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vylosinbound · 2 days ago

Note

Hello Vylo! I’ve just discovered your account and love it! May I request a spicy Lucifer scenario with a fem reader? Keep doing what you do!!! Have an amazing day!!

Aaaahh hello!! 💌 First of all, thank you so much for such a sweet message! 😭 You just made my day with this, truly. Now... Lucifer, you say? Oh, I ADORE Lucifer. He lives rent-free in my brain 24/7 and let me tell you, I’ve been waiting for someone to drop a request like this!

LUCIFER

Fingers like fire

Characters: Lucifer x Fem!MC

Genre: Smut / Suggestive / Intimate / Late-night tension / private performance / slow seduction

Late at night, the House of Lamentation lies in silence, except for the haunting melody echoing from the music room. Drawn by the sound, you find Lucifer alone at the grand piano, shirt sleeves rolled, eyes closed in concentration. But the moment he notices your presence, the music halts, and a different kind of tension begins to play between you.

It was well past midnight when you padded quietly into the kitchen of the House of Lamentation.

The rest of the manor slept, or at least, it should have, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only the darkest hours could bring. The hallways had grown cold, their shadows long and undisturbed, as if even the walls themselves had slipped into slumber. But you... you were awake.

Sleep had remained stubbornly out of reach, like a memory just beyond your grasp. No position under your blankets was comfortable, no amount of shifting and sighing had helped lull your mind. Thoughts chased themselves in loops, pointless, wandering, irritating, and in the end, you'd surrendered to the weight of restlessness.

You’d hoped that a calming tisana might help, something warm and gentle to coax you into peace. So you found yourself now leaning against the marble countertop, a mug cupped between your hands as it steeped, wisps of herbal steam curling up and brushing your face. The soft hum of the kettle settling into silence was the only sound.

Until you heard it.

A note, subtle, low, barely noticeable at first. Then another, its twin, following like a ghost echo. It wasn't the creaking of the old floorboards, nor the sigh of the wind outside. It was unmistakably music, smooth, elegant, achingly refined. A piano, played slowly. Thoughtfully.

Your heart gave a little pull in recognition.

Of course. Lucifer.

There was no need to wonder who it could be. He was the only one in the house who played the piano, the only one with that level of grace and precision in his touch. Even without seeing him, you could hear the way his hands moved across the keys, fluid, restrained, exacting. Every note chosen. Every silence intentional. His music wasn’t just sound; it was structure, balance… discipline. It was so very him.

You took a breath. Lucifer was also the only one whose sleep habits were worse than your own.

Even if he didn’t say it out loud, you knew, he carried too many responsibilities, too many expectations. Between Diavolo’s diplomatic obligations, the daily chaos of his brothers, and the constant need to maintain order in a house full of demons… rest had never been a priority. Or maybe it was simply something he didn’t know how to allow himself.

The melody drifted again, this time clearer. It was coming from the music room, just down the hall from the kitchen. You hesitated.

This was a side of Lucifer few saw. He played only when he believed himself alone, late at night, when the world demanded nothing of him. It was personal. Intimate. A confession in melody, rather than words.

Still holding your mug, you stepped softly from the kitchen and into the hallway, drawn like a thread to the sound. Your footsteps were careful, your breath quiet, as though afraid to disturb the fragile web of sound he was weaving.

When you reached the doorway, you paused.

The lights in the room were low, only a single dim lamp cast a pool of golden glow around the grand piano. And there he was.

Lucifer sat with his back to you, perched on the polished bench with posture as perfect as ever. His jacket had been discarded, thrown across a nearby chair. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the collar, dark sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, exposing pale skin and elegant wrists that moved with mesmerizing control. He didn’t look tired, he looked... focused. But not in the way he did during meetings or arguments or paperwork. This focus was gentler, deeper. Almost melancholic.

You watched the way his fingers danced. They weren’t rushed or performative. No, he played slowly, deliberately. The music seemed to linger in the air, as if even the notes didn’t want to leave the warmth of his touch.

You stood there for what felt like a long time, unable to move, barely breathing.

It wasn’t until a quiet note faded into silence that Lucifer finally spoke. “I was wondering how long you’d stay hidden.” His voice, smooth and unshaken, cut through the hush like silk. He hadn’t even turned around. Caught, you smiled softly and took a step inside. “You knew I was there?” “I always do,” he replied, and turned his head over his shoulder just enough to look at you, the barest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Though I must admit, I’m surprised. You don’t usually wander the halls this late.” You walked in slowly, the mug warming your palms. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought a tisana might help. Then… I heard you.” Lucifer nodded, turning back to the keys. “And you came closer anyway, knowing I dislike being interrupted.” “I thought I wasn’t interrupting,” you said, your voice lighter than your heartbeat. There was a pause.

Then, in a tone lower and more thoughtful: “You aren’t.” He gestured with his chin toward the small velvet sofa by the window. “Stay. If you’d like.”

You crossed the room and sat, tucking your legs under you, the steam from your mug rising in lazy spirals. From this angle, you could see more of his profile now, his dark lashes lowered in concentration, his jawline kissed by the amber light, the sharp contrast of his fingers against the white keys. There was something hauntingly beautiful about him like this. Alone. Bare. Unmasked.

He began playing again. This time, slower.

It wasn’t a sonata. Not something rehearsed. It felt improvised, drifting and intimate, like he was trying to speak to you in a language that didn’t need words.

And somehow, you understood.

As the music filled the room again, your thoughts quieted. The tension in your shoulders eased. It wasn’t sleep, but it was the closest thing you’d felt to calm all evening.

You took a sip of your tisana and let the melody wash over you, feeling, for the first time in hours, that maybe you didn’t need to run from the night. Not when he was here. Not when he was playing.

The silence settled between the two of you like a velvet curtainsoft, heavy, comforting... but undeniably present. The melody faded into stillness, and for a moment neither of you moved.

The piano's final note still seemed to linger in the air, echoing in the hollows of your chest.

You exhaled slowly, your fingers curling a little tighter around the warm ceramic of your mug. The herbal scent was calming, yes, but it was nothing compared to the subtle scent of Lucifer that reached you from across the room, cedarwood, ink, something darker… something unmistakably him.

Your gaze had drifted unconsciously, drawn not to his face now, but lower. To his hands.

Those same hands that had glided effortlessly across the keys just moments ago. Precise. Deliberate. Controlled. Even in rest, his fingers hovered above the piano with quiet strength, like they still remembered the music they had conjured, and were waiting to call it back.

You hadn’t meant to stare. But you couldn’t help it.

Each motion had been so elegant, so fluid... and yet, all you could think about now was how those same fingers might move off the piano. What they’d feel like wrapped around your wrist, brushing your cheekbone, skimming down.

You blinked. A flush crawled up your neck, burning under your skin like the tea in your hands.

Lucifer didn’t speak. Not right away. He seemed to sense the change in the air, because he finally stopped playing and placed both hands lightly on his thighs, straightening with that signature composure of his. But he didn’t turn. He didn’t look at you.

He could feel your eyes on him. You’re unusually quiet,” he murmured, low and velvety. “Are you always this silent? Or is it... something else?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice, but only barely. More curiosity than humor. More tension than ease.

Your heart gave a single hard thud against your ribs. You hesitated before replying. “It’s just... you.” He finally turned to look at you.

Your breath caught.

The low light framed his features in gold, sharp, regal, composed. But there was something different in his eyes now. Something unreadable. As if he were trying to study you the same way you’d just studied him. “Me?” he repeated, softly. “What about me?”

You sipped your tea only to avoid answering. The warmth of the mug grounded you, but barely. You set it down gently on the windowsill beside you. “I don’t know. You just seem... different when you’re playing. More open. Like I’m seeing something I’m not supposed to.”

He gave a quiet hum, then rose from the bench in one fluid movement. You didn’t flinch, but your whole body tensed subtly when he crossed the space between you, slow, confident, silent as a shadow. He didn’t sit. He stood before you, towering slightly even as you looked up at him from the sofa. “And what exactly do you think you’re seeing, MC?”

There it was again, that voice. Smooth as silk. Sharp as a blade. His eyes were half-lidded now, studying you as if you were a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved. Your tongue felt heavy. There was a hum in your ears, a quiet static of tension and heat. You licked your lips, and you saw his eyes flicker. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “Maybe something I shouldn’t.”

That drew a quiet chuckle from him, low in his throat. “I see.” There was a pause. He reached out, slow and careful, and gently lifted your chin with two fingers, so barely there it could’ve been a whisper of contact. Your breath caught. “It’s dangerous,” he said quietly, “to get too close to the things you’re not supposed to see." “And yet you didn’t stop me,” you replied. Lucifer’s lips curled, just a fraction. “No. I didn’t.”

He let his hand drop. You expected him to pull away. Instead, he moved a little closer, leaning against the arm of the sofa. Not touching, but close enough that the warmth of his body reached you through the thin fabric of your pajamas. The scent of him was stronger now, and you couldn’t help leaning just slightly in his direction. “Do you want to hear more?” he asked, voice barely above a murmur. You looked at him, really looked, and something soft curled in your chest. “Only if you want me to.”

Another pause. His eyes darkened a little. “Then stay. Just a little longer.” He didn’t touch you again, not yet. But his thigh brushed yours as he stood and returned to the piano. His back was to you again… and yet, the space between you now felt different.

Thicker.

Charged.

You knew, without words, that this night wasn’t over. And somewhere deep inside, you were hoping it was only just beginning.

The room felt warmer. No... not the room. You.

Lucifer’s fingers danced back across the piano keys, but the melody this time was slower. Richer. Deeper. Like each note was chosen not for the music, but for the atmosphere it created, sultry and languid, like honey dripping from a spoon.

And you sat there, still clutching the edge of your now-empty teacup, heart pounding with a rhythm that no longer matched the music.

He knew what he was doing.

Of course he did.

The way he played wasn’t just elegant, it was intentional. Each flick of his wrist, each sighing key beneath his fingertips, was a performance. But not for an audience of nobles or demons. This time, it was just for you.

He glanced over his shoulder, subtle, controlled, just to see if you were still watching. You were. Eyes locked on his back, flushed and heated. Knees pressed together beneath your oversized hoodie. Enjoying yourself?” The words were casual, but there was nothing casual about the way he said them. “You’re... very good,” you replied, breath catching slightly.

Lucifer stood again. He came straight to you. One slow step at a time, like a panther ready to pounce. And you… didn’t move. Couldn’t. The space between you evaporated as he reached you again, this time standing directly in front of you. “You’re trembling,” he said quietly, eyes dipping down to your legs.

You were. Just a little. “Maybe.” He leaned down. One hand braced beside your head on the back of the couch. The other reached down to your chin, lifting it again, but slower this time. Deliberate.

“So tell me,” he murmured, “do you tremble for the music… or for me?” Your breath hitched. You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because when he dipped down and kissed you, full, slow, deliberate, you kissed him back without a second of hesitation. His lips were hot and smooth, and he tasted faintly of wine and something dark. Something that buzzed under your skin.

The kiss deepened quickly. His hand slipped from your jaw to the back of your neck, guiding you into it. Possessive. Hungry. Like he’d been waiting for this, and now that he had it, he wouldn’t be satisfied with just one taste.

When you gasped into his mouth, his tongue slipped past your lips and you felt his smirk against you. He pulled back just barely, lips brushing yours with every word. “Do you know,” he whispered, “how often I imagine you like this?”

You whimpered. “Lucifer…” That one word, his name, from your lips, trembling and breathless, made something inside him snap.

In one swift movement, he had you pulled forward. He settled into the space behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, mouth finding the shell of your ear. “You came down for tea,” he said, breath hot against your skin. “But I think you found something far more satisfying.”

You shuddered, his voice settling in your stomach like wildfire. One of his hands slid slowly under your hoodie, gliding across your stomach, not too high, not too low. Just enough to make your entire body tense.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “Or I’ll keep going.” You didn’t say a word. Instead, you leaned back against his chest, giving him your silent answer. His mouth curved. “Good.”

He takes your hand, firm, yet reverent, and guides you around the edge of the small velvet couch. There’s an urgency in his movements, but it’s laced with control, as though he’s restraining something far more primal. With a swift flick of his wrist, he closes the piano lid, the sound of it snapping shut echoing faintly through the dimly lit room. He turns back to you, his gaze molten, and in one smooth motion, lifts you to sit on top of it. Cold wood meets warm skin. You shiver, not from the surface beneath you, but from him.

He steps in between your parted legs, his body now nestled perfectly in the space you’ve so willingly offered. His hands rest on either side of you, palms planted on the piano. You’re caged, and you love it.

His lips crush against yours again, and this time the kiss is hungrier, deeper. You open your mouth for him the moment his tongue grazes your lower lip, inviting him in without hesitation. He tastes of sin and silk. Of everything you know you shouldn’t want, and yet crave with every fiber of your being.

One of his hands slides down, grazing the soft skin of your arm, your waist, until it finds the clasp of your bra. Without breaking the kiss, his fingers work with infuriating precision. Click. A soft sound. A dangerous promise. You gasp as the garment falls away. Before you can even process it, he tears the fragile thing from your body and tosses it to the floor, forgotten.

His hand is on your breast almost instantly, his touch both worshipful and greedy. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he kisses you again. His thumb brushes across your nipple and your breath catches. Your back arches slightly, pressing into him. Your body answers him like it knows no other language but his.

He leans in, his breath hot on your neck. “You’re always so responsive. So eager,” he murmurs. “You ache for me, don’t you?” You nod, barely able to speak. “Yes,” you manage to whisper. “I need you.” His lips curl against your skin. He kisses your jaw, slow and possessive, then trails a path down your neck. He takes his time, tasting every inch, marking you with each press of his mouth. When he reaches your shoulder, he bites, softly, but enough to make you flinch, to moan.

You barely notice the flicker of confusion that touches your face when he straightens, stepping back. Your body immediately feels the loss, cold air brushing against your heated skin.

Your arms reach for him, instinctively. Desperately. “Why did you stop?” you whisper, breathless. But he only looks at you, his eyes devouring the sight in front of him. There you are, perched on his piano in nothing but lace panties, flushed and trembling with need, your hair mussed, your lips swollen from his kiss.

“Lucifer, please…”

Those two words. The sound of your voice, the way you say his name, so soft, so desperate, it punches the breath right out of him. He twitches hard inside his pants, his control hanging by a thread.

He moves slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmurs, running a finger along the inside of your thigh, trailing upward, just shy of where you want him most.

His fingers move with slow, deliberate intent, brushing over the buttons of his black shirt one by one. Lucifer never allows himself to be seen like this, unguarded, exposed. But here, in front of you, he parts the fabric, revealing his chest inch by inch as if unveiling something sacred. There’s a divinity in him, dark and devastating. And tonight, that divinity belongs to you.

His eyes never leave yours as he lets the shirt fall to the floor behind him. “I don’t show myself like this to just anyone,” he says, voice low and velvety. “But you’re not just anyone.” The weight of those words presses between your thighs, hot and heavy.

You can’t speak, not when he’s kneeling in front of you now, not when his hands are already sliding down the curve of your hips. He hooks his fingers beneath your panties and pauses. You lift your hips, just slightly, obedient, eager. That’s all he needs.

He peels the lace down your legs with practiced ease, the soaked fabric clinging for only a moment before falling to the floor with a soft, humiliating wet sound. Lucifer looks at you, truly looks, and the slow, wicked smile that spreads across his lips is nothing short of triumphant.

“So wet for me already…” he murmurs, his voice almost amused, but thick with lust. Without warning, a single finger slides inside you. You gasp, sharp, startled, and your hands fly to his hair, tangling into those inky-black strands like you need them to keep you grounded.

But he isn’t done.

His mouth descends, and then, gods, his tongue drags slowly between your folds. He groans against you, savoring the taste like the finest wine. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your fingers tightening in his hair as your body arches toward him, completely lost in the pleasure.

