#Le Grand Silence | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkdemeter · 5 months ago

Text

THE THREAT OF INTIMACY

⚤ Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Angst — insecure reader and depictions of negative thoughts and fear of sexual intimacy — profanity — SMUT 18+ mdni — virgin!reader/loss of virginity — unprotected sex — hurt/comfort — oral (female receiving) — le dasha of body worship —cream pie — mafia bucky being a huge softy for his wife — I think that's it ✎ 7.4k A beautiful bride marrying the man of your dreams. But when faced with what comes after the vows and first dance as Mr. and Mrs Barnes, you suggest that a particular arrangement be made.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

It’s not so much of a grand show once the curtain falls. There hangs a greed of mischief and ominous silence. He looks at you, blue eyes piercing the exposed skin of your back, the white gown hangs an elegant silhouette on you. Its embroidered sculpts become melded into the fabricated folds as you stop midst the gate of your saunter forwards, each step a reminder drawing nearer as you do to the bed.

Did you really have to do this?

It was an era of change after all. But his seniors were old school, and so you expected him to be as well in the matters of the marriage bed. It is expected of you — the both of you. Your hands fish through the elaborate style of your hair, musing it loose and gaining a comforted scalp as you turn away from the bed and walk over to the large windows that extend from top to bottom, overlooking the twinkling space of stars fallen to earth.

Being far away from it means you are torn from it. Once you step foot back in that place, you are no longer the girl you once were.

You are now Mrs. Barnes. A wolf among sheep. The queen of the Bratva. A cooperation of mobsters who have bought police eyes and silenced officials of the government. But was this status and power worth what is intended to follow?

You didn’t have a real choice in the matter. Well, maybe you did. You fell for him, you won’t deny it, and you fell hard for him. Other pickings were not as savoury, nor did they explode with the chemistry you shared with him. But this wasn’t the only factor.

It’d been clear that your hearts were set on one another. With the subtle whispers into the other’s ear, hugging and kissing, fingers entwined, or the more assuring hand on the low of your back. This intimacy had been a flavour sweet – loving – and you came to embrace these softer textures of your life at his side. His proposal was impossibly expected but even then, you couldn’t contain your surprise and eagerly said yes.

You never gave the thought of what came next exactly. The very intimate aftermath. Until his mother pulled you aside, a smile on her painted ruby lips as she guided you to walk with her through the hedged gardens. That conversation is one you will never forget. Her love is shocking, her devotion to her husband and family, you can hardly stand the thought of not loving her in return.

But that talk shocked you.

Half of it because of the gory details she regaled, but the other half because of your own mind. Your poisoned mind that festers with anxious insecurities.

Of course it’s expected. Your virginity doesn’t exactly wave you as an expert, no matter what talks of womanhood you are subjected to. But by the standard of Mr. Bucky Barnes, his former bachelor days had given him what you lack: experience.

What if I’m so bad that he’s repulsed by me?

He’ll only need to take one look at me and that’ll be enough.

What if I can’t make him cum?

What exactly am I supposed to do— I don’t think I’m ready.

You continue on in your panicked, internal reverie, hand raised to rest your lips against your knuckles, the shine of diamonds catching in the dark reflection, a momentary blindness befalls you that then causes your stomach to writhe with unease.

“Hey,” your husband whispers, breath warm over the shell of your ear and his lips tease the curve of your exposed neck with light kisses. Your body flinches at the suddenness of his appearance right behind you, his chest to your back; you feel tears deep into the corner of your eyes, hot and wet and annoying. The stronghold of air chokes you in the back of your throat.

“Mm, hi…”

Your forced smile is quick to fade, just barely passing back a glance at him before looking away. He catches this falter. His expression is shadowed by a troubled frown. He noticed the way you flinched before him. And that glistening of tears is hard to miss when it comes to you.

“Talk to me,” he presses gently, “you okay?”

His hands are strong and sure as he holds you, turns you to face him directly now, putting the window to your back. Your ring bound hand massages over your face with a breath hollowing out in a deep sigh.

“Yeah. I’m good, I think we should get some rest. It’s been a big day.”

Before you can step around him, his hand circles the entirety around your forearm, holding you in place.

“You don’t want to…” At the trailing end of his words with his blue eyes alluding to his meaning, the sting of tears prick your vision again and a flush paints your cheeks and neck red. He lets you walk away with the train of your dress flowing behind you like a silken shadow.

“I don’t think tonight.”

Or any other night…

Bucky’s throat bobs with a thick swallow, nodding as he watches you. Always a man who knows what to do, how to maintain composure — his power — he feels that confidence wane like the fading moon. Powerless.

The words brewing on your tongue are tart, poisonous and unpleasant. Not the sort you would ever want to say to your husband, no less on your wedding night.

You’d ventured over to the vanity by now, you say beneath a shaken exhale, “I’ll look to hire a mistress.”

“Excuse me?” He gasps sharply.

Your reply, voice short of anything joking or playful. You sit before the vanity and bend forward, unfastening the golden clasps on your heels before you set them aside. “I’ll have a mistress contracted for you. We’ll do everything else together but she will… provide the sexual affairs.”

“And you?” His question makes you pause midway of turning fully towards the mirror, only barely do you see him trail the outskirts of the room, just only in focus of your view. With a sigh, you pluck your earrings out, saying more so to your own reflection than him, “I’ve gone this long without sex, Bucky. I’m sure I can go on the rest of my life without it.”

“No, no, we’re not doing things like that. I married you — I want you.” Why is that just too hard to believe? You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes in the mirror, so you look away, anywhere that doesn’t meet his gaze. “Honey, where the fuck did this come from?”

You don’t answer. The man is practically brought to his knees before you like a servant ready to obey you like a goddess. Treatment he committed to you, though you don’t feel deserving of. He spins you slowly on your stool until you face him, knelt before you, he tries to find the stunning awe of your eyes only to find you hiding away from him. “Did somebody say something to you? Who was it?”

Quick to spare someone needless bloodshed, you stand abruptly, almost knocking him back and storm away from him by some feet, putting distance between you both, your voice carries over your shoulder, “Nobody said anything. I just think this arrangement will be better for us.”

You’re blinking back a curtain of tears that threaten to unleash. A wave rises high like a tsunami in your soul with these stupid, incessant thoughts.

You’re imperfect.

You’re ugly.

Let another woman – a beautiful woman – please him.

He’ll regret marrying you once he sees you.

Fingers ringing the course of massaging your temples, you are slowly being drowned by many, many thoughts like these. They're endless. They’re relentless and they are loveless. Not once do you give yourself the internal piece of mind that maybe, just maybe, there is hope in this relationship. That they are wrong. That he won’t judge or run from you. But who can say for sure?

It’s best to play it safe and keep what dignity you have left. Despite the spitefulness of seeing him become satisfied by another woman, it would be better than depriving him for the rest of his life. And you care more for his own happiness. It’s all you want for him.

He speaks up again, his voice going stern in his verbal study. “So, let me get this straight: I marry the love of my life, the very essence I love and breath for, only to… fuck another woman. After I swore a vow to you.”

“Bucky, you’re making it sound—”

“I’ll go without sex for the rest of my life than have some whore in our bed.”

You spin on your heel, mouth agape. Finally you look at him long enough as he works to slowly approach you and he sees just how badly you’re hurting on the inside. “Bucky—”

How quick he is to cut you off before you can even utter another heinous thing, now reaching you. “I wouldn’t stand at the altar for just anyone. I gave up that bachelor life to have you. I chose you. I want to have all of you.”

You mutter, mumble off-centred excuses that come out as broken noises on a record, and then you let out a shaken breath, chest feeling like it's being cleaved and ripped apart to the point your body trembles. You try your hardest to suppress your quiet sniffles as the flow of tears begin, fingers hastefully dapping away as to not smear your makeup; your only means of perfection that you’ve felt in a while.

When you saw yourself in the white dress every little girl dreams of for the first time in a bridal shop far too expensive for the average, then again in the dressing room with hair and makeup done to the nines, it all almost made you forget about the gut-wrenching aftermath once the reception concluded. That you were walking down that aisle with a purpose you would never come to regret.

Was it all a foolish fairytale to idolise this facade of beauty?

The hand bearing his ring uses a force so gentle you think it’s the end, that when you look up, he will be gone. That your wedding dress will fade into your everyday jeans and grandmother’s patchy sweater you treasure too much to throw away, her scent still lingering there to inhale on a bad day.

