#Romanian With A Glass Eye

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Underneath The Gun – Romanian With A Glass Eye

[brunchable]

Captivate Me | Stalker!Bucky Barnes x f!reader. [R 18+]

Word count: 23.6K (oops) Pairings: Obsessed Bucky Barnes x Movie Star Reader. Summary: You've been seeing Bucky for a while. You thought meeting him was pure fate but little did you know every single detail was premeditated. Trying to end things with him would be the greatest mistake of your life. Themes/Warning: SMUT OVER 18s ONLY. Dark Romance, slow-burn STALKING, KIDNAPPING, A LOT OF MANHANDLING *DUBCON?* BDSM (Blindfolded, Bed Restraints), Daddy Kink, Masturbation (M), Filming during sex, domineering acts, degradation, praising, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral (M+F), overstimulation, edging, unprotected piv sex, creampied. A/N: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE. It is giving Joe Goldberg. Also Bucky speaks Romanian here, I used google translate. Please don't come at me.

A/N: AGAIN IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE, MOVE ON.

I’ve seen you in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different roles, but none of them—none of them—compared to the real thing. You, walking out of that boutique gym, wiping sweat from your forehead like it wasn’t some holy ritual. You didn’t know I was watching. You never do. That’s the thing about being the most famous actress in Hollywood, isn’t it? People only see the surface, the glitter. The carefully curated perfection. But not me. I see the real you. The one behind all that.

When I first saw you, it wasn’t planned. Not exactly. I mean, I knew I’d see you eventually. I made sure of it. The gym, the coffee shop, your early morning run route that you think is private. I don’t leave things to chance. I orchestrate them. And you—oh, you walked right into my world, didn’t you?

You smiled that smile, the one that makes directors fall to their knees for a chance to cast you. But when you smiled at me, it felt different. Real. Like we were speaking a language only we understood.

It wasn’t hard to make you like me. It never is. I’ve done my homework. I know what you need, what you crave. Stability. Someone who gets it, gets you, in a way that all the shallow, empty faces in your world never will. I became that someone for you, carefully crafting each word, each look, until you were hooked.

It’s funny, the little things you let slip. You think you’re so careful, but I see it. The way your shoulders relax when I talk about my “well-paying job,” when I drop hints about my “family's” holiday home. You like that, don’t you? You like that I’m different from the men who chase you for clout or connections. No, I’m something else. 

You didn’t realize I’d planned our first date down to the minute, did you? Or the second, and the third. You thought it was all so natural. You thought it was just happening. Like we were meant to meet, to be together, to be something special. That’s the thing about fate, though—it’s just another tool. And I wield it perfectly.

It didn’t take long for you to fall for me, just like I knew you would. After all, I’m everything you need. Smart, kind, successful—or at least, that’s what you think. I’m whatever you need me to be. So when I suggested a weekend away at my “holiday” home, you said yes. Hesitant, but yes. You must’ve thought it would be a nice escape. Just us, away from the world that always wants something from you.

Except, you didn’t know it wasn’t an escape at all. It was a step closer to where we were always meant to end up.

That’s what I kept telling myself as we stood in the kitchen of that house, the rain drumming softly against the windows. I poured you a glass of wine, said something about how perfect it all felt, about how right we were together. And you—you just stood there, silent, your eyes distant. Something had shifted.

Then you spoke.

“Bucky,” you said, and my heart stopped because I already knew what was coming. “This is going too fast.”

The words hung in the air like poison. I felt my pulse in my throat, the warmth of the kitchen suddenly stifling.

“I don’t think I see a future with us,” you continued, and each word was a dagger. You tried to soften the blow with that sweet voice of yours, telling me I’m a “great guy,” that it’s “nothing personal.” Nothing personal? How could it not be personal? 

You know, I’ve always been good at controlling myself. That’s one of the things you liked about me, isn’t it? How I’m always so calm, so collected. You don’t want the chaos, the mess of Hollywood drama in your real life. No, you want stability, something solid, someone who can be your anchor in the storm of flashing lights and fake smiles.

And I gave you that. I am that. I’ve been perfect for you—perfect in every way.

So why—why are you standing here, telling me that it’s going “too fast”?

The words echoed in my head, making it hard to focus. You kept talking, kept explaining, but it was like I couldn’t hear you anymore. My mind was racing, my chest tightening with something dark, something unfamiliar. 

No, no, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say it’s too fast when I’ve been so patient, so careful.

You have no idea how long I’ve waited, how meticulously I’ve crafted every single moment between us. Every word, every smile, every touch. This is what we’re supposed to be. You can’t just walk away from that. You can’t just throw it away.

I could feel it bubbling up inside me, the rage, the frustration. It started small, like a flicker of heat behind my eyes, but it was growing, spreading, filling me with something raw and dangerous. I tried to keep it in check, tried to swallow it down. I didn’t want to scare you. That’s not what this was about. This was supposed to be perfect.

But you kept talking, kept saying things that made it worse. Words like “future,” like “great guy,” like “nothing personal.”

Nothing personal? Again.

How dare you? How dare you make it sound like I’m just another guy, like I didn’t plan every single moment of our time together? You think this isn’t personal? You think I’m just going to let you go like all the others? No.

I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to hold it in, trying not to let you see what you were doing to me. But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t shut up. And then you said it—that one final thing that broke me.

“I just don’t feel the same way.”

There it was. The truth, out in the open, sharp and jagged like broken glass. And something inside me snapped. I could feel it, like a wire pulled too tight finally giving way. My pulse thundered in my ears, my breathing shallow and ragged. You didn’t get it. You didn’t see how much I’d done for us, how much I’d sacrificed. You didn’t understand how perfect we could be if you just—just—

I slammed my hand down on the counter next to you, the sound slicing through the air like a gunshot. You jumped, startled, your eyes wide with fear as you flinched, taking a step back from me.

And that—oh, that—was new.

Fear. Real, genuine fear appeared in your eyes like you were finally seeing me for the first time. I should’ve hated it. I should’ve backed off, apologised, done something to make it go away.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because part of me—some dark, twisted part of me—liked it. I liked that you were finally seeing me. The real me. Not the carefully crafted version I’d shown you before, but the one who needed you, the one who couldn’t stand the idea of losing you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re scaring me.”

I blinked, the words cutting through the fog of anger, but they didn’t have the effect you wanted. Scaring you? No. No, you’re not scared of me. You’re scared of losing control, scared of what it means to be with someone like me, someone who actually cares enough to make sure you stay.

But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I watched you take another step back, your hands trembling slightly, your eyes darting to the door like you were planning to run.

I watched the fear ripple through you, your breathing quickening, your eyes scanning the room like you were calculating the distance to the door. Like you thought you could just run. Like you actually thought you could escape me.

But you can’t.

No, we’ve come too far for that.

I took a step toward you, slow and measured, watching the way you flinched, the way your body tensed like a deer ready to bolt. I didn’t want to hurt you—I didn’t. But you were leaving me no choice. You were making this hard, when it didn’t have to be. I didn’t want it to be this way.

“Bucky…” Your voice was small, fragile. You were trying to reason with me, but it was too late for that. Too late for words. The world outside, the life we had before stepping into this house, it was all fading away. It was just us now, just the truth between us, raw and unfiltered.

“You don’t understand,” I said, my voice low, my hand still pressed firmly against the counter. I could feel the cool granite beneath my palm, grounding me, barely holding back the storm inside. “This is right. We are right for each other. You just… you just don’t see it yet.”

Your eyes darted toward the door again, that brief flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could get away. I could see it in the way your muscles tensed, in the way your feet shifted like you were getting ready to run. And I hated it—hated that you still didn’t understand.

I moved faster than you expected, my hand reaching out to grab your arm before you could make a break for it. You gasped, your eyes wide with terror as I pulled you back, your body colliding with mine. You struggled, kicking, twisting, trying to break free, but I was stronger. I’d always been stronger.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, your voice shrill, panicked. But I didn’t let go. I couldn’t.

You don’t get it. You can’t leave. 

“Stop fighting,” I growled, pulling you closer, your back pressed against my chest. I could feel your heart hammering beneath your skin, the rapid rise and fall of your breath. You were terrified, and part of me—some dark, primal part of me—thrived on that fear. But another part of me hated it. I didn’t want you to be afraid. I wanted you to see that I was doing this for us.

“Please, Bucky… you’re hurting me.”

Those words. They cut through the fog of anger, piercing something deep inside me. My grip loosened for just a second, just long enough for you to break free, to twist out of my hold and make a desperate run for the door.

And you did it.

You yanked the door open, sprinting out into the rain like your life depended on it. You were fast, I’ll give you that.

Desperation makes people faster. 

Your bare feet slapped against the wet pavement, splashing through puddles as you made your way to the car. You thought you were getting away. You thought you were winning.

I followed, just a few paces behind. I let you think you had a chance. Let you scramble to the driver’s side door, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the handle. You were soaked, the rain plastering your hair to your face, but you didn’t stop. You threw open the door, slipping into the car, your fingers trembling as you searched for the keys.

But I was there. Right behind you. And you didn’t have the keys, did you?

“Bucky, please!” you screamed, your voice high and panicked, but it didn’t matter. I yanked the door open before you could lock it, my hand reaching in and grabbing your arm with a force that made you cry out.

You kicked. You screamed. Your nails clawed at my hand, your legs thrashing as I dragged you out of the car, but you weren’t strong enough. You were never going to be strong enough.

“No!” you shrieked, your voice cracking as I hauled you back toward the house, the rain pouring down around us. You fought me every step of the way, your feet slipping in the mud, your body twisting, trying to break free.

But I didn’t let go.

I couldn’t.

“You’re not leaving,” I growled, my voice barely audible over the storm, my grip tightening as I dragged you back inside. Your body was limp now, weak from the struggle, but your eyes—oh, your eyes were still filled with that same fear.

We’re not done. We’re never going to be done.

Not until you see it.

Not until you see me.

× × × ×

Your POV

You wake slowly, your head throbbing, the world around you blurry and disorienting. The sound of the storm outside reaches you first, the rumble of thunder vibrating through the walls, the rain pounding relentlessly against the windows. You blink, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The sheets beneath you are soft—too soft—and they smell like detergent, unfamiliar.

That’s when you feel it. The cold metal around your wrists.

Panic surges through your veins as you jerk upright, or at least, you try to. Your hands are cuffed to the bed, the harsh clink of metal echoing in the dimly lit room as you struggle against them. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear hitting you like a wave, choking you as you realize—this isn’t a nightmare.

Your breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you take in the room. It’s dim, lit only by the soft, flickering glow of a bedside lamp, the corners of the room swallowed by shadows. You’re not in the same clothes you remember. You’re dressed in something clean now, something soft, but it’s not your own. Someone…he changed you.

And then you see him.

Bucky.

He’s sitting in the corner, hidden in the shadows, watching you. His silhouette is dark, unmoving, and it sends a chill down your spine. The storm outside feels like a reflection of the chaos inside your head, the way everything is spinning, nothing making sense.

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and when you finally manage to choke out his name, it sounds small, pitiful. 

“Bucky?”

He doesn’t respond. He just keeps watching, like a predator studying its prey. Like he’s waiting for you to say or do something, but you don’t know what. Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst out of your chest. The fear grips you tighter with every second that passes, the realization of your situation crashing down on you like the thunder outside.

“I… I don’t understand.” Your voice is trembling, tears burning at the back of your eyes as you tug helplessly at the cuffs, the metal biting into your skin. “Why are you doing this? Let me go, please.”

Still, he says nothing. The silence stretches on, oppressive, suffocating. You can feel his eyes on you, piercing through the darkness, and it makes your skin crawl. 

You don’t recognize this man, not anymore. The Bucky you thought you knew, the one who smiled at you over dinner, the one who laughed at your jokes, who held your hand… that Bucky is gone. Or maybe he was never real to begin with.

“You’re scaring me,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the tears finally spill over, sliding down your cheeks. “Please, just let me go. I won’t— I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I just want to leave.”

His figure shifts slightly in the chair, the movement so subtle you almost miss it, but it feels like a thunderclap in the tense stillness of the room. Finally, he speaks, his voice low, dark, carrying with it an edge of something you don’t want to name.

“You need to stop thinking of escape,” he says, his words measured. “I’m not your enemy, I’m the one saving you. And one day, you’ll understand that.”

Your stomach drops. There’s something final in the way he says it, something that makes you realize there’s no reasoning with him. No escape.

You’re trapped.

A sob escapes your lips, your body shaking as you pull at the cuffs again, but it’s no use. The storm outside rages on, the wind howling like some terrible omen, and you can’t help but wonder if anyone—anyone at all—can hear you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as Bucky stands up from the chair, his silhouette dark against the dim light. His movements are slow, and you can’t tear your eyes away from him as he steps out of the shadows. Something glints in his hand, and when he comes closer, you see it.

Your phone.

He’s holding your phone.

Bucky twirls it in his hand like it’s some casual toy, but the sight of it makes your stomach churn. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze fixed on you, and a slow smile spreads across his lips—not the warm, charming smile you once knew, but something colder, calculated.

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s standing right next to the bed. His presence looms over you, the phone still in his hand as he looks down at you, handcuffed and helpless.

“So,” he says, his voice smooth, unsettlingly calm. “What should you post tonight? Hm?”

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the words. Post? He can't be serious. He wouldn’t—

Bucky’s eyes flicker down to the screen, and with a swipe of his thumb, the display lights up. “You wouldn’t want people to think you’ve gone missing, would you? That might cause a… panic.” He smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

Your throat tightens, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill over again. You shake your head, more in disbelief than as an answer. He’s playing with you, toying with the very thing that connects you to the world outside this nightmare. And the way he’s handling your phone, so casually, makes it clear—he’s already thought this through.

“Maybe a picture of your feet by the fire?” he muses, tilting his head as if he’s considering the best angle. “Or better yet, one of those ‘cozy night in’ captions. That’ll sell it. Everyone will think you’re just relaxing after a long day. Just another night for Hollywood’s sweetheart.”

His words send ice through your veins. He’s already planned it all out, how to keep up the illusion that you’re fine, that nothing’s wrong. No one will even suspect you’re missing. No one will come looking for you.

You try to speak, to find words, but your voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper. “Please, Bucky, don’t—”

But he ignores your plea, his eyes focused on your phone as he pulls up your social media app. “Smile,” he says mockingly, as though you’re some doll he can dress up for show. “Or don’t. I can manage this on my own. I’ve been watching you for long enough to know exactly what your fans want.”

You feel the tears slip down your cheeks, helplessness gripping you as he takes control of your life in the most terrifying way possible. The world outside keeps spinning, oblivious to the fact that you’re trapped in this nightmare, and he’s holding the one lifeline that could save you, dangling it just out of reach.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, his voice a twisted mockery of comfort. “I’ll keep everyone updated. No one will know anything’s wrong. Not until you’ve had time to understand why you’re really here.”

And as he taps away at your phone, the storm rages on outside, but inside this room, it’s the calm before the real storm—the one you know is coming but can’t escape.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV 

The thing about phones—your phone, to be specific—is that they’re intimate. More intimate than a diary, more personal than any conversation you’ve ever had. Every swipe, every message, every like, is a little breadcrumb leading back to the real you. The parts you don’t share with the world. And here I am, with your phone in my hand, holding every piece of you in the palm of mine.

I can feel your eyes on me as I scroll through it, your fear practically radiating off you in waves. But I ignore it. I’ve already moved past that phase, the part where I worry about what you’re thinking. You’ll come around eventually, once you see that I’m doing this for us.

For you.

The soft glow of your screen illuminates my face as I unlock it easily—your passcode was one of the first things I learned about you. A four-digit combination, barely a barrier, really. I swipe through your photos first, and there’s a strange comfort in seeing the world through your eyes. Pictures of sunsets, candid moments with co-stars, perfectly posed selfies for your millions of followers. Each photo carefully curated for the world. But I keep scrolling because I know that’s not all there is.

And then I see it. A photo you took of me.

It’s not staged, not some posed couple’s picture for social media. It’s real. I’m asleep—my head turned slightly to the side, my face peaceful, unaware. You took this when you thought I wasn’t watching. The corner of my mouth twitches up, and I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. You couldn’t resist, could you? Even when you didn’t know it, you were drawn to me.

This proves it. We’re connected. Whether you want to admit it or not, you feel it, too. I wasn’t wrong.

I glance up from the phone, just for a moment, to see you watching me, your eyes wide, terrified. You have no idea how much I know, how deep inside your world I already am. I almost want to say something, to tell you how this photo means something. How it confirms that we’re meant to be. But I stay silent, letting the moment stretch between us, savouring it.

I keep scrolling. And that’s when I find them.

The unsolicited photos.

You thought you were careful, that you’d buried them in your messages. But nothing stays hidden from me. A flood of messages from random men—pathetic, desperate attempts to get your attention. Men sending you things you never asked for. 

Filth. 

Unworthy of even a glance from you. The sheer arrogance of it, the entitlement, makes my blood simmer. How many of these men thought they had a chance with you? That they could own a piece of you like I do?

One particular message stands out. A man whose name I don’t recognize, someone you’ve never mentioned. He’s sent you photos of himself, explicit, disgusting. And you—you didn’t block him. You didn’t stop it.

I stare at the messages longer than I should, the jealousy curling tight inside my chest, sharp and poisonous. These men, they think they can have you, that they can come into your life with their disgusting offers and expect something in return. You might not have invited them in, but the fact that they’re here at all makes me sick.

You should’ve told me. You should’ve trusted me to take care of this for you.

I glance back at you, still handcuffed to the bed, tears slipping down your cheeks, and I wonder if you even understand what’s happening here. These men, they aren’t a part of your life anymore. I won’t allow it. You’re mine now. Completely. There won’t be anyone else.

I keep scrolling through your messages, and that’s when I find something else.

A text thread with your friends. The casual banter, the kind of stuff you think I don’t care about. But buried in there, a series of photos you sent them. I pause, my heart speeding up as I open them. 

It’s me, of course. 

One picture in particular stands out—a shot of me shirtless in the kitchen, cooking you breakfast. The light catches my body just right, every muscle defined. And your caption underneath?

“Okay, so you can’t see his face but look at this man. Just look at him.”

You wanted them to see me. To know what you had. You wanted them to be jealous. And they probably were. I smile to myself, imagining the envy your friends must have felt, knowing that you had me, knowing they couldn’t. It’s perfect. You knew I was perfect for you.

I scroll further down the thread, and that’s when I see the message that makes me pause, my breath catching in my throat.

“You guys, I swear to god… he’s so good in bed, I think I’m addicted. Like, I don’t even know how to describe it. I’m wrecked in the best ways.”

Addicted. Addicted to me. And you thought I wouldn’t know. You thought you could hide that, that you could pretend to push me away when deep down, you crave me. You need me.

I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across my face as I look back at you. You’re trembling, still terrified, but you don’t understand that this—this fear, this desire—it’s all part of the same thing. You don’t have to run from it anymore. From me.

I scroll just a little further and see the final blow. Another photo. This time, it’s intimate. Private. A photo you snapped of me sleeping on top of you, my body nestled against yours, my head buried in the crook of your neck. The angle is careful, my face mostly obscured by my dark hair, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness in that moment. I can feel the warmth of it through the screen.

And then the message beneath it.

“Okay, don’t judge me, but… when Bucky speaks Romanian when we do it... it’s so hot. Like, I can’t even handle it. I don’t even want a kid but I'll carry his kids. Fuck. He’s so hot.”

I feel something inside me snap—not with anger, no, but with something far deeper. You want this. You want me. You’ve been telling your friends, letting them know how much you crave me, need me, even if you didn’t say it out loud to my face. But now? Now I know. And there’s no denying it anymore.

I set the phone down on the edge of the bed and lean closer, my voice low, calm, almost affectionate. “You know,” I murmur, “I never realized how much you needed me. But now I see it. Now, it all makes sense.”

You flinch, pulling back as far as you can, but there’s nowhere to go. Not from me.

“What should you post tonight, hm?” I ask, my tone conversational, like this is any normal evening between us. 

The horror in your eyes is enough to confirm it—you finally understand. You’re not going anywhere.

Because you’re mine. And no one—no one—is going to take you away from me.

× × × × 

I bring the dinner to you, carefully plated, as always. Presentation matters. Even now, when you’re too stubborn to appreciate it, too blinded by your own misplaced anger to see that this—this—is still me taking care of you. 

I set the tray on the bed beside you, the smell of the meal filling the room. You’ve always liked the way I cook, haven’t you? I remember how you used to smile, used to praise the smallest details, like I was doing something so special.

But now, you sit there with your jaw clenched, body stiff, refusing to look at me, refusing to even acknowledge that I’m here, still trying to make sure you’re okay.

“You’re going to eat,” I say softly, but there’s a firmness beneath the words. It’s not a request, not a suggestion. I’ve been patient with you—so patient. But you’re pushing me now, testing the limits of my control, and we both know that can only last so long.

You scoff, turning your head away from the food like a child throwing a tantrum. “I’m not your prisoner, Bucky. You can’t force me to do anything.”

The defiance. That familiar fire burning behind your eyes. I should be frustrated, I should be angry, but honestly? I find it... cute. You’re still trying to fight me, still clinging to the idea that you have some say in this. I lean closer, my hand resting gently on the bed beside you, my voice dropping just enough to let you know I’m not here to argue.

“You are going to eat,” I repeat, my tone calm but unyielding. “Because I’m not going to let you starve yourself.”

You snap your head back to me, your eyes flashing with rage, and for a second, I see the storm building in you. 

“You can’t make me,” you growl, and it’s almost laughable—the way you think you still have control, still have some semblance of power in this situation.

Then, without warning, you spit at me.

The action is so quick, so fueled by your desperation, that for a moment, I’m surprised. The spit lands on my cheek, sliding down slowly, almost in slow motion. And there it is. The fight. The fire. The part of you that still hasn’t fully surrendered.

You tense, your body going rigid, your breath caught in your throat as you wait for me to explode, for the rage to consume me and lash out. This is the part where you expect me to lose it. To become the monster you’ve built up in your head.

But I don’t.

I freeze for just a second, letting the anger stir inside me, feeling it twist and coil. But then, instead of reacting the way you expect, I chuckle. A low, quiet laugh, the sound barely audible over the storm outside. I don’t wipe the spit away. I just sit there, letting it cool on my cheek, my lips curling into a small, almost amused smile.

“I like this,” I murmur, my voice calm, disturbingly calm. “This fight in you. It’s… adorable.”

You flinch, recoiling slightly as you realize I’m not going to snap. I’m not going to lose control, because unlike you, I’m not driven by desperation. I don’t need to. No, I have all the control I need, right here, in this room, with you handcuffed to that bed. I can see it in your eyes—the confusion. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect me to remain calm.

I lean in just a bit closer, my face only inches from yours now, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You think you can push me, don’t you? That if you fight hard enough, I’ll lose control. But that’s not going to happen. You’re not going to break me. You can’t.”

You’re trembling now, the tears welling up in your eyes, but I don’t feel pity. No, this is something else entirely. This is... satisfaction. You want to fight, but you’re scared, too. And that mix? That’s what makes this so interesting.

I straighten up, slowly wiping the spit from my cheek with the back of my hand, my eyes never leaving yours. “Go ahead. Keep fighting. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still in control. You’ll still eat. You’ll still do what I say.”