He closes his lips around your clit, sucking gently, then swirling his tongue around it with maddening precision. Another finger pushes inside you, stretching you deliciously. He begins a rhythm, tongue and fingers working in sync, building pressure inside you like a rising tide.

“You taste like sin,” he whispers against you. “Like temptation itself.” You can barely breathe, let alone respond. When your fingers pull too hard at his hair, panic flickers in your chest. You glance down, lips parted in apology, worried you’ve gone too far, hurt him, provoked him.

But Lucifer only chuckles. The sound is rich, dark, indulgent, and when you look closer, he’s smiling, lips glistening, eyes burning. One of his hands is on himself now, stroking his hardened cock through his pants with lazy satisfaction, like he’s enjoying the show just as much as the taste of you. “So sensitive. I wonder what sound you’ll make when I finally fuck you.”

Your cunt clenches at his words, instinctive and desperate. And he feels it, feels you tighten around his fingers. That smirk returns, arrogant and feral. “Oh... you liked that, didn’t you?”

It doesn’t take more than a minute. Your body arches, your breath catches, and you finally let go, completely undone beneath his mouth, his hands, his voice. You don’t even realize he’s pulled back slightly. Not at first. You’re too lost in the high, in the trembling chaos of release. But then, You feel it.

The thick, deliberate pressure of his cock grinding against your swollen entrance, the blunt head teasing, rubbing, not quite inside. He’s hard and hot and dripping, and he doesn’t ease you into it. Not Lucifer. His fingers plunge back into you with sudden, ruthless force, fast, deep, relentless. You can’t keep up.Your body jerks with each thrust, legs shaking as your hands scramble to hold onto anything.

But all you find is him. His shoulders. His name. Your head falls back, mouth parted in a silent scream, as his lips return to your clit, biting, sucking, pushing you right to the edge again. He’s going to break you. And you want him to. But just as the peak rises again, just as you start to fall apart for the second time, he stops.

He pulls back. Mouth gone. Fingers gone.

The void he leaves behind is cruel, deliberate. A strangled whimper escapes your throat before you even realize it. You're shaking, your body aching for release, your orgasm torn just out of reach like a punishment.

You barely have time to breathe before he stands. Tall. Commanding. Intimidating in the most beautiful way. He looks down at you, still flushed, glistening, thighs spread across the piano like an offering. Without warning, his hand seizes your jaw. Strong fingers grip your cheeks, forcing your face up to him. The pressure isn’t painful, but there’s no mistaking who holds the power.

He tilts your chin until your eyes meet his. When did I say you could come?” His voice is low. Dangerous. Smooth like obsidian. He studies your expression with quiet amusement, watching the way you struggle between guilt and need. “I told you to be good for me,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your lip. “But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

His eyes darken as he watches you struggle beneath him, as if pleading for something you don’t even know how to ask for.

He releases your jaw, slowly, letting his fingers trail down your throat, brushing lightly over your collarbone as if savoring the contrast, his power against your surrender. The thick head of his cock pressing at your entrance, hot, heavy, relentless.

“No more teasing,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “I’ve waited long enough.” With one sharp thrust, he pushes inside. The air leaves your lungs in a broken gasp.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust. Doesn’t ask if you’re ready. He knows you are, your body has been begging for him from the first kiss. He drives into you slowly at first, savoring the stretch, the way you tighten around him like you were made for no one else.

Your hands clutch at his forearms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep him close, to keep him in. “Look at you,” voice rough now, frayed with pleasure. “Still so tight, even after I’ve ruined you with my fingers.”

He leans over you, bracing himself with one hand on the piano behind your head, while the other slides down to your thigh, lifting it higher, opening you even more for him.

He sets a punishing rhythm, slow, but deep and hard, each thrust claiming you again and again. Your nails dig into his back, your voice lost in the moans tumbling from your lips. His lips find your ear. “You’ll only ever come on my cock, do you understand me?”

You nod frantically, not even pretending to hide how badly you need him, how full he makes you feel, how perfectly he fits inside.

But he’s not done.

He pulls out almost entirely, leaving just the tip, before slamming back into you with a growl. Your cry echoes through the room, raw and shameless. The piano creaks beneath you. His name is a mantra on your lips.

He reaches down between you, his fingers finding your clit again, slick, swollen, aching. He circles it with practiced cruelty, watching your reaction with delight. “Come for me now,” he commands, voice pure sin. “Now.” And this time, you do.

Your body shatters around him, back arching off the polished surface, walls tightening in waves around his cock as you scream his name like a prayer. He doesn’t stop, he fucks you through it, riding your orgasm until he can’t hold back anymore. With a low, guttural sound, he follows you over the edge, burying himself deep as he comes, his hips stuttering against yours, eyes locked to your trembling, blissed-out expression.

Your body a mess of overstimulated nerves and lingering pleasure. Every inch of you is spent, used, filled, worshipped and wrecked.

Lucifer hasn’t moved.

He stays deep inside you for a long moment, his hand resting casually on your thigh, his eyes drinking in the sight of you completely undone beneath him. Your hair is a tangled halo. Your chest rises and falls in shallow gasps. Your lips are parted, swollen, still whispering his name.

And then, he smiles. That slow, prideful, wicked smile.

The kind that makes you feel like he hasn’t even begun with you. He leans down, brushing his lips over yours, not quite a kiss, more like a reminder that he owns every part of you now.

“Don’t think for a second that it’s over,” he whispers, his voice silk-wrapped steel. His hips roll slowly, just enough for you to feel him still thick and hard inside you. “You're not leaving this room,” he murmurs against your neck, biting softly at your skin, “until I’ve had my fill.” He thrusts again, deeper this time. You cry out, thighs instinctively tightening around his waist. “And darling... I’m nowhere near done with you.”

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zclhes · 1 day ago

Text

Title: "You're gonna be a good girl"

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: ~3,900

POV: Harry Styles (first person)

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Setting: Harry’s private villa near Rome, summer 2024

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Dominant/submissive dynamic, Use of toys (remote vibrator, anal plug), Orgasm control/denial, Power play, consensual control, Praise kink, Soft aftercare

The late Roman sun is starting to bleed across the sky, dripping gold down the walls of the villa. The shutters rattle in the warm breeze, cicadas scream outside, and I can hear your bare feet padding across the cool stone floor behind me. Quiet. Careful. Not innocent. You’ve been fucking with me all day.

It started subtle. That fake-innocent glance over your glass when you took my water. Sliding into the pool in slow motion like it was a goddamn performance. Tossing your hair back, eyes on me while you pretended not to care. Then you brushed your fingers against my thigh under the table at lunch—deliberate. I said nothing. I let it slide. I watched you test your limits.

But now? Now you’re behind me again. No words. No apology. Just standing there like you don’t know exactly what the fuck you’ve been doing. I close my notebook slowly. Pencil slides between the pages. I don't even turn around right away. I just speak, calm and deliberate. “Bedroom.”

You move instantly. Good. You know that tone. You know what it means when I don’t raise my voice. I follow you inside, barefoot, every step heavy with restraint. The villa is cooler now. Shadows stretch across the stone like something alive. I watch the sway of your hips, the tension in your shoulders, the way your back straightens as you walk ahead of me. Every step says yes, I know what I’ve done. Good. You should.

In the bedroom, you stop. No words. Just stillness. Waiting. “Undress,” I say, standing just inside the doorway.

You strip for me slowly—no flair, no seduction. Just compliance. The kind I demand. Dress hits the floor. Bra unclasped. Panties down your legs. You kneel by the bed, hands resting on your thighs, eyes lowered but not empty. There’s heat there. Challenge. Submission wrapped in tension.

I don’t speak. Just look. You’re fucking beautiful like this. Naked. Owned. Waiting.

I walk past you into the closet, kneel by the drawer I locked the first night we got here. I haven’t needed it until now. But you’ve earned this. I open it. Inside: the plug—sleek, polished, capped with a gold lion’s head. The remote-controlled toy you thought I’d never use. The silk ties. All hand-picked. All clean. All meant for you. I take my time. You’re still kneeling when I return. Still silent. Still. I place the items on the nightstand like I’m setting up tools for surgery. Methodical. Clinical. You track the motion with your eyes, then lower them again. You know better than to ask. But I see it. You want to.

I’m shirtless—just grey sweatpants hanging low on my hips. No underwear. You notice. Your eyes twitch when you catch the outline of my cock pressing against the fabric. I step in front of you. Close. I could fuck your mouth right now, watch you drool over yourself while I shoved it in deep and slow. But not yet. That’s not what you earned today.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” I say, crouching slightly so my face is level with yours. My hand slides under your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes lock with mine. “I’m gonna sit there and watch you fuck yourself. You’re gonna listen to every word I say. You’re not gonna come unless I tell you. You’re gonna behave like the good little slut I know you are. And if you don’t…” I lean in until my lips brush your ear. “…I’ll edge you until you cry.” You inhale sharply. I smile.

“Get on the bed.”

You climb up, smooth and silent. Lay on your back, arms at your sides, legs slightly parted.

“Wider,” I command. You obey.

I grab the remote toy first, move between your legs, and trail two fingers up your slit. You’re soaked. Of course you are. You’ve been playing with fire all fucking day. Your hips jerk at the first touch.

“Already dripping. Look at this mess.”

You moan softly when I slide the toy in. It fits snugly, perfectly. I angle it just right, thumb brushing over your clit as I press it in deep.

“Don’t fucking move,” I growl.

I grab the silk next and tie your wrists to the headboard. Not tight enough to leave marks. Just enough to keep you there—exposed, open, mine. I step back, grab the remote, and sit down in the chair across from the bed. I click it once. Your body jolts. A soft, desperate gasp leaves your mouth.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “You feel that? That’s what you get for acting like a brat all day.”

The vibrations are steady, low. Designed to tease, not satisfy. You arch, already fighting not to grind down.

“Keep your legs open.”

You do, barely. Your thighs tremble. I watch the toy pulse beneath your skin, hear your breath hitch every few seconds.

“You like performing, don’t you?” I say. “You liked parading around the pool like some desperate little thing. Knew I was working. Knew I couldn’t touch you. You wanted to wind me up.” You whimper. Your hands twitch against the silk. I click the remote again. The toy jumps to a higher setting. You gasp, head falling back against the pillow, mouth open.

“Tell me what you are.”

“I’m—I’m your good girl,” you whisper, voice trembling.

I shake my head. “Not tonight. Try again.”

“…Your filthy little whore,” you breathe.

I smile. “There she is.”

You’re getting close. I can see it. Your stomach tightens. Your toes curl. I click the remote off. You cry out, frustrated and panting.

“Beg.” You hesitate. I narrow my eyes.

“Beg,” I repeat, voice sharp.

“Please, Harry… please let me come.”

“Why should I?”

“I’ve been good—I’ll be good, I swear, I—”

“You haven’t been good. You’ve been a fucking tease. Walking around like you want to get bent over every surface in this villa.” I stand. Walk over to the bed. Grab your chin, tilt your face up.

“But you’ll get what you need. Because I’m done watching.” I pull the toy out slowly. You groan, empty and aching.

“On your knees.”

You roll over, ass high, face pressed into the mattress. I lube the plug and press a kiss to the small of your back.

“Breathe.”

You exhale just as I slide it in—slow, deep, deliberate. Your fingers clench the sheets, your breath stutters.

“Good girl,” I say softly.

I push my sweatpants down. My cock springs free, thick and hard and already leaking. I grip your hips and guide myself in with one slow thrust. You’re tight, wet, perfect. The plug makes everything tighter. I hiss through my teeth.

“Fucking hell… this cunt is unreal.”

You moan into the mattress. I set a brutal rhythm. Deep, punishing strokes that shove you forward with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes off the villa walls. I spank your ass—once, twice—then grip it hard enough to bruise.

“Say it,” I grunt, fucking you harder. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“You do—fuck—you do, Harry.”

“Louder.”

“You own it. It’s yours.”

“Damn right it is.”

I reach between your legs and rub your clit, fast, filthy circles. You’re already close again. So am I.

“You’re gonna come with me,” I growl. “You’re gonna make a fucking mess all over my cock. And then I’m gonna make you clean it up with your mouth. You understand me?”

“Yes—yes, please—”

“Then do it.”

You come like the world ends. Loud. Messy. Desperate. Your entire body shudders, thighs shaking, sobbing my name into the mattress. I follow seconds later, groaning as I empty into you, burying myself deep and holding you still. Silence. Just our breathing. Heavy. Tangled. I collapse next to you, chest heaving. You’re still trembling.

“Shhh,” I murmur. “You did perfect.”

You sniffle. Smile. Your cheek is red from the pillow. I brush your hair back and kiss your forehead.

“Need anything?” I ask softly. “Water? Bathroom?”

You nod. I carry you there. Clean you up. Hold you after. Let your body sink into mine.

Later, when the moon is up and the air cools, we’ll slip into the pool naked. I’ll feed you fruit on the terrace. You’ll curl in my lap and ask if we can do it again tomorrow. And I’ll say yes. Because I never deny you what you’ve earned.

And you, love, have earned everything.

#creators on tumblr #harry styles #zclhes #harry edward styles #harry styles story #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry smut #smutty fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #dom harry styles #sub reader #writers on tumblr

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superpowereddonut · 2 days ago

Text

What Burns Beneath (17)

Pairing: Azriel x Vanserra!OC

Series masterlist // ao3 // previous chapter

Chapter 17: Adara

Azriel sat behind his desk at the Town House, eyes scanning a document she was sure he’d already read three times, but his attention kept flickering to her, to the light arcing from her fingertips.

Adara stood near the open window, spinning a slender thread of fire between her hands. His shadows, curious and bold, crept from the corners to chase it, winding up the flame like smoke rising on a breeze.

She laughed softly, and with a flick of her wrist, the flame reversed direction, curling toward the shadows like a hunting viper. They scattered with a whispering hiss as her flame gave chase, though one stayed by her shoulder, as though letting her know that it wasn’t really scared.

Azriel didn’t stop them, even though she knew he could.

Still, his voice came dry and unimpressed. “They’re not for playing.”

She glanced over her shoulder, grinning. “Oh, come on, grumpy. What’s the point of having powers like these if you can’t play with them once in a while? Surely you have all sorts of fun with those shadows.”

He arched a brow. “Fun,” he repeated flatly.

“Yes,” she drawled, leaning back against the window frame. “You know, mischief, chaos, maybe the occasional prank?”

When he didn’t answer, she narrowed her eyes. “You do use them for fun. Don’t you?”

Azriel gave a half-shrug, then lifted two fingers in a casual gesture.

Half of his shadows peeled away from the room in a ripple of movement, slithering around the doorway and into the hall.

Adara turned to watch them disappear, already suspicious. “Where are they going?”

He held up a hand, tilting his head slightly. A pause. Then—

A thud, a crash, followed by a string of very creative swearing.

Her eyes went wide. “Was that—”

Cassian.

A moment later, he stormed into the room, scowling and rubbing his shoulder. His hair was slightly askew, wings flared with irritation.

“Did you do that?” he growled at his brother.

Azriel didn’t even glance up from the parchment on his desk. “Do what?”

“You. Know. What.”

Adara, biting her tongue to suppress her laughter, turned to Cassian with wide, innocent eyes. “Did you hear that noise just before, Cass? Sounded like… a stampede of cattle.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes met hers across the room, sparkling. “Could’ve been a quake,” he added mildly.

Cassian narrowed his eyes at both of them. “I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.”

He turned, muttering to himself, only for Adara to send a small flick of flame to nip at his leather-clad ass. The resulting yelp was undignified at best, and Cassian fled from the room as though expecting a further attack.

Adara, clutching her side, collapsed into the nearest chair, wheezing at the sight, and Azriel huffed a rare, warm laugh.

“Still don’t think they’re for playing?” she asked, breathless.

Azriel just leaned back in his chair, shadows curling around his shoulders like smug cats. “Maybe,” he said, “when used responsibly.”

She grinned. “My teasing used to really annoy you.”

He leveled an exasperated look at her, though it was dulled by what she could only describe as fondness. “You still annoy me plenty.”