He drives your focus upwards until your eyes meet, your vision hindered behind a blur that wets your lashes as you blink. A vibrant colour of blue that once intimidated you now attends to assure you, to quiet your riled fears, but there is a reluctance to let your guard down this time.

His hands cradle your jaw in his hold with a promise to never let you go. To never let you know this fear again.

“I won’t judge. I won’t run in disgust or whatever you think I’m gonna do. I think my vows can be credited to that, yeah?”

Your bottom lip sinks inward slightly, teeth biting down hard on the plump of flesh, muttering a softly broken, “I-I guess.”

“You’re scared.”

It is shame that brings your eyes to falter, chin wobbling until it crinkles. “Yes…”

It’s like he could read you, knowing that your next move is to shove him off – push him away – he leans down and presses his lips to your own. Warm, a little roughened yet still retaining a softened plush of texture, he breathes some sort of cooling flame that soothes you if not for a short while. A rattled, sharpened gasp teeters on the edge of your voice and he parts from the kiss with a low and silky drawl. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, love. We can take our time with this.”

You’re hoisted into his arms, strength unyielding as he carries you over to the bed and sets you atop the mattress like porcelain. For him, he’s scared how easily it is to break you, no matter how hard you hide this fragility. You use the outside of your hand to wipe at your nose and exhale loudly, mind prattling on with your swirling thoughts.

Pathetic.

He’ll definitely need a mistress after that display.

And all you’re better off getting is a toy.

His family will ridicule you. He’s going to tell everyone that his little wife refused to have sex with him on his wedding night.

Poisonous thoughts. They aren’t going away. With a sniffle, you watch Bucky begin to strip himself down, leaving himself to his boxers. However much you admire the act in itself, it’s far too intimate than anything else. The idea of you doing that for him sickens you. You become repulsed by yourself.

Your mind is a hideous beast.

Like you.

Shut up!

You make this wedding dress look ugly.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky’s voice breaks through the hazardous cloud like a lighthouse awaiting for you ashore, guiding you to safety. He offers you a smile you try to match only to feel your lips twitch, muscles cringing as you keep the well of tears and cries inside. He invites you to join him and you move up the bed. You can’t bear to shed the second skin of your dress to reveal the lavish, risque lace and frilly lingerie you’d picked out at the encouragement of your bridesmaids.

You never really gave it much thought before until it was too late. This culture of intimacy you perceive as a threat.

Your husband doesn’t question you. Instead he lays beside you, arms stretched out to invite you into his embrace. An invite you half-heartedly indulge in, inching yourself awkwardly to his side but remaining to keep some inches from him.

Head laid on the tucked shelf of your arms, hair mused to fall over your features, you intend to wallow in silence until exhaustion overtakes you into sleep.

You’ve ruined his day.

“What are you thinking in that pretty head of yours?” The question is directed to you, you’re sure. But it also sounds like he’s asking himself for the answer to a riddle he cannot begin to understand.

“I’m sorry I ruined your day…”

The contortion of his features almost has your body locking up into a tightly wound position, the form of his dark brows bevelling in the middle, eyes widening until the blackened pupils shrink into tiny dots.

“What?” he sputters, “No– no, honey. This is our day.”

Our day?

There is a storm of emotion battling in his own eyes, however, he is just as quick to hide it from you. He trails again to caress the line of your jaw, his thumb strokes along your bottom lip. “Love, I will never force you into anything. Not your first time, not your hundredth. You hear me, yeah?”

Your eyes only look to stare at him with a stillness, before you absently nod. Then you turn, putting your back to him. You cannot bring yourself to look at him out of sheer guilt that no matter what, he cannot silence the honest and cruel torment of voices in your head. Not forever. They will find something to pick out and gnaw at to send you into this spiral.

If you could do so without the judgement of your husband, you would cry and howl into your pillow for hours until the perfect mirage of your makeup fell apart, you’d spare the dress from being a ridiculed taint by being on you any longer. You’d be on the phone to your sister pleading for her to keep you company and distract you from this pain, you’d cry into her chest as she held you with all the strength she possessed. You’d ask your parents to call you beautiful, even though it’s a lie.

But you keep it all in. And it breaks you so harshly on the inside that it cuts you like thousands of shards shredding you apart.

You’re not sure exactly how much time has passed between the void of silence. You can’t sleep. The tyrannical storm of emotion swarming inside you makes it impossible to even try lest you break and let it all out, letting it show.

“B-Bucky?” you squeak, clearing your throat and you hear him hum immediately in response, the weight of him rolling over until his body is a ghost along your back. “Can I… uhm, can I ask you something?”

Aside from the odd hiccup and sniffle here and there, you hold firm to sounding as you were before, the bubbly and playful girl Bucky couldn’t help but tease until you were a flustering mess, the girl who attempted to flirt back only to fumble over your words and proceed conversation with a shy smile. The girl he fell in love with. The one he gladly stood at the altar for. Before the voices.

“Of course, doll. Anything.”

Nervously your fingers flex and wind together, thumbing the fabric over your breasts, the enclosed circlet of cleavage pressed closely together. You wish you could giggle at the way you caught Bucky gawking numerous times in supposed awe of you throughout the day. He often is like that every time he sees you though, now that you come to think about it.

Supposedly.

Not likely real…

I’m going to regret asking this, aren’t I?

With a heavy swallow coated heavily in your hesitance, you take a breath in hope that proves to fail to settle your nerves. “You’ve been with plenty of girls before me… you know how to please them, what did…” you pause upon a whimper, “were they all the same?”

The amount of strain behind your vocal cords makes you cringe in disgust. You sound like—

“No, they were all different. Unique to each girl.” You can almost sense the way his head props up to look at you. His eyes staring a cool layer of heat into your back. “Just like you.”

“How can you say that?” Your voice betrays the toxins of a heart and mind poisoned together over far too long. Bucky hears the loathe of self in your words, dry and cynical, unbelieving in his words and your own image. “You’ve never even seen what I look like… you don’t know how I’ll be, I’ve never—”

Your hands press over your eyes in hope to suppress the tears glassing over your vision.

“Hey,” Bucky admonishes with a low drawl, tutting you, “hey. I’m not expecting the fucking grandios of perfect sex. I’m expecting you and only you. I want what makes you and your body unique.”

You turn your head to see him, chin wobbling slightly. How he’d crawl through hot coals and glass for you, seeing the beauty of what you see are flaws. He then grins and for a moment, it disturbs you how he could smile when you’re like this.

“I wasn’t the best for my first time. In fact, I’m telling you–”

“Bucky, no, you don’t have to,” you interject with a stifled cough. You shoot to sit up and your husband follows, chuckling.

“No, I will tell you I was shit at sex. Horrible. My first time—”

Your hands paw and pat at his mouth to silence him to no avail, your chorus of hiccups and sniffles turn into shy giggles.

“I–couldn’t–”

You giggle a little louder this time. “Shush, Bucky! No-ho!”

“Couldn’t even– find the cl—”

Your fingers are a heavenly pillar even as they hold his lips prisoner from speaking aloud. He smirks behind them and plants delicate kisses to them, enamoured by the faint smile on your face and the softness of your eyes. Seeing you cry and be tied to these human emotions makes a fire burn in his chest. Like for the longest time, he’s finally found someone who can make him feel whole. If only he could help you feel the same. In the make of those blue, puppy dog eyes, you crack and scoff out a snort. “New York’s infamous Mob Lord…”

He beams from ear to ear at the unfinished implication, taking the time to fall so hard in love with you all over again. He leans his forehead against yours with a rumbled, “Mhm.”

Mascara smudged under the barrage of wet lashes and tears, your lips part with a shaky breath. “Bucky?”

He hums again, so you press on, throat suddenly tight. “Do you think you could make me feel that way?”

His response is instant, deep voice trailing along the bridge of your neck, much like it had done earlier as his arms circle the lower curve of your arse and hoist you until you balance atop his thighs, keeping his weight on his haunches. “Moya zvezda, that and more.”

Your arms drape over the burly muscle of his shoulders, breath mingling with his in hot gusts laboured with anticipation, you hear him groan as you ever so slightly lower your hips against his and he pushes you that little higher on the pedestal he holds you on, it’s height greater than any earthly accomplishments men can dream of.

It’s why you’re his star.

I love this man.

With all my heart.

His front presses fully into you, he works to weave one hand beneath the shower of your gown and feeling along the sheer stocking attached to your garter; he groans again, more feral sounding in his sensational marvel of how perfect you are. How blessed he is to be the one to touch you like this. To hold and have you so intimately.

