#so of course I had no choice but to draw it

[enigma-the-mysterious]

AITA for trying to accomplish my father's dreams and hurting my best friend in the process?

Alright, here we go. So, I (30M) have been working on a pretty intense task for the last few years. I made a promise to someone very dear to me—my father, to be exact—that I would do whatever it takes to accomplish it. To do this, I had to take some drastic steps. We’re talking undercover stuff, working within a system that’s more rotten than an overripe jackfruit, all to get closer to taking down the enemy from the inside.

To accomplish this mission, I needed a special promotion. I have been putting myself through hell and back, but those racist assholes at higher up kept passing over me to promote Mediocre White Dude #57. Then a few months ago, I finally, FINALLY made some solid progress when my boss's wife guaranteed me the promotion if I could track down and arrest some anonymous dude who was proving to be a security issue for my boss. Pretty straightforward, right?

Now here’s the issue. At about the same time a few months ago, I met this guy; let’s call him A (26M) for now. My work-life balance had honestly been, well, shitty to say the least, thanks to my father's mission, and I barely had the time to socialize and make any meaningful connections in the city I moved in. Meeting with A had been a chance encounter too. Long story short, we clicked instantly and became fast friends. He is a great guy all around— smart, funny, passionate, good natured, kind, helpful— just about everything you can possibly wish for in a friend (although he could be a little naive sometimes).

But here’s the kicker: a few days earlier, I found out that A has been lying to me about... basically EVERYTHING! ALL this time. He is not from the city; the people he claimed to be his family are not even related to him. Even his name isn't A, it's B! But what's worse is that he is exactly the guy I was supposed to arrest. And he was on a mission too. Except his mission was not targeting my boss, it was to rescue someone— his sister M (9F) to be exact— my boss and his wife had kidnapped and enslaved (long story). Yup, that’s right, we were on opposite sides without even realizing it.

Things escalated quickly. I... well… I had to make a choice. I chose to betray him to keep up my own cover and stick with my father's mission. And yeah, it was brutal— there was a literal fight to the death involved. I tried to convince him at first to surrender without fighting, but of course B didn't listen and refused to back down. I can’t even begin to explain how much it hurt to turn on someone I came to respect, even love…. uhh…. like a brother, of course.

And then, to rub salt to the wound, once I arrested him, my boss (FUCK HIM FUCK HIM FUCK HIM FUCK DIE BITCH) ordered me to flog B publicly till he fell to his knees and begged for mercy. Yeah, those were his exact words, that bastard! I felt like I had no choice, so I did what I was told. And it was one of the worst days of my life. I kept asking B to kneel so I could end the torture, but he is one stubborn and tough motherfucker and decided he would rather suffer through a public torture session than kneel. My dickface boss and his bitch wife weren't satisfied with how little blood I was drawing out of B, so they kept escalating the torture until B couldn't take it anymore and fell unconscious.

I ended up hurting him so badly, both physically and emotionally. It is fucking me up, honestly. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't even get out of my bed right now. I honestly feel like dying.

So, AITA for betraying and hurting my best friend to accomplish my father's mission? I did what I thought was necessary to save countless lives, but I can’t shake the feeling that maybe I went too far.

Edit: No, B did not know that I worked for the people who kidnapped his sister. He did not befriend me to take advantage of my position, as some of you have been implying. He did not, I repeat, he did NOT betray me. If anyone has betrayed and wronged him, it's me!

Edit 2: No, I didn't tell B my real intentions and my father's mission. Didn't you read the post? I am working UNDERCOVER!

[orleans-jester]

“Real sex, real sex, real sex,” Pierre started up a little chant, pumping his hand up in the air like he was some sort of ringmaster in a circus. That’s one of the things that he missed the most, and he wasn’t ashamed to say it.

“Man, I miss that girl,” He said, knowing that he had fucked it up with her forever that day that the Laveaus had stormed upon his house. That’s what it had felt like. An assault. A complete siege, with his mother and sister saying that they were leaving, packing their things, and his father just being an asshole and nodding, letting it happen. Though he did regret how it went down, he didn’t regret being the only one that was fighting for his family to stay together. Big lot of good that did. There was no family anymore.

He’d caught sight of her for a moment at the ball, but hadn’t dared approach, not that he had the time. Piper had been the one to claim all of it, and then gave him strict orders to meet her by the tree, which he was following, though perhaps a little more leisurely than she might have liked.

He moved up behind Zero, and put his hands on his hips, dancing his fingers over the jutting hipbones. He always was a skinny little guy. The picture-perfect definition of a twink. “Of course, pup. You’re going to be sandwiched in no time,” He promised.

He only let go of his boys when Piper took over his attention again. She had a way of doing that, of drawing all eyes to her. Like the rest of the world could be entirely blocked out, he was scoped right in. He wrapped his arms around her, thin waist and all, as she seemed to groom him, making him chuckle. “You missed the mane, didn’t you?” He teased lightly, holding her closer, nuzzling his nose against her cheek and kissing it.

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” He said, eagerly, his dark eyes looking into her bright violet. The most beautiful eyes that he had ever seen, he would attest to that. No other ones had ever compared to the shocking color, made all the more bright and beautiful in contrast with her skin tone, and the naturally dark lashes that she had.

He looked over her shoulder at Seven who was getting all of the hugs from his mothers, and he chuckled, pulling back a little from Piper but he kept his arm around her, like he was scared of disappearing again. Which he was. Another year of waiting for this kind of communication, for this kind of chance? It would feel like an eon down there.

“Ahh, you know,” He laughed, keeping it casual with Seven’s moms. “The humidity isn’t great for the hair but I can’t say I ever got bored. Good to see you three ladies, looking as beautiful and youthful as ever.”

The moms huddled and Pierre looked back down towards Piper. “So you really figured out a way to bring us back? You’re … incredible,” He said, breathing heavily. Of course it was Piper. And he was confident enough in himself to believe that he was her first choice to do this with. But it still blew his mind that all of this was happening, and so fast.

He listened to the instructions and he felt a little nervous too that Seven was going to be going first. What if something went wrong? What if they couldn’t do it, and Pierre would have to return to Hell alone because Seven was put into some sort of limbo? He had to breathe again and he nodded towards his friend, his Hell-mate. “You got this, dude. And of course, Piper and Pierre, we can do anything.”

He nodded towards Piper though, understanding. Wait your turn. He wasn’t generally good at that but he could wait in this circumstance. “I’ll be good and patient, don’t worry,” He said, putting on his most charming grin.