*****

Adara leaned against a stone pillar just outside the training ring, arms crossed loosely as she watched Azriel work. She hadn’t believed him when he first told her about his daily training sessions with the priestesses of the Night Court. But now, she couldn’t remember why.

He was firm and exact as he taught the small group, but undeniably patient. Not in the sickly sweet way that some males softened their tone when teaching females, or the condescending kind that suggested disbelief in their potential. No, Azriel’s patience was steady and earnest.

He stood beside one of the younger priestesses now, using only his words to guide her through the series of strikes he’d just demonstrated with a thin wooden staff. His shadows hovered at his shoulders like watchful sentries, but his hands remained carefully to himself. Adara had noticed that about him when she’d first arrived to watch. He never touched any of them without clear, enthusiastic permission. Not even to adjust a stance or correct a grip. Instead, he mirrored their movements, explained again if needed, and gave space when it was asked for.

His gentle care and quiet respect were admirable.

Cassian, meanwhile, was training a smaller group of more advanced females on the other side of the rooftop with the same focus, but in a much more cheeky manner. She recognised Nesta, but not the dark-haired Illyrian female with the wicked aim or the beautiful, agile redhead.

Once the lesson began wrapping up, the females scattering to stretch, she stepped out from the doorway, shifting the slim, cloth-wrapped bundle under her arm and clearing her throat. Azriel’s head lifted instantly, sharp eyes landing on her.

“You’re here early,” he said, voice low and a little hoarse from calling out instructions all morning.

“Unfortunately,” she replied, letting the wind tug at her braid as she stepped forward and held out the bundle.

He looked at it as if it might explode. “Is it cursed?”

“Not this time.”

His mouth twitched with amusement as he unwrapped the cloth, revealing the small stack of finely inked scrolls. Each one had custom diagrams and written techniques for teaching different body types, accompanied by clear annotations. They were the same ones Eris had used when he first taught her basic skills in combat, and many of the annotations were her own. While she knew Azriel didn’t need them, most likely having taught hundreds of Illyrian warriors, Adara had found them in her dresser last night and thought he might like them nonetheless.

Azriel went still. He scanned the scrolls, and something in his face shifted. “This is…” he said roughly, then cleared his throat. “This is thoughtful.”

She shrugged, a little awkwardly. “It’s what you do for friends.”

“Friends?” he echoed, a teasing lilt sneaking into his usually even tone.

She narrowed her eyes, instantly regretting her choice of words. “What are we, children? Yes, friends,” she said, “it seems you’ve grown on me, like some sort of horrible disease.”

That earned a bark of genuine laughter from the notoriously stoic male. The sound startled a few nearby priestesses, who glanced over in surprise before quickly returning to their stretches. Adara blinked and her heart turned over, momentarily stunned herself. Gods, she liked that sound.

“Thanks,” he said after a moment, lifting the scrolls slightly. His voice was still warm, softer than she was used to. “Seriously.”

She waved a hand, trying to school her expression before she started smiling like an idiot. “Just don’t go soft on them.”

“Never,” he promised, and even as she turned to leave, she could feel him watching her go.

*****

Adara bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, warming her muscles while Azriel tightened the straps on his vambraces across from her. The sparring ring on the Town House rooftop was smaller than the one at the House of Wind, but it felt less exposed. More private.

This had been a long time coming. She’d sparred with Cassian a dozen times now, had demonstrated her fire techniques for Rhys, even taken Elain through a few basic defensive stances when the female had asked a few days ago. But not him.

She’d seen him fight, of course. She’d watched him move like smoke during missions, efficiently cutting down enemies. And he’d seen her too. But until now, they’d never faced each other.

He finished adjusting his armour and glanced up, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders. “Ready?”

Adara nodded, though her throat felt dry. “Try not to cry when I win.”

A faint smirk curved his lips. “You couldn’t land a hit if I stood still.”

She launched herself at him.

They collided mid-ring, and the match began in earnest. For the first few minutes, they just tested each other, their movements fast, fluid and clean. He was graceful in a way that few warriors could be, especially of his size. All tight muscle and smooth steps, Azriel had the deadly elegance of someone who didn’t waste motion.

Their strikes clashed and slipped. She darted in low; he blocked and sliced high as she lunged again.

He knocked her blade aside with a short twist of his wrist, fast and efficient. “Your stance is too open.”

“Your mouth is too open,” she shot back.

He huffed something between a laugh and a scoff, just distracted enough that she used her momentum to sweep under his arm, driving her foot toward the back of his knee. He stumbled, caught himself with an elegant roll, and popped to his feet with a glare that said well played.

Azriel was stronger. But Adara was quicker.

He drove toward her, slashing for the spot she had left unguarded at her middle, but she pivoted neatly, ducking his elbow.

“Nice try,” he said, spinning to deflect the small dagger she had whipped toward his side.

She huffed and narrowed her eyes. She didn’t mean to notice the way his leathers clung to the line of his waist or how the tousled ends of his hair curled slightly against the sweat on his brow. But she did.

They reset, blades up, breath ragged.

“Come on then, Spym—” she started, then paused mid-word, grinning.

He cocked his head.

“Come on then, Azriel,” she amended, her voice low and sweet as honey.

He blinked. Just for a second.

It was all the opening she needed.

She surged forward, feinting a swipe at his neck while sweeping his leg out from under him. He hit the padded floor with a muffled thud, and she straddled him in a flash, dagger pressed lightly to his throat.

Azriel stared up at her, winded.

“I thought using your first name might throw you off balance,” Adara said with a smug smile. “I was right.”

Except for the night she had dragged him from a nightmare on the Continent, she had only ever called him Spymaster or Shadowsinger, sometimes a teasing insult like idiot. She had been saving it up, partly out of fear that he would object to the level of familiarity that a first name basis suggested. But now, seeing his pupils blown wide and feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath her, she wished she’d done it sooner.

“You cheated,” he said, eyes narrowed, voice rough.

She leaned down slightly, close enough for the addicting scent of cedar and salt to envelop her. “I improvised.”

He looked away, but she caught the faint blush at his ears. Victory had never tasted so sweet. Or at least it had. Until he moved.

In a sudden, fluid shift, Azriel twisted beneath her, one arm hooking around her waist as he rolled them effortlessly. The world tilted, and the next thing she knew, her back was against the mat.

One of his hands cupped the back of her head, cushioning it as it hit the floor, while the other braced beside her neck, holding the bulk of his weight above her. His chest pressed flush against her, one leg wedged between hers, the other hooked around her thigh. She was thoroughly, inescapably pinned.

She froze, her breath caught somewhere between her throat and her lungs.

He was close enough that she could see every fleck of gold in his hazel eyes, every freckle dusting the bridge of his nose. His body radiated heat like a forge, and she became painfully aware of every point where they touched— her stomach to his, her thighs trapped beneath his hips, his breath fanning softly across her cheek.

Azriel smiled, cocky and unbearably pleased with himself.

“I win,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that she could feel more than hear.

She tried to form a response, something clever and sharp, something that would wipe that grin right off his unfairly beautiful face. But her mind had short-circuited, lost between the weight of his body and the impossible gentleness of his hand still cradling her head.

Azriel cocked his head to the side, appraising her with amusement. “What’s wrong, princess?” he crooned, and gods-damn her if she didn’t shiver at the seductive rasp of his voice. “Cat got your tongue?”

Her hands were pinned beneath his body but she pushed against him until he relented, rising to his feet with infuriating grace. He offered her a hand, the shadow of a grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Fuck.

*****

The shower helped. Freezing cold water. Deep breaths. Closed eyes.

But still, the ghost of Azriel’s body hovered over hers, the phantom weight of him pressing her to the mat, the velvet rasp of his voice declaring victory still curling through her chest. Princess.

She’d claimed she needed to clean up before heading back to the Forest House, and it wasn’t a complete lie. Her braid had come loose, her clothes were damp with sweat, and her face was flushed in a way that had little to do with exercise.

But mostly, she needed time and space to get her damn mind under control.

By the time she padded into the Town House’s sitting room, her hair was damp and loose down her back, and she’d traded her sparring gear for a dark tunic and pants borrowed from a drawer stocked for guests. She expected to find Azriel gone or pacing by the fireplace like he sometimes did.

Instead, he was half-lying on the far end of the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Gone were his fighting leathers and endless weapons. He wore a simple black sweater and loose trousers, his damp hair curling slightly where it brushed his temples. One of his shadows twined lazily around his wrist, and the whole picture of him was... disarming. Soft. Dangerous.

She faltered in the doorway, but his eyes lifted at once.

“Freshened up?” he asked casually, as if he hadn’t just scrambled her brain so completely she felt light-headed.

“Something like that,” she said faintly, forcing herself to walk further into the room. “I should head back before I’m missed.”

He nodded, rising in one smooth movement. “Let me walk you out.”

She shook her head dismissively, already moving for the hallway. “No need to escort me like some delicate princess, Spymaster.”

He followed her anyway, his hands in his pockets, his broad shoulders framed by the low light spilling from the sconces. “Alright then,” he said as she pulled open the front door. “Goodnight, Adara.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the quiet tenderness in his tone or the way her name sounded coming from him for the first time, but something inside her melted. She gave him a crooked smile that felt far more fragile than she liked. “Goodnight, Azriel.”

And as she slipped into the night, she knew that sleep would not be coming easily.

next chapter

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s-ccaam-era-crepe · 8 months ago

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the interest is getting to meee

#camera talks #started playing sonic x shadow generations today bc i a) just got it and b) havent gotten ANY spoilers for it #and i played Just the first level for shadow #and i literally started stimming so hard i fucked up and only got a B lmao #IM TOO EXCITEDDDJLKSFKLDFSGAJ;LG #THE LEVEL DESIGN IM <<<3333 #and i Suck at the sonic levels althouh modern sonics are built a little like 06 so im okay at them #(shadows levels are Very 06 (and unleashed if you want to say) so i like those bc 06 is my gameee))#but classic sonics levels are really hard for meee </333 #i really like the game so far and no spoilers please im having fun and im very very excited raugh #i want to ramble about this so bad but like i cant (dont know enough yet im just excited)#and also i dont want to bother people lmao #AUGH. i really like shadows levellll #hes such a guy raughgrhusgkja #i want to replay 06 tooo oaguagh i love sonicc

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magistralucis · 6 months ago

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text posts + FFVI

#final fantasy vi #ffvi #terra branford #celes chere #kefka palazzo #locke cole #cyan garamonde #shadow (final fantasy vi)#final fantasy 6 #ff6 #final fantasy #magistralucis plays ffvi #well it happened... i had to make a textposts about it since i end up doing that to everything i love eventually 🤣#i am very much at the late game now just gotta tackle the two towers #but first i want to level up get some relics and learn some endgame magics #some old man in narshe gave me a shield that makes me die but i think i'm close to breaking the curse on it soon??#it doesn't exactly have a tracker for when it becomes normal or anything #onward and upward to the tower(s) soon!!

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theheadlessgroom · 1 year ago

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@beatingheart-bride

"Emily..." Randall began, almost tearfully, but it was June and Wilhelm who spoke up over him-not to agree, not to rush her out the door and warn her not to come back, but instead to ask her to stay.

"Please," Wilhelm began, as June reached out to take the young woman's cold hand, stopping her as he continued, "W-Would you stay, just a little longer, lass? Really, we...we'd like it if you stayed. I-I promise, y-you're not intruding; Junie and I weren't able to sleep anyways..."

"You saved our son's life, and you brought him back home to us," June continued gently, as Randall sat up a little, just as surprised as Emily was at this sudden turn of events, this change in reaction in his parents. "We...we can't thank you enough for that. Please, won't you sit down? I...I think we have a lot to talk about...and a lot to apologize for."

At this, Randall's eyes widened further, as he looked between Emily, his mother, and his father, that surprise turning to a sort of tentative relief, as his mother encouraged Emily to make herself comfortable, while June moved to the kitchen to put on a pot of tea, to perhaps soothe their frazzled nerves. She hoped the young woman (not a monster, she thought to herself, but a young woman) would accept, and hear out what the Pace parents had to say.

#((i'm sorry: an a.i. just isn't nearly as threatening as the soul of a serial killer!))#((the terror of 'child's play' is defidently that andy is so little-he's this adorable little six-year-old who makes your heart melt))#((watching him make his mom breakfast on his own birthday and getting excited about having a good guy of his own))#((and so you don't want anything to happen to him! he's being preyed upon by what he thought was his friend))#((his talking good guy doll-even worse; chucky told andy that he was sent by andy's dead father to play with him))#((which adds a cruel twist to things-andy just wanted a friend; and now he's in danger; and no one believes him))#((not until the end! so having andy be older; be attacked by an a.i. doll who should NOT be that strong like you said))#((and have more allies on his side; it really does take away that fear factor; that level of suspense!))#((and there really is so much love in the main franchise; as opposed to the 2019 reboot))#((which feels more like your standard cash grab! it's almost a family affair))#((considering the actress who played andy's mother in the first film married kevin yagher))#((who designed and built the chucky animatronic; i think alex vincent's little sister played chucky))#((for the scene where he runs behind andy's aunt maggie shortly before she goes pushed out the window))#((and of course brad dourif's daughter fiona is a part of the franchise now; having played nica pierce))#((and even playing a young charles lee ray in flashbacks for the tv show!))#((there really is so much love and care behind it; the kind of love and care you just don't see in the reboot!))#outofhatboxes #beatingheart-bride #V:Dark Shadows

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pidgefudge · 21 days ago

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lotta shadow with wings today huh

im in a shadow generations mood this game is so fjcifficnkng GOOD

#and yes the wings r the most evocative imagery #+ a lotta the stuff im reblogging is probably from around the reveal trailer?? and that was the scene everyone latched onto #which happens in space colony ark act 2 the first time you play it #but i forgot about that so when i went back on my s ranking spree i activated wing and was like #“hey why are there convenient lines of rings at glide height ???”#anyway #GRARHAHTHRGREHRHGSRGRAGTGHRH #one of my favorite games of all time #definitely my favorite sonic game no competition #i really dig this engine i hope frontiers 2 or whatevers next uses this #and polishes off even more of the rough edges though it's already quite polished which is a rarity in 3d sonic lmao #though i still plan to go back to frontiers because it should play just like shadows white space #and i REALLY like running around in his white space. super smooth #i do wonder how the actual levels compare to the cyberspace stuff in frontiers bc at least in shadow movement feels different #namely you get up to smooth skating speed way faster in white space. but also in levels im busy Getting Around The Level #so i need to properly test it in like. kingdom valley that has lots of open space #anyway the wings aren't even my favorite doom power lmao. lowkey love doom blast it feels sick every time #surf would be cool if it felt better to control AND IF YOU COULD BOOST #and grinding chaos island act 1 s rank really got me to appreciate and be frustrated with and then appreciate again doom morph #i like launching through the uh #blob things at the perfect angle that feels nice. and grappling in general #wing also a bit hard to control BUT i still need to s rank radical highway and devil doom so i will get plenty of practice. hahaha cant wait #carrier pigeon #penis shoulder #oops i yapped

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lovetei · 7 months ago

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Most of the time, MC views their friends and lovers as normal civilians, just people trying to get by. But, of course, there are times where they can't help but remember that they're the elites of the elites.

Lucifer's red eyes are glowing through the shadow casted by the dark alley where a low-level demon thought it would be nice to stand in his path, "Huh?" He mumbled to himself then scoffed "Huh." they sounded the same to you, but the way he looked down at the demon, it surely is different treatment from how he is to you.

It's insane how much Mammon treats other people. Sure, you've come with him to play in the casino before, but this is your first time entering a... Private room. And surely, this is your first time seeing someone, Mammon, go crazy while playing Russian roulette. His beautiful laugh boomed inside the room as his opponent is about to pull the trigger, the suicide shot. "Haaah, shit! This is the type of shit I live for!" He laughed as he nuzzled on your neck while waiting for his opponents brain to scatter on the wall.