Your lip quivers, but you remain silent, glaring at me with all the defiance you can muster. But I can see the cracks forming. I know that deep down, you understand.

“Now,” I say, standing up and moving back toward the corner of the room, watching you carefully. “When you’re ready to eat, the food will be here. And I’ll be right here, too. Always.”

I sit back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, my eyes never leaving you. You still think you can win this. But you can’t. You never could.

And the fact that you haven’t realized that yet? Well, that’s just adorable.

× × × × 

Your POV

The next day.

You wake up to the steady drum of rain against the window, still unrelenting, like the world is stuck in an endless loop of storm and shadow. The room is dim, gray light filtering in through the heavy clouds outside, casting long shadows that stretch across the floor. Something’s different, though. You blink slowly, trying to clear the haze of sleep.

Your wrists. They’re free.

No cuffs. No cold metal biting into your skin. You sit up cautiously, the blankets tucked around you. . . comfortably. Like some twisted lullaby, as if you’d been tucked in after drifting to sleep in the middle of a nightmare.

And the first thing you notice? Bucky isn’t here.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your body still stiff with the memory of yesterday, the taste of panic still lingering like bile in your throat. 

You scan the room carefully, trying not to make any sudden movements as if you might wake the predator lurking nearby.

The chair he always sits in—the one where he watches you—is empty. No sign of him. No footsteps, no steady breathing that you’ve come to expect as the constant reminder of his presence.

Where is he?

The food tray from last night is gone. Cleared away. The bed you’re sitting in feels too normal, too cozy, like some trap waiting to spring. You can’t trust it. You can’t trust anything. Your eyes move to the door. It’s slightly ajar, just a crack, and there’s an unnerving stillness in the air. The house is too quiet.

You slide out of bed, your bare feet sinking into the carpet. Your muscles are tense, ready, every nerve on edge. 

You step closer to the door, careful, listening for anything—footsteps, breathing, a creak of the floorboards. Nothing. Just the sound of the rain.

Your hand touches the doorknob, ready to push it open, when you hear it—a soft thud from down the hall.

Your body freezes, every muscle tensing as you strain to hear. The sound is subtle, distant, but unmistakable. A shuffling, like something—or someone—moving just out of sight.

He’s close.

You open the door cautiously, peeking out into the hallway. It’s dark, barely lit by the gray daylight seeping in from the windows. The house feels alive, as if the walls themselves are watching, breathing. The unease settles in your stomach, cold and heavy. You swallow, your throat tight, and take a step forward.

Another noise. A door creaking open further down the hall.

Your breath catches. Your feet hesitate. But you move forward, each step more careful than the last. Your heart races, every instinct screaming for you to turn around, to hide. But you can’t. You need to know where he is.

And then, you stop.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and there—just inside—you see him.

Bucky.

He’s standing in front of the sink, his back to you. His hands are braced against the counter, his head slightly lowered, as if he’s… thinking. You freeze in place, watching him, your body paralyzed by the tension hanging thick in the air. He doesn’t know you’re here, not yet. He hasn’t heard you.

You could run. You could turn around right now, slip back into the bedroom, and pretend you never saw this. But something about the way he’s standing there—so still—keeps you rooted to the spot.

He moves.

Slowly, he straightens, his shoulders rising as he takes in a deep breath. He turns his head slightly, just enough that you catch the edge of his profile. And then, he speaks.

“I know you’re awake.”

Your stomach drops, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

“I was waiting for you,” he continues, his voice smooth, calm, like he’s talking about the weather. “But I guess you were planning on coming to find me instead.”

You feel the blood drain from your face, your heart pounding in your ears as he turns to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a calmness in his expression that unnerves you more than anything else. He isn’t angry. He isn’t surprised.

He knew.

He knew the whole time.

× × × ×

The moment his eyes meet yours, you don’t think—you bolt.

Your feet barely hit the ground as you turn and bolt down the hallway, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, the sound of your breath ragged in your ears. Every muscle in your body screams to run, to get as far away from him as possible. You know he’s behind you. You can feel it, the tension stretching between you like a taut wire, ready to snap. But you don’t look back. You can’t.

The stairs are ahead, a sharp descent into the unknown, but they’re your only option. Your hand grips the bannister as you take the steps two at a time, your mind racing just as fast. You can hear him moving behind you, not in a rush, not in a panic. No, his footsteps are casual by the way they echo in the hallway above.

You hit the ground floor, your bare feet slipping on the cold tiles, but you manage to catch yourself. You have to hide. You have to be smart. If you don’t, he’ll catch you, and you know exactly what happens if he does.

You dart around the corner, your eyes scanning the room desperately. The house feels like a maze, twisting, unfamiliar. You’ve been here before, but in the haze of fear, everything feels different, distorted. You spot a door—a small one, leading to what looks like a pantry—and no hesitation you dash inside, pulling the door shut behind you.

Darkness swallows you whole, your back pressed against the wall, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your shaky breath. 

The air feels thick in the tiny space, every sound amplified. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and you try to force yourself to stay calm. Think, think, think.

The silence stretches out, so thick you can almost hear it. And then—

You hear him.

His voice, soft, almost melodic, drifting through the house like a twisted lullaby.

“Y/N…”

Your body goes rigid. He’s calling for you, like this is some kind of game. A cat and mouse game. He’s playing with you, drawing it out, savoring every second of your panic.

“Where are you?” His voice echoes through the house, sickeningly sweet, and you can hear the smile in it, the amusement. Like this is a joke. Like you, running is nothing but entertainment for him.

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, trying to think of what you can do next, but every plan, every thought dissolves into pure terror as his footsteps get closer. The sound of his shoes on the floor is slow. He’s not in a rush. He knows you’re here. Somewhere.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

He sings your name again, drawing it out, each syllable rolling off his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. You bite your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, your hands trembling as you clutch the inside of the door. You can’t breathe, can’t move. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode in your chest.

You hear him moving through the house, his voice drifting through every corner, getting closer, then further away. 

“You know I’ll find you…” His words are light, teasing, but beneath them lies something dark, something terrifyingly final. “I always do.”

His voice drifts through the hall, teasing, playful, as if this is all just fun for him. The sound of it makes your blood run cold, but you don’t move. You can’t. You tell yourself to stay calm, to think, to be smart. He wants you to panic. He wants you to break. Don’t.

The footsteps draw closer. You hear the soft creak of the floorboards just outside the door, and your body goes rigid. You can feel him on the other side, waiting, listening. You brace yourself, every nerve in your body on edge, ready for him to rip the door open and drag you out.

But he doesn’t.

There’s a long, agonizing pause. You hear him exhale softly, almost as if he’s amused. His presence lingers there, so close you can feel it through the door. The seconds stretch on, unbearable.

And then, he moves. The footsteps retreat, growing fainter, until you hear them no more.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You wait, your body coiled tight, every muscle aching with the tension. 

He’s gone, you tell yourself. He walked away. 

You listen carefully, straining your ears for any sound—nothing. Just the rain. He’s somewhere else in the house, looking for you.

The silence presses down on you, thick and suffocating. You tell yourself you have to move, that this is your chance. You wait a minute longer, then two, your hand still covering your mouth as you count the seconds. 

He’s gone. He’s not there anymore.

Finally, you exhale slowly and shift your weight, your legs cramped and trembling from holding still for so long. You push the door open an inch, peeking out into the hallway.

Empty.

The hallway is bathed in pale, gray light from the rain-soaked windows. No sign of him. Your pulse hammers in your ears, but you push the door open fully now, stepping out as silently as you can manage. The house feels too big, too quiet.

Maybe I can make it. Maybe he didn’t hear me.

You take a cautious step forward, your eyes scanning the empty corridor. Another step, careful, quiet. The air feels cold against your skin, the house eerily still, like the eye of a storm.

You glance in both directions. The hall is empty.

He’s gone.

You make it halfway down the hallway, moving toward the back of the house, your breath coming in shallow huffs. You take a step, then another, your movements calculated and soundless, trying to map out your escape. Each second feels like a victory, a step closer to being free of him. You are smarter than him. You can outthink him.

As you move, you walk backward for a moment, keeping your eyes on the hallway behind you. You don’t trust it—why would you?—so you check, making sure he isn’t sneaking up on you. Your back presses against the wall for stability as you inch toward the exit, ready to make your move.

And then—you feel something.

Something warm. Something solid. Your entire body goes rigid as you feel it—him.

You freeze, terror gripping you before you even have a chance to process the situation. Slowly, painfully slowly, you turn your head, knowing exactly what you’ll see.

Bucky.

He’s standing right behind you, closer than you ever imagined he could be, his chest pressed against your back, his breath steady. How did he move so silently? How did he manage to be right here, right on top of you, without a single sound?

Your heart slams against your ribcage as you try to pull away, but his hand is already on your arm, gentle but firm, holding you in place. The smile on his face is unsettling, a mixture of amusement and something far darker. He knew. He always knew.

“You were trying to sneak away, weren’t you?” His voice is soft, too soft, like this is all just a lighthearted conversation between two people who aren’t trapped in a nightmare. “I could feel it.”

His fingers tighten around your arm, not painfully, but just enough to remind you that he’s not letting go. That he sees you, even in your cleverness, even in your silence.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I like that. But quiet doesn’t mean I won’t find you.”

“I was just…” you begin, your voice barely a whisper, but it catches in your throat. You can feel him watching you, his eyes scanning your face, reading every thought before you’ve even formed it.

“Just what?” he asks, his tone almost playful, like he’s toying with you, like this is nothing more than a game. His fingers brush your skin, tracing lazy circles, and it sends a wave of nausea through you.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mind is racing, but the words won’t come.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against the side of your neck, and you can’t stop the way your body tenses, every nerve screaming with terror.

“I told you, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the rain. “I’ll always know where you are.”

Your breath catches, and you feel his hand shift, sliding down your arm, fingers curling around your wrist. He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you, suffocating.

You want to scream, to pull away, but you know it won’t do any good. You’ve been clever, careful—but not enough. You underestimated him.

You force yourself to breathe, to think through the thick fog of panic that clouds your mind. Every instinct screams at you to do something, anything to get away, but Bucky’s grip is firm, his presence all-consuming. His hand is still around your wrist, holding you in place, as if you belong here. As if there was never a question of where you should be.

“I see that look,” he murmurs, his voice so low it almost blends with the sound of the rain. “You’re thinking. Calculating.”

You swallow hard, your heart slamming against your ribs. Of course, you’re thinking. You’re always thinking. You’re looking for the smallest crack in the situation, the tiniest escape route. But he knows. He sees it in you.

“You always think you can figure me out, don’t you?” His breath tickles the side of your face, and you flinch, trying to pull away even though you know it’s futile.

Your mind races, but his presence is like a cage, keeping you trapped, making every idea seem impossible. You can feel the tension tightening, every second a countdown to whatever he’s planning next. His thumb moves in circles over your wrist, a gesture that might seem comforting if it weren’t so... controlling.

Then he releases you.

The sudden absence of his grip is jarring. You stumble backward a step, your body instinctively retreating, but you catch yourself before you fall. You stare at him, shocked that he’s let go, that he’s giving you space.

Bucky just smiles, watching you. He's toying with you, letting you think you have a chance when deep down, you know he’s still in control.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice soft and measured. “But you have to stop running. You’re making this harder on yourself.”

Your skin prickles with dread as you try to process his words. He’s letting you go, but it’s not real freedom. It’s a leash—an invisible one, stretched just enough to let you feel like you’re in control. But he’s still holding the end of it, ready to pull you back the moment you step too far.

You stand there, frozen, every muscle in your body screaming to run, but your mind knows better. He’s faster than you. Stronger. More dangerous.

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to make a move, to see what you’ll do next. And you know, whatever you do, he’ll be ready.

“I can wait all day,” he says, tilting his head slightly, as if he’s genuinely curious about what you’ll choose. “But you won’t make it far.”

Your mouth goes dry as you take a shaky breath, your eyes darting to the door, the only possible exit. The rain is still hammering down outside, loud and relentless, but it’s the only thing between you and whatever comes next.

But you know if you run now, it’ll be exactly what he wants.

So, you make a decision.

Instead of bolting, instead of giving in to the panic rising in your chest, you take step forward. Toward him.

His eyes flicker with something—surprise? Amusement? You can’t tell—but it doesn’t matter. You’re not playing the game the way he wants you to anymore. You’re taking control, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Then stop pretending this is some game,” you say, your voice steady, even though you feel anything but. “What do you want?”

He takes a step closer, closing the distance you just created, and you can feel the tension coil between you again, tighter than before.

“You know what I want,” he says softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You don’t dare break it, waiting for him to speak, to reveal the thing that’s been lurking in the shadows between you both since the moment you met. The way he’s looking at you now, with that dark, unreadable intensity, makes your skin crawl. Your question hangs in the air, and you can’t tell if he’s stalling, or if he’s just savouring the moment—savouring you.

Then he leans in, just a fraction closer, his voice lowering to that chilling, intimate whisper that makes every nerve in your body scream for you to run.

“What I want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “is simple. I want you to stop fighting it. To stop pretending this isn’t what you need. What you want.”

You stiffen, your pulse skyrocketing, because it’s not the answer you were expecting. There’s a raw edge to his words, a dangerous undertone that tells you he’s been thinking about this for a long time—planning it.

“I want you to see that this, us—” he gestures vaguely between you, his eyes never leaving yours—“is inevitable. You can run, hide, resist, but you’ll always end up right. back. here.”

You feel a chill run through your veins as his words sink in. He doesn’t just want to keep you here, doesn’t just want your compliance. He wants your submission. He wants you to accept this twisted reality he’s created, to fall in line with whatever fantasy he’s been building in his head.

Your breath hitches, but you manage to hold his gaze, even as your mind reels with panic. 

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your insides. “This isn’t love, Bucky.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” he says softly, his smile returning, more dangerous than ever. “But I know you, Y/N. I’ve watched you. I’ve studied you. And you can’t hide from the truth forever.”

“I know what you need,” he whispers, his voice softer now, almost... tender. “And when you finally stop running, when you stop fighting it, you’ll see it too.”

Your chest tightens, your mind racing to find something—anything—to say that might break this twisted spell he’s trying to weave. But you know, deep down, that no matter what you say, he’s already convinced himself that this is real. That you are his.

And that’s when it hits you.

What he wants isn’t just to keep you here, to cage you like some prize. He wants you to choose it. To accept him, this situation, this twisted version of love he’s built in his mind. He wants you to believe it, to fall into his arms willingly.

But you won’t. You can’t.

“I’ll never give you what you want,” you repeat, your voice defiant, even though the fear tightens in your chest. “I’ll never see this the way you do.”

For a moment, the silence between you thickens. You think maybe he’ll finally snap, maybe this will be the moment he loses control. But instead, his smile deepens, and the amusement in his eyes takes on a sharper, more sinister edge.

“Is that right?” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “Because, according to your texts... that’s not what you’ve been telling your friends.”

Before you can even process his words, he’s already pulling out your phone again, holding it between you like a trophy. His thumb glided over the screen, his eyes flickering with the satisfaction of someone who’s about to wield power in the most insidious way.

“Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” he murmurs, not even looking at you as he pulls up your messages. “Ah, here’s a good one.”

He clears his throat theatrically before reading aloud, his voice dripping with false amusement. “He’s got this look when he’s on top of me. Like, I swear, it could melt your soul. I think I’m done for.”

Your stomach turns as the words leave his lips, each syllable twisting into something vile as he quotes your own words back to you. You remember sending that, of course. You’d been giddy, drunk on lust and naivety, texting your friends in a moment of bliss that feels a lifetime away now.

Bucky’s eyes flick to you, watching your reaction with that same unsettling calm. “Done for, huh?” he teases. “That’s not exactly the defiance you’re showing me right now.”

You clench your fists at your sides, trying to steady your breath, but he’s already scrolling again. His thumb pauses, and he smirks as if he’s found something even better.

“Oh, this one’s great,” he says, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Is he big?” he reads with a dramatic pause, glancing at you. “Girl, you have no idea. Let's just say I’m not getting out of bed anytime soon.”

Heat floods your face, not with the memory, but with the sheer horror of hearing him say it out loud. Your body goes rigid as the humiliation washes over you, but Bucky—he just chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he says, the smugness in his voice unbearable. “It’s good to know I’ve been leaving an impression.”

He swipes again, his smirk growing. “Let’s see... oh, what’s this?” His voice takes on an almost sing-song quality as he reads the next one. “He’s so attentive, it’s like he knows what I want before I do. Honestly, I think he’s perfect. He’s in my head, like... all the time.”

Your throat tightens, and you force yourself to look at him, your heart thundering in your chest. He’s savouring every moment of this, twisting your words into a weapon, using them to deepen his control over you.

He steps closer, eyes glinting, before reading the next one. “There’s something about him... something that makes me feel like I could lose myself. In a good way. Like, I don’t even care anymore. I just want him.”

He leans in, his breath grazing your ear as he whispers, “You just want me, huh? It seems like the girl who wrote this was much more open to the idea of us.”

You jerk your head away, disgusted by how easily he’s taken everything private, every vulnerability, and turned it into another chain to bind you with. You grit your teeth, but he’s still scrolling.

“One more,” he says with false sweetness, pausing for effect as he reads the final message. “I think I’m falling for him. For real. He’s just... I don’t know. He makes me feel safe, like no one else ever has.”

He lets the words hang in the air, his smile fading just a little as he watches your reaction.

“And that,” he says softly, “is the part I like the most.”

His voice lowers, his face inches from yours now. “You felt safe with me. And you know why? Because deep down, you want to. You want to believe I’m the one who can protect you, give you everything you need. And I will. You just have to stop fighting it.”

Your stomach twists as his words sink in, as he lays bare the twisted reality he’s built around you. He wants you to choose this, to let him be the one who controls everything. And he’s using your own desires, your own words, to manipulate you.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears, his infuriating chuckle echoing through your bones, and you can’t stand it anymore. The phone—the embodiment of everything he’s stolen from you—dangles just out of reach, held by his towering frame like it’s a toy, a prize he knows you can’t win.

Your teeth grit, hands curling into fists. The room feels like it’s shrinking, the air too thick to breathe. He’s mocking you. Smiling. Enjoying this.

“Give it to me!” you spit, your voice sharp and desperate, the words cutting through the tense air like glass.

His smile widens, the amusement in his eyes deepening, like your demand only adds fuel to his fire. He raises the phone higher, just enough to make you reach again, to make the gap between you and your freedom feel all the more impossible.

“What was that?” he teases, voice calm, soft—almost too soft. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

You take a step forward, pushing against his chest with all the force you can muster. “I said give it to me!” You try to leap, your fingers brushing against the edge of the phone, but he pulls it back effortlessly, his hand now resting on your waist as if steadying you—as if you need his help.

His chuckle rumbles low, and it makes your skin crawl. “Y/N…” he says, dragging out your name, the amusement thick in his voice. “You really think you can just take it? Like it’s that simple?”

You shove harder against him, your breath coming in short, angry bursts, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, but his hand stays firm on your waist, not letting you get any real distance. “It’s mine! You don’t get to—”

Before you can finish, you jump again, practically climbing him in your attempt to grab the phone. You’re fully pressing against his chest now, using every bit of strength you have, your body coiled with frustration and fury as you reach for the device. But it’s no use. His arm is longer, his height an insurmountable barrier.

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with that insufferable grin, his free hand catching your waist to stop you from going any higher.

“Keep trying, sweetheart,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your skin as you struggle. “But you’re not going to get it.”

His voice is patronizing, soaked with amusement, and it only makes you more desperate, more furious. You plant your feet harder, pushing up with all your strength, but he doesn’t even move. You’re climbing a wall that won’t budge, and the realization stings.

“Give. It. To. Me.” Your voice is tight, angry, each word spat out through gritted teeth as you dig your nails into his arm, still trying to claw your way up, but the phone remains out of reach.

He’s barely even trying to stop you, just lifting the phone higher, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly as he holds you in place. His chuckle deepens, a low rumble of satisfaction.

“Why are you fighting so hard for something that’s already mine?” he asks, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “These words... you gave them to me. You already handed me your trust.”

You try to twist out of his grasp, your breath catching in your throat, but his hand stays firm, his body unyielding.

“You don’t own me,” you snap, your voice shaking with both rage and humiliation. “You don’t get to decide—”

His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you back down to the ground, your feet slipping on the floor as you stumble back, breathless and furious. He pockets the phone slowly, as if to remind you that it’s not going anywhere.

His eyes meet yours, dark and amused, his voice low and taunting. “Oh, I’m not deciding anything,” he murmurs, his smile twisting. “You already did.”

Bucky stands over you, tall and unyielding, his shadow looming, making the space around you feel smaller, tighter. His lips curl into that same infuriating smirk, the one that makes your blood boil and sends a thrill of something you don’t want to acknowledge coursing through your veins.

“Asshole,” you mutter again, glaring up at him, refusing to let him see the fear—or worse, the heat—burning inside you.

His eyes gleam with amusement. He kneels slowly, bringing himself to your level, but still towering over you in that way that makes you feel completely trapped, even as you’re free to move.

“What was that?” he asks softly, his voice barely a murmur, though you know he heard you the first time.

You hate how your body betrays you, hate that he knows it too. You bite your lip, trying to steady yourself, to not let him see how much he’s rattling you. But he’s watching you, every small movement, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. 

You try to push yourself away from him, to put some distance between you, but his hand tightens on your waist, just enough to keep you in place. 

“Say it again,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear now, sending a jolt of something electric through your body that you wish wasn’t there.

“I said you’re an asshole,” you snap, louder this time, your voice sharp and angry. 

He chuckles, low and dark, and the sound makes your skin prickle with a mix of fury and something you don’t want to acknowledge. 

“I like it when you fight,” he murmurs, his voice soft and teasing, his breath warm against your neck. “It’s cute.”

The heat of his breath on your skin makes you shudder involuntarily, and you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the way your body reacts to him. You want to shove him away, to regain some semblance of control, but your body feels frozen, caught between the urge to push him back and something else entirely. Something you refuse to admit is there.

“Let me go.” you manage, but your voice falters, quieter than you intended, betraying you.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, his hand slides up your side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His fingers brush against your ribs, the touch light but possessive, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Do you really want me to?” he whispers, his lips now barely an inch from your neck. His words send a shiver racing through your body, and you grit your teeth, determined not to let him see how much he’s affecting you.

“Bucky...” you start, trying to sound firm, trying to hold onto the anger that’s slipping through your fingers, but your voice falters as you realise how close he is, how the heat between you is suffocating.

He smirks again, his thumb brushing over your waist in a way that sends an involuntary tremor through you. “You can say my name all you want,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that makes your stomach twist. “But we both know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

Your body tenses at his words, both from the insult and the way his hand moves, as if he’s unravelling you, piece by piece. You try to pull back again, but his grip tightens just enough to remind you that you’re not going anywhere.

“You think you’ve got me figured out?” you snap, trying to regain some ground, some sense of control.

He chuckles again, that same low, maddening sound that sets your nerves on edge. 

“I know more than you think,” he says, his hand moving higher, his fingers brushing against the curve of your ribs now, his touch sending sparks through your skin. “You’ve been trying to fight this from the beginning, but we both know where this is going.”

The space between you is shrinking, the heat between your bodies unbearable, and you can feel the tension pulling you in, your body betraying you in the worst possible way. You bite your lip, trying to focus, to remember why you hate him, why you should be pushing him away. 