He was reluctant to let Piper go too, though it was to help Seven. He’d keep a hand on her, squeezing hers, and then lightly touching her fingertips with his own until she was too far away to do so. Was he braver than before like the women were hinting? In some ways, perhaps. Time would tell. He may still do a Scooby-Doo jump into whoever was closest if there was ever a jumpscare, or seeing one of the fates with their hair in rollers and a green facemask. But he was going through with this, which was much scarier.

“I’ll be here,” He said, again. When Zero came to take Piper’s place, he put his arm around Zero’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. He kept it stiff, for when Zero went into his ghostly form, letting it hang on the air, until he became a little more corporeal again.

Pierre wasn’t changing his mind. No - he was watching intently, with wide eyes, one arm still out and the other going through his hair, like a comforting habit, pushing it up and out of his face.

Seven wild and free. Alive.

The concept wasn't something he even bothered to fathom while on the other side. Seven was one of those people that always made due.

Now here they were on their march back to living.

Seven noticed the changes in Feral from Nola too, but all that was null and void by the time he saw his mothers. The Fate Sisters were a commodity to most in the divination arts and all the mysteries of that entailed. To Seven though, his emotional baggage simply just being the son of Lachesis was what was heaviest in his chest. So many questions were in his head that were left unanswered. It was easy to see why he wasn't told considering the double agency and neutrality the group often maintained. He answered many of his own questions without ever asking. Still, there was something about not having that choice that fractures something inside. He wasn't even sure why it hurt. He wasn't even sure it would mean anything to Boogie family or any extention thereof whether genuine or just to use. Strange feelings it evoked. Quite bizarre actually.

Linen snapped him out of his thought train.

"Oh linen. What I would do for some linen."

Pierre was bringing up some great memories for both Zero and Seven. Doing. What he would do. Orgies. "Mm. Maybe it's who I would do? We get to have real sex again."

The kind they controlled, not Hellians. But, oh did he remember the orgy at the Magisterium? "Oh yeah, my man. First day, great day. Brigette right in there. A queen at the center of the utopia of love. What happened to that? Can't wait to get back to days like that."

Zero hadn't moved back due to Frankenstein chaos at that point so he missed that day, but his eyes widened as the only non-bi boy there, gay as all get out. "That's so you guys. Just as long as I can get back in the middle of you guys." Now they had Zero fantasizing of the old days. The three boys just wanted their lives back to the way it was.

Seven pulled a face when Pierre went on about flirting with his mothers. That was so Pierre. He had to laugh.

He put on his big boy pants and down the hill they went.

Piper would greet Pierre first. "There you are." She'd put her hands right up to his face, a look of adoration on her own. She was so excited. The anticipation for this was such a build up. She was so careful to smooth his hair over his brow, thumb his cheek. Then she'd shimmy her shoulders before she couldn't take it another moment and take him into another big hug, warm, and inviting, more clingy than Piper had ever been known to be. She didn't want to let go this time.

"Fashionably late. Always fashionable. My beautiful Pierre."

She kept looking at him more longingly than she had in the past, but it had been so very long. Perhaps? Plus, he said yes. Maybe somewhere in her there was a little part of her that needed to hear a yes unlike the day he closed her and the rest of the familiy away when he was up in his bedroom. He had Thomas in time loops, the whole bit, such a disasterous day. She tried so hard to convince him that day. It broke her heart. This time he said yes. It was enough. Her heart was settling. Maybe there was more to it, but that layer contributed.

"I'm just so glad you made it in time."

Yes, time. They were on a ticking clock tonight even for this.

Then there was Seven who was face to face with not only the two mother who had no idea he was coming, but the one that did. It was Atropos smiling wicked for managing to keep her secret while Clotho squealed at the sight of their boy. His biological mother stood silent too taken aback with her hand on her chest.

It took his breath away because when he met her eyes it was like he knew she knew. Of course she knew he knew now. They all knew he knew everything.

"Uh." A sound of some sort started to drop out of Seven's mouth but she stopped it.

"Later son."

Then the other piled in for the hugs Zero was expecting and he looked over at Pierrie in that told ya, there it is, kind of way, like they just knew it was going to happen. He followed Pierre's idea and piled on for a group hug whether he was wanted or not. It got the ol' witch laughing at the rememberance of how this friend of his was never far behind.

"I knew." She'd boast one last time and gave Pierre and Zero a too proud of herself look with a twinkle in the eye she had left. "How are you, Pierre? Enjoy your travels?" She'd always liked her son's friend and spoke as if he'd merely been on a vacation.

Then she'd pass the magic eye over to Lachesis, the Fate sister of the past. This was Seven's biological mother.

The Fate sister of the present with her arms around Seven would say, "We should spare no time."

Then the three would glare at each other with some discord on their faces and huddle up like a team to chat among themselves.

Piper got a little nervous because she already promised Pierre that Seven could be alive too. She got the green light from one sister so she assumed it was a green light all around. Now she wasn't so sure. Luckily, they were just discussing which timeline's thread to pull for Seven. It was a delicate matter to match if they were to make such an exception. When they finished their talk they'd come out of the huddle with unanimous.

"We have decided. We are ready. Seven first."

Piper agreed. "Let's get right to it." She wanted to waste no time and was slightly annoyed at Seven being first because this was her thing, but it was their power she was playing off of. She had no room to complain.

Lechesis would take Piper's hand. "We'll get you as close as we can."

"Yes. I know."

"You can do this."

Piper gave a firm a nod. Then she looked at Pierre. "You have to trust me. I can only take one of you at a time. I won't be long. Just a few moments to you here. Then Seven and I will be back and it shall be done. Then it'll be your turn. When it's your turn it'll seem longer." She looked over at Seven so he understood she was also explaining it to him too. But she knew if anyone would understand how strange time manipulation could feel it was Pierre, so she didn't bother going into great detail.

Then there was Seven. He looked to his friend Pierre for the first time after seeing his mothers again. He looked more in awe than the first time Pierre opened his mouth. "I think I'm still stuck on you pulled his off. Here goes nothing. See you on the other side?" He thought he was being clever since they were already dead and now they were coming home.

That one got his mothers' cackling. They always liked a nice pun or joke. Atropos would chime in, "Well, the chicken did cross the road to be there."

"Last time you take tourtist recommendations from a chicken eh son?"

"You're telling me." Seven laughed a bit feeling more at home at least surrounded in their old humor.