You thought Leviathan is just an extreme case of introvertness, but obviously—it's not just that. "Yeah, yeah..." He mumbled, bored, as countless nobles came to greet the head of the navy. But there was this one interesting occurance, a noble that held his hand. Sure his composure was commendable but as soon as the noble turned its back, his hand covered his mouth and you saw a glimpse of him stick his tongue out as if vomiting. Your eyes widened. Soon, maids started hurrying to his side, changing his gloves and spraying his hands with alcohol. "Opportunistic pigs... I hate greed demons." You heard him whisper, obviously not intending for you to hear.

Satan was the type to stay calm and often as a gentleman, maybe to you only. During one meeting between some nobles though, he looked particularly mad. "You sure have a lot to say." He suddenly gave off a threatening smile as he fix his position on the seat, then all of a sudden—splat. That disgusting sound rang on your ears as the head of the noble was blown away and then you saw a familiar tail coming from under the table that pierced the nobles head strong enough for it to blow away.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me fluff #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me satan

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dravidious · 1 year ago

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You're quite amazing

Last night I was like "Ah, 8:20 pm, and I've just finished all my Stuff & Things. Perfect timing to go to bed... I'm gonna write an essay about an update for a free-to-play game."

Thoughts on the Path of Champions Constellation Update

Part 1: The new progression is good

In the past, I've ranted about how the progression systems in Legends of Runeterra's Path of Champions gradually worsen the improvisational deckbuilding aspects of the game. In summary, as you progress, your starting deck and its associated strategy become stronger and stronger, while the cards you get mid-run stay the same power level. As your starting deck improves, adding cards to your deck goes from helpful to detrimental, ruining the feeling of getting stronger over the course of the run.

A recent update to Runeterra added a new progression system called Constellations, with a variety of new perks. Some just add more items to your starting deck, and each champion has at least 1 new starting power that further emphasizes their default playstyle, both of which further contribute to the problem. However, two notable perks help to alleviate the problems: Star of Discovery and Star of Legends.

These perks both do mostly the same thing: Add items to cards you get mid-run. Star of Discovery adds a certain item to a certain category of card, such as units from a specific region, or spells of a certain mana cost. Star of Legends adds an item to your support champion. The items given by these perks synergizes with the champion's default strategy, which is something I criticized in the past; building a deck of random cards feels less significant if it's always playing the same strategy.

However, these perks are a definite improvement to the improvisational gameplay. Path of Champions isn't a game about improvising a strategy; it's right there in the name, you choose a champion with a specific playstyle. But that model has always been flawed; in the early game with no star powers or starting items, you rely a lot on card rewards, and you might not get the cards needed to actually play your champion's strategy. In the late game with a powered-up deck and star powers boosting your strategy, you're forced to clog your deck with weak cards that don't synergize with your starting tools.

These perks solve the issue beautifully: By powering up the cards you get mid-run and making sure that they synergize with your champion's strategy, you get the best of both worlds, improving your deck over the run while still getting to play the strategy you wanted to. The deckbuilding used to get worse and worse as you progressed, but they've managed to make it so that progressing enough eventually loops back around to making it good again.

Part 2: Everything about this update is a fucking mess

The new champion released in this update, Viego, has a spell in his starting deck called Possession. As one of his level up rewards, it gets the item Nomad's Medallion, which gives -2 cost. One problem: It doesn't fucking work. After getting this reward, playing a run will reveal that Possession still costs its default 5 mana. It just doesn't fucking work. At all. How the fuck did this not get caught in testing?

Possession + Nomad's Medallion is far from the only mistake in this update. Pretty much everything added has some mistake that came with it. For example, they went back and added new rewards to old adventures, but players who had already gotten all the old rewards would be unable to get any of the new ones. The good news is they've fixed this one. The bad news is that this is the only mistake they've fixed so far.

There's a new weekly quest that rewards you for winning 3 weekly adventures. Background: Weekly adventures are randomly generated adventures that give a reward the first time you complete them. They come in sets of 3, and a new set of 3 replaces the old set each week. Problem: The weekly quest refreshes on wednesday, while the weekly adventuers refresh on monday. That means that either A) You have to wait 2 days before doing any of the weekly adventures, B) You have to do all 3 weekly adventures within monday and tuesday, or C) You have to do one or more of the weekly adventures twice, without getting any rewards for the 2nd run.

Viego has another bug, in his 2nd star power. The power says "Whenever an ally with 4+ power dies, reduce the cost of units in hand with 4+ power by 1." The cost reduction actually only applies to units in hand with 5+ power, so either the power has a typo or the programmers messed up. This is especially egregious because Viego has a unit in his starting deck with 4 power, so basic testing should have revealed this bug.

Daily quests now give a "bronze cosmic vault" which gives 5-10 fragments of a random champion, but they didn't add a vault opening animation for this one, so you can't tell what champion you got the fragments for or even whether you got any fragments at all. You DO get the fragments, it just doesn't tell you. Speaking of fragments, they also broke the "upgradable" notification.

Oh lord, the upgradable notification. Background: You upgrade champions by spending fragments of that champion. You also get wild fragments, which can be spent on upgrading any champion. Before, when you had enough champion fragments to upgrade that champion, the champion select button would glow, and the champion you can upgrade will be moved to the top and glowing with the label "upgradable". This is very useful, and not annoying at all because there's no reason not to upgrade a champion when you have enough of their fragments to do so. It's not like you can spend their fragments on anything else. Obviously, this doesn't consider wild fragments, because that would be stupid; not only is it likely that you want to save up your wild fragments for a certain champion, but giving an upgradable notification for any champion that you could upgrade with wild fragments would make literally every champion "upgradable" once you have enough, making the notification completely useless.

The upgradable notification now takes wild fragments into account.

This is almost certainly a mistake, and a quirk of the new upgrade purchasing UI that came with the Constellations update. But for all of this, every little messy aspect of this update, you have to ask: How did this happen? How did they fuck this up? How rushed was this update that they couldn't find and fix these issues? What the fuck is happening? Is the dev team working off a budget of $2 and a bag of peanuts?

Part 3: Free-to-play games suck

I was thinking about how I'm definitely never giving this game any money when I thought "Well, what if there was an Unlock Everything button that costed $5? Or even just $1? I'd probably buy that so I could… Wait. What would I do then?" I realized that I've spent so much time playing this game just to Make Progress and Get Things that I don't even know what I'd do if I actually had all the things I wanted. I realized that this game is an evil treadmill of FOMO and daily quests that has no purpose other than to drain as much of my time (and ideally money) away as possible. And I fucking fell for it like a chump.

I have so many games, real games that let me play at my own pace, sitting in my Steam library, yet here I am grinding for hours on this treadmill because I don't want to miss a daily quest. I am going to uninstall this game.

After I clear the "Beat Lissandra with Viego" quest because it has a time limit and gives a big fat diamond vault but AFTER THAT I'M QUITTING FOR REAL I PROMISE!

Epilogue: Ultrakill

Even since long before I bought it, Ultrakill has been a fascinating game to experience. I HATE spending money, so I naturally drift toward free-to-play games, but these games often have grind treadmills meant to tempt you into skipping them with microtransactions. Even some real games with no microtransactions have grindy progression mechanics, such as Monster Hunter and most RPGs. I've mostly grown numb to it and just accepted that this is how games are.

It's not, that's a lie, and Ultrakill is the greatest counterexample of all time.

Being as cheap as Mr. Krabs, I first experienced Ultrakill through its demo. Now, Ultrakill is a game with very little progression; the demo has 2 weapons that cost currency to buy, but they're super cheap, you'll get enough to buy them just by playing through the demo levels. There's no grind. Just 6 levels.

I played those 6 levels so many times. I played them until I P-Ranked them, and then occasionally I would just boot up the demo and play through it all again. I had everything, all 2 unlockable weapons, and even all the non-mechanical stuff; the secrets, the P-Ranks, the bonus challenges. There was NOTHING for me to get, but I kept playing anyway, because the game is fucking fun. I want to play games like that. Games where you run out of things to chase, and still keep playing because the game is fun. Rhythm games are a great example; no stats to level up, no weapons to obtain, just pure gameplay. Racing games are another; I've had a blast playing F-Zero GP Legend, just booting it up every now and then to play a quick Grand Prix.

Even games that have progression can play like this sometimes, like my many, many playthroughs of Tales of the Abyss. And games that have a story mode with a clear endpoint are also appealing. I want games where the progression is finite, where you're expected to reach the end, not just keep grinding for currencies on an endless treadmill. Because the best way to know that you truly love a game is when it runs out of things to give you, but you still keep playing.

Okay essay over I just have a thing to put at the end here because this morning I beat Lissandra on my very first try

Stole her own OP Watcher, and even if I had only killed it instead I think I still would've won lol

Finally uninstalled the game afterward. Goodbye.

#Lissandra was dead in so many ways #the Watcher actually milled her deck down to 3 cards two turns before this so even if she survived this attack i'd have won soon #i would've just needed to survive one attack and with how weakened her board is that would've been easy #and even if i hadn't been able to mill her i already grew my Encroaching Mists up high enough to beat her Frostguard Thralls #and the level 2 viego stealing her strongest unit each round seals the deal #i would've won anyway #the funniest part is that i didn't think this run was going very well #i didn't get many powers or many items on my champions #but viego is just a pretty good matchup against Liss #she gets stupidly high stats but viego can just steal her strongest unit every round #and then i can usually kill it so she doesn't get it back #and while she has an annoying power that prevents long combos viego mainly just plays one or two cards per round #i also started this run REALLY well by getting The Grander Plaza as my first power and a shadow isles support champion #overall GREAT synergy that carried me through the whole adventure #in fact The Grander Plaza is what's giving that Watcher overwhelm (trample) to guarantee the kill #also the Watcher doesn't normally have 700 power it just got doubled 6 times because of silly bullshit #normally it's only supposed to have 88 power #ACTUALLY normally it's supposed to have 11 #but none of that really matters because it fucking obliterates the enemy deck #just looked it up and apparently it used to obliterate the WHOLE deck AND it used to be easier to summon #anyway the point is: lissandra is dead and i killed her so now i beat the game. the end :D #ka asks

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 8 months ago

Text

three times

a/n: some time ago i asked you guys on a poll what dude you wanted in this story and you all chose bucky, so here it is! also, i partly blame you all for how unhinged it turned out... like you get maybe 6,69% of the blame for the push you gave me... the rest is just me being a hoe

summary: a tale of the three times a nurse was kidnapped by new york’s most notorious gang.

warnings: dark!mob boss!bucky barnes x nurse!reader x doctor!peter parker, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, mob au, mobsters!steve rogers, clint barton, tony stark, scott lang, bruce banner, the gang is called the avengers, doctor!kate bishop, enemies to lovers, kidnapping, violence, weapons, blood, being drugged, alcohol consumption, possessiveness, kissing, clothed x completely naked, panty sniffing, dirty talk, manhandling, size kink, gaping, belly bulge, oral, fingering, fisting, pussyjob, in bucky's mind it's brat taming, dumbification, impact play, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, somno, bondage, mild knife play, mild gunplay, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 11.574

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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You flinched jaggedly as the dark cloth bag was finally ripped off your head. Eyes immediately squinting, they still strained to take in the unfamiliar space you’d been dragged to.

You were no longer in the hospital’s dark parking lot, nor were you in the black van you’d suddenly been tossed into, but instead, you found yourself in a dark living room. It was elegantly decorated, from the Persian rug to the dramatic, antique fireplace flicking behind the cluster of suit-clad criminals glaring down at you.

“This her?” one of them grumbled.

“Yep, one doctor as per your request,” the one who’d abducted you grinned, proudly planting a palm on his hip, “even choose a pretty one just for shits and giggles,” his starkly different mannerisms only made the others seem that much more intimidating.

The broad-figured one with a shock of sandy hair then stepped closer to where you stood, “alright, here’s the thing, doc,” his head tilted slightly to get on your level as he spoke to you directly, “you’re gonna do exactly as we say and then everything will be alright, okay?” he stared in your eyes as you offered him a shaky nod, “okay,” he exhaled, “you got a name?”

“Y/n Y/l/n…” you uttered before hearing yourself try to correct, “but I–…”

“But what?” the same man croaked.

“I-I’m not a doctor…”

“God damn it!” someone rumbled as everyone’s eyes flicked to the man who’d captured you, “we can’t fucking trust the new guy to do anything.”

“Well, she’s wearing scrubs,” he tried, frantically gesturing to your uniform, “I just thought–”

“You fucked up, Lang!” the first man who you’d heard speak barked loudly, “and now we’re not just gonna lose one of our brothers tonight, but also the head of the snake. Great fucking job,” a sharp click then caused your eyes to find the gun he yanked out, “and now she gotta die as well–”

“Wait!” you shrieked as both of your palms shot up in the air, “no! Please don’t kill me! I-I’m a nurse! I’m a nurse! I can help! Whoever’s hurt, I can help!”

Seemingly superior to the others present, the blonde one stared at you intensely for a while before exhaling a verdict, “shit… well, I guess it’s better than nothing…” his polished shoes then began to shuffle before he gestured to you, “come this way.”

Hesitantly, you slowly shadowed him out of the living room, down a dim hallway, and into the chamber that bloomed at the bottom of the corridor. In the centre of the dark room, bathed by two glowing pendants, stood a large pool table, and upon the green felt, with colourful orbs haphazardly scatted all about, there laid a man, unconscious and bleeding.

The brunette’s suit was sodden with crimson, though you couldn’t tell from here how much of it was his own.

The gangster who was standing by the side and watching over the wounded individual glanced up at your arrival and asked his fellow men, “this the doctor?”

“No, it’s a fucking stripper,” you twisted your neck at the sarcastic tone as the guy who’d only moments ago pulled a gun on you waltzed past you and entered the room as well, “yes, of course it is, Tony. How’s the boss?”

“Still alive,” he answered in a sigh and cast his glance back down upon the man on the pool table.

Slowly stepping up, you carefully let your stare wash over the mobster, from the frazzled and blood-soaked attire to the metal-looking hand poking out one of the sleeves.

“What happened?” you asked carefully.

“Miss,” someone grumbled as they set a bag of supplies down beside you on the games table, “just fix him.”

“If you wanna give your friend a better chance, then you give me as much information as possible about what happened to him,” you uttered as you found a pair of gloves and slipped them on.

Letting out a sigh, the blonde fellow then said, “it was a shootout.”

Snatching up a pair of scissors, you began to snip in the man’s clothes, staring at the sleeve closest to you, “how many times was he shot?”

“I don’t know, he–… a lot of rounds went off,” he grunted, the events of the night weighting his broad shoulders down, “I wasn’t exactly counting.”

Two bullets. That’s how many you found when his dress shirt was in tatters on the floor. One was lodged in his right arm four finger widths above his elbow, while the other had strayed a bit further north and buried itself in his bulky bicep. You also found other scrapes and scratches along his torso, assumingly from other bullets that hadn’t been as lucky as those two.

The smallest of relieved sighs flowed from your lungs as you discovered that he wasn’t in a critical enough condition to be in need of a surgeon, at least not from what you could tell with the limited resources currently at your disposal.

As you carefully set to work, first digging the bullets out before cleaning the wounds with saline, your lips slowly parted as you treaded a curved needle, “…so, not that I don’t love the change to my evening plans,” you didn’t dare shift your glance as you asked, “but don’t you have a regular guy for cleaning up these sorts of messes?”

“We did… he died tonight, trying to stop that from happening,” the blonde man gestured to the injuries you began to stitch up.

Blinking up to find his eye, you uttered sincerely, “I’m so sorry for your loss…” feeling yourself, even under such circumstances, uncontrollably slip into those compassionate parts of your profession.

A slight scoff bubbled out of the gangster, taken aback by your unexpected gentleness, “yeah, me too. Banner was one hell of a guy…”

Once each of the wounds were sutured closed and you’d bandaged him up, you pushed yourself back from the pool table.

“Alright,” you exhaled and glanced up at the criminals lurking in the shadows of the chamber, “I’m done.”

“Yeah?” one of them stepped up to get a better look, “he’s alright?”