But he’s so close now, his lips barely a breath away from your skin, and you can feel his words more than hear them as he leans in, his voice a whisper that sends a tremor through your entire body.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck, and for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe, as the world narrows to just the two of you.

You should push him away. You want to push him away. But instead, you’re sitting there, heart racing, torn between the anger burning inside you and the heat building between you. And Bucky knows it. He sees it in your eyes, in the way your breath catches, and that only makes his smirk grow wider.

“Just admit it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You want this as much as I do.”

Your breath hitches, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to react, to give him the satisfaction. But the tension between you is unbearable now, suffocating, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep fighting it.

Bucky tilts his head to the side, his eyes dark and hooded, slowly drifting down to your lips. His lips are so close to yours now, hovering millimetres away, teasing you, taunting you with the possibility of something more. 

But he doesn’t close the gap. He just hovers there, waiting, watching your reaction, drawing it out. His smirk deepens, satisfied, as if he’s savoring the way you’re teetering on the edge, caught between your instinct to pull away and the pull of something undeniable between you.

Your mind races, the rational part of you screaming to shove him away, to stop this before it goes any further. But your body—your traitorous body—responds to the heat between you, every nerve alight, betraying the internal conflict waging within you. 

"You're holding back," he whispers, his voice low, taunting, the words vibrating in the air between you. His breath brushes your skin, so close you can almost feel his lips move against yours, but still, he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of closing the distance.

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to keep your expression defiant. “You think I’m just going to give in?” you uttered firmly.

Bucky’s smirk grows. He’s not just playing with your emotions; he’s studying you, every breath, every reaction.

“I think you like this,” he murmurs, his voice as smooth as silk, the words wrapping around you, making it harder to breathe. “This tension between us, this fight. You crave it.”

His lips are so close you can almost taste the heat of him, but he continues to hold back, leaving you on the brink, trapped in the space between resistance and temptation.

“You’re wrong,” you manage, though your voice falters slightly, betraying you. You hate that he’s gotten this far, that he’s managed to chip away at your defenses, but you refuse to let him see just how much he’s affecting you.

“Am I?” he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours you can barely stand it. His hand tightens slightly on your waist, pulling you closer, but still, he keeps you waiting, holding you in this unbearable tension.

He leans in again, his breath ghosting over your lips, his voice a soft murmur. "I can feel it, Y/N. You're on the edge. Just let go."

Your heart pounds in your chest, every 

Bucky watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing as if he’s weighing your silence, calculating your resistance. Then his smirk returns, a little darker this time, as though he’s decided something in that moment.

"You’re going to see it my way," he murmurs, his voice low, full of certainty. "And I’m going to prove it to you."

His arm wraps around your waist firmly, and before you can react, you’re lifted off the floor. Your breath catches as he throws you over his shoulder with ease, like you weigh nothing. You let out an involuntary gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing at his back, trying to steady yourself as your body hangs over him.

“Bucky!” you protest, your voice sharper now, but it’s drowned out by the sound of his footsteps as he starts walking back toward the stairs.

“Shh,” he says softly, his tone almost playful, but there’s an edge to it, a finality that makes your stomach twist. “You’ll thank me later.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you’re carried back toward the bedroom. You push against his back, but his grip doesn’t loosen, and the casual strength he holds you with only makes your pulse race faster.

You struggle against him, trying to twist out of his grasp, but he only tightens his hold, his voice calm, unbothered. “Fighting me only makes it harder for you, Y/N.”

Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as he carries you up the stairs, the panic and tension growing with each step. You know where he’s taking you, and the thought of being trapped in that bedroom again sends a chill through your body.

“Put me down!” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear, but Bucky only chuckles softly.

“Oh, I will,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. 

You feel your body shift slightly as Bucky pushes open the door to the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, and your heart pounds in your ears as you realise there’s no escaping him now.

"Put me down!" you demand, trying to keep your voice steady, though every fiber of your being is on high alert.

Bucky throws you onto the bed with effortless strength. The world spins for a split second, and you land with a bounce, the mattress swallowing your weight. You gasp, disoriented, struggling to regain your composure as you push yourself up on your elbows.

Bucky stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with that same infuriating confidence, his smirk widening as he watches your reaction.

"You—" you start, the anger rising in your chest, but before you can finish, he interrupts you, his voice filled with mock innocence.

“What? You told me to put you down,” he says, shrugging casually, as if tossing you onto the bed was the most natural thing in the world. His tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it—a dark undercurrent that makes it clear he’s still fully in control.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, caught between the absurdity of his reply and the tension hanging thick in the air. His casual playfulness only heightens the unnerving sense of power he holds over you, as if even your resistance is something he finds amusing.

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to let him see just how rattled you are. “You know exactly what I meant,” you snap, keeping your voice firm, even as your pulse quickens under his unrelenting gaze.

He tilts his head, feigning innocence again, that infuriating smirk never leaving his lips. “I just follow instructions, doll,” he says, his voice low and teasing, but his eyes tell a different story—dark, dangerous, and full of intent.

You sit up straighter, fighting the feeling of vulnerability that creeps over you, and meet his gaze with unwavering defiance. "You’re not as clever as you think," you say, keeping your tone sharp.

His smirk widens, and he steps closer to the bed, his movements slow, he’s savoring the tension between you. "Oh, I think we both know how clever I am," he replies, his voice dropping to a smooth murmur. 

You sit up slightly, propped on your elbows, your pulse quickening as he approaches. Bucky moves swiftly, his hands coming down on either side of you, caging you in. His body looms over yours, and the mattress dips under the weight of him, pinning you in place. 

The sudden proximity steals the breath from your lungs, and your eyes dart up to meet his. The intensity of his gaze hits you like a physical force, his pupils are blown wide, dilated. His face is so close now that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, his presence suffocating, overwhelming.

He doesn’t move. Neither do you.

You’re hyper aware of everything—his hands gripping the mattress on either side of you, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the intoxicating scent of him invading your senses. 

You try to look anywhere else, anywhere but where his gaze is leading you. But it’s impossible. His stare pulls at you, like a gravitational force, dragging you into his orbit. And all you can think about is how close he is. Too close. Your heart thuds in your chest, each beat louder than the last, echoing in the silence between you.

Your eyes flicker—just for a second—down to his lips.

You curse yourself instantly for it, but it’s too late. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His smirk deepens, barely perceptible, but you feel it like a jolt of electricity. That knowing look, that arrogant satisfaction that he’s in control, and you’re fighting a battle you can’t win.

You force your eyes back up, meeting his once more, desperate to regain some sense of control, some measure of defiance. But the tension between you is unbearable now, thick like a vice tightening around your chest. It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving only the charged space between your lips, the millimeters separating you from him.

Every nerve in your body is on edge, bracing for something you’re not even sure you want to resist.

Bucky leans in just a fraction more, his lips hovering so close to yours that the distance is almost unbearable. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady, and for a moment, you’re not sure if it’s your heart or his that’s pounding in your ears.

You try—desperately—not to look at his lips again, but it’s like trying to ignore gravity.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The silence is louder than any words he could say. You know what he’s waiting for. He’s waiting for you to break, to give in to the pull you’ve both been fighting for what feels like forever.

Your hands clench at your sides, every muscle in your body tight with the effort of holding back, of not giving in to the dangerous allure of his proximity. But it’s so hard to breathe, so hard to think when he’s this close, when his eyes are this intense, when his lips are right there, almost touching yours.

And just when you think you can’t hold out any longer, that you’ll snap under the pressure of the moment, Bucky’s voice cuts through the silence, low and husky, barely above a whisper.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his breath brushing your lips, sending another shiver down your spine. “Don’t look away.”

You think about defying him, about turning your head and breaking free from the suffocating tension. He was on top of you, all that hard muscle pinning you down to where you couldn’t move. You could feel him everywhere, especially his cock, which was thick against your belly. Fighting him only turned him on, and now you were thinking about sex.

And you hate that he’s right.

Just when the air feels too thick to breathe, he pulls away.

The shift is sudden, leaving you lying there on the bed, breathless and confused. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you can’t quite make sense of what just happened. One second, he was so close—too close—and the next, he’s stepping back, putting space between you.

You blink, trying to catch your breath, your mind scrambling to process the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that have left you dizzy and disoriented. The heat from his body lingers on your skin, but his absence feels colder than you expected.

Bucky stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, his face now unreadable. The smirk is gone, replaced by a cool, detached expression that makes your stomach churn. It’s as if the moment you shared—the one that left you teetering on the edge—never happened. His eyes, once dark and intense, are now distant, cold.

“Be a good girl and stay there,” he says, his voice flat, authoritative. There's no teasing in his tone now, just a command.

The words hang in the air, and you find yourself frozen, unable to move, unsure whether it's from the weight of his command or the confusion swirling in your chest. You don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that he’s pulled back, leaving you stranded in the wake of something you didn’t quite understand—and maybe weren’t ready for.

He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't check to see if you’ll obey. He simply turns, walking away, leaving you lying there on the bed, torn between the need to push back and the sinking realisation that he’s still in control, no matter how much space he puts between you.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

There’s a moment when power shifts—when control is no longer just something you hold, but something you feel, deep in your bones. I see it in your eyes, the flicker of confusion, of vulnerability, as I step away from the bed. You think you understand what’s happening, that you have a handle on your own defiance, but the truth is, you’re already exactly where I want you. And isn’t that the beauty of it?

The tension between us was intoxicating, wasn’t it? The way you looked at me, fighting the pull, the temptation, the inevitable. I gave you space to breathe, to think. But now, it’s time to decide what comes next.

I step out of the bedroom, the door closing behind me with the softest click. You probably think this is your moment to regroup, maybe catch your breath, wonder where I’ve gone. But, let’s be honest, I’m never really gone, am I? I’m in your thoughts right now, circling your every breath, every heartbeat, while you lie there and try to pretend you can fight this.

I move down the hallway, not in a hurry. I savor this, the anticipation hanging in the air between us. When I reach the room, it’s quiet. Still. Organized. Everything in this space has been meticulously laid out, prepared for this moment. Choices, all of them deliberate. I don’t rush this, because why would I? I like to take my time. And you? You’ll feel that patience in every step I take.

I look over the table, where everything is waiting. The blindfold catches my eye first. Simple, soft. It’s always the smallest things that strip away the most control, isn’t it? You rely on your sight, that sense of security you have when you can gauge what’s coming, what I’m doing. The blindfold removes that. You’ll be left with nothing but the sound of my voice and the weight of your own breath. Your heart will race faster the moment it goes dark. You’ll feel it—your world narrowing, closing in.

But there’s more. My fingers brush against the bed restraints. These are designed to remind you of something fundamental: the boundaries I set are not negotiable. No matter how hard you might try, these restraints are proof that you’re not getting away. You’ll strain against them, at first, testing your limits, feeling that surge of defiance before you realize just how futile it is. That moment, when your body gives in to the restraint—that’s when you’ll understand that the control was never yours to begin with.

I pick them both up—the blindfold in one hand, the restraints in the other. But before heading back to you, I stop, glancing at myself in the mirror in this room. The tension in the air, the power of what’s coming next, calls for something more. Something raw. I remove my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. The cool air hits my skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat building inside. This isn’t just about control anymore; it’s about presence. Dominance.

× × × × 

YOUR POV

The door creaks open slowly, and you’re already on your feet. You don’t know what your plan is—if you even have one—but lying there, waiting like some docile thing, that’s not you. You can feel the tension in your legs, every muscle taut as you stand by the bed, trying to control your breathing, trying to look like you’ve made a conscious decision, even though the truth is, you don’t know what you’re going to do next.

And then he appears.

Bucky steps back into the room, shirtless. His bare chest catches your eye, the light cutting sharp angles across his skin, emphasizing every line of muscle. For a moment, it steals your breath. Not because of how he looks—but because it’s another calculated move. He’s always thinking, always pushing, and now this is about more than just words or actions—it’s about his very presence. It fills the room, like he’s claiming the space itself.

Your eyes instinctively flick down to his hands. He’s holding something—dark fabric and... yes, restraints. The blindfold dangles from his fingers, the soft black material barely catching the light. The restraints, sleek and unyielding, swing lightly from his other hand.

And then he notices you.

He stops, just inside the doorway, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. His eyes darken, and you catch the subtle frown that pulls at the corner of his mouth as he takes in the fact that you’re no longer on the bed. The smallest hint of irritation flickers across his face, quickly replaced by that cool, composed exterior. But it was there. You saw it.

Good.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he considers you, and for a moment, neither of you move. It’s a silent standoff, and you can feel the weight of his disapproval pressing against you. 

But then, a slow, exhale leaves his lips, and his expression shifts. He takes a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. His frown is gone, replaced by something colder, more calculating.

“You’re out of bed,” he says, his voice low, calm, but there’s an edge to it, as though he’s daring you to explain. “Lie down.”

You don’t. You stand your ground, refusing to retreat, even though your pulse is hammering in your chest. You know this won’t change the inevitable, but you’re not going to make it easy for him. 

“Don’t fight me,” he whispers, his voice low and smooth. “It will be easier for you if you don’t make trouble.” 

“But I like trouble,” You said without thinking.

You hadn’t thought about how this would come across, though. Your vpice thick with defiance, you realize what you’ve done. You’ve just challenged him. Again.

His expression went hard, a little scary. “I will give you the count of three. If you’re not in bed before then, there will be consequences.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. He isn’t bluffing.

Your gaze flickers down to his hands, and you see them—the blindfold, the restraints. He’s holding them loosely, his fingers flexing as if he’s already deciding exactly how to use them. 

“One. . .”

He takes a step forward, his eyes locked on you, his presence overwhelming in the small space. You feel your pulse spike, But you stand your ground, glaring back at him, the fire of your own defiance still flickering even as fear claws at your throat.

“Two. . .”

The sound of the second number sends a rush of panic through you. He’s not going to wait much longer. You know that. But you can’t bring yourself to back down.

“Three.”

The word comes out soft, but the weight behind it is crushing. He doesn’t give you time to react. His hand moves in a blur, reaching for you, and before you can take a breath, he’s closed the distance between you, his grip firm but not painful as he grabs your wrist.

The blindfold and restraints in his other hand hang there, a silent threat, a promise of what’s to come.

“You made your choice,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, his face inches from yours, and the dark amusement in his eyes is gone now. “Now, you'll have to deal with the consequences…” He pauses, his gaze flickering over you, and a wicked smile curls on his lips. "And trust me, sweetheart, you're going to feel every single one of them."

And you know, as he pulls you toward the bed, that this game is over.

But the consequences? They’re just beginning.

“No!” you grunted, you bucked and kicked out with your legs, hoping like hell you caught him in the junk, “Get off me!”

Bucky barely flinches, his grip tightening as he maneuvers effortlessly to pin you down. The way he handles you—strong, unyielding—sends a fresh wave of panic through your body.

“Nice try,” he mutters, his voice calm, controlled, that terrifying composure still in place. “But it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop me.”

His hand moves swiftly to your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with ease. You feel the smooth leather strap, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s threading it through the buckle.

You buck again, a surge of panic flooding your chest, but his knee presses firmly into your legs, pinning you down. He moves quickly, efficiently, pulling your arm to the side as the leather restraint tightens around your wrist with a sharp pull.

The soft creak of leather is the only sound as he secures the second strap to your other wrist, buckling it in place, leaving you spread wide, helpless. Your chest heaves with the effort, but it’s too late—the leather holds fast, unyielding.

"See?" he says, his voice low, that dangerous smile tugging at his lips again. “You can fight all you want, but it’s only going to make this more interesting for me.”

“I hate you!”

He didn’t answer as he strode toward the end of the bed. His strong naked chest was distracting in the greyness of daylight, with a myriad of scars and rough marks criss-crossing his skin like a road map. This was a cruel man, unyielding and unafraid of violence.

You pressed your lips together when he produced a set of the same restraints at the foot of the bed. 

Oh, shit. 

Bucky grabbed your ankle and worked the cuff over your foot. 

“You don’t need to do this,” you rushed out, bargaining.“I’m not going anywhere.” Thanks to the wrist restraints.

The cuff pulled tight on your right leg. Satisfied, Bucky moved to the other side and you started taking deep breaths, fighting the urge to kick and fight. What was he planning? Why did he need you spread-eagle on the bed?

When you were tied down, he climbed onto the bed, his muscles shifting as he crawled between your thighs, and your nerves twitched and twisted in your belly. This wasn’t good.

He stops in front of you and slips the blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Your breath hitches, and you feel a surge of panic rising in your chest. You try to pull away, he grabs your chin, holding you in place. 

You can feel the heat of him, the way his body is so close to yours, and it makes you feel trapped, helpless. Every sense is heightened now that you can’t see. Every sound, every movement, every touch feels amplified, and you hate it. You hate how vulnerable you are.

With a swift, almost ruthless motion, Bucky grabs the delicate fabric of your nightgown, and in one clean, forceful pull, it rips in half. The sound of the tear echoes through the room, loud and raw, the fragile material giving way under his hands. The shredded pieces dangle from his fingers for a brief moment before they fall to the floor, discarded. 

His palms slid up your thighs and under your nightie and goose bumps broke out all along your skin. “Should I let you come, little girl?” he says, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear. 

Heat bloomed in your pussy, those words charged in ways you couldn’t begin to unpack. Was he really going to play the daddy card right now? Fuck. It was like he could see into your mind on how best to manipulate you. 

“Don’t,” You pleaded, not even caring that you sounded weak.

He pushed your panties to the side, gently tracing your entrance with his middle finger. “Just as I thought. Wet.” He brought his finger to his mouth and licked your arousal off. “You like that, when I call you little girl.”

“No, I don’t,” You said, your chest heaving with the force of your breath. “You don’t need to do this.” 

“Do you ache inside?” He slipped his finger directly into your channel, pressing deep until he was completely seated. Then he curled his finger, hitting a spot that you'd sworn was an urban myth.

Your back bowed off the bed, limbs pulling tight against the restraints, and you bit your lip to stay quiet. You did not want to think about how good any part of him felt inside you, how that finger wasn’t nearly enough. 

“Please,” you panted, not sure what you were asking for. He pumped his hand, the friction both delicious and frustrating. Then he added another finger, going slow until it was in, and you whimpered. He’s playing with you, you know it and he’s enjoying every second of it.

“You can feel it huh?” He said, “Your pussy is sucking in my fingers. So greedy. Don’t worry. I am going to take very good care of you.”

You held your breath. You didn’t know what was about to happen. You only knew it was going to be bad. If he teased you, it would be awful. Worse than awful. If he actually pleasured you, if you surrendered to him, it would be humiliating. He would gain the upper hand, and that was what scared you most. 

Licking you dry lips, you forced out, “I don’t need you to take care of me. Let me take care of you instead.”

He pumped his fingers lazily, in and out, in and out, dragging against your sensitive tissues. You inhaled sharply, the pleasure streaking through you like lightning. 

“Hmm keep telling yourself that.” He said like he doesn’t believe you, because he actually doesn't.

Your body strained toward the source of that bliss, chasing it and making a liar out of yourself. 

“Yes, I do. If you just—please—don't.” You could barely keep track of the conversation as he fucked you with his fingers.

“Hear how wet your pussy is for me?” The slick sounds filled the bedroom and you wanted to die of shame. He chuckled.

“Go fuck yourself!” you snapped, hoping your words would have some bite.

“Why would I? When you're right here, dripping and ready for me?” Bucky murmured, then flicked his tongue unexpectedly over your clit. You tried to keep your expression from revealing anything you were feeling, but when he twisted and pumped at the same time, you moaned deep in your throat.

Then he started eating you out. He licked and sucked like you were a meal and he was starving, his attention focused on your clit, swirling and sucking, and you suddenly knew what you had been missing out on all these years. Using the flat of his tongue, he massaged your clit, then drew it into his mouth to suck on it, again. At the same time, he strummed your clit with his tongue, rubbing and pressing. Bucky mastered your body in seconds, like some sort of pussy wizard, because you were instantly on the verge of coming. Your thighs started shaking and your lungs couldn’t pull in air.

And he stopped. 

You gasped, lurching, you tried to bring yourself closer to where you think his face is, where his breath felt hot. You could feel him smirking.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

Your thighs are trembling now, shaking in that way that tells me you're teetering on the edge, every muscle in your body straining. I watch, fascinated, as your lungs struggle to pull in air, your body begging for relief, for release. 

And then, I stop.

You gasp, a desperate sound, your body lurching as you try to chase what I've just taken from you. You try to bring yourself closer, your movements frantic, instinctive, as if by sheer will alone. Your head turns, your lips parting, reaching for where you think my face is—where my breath felt hot against your skin moments ago.

But I don't move. I smirk, watching the way your body fights itself, craving more but knowing I control every last part of this moment. 

"You're so predictable," I murmur, my voice low, almost mocking, but there's a darkness in it that lingers. "Always wanting more... always needing to be just a little closer, don't you?”

I run my hands down your sides, feeling every tense muscle beneath my fingertips, relishing the way your body responds to even the lightest touch. You arch, trying to make contact, to feel something—anything. But then, my hands lift off you, and the absence of touch sends a ripple of frustration through you. I can feel it, the tension mounting, the need rising higher. 

I reach across for the bullet vibrator, my fingers curling around the small device. I press the button, the faint hum vibrating in my hand as I adjust it to the lowest setting. The sound is barely audible over your labored breathing, but you know. You feel what's coming next. 

I lean down, my lips brushing your ear, my breath hot against your skin. "You know how this works," I whisper, my voice soft, almost tender. "I decide when. I decide how much. And you? You're going to beg for it." 

You can feel the vibration ever so slightly as I circle the air above your lovely hard nipples. I massage the bullet extremely gently around the outer edge of one of your nipples and then do the same with the other. I move it in slow circles, like a promise I’ve yet to fulfil. I can see the way your body responds—tense, trembling, straining for something more. 

“You feel that?” I murmur, my voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “Just enough to drive you insane, isn’t it? Just enough to remind you that I hold everything you want in the palm of my hand.”

You shudder, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body arching slightly as you try to press closer to the source of the vibration. The frustration is written all over your face, and it’s beautiful, so beautiful. I watch you, drinking in every inch of your reaction, savouring the power I have over you in this moment.

“You love it,” I whisper, my breath brushing against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine. “You love that you can’t control this. That I can make you beg for something as simple as this.”

“Just... do it,” you gasp, your voice trembling with frustration, but there’s still a spark in it, something stubborn. “Stop playing games.”

I chuckle softly, amused by your words. Stop playing games? Oh, but you and I both know that this is the game, and you’re playing it just as much as I am. You’re caught between wanting more and hating that you have to ask for it, and that’s what makes this so deliciously satisfying.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, lowering the vibrator just a little, letting it barely skim the surface of your areola—just enough for you to feel it, but not enough to satisfy. “You think you’re ready for more? You think you deserve it?”

You grit your teeth, trying to stay composed, but I can see the cracks forming. The frustration, the need. It’s all there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“Please…” you whisper, barely audible, and there it is—that hint of desperation I’ve been waiting for.

I smile, triumphant, and press the button to increase the intensity just slightly, letting the vibration pulse more firmly against your breast. 

“That’s better,” I murmur, my voice low, “But I’ll need more than that if you really want it.”

You gasp, your body reacting to the sudden change in sensation, your breath hitching as you bite back another plea. And I know, without a doubt, you’ll give me what I want.