The fate of the future quick witted as ever said, "Oh, I don't know. Something tells me he's braver than he used to be," as she glanced so sly and affectionately all the same at Pierre.

"Come on girls, focus." Another would pull a dull and lifeless thread from her pocket, one with two frayed ends.

It dawned on Seven then how his mothers fought and refused to cut his thread to realize the state of his string. Can't fight fate. A reaper always comes. It touched his heart anyway.

Then another Fate would pull out a still shiny colorful thread brimming with light and roll it off a spool inspecting it closely.

"Here. Right here." She'd show Piper the right spot.

This is when Piper would finally stop clinging to Pierre. He'd probably be able to feel her recluctance to leave his side. She'd reach her hand out one last time and squeeze it. "Really. I won't be long." The fear of losing this opportunity was real. Everything had to go just right and also before the clock on the night ran them out of time.

When Piper would leave his side Zero used that opportunity to take it. Something about the veil being extra thin and his own emotions being extra had his body just as thin. It kept flickering from his tangible state, to his skeletal, to his ghostly right at Pierre's side. He didn't let go either even as it continued to fluxuate. Used to being Dr. Frankenstein's Igor type helper he couldn't help but keep his eyes on those strings. He was paying close attention to detail even if he didn't understand it all.

But, this was it. Piper would take Seven's hand and pull out a purple hourglass quite similar to one given to Pierre. As long as there weren't any last words from Pierre to stop anything or change his mind it would all begin. The magic that would have Zero and Pierre in anticipation for just a few minutes. Five at the most. But, for Zero it would be the longest five minutes of his lifetime.

It terrified him when he realized they weren't traveling to the netherworld. Zero thought he was going to ghost dog out and run after them in skeletal form. He thought he'd tag along for the whole thing, whatever was going to be done. Whatever this magic was - was beyond his reach. Something about that was beyond creepy for him and Zero was hard to unnerve when it came to spooky stuff. Yet here they were in anticipation and this time it was Zero pulling a bit of the Scooby clutching, not a full Scoob with a jump, but he had his full body turned in on him while his kept peeking out. It was just beyond his scope of understanding. He was like a nervous dog with separation anxiety waiting for his other owner to return.

[viasdreams]

Nightwalker ཐི❤︎ཋྀ ~ what if i chugged a thing of toilet bowl cleaner

you stared intently at the bottle of everclear as you, sloppily, attempted to pour another shot for you and hyuck. three shots in and you were starting to really regret your choice of vodka. you thought that maybe it would be strong enough to get hyuck drunk, but apparently, 95% abv means nothing to vampires.

"why do you keep taking these with me if they don't do shit?" you asked as you handed him his shot.

"because i'd feel bad if you had to endure this poison yourself" hyuck chucked from across the bed.

the space between you felt as expansive as a canyon, the distance seeming to only grow with each shot.

"wait that's so sweet of you," you smiled at him, raising your shot to cheers him.

he hmmed in acknowledgment, bringing the glass to his lips and shooting the shot with ease. meanwhile, you gagged into your chaser. (which was water because, as hyuck put it, you don't really go to the grocery store to buy drinks when your food comes from the cashier)

as the night continued, so did the shots. six shots in and the car crashes were starting to hurt your head.

"hyuckie can we please turn this off, i feel like one of the victims right now" you slurred out.

"shit, yeah of course," he ran his hands across the sheets for the remote, eventually figuring out that he had been sitting on it.

"do you want more water? or i could doordash you some food?"

you slowly shook your head, closing your eyes.

"no, i think i just need to lie down"

"yeah do whatever you need, i have more blankets in the-"

his sentence was cut off as you crawled over to him, laying your head in his lap. maybe everclear actually was a good choice because you never would have done that if you were sober.

"um yn?" hyuck awkwardly mumbled.

"hmm?" you peeked open one eye, looking up at him.

"the pillow is over there" he gestured to the headboard.

thankfully, the vodka didn't fully cloud your judgment and you were able to clock the nervousness in his tone.

"oh sorry hyuck, i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." you started to sit up when you felt two hands push you back down.

confused you looked at him to gauge what was happening, but he refused to meet your gaze, looking at the ceiling.

"no it's ok you can," he slowly brought his eyes to your, "you can stay there."

a smile spread across your face as you relaxed into him.

the two of you stayed like this for a while, hyuck gently playing with your hair as you lay. just as he was about to lay down too, you quickly sat up with a gasp.

"HOLY SHIT!" you exclaimed, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking.

"what? what happened?" hyuck questioned you, his voice coated in concern.

"SUCK MY BLOOD!"

"w-" he stared at you, very much taken aback, "what?"

"SUCK MY BLOOD HYUCKIE!" you shook him with more vigor.

hyuck grabbed your hands, bringing them in front of you to keep you still.

"why are you asking me to do that yn?"

"the alcohol in my blood hyuck! it will get you crunk!" now shaking his hands in excitement.

when laying in hyuck's lap, the fact that he couldn't be drunk with you consumed your thoughts. you wanted him to experience what you were feeling, and that's when it dawned on you.

"yn im not going to hurt you like that just to get a little tipsy. plus i don't even know if it works like that."

"then let's try." you pulled your shirt to the side exposing your neck fully.

hyuck could feel two things, his fangs coming in, and the intense hunger bubbling in his stomach. it had been a bit since he had eaten, and that combined with the fact that you're the one offering him blood, created a deadly combo for him.

"i don't want to hurt you though," despite his words, he slowly leaned towards you. "what if i take too much?"

"i know you won't, i trust you hyuckie," and despite your words, you scrunched your eyes shut, scared to be awake while this was happening.

your sent overtook his senses, drawing him in.

you could feel his breath getting closer, his hands cupping your face.

you attempted to tilt your head to the side to give him better access, but he held you in place.

both of you knew that your heart was racing. you did your best to calm yourself but to no avail.

"just breathe okay?" he whispered onto your skin.

"o-"

before you could finish, you felt hyuck's lips on yours.

the kiss was soft, you could feel him trying not to press his fangs against you. he didn't move, just held his lips against yours, waiting for you to react.

you, rather clumsily, pushed back against him. his lips were cold and you desperately wanted to warm them up.

however, he pulled back before you could, laughing as he brought his forehead to yours.

"why did you do that?" you asked, the reality of what just happened hitting you.

"i told you, i don't drink human blood." he leaned back onto his palms, shrugging. "i appreciate the offer though, ill have to ask the guys if drinking drunk people's blood works. if so, i might give a chicken a bloody mark because hyuckie needs a drink."