“No, he’s not alright, he was shot multiple times and should be in a fucking hospital,” your eyes briefly fluttered shut as you heard yourself snap, “now, can I please go home?”

Catching the eye of the blonde one, second in command, you watched as his jaw briefly clenched, the muscles dancing beneath his skin before he breathed, “no, you’re not done.”

“But I did exactly as you asked–”

“Like you said, he should be in a hospital right now, but we can’t have that happen, so instead, you’re gonna stay here till he’s out of the woods.”

“What? I can’t–”

“You’re a nurse, right?” he croaked to shut you up, “so fucking do your job and nurse him back to health.”

Three whole days ended up passing by before Mr Barnes slowly began to regain consciousness.

“Oh, you’re awake!” you snapped back into work mode, springing from your seat and leaning in over the bed which he’d previously been moved into. As the mobster instinctively began to sit up, his eyes barely open yet, you laid a soft palm upon his metal arm and uttered, “sir, please don’t move,” and watched as his clenched jaw almost silenced a groan, “one second, I’ll give you something for the pain,” before you shifted a moment to scavenge through the supplies you’d been given. Once the medicine was found, you exhaled slowly as you injected it, gently pressing down the plunger of the syringe, “there you go…”

You let yourself suck in a deep breath before your sharp eyes washed over him, briefly assessing him as he woke, though as your gaze flickered up to meet his own, initially with the intent of checking his pupillary response, the manner he stared back at you caught you so of guard that a shiver trickled down your spine.

“Sir, do you know what your name is?” you asked in a clear tone.

“Mhm…” he hummed and continued to stare at you as if you were an angel, “Bucky…”

“Bucky, great, that’s good,” you nodded, “and do you know where you are?”

His gaze didn’t shift away from your visage as he then murmured, “heaven…”

“No, I assure you, you’re not dead,” grasping the stethoscope draped around your neck, you shifted it into place to take a quick listen to his heart, “you almost were, a few times, but you aren’t.”

As the steady thumping of his pulse filled your ears and seeped into your soul, his deep voice washed over you once again and layered atop the beat, “I’m guessing you had something to do with that?”

Catching his unwavering eye a moment, you then averted yours and muttered, “I was just doing my job…” before retracting the stethoscope from his chest and casting your glance towards the door, “I should probably go tell the others that you’re awake.”

TWO WEEKS LATER

“…and Mr Jensen in 401 is complaining of a headache, so you might wanna check that out as well.”

“Alright, cool,” the doctor scribbled down the last of your words on the little notepad in his palm before his gaze flickered up to catch yours, “thank you so much, Y/n,” he flashed you a warm smile.

Mirroring his expression, you hugged the charts in your grasp closer to your chest, “any time, Dr Parker.”

“Peter, please,” his thumb extended to click the top of his blue pen before sliding it into the breast pocket of his white coat, “hey, I was gonna go grab a cup of coffee right now, do you wanna join?” he tried to keep his tone casual.

Blinking back at him, your breath couldn’t help but get caught in your throat, “I–, uhm… I’d love to, but I get off in a little bit. Wednesdays are always just morning shifts for me.”

“Oh, alright,” he nodded understandingly, though the gentle rejection still tainted his features slightly.

“But another time,” you offered, successfully brightening his smile once more.

“Yeah?” his elbow curled up to lean against the supportive railing that lined the hospital hallways.

“Sure. I mean, I drink coffee, you drink coffee,” you awkwardly began to dig yourself into a hole, “the chances of us bumping into each other at the coffee cart are pretty high–”

But your sentence was then cut short as Peter’s pager suddenly pinged in his pocket.

Fishing the small device out, his eyes flickered down to the small screen before he croaked, “oh, sorry. I gotta run.”

“Of course,” you swiftly waved a hand and watched as his feet began to shuffle into a run.

“Talk later!” Peter called over his shoulder before he rounded a corner and disappeared into the maze of the hospital.

Twisting around, your feet carried you the remaining distance towards the nurses’ station overlooking the ICU. As you laid the stack of files in your arms down on the counter, a familiar voice found your ears right before her visage popped into your periphery.

“Please tell me that that was what I think it was.”

Your gaze stayed glued on the charts a moment longer as you ignored your friend’s prying, “hello to you too, Kate.”

When your head finally raised and you let her catch your eye, her wide ones questioned you before she expectantly poked once more, “well?”

“Well what?” you shrugged, though your feeble attempts at shutting the pending subject down failed as she shot you a glare, efficiently causing you to crumble with a sigh, “yes, he asked me out again–, or kinda. It was just coffee.”

“And you finally said yes?” she smiled keenly.

Holding back your scoff, you simply uttered, “no,” before spinning on your heel.

“Again?” she shuffled slightly to catch up to the pace you swiftly slipped into, “why not? He’s kind, he’s a doctor, he’s hot,” she listed off, counting on her fingers, “he’s literally perfect for you.”

“I know he is…” you tilted your head, almost with an air of shame, “he’s exactly the type of guy that I should be running after…”

Though you liked him as a person and cared for him enough to call him your friend, those feelings you caught yourself forcing just hadn’t bubbled up yet. He was the kind of man that you deserved, that you should fall for, and certainly not the monster that still haunted you, that for some reason wouldn’t stop popping into your mind, especially at inappropriate times, like very late at night…

“So then why aren’t you?” Kate asked as you entered the employee locker room.

And though thoughts of a gruff gangster caused your heart to swell, you still muttered, “I don’t know…” as an excuse before you popped open your locker and uttered, “hey… what do you know about mobsters here in the city?

“Other than the horror stories I’ve picked up in the ER, not too much,” she leaned against the row of cubbies beside your own as you dug out your bag and began to change out of your scrubs and back into the clothes you’d worn early this morning when the sun was still only a promise waiting to rise, “though I did grow up here, so I probably do know a bit more than you,” she acknowledged your move to the city only a few years prior, “why? Are you suddenly in the mood for a change in careers?”

Though the truth was on the tip of your tongue, you still found yourself obeying the commands the gangsters had sent you home with. Telling the cops was no use because they were all in their pockets, and confiding in a loved one also wasn’t a smart choice as that would only put them in danger.

“Have you ever heard of someone called Bucky Barnes?” you asked, instinctively lowering your voice to a whisper.

The ever light-hearted expression plastered upon Kate’s face fell at the recognition of that name, “yeah…”

“Really?” your brows rose, “what do you know about him?”

“I mean, other than that he’s the supposed leader of the Avengers, not too much.”

“The Avengers?”

“Yeah, one of New York’s most notorious gangs,” she let out a breath, “from what little I know, they get up to a shit ton of stuff straight out of a De Niro movie or something, but their real money maker is cocaine… I mean, that’s why the head of the group is known as the winter soldier.”

“How do you know about all this stuff?” you squinted back at her in slight amazement.

“Went to med school with a few coke heads, might have dated one of them,” she blurted before shaking her head and getting back to the subject at hand, “anyways, Y/n, the point is, you don’t wanna mess with those types, trust me.”

“I know,” you uttered quietly as you shrugged on your coat and pushed your locker closed, “I wasn’t planning on it, I was just curious…”

As you dragged your foaming toothbrush over the last of your teeth, a loud knock suddenly rattled your front door, causing you to jump atop the pink bathmat in your tiny bathroom.

Neck twisted out towards the entryway of your apartment, you briefly leaned over the sink to spit out the toothpaste slowly leaking out of your mouth, before your feet began to carry you towards the exit.

One of your palms momentarily ran over the edge of your pyjama-clad arm as the night chill soaked through the cotton and made you yearn for the warmth of your bed.

Though as you pulled on the handle, the haunting figures on the other side of the door caused your blood to freeze with recognition. Standing tall on the other side of the threshold, there stood two of the Avengers’ henchmen.

“You need to come with us,” the one called Barton ordered coldly. Over the few days the gang had held you captive, you’d picked up on the names of many of the members, including the two that stood before you now.

“What?” your chest rose and fell rapidly, “I–, please, I swear, I haven’t told a soul.”

Having them knock at your door was one thing, but even just the thought of criminals such as them knowing where you lived sent you into a spiral.

“Yeah, we know you haven’t,” Scott put a hand on the doorframe, “that’s not why we’re here.”

“What happened?” you murmured as you were led into one of the many sitting rooms in the mysterious manor they once again brought you to. In an armchair before you, half-empty glass of bourbon in metal hand and the sleeves rolled up on his blood-tainted shirt, there sat the big bad winter soldier himself, panting as he slowly sipped.

Though when the sound of your voice filled the room, Bucky’s eyes only snapped up to yours for a moment before he shot a glare at his men.

“What is she doing here?” he grumbled lowly.

“Boss, you busted your stitches,” Lang gestured tensely to the crimson slowly staining his crisp white shirt, “what else were we–”

Intersecting the conversation, the broad form of Steve stepped into the space between the gangsters and swiftly snuffed the pending argument out, “thank you, Barton, Lang,” he nodded to each of them, “you can go,” and you watched the pair that had brought you back exited the room. Shifting his weight, Bucky’s right hand man turned to you and offered you a polite smile, “Y/n, pleasure to see you again.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, not masking your disdain of the situation you’d been dragged into yet again, “I wish I could say the same…” before you shifted your eyes to the man in the chair, though still directed your question at Steve, “what do you need me to do?”

As you shifted closer to the intimidating leader, ever drinking, surely to dull the pain, Rogers murmured as you kneeled down to assess, “I think it’s just the one on his shoulder that’s–”

“Yeah, I see it,” you cut him off, then glanced back over your shoulder at him, “do you still have that medical bag?”

“Yeah, one second,” he swiftly disappeared to fetch it, leaving you all alone with the feared mob boss.

With the crackling fireplace off to the side as your only source of light, you cautiously raised your hands and asked, “do you mind taking this off?” motioning to the shirt he wore.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky sighed and sat down his glass before shrugging the item off. Though you’d stared at his bare chest for hours on end before, soaking in his reveal once again for some reason caused your heartbeat to pick up, though you swiftly averted your gaze in an attempt at staying professional.

Not long passed before Rogers had returned with the supplies, and you’d commenced redoing his stitches.

“So,” you murmured though your concentration, weaving his skin back together, “do I even wanna know how this happened?”

Blinking down at you, your face close to your work and therefore his skin, Bucky breathed, “probably not...” and as his stare only intensified over the next few stitches, his low timbre once again washed over you as the corners of his lips tugged into the slightest of smirks, “cute PJs, by the way…”

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly get a chance to change,” you felt your cheeks heat up.

“Oh, I'm not complaining,” his gaze shifted to take in the way the cool night air had caused your nipples to become visible like pebbles beneath the thin stripy fabric, the comment making you shift tensely on your knees.

Once the last of the knots were tied off and you’d snipped the end of the thread, you wrapped the wounds back up with clean bandages before placing the roll of gauze back into the medical bag.

“Alright, uhm,” you shifted back, “you’re good now,” a slight winch shot through you as you watched him briefly test out his arm’s mobility, “just be careful, try not to use it too much.”

Catching your eye, he uttered softly, “thank you,” before shifting his gaze to the gangster by the door, “Rogers?”

“Yes, boss?”

“See to it that she gets home safe.”

ONE MONTH LATER

“I’ve heard the risotto here is really good,” Peter noted as you both skimmed the menus resting on the tablecloth before you, the crystal chandeliers illuminating the restaurant cast a soft glow down upon the choices.

“Yeah?” you briefly glanced up to catch the doctor’s eye, “well, maybe I should get that then,” you shrugged before shifting slightly in your seat, “hey,” you captured his gaze once more, “could you maybe order for me? I just need to–…” you trailed off, letting the thumb you discreetly pointed over your shoulder in the direction of the bathrooms fill out the rest of the sentence.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he nodded.

“Great, thank you,” you smiled as you rose. The long, cobalt-blue, velvet dress you wore briefly swooshed around your legs before the soft click of your heels against the polished floors carried you through the maze of tables.

It was the third date you’d ventured on with the kind doctor. The third one and yet you still didn’t have any feelings towards him.

Stubbornly trying as you might, you still couldn’t get the poison out of your system and do the right thing.

Once you exited the ladies’ room, and big breath of courage in your lungs as you pushed open the door, it all seeped out as you walked through the small hallway that connected the lavatories with the dining space, and you accidentally bumped into two figures that waited in the space.

Unsure of who was to blame for the collision, you immediately just muttered, “oh, sorry–,” before you glanced up at the pair and your apology crumbled from your lips, your frame immediately freezing up at the recognition.

“Listen to me. You are going to quietly walk back to your little date, tell him that you’re not feeling well and need to go home,” Stark kept his voice hushed as both he and the other gangster slowly cornered you, the other one grasping your arm to keep you in place, “and then you’re gonna come with us.”

Sucking in a breath, you then tilted your chin slightly, “and if I don’t?”

“Then we won’t hesitate to make a scene,” Barton shifted the edge of his jacket out of the way to flash you the gun strapped beneath, “so you can either walk with us and safe a life or you can not only have a dying gangster’s blood on your hands, but also everyone in this fucking restaurant.”

With the clench of your jaw, you glared up at them and murmured, “...fine,” before you ripped your arm free and began to walk back into the dining area and the table where Peter still sat.

Flashing you a smile as you neared, the doctor swiftly said, “so, I ordered this chardonnay that the waiter said was good. You drink wine, right?”

“I–, uhm…” your fingers clutched the back of the chair as you tried to appear as you had before, even though now you felt as if your hammering heart might spring straight out of your ribcage, “Peter, I’m really sorry, but I gotta go,” you briefly scrambled your brain before adding, “the hospital paged me. There was a big accident downtown.”

“Really?” he fished out his own beeper from his pocket and furrowed down at it, “I didn’t get paged, so it probably can’t be that bad.”

“Yeah, but nurses shortage, you know?”

“Right,” he nodded, disappointment slightly polluting his understanding expression.

“I'm really sorry,” you uttered as you picked up your small purse from the chair.

“No, it’s fine,” he shook his head gently, “hey, I get it,” he shrugged before waving a hand, “go.”

“Thank you,” you stood there a moment longer, unsure of how you should depart, “uhm… bye,” before you awkwardly shifted closer to his seat and leaned down to press a brief kiss to his cheek as you offered him a half-hearted hug.

“Who is it this time?” you sighed as you were led into an elegant space, surely intended for parties judging by the long bar that stretched along the back wall. Glaring at the only man seated on one of the barstools, you asked impatiently, “is it you? Did you hurt yourself again?”

Glancing over his shoulder as you halted your stride halfway down the short steps, a smile appeared on Bucky’s face as he leaned a forearm against the bar top and bellowed, “Y/n! Come, have a drink with me,” he waved a hand for you to take the seat beside him.

Standing your ground, you squinted back at him in confusion, “no, I can’t, I–, where’s the patient?”

“The patient?” he echoed as if you were speaking a foreign language.

“Yes,” you huffed, your annoyance simmering into a full-on boil, “the person who’s on death’s door, the reason why I, a medical professional, is here,” you placed your hands on your hips and asked once again, “is it you?”

“No, I’m phenomenal,” he pursed his lips as he snatched up the stout glass waiting for him on the marble counter, “never been better.”

“Okay, so who is it?”

Tearing his gaze away from you, he then uttered, “no one,” before raising the drink up to his lips. As your mouth parted and your glare nearly burned straight through him, the mobster casually added, “you look stunning, by the way,” before twisting in his seat to face you more, “I didn’t know they changed scrubs out with gowns.”

“No, I–, I was on a date–,” you muttered faintly through your confusion, slightly shaking your head in an attempt to clear it before you raised a hand, “wait, excuse me, no one’s injured?”

“No,” Barnes shook his head, “no one’s hurt or dying,” then added as if your reaction was a tad bit too dramatic for his taste, “you can relax, it’s fine.”

But instead, the opposite emotions roiled inside of you as you slowly ascended a single one of the remaining steps, “so you mean to tell me that your men threatened me, my date and a whole restaurant of people, then dragged me all the way out here again, for nothing?” you fumed.