At his touch, your body erupts with a shudder, momentarily staggered by the electric push and pull and thriving buzz between your legs; though the stir of arousal isn’t foreign to you, it certainly is a stark contrast with his attentive action.

His lips smother the embers of your trembling gasps with a kiss, passion tasting as a fine wine on his tongue. The kiss is paced slowly to attend to your cautious nature, an utter surety that he won’t make any move against you. You take no part in stopping him as he pushes aside the obstructive barrier of your panties.

The way his fingers are gentle to stroke your core has you keening, teetering on a choked whine, his work deliberate in focusing on the pearl of your sensitive clit and the slickened beginnings of your folds. His hands that have sinned many times now amend themselves with the purity of worshipping every inch, exploring you with the intent to please. His thumb rolls in drawn circles, eliciting from you mewls and heated pants of air too heavy to stay in your lungs, cooing at your slow induction.

“Atta girl.”

I’m alright.

“You’re doing amazing.”

I’m safe.

His two fingers run along your entrance, causing your spine to arch slightly and he smirks, pulling from the kiss.

“You like that, doll? Yeah?” he asks smoothly, seeing you nod shakily with eyes half lidded.

Your hands entangle themselves to the bedded roots of his hair, tender as you can to pull with each spark that has your stomach tying knots and your muscles tensing, his thumb begins to roll a little harder and faster. At hearing the apparition of a moan escape you, he applauds you with his encouragement despite the way your hand covers over your mouth to silence these noises.

“Fuck, please again, zvezda. Please.”

“I want to hear you.”

“Please… fuck you sound so beautiful…”

In your stun over his pleas, your hand lowers away and you continue to let your moans lull him, hips moving at a slow crawl against his fingers that press to your core and with a single look you let him know you’re willing. He fights the tantalising grip of your fingers to reach your lips as he pushes two fingers past your folds. Your gasp is a sharp sound to his ears, one of alert that he seeks to comfort you through the kiss.

The trajectory to pull your hips away stabilises and you begin to find that rhythm with each grind and thrust onto his fingers, the waves of pleasure coming from your clit has your stomach tightening.

“B-Bucky…” you whisper and he swallows your words with a deep moan. Your walls clench around the intrusion of his fingers, moreso when he adds a third, curling them as if to beckon your body furthermore to his touch, to yield your fears and let him set alight that bloom inside your core and unto your bliss.

You pant harder, “B–ngh… Bucky… th-there.”

“Right there?” He asks with a sultry grin. Your voice comes out in a strangled response. “M—mhm.”

The voice of your whine is his commandment. He installs a level of dedication at gently fucking you with his fingers right where you needed him – wanted him. That swell inside you grows and grows, furthering into a maelstrom that leaves your body shivering, unexpected of where this sudden burst will implode.

“Good girl, you’re doing so well, doll,” he praises with a low timbre, groaning with a prided grin when you tug a little harder at his hair, your softer nature betraying to act out this darker side of yourself; this almost forbidden wanton.

I feel…

Your hips move to become greedy and much to Bucky’s approval, feeling the swollen bulge of his cock straining against his boxers has you weak and some instinct to move against it drives you, a louder moan slipping past your lips. Bucky’s mouth leaves a heated trail of passionate nips and teasing flutters of kisses against your neck, spoiling you.

You gasp and your hands fly to his shoulders to hold you at bay, the sudden shockwave a prelude to ride as your orgasm ascends upon you, he hears the feverish whimpers you make and he purrs, pumping his fingers, “That’s it, love, let go. C’mon, let me feel you cum for me. I’ve got you.”

The suppression of a scream hides in your chest, leaving only a choked sob to rack through you as you thrust and claim your first release, a hot flush of white behind your eyes blinds you, your muscles convulse in tensing and relaxing as you ride out your high.

Your arms that wound around his shoulders squeeze a little tighter in your recovery, your breath timed to slow down after a few minutes but your body remains to quiver against him. The form of his aroused cock clear and unhidden has your core weeping for more.

“There you go, that’s it,” he coaxes softly with a smile while he eases a kiss to the corner of your lips, “how’re you feeling?”

“G-good… really like… wow.” The words come out jumbled to you, as if you were still influenced by the strong wine at the reception, having made you reserve your consumption to a very limited amount.

Bucky hums and withdraws his fingers, leaving you to mewl at the loss. The sight before you has you in some chokehold, a crimson heat flushes into your cheeks and down your neck, rendering your blood into fiery rivers beneath your skin, a sudden jerk picking up in your heartbeat as Bucky cleans the slick of your release from his fingers, the crystalised shade of blue dimming with a certain darkness as the taste of you rolls over his taste buds.

He’s tasting me…

He moans with a thunderous growl. “Fuck… you taste amazing,” he grins, teeth gleaming with that cute, charming esteem.

I do?

The warmth in your cheeks glows ten fold, bringing a sight for Bucky to admire. That cute girl who’s face becomes rosy with embarrassment. It’s like he could read your mind and the way he says your name has you at a loss of breath, drawing your attention back to the shine of his eyes.

“You are exquisite…”

Following in action as the continuation of his proclamation, his hand finds the spine of your dress and upon reaching the apex between your shoulders. He seeks to pause and his eyes seek out your permission, brows slight to bevel. “May I, Mrs. Barnes?”

The crescents of your palms brush the exterior of his stubble, every inch of your hands covered by the sensational prickling that leaves you like putty. How he stares at you with this amass of love and fondness that feels overwhelming at times.

He’s just so… perfect.

The return of tears glasses over your eyes and you smile, brightly and toothy and nod, cupping his jaw in your hands before you press a softened kiss to his lips. You feel it in unison with him; it steals the breath from you both.

“You may, Mr. Barnes.”

With your approval, he draws the zip undone. Anticipation lines your nerves like a trail of gunpowder ready to be set ablaze. He’s testing the waters, ensuring that this is what you want and when you give no indication of refusal, he glides the dress from your shoulders, revelling in the delicate sculpt of your body; the warm, ambient light hitting the surface creates a heavenly glow upon your skin. With the overhanging light above, it frames a golden halo around you as his sights steer upwards.

Your gown drapes a sultry form over you, accentuating the mounds of your breasts pushed close together and the nakedness of your shoulders and neck. Bucky growls under a vice of hunger. But something lays in the glassy waver of his stare.

“Please be real?”

His voice barely rises above a near shattered whisper. A man who fears losing you just much as you fear losing him. His voice pleads with you. Your lips part, jaw coming to drop slightly as your eyes widen.

Please be real for me?

“I-I am, Bucky. I’m real…”

The man before you exhales loudly, gasping for breath to keep himself drowning. “Good. Because I want this to be real.”

He doesn’t waste another moment. His mouth clashes against yours, hunger succumbing as he ravishes you with the heated intensity of his kiss, tongue running a pleaful line along your bottom lip. You part them and he awakens the stir of arousal flooding through your veins, tongues dancing in an artistic battle for dominance he undeniably wins. You moan a muffled song and he drinks every lyric of it, intoxicated by it.

His hands are wild in their exploration, peeling your dress lower to reveal the laces and frills of your lingerie, not permitting you to shy away and hide from him this time, his hands feel every inch of it, mesmerised by the way it fits to you so beautifully that even the most talented of sculptures would struggle to capture your raw and enticing beauty to its complete and apex design.

Your hands scour to claim the roots of his hair again. This time, you hold no restraint and he loves it. He loves the radiance of confidence you find in every following second. You are claiming what is rightfully yours as his wife. As his one love that he will kill and die for without question. Though time and mortal breath dares to intrude and part you, you find ways around the schemes, momentarily gasping for air within the clash of your lips, too far entranced to pull away.

His hands glide up your sides until his thumbs are able to tease your stiffened nipples through the thin fabric, groaning at the noises you create from it, his touch sending those blissful tingles throughout your body. When time comes to see you both departed from your kiss, you each still remain to linger, tasting one another in the inch spared between you, chests heaving madly and brushing together. Dress pooled to a rolled belt over your waist, Bucky drinks in every detail of your body.

Why does he look at me like that?

His nose buries into you, nestling into the warmth and softness of your body as he utters phrases of praise to your skin, a trail of his devotion painted upon your skin with the invisible ink of his love and adoration for you.

“You feel what you do to me?” he asks, strong hands guiding your hips down to roll in unison with his, the swollen mound of his erect cock still suffering in confinement has you hiccuping in your stun.