"but why did you stop kissing me?" you asked, half because you really wanted him to do it again, and half because you were scared he thought you were a bad kisser.

he glanced over at the half-drained handle of everclear, "i don't think right now is the best time to be doing that."

"but," you protested.

"i'll kiss you again in the morning when you're sober yeah? i want to make sure you actually remember it."

you could feel your cheeks heat up. why was he so smooth? this was not the same loser (said lovingly) from the bookstore, not that you were complaining.

"yeah okay."

he patted your thigh and headed to the door. "im going to sleep on the couch. the bathroom is down the hall to the left, if you don't make it to the toilet, please puke on jaemin's stuff. wake me up if you need anything."

"hyuck wait!" you practically yelled at him as he left the room.

"what's up?"

"goodnight."

you could barely make out his smile in the dark.

"goodnight yn."

you in fact, did not make it to the toilet. now you were walking aimlessly through the hallway, looking for anything to clean off the vomit-coated hairbrush you were holding, which you really hoped belonged to jaemin.

"yn?"

you jumped, almost dropping the hairbrush.

"is that my hairbrush?"

thank god you puked on the right one.

"oh hey jaemin, why are you up so early?" you tried to direct the attention away from the brush.

"im just going for a run, you don't look this good at 418 years old by sitting on your bum." he shook his butt a little at that last part.

"bum?"

"i spent some time in england, picked it up."

"cool, well i dont want to keep you from your run, so bye." you picked up the brush and rushed back to the bathroom.

"yn wait, can i say something?" his tone reeked of remorse.

against your better judgment, you agreed. after what hyuck told you, weren't the biggest fan of jaemin but you did puke on his stuff. the least you could do was hear him out.

he took in an excessively long breath.

"look, im really sorry. im sorry for lying to you, for hurting you, and for just being an asshole. i have a lot of issues i'm dealing with right now, but i shouldn't have brought you into that. i was so focused on getting your blood for hyuck, that i forgot to think of you. you didn't deserve that. i'm really sorry."

he said all of that in one breath, making it extremely hard to keep up with his words.

"wait jaemin, you were getting my blood for hyuck?"

"yeah he asked me to help curve his cravings for your blood, but nothing was working so i started taking from you."

"so he was drinking my blood? when you took my blood, he was the one drinking it?"

jaemin gave you a confused expression.

"yeah? did he not tell you that?"

he did not.

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[misshoneyimhome]

Reader is devasted by Willy shaving his beard, and Wily is on a mission to prove his stache is as good as his full beard. I got inspired by this picture of the reader talking dirty to him on the phone before his game https://www.instagram.com/p/C7b6t90I43X/?img_index=2

Oh babe! This is just way too hot 😜 I’ve got to admit, the moustache is growing on me, but I definitely miss the beard! 😏 Willy, of course, looks gorgeous no matter what, but just like the reader, I wouldn’t be able to resist teasing him either 🤭

Tropes & warnings: Inexperienced!reader x Willy, established relationship, 18+ smut, f masturbating, sex toy (magic wand), thigh riding, oral sex (f recieving)

Word count: 3.5K

➼｡ﾟ

Call me on my cell phone | inexperienced!reader x William Nylander ✐☆

William Nylander was everything from the absolute best boyfriend you could ever wish for to the worst of the worst. Just as caring, loving, and devoted as he could be, he was equally capable of acting careless and cool. But one thing he never neglected was you. Well, and his style—he just always carried an innate confidence about how he looked.

William knew he was good-looking, and it wasn’t just because social media constantly reminded him. He had this effortless charm, no matter how he styled himself. Whether it was slicked-back hair that made him look suave and polished, a long, untamed mane that gave him a wild edge, or even when he experimented with cornrows, he pulled off each look with undeniable flair.

His confidence wasn’t just about his hair though. It extended to his fashion choices, which were unapologetically him. William didn’t just follow trends; he set them. Baggy jeans, oversized t-shirts, caps perched at just the right angle, and a collection of jewellery that ranged from subtle chains to bold statement pieces—he wore each item like it was tailored just for him. It was this nonchalance about what others thought that made him so captivating. He wore what he wanted, how he wanted, and made it look effortless.

Sometimes, his style choices seemed deliberately contrary to what everyone else around him was wearing. If sleek suits and tailored cuts were the norm, William would turn up in something street-inspired, casual yet impeccably put together. It was as if he thrived on standing out, on being the one everyone couldn’t help but notice.

And you absolutely admired this about him—the way he could walk into a room and own it, no matter what he was wearing. His confidence wasn’t boastful; it was just there, an intrinsic part of who he was. It was one of the many things that made him irresistible.

Yet, today was different. Today, he had decided to shave his beard - into a moustache.

You’d seen the pictures from the morning skate, and your heart sank as you took in the sight of him. While the sharp angles of his jawline remained undeniably attractive, the sleek moustache felt like an entirely new persona. It was bold, it was daring, and it was undeniably William, but it also stirred a mix of emotions within you. The rugged charm that had wrapped around him like a warm hug was replaced by a playful confidence, and though he wore it well, you couldn’t shake the feeling of loss for the familiar softness of his beard.

The moustache was sharp and defined, drawing attention to his full, pink lips and the intensity of his gaze. You couldn’t deny that he looked good—hell, he looked fucking hot—but the change left you feeling a bit disoriented. The warmth and softness of his beard had been replaced with a distinct, clean line of hair that was both intriguing and unsettling. It was as if he had traded in one kind of intimacy for another, and part of you longed for the familiar brush of hair against your cheek when he pulled you close.

You sighed, staring at your phone, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. Did you really want to address this? You knew you could text him, tease him about the new look, but a part of you worried he might take it the wrong way. After all, he seemed to be embracing this bold change, and who were you to rain on his parade? Yet the more you looked at the pictures, the more you felt compelled to share your feelings.

So, reaching for your phone, you decided to send him a quick message. 

Hey, I know you’re probably getting ready for tonight’s game, but… I just can’t stop thinking about you. About how I’m still not over you shaving 😜

You knew William was probably resting in his hotel room, or doing some light work out, like he usually did before a game on the road. Still, your boyfriend—and his moustache—were very much on your mind.

And to your surprise, William called you within just a few minutes.

“Mmm, what do you mean? You don’t like it?”

His voice was rich with amusement, a playful lilt that made your heart skip a beat. You could practically see the smirk on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners the way they always did when he was teasing you.