You bite your lip, stifling another sound as the vibrations skate across your skin, and I watch with fascination as you try to maintain your composure. Your chest rises and falls with each laboured breath, but you’re still clinging to that last bit of resistance. You haven’t said it.

The word. The name.

I let the silence stretch out between us, the vibrator humming softly against your nipple, just enough to keep you on edge but nowhere near enough to tip you over it. You know what I want, and I know you’re holding onto it. That delicious defiance. The last weapon you think you have.

But I have all the time in the world.

“You’re holding out,” I murmur, my voice soft, almost a purr. “I can feel it. You’re so close, but you’re fighting it. Why?” I bring my face closer, my breath hot against your neck as I whisper, “You know what will get you what you want.”

You’re fighting me, refusing to give in to the game. I can almost see the wheels turning in your mind—I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Say it,” I murmur, my lips brushing your ear now, the vibration of the toy a steady hum against your skin. “You know what I’m waiting for. Just say it, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your lips part, and for a second, I think you might give in. But then, through clenched teeth, you growl, “I’m not saying it.”

I raise an eyebrow, amused by your defiance. You’re trying so hard to resist, even though your body is betraying you, trembling under the light touch of the vibrator.

“We both know you want to say it, go on,” I whisper, my voice soft, dark, full of promise. “Say it. Say what I know you’re dying to say.”

You want to give in, but you’re too proud to make it easy. And so, in the smallest, most defiant voice, you mutter, “I don’t need to say it.”

I chuckle softly, shaking my head as I pull the vibrator away for a moment, denying you the one thing you want most. 

“Oh, you’ll say it,” I say, my voice calm, certain. “Because you know that’s how you get what you need.”

I reach down, pressing the button again, increasing the intensity just a little more. I bring it close, hovering over your skin but not quite touching. The tease. The torment.

“You want Daddy to make it better, don’t you?” I finally whisper, my voice almost a growl, low and intimate, right at your ear.

You think you can outlast me. You think your silence is some kind of victory, but I can see right through you. The stubbornness is admirable, really. I almost want to let you hold onto it for a little longer. Almost.

But then again, why deny myself the pleasure of watching you break?

I lower the vibrator back down, this time pressing it directly against your nipple—not the teasing, ghosting touch from earlier, but real contact. You moaned, your body arching against the restraints as the sudden sensation hits you, and I press the button again, increasing the intensity. The vibrations pulse through you, low and constant, just enough to drive you crazy.

To see you this turned on and into it at this early stage makes me want to burst. I continue to tease your nipples with the bullet, making you wriggle with pleasure as you lean your head back into the pillow. I watch your beautiful face intently as the vibrations gently massage your nipples—you look amazing— radiant, sexy, fuckable—and I am so excited to have you in this position—but I am taking my time. 

I want you to be wetter than you have ever been, have more orgasms than you have ever had and have you moaning more than you have ever moaned.

I lean in, my mouth hovering near your ear, my breath hot against your skin. “You’re close to saying it,” I whisper, my voice low, knowing. “I can feel it. You’re just one word away.”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold on—the way they’re starting to lose focus, the way your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps. You’re teetering on the edge, and you know it.

I smirk, watching you struggle, your body trembling under the relentless vibrations, your mind fighting the inevitable. 

“Still not saying it?” I ask softly, almost amused. “You think you’re winning by holding out? By staying quiet?”

I tilt my head, studying you, and then my hand moves—slow, deliberate—between your thighs. Whike gently stroking the vibrating bullet down the side of your body, making you wriggle. As I get to your hips, you open your legs further, wanting the vibrations on your clit. I stroke the bullet up from your hip and across the top of your beautifully shaved pubic line, as you thrust your crotch forward, wanting it. 

I resist the urge to give you what you want immediately—instead lightly running the bullet down the side of your pussy, being careful not to touch your luscious pussy lips. I position myself in between your legs as the bullet gets closer and closer to your clit. As it edges nearer, I see your pussy glisten from its wetness—oh my God it looks amazing and I love how you have your legs open, allowing me to see it all. How I want to devour it, again—but there is something you need to say first.

You whimper, your body shaking, your breath ragged. I can feel it—you’re so close to giving in.

And then, just as I feel you start to unravel, I pull back. I stop everything. The vibrator, the pressure—it all stops.

You gasp, your body lurching forward, desperate for the sensation to continue. You try to press closer, try to make contact, but I keep my distance, pulling away just enough to leave you hanging in agonising anticipation.

Your body trembles, your frustration spilling over as you try to catch your breath, and I know you’re about to break. You need this, and you know it.

I lean in, my lips brushing your ear, my voice soft but commanding. “Say it,” I murmured, the final push. “Say it, or I’ll stop this right now. I’ll leave you like this, desperate, aching, with nothing.”

Your breath hitches, and I can see the war playing out in your mind. The defiance, the pride—it’s all crumbling beneath the weight of your need. You’re trembling, your body screaming for more, and you know I have the power to give it to you. But you have to say it.

“Say it,” I repeat, my voice a low growl. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

For a moment, I think you’ll hold out just a little longer. But then, with a trembling breath, you whisper the word, barely audible, the last piece of your pride shattering. The bullet is now hovering just above your clit and I slowly press down—I smile satisfyingly and your legs open up further to reveal your lovely wet pussy.

“Daddy…”

I smile, victorious, and without hesitation, I press the vibrator back against you, harder this time, increasing the intensity, my hand moving in sync with the relentless pulse.

“There we go,” I murmur, my voice dark and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The sight is driving me mad—but I am focused on giving you as much pleasure as you can handle. I slowly rub it up and down your clit as the vibrations run through you. You slowly lift your hips forward, wanting the vibrations lower down, which I oblige. The bullet is edging closer to your glistening pussy—but then I reach across and spread your beautiful lips apart with my fingers—and start to brush the bullet up one and then down the other, in circular motions. This is driving you wild as it edges closer to entering you. I move the bullet down ever so slightly so it is resting, waiting to go in—but then move it all the way up to your clit.

The fact you don't know what's coming next is driving you mad—which makes you look even sexier, if that is possible. You’re at the mercy of what comes next, and the fact that you can’t predict it is pushing you to the edge. You hate it, don’t you? But it also pulls you in. It makes you irresistible.

I go to the next level of vibrations and flick the bullet down from your clit, entering you ever so slightly and then move it back up to your clit, vibrating all of your core. As I do this, you open your legs further, now fully relaxed and turned on and let out a sexy moan—wanting more and more. 

All that fight, all that defiance, just to end up here? It’s almost poetic. It makes me wonder—how will you explain this to your friends? Will you tell them how easily you gave in, how all that stubbornness melted away? Or will you keep this secret tucked away, something only we’ll know?

For the first time, you try to move your arms down to control the pleasure—but then realise you are tied up and I am in control, and let your arms drop behind agan. It's at this point it is time to take it up a level.

You've always been a freak, haven’t you? I saw the signs, the little hints you thought were so subtle. Makes me wonder if this whole act—the defiance, the resistance—is just your way of pretending you aren’t begging for it. You don’t want control, not really. You want to be pushed to the edge, and I’m more than happy to take you there.

I turn the bullet off, giving you some relief from the pleasure for a few seconds - then lean forward and kiss the inside of your left thigh—moving across to the right thigh—but pause over your wet pussy—my mouth just millimeters from your glistening lips—and let out a breath of excitement that you can feel—then move to your right thigh and kiss the inside.

Jesus—if only you could see yourself right now. I almost want to take a video, something to remember this by, a little keepsake of how you look when you finally let go. And then I remember… your phone’s already in my pocket.

I hover over you, taking my time, savoring the moment. With careful precision, I pull it out and position the phone in just the right angle, the best view of you—completely vulnerable, completely mine.

Maybe you’ll watch this back later. Maybe you’ll see yourself the way I see you now—completely undone, stripped of that defiance you cling to so desperately. It’ll be a reminder, a little piece of this moment that you can never escape. And I’ll watch you realise, all over again, how much you need me.

You shift beneath me, your breath shaky, and then, through the haze of tension, your voice breaks the silence. “What are you doing?” The blindfold makes your tone sharper, more vulnerable—unsure of what’s coming next.

You can’t see me, but I know you’re feeling everything. “Tell me,” you whisper, almost a demand, though your voice trembles at the edges. Even blindfolded, you’re still trying to cling to some control.

“Is that how you ask?” I reply, my voice calm, but with that edge of authority you’re trying so hard to ignore. You tense, knowing exactly what I’m getting at, but you’re stubborn, always trying to hold onto that last bit of control.

I lean in closer, my breath warm against your ear. “You know what I want to hear. Try again.”

Your lips twitched what I think is annoyance, “Daddy, please tell me what you’re doing.”

I lean in, my breath barely brushing your ear, “You want to know what I’m doing? I’m setting your phone right here,” I say, patting the bedside table. “Perfectly positioned. Just in case you want to watch this later—see how you look when you let go.”

You shift beneath me, tense, trying to decipher every sound, every movement. “I want you to remember exactly what happens next,” I continue, my fingers trailing lightly down your side. “Because you asked for this. And now, you’ll get exactly what you deserve.”

You are aching for more—so I reach for the wand, turn it on and apply it directly to your clit, sending new sensations through your body. I am moving the wand back and forth from your clit to your juicy pussy, vibrations covering all of you. As I move it all around your beautiful pussy, I can hear and see how wet you are. The circular motion around all of your pussy is taking you to orgasm—but then I stop suddenly, and you catch your breath. 

“No!” you shouted. “Don’t stop. Oh, God.” 

I pressed a kiss to your thigh. “Beg me, sweetheart. Beg me to make you come.” 

“Why are you doing this to me? You fucking psychopath!” 

I know you were right there, hovering on the edge, air sawing in and out of your lungs. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry. You wanted to claw my face with your fingernails. I know you’re wanting to crawl into my lap and ride my cock to orgasm. 

“Those are not the words. Try again. “Say it and I’ll let you come.”

It is now time to up it again, so I squeeze some pleasure gel in my hand and smother the top of the wand in it. I then grab the bullet and rub more pleasure gel on that too. I now have the wand in one hand and the bullet in the other both vibrating and ready to make you cum. I press the wand gently onto your clit as the bullet slowly enters you, making you take a deep breath and blurt out

“Fuck, Daddy—Please make me come.”

From the look on your face and the words coming out of your mouth, I know you are in ecstasy and it makes my cock throb so much. I ask you to tell me how it feels and you say ‘Amazing, Daddy, please don't stop, I love it.’ Your words and sounds as you take the pleasure turn me on so much.

My eyes darted towards the camera, my eyes communicating: Are you watching? Do you hear yourself?

Your legs are fully open now as I continue to work the bullet in and out of you slowly and the wand on your clit. You are so wet so I decide to switch things up—I take the bullet and gently rub it up and down your clit whilst pointing the wand directly at your pussy. I start to slowly push the wand head against your pussy lips and flick it up and down, the dual vibrations sending you into a frenzy. Oh my God—you look sensational, irresistible—I am in total ecstasy just watching your reactions to the vibrating and your orgasms. 

Your legs, spread apart more, trembling mote, and as I slowly pull the bullet back, your pussy pushes it out and a squirt of your juices shoot out at me. I bet you heard yourself yelling as if from a distance, the high so unbelievably good, better than any drug you'd ever tried. It seemed to go on for days but was probably only seconds. As you came down, the shame crept in to replace the euphoria.

I have never heard or seen you do this before and it makes me even harder, if that is possible. It's like unwrapping a gift that you didn’t even know you wanted, but suddenly can’t imagine living without. I almost want to thank you for the privilege—almost. But that would ruin the moment, wouldn't it?

I slowly start to pull the bullet back again, and it happens again—your beautiful pussy pushes out the bullet and squirts your juices all over my hand. I can now see a wet patch underneath you, which drives me wild. The sight of you orgasming, squirting and gushing is almost too much. I wave the wand all around your soaking wet pussy, juices gushing out of you as I do. I turn the bullet and wand off and just sit there looking at your pulsating and dripping wet pussy and then your gorgeous face as you recover. I am in total awe—

I glance down at the mess you’ve made, my lips curling into a slow, almost proud smile. “Well, would you look at that,” I murmur, teasing, with a hint of mockery. “Miss perfect, always so put together, now completely… undone.”

I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, enjoying the way you squirm at the sound of my voice. “It’s almost impressive, really. I never thought you’d let things get this messy. But here you are, all flustered and out of sorts. Makes me wonder if you secretly like it this way.”

I chuckle softly, pulling back just enough to see the reaction play out on your face. “And honestly? I think it's kind of adorable. Watching you, of all people, fall apart like this.”

I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “I guess being a messy girl suits you.”

You grit your teeth, your voice dripping with frustration as you snap, “Fuck you.” The words hit the air like you’re hoping they’ll cut me, but all I feel is amusement curling in my chest, that familiar, sick satisfaction.

“Ooo, fuck me, huh?” I echo, my voice dripping with mockery, like I’m savoring the taste of your defiance. “That’s adorable. Are you giving me hints?”

You growl in frustration, the sound barely contained, your annoyance bubbling over. I laugh softly, watching you struggle against the moment. “Oh, don’t be mad. I’m just trying to keep up with your subtle suggestions,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess someone’s a little touchy, aren’t they?”

The frustration in your eyes behind the black silk only makes the moment sweeter. You’re trying so hard to fight, to stay defiant, but I can see right through it. And it’s entertaining.

Without breaking my smirk, I glance over at the camera on the bedside, locking eyes with it for a moment, letting the weight of this moment be captured.

I turn my gaze back to you, the satisfaction in my smile only deepening. “See? It’s all right here, caught on tape. You’ll thank me for it later.”

I move myself upwards, leaning over you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you pant, every breath shaky and uneven. My fingers trace gently across your cheek, I lean in slowly, my lips hovering just above yours, my breath mingling with yours. I intend for it to be gentle, just a small taste of power, but then—you moved.

You push upward, taking control of the kiss, pulling me into it with a hunger I didn’t expect. For a split second, I freeze, caught off guard by the way you turn the tables, the way stuck your tongue down my throat passionately. 

You’re not just reacting. You’re taking.

I am taken aback as I thought you were recovering but then you whisper in my ear, “I need your cock in my mouth whilst you fuck me with the rabbit.” 

Insatiable. 

I’m frozen, my mind racing to catch up with what I just heard.

“Oh my god…” I murmur, half to myself, the disbelief quickly melting into a slow, satisfied smile. I pull back, just enough to look at you, the amusement and intrigue sparking in my eyes.

I shake my head slightly, chuckling. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?” I pause, before I lean in close again, my voice dropping to a low whisper.

“But if you want that…” I tease, my lips brushing against your ear, “you’re going to have to say the magic word.” My smirk deepens, waiting for that final surrender. 

“Daddy,” you drawled so seductively, “Please put your cock in my mouth, I want to suck it while I come.” 

Music to my ears.

I lean forward and kissed you again, sucking on your tongue. I can see that you want your hands free to feel me, you can hear me unzipping my jeans, the sound of it makes you writhe with excitement—but no, you don’t get to have that privilege yet.

I move to the side of you, on my knees and reach back to get the rabbit, gently stroking it down your chest, in between your tits. As I get near your pussy, I squeeze some pleasure gel all over it and then turn it on, the ears and the shaft vibrating on the lowest setting. I rub the tip downwards on your clit, you tilt your head up as I move forward on my knees and your mouth is already open, waiting for it. 

Whilst you are waiting to taste my throbbing rock-hard cock, I slide the rabbit down further, gliding across your wet pussy lips and then I reposition it so the tip is resting against your pussy, ready and waiting to enter you.

As I move my hips forward slowly and my cock starts to enter your eager mouth, I do the same with the rabbit inside your pussy. Inch by inch my cock feels your mouth as the rabbit fills you. The slow rhythm of my cock sliding to the back of your throat and then to the edge of your lips is matched with the rabbit doing the same to your pussy—slow and gentle strokes, all the way in and then all the way out, just resting on your lips. The noises you make as the rabbit enters you fully, the ears vibrating your clit, are sensational and matched by the sight of your mouth wrapped around my cock and arms stretched across the bed, tied helplessly but taking all that I have to give.

You start to speed up sucking my cock, slurping on it, loving it filling your mouth  and this is my queue to match that speed and rhythm with the rabbit—you are so wet that it is gliding in and out of you. All the way in and then out again. Still not fast—but not slow anymore—as you rock your head back and then thrust forward, taking all of me in your mouth. You then slow down and lick around my tip, and I do the same with the rabbit, just the tip rubbing around your open pussy. Then you push forward and take my cock, upto my balls, all the way in your mouth and I slowly push the rabbit all the way in you—as far as it can go, the ears in perfect position to stimulate your clit again. You hold me there in your mouth, not moving at all, and I do the same with the rabbit. This is so passionate and sexy—I could shoot my cum down your throat now—but no way. 

I continue to match your speed and rhythm with the rabbit, letting you have some control. But now it's time for me to take that control back—and taste your smooth, shaven, delicious pussy. So I slowly and gently slide the rabbit out of you as I also pull my cock out of your mouth. As both leave you, you let out the most gorgeous and sexy moan, and—

Was that a smile?

Oh, I saw it. You tried to hide it, but there it was, slipping through for just a moment. And honestly? That’s a huge turn-on. 

I move to the end of the bed, in between your legs, my mouth inches away from your amazing pussy. I can't tell you how gorgeous it is—the mere sight of it makes me want to come. I push your knees as far apart as they can go to admire your soaking wet pussy. I can see your clit bulging, wanting attention. I can see your lips slightly spread apart and shining from your wetness. I follow your lips down, drinking in this magnificent sight —until my eyes lock on to your pussy, which is aching to be filled.

I slowly edge my mouth close to you, and then take one giant lick, from the bottom of your pussy to the top, with the whole of my tongue.

“Oh my f—uck,” you arched wildly against the restraints. You’re so sensitive now, “Bucky—Daddy. . .”

"Please," you whisper, your voice shaky, hesitant, like you’re not sure if you should even say it. But you do. And it’s music to my ears, “I want you. . .”

I tilt my head slightly, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Oh, baby,” I murmur, my tone dripping with amusement, “you want me? I think I need a little more than that.”

I watch you squirm, enjoying every second of your hesitation, savoring the way you’re trying so hard to find the right words. “Come on now,” I add, my voice soft but laced with command. “I need to hear exactly what you want. You’re already begging—why stop there?”

I chuckle lightly, leaning in closer. “Let’s not play shy now, not after how far you’ve come.”

Using my thumb and finger on each side, I prize open your pussy lips. You are so open and I can see you pulsating. You push your buttocks into the mattress, which elevates your pussy ever so slightly—meaning my tongue is at the exact height and pointing directly at you. 

“Your cock daddy. . .please, I need to feel you inside me.”

I chuckle, “Soon, my good girl.”

I push my head forward until my tongue enters your pussy, your juices flowing out either side of my tongue. They taste amazing as they ooze into my mouth. I didn’t stop, either, fucking you with his tongue, growling as I held your legs open as wide as they would go. 

“You are so wet,” he snarled. “I fucking love it!” 

“So good,” you muttered, long past the point of coherence. “Yes, it’s so good.”

The corners of your mouth lifting as you let out a satisfying smile, your hands gripping the slack length of the restraights tightly. The whole sight of you, as well as your wetness and taste is utopia—I never want this to end.

× × × ×

YOUR POV

After a few more thrusts of his tongue, he shifted to you clit, but there was no teasing this time. He licked you ruthlessly, relentlessly, until you began shaking, your hips rocking as you chased a second orgasm. You nearly levitated off the bed when it finally crested, your body splintering apart into a million pieces, destroyed. 

“James!” You screamed his name and strained against the ties holding you down as it went on and on, wave after wave of white-hot bliss.

The sudden yank of the blindfold pulls you from the haze you’ve been drowning in. Light filters in slowly, and your vision, still blurry from the darkness, begins to sharpen. The world starts to come into focus, and your eyes immediately lock onto him.

Bucky came up on his knees and began furiously jerking his cock, eyes hooded, mouth hanging open as he grunted. His gaze locked on your swollen pussy until his movements grew uncoordinated, his hips stuttering, and hot jets lashed all over your belly and chest. Like he was marking you. 

Oh my god—did the camera catch that?

He squeezed to get every drop of come out of his dick and onto your body, then sat on his haunches, chest heaving. You were covered in him, the liquid cooling on your bare flesh. Pleasured and used by the last man you should ever be attracted to.

Now he was stroking his dick again, the muscles in his arm flexing as he pumped that giant rod between his legs. God, he had a gorgeous cock and you felt an answering tug in your lower half.

You watched his fist squeeze the head of his cock. A bead of moisture appeared on the tip and he used his thumb to smear it all over the head. You inadvertently licked your lips, missing his taste, and waves of heat rolled through your limbs, settling in your core.

“You like watching me work my cock?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, as if he already knows the answer.

“No.” you said stubbornly.

He tilts his head slightly, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. “I’m starting to think no means yes.”

Bucky moves closer, and despite every ounce of stubbornness in you, your body betrays you again. It’s like your body is inviting him, reacting on instinct, craving what your mind is still refusing to admit. Your pussy was swollen, slick. Primed for sex.

“Deschide larg picioarele pentru mine. Mică târfă.” You heard Bucky growl in his throat.

“What?”

“Open your legs wide for me, little slut.”

God, you wanted to hate him for that, but a blast of heat tore through you. 

“Jesus,” you whispered as you widened your legs slightly. “You’re such a dick.” 

“Hmm. Do you like to be called names, Y/N?” He let go of his cock and placed his hands on either side of his hips, displaying himself for you. “Do you like your hair pulled? Do you like to wear a man’s come on your face?”

Shit, when he asked those things in his low Romanian-accented voice, it sounded like pure sex. No doubt Bucky fucked like a beast, rough and dirty. He hadn’t shown you that side of him yet. The men you had been with treated you politely, like you were made of glass. 

“Is that what you like to do to women in bed?”

Ignoring your question, he stared at your body, placing himself between your legs. “I wish you were sitting on my face right now. I would lick you and bite you, suck on your clit until you passed out. I want to pull on your skin with my teeth until it stings, then make you come so hard you squirt all over me.”

You stared at his wide cock, which jutted out proudly from his body, bobbing in his movement, with its smooth skin and veins along the side. You imagined that thickness drilling inside you, splitting you in half and filling you up. Your pussy clenched around the emptiness and you moaned.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” 

You licked your lips as you stared at his erection, too turned on to lie. 

“Yes.” Bucky raised his brows, “. . .Daddy.”

He grabbed himself again, strong fingers wrapping around the shaft as he pulled, teasingly rubbing his head against your tender pussy.

“I would fuck you so good. Deep and hard. I would give you all my come, everything I am saving up in my balls just for you.” 

“God, don’t you ever shut up?” Your legs were shaking, your movements uncoordinated because you were so turned on. So close. So needy. 

“And you’ll take it, yes?” he continued, clearly not caring that this was a one-sided conversation. “I have never seen a woman so hungry for it. Didn’t those boys in Hollywood know how to fuck you? I bet they left you unsatisfied.”

Fuck why is he dragging this out so much?!

Hands resting on your thighs, you began crooning, “Can’t you see how wet I am, Daddy? Can you see how turned on I am by watching you jerk that big cock of yours? I bet you have to use lube when you fuck, you’re so big. Do the women scream when you’re pounding inside them? Do you make them bleed, leave their pussies raw?”