Though your voice is light, you nod as you answer. “Yes.”

“That’s how fucking hot you are,” he says with a deep, velvety drawl, his words slightly muffled by the way his mouth caresses you. “You have me so hard right now, fuck, the things I wanna do to you, doll.”

His confession has you blushing.

He can’t possibly mean that…

He can’t help himself. He’s a man enslaved at your whim. Though you try to bring this madman to his senses with an embarrassed huff of his name, he only leans in to claim your lips with his, the melding of hunger brings you both into that feverish haze again. Tongues entangled with one another, Bucky’s hands paw and pluck the garments of your lingerie from your form, peeling away the details of floral patterns and lacy sheer to feel the heat of skin below, the way your muscles twitched under his touch.

You moan between the kiss and allow your hands to feel the soft tresses of his hair between your fingers, carefully weaving through the darkened locks and nails scratching at the roots against his scalp, a rumbling purr escaping him.

The rock of your hips move together, a desiring fire burning in your core to the point it borders on a painful ache between your legs. Your dress is discarded, left aside with your undressed garments to be reclaimed at a later time. He lays you on your back, your head nested atop the plush cushion of the pillows, bodies flush together without leaving so much as a morsel of space apart.

Entrapped by his lustful kiss, you thrust and grind your heated sex against him with shocking eager, a whine is tugged from your throat, unsure.

Bucky is quick to assure you of your arousal, that its intoxication is a vice wanted. He uses one arm to support his weight above, caging you, as his other takes hold of your thigh and gropes at it fervently while somewhere in the mixture haze his boxers are tossed aside. His swollen tip oozes with glistening, droplet streams, his size heavy and long that has a gasp escaping you.

W–will he fit?

Such worrisome thoughts are snuffed out like speckled embers as he deepens the kiss, tongues gliding together and moans and limbs entangle. His tip brushes over the sensitive spot of your clit and your hips take languid actions against his practised thrusts.

“It’s going to hurt at first,” he mutters across the skin of your jaw, “but it won’t for long. I’m right here, moya zvezda, I promise.”

A crystalline glint appears on the waterline of your eyes, a tender smile on your lips as your lips connect with a chaste kiss.

“I’m ready, Bucky…”

His blue eyes take the time to carefully read your expression. For a man so immersed in being so gentle and caring with you, you have come to know that with the very same hands he caresses you with – he has broken jaws, bloodied and bruised noses and strangled the very life of more than one person. He can tell when a man is lying just by looking into his eyes.

He sees you’re telling the truth. That you want this with him. You want him. Cock nudging at your folds, you push your legs a little wider to better accommodate his size after hearing him chuckle at the crimson blush creeping into your face, flustered at the thought of his entire cock sheathing inside you.

“Gonna fit all of me, my sexy little wife?” he’d teased with a wink.

His eyes retain their focus with yours as he pushes the head of his cock into your cunt, meeting the slight of resistance and surged forward, a sigh heavily laced on his breath that has his head bowing to press his forehead to yours, eyes scrunched tightly.

A hitched note on your throat is silenced, cut out with a high pitched whine as he sinks deeper and deeper, breaching past the wall of your hymen. Your nails mark their bite into his shoulders and down his back with angry red scars, tracing over the blackened inks already imprinted there.

Your walls constrict around the intrusion of him with a searing pierce that brings your tears to streak down your temples, chin slightly trembling, you feel Bucky’s lips hover over yours.

“O-ow,” you mewl, “It hurts…”

“I’ve got you, zvezda, I’m here.”

Your chest feels tight, suffocated, but his words comfort you. You cling to him tighter, thighs trembling at his sides and you feel his hand resume its place there, gentle to knead and rub soothing circles as he coaxes you through the blight of your pain.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he whispers to your lips, the crinkle of a smile forming on his features. Just as quickly as it had come, the pain subsides and you feel so full at the point where your bodies meet, you finally nod for him to continue.

He goes slowly.

He sets a rhythm paced to ease you into the forcing motion of his cock gliding through your hot, velvety walls that clamp and shudder with each movement he makes. Your gasps turn to softly sung moans as you begin to grind your hips to meet his and he smiles down at you. “There you go, love. That’s it, you’re taking me so well.”

“This body… so perfect, so beautiful… I love it, I love you.”

Another moan escapes you. He heaves a deep breath with every thrust, still focusing hard to keep this steadiness, until you moan for him,

“Bucky… please, I-I need…”

“What do you need, love? Tell me.”

“I– need more– please.”

He groans, the thought of ruthlessly fucking you with abandon crosses his mind in flashes, the way you’d look spread out while being pummeled by his cock that ruts into your pretty pussy until you’re stuffed full of his cum that it overspills as a creamy ring around his girthy base.

To fuck you the way of a mafia lord.

“You want that, sugar?” he asks, his voice sudden to drop lower into a silken, deepened purr with a darkened smirk. “You want to be fucked the way a mafia queen should be? H��hmph, you want it harder? Faster?”

You choke on the release of your words, sounding breathless, “Y-yes!”

Your walls clench tight around him, a series of moans spilling from your parted lips as he then picks up his pace, the incentive of your permission driving him to thrust harder, his hand fists and squeezes the flesh of your thigh within his grasp, holding you fast to him as he strikes deeply into your pussy. His muscles bend, curve and tense and your hands greedily explore every single portion of him, granting you this chance to be upheld by the prison of your thoughts that may hold you back later.

You howl, whine and cry – all for more, for him to keep going, to not stop. His body arches over yours, hands now ahold of you at the hips he uses the advantage of his strength and position to forcefully piston himself back and forth, back and forth until you’re writhing beneath him Your hands attach themselves to the veiny reins of his wrists, your hips arched up until your lower half is lifted for his leisure to fuck into that spot that has you seeing an galaxy of stars.

“Bucky– Bucky, oh Bucky!” you cry out.

“Fuck— yeah baby, fuck you sound beautiful, shit— baby, keep screaming my name, I want to hear you.” Each word is intensely laced with an exerted breath or guttural groan. “Fucking hell, zvezda, you look fucking amazing like that—”

“You’re taking my cock so well.”

“I’m never getting over the sight of this.”

His eyes burn with lust at the sight of your breasts bouncing without restraint, the shudder of your body with each clash of your thrusts, how your face contorts so beautifully with pleasure and the holstered grip of your legs hooking around his waist repeatedly only to falter each time after several pumps, only kept upright by his hold. A knot coils inside you, a tidal wave of pleasure coursing through your veins that sets your nerves aflame and your vocal cords to strain with every sound you make. The more and more he slams his cock into you, your neck is forced to arch back against the pillows with a pleasured shriek.

You call out to him, “Bucky, I— I’m gonna… ah!”

“Cum for me, doll, I wanna feel how tight your pretty pussy is around me.” Your back arches further as his tip continues to hit that spot and the sensational toying of his thumb rolls on your clit, eliciting a flourish of sparks to ignite until you’re suddenly overcome with a flush of white, that euphoric hit crashing over you while heat pours into every inch of your skin with your eyes rolling back.

You chant his name like a sacred prayer, the meaning of your vows imbued within your slurred, intoxicated mantra. He pants, hot and heavy in your ear,

“Shit, shit— fuuuck, baby— ‘mgonna cum, gonna cum for you. I want my seed in you, I want it in you so bad.”

His thrusts increase, the sound of skin slapping skin is erotically loud. You don’t want it to stop. You don’t want him to stop and so you beg him to keep going.

You continue to whine, low and cooing, walls stretching and clenching around him, milking him of his release that sweeps over him with a long, baritone and throaty moan. His head presses into the crook of your neck to suck at the skin of your collarbone, marking you with dark bruises of his love and possession as he paints your pussy with his seed. The air is faintly filled by the sound of oozing slick of your combined orgasms that leak and drip around his still thrusting cock.

The erratic pace in which his rhythm held eventually wanes, instead he moves to a slow-crawling grind to ease you off your combined highs. His chest rises and falls and you allow your eyes to admire his form above you, A balance of skin and ink layered in a thin coating of sweat, as is your own, the muscles of his body rippling with each motion he makes.

His hands release from your hips after he’s lowered you back down to the bed, allowing your body to succumb to the exhaustion undoubtedly taking hold of you. Your gaze meets his own, the colour of them haloed by the shine of tears and his heart yearns for you.

He fears he’s done something wrong and his hands quickly raise to caress your face, thumbs stroke over your cheeks.