You chuckled softly, pressing the phone closer to your ear. “I didn’t say that,” you replied, your tone equally teasing. “It’s just… different. You know how much I loved the beard. Especially between my thighs… giving me those sweet burns…”

William let out a low chuckle. “Ah, so that’s what you miss the most,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a deeper, more seductive tone. “Those sweet burns, hmm? You’re making it hard to focus on the game tonight.”

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of heat at his words. “Oops, I can’t help it,” you whispered, the playfulness in your tone laced with desire. “I was just thinking about… the way you used to kiss me… the roughness of your beard against my skin… it drove me wild.”

“Fuck, you’re not going to let this go, are you,” he said, his voice husky with longing. “But I mean… I can still give you everything you need, älskling. Just wait until tomorrow night.”

“Mmm, tomorrow night, huh?” you murmured, a playful smile curling your lips. “You think one night’s going to be enough to convince me?”

“I think one night will be more than enough,” he replied, his confidence dripping through the phone. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to keep the moustache.”

Your breath hitched at his boldness, your heart racing at the thought of what he had planned. “Big talk, Mr. Nylander.”

“Oh, you know I always back it up,” he teased, the smirk evident in his tone. “Get ready, älskling. Tomorrow night, it’s just you, me, and this moustache. Let’s see if you’re still missing the beard after that.”

“Hmm, I guess I’ll just have to be patient then,” you said, your voice a little breathless.

“We’ll see if you can do that,” he quipped, a chuckle escaping him. “But I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady your racing heart. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he murmured, his tone softening slightly. “Maybe I’ll even show it off to the camera for you during the match. Giving you something to dream about.”

With that, he hung up, leaving you with a mix of excitement and nerves thrumming through your veins. Tomorrow night promised to be unforgettable, and you couldn’t wait to see just how persuasive William could be.

For now, though, you’d settle in and watch the game, your thoughts drifting to his words. Every glance he shot toward the camera, every determined look he wore on the ice seemed to feed the spark he’d ignited. But as the game wound down and the team celebrated a big win, the anticipation became almost unbearable. So, you slipped into your bedroom, a little smile on your face, unable to resist indulging in some alone time to tide you over until tomorrow.

Lying back on the bed, you allowed your legs to spread as you pleasured yourself with one of the toys William had bought you. The Magic Wand. You let your mind wander, replaying his voice, his confident promise. You could practically feel his rough stubble ghosting across your skin, his warm breath on your neck, that deep, playful look in his eyes as he teased you. With every memory of his touch, every thought of the way his beard had felt against you, the ache inside you grew. It was as if he were right there, his body pressing down against yours, his hands roaming over your skin.

The vibrations against your clit built up slowly, matching the steady beat of your pulse as you allowed yourself to let go completely. Each shift of your body and each breath drew you closer, and the more you imagined his rough hands on you, the deeper the pleasure became. With every whispered thought, every memory of his laugh and his teasing smirk, you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your breath coming out in broken, desperate sounds.

And the release when it came was overwhelming. Your body arched off the bed, his name spilling from your lips in a gasp as you rode the waves of pleasure, stars bursting behind your closed eyelids. For a moment, all you could feel was bliss, a warmth settling over you, leaving you spent yet entirely content.

As you lay there, catching your breath, a smile tugged at your lips. You couldn’t wait for tomorrow night. 

_

William wasn’t kidding when he said he’d show you just what he could do with his moustache—or rather, with his mouth. Though it wasn’t the first time he pleasured you orally, and knowing how skilled he was, you could barely keep up with him, caught up in the intensity of his kisses from the moment he stepped through the door.

After he’d greeted the dogs of course, he had only one thing in mind: you, straddling him, before you were his dessert for the evening. 

The living room TV was on in the background, a show half-forgotten, serving only as the backdrop to the warmth of William’s hands on you and the heat of his mouth exploring yours. He kissed you deeply, tasting and teasing with every roll of his tongue. His hands cupped your buttocks, squeezing and guiding you as your bodies moved together on the sofa in a languid rhythm.

Your hands were in his hair moaning into his mouth, lost in the delicious friction as you rolled your hips, your body pressing against his. His lips were hot and insistent, the softness of his moustache brushing against your skin, adding a surprising thrill to each kiss. His hands slipped down to guide you further until you were straddling his right thigh, perched perfectly over the thick muscle, just where he knew you wanted to be.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his fingers tightened on your hips. “Show me how much you’ve missed me.”

You pressed down, finding a slow, satisfying rhythm as you ground against his thigh, the pressure building with every move. You were clad in nothing but a pair of panties and one of William’s t-shirts, leaving very little of a barrier between your sensitive core and his strong muscles. His hands on your hips held you firmly in place, encouraging each roll of your cunt against him. The bare skin of his thigh was already showing a damp spot where you were leaving your mark, and he couldn’t help but smirk at how easily he had you unravelling.

You whimpered as he brought his mouth back to yours, letting his lips trail down to your neck, leaving gentle bites and kisses along the way. Each graze of his moustache sent a shiver down your spine, heightening the pleasure as you rode his thigh. The friction, the heat between your bodies, and the delicious drag of your clit against his skin had you practically clinging to him, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulder blades as your breaths came faster.

William pulled back for a moment, his blue eyes dark with desire as he watched you, his smirk growing wider. “God, you’re soaked, aren’t you?” His voice was a mixture of admiration and lust, and you felt yourself blushing under his gaze, even as you continued to grind down against him, desperate for more.

“Willy…” you gasped, your voice breathless and needy.

“Mmhm?” He tilted his head, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he kissed you again, deep and possessive. “Keep going, älskling. Don’t stop now. I want you to come for me.”

You moaned as his hands returned to your hips, urging you to pick up the pace, your body moving against his thigh with a newfound intensity. Each grind, each press of your body, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, building toward that perfect edge.

Finally, he shifted just slightly beneath you, his thigh pressing up harder, giving you just the right amount of pressure as you reached that crest. Your body tensed, and with a gasp of his name, you fell over the edge, pleasure crashing over you in shuddering waves as he held you close, his lips pressing against your neck in a trail of tender kisses.

When you finally came down, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathless and spent, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer.

“Fuck baby, you’re so hot,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Now let’s move to the bedroom for your real treat, eh?”

His words were a low murmur in your ear, each one like a spark igniting the warmth still lingering in your body. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before William guided you to your feet, his hand finding yours with a soft squeeze as he led you towards the bedroom. The anticipation grew with each step. You stole a glance up at him, catching the glint in his blue eyes, that smirk still lingering as he took in the sight of you, flushed and slightly unsteady, completely under his spell.

