth it because he got what he wanted.
You can’t believe you ever thought Jake Seresin was different. That he actually cared about you and your feelings and was the kind of guy who could make you feel so special. No, he’s just like everyone else.
“Honey, I know. I’m so sorry.” Penny pulls you back to the current phone call and the tears dripping down your chin. “But…” She trails off.
There’s more?
You sniffle. “What?”
“Because of how… unexpected this is, I don’t have another client lined up for you.”
You feel more tears well in your eyes. So you were stuck. All you can do is wait around, unpaid, and just hope that a client comes to you fast enough. “So that’s it?” You wipe at your cheek. “Isn’t there anything I can do?”
“Well,” Penny suddenly sounds nervous and you find that incredibly odd since you’ve never known Penny Benjamin to be nervous. “I don’t have any clients lined up for you, but there is a client who’s interested…”
You know the name before it even leaves her lips.
“Jake Seresin has asked to make an arrangement with you.”
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Okay who has watched Dumb Money and what did you think? Side note sebs character is an absolute bag of dicks irl. I’ll admit, I did lose some money because of the shady shit robinhood pulled.