“That fucking mouth,” Bucky murmurs, a low, satisfied growl escaping as a slow grin spreads across his face. The crown of his dick dragged against your entrance, teasing, and you actually tilted your hips, eager for the invasion. “That’s it. You’re ready for me.” 

You were beyond denial, beyond caring. “Yes,” you admitted to him. 

“Show me. Take me inside.”

This was so dirty. So wrong. Yet your body was humming, almost burning alive with lust. There was an embarrassing amount of wetness between your legs, more than you would’ve thought possible considering the circumstances.

You adjusted your hips, seeking, and the head of his cock slipped inside you. Fuck, yes. You didn’t stop, continuing to rock your hips, writhing underneath him, to bring him deeper. You were wild for it, desperate to reach the finish, toward the explosive orgasm you knew awaited you. 

“Shh,” he said in your ear. “I’ll give you what you need.”

He took over then, but pressed in much slower than you expected. The beginning had been about domination and strength, but now he invaded so carefully, like he wanted you to feel every twitch and tiny movement. 

This was almost seduction, and it was worse than the chaos of moments ago. But there was no stopping it. You craved this, needed it. With a growl, he gave a final thrust of his hips and filled you completely, and the air left your lungs in a rush. He was hot and hard and so big, his dick impaling you, with the heavy weight of his body and restraints preventing you from moving. All you could do was lie there and take it. 

Which made it a thousand times hotter. 

“Fuck,” he said on a long exhale, then whispered a long string of another language that sounded both bewildered and excited.

Ragged breaths gusted against your cheek as he began to move, his hips meeting your pelvis. “You are mine, Y/N. Until I decide otherwise this pussy belongs to me.”

You couldn’t respond, because his dick was destroying you in the very best way. You loved the way he felt inside you, like there was no room for anything else. No insecurities or worries, no past or future. Just this, right here. Perspiration coated your skin and he surrounded you, his cock pounding, pounding, pounding into your body. The pleasure built and you closed your eyes, focusing on the orgasm just out of reach.

The sounds of skin slapping and heavy breathing filled the room. He fucked you like it was his purpose in life, completely dedicated to the task and never slowing down for a second. With every savage thrust you slid a little on the mattress, and you were so close to coming, your muscles clenching and straining . . . . 

“You belong to me. Say it, doll.” 

The words twisted inside you, driving you higher, and the walls of your pussy contracted around his cock. 

“Fuck!” he grunted. “Do that again.”

You squeezed around him once more, and he groaned. “Tell me. Let me hear you say it.” 

His fingers slid between your body and the mattress, moving lower until he found your clit. He rubbed you in tight circles. “Let me hear you say you belong to me.” 

The words fell from your mouth on a gasp. “I belong to you, Daddy.” 

Everything changed. He rode you even harder, without mercy, his fingers never leaving your clit, “Vino pentru mine, mica mea curvă frumoasă.”

Come for me, my beautiful little slut.

The combination of the words along with the stimulation became too much. Shocks raced up from your toes as the orgasm rushed over you. Your brain went offline, everything going blank for a long moment as the euphoria transported you into space. 

“God, yes! Oh, fuck,” you heard yourself shout from far away while you shook uncontrollably. When your climax finally ebbed, he moved to his knees, releasing your legs from the restraints and lifted your hips to change the angle. 

“Yes! Shove it deep, come inside me, Daddy.”

It allowed him deeper, and after a few pumps he swelled inside you, his hips stuttering just before hot jets of come filled your pussy. 

“Oh fuck, ah!” he roared, his fingertips sinking into your flesh. No doubt you would be covered in bruises tomorrow. That should’ve horrified you, but it didn’t. After a moment, his movements slowed but he kept rocking, his dick still pulsing inside you. 

“Take it all, baby,” he crooned and lowered to kiss your chest spine. “Take all of my come. You earned it. Ești o fată atât de bună.” 

You’re such a good girl.

Fuck, you wished he would stop saying things like that. You flushed from head to toe and basked in the praise. He continued peppering your skin with kisses, displaying a tenderness you hadn’t expected. You melted like hot candle wax on the floor.

“Ești frumoasă,” he murmured as he dropped kisses along your chest. “Ești perfectă.”

You’re so beautiful. You’re perfect.

You felt butterflies in the deepest pit of your stomach. You’re not supposed to like that but you do.

Big hands swept up your back and you felt free from your restraints completely and then over your hip as he lifted you, angling your face toward his. 

“I need you,” he whispered and kissed you.

You fell into the kiss eagerly, softening for him and letting him take your mouth. You could feel his urgency, his desperation, and it fed your own. His fingers grabbed a fistful of your hair to hold you in place as his tongue and lips devoured you. 

The kiss went on and on, and your body responded as it always did to this man, your pussy getting more wet and swollen. You loved the way he kissed, with such absolute force and reverence. Like he longed to destroy and cherish you at the same time. Your skin crawled with need, a thousand pinpricks that made you feel alive and powerful. Bold, as if you could do anything. 

You decided to take a risk. You flipped it around so now you’re on top. You started moving your hand south, over his ribs and down his abs. His mouth broke off from yours and he waited, his breath coming fast. He didn’t stop you, so you continued toward his crotch, and your palm skimmed his sweat-slick muscles. 

He was glorious, a marble statue came to life. 

You found his cock, thick and hard against his belly, and you gave it a gentle brush, a tease, before continuing to his balls. He grunted when you rolled and squeezed their weight with your fingers. Most men loved to have their balls played with, and Bucky was no different. 

He spread his thighs to give you more room and you caressed him, exploring. When your hand swept the length of his dick, he jerked and rocked his hips, silently asking for more. You stroked him slowly and he exhaled against your cheek, strong fingers digging into your skin, the room quiet except for both your breathing. 

You liked having him at your mercy for a change. Your lower half began to throb as you worked him. You knew what it was like to have this big dick inside you and your pussy was weeping for it. You weren't sure he’d allow you on top, but you really wanted to ride him just this once.

You slid your leg over his hips to straddle him. He held onto your waist and the feel of all his strength and power beneath you made your mouth water. His gaze was locked on your pussy as you grabbed his cock and lined him up at your entrance. You began feeding him inside, sinking down slowly, loving the stretch and burn as he took up all the space in your body. 

“Fuck, James,” You whispered, his full name falling from your lips while you paused to let yourself adjust. 

“Da, frumoasa mea fetiță,” he said softly, “Take me inside.”

A rush of arousal went through your core and he slid deeper. You gasped, hovering between pleasure and pain, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing and pressing. Tingles cascaded along the backs of your thighs, through your belly, and soon he was fully seated. 

Goddamn, he was a lot. 

You began slowly moving your hips, sliding his dick in and out of you while grinding on his pelvis. You clit dragged between you at the end of every stroke, and it sent streaks of white-hot need along your bloodstream. Though the room was dark, you locked eyes with him, and you could see the new arousal and possessiveness staring up at you. This felt so real. So intimate. Like he could see inside you, past all your deepest insecurities to your very soul. This is what he wanted.

You focused on your pleasure and churned your hips, loving the way his length tunnelled in and out of your channel, the friction unbelievably good. You tossed your hair and arched your back, giving him a show as you rode him. 

“God, yes,” you moaned. “I want to do this all day.” 

“Feel how hard I am?” His whisper filled your head like smoke, taking you higher. “That is all for you. Just you, comoara mea.”

The unguarded hunger and lust in his expression spurred you on, so you moved faster, and the bliss soon built and coiled inside you like a spring. When you placed your hands on his chest for leverage you half-expected him to shove you off, take over, and pin you to the mattress. Surprisingly he didn’t, so you dug your nails into his flesh, holding on as you continued to fuck him. 

“Oh, shit.” you eyes slammed shut. You were so close, the orgasm was right there. 

“Look at me,” he said sharply. “Look at me while you use my dick to get off.”

You did as he commanded, so you were staring at one another when you started to come a second later. The orgasm swept through you like a tsunami, waves and waves that chased everything else away. 

Your mind went blank, his beautiful face your only anchor as you trembled and shook. The walls of your pussy squeezed him in rhythmic pulses and his lips parted on a hiss. 

Before you’d even come down, he lifted you slightly and began pounding up from below. His feet were braced on the mattress, and each powerful thrust rocked the bed and sent the headboard into the wall with a bang. 

Bending, you placed your face directly above his, your mouths inches apart. You were close enough to feel his breath as he grunted and huffed. You don’t know what made me say it, but you started talking. 

“That’s it, daddy. Give me all of your come. Every bit of it, deep inside. Make me your good girl.”

“Fuck!” His body went taut beneath you, and you could feel him swell just before he flooded your insides again with hot lashes of his come. He held you still, his fingers clamped around your hips so hard you knew you’d have bruises to add to the collection. 

“You are mine,” he ground out, his big body jerking beneath you.

Finally he sagged into the bed. You tried to catch your breath, your body sprawled on top of him like a rag doll. He was still inside you, and you could feel our sticky mess leaking out of you as he softened. 

He stared at the ceiling, arms wide, chest heaving, while sweat rolled down his temples and into his thick dark hair. You both stayed like that for a long time, neither of you speaking. You didn’t have a clue as to what to say. You felt destroyed in the very best way.

He dragged a hand down his face. Gently rolling you off to his side.

“Soak in the hot tub,” he said and pushed to his feet. “Otherwise you will be sore later.”

He didn’t help you up or even look in your direction. Instead, he jerked on some clothes and walked out of the bedroom, leaving you on the bed. Naked, filled with his come, and unshackled.

Your body still tingles from the aftershocks as you reach over to the bedside table, your hand trembling slightly as you grab your phone. Bucky had placed it there earlier, so casually, like it was just part of the routine. But now, the weight of it feels different, heavier.

You swipe the screen, the familiar glow illuminating the dimly lit room. Your thumb hovers for a second before you press play. The video begins, and there you are—captured in the heat of the moment, vulnerable, raw.

You feel a strange mixture of curiosity and disbelief watching yourself like this, seeing everything from a perspective that isn’t your own. Your breath catches in your throat as the sound of his voice, low and commanding, fills the room again. Each word, each movement, feels magnified, more intense than you remember.

As the video plays, you notice the moment when Bucky shifts, his gaze no longer on you but directly into the camera. That smirk, the one you’ve seen a thousand times, is aimed at the lens—not at you. For a second, it’s as if he’s performing for the camera, not for you, and the realisation sends a shiver down your spine.

He knew. He knew you’d be watching this later, knew exactly how it would feel for you to see him like this, his eyes focused on the camera while you were completely unaware. The deliberate way he captured the moment, not just for you but for himself too, is unsettling—and somehow, impossibly, it draws you in even more.

It was all planned. A reminder that even in the heat of it, Bucky was always one step ahead.

[frostironfudge]

Devour - Bucky Barnes

Summary: the new pics of seb have me in a vice grip so here is Bucky on a Mediterranean getaway with you

Pairing: mafia!bucky x fem!reader

Word Count: 880

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, sm/ut, or/al fem receiving, dirt/y talk, allusions to previous smu/tty times, d/s vibes, sorta mafia bucky?, sorta soft moments, also prinţesă means princess (romanian)

A/N: this picture got everything to life for this drabble @sebsgirl71479 thank you for this picture

Main Masterlist

The heat is sweltering.

Drops of sweat mimic the condensation on your pink drink’s glass. Taking another sip you grumble the ice watering down the sweet and sour concoction. 

“Something amiss?” Bucky’s tone is light teasing from behind you. 

“Drinks all watered down.” You pout, still not turning to look at him, too comfortable in the lounge chair, kindle resting on your thigh. 

The breeze finally comes in drawing out a sigh from you and your eyes close. Soon enough the sun’s heat diminishes and your breath hitches. 

The scent of amber and bergamot fills your senses urging your eyes open. Bucky leans over you, gold sunglasses perched atop his head.

Your eyes trail over his stubble growing in, as he swallows you watch his throat and then follow that trail to the necklace that half dangles still caught in his white tank top. 

That same necklace that grazed your kiss bitten lips last night, soothing the heat spreading over your skin. 

An easy smile on his face, his ring clinks against the glass. “Here,” he says handing you the replacement drink and he stands, “Can’t have my best girl pouting can I?” 

You roll your eyes and he pinches your cheek a habit he formed early on both out of endearment and knowing it annoys you. 

You admire his outfit, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Fuck the drink you want to drink your man in. 

“See something you like prinţesă? You have that look on your face.” Azure eyes that put the Mediterranean seas to shame glint with mischief. 

“Oh, I see something I love.” You flirt back, admiring the way his eyes crinkle as his grin takes over. 

“A moment ago,” He returns to his original spot, the one where he hovered over you.

“You seemed as though you saw something you want to devour.” He smirks, head dipped low, lips brushing below your ear, you whimper. 

The pendant of his necklace brushes over your sternum. Cold against warm.

“Bucky—,” Your words meld into a moan when his lips trail down your neck, he leaves open mouthed kisses and your hands find his shirt tugging on it wanting him closer. 

“A little temptress in this swimsuit of yours,” his larger palm traces from your knee up your thigh and you arch but he only continues over your body till he pinches your hardened nipple through the fabric, “Fuck.” 

He reclined the lounge chair further back, caging you in, your leg now wrapped around him. 

Bucky’s lips are on yours, needy, frantic, cock straining against his pants and your hands wandering but pulling him closer. 

He chuckles into the kiss as your fingers aid in the fall of his sunglasses and his hair coming loose from the bun. He loves how needy you become for him. 

How beautiful you look sun kissed and kiss bitten from the night before all of his marks proudly displayed across your chest, shoulder, the one he left on your inner thigh. 

Bucky growls as a particular grind of his hips makes you moan as your clit begs for more attention. 

“Please, Bucky, please,” You plead pushing the soft blue shirt off of his shoulders. 

“Want to taste you, my temptress.” He cups your jaw, thumb stroking your lips, you suck on the tip of his finger. 

“I want to taste you too.” You nip at the flesh, Bucky smirks above you. 

“I’d have whipped this outfit out sooner.” He laughs when you huff frustrated, then groans as you grind your hips to his, smirking up at him when he affixes you with a pointed glare to behave. 

“I’ll eat you out right here, prinţesă.” He says in warning, hand moving to cup your mound. He can feel the heat of your skin, his own favourite concoction waiting between your thighs. 

“Is that supposed to scare me?” You raise a brow, “Because if I remember right, no one else sees what belongs to the White Wolf.” 

His eyes blaze with something deeper than lust, his possessiveness and protectiveness for you a known fact in his ruthless world. 

“Hmm, well if anyone does see,” He kisses your cheek, then trails his lips down your neck, over your chest the warmth of his mouth preceded by the cool necklace over your abdomen. Bucky settles between your thighs, pushing them apart but pulling you close. 

Nose brushing over your clothed cunt and the sight is so erotic you can’t help but moan. 

“If anyone does see you pleading and pleasing me they know you are mine temptress. As they should.” 

The fabric is peeled away and your folds are soaked, he hums pleased before his tongue runs over your aching cunt. 

You keen as his lips latch onto your clit, your fingers tangle in Bucky’s hair. 

“Which one of us is in for a treat?” Bucky questions rhetorically as you tremble beneath him, his rings digging into your thighs. 

Bucky moans, at your taste, “We’re to remain here my temptress. I want to have my fill. You will give me how ever many I want won’t you?” 

You nod.

“My good fucking girl.” He praises, mouth back on you, your moans pleasing his ears and your taste satiating as well as growing his hunger for you. 

-x-x-x-x-

Bucky Taglist: @slutforsexyseabass @almostcontentcreator @stevesmewmew

[reaper2187]

Lady Dimitrescu x fifth lord female reader

In the heart of the Romanian wilderness, Castle Dimitrescu stood as an imposing monument of stone and iron, its gothic architecture a reflection of its owner's grandeur and elegance. Alcina Dimitrescu, the formidable matriarch of the castle, was a figure of both fear and fascination, her towering presence casting a long shadow over the village below. But within these walls, beyond the reach of the villagers' terrified whispers, there existed a tale of a different kind.

Y/N, the newly appointed Fifth Lord under Mother Miranda's enigmatic rule, found herself amidst the opulence of Castle Dimitrescu. Unlike the other lords, Y/N's transformation had been unique, her powers mysterious and largely unknown. This difference piqued Alcina's interest, and she had summoned Y/N to her castle, ostensibly to discuss their roles in the village's hierarchy. However, there was an undercurrent of curiosity and perhaps something more that both women were aware of but neither had spoken of yet.

Y/N stood in the grand foyer, her eyes trailing over the rich tapestries and antique furnishings. Her own reflection in the polished surfaces seemed out of place, a reminder of the life she had once known, far removed from the dark and twisted reality she now inhabited. The heavy doors swung open with a creak, and Alcina Dimitrescu entered, her presence as commanding as ever. She moved with the grace of a predator, her eyes fixed on Y/N with an intensity that made the room feel smaller.

"Y/N," Alcina's voice was smooth, her crimson lips curving into a smile that was both welcoming and slightly predatory. "Welcome to my home. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

Y/N met her gaze, unflinching. "As pleasant as it could be, given the circumstances. Thank you for inviting me, Lady Dimitrescu."

"Please, call me Alcina," she replied, waving a hand dismissively. "We are equals here, after all."

Y/N nodded, a slight smile touching her lips. "Very well, Alcina. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Alcina gestured for Y/N to follow her, leading her through the winding corridors of the castle. "There is much to discuss, Y/N. Mother Miranda has great plans, and I believe our collaboration could be… mutually beneficial."

As they walked, Alcina spoke of the village, the other lords, and the ever-present influence of Mother Miranda. Y/N listened intently, her mind racing with the implications of Alcina's words. She had heard tales of Alcina's cruelty, but the woman before her was composed, articulate, and undeniably captivating.

They entered a lavish sitting room, where a fire crackled warmly in the hearth. Alcina poured them each a glass of red wine, offering one to Y/N before seating herself gracefully. Y/N took a sip, the rich flavor lingering on her tongue as she regarded Alcina over the rim of her glass.

"Tell me, Y/N," Alcina said, her voice softening, "what do you think of our village? Of the people who inhabit it?"

Y/N considered her answer carefully. "The village is… unique. The people live in fear, but there is also a sense of resilience. They cling to hope, however small it may be."

Alcina nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And what of the other lords? Have you found your place among us?"

Y/N set her glass down, meeting Alcina's gaze with a determined look. "I am still finding my place, but I know one thing for certain: I am not like the others. My powers are different, and I believe they can be used for more than just instilling fear."

A smile tugged at Alcina's lips. "You intrigue me, Y/N. There is a strength in you that I admire. Perhaps we are not so different, you and I."

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her at Alcina's words, a connection forming that she had not anticipated. "Perhaps not," she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The evening passed in a blur of conversation and shared confidences. Y/N found herself drawn to Alcina in ways she hadn't expected, her initial apprehension giving way to a growing sense of camaraderie and something deeper. Alcina, too, seemed to soften as the night wore on, her regal demeanor relaxing into something more intimate.

As the fire burned low, Alcina rose, extending a hand to Y/N. "It is late. Allow me to show you to your room."

Y/N took her hand, the touch sending a shiver through her. She followed Alcina through the darkened halls, their footsteps echoing softly. When they reached a heavy oak door, Alcina paused, turning to face Y/N.

"This is your room," she said, her voice soft. "If you need anything, my chamber is just down the hall."

Y/N hesitated, then took a step closer. "Thank you, Alcina. For everything."

Alcina's eyes glittered in the dim light. "You are welcome, Y/N. Sleep well."

Y/N entered the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She leaned against it for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. There was something undeniably magnetic about Alcina, something that drew Y/N to her in ways she could not fully understand. As she prepared for bed, her thoughts lingered on the tall, elegant woman who had shown her such unexpected kindness.

Meanwhile, in her own chamber, Alcina stared out the window at the moonlit courtyard, her mind on the enigmatic Fifth Lord. There was a connection between them, a spark that she had not felt in centuries. She smiled to herself, a sense of anticipation blooming within her. The future held many uncertainties, but one thing was clear: Y/N was a part of it, and Alcina intended to explore this newfound bond to its fullest.

The night was still and silent, the castle steeped in shadows. But within those ancient walls, two hearts beat in a rhythm that spoke of potential, of a partnership that could reshape the very fabric of their world. And as the moon rose high in the sky, Alcina and Y/N found themselves united by a thread of destiny, their paths forever intertwined in the darkness and light of Castle Dimitrescu.

[dolicekiss]

Golden Girl

PAIRING: Toxic Yandere!Nigel x Reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni) dubcon, breath play, murder, violence, slapping, stalking (the reader), gun play, hair pulling, choking, forced oral (male receiving), forced fucking, sabotaging the reader, humiliation, degrading & praise, threats, abuse, forced fingering, breeding kink (nigel wants to baby trap reader), a completely filthy fucked up oneshot

SYNOPSIS: Going to a club in Bucharest was normal, you thought. But when bodies of the boys you interacted with after leaving the club started turning up, your vacation was put on hold. Worried whether you were the killer’s next victim — you were all over the place but what you didn't know was you'd caught the eye of a well known mob boss, Nigel Banyai and the man was willing to do just about anything to make you his.

Fourth body this week.

Found dead in the woods — littered with knife wounds like fucking red confetti. You were terrified but what scared you more was the Romanian police on your ass since all the boys ending up dead were somehow leaving links which trailed back to you.

Everytime a boy or a man was found, they called you in for questioning. Having no solid proof against you, they always released you but with a warning that they will catch you if you were behind the murders. It all became worse when you were forbidden from fleeing the country or even the city — forced to suffer in fear in Bucharest.

It angered you.

Why the fuck was someone targetting you, like this? Sabotaging you, forcing you to stay in Bucharest? It irritated you and this was not something you had looked forward to when you made plans to come to Bucharest.

You were puzzled.

Were you also on the killer’s target list? Was he going to come for you too, kill you too? Were you also gonna end up on the news like all those boys?

You made up your mind to visit the club from where this all began from.

Ever since you'd left, a bloody trail fucking followed and this was getting out of hand. Four men were dead — because they had interested with you. One had asked for your number at the club, the other had catcalled you a few days later on the street and the other two were friends who harassed you after you rejected them.

You decided to go.

In the same outfit, at the same exact time.

You entered the club — it was in a shady area but it was a fun club. Filled with escorts and strippers. It was the best kinda club, especially for a wild girl like you. As you maneuvered your way through the sweaty crowd of people dancing on the floor, you made it to the bar.

Plopping down on a stool, you ordered a simple martini and threw your bare leg over the other. In certain scrutiny, your gaze ran over the people. Attempting to find the person who had sabotaged you this bad. All you saw were people having fun, kissing and grinding against each other.

When your drink arrived, you took a sip and groaned in frustration. Hand drowned in your hair, gripping onto it to relieve yourself from some of the frustration.

You decided to scan the crowd once more and this time a pair of piercing dark eyes captured your attention. A blonde man, standing there, in a secluded corner. He stared at you, like he was drinking you in and the way he looked at you caused chills to run up your spine.

He was fucking gorgeous.

But his aura was prominent enough for you to notice it throughout the whole club.

You lowered your gaze and shook your head, emptying out your martini. The song changed and everyone screamed, their energy rejuvenated. You ordered another drink and then felt someone sit right next to you. It was that blonde, gorgeous with golden strands hovering over his forehead.