“Moya zvezda, are you—”

“I’m…” you trail off, blinking rapidly to see him through the watery veil and you grin up at him and nod. He’s relieved to see that smile, coming to mirror it himself.

She’s okay. My girl’s okay.

You reach your hand up, the warmth of your palm contrasted by the cool adornment of your ring. Bucky leans his face into your touch. “You stayed… you didn’t—” Though your words fail you, Bucky sees what you mean to say in your eyes.

“Of course. You’re everything I ever wanted…” Your brows furrow, touched by the sincerity in his words. Before you is a man whose heart is held in your very hands. And his heart is one you wish to cherish, hold dear and never break. To think you almost bargained him off to another woman—

“Have me again tonight, zvezda. Have me any other night. I promise, I will be there every time, every moment.”

He doesn’t want a mistress. He wants me.

Those voices are gone, replaced by newer, kinder ones.

You’re perfect.

You’re beautiful.

I’m not scared anymore. Not with him.

You now realise that intimacy was never the threat. The voices in your head were.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Did you want some tissues?

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @mostlymarvelgirl @hollyseb @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @identity2212 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @boobsbeesbongos @mrsnikstan @floralwsloki @mcira @schneeflocky @greatenthusiasttidalwave

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky au #bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader smut

2K notes · View notes

praline1968 · 1 year ago

Text

Mon beau Charly,

Mon petit bouchon,

Ma beauté suprême,

Ma petite merveille,

Il y a 1 an aujourd’hui, tu prenais ton envol à 3h40 alors que tu étais dans mes bras.

Tu étais agité, j’ai essayé de t’apaiser mais je n’y suis pas arrivée à mon plus grand désespoir.

Malgré des signes d’affaiblissement que j’avais mis sur le compte d’un début de vieillesse,

Je n’ai pas vu, senti, compris, qu’une tumeur grandissait dans ton ventre depuis des mois.

Le poids des regrets et de la culpabilité me ronge un peu plus chaque jour.

Ton départ est le plus grand malheur de ma vie terrestre, nous étions si fusionnels.

Tu étais ma boussole, tu étais ma lumière, aujourd’hui, sans toi, je suis perdue dans le noir.

J’ai perdu le goût de vivre, plus rien n’a d’intérêt ni de sens dorénavant.

J’attends juste la fin au plus vite en espérant que je pourrai enfin te retrouver.

🎤 Michel Pépé ~ Le coeur des anges 🎧

youtube

(Petit poème que j’ai écrit pour toi le 24 décembre 2022)

🩵 Mon Charly 🩵

Il y a 9 ans, tu apparaissais et venais combler ma vie,

Tél un don venu du ciel, tu rallumais mes jours et mes nuits,

Pour moi, revenait alors le goût de vivre, l’énergie,

Un vrai bonheur, un éclair de temps et de vie qui déjà s’enfuit,

Et me laisse dans un silence, une solitude et une détresse infinie.

Mon petit bichon,

Mon adorable Charly,

Aides moi à vivre sans toi 🙏🏻

Petit chien de caractère, petit être d’exception,

Tes grands yeux noirs respiraient l’intelligence,

Coquin, joueur, espiègle, bavard et râleur,

Tu t’exprimais toujours avec ferveur,

Florilège d’intonations sonores,

Tu t’affirmais avec assurance, énergie et passion,

T’avoir dans mon existence fut une extraordinaire chance.

Mon petit bichon,

Mon adorable Charly,

Aides moi à vivre sans toi 🙏🏻

Tes mimiques, ta joie de vivre, tes discours, ta drôlerie,

Emplissait la maison de joie, de rires et de fantaisie,

Ta démarche aérienne si gracieuse, telle une élégante danseuse,

Ton majestueux panachon exprimait ton humeur toujours joyeuse,

Ta présence nous inondait d’amour et rayonnait d’une manière inouïe.

Mon petit bichon,

Mon adorable Charly,

Aides moi à vivre sans toi 🙏🏻

Ce si triste et douloureux dernier soir,

Malgré ton hospitalisation, je t’ai ramené dans ta maison, près des tiens,

Je ne voulais pas que tu restes à la clinique sans personne ni rien,

Seul dans cette cage, dans la peur, l’angoisse, le froid et le noir,

Je ne sais pas si ma décision fût la bonne,

J’espère juste que ce choix aurait aussi été le tien.

Mon petit bichon,

Mon adorable Charly,

Aides moi à vivre sans toi 🙏🏻

La nuit de ce 22 décembre qui a vu s’éteindre ta lumière,

Quand ton souffle s’est subitement arrêté,

Et que ton petit corps dans mes bras a soudain cessé de s’agiter,

J’ai senti ton esprit s’envoler, tu étais enfin libéré.

J’ai alors ressenti cet indescriptible vide abyssal où s’arrête l’univers,

Incommensurable et insupportable déchirure qu’à jamais j’aurai du mal à porter.

Mon petit bichon,

Mon adorable Charly,

Aides moi à vivre sans toi 🙏🏻

A présent, il me reste les médicaments pour ne pas sombrer,

Pour parvenir à trouver le sommeil et ne plus penser,

Malheureusement, chaque jour, il faut bien se réveiller,

Retrouver et affronter cette terrible réalité,

Cette douleur immense, il faudra beaucoup de temps pour l’effacer 💔

Mon petit bichon,

Mon adorable Charly,

Aides moi à vivre sans toi 🙏🏻

A jamais, pour toujours, je t’aime mon Charly 💕 💞

J’espère te retrouver bientôt pour l’éternité dans l’amour infini 🙏🏻

401 notes · View notes

microcosme11 · 4 months ago

Text

Napoleon acts like a brat on St. Helena; his valet ignores stupid accusations

Un certain jour, l'Empereur, pour être couché plus au large, eut l'idée de se faire un grand lit de ses deux petits lits de campagne en les faisant accoupler ensemble. Sa volonté fut aussitôt exécutée. Mais les couvertures, assez grandes pour les petits lits séparés, ne le furent plus assez pour garnir la longueur et la largeur des deux lits réunis. Un soir, étant un peu de mauvaise humeur, et ne sachant à qui ou à quoi s'en prendre, il trouva que ses épaules n'étaient pas assez garnies ; il prétendit que nous avions coupé les couvertures. C'était une idée comme une autre, mais à laquelle il n'y avait rien à répliquer; une justification était inutile. Ce que l'on avait de mieux à faire, quand il était mal monté, c'était de garder le silence, eût-on raison ou tort ; et le parti que nous prenions, c'était de redoubler de zèle pour son service et de ne rien négliger de ce qui pouvait lui être utile ou agréable. Si parfois il lui arrivait de chagriner ceux qui étaient constamment autour de lui, il savait toujours revenir à eux et leur prodiguer ses caresses. Les deux lits restèrent accouplés pendant une quinzaine environ, et ensuite ils furent séparés et remis à leurs places primitives.

---

One day, the Emperor, in order to lie more spaciously, had the idea of making a large bed from his two small campaign beds by having them brought together. His wish was immediately carried out. But the blankets, large enough for the separate small beds, were no longer large enough to cover the length and width of the two beds joined together. One evening, being a little bad-tempered, and not knowing who or what to blame, he found that his shoulders were not sufficiently covered; he claimed that we had cut the blankets. It was an idea like any other, to which there was no reply; an excuse was useless. The best thing to do, when he was bad tempered, was to keep silent, whether one was right or wrong; and the course we took was to redouble our zeal for his service and to neglect nothing that could be useful or agreeable to him. If sometimes he happened to upset those who were constantly around him, he always knew how to return to them and lavish them with his caresses. The two beds remained coupled for about fifteen days, and then they were separated and put back in their original places.

Souvenirs du mameluck Ali (google books)

#St. Helena #Etienne St. Denis aka Mameluke Ali #Napoleon's nutty ideas #Napoleon's famous seduction techniques to people he pissed off

101 notes · View notes

pickingupmymercedes · 8 months ago

Text

Let's get out of here - Lewis Hamilton

Part 2 to Get me out of here

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: Angst, Lewis to Ferrari, Toto being an ass.

wordcount: +2k

a/n: Another gp weekend, another angsty. Again, thanks for the anon that sent the request in the first place.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Weeks morphed into a tense purgatory. Contact with Toto was reduced to terse, impersonal emails about meetings and business matters, each one a fresh stab of betrayal. Inside, you were a battlefield. The dream job you'd meticulously carved out felt poisoned. Disappearing into thin air held a morbid allure, but the media frenzy that followed every fleeting glimpse of you in London mocked that escape route. The rumor mill churned like a deranged engine, fueled by your forced seclusion.