Once inside, William wasted no time. His lips were on yours again, intense and unyielding, drawing every bit of tension from you as his hands explored, caressing your curves, leaving a trail of heat wherever he touched. He gently nudged you back onto the bed, following close behind as you settled against the pillows, his body pressing against yours with a comforting weight.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he almost growled, his breath warm against your skin. His hands found their way to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, his fingers grazing your sides as he peeled it off.

Every touch, every glance, was deliberate, his eyes drinking you in with such intensity that it made your skin tingle. He leaned down, letting his mouth trace a line from your jaw to your collarbone, his moustache grazing your skin. The sensation felt slightly new and electrifying, different from the beard you were used to, and yet it made you crave him even more.

With each kiss, each slow, lingering touch, he built you up again, taking his time as he mapped every inch of your body, his attention to you unwavering. When he finally pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes were filled with that familiar mix of adoration and heat, a look that always made you feel like you were the only one in the world.

“Ready for that treat, baby?” William’s voice was a low, gravelly whisper. His eyes glinted with mischief, and that knowing smirk told you exactly how he intended to ruin you tonight.

You nodded, barely able to find your voice, and he wasted no time. With a gentle but determined touch, he peeled away your underwear, his fingers grazing your skin, leaving you shivering under his gaze. He spread your legs, his broad shoulders settling between them as he leaned in, his eyes never leaving yours. The room felt electrifying, making every nerve in your body come alive.

And the moment his mouth connected with your already wet cunt, your head fell back against the pillow, a soft gasp escaping your lips as pleasure bloomed through you. His tongue started slow, deliberate, teasing you with featherlight strokes that had you squirming. The tickle of his moustache added sensation. And he clearly knew the effect it had, the way it made your smile falter into soft, desperate moans as his movements grew more intentional, more intense.

Your hands clutched at the sheets as his mouth fully claimed you, his tongue now moving in long, languid strokes that had your thighs trembling around him. He focused on every inch of your sensitive flesh, lapping up every reaction with relentless dedication. His tongue teased your clit, then your entrance, each flick and suck sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you, while his lips nipped and tugged, alternating between soft and rough, keeping you on the edge with every movement.

It wasn’t long before you were utterly lost to him. The intensity was unlike anything he’d done before, a fierce passion that felt like he was on a mission to consume every part of you. And you knew he was—he wanted you trembling, wanting you to cry out his name until you could barely breathe. His hands held your hips firmly in place, grounding you, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, no matter how much you squirmed beneath his touch.

The room was filled with your cries, each whimper and gasp growing louder as William pushed you higher, his mouth never relenting. You felt like you were floating, like you’d lost control of your own body as you moved against his talented mouth, licks of his tongue, grazes of his teeth pushing you closer to that breaking point. Your hand occasionally threaded into his hair, tugging as you whimpered, desperate for more, for release.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he felt you writhe beneath him, his mouth never once losing its rhythm as he coaxed more desperate moans from you. The sensation of his moustache rubbing against your sensitive skin added a teasing edge, becoming more and more soaked from your juices. Each time you bucked your hips, trying to catch your breath, he pressed you down firmly, holding you in place with a possessive strength.

William’s mouth moved with a calculated, intoxicating precision. His tongue traced along every sensitive spot, his lips closing over your clit to draw out long, agonising waves of pleasure, only to release you at the last second, leaving you panting and eager for more. And he loved it—the way you came undone for him, the way his name slipped from your lips in breathless cries, filling the room. The smile tugging at his mouth was evident even as he continued, his lips curling against you each time you moaned louder.

“God, you taste so good,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against you, sending another surge of pleasure through your body. The sheets beneath were soaked, only confirming he was doing everything just right. Then he paused just long enough to look up, his darkened eyes locking onto yours, a glint of mischief shining through. “I want you to let go for me, baby. Don’t hold back. Come all over this fucking moustache.”

With that, he plunged back into you, his tongue and lips moving with renewed fervour, taking you even higher, closer to that crest you’d been helplessly teetering on. Your breath hitched, and your hands flew to the pillow behind you, gripping onto it like an anchor as he continued to devour you, his mouth relentless and his touch demanding.

And as his name tumbled from your lips in broken gasps, William intensified his movements, his hands pressing you closer, his mouth drawing out every ounce of pleasure he could. You felt yourself reach that point of no return, a shudder wracking through your body as you were sent spiralling into climax, your cries filling the room as you came undone completely.

But William didn’t stop, his mouth working you through every wave of ecstasy, prolonging your release until you were nearly trembling from the overstimulation. Barely able to catch your breath, he slowly pulled back, his lips glistering from your wetness, lingering on your inner thigh with one final, possessive kiss.

He looked up at you, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes, and brushed his thumb over your thigh with a gentle touch. “Told you I’d make you love the moustache,” he murmured, a proud, warm smile spreading across his face. The smirk that followed had your heart racing all over again, as if he hadn’t already left you breathless.

Your smile was slow, still hazy with bliss as you managed to catch your breath. “Can’t argue with that…” you murmured, exhaling deeply, your body still buzzing from the intensity of his touch.

With a low chuckle, he moved up to press a deep, lingering kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his mouth. The kiss was tender but hungry, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. 

Yet, just as you began to relax, thinking he’d let you come down from the high, he pulled back slightly, his gaze sparking with that unmistakable mischievous intent. “Oh no, älskling, one orgasm isn’t enough,” he growled, making your heart race all over again.

And before you could even catch your breath, he was lowering himself between your thighs again, his hands firm as he guided your legs apart, spreading you open under his gaze. The warmth of his breath teased over your skin, heightening the sensitivity still thrumming through you from your last climax. He held your gaze for a moment, his eyes dark with intent, as if promising he’d take you even further this time.

[docholligay]

Applebee's. Chili's. Outback Steakhouse. Which is superior, which is inferior, and which would Michiru prefer to be caught dead in, if those were her only choices?

The Europeans, in those times so often called the Dark Ages, much to the frustration and woe of any given historian, had a number of different methods of execution, varying wildly in degrees of coarseness and sadism, but, no matter the method, one ends up dead all the same.

So it is with the above-mentioned brasseries of the middle class. Differing in method and style, but never wavering in the work of stuffing one with as much sodium and fat as one could possibly bear, protecting the innocent from the ghastly danger of encountering a food with which they are not familiar. It is the work of feeding toddlers who can drive and purchase alcohol, and they do succeed in this aim.