“First time here?”

His thick accent was delicious. You wanted to eat him because of the way he sounded and looked.

“No. Second, which is ironic because my first was fucking awful.” You spat out the venomous words, fingers tightening around the glass as you brought it to your red lips and drank a sip.

The handsome stranger scoffed at you, ordering himself a drink too. A Bourbon and it fit his taste. “Why was the first time awful?”

You sighed, leaning into your seat. “Someone is killing every boy I talk to. I'd be careful if I were you.”

It was as if you'd cracked a joke. His laugh was loud and deep, sending chills direct to your already soaked cunt. The man was straight out of some fictional book, his demeanor and looks making you act like some feline in heat ready to mate.

Too bad, you had no idea what was coming.

“Sounds like someone's got themselves the attention of a stalker.” His comment caused you still. He was right.

It could've been a stalker.

Which only heightened your fear. You finished your glass of martini and before you could order another one, the man spoke up. “Boys should learn how to take no for an answer. It would save them a lot of trouble.”

With that, he rose up from the stool and walked into the crowd of people. Your blood ran cold when your brain registered his words through the heavy bass of the music roaring through the speakers. Eyes widening in realization, you also stood up and ran in pursuit of him.

You didn't know what you were thinking, following the man that was murdering all these boys. You were afraid but you were also curious — like a cat that was about to get slaughtered because of her curiosity.

You only caught a glimpse of his blonde hair moving through the crowd and you followed him, heels clicking against the floor as you found yourself making your way outside through the back door. This exit lead you to an empty area, deserted and abandoned. The music slowly disappearing the further you delved into this area.

It was like some tight alleyway.

The smell of rain and concrete prominent.

“What a silly move. Following your stalker out here, all alone.” You heard his voice to your left and a drop of sweat trickled down your spine.

Your gaze followed from where his voice was coming from and you found him leaned against the wall, under a dimly lit lamp. Between his fingers, he held a cigarette as he smoked. You swallowed tightly and gathered your courage, the same determination which you used to track down the man who'd ruined your vacation.

You were pissed.

“Fuck do you want from me? Just why are you killing all these boys?”

He continued smoking. Dragging in puffs and squinting his eyes while doing so. Then he finished it and threw the little cigarette aside, not bothering to crush it. He took slow, predatory steps towards you, standing at a foot's distance.

Then he lit up another cigarette.

“They dared to approach what's mine.” He said, with boldness.

You let out a dry laugh. Was he fucking serious? He was a handsome man, too bad he was also delusional. You approached him, your finger extending out and pointing at his chest. “I'm not some fucking piece of land you'll claim. I haven't even met you, nor do I know you. You have the fucking Romanian police on my ass like cat after mouse.”

Your anger was bubbling up with each passing second. You didn't even care that he'd killed people — that being the least bit of your concerns. You were upset because you couldn't have fun, you couldn't roam around the country like how you'd dreamed to. It was all going down.

Because of him.

“I wouldn't speak to me like this if I were you. I don't like brats.” He said, voice dangerously low and my knees nearly buckled. You frowned and furrowed your eyebrows at him. “I don't give a fuck. You're ruining my vacation, for what reason? What did I do to you?”

He sighed, flicking open the pale packet and retrieving another cigarette. He lit it up and looked at you, as he placed it between his lips.

“You belong to me, darling.” He blowed the smoke of his cigarette into your face and you coughed out, hand flying in front of your face to move the smoke away.

Before you could argue more with him, he had his hand wrapped around your throat and forced you up against the wall. You struggled, caught off guard but you still struggled although it proved useless. He discarded his cigarette, spitting it out to the side. The man was ten times stronger than you, his rough hand clasping around your throat while his other retrieved a gun from his leather belt.

Your eyes widened in horror at the weapon.

Was he going to kill you?

Glancing between him and the weapon, you shook your head. He brought it up to your head, holding it against it. “Such a dirty little mouth you've got. I bet it can also take my gun when I fuck your little cunt, no?”

You gasped at his words.

And he took it as a chance to slide the barrel of his gun into your mouth. The metal cold and sour against your flaccid tongue, nostrils inhaling the strong scent of gunpowder wafting off it. Tears had decorated your waterline, mind registering the vulnerable situation you were in.

You tried to apologize — regretting following him but it didn't work. The words came out as muffled cries when he slid his gun further into your mouth.

“You look pretty like this.” He whispered against you, staring into your teary gaze. “I bet you've got quite the perfect cocksucking mouth.”

You tried to say something, so he retracted his gun from your mouth, allowing you a chance to speak. “Please—let me go. I'm sorry, I want to go.”

He smiled at you. “Oh no baby, you're not going anywhere. The only reason why I got the police after your sweet little ass is because I knew you'd try to escape. Try to make a run for it. How could I let that happen, hm?”

Your gaze enlarged.

So it was him who purposely did that?

This was all a part of his fucked up plan to sabotage you from leaving the country? Just who was he, how did he have this much power and why the fuck did he want you? It all came crashing down on you like a damn plane.

“Why?” You croaked out.

He sighed, still holding the gun in his thick hand. That was a question of pure foolery. Had you not noticed the way he looked at you? How possessive he was acting? Nigel’s feelings for you went past something as minor as lust. He was truly devoted to you and needed you by his side. Even if it meant by force. “When you came to my club, dressed like this,” he pointed his gun up and down at the same outfit you wore from before. “it made me want to fucking kidnap you and keep you away from everyone. Dressed like a little whore, only I deserve to see this beautiful body of yours.”

You flinched at his words.

The stranger trailed the cold and wet —from being in your mouth— barrel down to your top, as it hung by a chain over your round tits. He scoffed at the sight of it. He fucking loved how you looked in the outfit but if it was enough to give him a hard time in his pants, it was enough to give others a hard time concealing their lust too. That did not sit right with Nigel.

He was a beguiling man.

You could see it in his darkened gaze but your fear had gotten the best of you.

He used his gun to remove the loose top hanging on your tits, a hoarse chuckle emitting from his throat when he saw just how easily the glimmering fabric exposed your tits to him. Your bare chest on full display, peaks hardened to perfection. The tip of his barrel ran over your right nipple and a suppressed whimper escaped you.

“I-I promise I won't tell anyone.” Your endeavor to get yourself out of this situation was of proper amusement to him.

Nigel raised a brow. “Yeah? Even if you tell someone, no one will help you. There's no point in begging and pleading — unless you're into me taking you by force. I wouldn't mind, I fucking love breaking stubborn little girls like you and leaving them damaged.”

It was as if your heart had stopped pumping blood into your veins, your brain growing cold and numb. Obviously there was no point in begging and you tried to struggle against his frame pressed up against you, pushing him with the strength of your shoulders. It only worked as fuel to his incinerating anger.

Nigel walloped you across the face with his other hand before shoving the gun back into your mouth. Actions rough and full of vigor, he rammed it in and out of your mouth while tears furiously fell down your face. The stinging pain from the slap and the searing of your jaw was a combination you found yourself to loathe.

He stared at you, eyes sharp and pupils completely dilated. Deep down you wished that someone, anyone came in this area and saved you from the man but your brain told you over and over again that no one was coming. Your body begging to surrender to the man's abuse.

The feeling of his cold barrel on your tongue felt foreign, your eyebrows scrunching up and Nigel nearly melted at how fucking cute you appeared. Saliva sputtered around the gun, coating your chin in slick and then once he'd had enough, he pulled it out.

“God, you have it so wet, I could easily fuck you with it.” He commented, head tilted as he stared at the gun covered in slick.

You shook your head, making a meek little sound at the suggestion. Getting fucked with a gun was not on your vacation list, especially by a dangerous killer like him. He could fucking blow you up with one single push of the trigger and the idea scared you but also —excited you.

“I wanna go home.” You cried, struggling once more. Nigel took hint of how you were not gonna become pliant anytime sooner so he reached over and grabbed a fistful of your locks — covered in confetti and glitter from being in the club. There it was. Another heavy slap delivered to your cheek, this time not only did your cheek hurt but also your lips stung too.

Running a tongue over it, you tasted metal and cringed.

He'd busted your lip.

“Get on your fucking knees if you still want all your damn teeth in your mouth.” You shivered at the sheer dominance behind his chilling threat. Nodding your head at him, he forced you down on your knees and you allowed him to. Knees scraping against the hard concrete, body aching from all sides.

Nigel pulled more on your hair, tugging you by your locks against the prominent bulge in his pants. “Take it out and suck it. If you don't want me to kill you right now, you better show me just how good of a cocksucker you are.”

You cried tears of vulnerability and devastation, nodding your head at him. Nigel wasn't actually going to kill you, no. He adored you too much to do that but this was necessary, in order to make you more pliant and obedient. More bendable and easy. His cock throbbed in his briefs, enjoying the look of fear that crossed your features. It suited you well.

You'd come here with the attitude of a fucking lioness and now you were nothing but a scared little bunny, cornered and captured.

With shaky fingers, you reached for his little zipper and pulled it down. Then you slowly maneuvered your hand through the little space and felt the thickness of his cock. Rock hard and girthy, you pulled it out. It immediately slapped you across your face and the size of it left you dismayed.

How the fuck were you going to fit that into your mouth?

“I-It won't fit.” You whispered, looking up at him and when you did that, you felt the vein going underside his cock throb against your hand. You weren't gonna lie, it was a pretty cock. It's head thick, seeping with precum and almost a dark shade of pink. The rest of it was long, thick and had protruding veins going up and down. Your jaw still ached from the gun, just how badly was his cock going to destroy you?

Nigel bucked his hips forward, causing his cock to nuzzle against the side of your face, a satisfied hum eliciting from his chest. “It'll fit, I'll make it fit. Even if I have to shoot your throat open so I can fuck it.”

Panic settled in. His ability to throw such gruesome threats around like nothing terrified you. It made you wonder just who this man was and how powerful he was to have you cornered like this — without a care in the world about the law enforcements or the repercussions to his actions.

Your tongue peeked out from the folds of your lips, running over his slit in one single lick and as a response the man shuddered in your hold. His groan was loud as he stared down at you, grip painfully tight on your roots. “Don't fucking tease me, my darling. I wouldn't want to mess up this beautiful face of yours.”

Idle threats were not his cup of tea. He meant every word he said when his gaze darkened and you got to work. Lips circling around his head, taking him into your mouth and sucking on it. Tongue caressing the underside of his cock, running over the protruding purple vein.

Nigel nearly melted at how fucking tight your mouth was. Even after preparing it with his gun, fucking it thoroughly so it'd expand, he was still feeling its contraction around his cock. Wet, tight and gummy. He slipped his length past by your palate, hitting it against your uvula and then sliding it along your windpipe.

When he did that, entered such a forbidden territory, you tried to stabilize your breathing and body by resting both your palms against his thick thighs. Fingernails scraping the cotton fabric of his dress pants — eyes falling shut. You tried to ignore it, the pain you felt and how you were fighting not to gag over it.

But you did.

Ended up coughing, sputtering all over his cock and he only moaned at that. Your saliva trickling down your chin and making a wet ring around his length.

Nigel held your head firmly with both his hands and began to fuck into your mouth. Thoroughly and carefully, he pressed his cock along your tongue and everytime you made a gagged sound, you felt it throb inside your mouth.

He seemed to love how much you were struggling against him. Little fists delivering hopeful thuds to be freed but all he did was shove himself farther down your tight little throat. “Ah, fuck. I wonder how tight your cunt is going to be. Just the thought of being inside your pussy has me near.”

Nigel’s huffed out a sharp breath, his hips twitching forward helping himself breach the barrier of your throat. Tears streamed down your face and at the sight of you this fucked up, he pressed at your head all the way until his perfectly trimmed hair at the base of his cock brushed against your nose.

You tried to inhale through your nose and Nigel chuckled. His thumb and finger pinched your nose, preventing it from breathing. Your lungs expanded, desperately trying to intake any form of oxygen and when it didn't receive it, you started to punch and beat at his thighs.

Loud gagging sounds filled the air and as he fucked your throat, he let out prominent grunts of pleasure. Chest rumbling from how good you felt wrapped around him, how he forbade you from breathing. Your life dancing in the palm of his little life, completely controlling you.

“Christ, you're so pathetic like this. What was it that you said? I was ruining your vacation, huh? Try to escape me now, Darling.” His words burned you with humiliation as you punched and threw a fit, eyelids dropping and eyes rolling back to your skull. You nearly saw black, almost on the verge of passing out but he pulled out.

Only for a split moment.

To admire the trail of spit connecting your lips to the head of his cock. The saliva glistening around your mouth, forming small bubbles underneath the dimly lit lamp. Your short gasps echoed in the alleyway, as your lungs swelled up to take in air. Nigel found you so beautiful like this, wrecked and ruined. And the best part was that he hadn't even fucked you yet.

The fact filled him with overflowing excitement.

You could only catch your breath once or twice before he occupied the expanse of your mouth again, thrusting roughly and painfully down your throat. He caught a glimpse of the print of his cock in your throat and nearly came — hips driving themselves in aggressive and vigorous thrusts. You could tell he was close by the way his hips twitched and his balls throbbed.

“Yes. Yes— Just like that. Take it baby, take all my fucking cum. You're so good, so fucking good.”

Nigel, with one aggressive thrust, shot his load right down your throat. Barely giving you a chance to spit it out, forcing you to swallow it. When he pulled out and found your mouth to be empty, no sign of his cum, a satisfied glint appeared in his gaze.

“Good girl. You swallowed before I could tell you.”

No, you didn't swallow. He'd forcefully cum down your throat and fucked it down your fucking windpipe. Your body shivered up, feeling cold but Nigel didn't really seem to care. The man was panting like a dog, chest rising up and down while he supported himself against the wall with his palm.

His other hand still in your hair, lazily sitting atop it.

You sniffled, swallowing back a loud sob threatening to escape. There was still hope inside you, that maybe after giving him his release, he'd let you go. So you tried your luck.

“Can I go now? Please?”

His head dropped down. Eyes holding contact with your teary ones and your words made him laugh. A deep, breathless laugh ringing against yours ears. He shook his head at you as if you were a child, who'd asked a question beyond stupidity.

“You thought this was all in the heat of the moment, that I needed a pretty mouth to cum inside?” His hand reached for you, fingers circling around your arm and pulling you up on your feet. His rough manhandling caused your knees to scrape brutally along the floor, a small whimper expressing your pain.

He was glaring at you. “I own this fucking club and all the escorts that work here. I could cum down anyone's throat here, my darling girl.” Nigel leaned in closer to you, the space between the two of you shrinking and it worried you. “It is your mouth I want to cum inside and your cunt I want to fuck. The soonee you accept it the better it is for you.”

You shook your head.

There was still fight left in you.

As you raised your hand, you slammed it down on his cheek. Tears swimming in your eyes causing your vision to become a blur but the pure rage that had awakened in his eyes was something even your blurry vision couldn't ignore.

You almost immediately regretted it.

“Fine.” He muttered, “you wanna act like a brat, you'll get treated like one.”

Nigel slammed your head against the concrete wall and the newfound pain in your head fucking throbbed, increasing and swallowing you whole. The next few minutes were a blur. You could feel him roughly pulling up the mini skirt you wore, in a fit of rage ripping the material of your lace panties. Nigel hated and loved how you were dressed at the same time.

Like some little prostitute.

“I wanted to be gentle but look what you're making me do. All you had to do was be fucking still and obey me, now I'm forced to treat you like this.” His raw manipulation nearly made you feel guilty in the vulnerable moment. Brain succumbing to his words and actions of pure brutality.

Nigel hiked your leg up, wrapping it around his own waist. He brought his hand down to your cunt and smacked along the stripe, watching you flinch. The action slightly brought you back but still not enough to register what was happening.

You were dumb now.

Like a braindead puppy who'd suffered enough.

Your body gave up to him. “Look how wet your little pussy is. All this fucking act of resilience for what? Just to have a soaked cunt?”

You flinched at his words. The brutal man shoved a finger inside you, forcing it in and you cried out. Blurry vision struggling to make out the outline of his face, the hard ridges blending in with the background. He soon added another, followed by another. Pace rough and fingers curved — he slammed them upwards and made you cry out with each thrust.

“N-No.” You managed to cry out, throat completely parched and dry from all the crying. The amount of tears you'd shed had you dehydrated and you needed a crisp bottle of cold water. Only that could cure all this now.

Nigel was knuckles deep inside you and he enjoyed how your pussy clamped around his fingers, wet and squelchy. The sounds of your flesh reacting to his had made his half soft cock erect again. Standing tall and curved against his stomach. He was still being too kind, preparing you to take his cock. He didn't know how many dicks had you taken in your cunt but his was about to be the last.

Thumb caressing your swollen bud, moving it in circles. He loved the way your body twitched and moved, your face still drenched in tears as if you hated this meanwhile your hot little body had its own mind. Clenching around his fingers, nipples hard and sensitive, your hips grinding against his fingers.

“You've got the prettiest fucking cunt I've ever seen, darling.” He commented, pulling out his fingers and rubbing them all over his length. his act of lubrication of his own cock with your arousal making you cringe.

Nigel rubbed his fat head over your swollen clit, watching your face distort in one of pleasure. You cried yet you let out soft little moans of complete contentment. Your lips were agape, and your eyebrows were pinched together. It was such a beautiful sight.

“Look at me.” He commanded and this time you hurried to listen. Finding his gaze and meeting it, you blinked away a few tears and he leaned forward to finally do what he had been wishing to do.

He occupied your lips in a rough kiss, head tilting to the side. His tongue forced open your lips — although he didn't have to actually force it open. The pain in your head made you pliant and obedient, which was a result of satisfactory for him. The man was practically eating your mouth. Teeth clashing against teeth, tongue fighting with tongue, saliva mixing in together. He didn't care your mouth was stained with the salty taste of his own cum.

Nigel was a filthy fucking bastard.

While he kissed you, he stroked himself a couple of times before guiding his thick head to your hole. The second you felt the burning stretch, your hips began to writhe against the wall. Before you could struggle more, Nigel’s brawny arms slithered down to your waist and he lifted you up with ease.

Pinning you on the wall.

He wrapped both your legs around his hips and fully bottomed out inside you. Feeling each and every vein grazing against your tight gummy walls. You had the cunt of a fucking virgin, so tight and so fucking raw. He knew how virgins felt like — he loved the taste of innocence.

Though he knew you were anything but a virgin.

That fiery little mouth you had proved that he wasn't the only man whom you had wrapped around your finger just by existing. He stalked you, everytime you tried to get laid he'd eliminate the men. Kill them and make sure no one could ever lay their hands on you, with or without your consent. Without your knowledge he'd protected you against multiple men.

The man eventually bottomed out inside you, his pelvis pressed against your clit. He still had his hands pinning yours to the wall and it was beginning to hurt. You needed some sort of relief from this torture so you looked at Nigel, with a pleading look of innocence in your eyes. “My arms, t-they hurt.”

He looked at you, contemplating whether to release you or not. “Your arms hurt, yeah? You wanna rest them on my neck?”

You nodded your head when he raised a brow at you. The amount of control he had over his actions, his expressions, it was too attractive but also intimidating. A chuckle rumbled from his throat and you flinched at it, staring at him in confusion. “Aw, and what makes you think I'll let you? You have been nothing but disobedient. Your behavior has been a fit of utter disappointment.”

You were speechless. How could he be this cruel to you? A lone tear slid down your face as you accepted your faith, the ache in your shoulders growing by each second. Nigel’s heart clenched at the sight, he couldn't be mad at you anymore. Not when he was entirely whipped.

His hands slowly retracted and your head slowly rose up, staring at him. He brought your arms to his nape and circled them around it. Your hold tightened and you leaned forward, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

There was no fight left in you.

You wanted this to get over with as soon as possible.

Nigel found this version of yours endearing and he couldn't wait till he had completely broken you. His cock began to move inside you, in agonizingly slow thrusts and your soft whimpers slid right in his ear. He held you in his arms while he fucked himself into you, feeling how your thighs twitched and your cunt clenched around him.

“You're so tight, baby.” He slurred, his strokes going more vigorous. Hips snapping inside you and your moans delighting him to a new extent. You could feel the stinging sensation of his fingernails piercing through your skin from how hard he was gripping onto your hips, using your hole to chase his own release.

Nigel was breathless, panting like some wild animal when ravaging its prey. You were that prey and being ravaged by him was something that broke you apart. Blonde strands hovering over his forehead, he was honestly a godly sight. The skin of your back scraped lightly across the wall — whenever he thrusted inside you.

Stomach flipping and heart thumping wildly in your ears, you sniffled and whimpered from each harsh stroke. “Look at me, fucking look at me.”

And you did.

Lifting your head from his shoulder and meeting his dark gaze. The way he stared at you, it was like he had finally found purpose in life. The raw obsession in his eyes was overwhelming for you to even register. Nigel dug his nails into your skin, littering crescent moons. All the sensations — of pain, of pleasure, of the taboo this was, of everything, you were consumed by it.

“You're gorgeous.” He whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. Your heart flipped and you realized how fucked out you were because there was no way in hell you were flustered over compliments by this man.

Your hair stuck to your drenched forehead, a few strands finding residence over your cheeks too. Your lips are swollen and busted and your eyes are continuously glossing from the aggression of this man. Why did you capture his attention? Why couldn't it be someone else?

Nigel felt himself close.

So did you.

Your stomach had aggressive butterflies and your thighs convulsed, letting him know that you were near. He leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it and swirling his tongue around it. That and his thumb rubbing your clit was enough to send you over the edge. “Cum for me, my pretty. Cream all over my cock. Claim me as yours.” A loud scream tore through you, as you unraveled.

Eyes rolling back to your skull. Lips agape and the heaving movement of your chest cutting short — your cunt clenched around him and sucked him in. Desperately trying to keep his cock inside you. All this was enough to send Nigel over the cliff too. Seeing how beautiful you looked when you came all on his cock, your breathing short and little huffs escaped your lips. It was all so etheral for him.

To chase his own release, his thrusts grew relentless and he started to pound into you like some fucking animal. “I'm gonna cum inside you. I'm gonna give you a child, our child. You can't escape me, ever.”

You weakly shook your head but the way he fucked you had your body surging forward over his. You sobbed, tears of pleasure and sensitivity streaming down. Your cunt was throbbing and so was his cock, pulsating inside you. Balls hot and then he did what he'd promised you. He coated your insides white, spilling his hot seed inside your cunt.

Nigel was gasping — eyes squeezed shut and the blonde strands clouding his darkened vision. His hips stuttered, the more he came inside you. Rope after rope, enough to give you a child and you mentally punched yourself for not being on birth control. Him eliminating all the men around you made you not take the birth control anymore.

It fell right into his favor.

“You're going to milk me fucking dry, my pretty.” He growled, his own head falling into the crook of your neck. You could feel his harsh pants crashing against your sensitive skin. After catching his breath for awhile, Nigel pulled out of your cunt and you immediately arched your back — a whine sputtering from your lips.

The feeling of his cock sliding out of your hypersensitive walls made you clutch tightly onto him. Nigel held you with one hand and his body pressing into yours, while with the other he tucked himself inside his briefs and zipped up his pants. Then he also fixed you up too. Placing you down on the floor.

Your mini skirt was thankfully not ripped as he pulled it down over your ass. He tossed his jacket over your in a possessive manner. The man didn't want anyone to see you in this slutty little outfit anymore, now that he had claimed you as his.