Lewis, ever the optimist, became a whirlwind of distractions. Romantic getaways felt like empty gestures, movie nights a pale imitation of your usual comfortable silences. He understood, his unwavering gaze holding a silent question you couldn't answer. He knew you bore the weight of the accusation, a shield for someone who didn't deserve it.

The first Grand Prix in Qatar became a crucible. Fans, poisoned by internet speculation, mobbed you outside the circuit, their questions laced with accusation. You forced a pained smile, the words of denial a lump in your throat.

The harassment continued inside the hallowed grounds of the garage. A senior Mercedes director, his face a mask of grim disapproval, cornered you. "Why?" he asked, his voice devoid of warmth. "Why betray the team like that?"

"It wasn't me," you blurted, the denial instinctive. But the truth, a tangled web, wouldn't unravel without ensnaring Toto. Seeing your hesitation, the director scoffed, leaving you mid-sentence with a dismissive shake of his head.

Fury welled within you, choked back by the ever-present weight of your secret. Lewis, having witnessed the exchange, rushed to your side, his face a mask of thunder. He didn't waste time confronting the dismissive director. Instead, he grabbed your arm gently but firmly, his grip conveying a silent message of support.

"Come on," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Let's get out of here."

Without another word, he led you away from the accusatory stares and hushed whispers that seemed to cling to you like a second skin. You found yourselves in the familiar haven of his driver's room, the door shutting out the noise and tension of the garage.

Lewis turned to you, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and concern. He reached out, cupping your face in his warm hands. "Y/n" he began, his voice thick with emotion, "we can't keep doing this. You can't keep taking the blame for something that isn't your fault."

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You leaned into his touch, finding solace in his unwavering belief.

"I know," you choked out, your voice strained. "But what else can I do? If I expose Toto, it will tear the team apart."

Lewis sighed, his frustration evident. "He shouldn't have put you in this position in the first place. This whole thing is unfair to you. You deserve better."

He looked at you intensely, his eyes searching yours. "There has to be another way" he said, his voice firm. "We just need to find it."

You clung to that sliver of hope. Lewis was right. There had to be a way out of this labyrinth of lies and betrayal. But what was it? You felt lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Noticing your despair, Lewis softened his tone. "Let's not make any rash decisions right now" his voice gentle. "We'll figure this out, together. You're not going through this alone."

A single tear escaped your eye and traced a warm path down your cheek. You nodded, a silent thank you for his unwavering support. Lewis was right. You weren't alone. And somewhere, buried beneath the fear and anger, a flicker of determination ignited. You wouldn't let this break you.

The following days were a whirlwind of forced smiles and practiced indifference. The media camped outside your hotel, their cameras flashing like hungry eyes in the night. Evenings were spent with Lewis, his presence a comfort, but the unspoken question in his eyes gnawed at your conscience.

Two weeks later, the Australian Grand Prix loomed. The oppressive Melbourne heat felt almost suffocating compared to the media storm that had followed you all the way from Qatar. Every interaction felt laced with suspicion, every headline a fresh jab of accusation.

You knew you couldn't keep going like this. The anger towards Toto simmered beneath the surface, a constant reminder of his betrayal. But the thought of exposing him, of fracturing the team that felt like a second family, was equally agonizing.

Lewis, ever the pillar of support, sensed your internal turmoil. "You can't stay silent forever." he kept saying to you, his brow always furrowed in concern.

His words rang true. You couldn't. But confronting Toto directly felt like a declaration of war.

“I know, but simply denying won’t do it” you’d tell him over and over.

A desperate idea flickered to life on the media sessions of Thursday. Susie. Maybe, just maybe, she could be the bridge you needed.

Ignoring the knot of apprehension in your stomach, unknowingly to Lewis, you made your way to her hotel room. Surprised but welcoming, she ushered you in. With a shaky breath, you poured out your heart, the accusations and the weight of the lie that threatened to crush you.

"I can't do this anymore, Susie," you finished, your voice tight with emotion. "I can't keep taking the blame for something I didn't do. Something has to change."

Susie listened intently, her face a mask of understanding. She'd seen the relentless media reports, the accusatory whispers that swirled around you. You weren't the first woman in Formula One to be unfairly targeted, and Susie knew that sting all too well.

"I can only imagine how hard this has been for you" she said softly, placing a comforting hand on yours. "Being a woman in this sport, you learn to navigate a constant storm of doubt. But this…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

A sliver of hope flickered in your chest. Maybe she could reason with Toto, maybe she could make him understand the damage he'd caused.

"Can you talk to him?" you pleaded. "Make him see what he's doing? I can't stay if this continues."

Susie's gaze softened, filled with empathy but also a flicker of helplessness. "I wish it were that simple, love" she said. "You know Toto. He's stubborn, fiercely loyal to Mercedes. Interfering in something like this… it wouldn't be helpful."

Disappointment washed over you, heavy and cold. You had clung to a fragile hope, only to have it dashed.

Susie squeezed your hand. "This isn't over" she said firmly. "We'll figure something out. But you can't leave Mercedes out of impulse. You've built a career here, a reputation. Leaving now, under these circumstances, might just play into the narrative everyone's already creating."

Her words were a bitter pill to swallow, but they held a truth you couldn't deny. You couldn't let the rumors win, not completely. But staying meant navigating a minefield, waiting for the right opportunity to clear your name.

You tried clinging to a semblance of normalcy within the familiar routine of practice sessions and driver briefings the following days. Lewis tried to keep the outside world at bay, but the tension crackled in the air between you.

On Sunday morning, just as dawn was painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange, Lewis woke you with a frantic shake. "Babe, there's something in the news" he said, his voice hoarse from sleep.

He fumbled with his phone; his brow furrowed as he scanned the article. You sat up, dread settling in your stomach like a lead weight.

"A source close to Mercedes " Lewis started, his voice catching, "came forward to a British newspaper." He took a deep breath before continuing, "The leak… it was Toto."

The anger flared, hot and sharp. "Do you want to call him?" Lewis offered, his hand hovering over his phone, but you stopped him.

A strangled gasp escaped your lips. Relief, anger, and disbelief warred within you. The truth, finally, but at what cost?

"They say he didn't intend for you to take the blame," Lewis continued, his voice low and grim. "But he didn't exactly try to correct it either."

"No" your voice surprisingly steady. "Not now. Let him stew in his mess for a while."

The race that day was a chaotic spectacle. Both Mercedes cars, Lewis' included, DNFed. The silence that descended on the pit wall was deafening, broken only by the crackle of engineers scrambling for answers. You watched it all unfold with a detached numbness. The disappointment and the bewilderment of the entire team, felt like distant echoes compared to the storm raging within you.

News of Toto's betrayal had sent shockwaves through the paddock. Reporters swarmed the Mercedes hospitality area, a feeding frenzy of speculation and accusations. The team, caught completely off guard, retreated behind a wall of stoic silence.

As the post-race celebrations erupted for the other teams, you found yourself isolated. The jubilant atmosphere felt mocking, a stark contrast to the turmoil within you. The media, starved of official statements, descended on you like a swarm of angry hornets.

"Did you already know it had been Toto?” one reporter shouted, shoving a microphone in your face.

"Do you believe he should face repercussions?" another chimed in, his voice laced with a hostile edge.

You held their gaze, your voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in your hands. "I have no comment on Mr. Wolff's actions," you said, your words ringing with a newfound resolve. "But, I'm here to stay. My future in Formula One is mine to write."

The words hung heavy in the air, a challenge and a declaration. You wouldn't be a victim. You wouldn't let Toto, or anyone else, control your narrative. A strange mix of emotions churned within you – relief, anger, and a simmering resentment that threatened to boil over. You knew you couldn't let it fester. You needed closure, not just for yourself, but for your future.

With a steely resolve, you knocked at Toto's open door, the familiar space now tainted by a sense of betrayal. He looked up, surprise flickering across his face before morphing into a mask of guarded indifference, although his jaw remained clenched. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

"Why, Toto?" You finally asked, your voice laced with a quiet fury. "Why did you throw me under the bus?"

He sighed, a flicker of regret crossing his eyes for a fleeting moment. "It was never meant to be you," he mumbled, more to himself than to you.

"But it was," you shot back, your voice rising slightly. "The media frenzy, the accusations, the looks in the paddock… it was all me, taking the blame for your mistake."