“No, it wasn’t for nothing,” he shrugged, “they brought you back here because I told them to,” he kept his ocean eyes upon you as he once again repeated, “now, come drink with me.”

“No, I don’t want a fucking drink,” you roared.

But then, just as swiftly as you had raised your voice, Bucky’s steely hand dipped beneath his suit jacket and pulled out a gun.

“I asked you nicely,” his stern tone rolled off his tongue slowly as he aimed the weapon upon you, “now sit your ass down and share a drink with me.”

Carefully, you finally followed his orders and sat down at the bar beside him.

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he uttered as he sat the gun down beside his drink. Raising up a hand to the silent shadow behind the bar, a glass was soon slid across the counter, one Bukcy pushed closer towards you, “here,” he said as you stared down at the orange peel floating at the top. As you lifted up the cocktail, the gangster beside you raised his own to click yours, “cheers.”

You briefly toyed with the thought of just taking a sip, though opted instead to down it all, both out of the desperate hope that the alcohol would aid the strange evening, but also in an attempt to fast forward a tad closer to your longed-for departure, ripping the bandage off instead of nursing it all night long.

Though as you sat the glass back down on the bar, the bottom clanged against the marble much more forcefully than you’d intended as the fingers you clutched it with began to tingle. Blinking heavily a few times, your hand accidentally knocked over the empty drink as a numbing sensation began to bloom within your chest and spread throughout your body.

Trying to get up from your seat, you mumbled foggily, “what the hell?” though quickly stumbled as your legs felt like jelly beneath your velvet gown.

“Whoa, careful now, angel,” Bucky’s calm gaze trailed you chillingly as you tried to steady yourself.

“The fuck did you do?” you panted as your wide eyes watched him raise from his seat.

“It's okay,” he uttered softly, “it’s all gonna be okay,” before your world turned to black and you passed out into his arms.

When you finally stirred, you were no longer at the bar, nor any other room you’d been in before. You were in a bedroom, situated on a spacious mattress and alongside countless fluffy maroon pillows.

As you sat up, a low rustling found your ears and drew your vision down towards the coldness clinging around your ankle. Strung between the bottom corner of the bedframe and your own foot, there shined a chain, one that, try as you instinctively did, you couldn’t snap out of.

But then, as the door to the room creaked open and caused your body to flinch, a plea swiftly flowed out of you as you watched Rogers step inside, balancing a small tray with a glass and a tall decanter of clear water.

“Steve!” you crawled to the bottom of the bed, “I–… help me, please,” you begged, hearing tears thicken up your voice as they rolled down your cheeks, “you’re a good man, deep down I know you don’t wanna stand by and let this happen. Can you unlock me? Please? Help me get out of here.”

But just as you waited for Steve’s lips to part, you instead heard, “shh, don’t waste your breath, honey,” as in strolled Bucky, causing you to swiftly scramble as far back on the bed as the chain would allow.

Sitting down in a chair just out of your reach, the fireplace opposing the bed, directly behind where he sat, clacked and lit up his spine as he settled into the seat and directed his cold gaze upon you.

“Glad to see you awake,” he uttered calmly.

“Fuck you!” you swiftly spat as you hugged your knees tightly to your chest.

“And with all of your charms still intact,” he tilted his head, a light smirk blooming on his lips as your vulgar language hadn’t fazed him one bit.

“Let me go,” you demanded.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, my angel,” his burly arms folded across his chest, “this is for your own protection,” he briefly gestured to the chain, “we wouldn’t want you to do anything stupid or rash now, would we?” one of his eyebrows twitched, “I can’t let anything happen to you,” he uttered as you continued to stare daggers at him, “you need to be kept as safe as possible so you can keep on helping me the way that you have.”

“What? You want me to be your gang’s personal nurse?” you scoffed, “is this your sick and twisted way of offering me a job, because if so, no thanks!”

“Yeah, no, this isn’t a job offering, I’m not interested in those talents of yours,” he leaned further back in the seat before he began to explain, “you see, for the past few years, I’ve had a serious string of bad luck. Deals have fallen through, rats have been found, the feds have been snipping at our heels and countless of my men have lost their lives,” he listed off, “but, then I met you,” his eyes flickered up to capture your own, “and it all turned around,” he uttered, “I tell you, when you’re here, it’s fate herself is on my side and nothing whatsoever could go wrong. Like having you has made me a fucking god or something, that’s the level of power you’ve bestowed in me,” a faint smile tugged at his lips as those words rolled off his tongue, “so no, you can not leave. You have to stay right here where I can make sure you’re safe and sound. Although, just because you get to be kept safe, that doesn’t mean you’re free of any consequences if you step out of line… it also doesn’t mean that I’ll deny anyone of your beauty if it pleases them… so, I guess it’s more along the lines of you just staying alive under my watch.”

In the blind rage his words threw you into, your fingers wrapped around the bedside lamp before you chucked it across the room. Though just before it could strike the gangster’s head, he casually ducked out of the way, the lamp instead smashing on the floor behind him as a chuckle began to rumble within his chest.

“That’s cute,” he laughed lowly, “you’ve got some bite. It’ll get you in trouble, but it’s adorable.”

“I'm not interested in being your good luck charm, you superstitious fuck!” you yelled as he got up from his seat.

Huffing out a condescending grin, “give it some time, angel,” he fastened the button on his dark suit jacket before smoothing a palm down over the front, “the human psyche is much more fragile than you’d think and can get used to some surprising conditions,” he ignored the scream that desperately tore from your lungs and instead turned to Steve standing by the door and asked him calming, “Rogers, would you mind cleaning that up?” gesturing to the broken lamp on the floor, and as he received a small nod in return, he murmured, “thank you,” before exiting the room and leaving you to your fate.

“Seriously?” Steve let out a laugh when he finally coaxed the truth out as to why you hadn’t been touching any of the food they’d brought you, “and here I thought you were just a picky eater.”

“Well, you’ve already drugged me once so what’s stopping you from doing it again,” you explained, glaring down at the plate before you as he attempted to stifle his laughter.

“I swear, cross my heart, your pasta is not poisoned.”

Continuing to squint down at the food, you kissed your teeth, “prove it.”

“Really?” his brows floated up, “alright,” he sighed as he sat down across from you. Dragging your plate closer, he twirled some of the spaghetti onto the fork before slipping it into his mouth, “see?” he chewed, “I’m fine, and so will you be when you get some food in that belly of yours.”

Pushing it back towards you, hesitantly, you picked up the fork and slowly began to eat. It had only been little things you’d consumed the past couple of days being here, things you could be certain weren’t tainted, like the odd apple and such.

Though as you chewed and finally began to settle your stomach’s nauseating rumbling, tears began to stream down your cheeks.

No matter how hard you tried to beg, none of the mobsters would help you, as their loyalty was just too hard for you to crack.

“Hey…” your bloodshot eyes then flickered up to Rogers as he noticed your weeping, “it’ll get easier, I promise,” he attempted in a soft tone.

“How?” you blinked back at him hopelessly, “I am being locked up in a room by a maniac as if I’m just some trinket for him to own.”

Throwing a brief glance over his shoulder, he then leaned in a bit closer to cautiously advise you, “…there might be some things you could do to change your situation…”

“What?” a spark suddenly flickered within you, “I’d do anything.”

“…you might consider trying to get closer to Barnes…” his words remained hesitant, “…if he begins to care for you, then he might treat you differently…”

“Like, he’d let me go?”

“I don’t know,” he exhaled, “but maybe it could get that chain off your ankle,” he gestured to your foot, “baby steps.”

ONE MONTH LATER

“Here,” Steve croaked as he suddenly burst through the doors to your room, a big flat box in his arms which he tossed on the bed beside you. Peeking inside, a folded-up bundle of black fabric met your eye, “put it on,” he ordered hastily, “make yourself presentable.”

“Why?” you blinked up at him, your brows knitting gently together.

“Because the boss requested it,” he answered impatiently.

“What, he wants to play dress up with me now? Treat me like a doll?”

Over the past month, you had gone from being scared out of your mind, barely sleeping at night, horrified of what they might do to you, till the paralysing fear slowly began to melt away as not much happened at all, in fact so little that you grew bored in your imprisonment, thinking that the big bad gangsters were just all bark and no bite. Perhaps that was a dangerous confidence to develop, growing cocky in your restlessness, but you couldn’t help it.

Letting out a low sigh, “just put it on,” Rogers’ head tilted before he said, “I’ll be outside, yell when you’re done.”

Popping the lid off all the way, you then slipped into the black gown waiting within. It was long and simple in its beauty as it hugged all of your curves like a second skin.

Right before you called out to the mobster in the hallway, you leaned in closer to the mirror on the left side of the room. The dark storm clouds visible out the gothic windows that filled up the wall behind you blossomed in the reflection alongside you as you momentarily fussed with your hair to make it match the elegant dress better.

Once Steve had entered the room once again, the very last thing you expected was what he did next.

Walking straight up to you, without a word, he bent down and unlocked the chain binding you to the bedpost. At first, a wave of hope washed over you till it was drowned out by the unsettling notion as to where he would take you and just what plans were on the horizon.

Grabbing you by the arm, he dragged you out of the room and down the dark hallway you’d only seen glimpses of before. You tried to ask him what was going on, though he didn’t offer you any clue in return, only remained silent as he hauled you through the maze-like manor till a wide set of steps found you, leading you down into a garage where a group of the other gangsters already stood beside the black car rolled up by the base of the stairs.

Standing in the middle with an arm resting against the roof of the vehicle, Bucky’s gaze swiftly landed upon you as you ascended the stone steps.

“Well,” the mob boss’ eyes roamed your form, “don’t you look pretty.”

Biting your tongue, you greeted him politely, “Mr Barnes.”

“Shall we go?” he cracked open one of the car doors.

“Where?” you tried, though your question only caused him to breathe out a smile as he ignored it and instead commanded softly.

“Get in the car, angel,” his metal arm rested atop the door.

Riding in a different vehicle than you, it was Clint who slipped in behind the wheel of your car and drove you the silent route towards the mysterious destination.

Though once the car came to a stop, the door to your left cracked open from the outside and there to greet you was an outstretched metal hand to help you exit.

You didn’t recognise the building that loomed before you, though it was grand and opulent with large steps leading you and all the other arrivals up to what sounded like a party already buzzing on.

“So, you needed a date,” you exhaled as Barnes took your arm and began to lead you up the stairs, a cluster of his men shadowing behind you both.

“No,” he cocked his head, “I didn’t need it...”

Casting your glance around at the other guests that passed, you asked, “what kinda party is this anyway? Let me guess, human trafficking auction?” you were completely serious, though still managed to make the gangster laugh gently.

“It’s a wedding,” his chuckle finished billowing out of his lungs, “or a funeral,” he tilted his head, “I'm not quite sure.”

“How could you not be sure?” you shot him a glance as you reached the top of the steps and he dragged you inside the marbled halls, “there’s a pretty significant difference.”

“They all just kinda melt together at this point,” he sighed, “I have at least one of these a week I gotta show my face at, just out of respect.”

Taking a look around, you uttered, “well, do you at least know who this funeral wedding is for?”

“No fucking clue,” he exhaled before following the signs and leading you into the venue’s ballroom.

Turns out it was a wedding for some couple you hadn’t yet spotted, though you’d already read their names a thousand times with all the stuff they were plastered upon.

You stayed quiet and lingered by Bucky’s side as he shook some people’s hands and made some small talk before the two of you found yourselves seated at one of the many round tables in the hall.

Blinking up at the floral centrepiece, your fingers fiddled with the white tablecloth as the hours rolled by. Soon, not only the complementary glass of champagne you’d been handed back when you arrived was sloshing in your belly, but also quite a bit more alcohol as you decided that was a good tool to make the evening more bearable.

It however also came with the hindrance of boosting your cockiness as you eventually found yourself poking the bear.

“You know for a big bad gangster,” you stared over at him, leaned back in the seat next to yours, “you’re actually not that scary up close,” you pursed your lips, causing a chuckle to rumble within his chest because of just how untrue that statement was, “smiling at everyone, being polite. Are you sure you really are the big bad winter solider? The king of New York with no heart and only an imagination for torture…”

“Well…” he huffed out a short laugh as he met your gaze, “don’t you have me just all figured out.”

“Some of your guys may have filled me in a bit,” you tilted your head.

“Have they now?” he continued to look amused.

“Yeah, well, a bit at least,” you seized your glass and took another sip.

As you placed the flute back down on the table and rested your cheek in a propped-up palm, your stare only intensified into a squint as Bucky’s eyes flickered back around the room.

But as his gaze fluttered back to notice your gawking, he muttered, “what?”

“Why aren’t you mean tonight?” you uttered through the haze fuzzing up your mind.

Tongue flicking out to wet his lips, his eyes briefly dipped before he uttered, “do you want me to be mean?” a playful smirk twitched at the corner of his lip in a threat to appear.

��Is it all just a lie?” you asked, the subtext of his previous words flowing directly over your dizzy head.

“What?”

Squinting back at him, you then breathed, “there’s always a part of me that’s still scared, imagining what you might do to me… but now,” you slowly drew out, “I don’t think you’re actually ever gonna do anything,” you blindly decided, “that’s not really who you are, they’re all just empty threats…”

“Hm…” he hummed, a slight smile blooming upon his lips as he stared back at you, “okay…” before he leaned in closer to utter, “and just what makes you think that I haven’t already?” your face immediately dropped as his words caused your frame to freeze up, “tell me, Y/n,” his breath fanned across your cheeks, “did you sleep well last night? Or the night before for that matter, or–, well, just during the time you’ve spent here with me?”

As your shock not only showed in your expression but also in your complete lack of speech, he simply grinned back at your stunned features before grabbing you by the hand and breaking the moment.

“Come on,” he dragged you with him as he then stood up himself, “let’s dance.”

With an argument on the tip of your tongue, the appendage, just as the rest of you, still remained too dumbfounded for it to come to fruition. You didn’t manage to gather your wits once again till he had you on the middle of the floor, wide hand on your waist as you swayed to the music.

As his hold slowly tightened and he brought you closer to his broad frame, your breath suddenly hitched as you blinked up into his eyes, the air between you growing thick. The hand that grasped your own near swallowed your palm in a dizzying contrast. Goosebumps began to erupt across your skin as you felt your heartbeat thump not only in your chest, but also much further south, a mortifying clue to the dark truth you hoped he didn’t somehow notice.

Gliding his palm up the length of your spine, it came to rest between your shoulder blades as he then drew you in closer and your gaze fell to the band strumming over his shoulder.

“Does the thought of me playing with you at night turn you on?” he whispered in your ear and continued to gently sway you to the music, “because if you want me to wake you, all you have to do is ask. Though my attempts so far at rubbing your luck off on me have been rather eventful, I’m still sure it would be better if you gave me a bit of a hand…”

Tilting your head back to blink up at him, you thought you were gonna spit him in the face for making such an accusation, till your stare acted of its own accord and fluttered down to fixate on his lips.

It almost felt as if they were calling for you, begging you closer like a stubborn magnet. But before you could close the short distance that kept you two apart, Barton appeared in your periphery and tapped his boss on the shoulder.

As he leaned in to whisper in his ear, you couldn’t pick up on the words over the music, though watched as Bucky’s face swiftly grew hard.

“What’s going on?” you asked as the secretive message came to an end and the mobster’s wide hands faded from your frame.

Ignoring your question, Bucky instead cast his glance over your head at one of the men behind you and ordered sternly, “Stark? Get her home, now.”

“What’s happening?” you tried again, though without success as Tony dragged you away and the remaining gathered to converse in hushed tones.

Perhaps it was because of the chaos of whatever was happening, perhaps just a simple mistake, but when you returned back to the manor, the shackle wasn’t reunited with your ankle.

Not willing to let that gift slip through your fingers, you soon grasped that opportunity tight and made an attempt at your escape.