“You're quiet.” He said, as he watched the cum leak out from underneath the mini skirt of yours, staining your legs. Nigel didn't bother to clean you up, reveling in the idea of his cum leaking out of you. You stared at him, a little braindead from what he'd done to you.

Then you swallowed, in an attempt to coat your dehydrated throat with your saliva. “Can I not be quiet? Does that bother you too?”

Nigel was surprised for a moment. He'd expected you to be silent but your sass was still there and he fucking loved it. How despite what he'd done to you, your sassy little attitude was still there concealed behind the frozen response of your brain to this situation.

He picked you up and smiled. “You're mine now. I'm taking you home.”

You didn't have it in you to resist him anymore. He'd already gotten what he wanted; you. Your face laid across his shoulder as he took you towards the open road and soon slid you right inside the passenger seat of his car. Your head leaned on the leather seat as you watched him, while he drove.

Nigel was fucking enthralled. Even if you weren't going to get pregnant, he'd make sure he's fucked you enough times to make you have his child. He didn't care if it had to be by force, he needed you. Wanted to keep you with him. Forever. In Bucharest.

[willalove75]

Hey! I was wondering if you could do Alcina x stone top reader, like Alcina try to take control like she usually does but ultimately fails and get ✨DEMOSLISHED✨ on her desk.

I hope you see this, I thank you in advance :)

Hiya!! Thanks so much for the request!

My brain wasn't able to come up with a scenario where I was able to make this work with her canon measurements so I'm making this more of an AU where she's human sized. I hope you enjoy!

Tags: dom!reader, smut, degradation, praise

Warnings: 18+ Only. Minors DNI

It was a cold night in the castle and you were all alone in bed. Your wife, Alcina, was still working and when you glanced over at the clock you realized it was almost midnight. She went back into her office after dinner and you haven't seen her since.

The financial quarter was nearing its end and she had a ton of paperwork to finish for the vineyard but lately she's been working herself to the bone. For over a week she's been coming to bed after you've fallen asleep and is gone by the time you wake up. You've tried to talk to her about going easy on herself but she's as stubborn as they come and doesn't give your suggestion a second thought.

Alcina has been stressed in a multitude of ways and neither of you have been able to relieve your sexual frustration in nearly two weeks. Tonight you've reached your breaking point. She promised she would be in bed early, that she would reward you for being so patient. Since she still hasn't shown, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

You throw a sweatshirt on over your pajamas and cross the vast castle to the wing where her study resides. The stone floors are cold beneath your feet and it's so silent you think you can hear your heartbeat ricochet off of the walls. You've never gotten used to the castle at night. It's always been eerie. Even when you were first hired as the groundskeeper, being here at night freaked you out a little. Nevertheless, you trek on.

Once you reach her study door you give the thick wood a few light knocks, not wanting to startle your wife inside.

"Come in." A tired and frustrated voice replies.

When you walk in you see Alcina sitting behind her desk with her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

"Hey." You say as you walk in.

"Draga, what are you-" She glances over at the clock and her face falls. "Oh, shit." She mutters. "I'm so sorry draga mea, I didn't realize how late it was."

Alcina removes her glasses as she stands and walks around to the front of her desk where she meets you. You rest your hands on her hips and she drapes her arms around you neck. She gazes into your eyes before leaning in and pressing her lips against yours.

"You said you would be in bed two hours ago, my love." You whisper against her lips before moving to press light kisses into her neck.

"I know draga, I'm sorry." She says, leaning her head to the side to give you more access.

Your start to kiss her neck a little harder and nip at her skin causing her to sharply inhale.

"Come to bed."

"I can't, I still have-" her breath hitches in her throat when you suck on her pulse point. "I still have some paperwork to" her breath hitches again. "to finish."

"It can wait."

"I can't-" her words are cut off by a groan when you slip your knee between her legs and press up into her.

With your hands firmly grasping her hips, you rock them against you as you continue to mark up her neck. Alcina bits her lip to keep her moans at bay and grabs at the back of your head. With every rock of her hips against your leg you can feel her wetness against your skin grow through her lace panties.

"Oh, draga." She moans into your shoulder.

"You're so wet." You mumble into her soft skin. "Let me have you, iubirea mea."

A low growl rumbles in her throat and you can feel its vibration against your lips. When you first started working at the castle you barely spoke Romanian but Alcina taught you some words. Speaking to her in her native language is one of your secret weapons since you know how much it gets her going.

You press up into her a little harder and a moan slips from her lips. Alcina pushes you down into the chair behind you and straddles your lap. She grabs the hair on the back of your head and pulls at it, kissing you hard.

As someone who considers themselves a stone top, it's not uncommon for you and Alcina to fight for dominance in bed. Every so often you'll relent and let her take over or she'll win the battle you two playfully fight. Tonight however, she broke her promise and you're not letting her off the hook that easily.

Grabbing her thighs you stand up from the chair and lift her onto her desk. Some of the papers littering the surface fall to the floor along with a few other items cluttering it. The two of you are kissing hard, both of you trying to take control as your tongues eagerly explore each others mouths. More things fall to the round as you quickly pull up her dress and her hands grab at your sweatshirt. You slide your hands to her hips and pull her to the edge of the desk, pressing your leg between hers and you grind into her. A moan rings out into the night air and she manages to pull your sweatshirt off.

Her hands go straight for your pajama bottoms and you grab her wrists. Alcina is strong, you'd never know how strong she was just by looking at her but looks are certainly deceiving. Luckily your work as groundskeeper has increased your strength as well so it's an even match. Somehow you manage to pin her arms behind her back and she grunts in protest but never breaks the kiss.

Holding her wrists behind her back with one hand, your free hand dives between her legs. The pads of your fingers immediately find her clit over her underwear and you waste no time rubbing tight, quick circles around it. Alcina throws her head back and cries out with a growl. She pulls against your hand restraining her wrists and tries to break free.

As she wiggles in your grip she slides off the desk landing on her feet. Just as she manages to break out of your hold you manage to keep one of her wrists pinned and your other hand grabs the other. She fights for control and you're able to turn her around and bend her over her desk. You pin her wrists behind her back again and lean over her.

"Stay down." You growl into her ear.

A whimper escapes from her lips and you nibble she shell of her ear. When you pull back she tries to fight against you and you give her a hard smack on the ass. She cries out in pleasure and you massage her reddening skin. You give her one more smack when she pulls against your grip on her hands and she cries out again.

Her legs begin shaking with need and she starts to whimper. She stops fighting back and you grab the hair on the back of her head and lean over her again.

"Good girl. Don't make me keep punishing you."

Alcina groans and you sit back up after placing a kiss on her neck. Holding her wrists with one hand, you use the other to pull her wet thong down her long legs. You tap at her legs so she steps out of them and you feel how drenched they are in your hands.

"So wet for me already baby? I barely even touched you." You caress her slit and graze over her clit, causing her to whine. "You wouldn't be so desperate for me if you worked so much, you know?" You tease.

You can tell you hit a nerve with that one because she growls and fights against your grip once more. With another smack to her ass she settles down.

"I'm just going to have to tie your wrists together, aren't I?" You ask.

Before she can respond you start to tie her wrists together with her wet, lacy thong.

"Not perfect, but it'll have to do." You say after you finish. "You know, I was hoping to ravish you in our bedroom, but you're so stubborn I guess I'm just going to have to do it here."

Alcina opens her mouth to quip back but the only thing that leaves her lips is a whine as your fingers explore her dripping slit.

"Fuck you're so wet." You say, coating your fingers in her arousal.

You begin to circle her clit and she starts to moan.

"You like that baby? You like when I play with your clit like that?"

"Uh-huh." She wines.

"Use your words." You say, slowing your ministrations.

Alcina whines in protest and cries out.

"Yes! I love it. I love when you play with my clit."

"Good girl."

After circling over her clit a few times you easily slide two fingers deep into Alcina's soaked pussy. Her moans echo through her study and her eyes roll into the back of her head.

You push your fingers deep inside her dripping cunt until you bottom her out and pull them away. After repeating that a few times you start to curl them into her walls and Alcina's cries grow louder.

"Yes, let me hear you my love." You say as you pick up the pace.

"Oh fuck!" She moans.

"You like when I overpower you? When I treat you like my little fucktoy?"

"Mhm."

You smack her ass again and she yelps.

"Use your words." You say as you thrust back into her.

"Yes! Fuck. I love it baby."

As you fuck her with your fingers her legs begin to shake and her walls start to clench down around you. You bring her right to the edge and pull your fingers out of her, leaving her pussy to clench around nothing. Alcina cries out in protest.

"What's the matter, love? You didn't think you could break your promise and not go unpunished, did you?"

"Fuck you." She spits.

Alcina hates being edged, it's not that it makes her uncomfortable, she just doesn't like being teased. You've only ever done it one other time and you ended up paying for it by being completely tied down to her bed and edged for hours at her mercy until she made you cum so hard you blacked out for a minute. She told you she was going to "fuck the brat right out of you" and she sure as hell did that night. But you know if you were the one to break a promise like this you'd be punished so it's only fair that she receives a punishment as well.

"Ah, being bratty now, are we?" You say as you tease her clit. "A very attractive woman once told me that the best way to deal with a brat is to fuck it right out of them. I wonder how well that works."

"Don't you dar- fuck!" Her words are cut off with a cry when you shove your fingers back into her.

The only other sounds that came from her lips were cries and moans of pleasure as you fucked her relentlessly. Bringing her to the edge of release before taking it away over and over again. Each time you were met with a cry of protest. Her whimpers were the sweetest sounds you've ever heard. Especially when they were accompanied by the wet noises her pussy made when you thrusted in and out of her.

Her arousal was dripping down your wrist and down her trembling legs. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her flushed face and chest were laying flat against the cool mahogany of her desk. You brought her to the edge and back down again when you heard the tiniest beg slip from her lips.

"What was that?" You ask but she only whimpers in response. "Was that a beg I heard?"

Alcina doesn't respond so you bring her to the edge again and just as she's about to tip over, just when she thinks you'll finally let her cum, you pull your fingers out.

"Fuck! Please!"

"Ah, there it is. Please what? Tell me what you want baby." You say, pushing back into her.

"Please fuck me, make me cum. Please!" Tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes as she desperately whimpers. You take a second to look at the goddess laying beneath you and your mouth waters.

"Fuck, look at you. So wet, begging for me to fuck you senseless, at my mercy."

"Please." She whimpers.

You've never been able to reduce Alcina to such a begging, wet mess before but you absolutely love it. And by the sound of the moan she releases and the way her walls grip your fingers when you slide them back in, you can tell she loves it too.

"More, please, fuck me. I need more." She moans.

Pumping your fingers in and out of her, you bring her to the edge once more. Just before she's about to explode on your hand you pull out entirely again and she cries out. Before she can say anything you shove three fingers into her and her body jerks as she screams in pleasure. After giving her a few seconds to stretch around your fingers you begin to finger fuck her harder than you think you ever have before.

"You've been such a good girl for me. Even though you broke your promise, I think you've more than made up for it. Let me take care of you baby." You whisper to her as you drive her into oblivion.

"Fuck, oh fuck! Yes, fuck me, make me cum! Please baby harder!" She cries.

You slam your fingers deep into her and drive short, hard thrusts into her g spot as you curl your fingers in a rhythm. Her legs start to shake and you feel her walls clench down around you hard before you feel them relax. Alcina screams out into the night and her body trembles as her orgasm hits her like a freight train. You keep up your pace through her orgasm and as soon as she's done a second one builds and hits her. As you guide her down she trembles beneath you. You untie her wrists with one hand and once you feel the pulsing of her walls slow down, you pull your fingers out.

Laying in front of you, your wife is a blissed out, trembling mess. Your hand and her legs are glistening with her cum, she whimpers every time an aftershock runs up her spine and her legs can barely hold her up.

Alcina looks up at you as she tries to catch her breath and you help her stand. Her legs are unsteady so you guide her to the chair and sit her down. Kneeling in front of her, you pull her hips to the edge and spread her legs. She goes to protest and you sit up and kiss her.

"Shh, let me clean you up. I'll be gentle, I promise. Okay?"

She nods her head and you kiss her once more before positioning yourself between her legs. Looking up, you see her half-hooded, lust-filled eyes staring down at you and you lick up her soaked pussy as you stare into them. Her eyes roll back and she tosses her head back against the chair.

As you clean up her mess you can feel her pussy pulsating against your tongue. Her clit is swollen and you circle the soft flesh with your tongue, making Alcina whine. Even though you weren't trying to make her cum again, you can feel her orgasm build with each lick and suck of her pussy. You let it slowly build, giving her clit a gentle suck and pull every so often, before her hand is gripping the back of your head. Slipping your tongue between her folds, you keep eating her out until she cums into your mouth with a soft cry.

You make sure you clean up every drop before slowing your movements and pulling away from her. Looking up, you see Alcina resting her head against the back of the chair with her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling as basks in the afterglow of being fucked senseless. After you wipe your mouth, you sit up and cup her face and her eyes meet yours.

Alcina leans down and captures your lips in a deep kiss. When your lips part she rests her head against yours and closes her eyes. You can tell she's rightfully exhausted. From both over-working herself to being fucked so hard. Pulling her into you, you have her wrap her legs around your waist and her arms around your neck and you pick her up. After you adjust your grip on her, you're surprised when she nuzzles her head into your neck instead of protesting. She's never let you do this before without putting up a fight so she must be either exhausted or in desperate need of being taken care of, or both.

You carry Alcina into your shared bedroom and sit her down on the counter in the bathroom. After wetting a washcloth and pouring some soap on it, you clean between her legs as well as your face and hands. Wrapping herself around you again, you carry her into the bedroom and lay her on the bed. She slips out of her dress after you unzip it and after she removes her bra you help her to pull a nightgown over her head. Pulling the covers back, she curls up in bed and you follow suit. Covering the both of you with the duvet, you lean over to shut off the light.

Alcina curls into you, burying her face in your neck and wrapping her arms around you.

"Thank you." She says as she places chaste kisses on your neck.

"Of course my love, I hope I was able to help you relax."

"You did draga mea, more than I can explain. Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too baby."

After a soft kiss goodnight, the two of you drift off into a peaceful, restful sleep.

[jazzymin97]

Okay okay, hear me out; was watching an episode of SPN and lore hinged idea of the day(episode) was Zanna. Romanian folklore for good spirits that help children? IE Imaginary friends.

— please note I didn’t do further research on Zanna after this; I do plan to but my focus in it is probably gonna be gone tomorrow so please— if SPN fucked this folklore up or my supes basic understanding is very shitty; feel free to correct or add more to it ^^

Now imagine this:

Damian, off somewhere in the manor but easily findable— like the library or something and talking to Danny. Like Danny just shows up and for whatever reason— only Damian can see him. (Whether this be by Danny’s design or it’s some sorta magic thing).

Well anyway, Damian and Danny are chatting and anytime someone gets close enough to try to figure out who Damian is talking to— and they see he’s literally talking to an empty room?? He glares if he spots anyone. It started around the time Bruce was stuck in the timestream. Dick chalked it up to possibly zanna or just the kid making up an imaginary friend to cope with his dad being dead. Dick absolutely mentions it to the others when it doesn’t stop AFTER Bruce is back. Hes just like “be chill guys— he’s a kid. “He’s healing after all that assassin trauma and it’s cute— let him have his friend. “

He’s the only one that Damian has told about Danny. Like basic things

“He’s very knowledgeable about the stars. He glows. You remind him of his overbearing sister.”

And dick, clearly not coping well himself, just takes it as Damian trying to bond with him and encourages him. Doesn’t say one word about this “Danny” being imaginary.

I imagine Cass is like the only one who’s managed to see Danny but knows he’s not danger and Damian likes him.

I think this overly funny reveal would just be Danny appearing in front of the others and coaxing them to go to bed or like stealing food; and they spot him; register him as either dick or Tim, like at first glance because blue eyes black hair— (Like my cousin and my sibling used to have similar shades of hair and do still have the same body figure; so like without my glasses and when I’m distracted, I absolutely will mistake one for the other.) — and then their brain is like “wait no that isn’t right” and they think they absolutely hallucinated him because he legit disappeared right in front of them.

And when it comes to the reveal of “oh yes. This is my friend. Danny.”

Everyone is collectively losing their shit because what in the hell?!? Where did this kid come from?!? How did none of them find him out?!?

[alienpossession]

Prologue of my own take for this alien story by @apushforfolly

A little bit connected to @fullfriendnerdpurse story because imagine how convenient that he used the guy I planned to use on one of his alien story, and I linked it to my early caption too that you'll find later below. Kudos to @cleanstatevessels for bugging me consistently (LOL) to fulfill my promise

Sander van Broek is a Dutch fitness model and businessman. He's a rather established name in the fitness industry and that caused him to frequently fly all over the globe for fitness expo and bodybuilding meet where he will meet old friends, build new business and personal network or sometimes speak as a panel for his experience. Due to that, Dubai become a very sensible choice of residence for him because it's practically a global hub nowadays, and he's more than lucky to have some people he knows that can show him good places to rent

Sander knew Andrei from a couple years ago as fellow fitness enthusiast. They were cordial at first, but similar type of jokes and life mindset eventually bonded the two men and they've been close friends ever since. Andrei conveniently also worked as a realtor, guess his easy-going personality and charming look proven to be helpful to close deals with the rich and wealthy. Not to mention that he's a polyglot, capable to speak Romanian (his native tongue), Spanish (his girlfriend's native tongue and still part of broader Romance language), French, Russian (language spoken by his boss in the real estate firm), English and Arabic, making him probably a great asset to attract international clientele. All the places he shown were remarkable and located in great spots, but Sander felt the prices to be a bit steep.

"Crazy view, eh? This place gets both of the best sight, and the way this room perfectly captured the sunrise and sunset, perfect righr?"

"Certainly yeah. But again, this is like the 5th place you shown me to be above my budget. I have money, but I don't think I wanna blow it for rent,"

"No worries, price is pretty much negotiable, you know. Let's talk about it while drinking in my office, shall we? We're done looking anyway,"

"How negotiable are we talking about here?"

"You'll be surprised," said Andrei with a smirk, grabbing his Ferrari key and ready to leave the unit with Sander following him closely right behind him

When they arrived in the towering glass skyscraper, Sander cannot help but look upward until his eyes blinded by the sun. Dutch might be the tallest people on Earth, but there's no such tall building in the Netherlands, that's for sure. Andrei tossed his key to the valet and strut to the lobby with confidence in his step, everyone seemed to know him just by looking at him. Well, not like you can ignore a presence like Andrei anyway, he just demanded such attention to every spaces he walked into. As the elevator flies through the floor, he just hummed casually while Sander still marveled at the whole bunch of floors they passed through and how far they are already from the ground within seconds. As the elevator dings at the 66th floor, it opens to a short hallway with lobby in the end of it. The two receptionist greeted Andrei and Sander warmly and as he stepped through the lobby area, the door behind him closed

"That's just the way it is. Don't be afraid hahah,"

"Just surprised on how loud it was, that's all,"

"Okay, you go to the 2nd room after you take left, okay? I'll be there in a sec, gotta talk to boss,"

"Sure thing,"

"Oh, and by the way, what do you want to drink?"

"Anything is fine actually. Just don't get me too drunk, we're still talking about apartment,"

"Okay, as you wished. Just wait for a sec, okay?"

"Sure bro,"

So Sander fidgeted rather awkwardly in the dimly-lit room all by himself, waiting for Andrei to come back. So that's the boss? Piotr something? Sander saw a glimpse of a man with traditional white Arab headdress, the guy is massive and he seemed like a rather stern boss. Is that guy the Russian's counterpart? He's pretty sure he heard Andrei said his boss is Russian, but that one clearly seemed like an Arab and he's pretty sure he read that "Piotr" is the one written in the gold plaque attached to the slightly opened door earlier

---

"Frankie, how's Piotr doing?"

"Still not awake and no response from his body, my Prince. Just very tense and excessively sweating. Probably the slug still trying to wrestle the control over," said the nerd from a hidden office suite right behind the bookshelves within the CEO room

"You see, Andrei? I told you, some of these guys are just not that easy to be taken over. It's beginner's luck that you got someone as massive as him as your vessel," said the Prince from his chair

"Well, clearly Piotr was not easy to be taken over. For starter, he doesn't even understand what the fuck you are saying since he only speaks Russian and here you are prancing as an Arabic prince, and two, I told you I'll take care of him. He trusted Andrei, trust means easier takeover as they won't raise their guard or being too defensive,"

"Show me then. I see you bring a fella earlier. Show me how much "trust" will help you take that guy over. I check his profile, seemed interesting,"

"Pffft, you're underestimating me, Prince Hamid. You see......*take a bottle of wine from one of the small cellar in the CEO room* *take his shorts down* *painted the glass with his black slug* it won't even take more than 5 minutes and he'll be under my control. You'll give that body up to me and the chain of command, including the fate of that dweeb, if I can prove it to you how well my method works," Andrei said as he poured the red wine into the slug-stained glass. The slug camouflaged itself by changing its color and texture to match the wine's depth of color. Mere seconds later and it seemed like it's always been red wine and nothing else ever added there.

"And if you failed?" the prince smirked

"I'll let that nerdy friend of yours used me as he pleased," Andrei hissed while looking at the nerd with disgusted look as the nerd tended to his passed out boss

"Deal. I'm inside a Prince for a reason, young man. I know what I'm doing,"

"Yeah, he's in the middle of a climax when you shot yourself into his asshole. It's not like he can fight you, he's spent. And you got that nerd helping you. Me getting inside of Andrei might be luck, but the rest of those folks you met, the people I takeover, all taken over smoothly because they never thought their own realtor turned out to be something out of this world and all of those process were hella smoother than my first takeover of this stud," Andrei said as he wipes the remnant of the cum-slug in his piss slit with his fingers, give it a delightful lick before putting on his pants back. He then strut to his office to seal the whole deal with his so-called "friend" while the Prince followed him with some distance.

----

"Hey there, sorry. Searched for some of the documents first and talked with the boss about work," said Andrei as he barged into the room where Sander already waited for him

"That's okay, is that for me?" Sander asked, his eyes eyeing the glass of wine Andrei held alongside the bottle and some papers in his other hand

"Oh yeah, for you. Sorry about that," said Andrei, a little bit forgetful about his sole goal as he played Andrei a bit too realistic sometimes while he handed over the wine glass

But instead of directly drinking it, Sander just simply put the glass on the table, which trigger raised eyebrow from Andrei

"You don't want to drink first?"

"Oh no, let's hear first about those units, and maybe if we reached a deal, I'll drink,"

"Ahh....okay *internally cursing Sander*. If that's what you want. So, basically, you can get those units with half of their prices, max,"

"What? Half?! That's so great, how the hell that happened?"

"I told them you're going to be a long-term tenant and with your job, they probably won't have to worry about the payment and all. Just basically convinced them, you know,"

"Are you playing with me right now? Is there something I have to do for them or anything? Half is crazy, bro,"

"No, I'm serious. But yeah, they wanted something. Nothing nefarious or anything, the owner of the last unit just wanted you to help by personally training their son," Andrei said, trying to hide his grin from Sander by turning his back to him and acting busy in his table

"Really? That simple? Huh well, cheers to that then," he said, instantly taking a gulp of the wine in one go due to his excitement

Not even 5 seconds later, the glass dropped to the floor as Sander's body instantly having a massive seizure. His eyes fluttered and mouth foaming like crazy as his body wriggled like a seaweed, flailing here and there purely moved by the spasm of his own body. The Prince steps into the room with his timer recorded 0:25 seconds left. Upon witnessing the state of the man he saw walked earlier, he smirked because there's no way this guy would be back to normal within seconds! But, in a plot twist the Prince didn't see coming, Sander instantly groaned when the timer left 0:08 seconds as he then stabilized and start taking normal, paused breath.