Shame flickered across Toto's face, quickly replaced by a defensiveness that grated on your nerves. "It was a calculated risk," he said, his voice regaining its usual authority. "A risk that ultimately backfired."

"A risk that nearly destroyed my career," you corrected him, your voice firm. "Do you have any idea what these past weeks have been like?"

"I deserve the truth, Toto," you continued "Why did you do it?"

He hesitated, then spoke, his voice low, his eyes unable to meet your gaze. "There were… external pressures. Sponsors, the board… they were unhappy with the results, and then losing Lewis. We needed a scapegoat."

"So, you chose me" you stated.

He remained silent, his shame a palpable presence in the room. You didn't need his answer. It was clear. You had been expendable, a pawn sacrificed in the high-stakes game of F1.

Taking a deep breath, you forced down the pain. There was no point in a screaming match. You needed a clean break, a chance to rebuild your career on your own terms, your time at Mercedes was over. The betrayal had severed the trust, leaving behind a cliff that no apology could bridge.

"Consider this my resignation." you said, your voice ringing with finality. "I won't be a pawn in your games."

His eyes widened in surprise, but there was something else there too – a grudging respect, perhaps, for your strength.

"You're making a mistake," he said, his voice softer now.

You shook your head. "No. I'm finally making the right decision."

You turned to leave, the weight of the past weeks lifting from your shoulders with each step. There would be challenges ahead, the uncertainty of finding a new team, the whispers that would likely follow you. But you were free. Free from the stifling loyalty to someone that didn't value you.

Later that evening, back at the hotel, you finally found Lewis in a tense silence. The weight of the day, the double-edged sword of vindication and betrayal, pressed down on you both. You offered him a tired smile. "There's a lot to unpack," you said, your voice raspy.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his warmth a comforting presence. You leaned into him, the familiar scent of his cologne grounding you. In that moment, surrounded by the chaos, Lewis' unwavering support was the only thing that felt certain.

Realization dawned on Lewis' face. "You think Susie had something to do with it."

Taking a deep breath, you started "A couple of days ago, I talked to Susie."

Lewis listened intently, surprised by what you had just said "I thought maybe, just maybe, she could talk to Toto, reason with him."

You shrugged, a hint of a sly smile playing on your lips. "Maybe. I don't know for sure. But one thing's clear," you met Lewis' gaze, your eyes filled with newfound resolve, "Being at Mercedes today felt tainted.” You breathed out “I resigned. It’s time for me to find my own home."

Lewis' face softened, a proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He squeezed your hand. "Wherever you go," he said, his voice filled with unwavering support, "I'll be with you."

You looked at him, his gaze a promise and a comfort. You smiled, a genuine one this time. You would rebuild your reputation, stronger and more resilient than before. The leak might have been Toto's fault, but your comeback, that would be a story entirely of your own making.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1

340 notes · View notes

flightfoot · 2 months ago

Text

Miraculous Halloween Fic Recs

It's Halloween, so I figured that people might be in the mood for some spooky, supernatural, or just plain Halloween-related fics! All of these are complete.

Herbs And Steam by @liiinerle

Juleka le Flor Blef, nature witch from near the forest of Couffaine, arrives at Eiffel Castle so she can partake in the Queen's Trials - a contest to determine the strongest witch in all of France. She wants to prove the strength of her magic, but when she arrives, her attention is quickly distracted by two very interesting women: Kagami, the princess, who seems to act nothing like a princess should; and Marinette, the blacksmith, who has created a magic all her own through metal, steam, and ingenuity. Juleka is immediately besotted with both of them, and needs to work extra hard to focus on her magic. Juleka also soon becomes aware that there is stronger magic at Eiffel castle than she had expected. For one thing, there's a tree in the courtyard put there years ago by a witch whose powers seem to surpass hers; for another, there's Alya la Pluvie Versaunt, who must be the most powerful mage Juleka has ever met...

Unusual poly here, there aren't a lot of Juleka/Kagami/Marinette fics! I love the world here, getting to see all these different witches honing their craft, and Juleka making friends with many of them - though especially the nonwitches Kagami and Marinette, of course XD. If you like some femslash or a good fantasy AU, this fic should scratch that itch!

---

Soul Seeker by hislittlelady

After a shooting on her 6th birthday, Marinette Dupain-Cheng died. She was brought to the afterlife by her grandmother. She was content. Until the paramedics did their jobs and suddenly she wasn’t dead anymore. Waking up to find that half of her soul had remained tethered to the afterlife, allowing her the ability to see things others can’t, Marinette grows up an outcast. It isn’t until she moves in with her only friend, a detective she’s known since preschool, that she finds her purpose, solving his harder cases with the help of her spiritual connections. Three years later, she’s thriving. Her own business, two best friends, a K-9 drop out as a companion- life couldn’t get better. Until she meets Chat. A ghost with amnesia and a mask to match, Chat isn’t sure what he needs to move on to the afterlife (and, considering he’s stuck around for another three years, he doesn’t seem in all that much of a hurry to figure it out either!) When Amelie Agreste, a socialite from out of town, comes to Marinette for help locating her missing nephew, Marinette knows her career and her life will be on the line. But even a murderer intent on silencing her forever can’t keep Marinette from seeking the truth.

This is a really fun detective story. You can probably guess one or two of the major twists (not counting the twist of "Adrien is Chat Noir" which I certainly HOPE isn't a spoiler to anyone reading this), but that doesn't make it any less satisfying, especially with how Marinette's and Chat's relationship is developed. Or well, what interactions we see from them, since they've known each other for years by the time the story starts. I adore the "my friend is a ghost" trope, and the identity shenanigans and mystery around what actually happened to Adrien kept me wondering.

It's an M-rated fic, which I'm guessing is mostly due to an attempted sexual assault at one point in the story, though it doesn't get very far before it's stopped. I also want to warn Luka fans that he's not shown in the best light in this fic, though it's not too extreme.

---

Through Yellow Eyes by @echo-has-queries

"Nooroo bleeds and Paris drowns in his blood." The day of the Blight, Paris bore witness to a horror too grand to comprehend. Only Chloé Bourgeois bore witness to a miracle. Marinette, Alya and the rest of Paris will need more than faith in Gimmi to survive. As the city's sanity hangs by a thread, bodies, minds, and souls are traded with the unknown in order to hold on to the things they each treasure most. Written for the AU Roulette Challenge 2024 with the prompt: Cosmic Horror AU

If you like Cosmic Horror (Lovecraftian I think? Though this isn't really my wheelhouse), then this is the story for you! I love seeing how Paris copes with the madness seeping through its streets, somehow going about daily life despite it all.

Kwamis here are more inhuman, more separated from humanity. There's no cute little miniature form to help bridge the gap. While humans can still meld with kwami, it's not all quite as firmly in the human's control as it normally is, and the side effects are worse. It doesn't help that the kwamis can't fully understand squishy little humans' wants, needs, or morality.

Like, as Ladybug, Marinette can't remember her human name, and her human concerns are somewhat muted. While as Marinette, she can't remember certain aspects of her time as Ladybug, and only regains those memories when she transforms again. She also has to be careful about restoring everything, as she can't just give Tikki a cookie and call it a day. Instead, she herself needs to eat enough to compensate for the lost energy, which can be a substantial portion of the goods in her parents' bakery.

As for Adrien... well, this is still going off of Sentimonster Adrien, though the ritual to create him went differently... and went wrong. But he is still Adrien.

Chloe's interesting as well, she's this sort of priest, this missionary for the kwamis, but her methods are... well, not the best. She still has a bunch of her canonical hangups, even though she IS somewhat helpful.

I love Alya in here, she's just desperately trying to figure out what's going on so that she can try to fix it, especially since Nino's one of the people who's been driven mad by the Blight. She does find some answers, and even ends up being partially responsible for Ladybug's creation and Chat's and Ladybug's subsequent fight against the worst effects of the Blight, but the risks, danger, and side effects she suffers are still significant. Though some of those side effects can be used to her advantage.

Anyway, I really enjoyed this AU and thought it was an interesting take on the subject, I highly recommend checking it out!