Sneaking down the many hallways, you successfully hid from a handful of gruff-looking men before you realised you couldn’t remember the path to the garage or any other way out of the labyrinth of a building that kept you swallowed in the dark.

However, your mission turned into a swiftly sinking ship as soon as you rounded the wrong corner and crossed the threshold of the last room you should have entered.

In the centre of the space stood two chairs, both with individuals strapped to them, though only one of them was still alive. Before the seated pair and with his back turned to your frozen-up form, there stood Bucky. Returned from the party and with both his jacket and tie torn off, his sleeves were rolled up though still tainted in small crimson flecks of the deed he’d just done.

“Come on, Vladimir…” Barnes uttered as he kneeled down in front of the battered man still breathing, neither he nor the other members in the room haven noticed you in the doorway, “just give me what I want and we can wrap this up.”

Wheezing painfully through his broken nose, the man met Bucky’s steely gaze before fulfilling his request, “…I’m sorry…”

“Hm?” he leaned in pettily, “what was that?”

“I’m sorry,” the tied-up man repeated with a laboured huff.

“Okay, getting there,” he nodded, “what are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for killing Bruce…” the name rolled off Vladimir’s tongue like a crackle to a bonfire.

“And?” Bucky fished.

“For hurting you…”

“See? That wasn’t so bad now,” Barnes straightened back up, “an apology, a life for the one you took from me, and now there’s just one last thing left to do, and then we’re even,” he then took one step back and conjured his gun. Aiming it at the Russian, barely a second passed before a shot deafened everyone’s ears and a bullet blasted through the tied-up man’s arm, mirroring the injuries Bucky himself had sustained. The loud blast and the bloodcurdling scream that tore from Vladimir, however, caught you so off guard that a shriek slipped from you as you flinched, revealing your presence as everybody’s eyes suddenly shifted to train on you. Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky grunted, “what are you doing out? What is she doing out?” he shot his glare in the direction of Steve off to the side, “Rogers? Get her back into bed.”

“Yes, boss,” his right-hand man swiftly nodded before catching up to you in two long steps and seizing your arm.

And as you were dragged back to your doom, your eyes caught the tail end as Barnes let out a sigh and turned back around to face his victim, “now, where were we? Right! I believe the other one was right around here,” another gunshot echoed in the manor as he shot Vladimir’s arm once more, “and now, we can’t forget about the ones that only skimmed me, so get up and don’t fucking flinch, it’s on you if I hit your lung.”

The chain reunited with your ankle jingled as you twisted on the bed to cast your gaze out the window. Heavy rain hammered against the tall panes as the restless city twinkled through the darkness of the night. In the corner of the room, Steve watched up like a hawk as you continuously failed to find rest.

But then, just as you thought you felt your heartbeat return to a normal rhythm, the double doors burst open and in paced Bucky.

“Is she awake?” he huffed, though didn’t wait for an answer before he heatedly went on, “okay, great.”

As his rushed steps halted by the foot of your bed, the look in his eye caused your body to shudder.

“Rogers?” he kept his cold stare glued on you as he uttered, “go wait outside.”

Though you silently pleaded with your eyes for the mobster to stay, it was no use as Steve swiftly shut the doors behind him.

As the man before you then shifted, your wide eyes finally noticed the bundle of rope in his grasp as he began to unravel it. Scrambling back, you didn’t manage to crawl far away before Bucky caught the chain and yanked it hard enough to force your frame down towards him. Though your struggling finally fizzled out when the gangster pulled out his gun, the very gun he’d just ended a life with, and aimed it at your head to get you to comply.

“You know,” he uttered gruffly like a pent-up bull, “I’ve been nice, I’ve been real well behaved, kept my manners intact, been a goddamn gentleman,” the heavy weapon in his hand tilted slightly to emphasise his words, “but evidently, that’s not what you need to learn your fucking place,” he fumed before letting out a low exhale, “that’s alright…”

“Bucky, please,” tears blurred your vision as you held up your palms, “I-I understand, I’m sorry, you don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but I do…” he sighed almost softly as he then kneeled down closer and let the tip of the cool barrel stroke your cheek, “…if you don’t break a horse, then she’ll never be tamed…” his eyes trailed after the line he drew before it flickered up to find your own, “now give me your hands,” he ordered and hesitantly, you shakily obeyed.

Since you couldn’t stay in your place, he simply had to tie you down better.

Unfurling the rope in his grasp, the mobster then fastened the cord around not only both of your wrists, but also your free ankle. After each of the tight knots were tied off, he yanked each appendage to the nearest corner of the bedframe, spreading your limbs till you looked like a starfish on the mattress.

Taking a step back to admire his handiwork, his fingers then dipped down into his pocket before a slight furrow found his brow as his touch didn’t locate the item he fished for. Placing the heavy gun in his palm down on the fireplace mantel, he then closed the distance towards the exit and cracked open the door just a smidge.

“Rogers?” he extended a hand through the sliver, “give me your knife,” to which a switchblade was swiftly placed in his palm, replacing his own which was still lodged deeply inside the corpse of the Russian in the other room.

Slamming the door behind him, he then crossed the room and silently began to cut your clothes off. The black gown you still wore came off with only a few slices, though your underwear, that he took his time with, slowly grazing the blade over your goosebump-ridden flesh before nicking the cotton clinging tightly to your frame.

Once you were bare before him, his feet shuffled back slightly as he let his stare soak up every millimetre of you.

A hand floated up to tug on his tie and loosen it slightly from around the collar still dappled with the blood of his enemy. Folding closed the knife with a faint flourish, he then sank down into the armchair directly behind him. The tattered panties he’d sliced from you were still clutched tightly in his hand as his eyes stayed glued upon your frame. Bringing the fabric up to his nose, his blue eyes then fluttered closed for a second as he breathed deeply, letting the scent of you flood his senses.

But as he stuffed the cotton down into his pocket and let his palm drift to somewhere else, your eyes grew even wider as you gasped, “what are you–”

“Just shut up, please,” he groaned, sounding like he was at his very last straw as he brashly began to rub himself through his pants, “just for one fucking second, don’t be a brat.”

Your jaw couldn’t help but hit the floor as he shamelessly pulled out his cock, letting the intimidating hardness spring free of its confines before he spit in his palm and enclosed his fist around the fat girth. You wanted to look away, you truly did, but you just couldn’t, a flaw he obviously noticed.

“You’re unbelievable…” he chuckled as his fist silkily stroked up and down his cock, the mixture of his own spit and the precum beading at the tip caused a sloppy melody to fill the room at each and every twist, “I mean, me being into you, that’s one thing, that makes sense, you’re the closest thing to magic that I’ve ever experienced, so of course that’s enough to get me going, but you… you’re the very textbook definition of a good girl and here you are pining after–, how was it again you put it? A superstitious fuck?”

Stunned at his accusation, you tried to tear your stare away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Really? Well, I didn’t take you for a fool, but hey,” he tilted his head, “some folks are just that disconnected to their own feelings.”

Blinking back at him, you scoffed faintly, “you’re crazy, I’m not–…” but you couldn’t even say it out loud as you, deep down, knew that it was a lie.

“Oh yeah?” he cocked a brow, finding your flustered state amusing, “then why did you almost kiss me tonight?”

“I–…I was drunk.”

Letting out a dark chuckle, “alright, sure,” he then rose from his seat and crawled up on the bed with you before he buried his face between your parted thighs, “if you despise me so much, then why are you so fucking wet?” his hot breath fanned across your core.

“I’m not–,” you tried, though your attempt then fell short as he proved you wrong, reaching out his touch to tickle at your lightly and let the wet sounds of your arousal slosh into your soul.

“Hm?” the broad pad of his thumb gently brushed over your glistening petals, making them part for him, “if this isn’t because deep down you want me, then why? I’d love to hear you try and explain your way out of this one…”

“I-I–…” your eyes fluttered as you tried to fight the feeling, “I don’t…”

Laughing lightly through the scoff that then bubbled out of him, he averted his gaze and said, “okay, fine. You wanna play that game?” his eyes flickered back up to find yours, “if you need a bit of help in order to admit the truth, then that’s what you’ll get,” he uttered before suddenly stuffing two of his fingers inside of you.

Craning his neck, he tilted down to catch a taste. You tried to hold back your moans as his digits caressed you, but the softness of his velvety tongue came as such a shock that a little squeak managed to slip out past your lips.

“I mean, if it’s any consolation,” his stubbly chin glimmered with your essence as he retracted slightly to smirk, “I personally think it’s kinda cute that you have a crush on me like a little schoolgirl…”

He then sent his palm down upon your pussy in a wet smack, before repeating the action a couple of times to echo the jolt it shot through your body.

“Fuck…” he groaned in a low rumble, “you are so much more pretty awake…” he revealed casually, “sure, you make some cute noises in your sleep, but not like this,” you instinctually tried to stifle the uncontrollable whimpers that flowed from your lungs, “you should really be thanking me for all of the time and effort I’ve put into stretching this little hole of yours out,” his fingers continued to pump in and out of you, “if I hadn’t, well then you might just split in two when I finally get my cock in there.”

And as he leaned down to lap you up once more, you curled your toes as you felt him push you closer to the edge.

“Mr Barnes…” you attempted with an air of respect through your pants, “please don’t–…”

“Why? Because it makes you want to kiss me again?” he teasingly taunted you before continuing his persistent licks, bullying your clit into submission.

And as he kept going, even as you gasped, “stop–, a-ah!” he still kept his lips locked around your puffy pearl long after a gush of squirt wept around his fingers, keeping his efforts up till your hips were bucking back in sensitivity.

But when his kiss finally ceased, he let some of your juices, that had flooded into his mouth, trickle out past his lips and back down onto your pussy, “fuck…” his low groan nearly caused the whole room to rumble, “nasty little cunt…” before he slapped your throbbing core once more, watching as the last little trickle weakly leaked out and soaked the sheets below.

Lifting himself up to hover above your constricted form, you then squirmed as you felt him nudge the bulbous tip of him against you.

“Does the idea of liking, or even loving, someone like me scare you that much?” he uttered as he gathered up your slick and smeared it with his cock, “does it make you feel all wrong and icky inside that I of all people make you feel the way that you do?”

All of the air in your lungs was then suddenly knocked clean out as he, with one long stroke, slipped all the way inside, before pulling right back out to tap the weight of him against your poor clit with the hold he had at his base.

“You won’t spontaneously combust if you admit it out loud, you know…”

He repeated the motion, plugging you up completely before he denied your cunt the chance of getting used to the stretch.

“I just wanna hear you say it…”

And on the next time he filled you up to the brim, this time his hips didn’t retract.

Reeling as you fought to comprehend the manner his girth split you open, you gasped weakly, “I can’t…”

“Hmm…” his eyes above you narrowed slightly before he pointed out, “that’s not a no,” and he began to move, “finally getting somewhere…”

The gangster was in no way gentle as he started to fuck your pussy, the selfish force of it caused your body to jostle every time his heavy balls tapped against your slick skin, thereby conducting a lewd beat each time he slammed into you.

Lowing himself to get even closer to you, his nose ghosted against your own from the proximity. The gesture made you assume that he was about to press his lips to yours, though they never touched, even as your own instincts overwhelmed you and made you dizzily tilt up to try and close the gap, “nah-ah-ah,” he swiftly clicked his tongue and moved out of your reach, “admit the truth and then I’ll kiss you all you want.”

With his length still embedded deep within you, he sat back up. His fingers dented your hips as he grabbed onto them and then began to sink them harshly down against his own, lifting your frame entirely off of the mattress as he used you like a toy.

“Oh god…” you whimpered as your eyes fluttered down to notice the faint bulge that appeared in your lower abdomen, the thrusting imprint of his size visibly showing just how deep he buried himself inside of you.

Once he’d plopped your hips back down onto the bed, his hands then instead floated up to play with your tits, the rhythm he offered you causing them to jiggle in his palms. Though once he’d fiercely pinched your nipples and parted ways in a brief tap, his fingers then drifted further down south till his right hand found your puffy clit.

Casting his glance down as he rubbed your pearl, a smirk appeared on his lip as he spotted the way your cream coated his girth. Sweeping down to smear his touch against it, what he did next caught you so off guard that you jostled wildly in your binds in an attempt to hit him for his audacity.

“Ahh!” you yelped as he stuffed two of his fingers in your pussy alongside his already overwhelming girth, “Buck, no, it’s too much!”

But your squeak only caused him to chuckle as he stared down at the way your little hole struggled to take what he gave it, clinging around him so tightly that loud groans began to billow from him as he soon painted your insides white and pumped you full of his cum.

With heavy breaths, he withdrew his dick, though let his digits stay inside your warmth.

“Maybe in time you could become more than just my good luck charm…” he murmured as he flopped down to curl closer to your core, “would you like that?” he nipped at one of your thighs as his load slowly began to leak around his thick fingers, “does the idea of me falling down to my knees before you and declaring my undying love entice you, angel?”

“You’ll just have to do better,” he continued as his digits began to twist within you, “let me mould you and make you perfect for me,” another one of his fingers was stuffed inside of you, causing your eyes to flutter, “just let go,” he breathed, “shut off your brain and let it become a leaky mess just like your pussy already is for me,” he worked another digit into your creamy cunt before grazing the last one against your stretched out opening, “you don’t need to think, you just need to do exactly as I tell you to and everything will be okay,” his tone was soft as his thumb curled close to the others and sank into your pussy with a pop, “just break for me, it’s okay,” your body was shaking beneath him as his entire fist slowly twisted within you, “you’ll be so much more perfect ruined…”

Tears were streaming down your face as you unravelled once more, trembling violently as your pussy clamped down around his wide hand so tightly that it was forced all the way out, a drizzle of your nectar once again spraying out at the intensity.

“Alright!” you let out a sob, “alright… I–… I don’t understand it… but, I–…” you caught his eye and confessed, “ever since the moment I met you, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you… even when I fall asleep, it’s like you’re haunting me in my dreams…” a faint shake found your head as you blinked up at him through your blurry vision, “I don’t wanna feel this way. But–… I do.”

It seemed as though time stood still as Bucky stared down at you, an unreadable expression tinting his features before he finally shifted, slowly leaning down over you and inching closer before he finally pressed his lips to your own.

A faint whimper was muffled against his kiss as you felt the world crumble around you.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it now…” he breathed as he ended the soft peck, “say it again,” his hand slid over your jaw, “practice makes perfect.”

Blinking up into his eyes, you uttered from the bottom of your heart, “I am yours,” a single tear rolled down your cheek as you still trembled beneath him.

“Damn right you are…” his lips tilted into a smile.

Fishing out the borrowed switchblade that still rested within the gangster’s pocket, he then sliced through the ropes and constricted you.

Tangling your arms around his neck as you sat up, you captured his lips once again and felt his touch slide down under your ass before he scooped you into his lap. Your sore pussy wept against his cock, once again throbbing and hard as a rock against your core. As your tongue danced against his own, you couldn’t help but scramble even closer, pressing your body impossibly close to his own as you grinded down against him.

“You are mine,” he groaned as he manhandled your frame in his hold and sank you back down onto his fat dick, “you are my most prized possession,” your bodies met in sticky claps as the aftermath of the rough round moments before still oozed all over this one where passion crackled behind both of your own desperate efforts, “I will never let you go,” he blinked up into your eyes as you rode him, both of you clinging to each other as the end crept ever nearer, “always need you–,” his sentence was briefly broken up by a moan as you rolled your hips, your pussy gripping around him and squeezing him tightly, “need you by my side…”

Once your synced-up orgasms had both shuddered your senses and you were sharing each other’s breath, your eyes remained locked as his throbbing cock stayed buried deep within you.

“So, what now?” your chest rose and fell as you whispered into the night, the pitter-patter of rain splashing against your windows once again catching your attention as it swept over and mingled with your laboured pants of breath.

Not shifting his gaze, his eyes briefly scanned your own in search of any ounce of deception, before his fingers dipped down into his pocket and conjured a tiny key, “now,” and he stretched down to undo the chain at your ankle. The click of the lock felt like a gasp of real air was finally filling your depraved lungs, “I take you to my room,” and he manoeuvred you around to slink one arm in behind your knees while the other stayed fast at your spine. As he rose from the bed, he plucked you up with him as well, carrying you in his hold as he exited the bedroom.