Nevertheless, it has been asked that I outline a difference between them, and I shall attempt to do so.

Applebee's. Well, if we are eating good in the neighborhood, I can only imagine what sort of neighborhood in which one dwells. I believe I saw such a place in some commercial posing as a documentary at a gala event. Children under tin roofs and such.

But for the purposes of my answer, Applebee's is a mere crucifixion. Hopelessly old, unimaginative and immutable, its meals and murder known even to little children. Is it unspeakably cruel? Of course. Agonizingly drawn out? The disinterested teenage server will ensure it? But is it in any way interesting? Is one compelled, or even reviled, by something horrifying which has become a part of the very fabric of culture? Regrettably, no.

However, to attend a Chili's is to be drawn and quartered--the English having no taste for subtlety, whatever they've managed to convince some American--it is as aggressive as it is vile, containing things such as the Nashville Hot Mozz, which is certainly a collection of syllables assembled into some order. Marg of the Month. Free chips and salsa. Passing for some sort of steerage class Mexican in much the same way London is aspirationally a European city. You are dead, or fed, in all the gore and hot red of it, and what it lacks in elegance it certainly makes up for in volume.

Outback Steakhouse, then, is to be broken on the wheel, the French having a sense of the poetic even in the moment of barbarism. One could almost believe it were a lovely thing. The ring of it, "no rules, just right." If one were a child or a fool, one could see how the folksy earthiness of a place asking nothing but a moment of your steak-based time could draw one in. It aspires only to be a steakhouse, in the outback.

Then, as one reads the cocktail menu and says, into the open air, "I will be having the Wallaby Darned," the crack of a bone snaps to meet it, more promising to follow, and then the sudden sadness of realizing that a cow was born, grew, and died to make such a thing possible. It is the Somme in bovine form.

One may question what Australia has quite done to deserve such an ignominious association, and if the next draft of war crimes might not include such a thing.

All things being true, I am almost certainly going to defer to my beloved. As love is a complicated thing, and one comes to love the flaws in one's partner as the worn bend in the stair, I would choose to have her select our dinner menu.

Among these, regrettably, there is a location serving a gingerbread cookie martini, and so, I shall be broken on the wheel, an onion blooming in the field where my palate once gamboled in the sun.

--M. Kaioh

[alex-van-gore]

You know how really small kittens twitch their ears when they drink too fast?

[deoidesign]

Thinking about vampires, death, life, and the space they occupy in between

[rookeryyy]

REINVENT

YOURSELF

tumblr HATES my 44.1mb image swag so it has SO MUCH COMPRESSION and downsizing here. :') peep the actual intended size & quality (or as good as i could get it exported)

post-return Q!Tubbo :] Tee hee.

un hamburgesa para tubbo (he lookied ungry)

[capn-twitchery]

twitch has no direct source for the ongoing smut book gossip so they are actively dying. rest in pieces, they will be missed, maybe

(plot twist grace is reading up on the drama. that's jamie's controversial smut book--no i'm kidding,,,,,or am i)

[hydn-jpg]

i just read all the current chapters of id2 and i. i need to lie down

[todayisafridaynight]

I’m fairly new to the fandom, but I do have a question if you can answer it! Why do people ship Daigo with Aoki / Masato? I tried looking to see if they’ve interacted before, but couldn’t find anything! Sorry for asking I’m just </3 dumb AND I LOVE YOUR ART OF THEM!!! Nerd looking ahhhhhh

hi ! welcome to the community i hope you're having a lovely time so far and ty for enjoyin my stuff :) no need for apologies it's a very fair question to have :]

i cant speak for everyone (all. ten people into masadai anyway) but Personally To Me i just think the idea of them together is very funny. thats quite literally it im afraid..

[junotter]

sometimes researching for avatar redesigns has you 6 layers deep into the Japan's Meiji era allies wiki

[seaofreverie]

So busy with Sparkstember that I almost forgot that I go back to school on tuesday

[soultoken-archived]

american comics are wild, man.

[kentopedia]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LEAVING LIPSTICK STAINS ON LEVI

fem!reader, sfw, fluff, you leave lipstick all over levi before a mission and the scouts find out, just something super cutesy & short while i work on some longer pieces hehe, pls ignore errors lol, 1.3k words

“promise you’ll come back in one piece?” you say, smoothing the wrinkle between levi’s brow with a kiss. 

he glances up at you from under his lashes, crinkling his nose as a short, breathy laugh escapes him, one he tries to subdue. still, he can’t deny the happiness that slips onto his features, not when joy is so fleeting because of the life that the two of you live. 

cold hands run across your back, down to your hips as you straighten his collar, kissing his sharp cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. “i’ve made it this far, haven’t i?” levi mutters, squeezing your sides gently before shifting you off of his lap.

he lifts you, sets you on the edge of his desk, causing some of the papers that erwin had dropped off earlier to crinkle. a smile graces your lips as levi stands, stretching his limbs behind him, the chair pushing away from the desk with a creak.

“i’m going to be late because of you,” levi remarks, eyes narrowed playfully, but he gives you another kiss on the lips, lingering there like it’s painful to pull away.

“then stop kissing me.” your hands splay across his chest, but you don’t push him away, feeling his heart beat under his ribcage, the melody that you will always come back to. still, levi tugs your hips forward, slots in between your legs, and kisses you even deeper. “it’s time for you to go, captain levi.” 

a heavy sigh weighs against your mouth, his exhale warm as he pulls back. “sounds like you want me gone.” 

“of course i don’t.” your voice softens as you play with his fingers for a moment, before he's tugging them away gently, withdrawing from your figure. “i'm going to have to find someone else to sleep next to while you’re away."

normally, you would’ve been going with levi and the rest of the scouts, but an injury from your last mission prevented you from going on any more for a few weeks. 

levi snorts, putting on his jacket, fixing the leather straps across his chest. “is that all i’m good for? killing titans and keeping your bed warm?”

you make a face at him, then shrug, half-hearted as he stares back at you with amusement. then, you laugh, cheerful and free; you know levi will come back to you. he has no other choice. 

levi makes his way towards the door. 