---

Centuries Overdue by @rosie-b

Long ago, an evil Darkness spread across Europe, claiming the lives of many in the magic community. Trained by Plagg himself, Adrien made it his mission to stop the Darkness before it snuffed out the lives of more Mages and Talents, as it did to his own parents. Though he seemed to succeed in his mission, the pages of his old journals tell a different tale. In the modern world, Marinette is a fashion student, working at a small library for the summer to earn extra credit. She’s never believed in magic before, but when she finds the old Agreste journals in her library, her beliefs about reality begin to crumble. Determined to find the truth, both about magic and the unsolved death of one Adrien Agreste, Marinette begins on a journey that will eventually lead her deep into the city’s catacombs, where an ancient force sleeps, but is ready to awaken once more…

If you want a nice Magic AU, this is your jam! I slowly became more invested with Adrien's fate as Marinette did, and I loved seeing bits of this magic society. And of course, Adrien and Marinette always find their way to each other, even if Marinette happens to be a few centuries overdue.

---

the monster who loves you by @purplecatghostposts

Mum nods, clapping her hands together. “Your brother is finally feeling better and is coming home today! Isn’t that so exciting?” Félix pauses mid-bite, processing her words. Mum waits expectantly, as if expecting him to jump for joy, or his equivalent of it. But… Félix doesn’t have a brother. (Or Félix’s brother is a monster, but only in the most literal sense. Félix’s father is a monster despite being very, very human. He learns to navigate the world through these two truths.)

I loved how this story emphasized the differences between different kinds of monsters - the type who inhabit horror stories, who look terrifying, and the mundane, human sorts of monsters who are often the most dangerous. And how monsters can choose to act humanely, while humans can choose to act monstrously.

---

See This Chance by @19thsentry-blog

Luka died in 2016. Yep. Crushed by the Arc de Triumph when Mayura’s Robustus slammed into it. It was kind of a big deal, but once you’re dead, you’re dead—especially when there’s no Lucky Charm to bring you back. Luka’s been dealing with it in the typical ways. Written for FeLuka week 2023.

Yes, this is FeLuka. Not one of the typical ships I read, but I ain’t opposed to it, and this is a nice foray into the pairing. I love ghost AUs! Luka’s just fumbling around, unsure what to do with his incorporeal existence, until he starts haunting Felix. It’s an intriguing plot and I gotta admit, I wish it was longer so it could be fleshed out more, but what’s here is good.

---

Attack of the Crystal Zombies by @trainsinanime

Kagami had spent more and more time hanging out with Zoé, talking about things like families, expectations and crushes on Marinette. It was only natural, probably, that she would help Zoé practice flirting. That was definitely a great idea. Granted, the deadly Akuma battle around them was a bit of an issue…

Quality Zoegami fic here! I loved how Kagami kept thinking she was bad at flirting, but it was sure working on Zoe XD. The akuma attack going on around them, interweaving with their conversation, added a bit of spice to the whole affair!

---

Anchor by @liiinerle

“Marinette. Please take that sabre out of your neck.” “Right. Thanks. I forgot it was there.” She grabbed hold of the guard and pulled; the blade slid out like it had only been run through butter. After dropping it on the floor, she picked up one of the teacups and picked up a biscuit from a tin she’d brought in; she placed the biscuit on the saucer plate and handed the whole thing to Kagami, who could only really resign herself to accepting it. —– Marinette has raised Kagami from the dead, and also happens to be dead herself. It turns out some bad choices were made in the past. But that doesn’t mean they’ll lead to bad outcomes for them now.

I love this, Marinette’s incredibly blase about being a zombie - which makes sense, given how long she’s had to get used to the idea. And she’s waited so long, tried so hard to bring Kagami back as well, though if she didn’t WANT to be back, she’d accede to that request. Luckily, Kagami doesn’t seem to mind as long as she’s with Marinette XD.

---

delicate in every way but one by katrinette

When Marinette finds a wanted ad that provokes just enough questions in her mind that she can’t help answering it, the reward is sweeter than she could have imagined.

I love the little bit of worldbuilding we get here about vampire society, and Adrien’s usual awkward adorableness in asking Marinette for a certain necessary favor. It’s always neat to see such familiar characterization in a supernatural setting like this.

---

How Marinette Learned to Stop Worrying And Love The Ball by @rosie-b

Hidden from the crowds thronging around the busy fairy portal in Paris’s town square, a fae gate sits at the edge of the forest, locked, rusty, and full of ancient magic. Marinette thinks that this abandoned gate must not work anymore… but one day, a fairy disguised as a black cat steps through it.

Ah, Fantasy Soulmate AUs, my beloved XD. This ain’t the only one of this fic type I’m gonna be recommending. This is just a cute fluff fic without much strife. I love Marinette and Chat Noir being able to be childhood friends via his visits, even if he has to pretend to be her cat whenever he comes over, and I ESPECIALLY adore Alya being his chaperone and quickly becoming friends with Marinette in her own right. It ain’t a complicated plot, but it is a nice and warm fic.

---

a winter so warm by @rosekasa

winters were hard for even the best of vampires, but at least adrien had marinette to keep him warm with her cuddles. december was going to suck without her. so it was only to be expected to get extra cuddles in before she left, right? (well, not really, considering those heating supplements he was taking, but she didn’t need to know about that).

This one’s mostly just cute cuddly adorableness! It’s basically like all those “Marinette gets the Ladybug trait of needing to cuddle up to someone for warmth”, but with Adrien instead. And of course featuring Marinette being a very talented witch who just wants to help Adrien stay warm when she isn’t there XD.

---

Stitched Together by @nedjsmlfavs

Stitch Witch Marinette was just supposed to be having a nice, terrifying outing with her best friends. She never expected to find a magically trapped kitten, but here we are! Whatever happened to this poor little guy?

Poor Adrien, being transformed and chained up for ages, having no idea that he was gonna be rescued. But at least he got to have fun at Marinette’s place as a cat!

Most of this fic is adorable, though with some dark undertones lying in wait. After all, SOMEONE chained up that poor little kitty…

---

I Put A Spell On You by dazaimaru

Friday, October 25. 6 days until Halloween.

It’s their first high school Halloween dance, and Marinette and Adrien are ready to throw on some non-superhero costumes for once--that is, until an akumatized witch spoils the party and threatens to reveal what lies underneath everyone’s disguise.

With Hawkmoth taking full advantage of the spooky season, the days leading up to Halloween are certainly going to be thrilling! Especially considering Marinette’s growing feelings for a certain black cat…

This one’s mostly just some really cute Lovesquare shenanigans around Halloween, with some really fun sequences like Marinette and Adrien getting body-swapped and Marinette temporarily becoming a vampire (and also Marinette repeatedly stunning Adrien with her outfits. I was just waiting for him to pass out from blood loss from a nosebleed).

---

don't you worry child by @mexicancat-girl

Marc and Nathaniel have a good life, married and living together in a cottage in the woods. But they consider having children at some point. Marc in particular really wants to start a family with his husband. He knows the fey are real, so he goes searching in the woods to find one to strike a deal. He may get a bit more than he bargained for in the process.

This is based on a tumblr post that’s been going around, which I think a lot of people will recognize as they continue going through the story. That post is credited at the end of the fic, so as not to spoil the plot.

---

The Convention by Peppermint_Shamrock

“Oh, sure, when Ladybug comes up with unusual solutions, it’s “clever” and “inspiring”. But when I do it, it’s “oh no” and “you’re going to get us all killed, Marinette”,” she grumbled. “At least Adrien believes in me.” When an Akuma rages through a comic convention, everyone is forcibly transformed into their own cosplays. Unable to transform into Ladybug, Marinette has no choice but to fight as a civilian alongside her friends. At least she was dressed as her partner. Written for Miraculous Spooktober Day 5 Prompt - Costume Party

---

Ghost of You by its_just_lori

It finally happened. The akuma attacked at the wrong time. They weren't prepared. For the first time, there was a casualty. Someone was killed. Marinette didn't care that her identity was exposed to the world; she couldn't stop blaming herself for what happened. If only she'd been ready... if only she'd done more... There's nothing for Adrien to say. There's nothing he can do other than stay by her side and help her through this pain.

---

The Pink Lady: Marichat May 2018 by @seasonofthegeek

In this story, Chat Noir, Carapace, Rena Rouge, Queen B, and Paon are the heroes of Paris. The Ladybug Miraculous has been lost for almost a century and it takes all of their combined power to cleanse akumas sometimes but they’ve found something that works since they don’t have another option. Hawkmoth is one of their villains, but not the only one plaguing Paris. Chat Noir happens upon an old hotel one night on patrol and discovers something and someone he didn't expect.

#ml fanfic rec #halloween #miraculous ladybug

43 notes · View notes