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lilianne-tarot · 3 months ago

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PICK A CARD: Your favourite things about your future spouse ✮⋆˙

✧˚. How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

✧˚. If you enjoyed this reading, get your own personalized paid reading here!😊🦋

✧˚. For personalized 18+ readings, click here!

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✧˚. My Masterlist🫶🏻

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE I

Cards Pulled: High Priestess, the Chariot, Judgment, Justice, Knight of Wands and oracle cards

Okay, honey, welcome to this pile 1!! Let’s see into what you’ll be lowkey obsessed with when it comes to your future spouse hehe. Before I start this reading, I just wanna mention something really crucial here, UHM......... y'all are LUCKY AF. 😭😭like TF. Also for people who chose this pile, the person described here is sooo similar to the character of Sang Yan from the C-drama The First Frost. I haven't even watched that drama yet, just saw it all over tiktok and insta reels and it's soo crazy how I was constantly thinking about him throughout writing this. The way he carries himself in that drama and SPECIFICALLY HIS EYES. THIS PILE IS LITERALLY HIM. PERIODT.

First off, this person is Mysterious AF. Like you know when someone doesn’t post on social media but when they do, it’s in black and white with a strange caption and you’re like “HELLO? What does it mean??” so Yeah, that’s their entire vibe. It’s not that they’re quiet, NO NO, they’re intentional with everything they do. Everything they do feels magical to you, even if it’s just tying their shoes. You’re gonna love how they somehow make you slow down and listen more, not just to them but to your own damn intuition as well. I’m getting this image of you two sitting on the floor, legs touching, and you’re rambling about your day while they just watch you like you’re a rare eclipse. And they’ll say something like “You feel like the ocean right before a storm,” and boom. You’re ruined.

And OMG don’t even get me started on the emotional depth… because wow.

Yeah, I got CHILLS. Literal chills. ? Bestie, your future spouse doesn’t just love you, they DROWN in you. There’s a softness to them that feels ancient. Like they’ve lived a thousand lives and chose you in every single one. Their love language? Definitely some spicy combination of telepathy, forehead kisses, and knowing your exact comfort food without you saying a word. And yet, they’re not soft in the doormat way. HELL NO. Baby, this person moves. When they decide they want something? Game over. They’re a force. You’ll love how they’ll be gentle with your soul but a literal wildfire for your protection. Someone stares at you weird? They’ve clocked it. You’re nervous to speak up in a group? They smoothly redirect the convo so you shine. It’s that ride-or-die loyalty with a spicy side of “Don’t mess with what’s mine.”

Your future spouse has transformed by the time they meet you. Like… phoenix out of the ashes levels of rebirth. I’m seeing someone who may have had to break out of their own cycles, maybe even some shadow work that slapped, but they did the work. That’s something you’ll absolutely adore about them: their self-awareness. You’ll be so drawn to how they hold themselves accountable. They’ve probably been the villain in someone else’s story, and instead of playing the victim, they faced it. Shadow work? Check. Therapy? Likely. Apologies? Given when needed. They’ve done a full spiritual exfoliation, and now? They’re GLOWING. AND they treat you with such intentional fairness. They don’t play games, they don’t breadcrumb, and they sure as hell don’t ghost (WHEW. thank god cuz i hate that shit) What you’ll cherish most is how they show up for you, consistently. Every little action feels like, “I see you. I honor you. I’m choosing you, even on the messy days.”

And um, can we please talk about how HOT they are when they’re PASSIONATE??? Because the Knight of Wands is coming in LOUD with main-character energy and It’s giving “I’m dragging you into the hallway to make out because I missed you for two hours.” FJNIDNSBTRVIH There’s a bit of chaos in their passion, but like… the fun, flirty, seductive kind. You’ll catch yourself staring when they’re focused on something they care about, eyes lit, words flying, and it’ll hit you: “Damn. That’s my person.” Like they could be talking about some weird niche topic, idk, the ethics of time travel or why a band’s debut album was superior, and you’re just sitting there like, “Okay, philosopher.” It’s hot. It’s brainy. It’s unhinged. And it’s so them. (did i just describe my type here?)

But here’s the real one, your potential most favorite thing? It’s how they love you through your shadows.

It tells me that they don’t just love your highlights, babe. They’re the one who knows about the parts you try to hide, and loves them deeper. You’ll feel so safe being raw with them. Like crying-on-the-floor-at-2am kind of safe. They’ll be the person who doesn’t try to fix it, they’ll just sit with you in it. You’ll finally feel like, “Oh. I don’t have to perform here.” Also, minor side message that just smacked me: they might help you release a generational wound. Yep. It’s giving “breaking ancestral chains with one good relationship.” I’m not saying they’re your healer (you’re healing yourself, boo), but they are a safe space that lets the healing happen. And the ocean symbolism? BABY. Their love is like the tide, constant, natural, overwhelming in the best way. You might not even realize how deeply they’ve rooted into you until one day they’re not there for a few hours and you’re like, “Why does the air taste different???”

Okay, a few more spicy psychic messages which I got throughout the reading I'll drop here before we close because the tea is still hot:

You’ll love their hands. Like, obsessively. Spirit keeps showing me images of their hands wrapping around yours, brushing your hair back, gripping your waist, yeah, you’re gonna be down bad. They have a “hidden” creative side. Music? Poetry? Painting war miniatures? IDK 😭but it’s something they keep private until they trust you, and once you see it? Prepare to melt. 🫠 They’re a consent king/queen. In the bedroom, in arguments, in making plans, they’re always checking in. Always making sure your voice is heard. It’s HOT. You’ll laugh together in the weirdest moments. Like cracking up during a serious movie or turning a grocery run into a full-on comedy sketch. The emotional intimacy? Unreal.

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𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE II

Cards Pulled: Death, Ace of Cups, Four of Cups, Five of Pentacles, Knight of Cups and oracle cards

OKAY BESTIE… buckle the HELL up. This pile??? This pile is literally a love letter from the universe, and it’s about your future spouse in a way that’s got me gasping and screaming into the void. Like, if you’ve ever wondered what it would feel like to be truly chosen, truly adored, and truly transformed by love??? this is THAT reading. I’m already sweating more because the cards are kinds big ones as you can see😭 . This ain’t a crush. This is main character's energy meets divine rebirth through love . And your favourite thing about this person? Oh honey... it's EVERYTHING they awaken in you. But let me explain because DAMN it gets DEEP. 💀

this pile is all about how utterly devoted and obsessed he is with you, but in that controlled, sexy, lowkey psycho but make it romantic way. He doesn’t say much, but when he does?? It cuts straight to your soul. He makes you feel like the only person that’s ever existed. And when he touches you? The world fades.

Okay so first of all, this love is not soft-launch energy. Actually there’s no soft energy here. It’s not the kind of love where you post a blurry arm on IG stories and call it a day. No no. This is Death + Ace of Cups type of sh*t. This person literally drags you out of a fog you didn’t even know you were in. Like, imagine going through life feeling fine, maybe kinda meh, autopilot vibes, and then BOOM. You meet this person and suddenly, colors are brighter. Food tastes better. Music hits differently. You’re like, “Wait, am I ALIVE again??” Yeah. That.

You don’t just fall in love with them. You fall in love with yourself through their eyes. Because they see you in this way no one ever has before. They don’t pedestal you in some weird, unreachable way, but they mirror back your rawest essense. And you start to remember who TF you are. ✨ Like, you start off this journey feeling a lil rejected, a lil disillusioned (Four of Cups + Five of Pentacles energy… hello loneliness my old friend), but through this love?? You rise. You blossom. You reclaim your power. The crown was always yours, you just forgot. They don’t give you your power back, babe. They just remind you where you left it. And that?! That is your favorite thing about them: they activate the version of you that had been buried under years of rejection, doubt, and disconnection.

Bestie, I’m not gonna sugarcoat, this is NOT some sunshiney, fluffy past you’ve been through. You’ve known the ache of being left out in the cold. Maybe you’ve been the one always giving, always chasing, always hoping for scraps of love from people who didn’t even deserve to speak your name. You’ve had your heart cold-stoned and ghosted and breadcrumbed, and you were probably starting to believe that maybe love just wasn’t in the cards for you. Enter: this person.

They don’t just walk in with roses and pretty words (though they absolutely do that too, Knight of Cups energy is full-on poetic simp vibes 😭). But more importantly?? They SHOW UP. When you expect abandonment, they stay. When you push them away, they lean in. When you flinch at love, they don’t take it personally, they just hold you through it. You’re not their project. You’re their equal, their mirror, their muse. And you’ll find yourself sobbing randomly, “Wait… this is what it’s supposed to feel like??” Because for the first time, love isn’t a battlefield. It’s a sanctuary. It’s not conditional. It’s safe. I’m not kidding when I say this person is the Knight of Cups in every form. So with this person prepare to also see the perfect blend of this combination. prepare for random voice notes at midnight because they saw a cloud that looked like your side profile. Prepare for forehead kisses, poetic ramblings, playlists that sound like your soul. But also?? It’s not performative. It’s not just vibes and aesthetics. It’s intentional.

They speak your love language fluently, even the ones you didn’t know you had. You like thoughtful gifts? Boom, they kept the receipt from your first coffee date and made it into a bookmark for your favorite book. You like acts of service? Baby, they’re doing your laundry and ordering your comfort food on a day you can’t get out of bed. You like words of affirmation? They’re sending full monologues about how divine you are. Honestly, at some point you’re gonna be like, “Can you STOP being obsessed with me for five seconds?” But also you’ll be like, don’t stop. Ever. 😭

Let’s circle back to that Death card because whew… this is the CORE. Your favorite thing about this person isn’t just what they do, it’s who they are and who they inspire you to become. You literally go through a soul transformation in their presence. They don’t fall in love with your mask. They fall in love with your shadow. With the parts you thought made you unlovable. With your mess, your moods, your madness, and suddenly, those parts stop feeling like flaws and start feeling like facets of your magic. And in turn?? You’ll start holding them that way too. You won’t be idolizing each other. You’ll be liberating each other. This love isn’t about being perfect, it’s about being real. It’s about death and rebirth. It’s about watching each other burn and saying, “I still choose you.” They are going to be your favorite revolution.

"Wear your power proudly and unapologetically" is not just advice, it’s what your future spouse pulls out of you. You’ve spent so long shrinking. So long waiting for permission. And this person? They’re gonna hand you the crown and go, “You were born royalty. Act like it.” And the best part? They don’t do it for clout. They don’t flaunt you like a trophy. They cherish you like you’re made of stardust and war paint. Your softest parts are sacred to them. Your weirdness? Worshipped. Your power? Encouraged. Like babe... you will feel both feral and safe in their arms. Do you know how rare that is????

Okay this is so random but it came through SO clearly, I’m getting this image of you hating Mondays your whole life, until this person shows up and suddenly?? You’re excited for the week. You’re looking forward to slow morning texts, coffee runs together, messy buns and “just 5 more minutes” cuddles before they leave for work. They re-sensitize you to the beauty of everyday things. And that is so underrated. They make your life feel like poetry again.

Final random Favorite Things You’ll Obsess Over:

The way they say your name like it’s a prayer. Youll love listening to your name from them. Their ability to sense your moods before you speak. That would be their superpower, honestly. And also the contrast of their softness in private vs their strength in public.

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𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE III

Cards pulled: Six of Swords, The Empress, The Fool, Five of Wands, Ace of Swords amd oracle cards

OMG This pile wow. This is “you didn't know you were starving ‘til they fed you” energy. Wow that was deep LOL. They LOVE the full spectrum of you. Your sensitivity, your rage, your need to cry during commercials, he eats it up. Encourages you to take up space. He celebrates your chaos. And the banter would UNMATCHED.

So first off, let me just say this: I legit felt like I was watching one of those dramatic K-drama slow burns when I started reading this pile. Like ep 1 is you emotionally limping out of some messy chapter of your life, and ep 16 is you soft-smiling while they brush hair from your face and I’m crying just thinking about it 😭 but I digress—

Now let’s start peeling the layers of this absolutely BONKERS beautiful energy: your fave things about this person, Oh honey. It’s not just their looks (although, side note, the way they carry themselves, that quiet “I know who tf I am” swag? Oof. HOT). But no, what melts you? What gets you twisted in the sheets, It’s their consistency with their expression of emotions, their emotional maturity, and the fact that they’re lowkey your safe space after a lifetime of chaos. Yeah, I said it. The trauma you didn’t even realize you were still carrying, they help you walk that.

And listen. This person doesn’t swoop in and fix you, don’t get it wrong. They don’t love you despite your wounds, they love you with them. Like “hand-in-hand with your demons” type love. They don’t run when things get messy. You’ll sit there anxious and they’ll hand you a coffee mug and be like, “Keep talking, I’m not going anywhere.” THAT kind of presence. Yeah, bestie. That’s what you’re gonna worship. But don’t think this is some therapist in a man’s body situation either lmao. There’s a whole wild side to this person too, like, this person challenges the fck outta you.😂 They’re gonna debate you for fun, tease you just to make you roll your eyes, push your buttons not to be toxic, but because it turns them on to see you all passionate and fired up. The intellectual banter is chef’s kiss. Your fave thing about them is that you never get bored with them. They don’t just nod along, they’re present. They got opinions, they got a backbone, and they’re not afraid to go toe to toe with you when you are acting up (and honestly? You love it).

This pile is all about liberation. Your fave thing about them is how they remind you of who you are before the world made you smaller. They give you permission to laugh too loud, cry too much, and dream too big. And they're gonna do it all right beside you.

Now The way they see you… like, you're not just a person to them. You're a literal universe. The way they look at you when you’re ranting about something random, Or doing your skincare, Or just existing in oversized pajamas, They’re gone. Fully GONE. And because of that, you start to see yourself differently too, which is honestly the best part. Like, your favorite thing about this person is how they love you into softness, into full self-worth. They speak to the parts of you that felt unworthy and whisper, “More. You deserve more.” You start walking different because of how deeply they hold space for you.

😩 Baby This person is your reset button. You’ve been carrying so much emotional weight from past relationships, maybe even from family crap, old fears, toxic exes, and here comes this person like… “Why are you still dimming your light?” this is literally them encouraging you to live a little, say yes more. Take the leap. Splurge. Cry. Yell. Make a mess. Be too much. They LOVE that you're extra. They don't flinch when you're chaotic. They jump off the cliff with you, giggling. (that one was a little exaggerated but nvm😭)

Like, your favorite thing about them is how much they let you take up space. Not just tolerate it. They encourage it. “You are worth every desire, every dream. Demand what is yours.” And this person believe in that. They fight for that. And I’m telling you right now, they’ll probably be the one who drags you to that dream vacation you were too shy to plan, or who makes you apply for the job you think you're not good enough for. They see your power. They know your value. And it becomes your favorite mirror. 💅

And YESSSS, there’s a sexuality to this pile too 😏.This person? They worship your body like it’s art. Like a damn temple. And it’s not just hot passionate nights, it's playful, explorative, curious, FUN. That “I can’t keep my hands off you but I also wanna laugh in your neck while doing it” kinda vibe. 😭That alone could’ve been the whole reading LMAO. But here's the secret sauce: the emotional intimacy hits harder than the physical. It's the way they look at you when you’re vulnerable. When you’re quiet. When you’re in your dark. They just get you. Like intuitively. You’ll be like “I didn’t even say anything” and they’re already making you soup or running you a bath or telling you to block that toxic friend. HOW DO THEY KNOW??? Idk, babes. Soul contract things. 💀

OH and one more image i saw, you're going through a rough time emotionally. You're bawling, maybe imposter syndrome, maybe an old wound opened up, idk, but this person, they stop everything and hold your face and say something brutally honest but loving like: “You forget who you are. Let me remind you.” And it floors you. Floors. You. 🥹

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

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