“levi?” 

he turns, the lipstick stains still visible on his cheek, dark against his pale skin. for a moment, you wonder if you should tell him—if he’d be mad if you didn’t. 

but then you remember he’s going to meet with a squad of fifteen year olds that have all almost died alongside him. if they really have a problem with their captain being loved by you, then they don’t care about him as much as you thought. 

you smile and shake your head, voice holding just enough mischief for levi to notice. “just be safe. i love you.” 

he softens. there are times where levi is hesitant to say the words, still worried you will be taken from him. but this is not one of those times. not when you will be separated for days, his life once again in danger. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

within ten minutes, levi is down to the first floor, pushing into the room where the members of his squad are already waiting. 

he’s only a minute late, but he feels like they must have been waiting for hours, the way that they are all gawking at him with wide eyes, connie’s jaw faltering slightly. “everyone here?” levi asks, doing a quick scan of the room, counting heads like he’s their babysitter. 

no one says anything. eren’s eyes look like they might bulge out of his head, and jean covers his mouth, looking away as him and sasha let out a stifled giggle. 

levi’s mouth draws into an even thinner line. “what the hell are you snickering about?" he grumbles, looking at each of them individually, wondering who will be the first to confess. 

their eyes dart away dramatically, faces red. even eren, who is normally more obnoxious than the rest, seems to have run out of words to say. 

his eye twitches; levi wonders if connie’s head might burst, or if sasha’s laugh will rip out of her first. 

“well?” levi asks again, snapping, already tired of this mission. a hot cup of tea sounds nice, in bed next to you.

armin, as usual, is the one to speak up when no one else has anything intelligent to say. “well, sir,” the blonde says, gesturing towards his own face. “i think…”

levi touches his cheek, remembering all the places you’d kissed him earlier, wearing that pretty black dress and your dark lipstick. a sigh leaves him when he pulls his fingers away, the tips coming back, smeared with a deep red. 

he should've known.

“i see," levi says, staring for a moment, before meeting eren's eyes, his lips finally widening into a grin.

“ooooh," eren sings, his expression smug as mikasa elbows him, her own features pinched tight. "the captain’s in looooove."

levi knows they are expecting a reaction, a spectacle of the fact that he adores you. but he’s never kept it a secret, and he’s certainly not ashamed of all the things he feels for you. 

“and what if i am?” levi asks instead, pointedly staring eren down as the rest of the scouts watch the exchange. “honestly, i am surprised no one noticed sooner.”

eren’s jaw falters a bit; a small wave of silence falls over the scouts. you and levi don't make a point of hiding your relationship, but really, levi shouldn’t have been surprised that no one in his squad was observant enough to notice. 

or so he thought, anyway.

historia’s smaller, high-pitched voice breaks up the quiet, repeating your name back to him, as if affirmation that you’re the one he kisses goodnight. a silly question really, considering levi has never looked at anyone else with the same kind of tenderness. 

“it is her, isn’t it?” historia asks, smiling softly. “i only know because you’re always holding hands under the table when you think no one can see.”

levi raises his eyebrow. “clearly we were wrong about that.” though, of all the things to notice, he thought it’d be the way you kiss him after every mission, the way he’s harder on you than anyone else because he doesn’t want to lose you.

eren shrieks your name like he’s never heard it before, and levi is starting to wonder if the boy actually is an idiot. his old squad had known immediately; petra caught you sneaking up to levi’s quarters when you thought everyone else was asleep, kissing him on the cheek when you thought everyone's back was turned. 

it’s been a long time since then, he supposes. maybe the years have taught you subtlety. 

“how long have you been together?”

“does she actually like you?” 

“do you—” connie makes a lewd gesture with his fingers. “you know.” 

“connie!” jean shouts, whacking him on the back of the head. “what do you think! dumbass.” 

“hey!" connie says, rubbing his head. “geez. i just can’t picture it.” 

"i’d rather you didn’t." levi’s face turns sour, disturbed by a room full of teenagers discussing his private and romantic life. “bring it up again and i’ll leave you outside of the wall on the next mission.” he pauses, crosses his arms with an exasperated exhale. “and she likes me just fine. at least, she has for the past five years.” 

“five—” 

a new wave of questioning starts and levi pinches his temples, shakes his head, the red smear of lipstick still on his face.

levi almost wishes you could’ve been there to field the questions instead. you’ve always been better with the kids, connected with them a lot easier than levi had.

even if it was would’ve exposed his lovesick eyes, the tiny lift of the corner of his mouth when you were around.

he’s never been very good about hiding it anyway.

[darkdemeter]

THE THREAT OF INTIMACY

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

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

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

Did you really have to do this? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that talk shocked you. 

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

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

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

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

What if I can’t make him cum? 

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

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

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

“Mm, hi…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think tonight.”

Or any other night… 

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

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

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

“Excuse me?” He gasps sharply. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re imperfect. 

You’re ugly. 

Let another woman – a beautiful woman – please him. 

He’ll regret marrying you once he sees you.

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

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

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

“Bucky, you’re making it sound—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re scared.”

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

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

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

Pathetic. 

He’ll definitely need a mistress after that display. 

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

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

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

Your mind is a hideous beast. 

Like you.

Shut up!

You make this wedding dress look ugly.

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

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

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

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

You’ve ruined his day.

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

“I’m sorry I ruined your day…”

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

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

Our day?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, doll. Anything.”

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

Supposedly.

Not likely real…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I–couldn’t–”

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

“Couldn’t even– find the cl—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s why you’re his star. 

I love this man.

With all my heart. 

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

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

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

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

“Atta girl.”

I’m alright. 

“You’re doing amazing.”

I’m safe. 

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

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

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

“Fuck, please again, zvezda. Please.”

“I want to hear you.”

“Please… fuck you sound so beautiful…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I feel…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s tasting me…

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

I do?

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

“You are exquisite…” 

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

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

He’s just so… perfect.

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

“You may, Mr. Barnes.”

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

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

“Please be real?”

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

Please be real for me?

“I-I am, Bucky. I’m real…”

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

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

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

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

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

Why does he look at me like that? 

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

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

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

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

His confession has you blushing. 

He can’t possibly mean that…

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

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

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

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

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

W–will he fit?

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

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

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

“I’m ready, Bucky…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-ow,” you mewl, “It hurts…”

“I’ve got you, zvezda, I’m here.”

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

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

He goes slowly. 

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

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

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

“Bucky… please, I-I need…”

“What do you need, love? Tell me.”

“I– need more– please.”

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

To fuck you the way of a mafia lord. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re taking my cock so well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Moya zvezda, are you—”

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

She’s okay. My girl’s okay.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re perfect. 

You’re beautiful. 

I’m not scared anymore. Not with him. 

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

THANKS FOR READING!

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

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