"You thought I'll fail, huh?"

The Prince just seethed in anger. The timer stops at 0:02 seconds, but promise is a promise so a black, oil-like slug gets out from the Prince's ear and then slide off to the floor. It purred upon meeting another slug that came from inside Andrei's body before heading to their respective new vessel. As both men cracked their neck upon the alien entering their brain, Sander murmured

"This guy really didn't see it coming. He simply thought he's going to die or something, that's all what I gathered from his final memory. The burst almost caused his clothes to torn apart by the way, he really likes tight clothing," He said while trying to assess and fix his tight shirt that enveloped his muscular virile form

"Well, the rest of his memories will be accessible to you for the next couple hours so you can lounge around if you want. But yeah, as I said, the owner of the unit wanted you to train their eldest son. Of course the owner is also one of us, but I guess he has that attachment issue to his human vessel or something, some of the team are watching him closely to ensure that he can serve in full capacity or else we will just abandon that old fit man. But in the meantime, I'm the one tasked to ensure we also convert his eldest son. He's based in UK, but he'll move to Dubai in the next few weeks. Since I'm no longer Andrei, you'll do the job alongside Sander, is that clear?" said the alien formerly inside Andrei that now comfortably reside inside the authoritative Prince

Both Sander and Andrei just nodded and said "okay" slowly, one still trying to adjust to a new life with a vessel and the other one still dejected that he just lost a nobility's physique. But not like any of them can say no, they understand that their mission is important to the cause.

"And now, I'm going to leave this premise and contacted HQ for update about our changes. And, let's not try to make my father's suspicious that his youngest Prince went missing for long period of time with no possible info on his whereabouts, don't want to make that old man worried sick. Let's update each other's progress a month from now, hopefully by then you two and Piotr plus the nerd have more progress in branching out, I'm the Prince after all, yall report to me,"

----

"So Mike, how do you like this condo? Your father told us to take good care of it for you. Or you want to look at some spaces to rent on your own?" said Andrei and Sander to the oblivious Mike, not knowing the fate that awaits him.....

[give-me-a-minute-to-think]

In a poetry club I attend a friend of mine wrote this poem in light of the current situation, and I wanted to share it on her behalf (translated to english with the original hebrew).

A POEM IN HEBREW / Efrat M. And the Lord shall scatter you among the nations He who shut the heavens that there be no rain And you were left forever dead and forever alone to eat by the sweat of your brow The fruit of knowledge has been bitten and you can never go back home My grandmother was born in Iraq. My family was expelled from Iran. My mother was nine months old when they fled Baghdad. My father is from Libya, his uncle was murdered in the streets. My grandfather had to leave everything he knew behind. My grandfather is from Morocco. My grandfather is from Italy. My grandfather is from Romania. My father is from France, his parents are from Morocco. Both my parents are from Syria. Both my parents are from Russia. My family is Moroccan. My family is from Egypt. My family had to live in a tent for two years. My grandmother is from Austria and Czechoslovakia. My grandparents are from Uruguay and Chile. My grandfather was born in Israel. My grandfather is from France. My great grandmother is from Poland. My great grandfather is from Yemen. My grandmother was born in Israel, but the family is originally from Libya. My grandfather is from Iraq, but the family is originally from Iran. Both my parents are Greek. Both my grandparents are Romanian. My grandfather was in a Libyan prison for five years after attempting to flee. My father is from Iraq, my mother is from Tunisia. My grandmother is from Tel Aviv, but before that from Galicia. My grandfather is from Poland. My grandmother is from Libya. My grandmother is from France. Grandfather from Tunisia. My grandfather is from Tel Aviv, but originally from Poland and Lithuania. My grandmother is from the United States, but before that from Hungary. My great grandfather is from Poland. My great grandmother is from Russia. My mother was born in Israel, her mother was born in Israel, and her parents are from Romania. My grandmother was born in Mexico, her father is from Lithuania, her mother is from Hungary. My father’s parents are from Poland. My mother's parents are from Germany and Ukraine. My mother's mother is from Hungary, my mother's father is from Romania. My father's parents are from Argentina. My great grandfather is from France, or maybe from Germany. My grandfather and his seven children fled Morocco. My father was attacked, and they decided they could not stay. My family was forced to start a life elsewhere. My grandmother fled Yemen. The date of her birth is lost to time. They arrived in Israel with nothing, everything was taken and looted and left behind. My mother tells me of Moldova When the youth movement was still called the Young Communist With her homeland spoken russian half understandable to my ears or With fluent hebrew marked by an indelible accent Even after all those years Her distasteful tone graying with age, she told me of a childhood grudge that no longer mattered No more than words, simple quiet violence Simply a teacher before a room of young students and my mother simply a child Return from whence you came Where Iscariot first betrayed with a yellow kiss To the Jewish country that was made so that We need not carry the burden of abominable life Our parents, brothers, and sisters were torn from us before our eyes Cast from yourself all delusion The rage you feel now will be with you for the rest of your life The sorrow you feel now will not fade once the rest of the world marches on This grief must be spoken We are no longer weak and defenseless And they told us go like lamb to slaughter And we didn't go Return from whence you came To your mansions in New York or New Jersey Where we can comfortably break your glass windows And spray marks of Cain onto your front doors My people Who came from nowhere and belong to no one

'שיר בעברית / אפרת מ והפיץ אלוהים אותך בעמים הוא אשר עצר את השמיים ואת המטר ונשארת לעולם מת ולעולם יחיד לאכול בזיעת אפך פרי הדעת ננגס ולעולם לא תוכל לשוב הביתה סבתי נולדה בעיראק. המשפחה שלי גורשה מאיראן. אימא שלי הייתה בת תשעה חודשים כאשר ברחו מבגדד. אבא שלי מלוב, דודו נרצח ברחובות העיר. סבי נאלץ לעזוב את כל שהוא מכיר. סבא שלי מרוקאי. סבא שלי מאיטליה. סבא שלי מרומניה. אבא שלי מצרפת, הוריו ממרוקו. שני הורי מסוריה. שני הורי מרוסיה. המשפחה שלי מרוקאית. המשפחה שלי ממצרים. המשפחה שלי חיה באוהל במשך שנתיים. סבתי מאוסטריה וצ'כיה. סבא וסבתא מאורוגוואי וצ'ילה. סבא נולד בארץ. סבא מצרפת. סבתא רבא מפולין. סבא רבא מתימן. סבתא נולדה בארץ, המשפחה במקור מלוב. סבא שלי מעיראק, המשפחה במקור מאיראן. שני הורי יוונים. סבא וסבתא רומנים. סבי היה בכלא לוב חמש שנים. אבי מעיראק, אמי מתוניסיה. סבתא מתל אביב, אך לפני זה מגליציה. סבא מפולין. סבתא מלוביה. סבתא מצרפת. סבא מתוניסיה. סבא מתל אביב, אך במקור פולין וליטא. סבתא מארצות הברית, אך לפני זה הונגריה. סבא רבא מפולין. סבתא רבא מרוסיה. אמי נולדה בארץ, אימא שלה נולדה בארץ, וההורים שלה מרומניה. סבתא שלי נולדה במקסיקו, אביה מליטא, אמה מהונגריה. ההורים של אבא מפולין. ההורים של אמא מגרמניה ואוקראינה. אמה של אמי מהונגריה, אביה של אמי מרומניה. הוריו של אבי מארגנטינה. סבא רבא מצרפת, או אולי מגרמניה. סבי ושבע ילדיו ברחו ממרוקו. אבי הותקף, והם החליטו שהם אינם יכולים להישאר. משפחתי הוכרחה להתחיל חיים במקום אחר. סבתי ברחה מתימן. תאריך יום הולדתה נאבד לזמן. הם הגיעו לישראל עם כלום, הכל נלקח ונשדד והושאר מאחור. ההקרבות והקורבנות רבים מספור. אמי מספרת לי על מולדובה כאשר תנועת הנוער עוד נקראה הקומוניסט הצעיר ברוסית מולדת החצי מובנת לאוזניי או בעברית שוטפת אך עם מבטא בלתי נמחק אפילו אחרי כל השנים בטון סלידה מזוקן משיבה היא דיברה על טינה מהילדות שכבר לא משנה לא יותר ממילים, רק אלימות שקטה רק מורה מול קהל הילדים ואמי רק תלמידה. חזרו למקום ממנו הגעתם היכן איש קריות בראשית בגד בנשיקה צהובה למדינת היהודים שנוצרה בכדי שלא נצטרך לשאת בנטל חיי תועבה לעינינו קרעו מאיתנו את הורינו, אחינו, ואחיותינו. השליכו מעליכם כל אשליה. הזעם שאתם מרגישים כעת יהיה אתכם לכל חייכם היגון שאתכם כעת לא יתפוגג אחרי ששארית העולם יצעד הלאה. התוגה הזאת אינה אילמת. כבר איננו חלשים ואיננו חסרי מגן. ויאמרו לנו לכו כצאן לטבח ולא הלכנו. חזרו למקום ממנו הגעתם לביתי התפארת בניו יורק או ניו ג'רזי שם נוכל בנוחיות לנפץ זכוכיותכם לרסס אותות קין על פתח ביתכם העם שלי הבאו מאין מקום ושייכים לאין אדם

[peakhumanbehavior]

Lycans

Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Warnings: Hurt/No comfort

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The unforgiving Romanian wind bit at your skin, and assaulted your eyes. Despite the freezing pain that coursed throughout your body you trekked on, wanting to get as far from the place you once called home

Your brain recalls the conversation you had a few hours ago, the exchange of words that ended everything

—-

Alcina, as usual, was stressing over whatever Miranda said or did that day. You swear your Lady had an unhealthy obsession with that woman

Going above and beyond to impress her but never getting the assurance she so desperately needed. It made you sick to your stomach, how could Alcina not see that Miranda doesn't care for her? That she only acknowledged her if she had something to offer?

You decided that this would be the end of it, of your precious Lady trying her best to impress that manipulative woman

But she had other beliefs

—-

"How DARE you say such a thing about Mother Miranda!?" She yelled at you with such a fierce intensity that you've only seen directed at a clumsy maid who accidentally spilled wine on her dress or when she is taunted by her brother, Lord Heisenberg

You took a deep breath in before trying again despite knowing the consequences of it

"She doesn't care for you, you need to see that-'' You tried to reason but you were cut off by a glass shattering next to your head, you turned and saw a crimson-red liquid running down the wall. She threw her favorite wine glass at you

You didn't know how to feel, no, it wasn't the first time you both got into an argument but it was the first time she had gotten so mad that she broke something, one of her favorite items at that

"She DOES care for me, you're just too IDIOTIC to see" She spat, her face that you loved to admire turned into disgust and hatred. Her hands balled up into fists

"All I want is for you to look at me the way you look at her" You whispered, hoping that it would snap some sense into her, hoping that she'd go back to the sweet, partly shy Alcina that she had met on her first day at the castle but it did the exact opposite, she was too far into Miranda's control to find reason anymore

"What makes you think that I would look at you like that? You're just a lowly maid, a toy that I can dispose of Any. Day." The venom in her voice felt like it was burning through your heart as she spat her hurtful words

You searched your mind for a reason, a reason why she would listen to you, a lowly maid that by chance caught her eye

But you couldn't, you knew there were none that wouldn't set her off even more

"I suggest you leave" Was all she said as she retreated to her vanity

You stood there for a moment before turning around and reaching for the doorknob, planning on spending the rest of the night slowly withering away

"Not to your room, leave the castle" She elaborated before you turned the knob and you froze

This was it? How could she make such a jarring decision so easily? Were all the glances sent each other's way not enough? Were the nights you spent in her quarters all for her entertainment?

You opened the door, the contrast between her warm room and the slightly cold hallways felt so much more heart-wrenching

You didn't have any belongings so you left through the front door, you quickly shut it once you were outside. Knowing the risks of letting the cold inside, you wouldn't want her to have another reason to hate you

You could barely see, the wind too strong for you to properly see in front of you and it being night didn't help. You knew of the stories, of the monsters in the woods, you knew maids who didn't return from their trips to the village if they took too long

You knew that you'd come to the same fate soon but you had nowhere to go, no one to turn to for help so you walked, and walked and walked

Walked through the forest, through the quiet town, and around the fields

—-

You sat down, finally finding a little shelter that would keep you from getting hit by the winds directly but wouldn't save you from lurking monsters searching for food

You closed your eyes before opening them abruptly when you heard something. There, you saw a pair of glowing eyes staring back at you, then another and another

You knew your time had come and you couldn't fight it

You closed your eyes, thinking about your life before this night

—-

Miranda watched on as the Lycans had their meal then vanished, a smile on her face

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[layla4567]

OPLA MEN WITH A SPANISH SPEAKER READER (Female)

Feat Mihawk, Shanks and Buggy

This is purely self-indulgent sorry not sorry 👀

warnings: a little suggestive

MIHAWK

🌹 Honestly, he wasn't surprised when he heard you speak Spanish. You were in his castle sitting in the armchair reading while you had a cup of tea, he was doing the same thing near you only he had opted for a glass of wine. You could only hear the fire crackling in the fireplace, the silence was so quiet that your voice could be heard loud and clear. You were reading a book in Spanish and in a low voice you murmured the phrases you read. Your voice was just a whisper soft and delicate enough to cover a child, yet Mihawk heard it and raised an eyebrow, momentarily taking his eyes off his book with slight curiosity to look at you.

🌹 You were very focused on reading, your eyes slowly scanned the pages from left to right while your lips moved as if you were praying. The only thing that caught the warlord's attention was that you were reading in a low voice. Being such a cultured man, he was quite knowledgeable about different languages, he himself spoke Romanian, and Mihawk had already heard you without wanting to speak in your language when one day you had slightly cut your calf with his sword when you tried to grab it and you had let out a expletive in spanish

🌹 "My dear, you don't need to mumble to read a book, did you know that?" He said with his gaze on his own book. You raised your head from your book, looking at him surprised and blushing with embarrassment. He wasn't looking at you but you knew he was paying attention to your reaction, watching you through his peripheral vision. You hid in your red book again, with shame. You didn't want to bother him, you knew that he appreciated silence above many things, but sometimes you couldn't help but read quietly, you felt that this way you remembered the plot better and lived it with more intensity. But not only that embarrassed you, but the fact that he had heard you speak Spanish, you weren't stupid, you knew that he had already heard you before. You still remember that time when he scolded you for trying to hold his sword and you let out a "Mierda" when you cut your leg. Obviously he had heard you say that but he hid it pretty well, and you didn't know why he downplayed it and wasn't surprised.

🌹 What you didn't know is that he knew how to speak more languages. He had never mentioned it before so you didn't know this fact. Since you loved to read, you felt great security being in the castle library, so I took refuge there several times in a row to read your favorite books, which were always in Spanish because you felt more comfortable reading in your own language. One afternoon Dracule entered the library to read just like you and when he saw you he stopped dead, you were there again reading in a low voice. He pretended that it bothered him that you murmured but internally he found it adorable how your mouth moved and your eyes ran over the pages of the books. He grabbed a book from a shelf and walked up behind you. “What are you reading, darling?” His deep voice surprised you so you looked up and met his yellow eyes, Mihawk swore he could become weak if you gave him that doe look and from that angle. "Oh it's called "100 años de soledad" It's about a family that lives in an isolated town called Macondo without having contact with anyone." Dracule Mihawk raised an eyebrow intrigued "I'll have to read it someday then" And then he sat down in an armchair to read. He could have gone somewhere else but you had the habit of reading together, even if he didn't say it or show he appreciated your company.

🌹 He wanted to continue reading but you couldn't help but stop reading and look at him, he was focused on his own book. You knew this would upset him but you had to ask him "Mihawk… why aren't you surprised that I speak Spanish?" You said shyly. He looked at you slowly and sighed, "Did you want me to be surprised?" He seemed to dodge the question with indifference and a slight degree of irritation "No but… it's just that… I almost never speak Spanish" He sighed long "Little bird, you haven't discovered America, I also know how to speak other languages" This made you go down. your book completely rested on your lap, you looked at him really amazed "Wait, what? Why didn't you ever tell me?" "For the same reason that you never told me that you spoke Spanish, I don't like to talk about myself." Yes, since you knew him he has always been very secretive about his personal life and he knew you well enough to know that you were the same.

🌹 The days passed and you tried to find out what languages ​​he knew how to speak. You imagined the most "exotic" ones you could think of: Russian, Japanese, French, etc. Even, why not? Maybe he also spoke Spanish. Your mission from now on was to follow him closely to get information from him.

🌹 You obviously failed. His lips were sealed like a tomb. "If you want to know more about me, you'll have to try harder than that" He told you one day, and you listened to him. Your strategy was to always be as close to him as possible and listen carefully. Just listen in silence, stealthy like a little mouse

🌹 Until the day arrived, slowly but surely. One morning Mihawk was looking for his cross that he had taken out the night before and now he couldn't find it. Then he quietly muttered some words that you didn't know the meaning of but that sounded similar to Russian or German. You tried to hide your excitement by simply glancing at him out of the corner of your eye and smiling slightly even though inside you were doing the victory dance.

🌹 One afternoon you couldn't help it and you asked him what language he had spoken that morning "Please just tell me" You said pleadingly to which he rolled his eyes. But you insisted so much, giving him pouts or puppy eyes that he responded, "It was Romanian, now will you leave me alone?" Smiling happily, you jumped and gave him a hug and you didn't care that he didn't return it, your satisfaction was greater.

🌹 You never knew how, but the following weeks you insisted that he teach you some words in Romanian (and other languages) and you taught him some in Spanish (although he already had a slight knowledge of that language, it was good for him to reinforce it) "Repeat, ingerul meu" He said. You repeated the phrase slowly. "What does it mean?" You asked, he approached your ear "My angel" And then you blushed and smiled. Other times you two competed to see who could seduce the other better or which language was the most romantic. It was a constant teasing where none of you gave up.

SHANKS

⛵ You had joined his crew a long time ago and the pirates, including Shanks himself, already thought they knew everything about you, except that you knew how to speak Spanish.

⛵ You were coincidentally on the island one day along with the crew, you and Shanks had disembarked to buy supplies. You had separated to buy some trinkets at a nearby stall, large and pleasant, it was your surprise when the saleswoman spoke Spanish just like you, so you got involved in a pleasant conversation while you bought what you wanted. When the red-haired pirate finished buying everything, he turned smiling in your direction and realized that you were talking animatedly with a saleswoman, but what caught his attention the most was that you were speaking in another language.

⛵ The closer he got to you, the louder he heard your conversation, but he still didn't understand a word. Even so, he did not overlook how delicious and seductive your voice sounded speaking that language unknown to him, it almost made him purr.

⛵ He took a few more steps towards you and was soon standing next to you, when he immediately approached the saleswoman and you fell silent. "How are you, ladies? What were you talking about?" He asked curiously, raising an eyebrow. “Oh nothing, girl stuff.” The two of you said in unison, smiling goofily.

⛵ Upon returning to the ship, Shanks had not forgotten your little conversation out there a few minutes ago. And every time you were concentrating on doing something he would look at you smiling flirtatiously until you realized and when you looked at him he would pretend to look away.

⛵ Your melodious and sweet voice still resonated in his mind as if he were listening to you all the time. He would never have guessed that you were bilingual and he wondered why you hadn't mentioned it before, but now it didn't matter, he respected your secrets and was more than happy to have had the opportunity to listen to you. And of course he wouldn't tell anyone that he had heard you, he wanted to have the honor of being the only one who could hear your honeyed voice speaking another language.

⛵ But of course he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to find out a little more about that, without pressuring you, of course. One hot afternoon where you were sitting on a barrel fanning yourself with your hand, the red-haired pirate had sat near you on another barrel and with an alcoholic drink in his hand. Shanks began testing the waters. "So don't you want to tell me what you and the saleswoman were talking about the other day?" You felt a little embarrassed when he mentioned that, you didn't think he would still remember "I already told you, girl things…" You smiled, rolling your eyes slightly. Shanks laughed, taking a sip of the drink. "Oh yeah, of course. Although I didn't know that girl things were talked about in another language." Your jaw dropped slightly and you opened your eyes wide, looking at him to which he let out a laugh, before That you could say anything he responded "Don't worry gorgeous, I won't say anything, your secret is safe with me." You knew he wouldn't say anything but you still didn't feel comfortable knowing that someone had heard you speaking in your native language.

⛵ The days passed and the pirate kept his promise and didn't say anything, even so you felt somewhat embarrassed now that your secret had come to light. One afternoon you were leaning against the railing of the ship staring at the horizon with a frown but your mind was far away from there. The red-haired man had come out to get some air on the deck and when he saw you standing there he decided to approach. Seeing that you didn't even turn to look at him and seeing your worried face he asked "Hey doll, what's wrong?" He said slightly worried. You sighed "I don't know, I don't know what to think about you now knowing that I can speak Spanish" Shanks raised his eyebrows, so that's what it was, Spanish. "It's not that I didn't trust you, but I would have preferred it not to be known." Shanks smiled sideways and moved closer to you. "Listen, I'm not going to ask you why you don't want to speak your native language, but I swear you don't have to be ashamed of it. nothing. In fact I'm kind of envious of you, you know?" You looked at him with a hint of hope and warmth at his words. He hugged you and you put your head on his chest "You don't know how pleasant it was to hear you talk like that, I wish I could always listen to you. It was sexy" You let out giggles against his torso and you could feel him smile as he kissed your hair.

⛵ You felt a little better now and you really wanted to thank Shanks for not judging you and being understanding. At first you thought about speaking in Spanish with him but then you remembered that he wouldn't understand you at all. You were wracking your brain trying to think of a suitable outfit for him when he came into your room announcing that dinner was ready. Seeing you sitting there thoughtfully, he smiled and asked you what you were doing. "I uhh.. I was trying to think of giving you something for not telling my secret.." You said blushing. He laughed and crouched down to be at your height "You don't have to give me anything sweetie, just seeing you every day makes me fine" You smiled shyly but you really wanted to give him something, even if it was your words "But you know, I was thinking that maybe I could speak in Spanish… just for you. I know you're not going to understand me but since you said you liked it" Shanks smiled warmly, nodding "I think it's perfect, dove"

⛵ And so every time you were alone you would tell stories to Shanks, sometimes they were banal and irrelevant things like a pretty dress you had seen in a store or an exotic bird you had seen in a tree. But seeing your wide smile and your face lighting up were the most precious treasure for him, much more than him One Piece. It was true, he didn't understand anything you were saying but seeing you so happy talking about what you were passionate about made him smile and sigh while he felt his heart burst out of his chest. But one day you decided that he deserved to understand you, although he insisted that it wasn't necessary and he didn't care. You got to work and taught him everything you knew. For him it was a tender gesture that you went out of your way to teach a pirate like him the art of your language. They were arduous days where you found small breaks to teach him. "Come on, you can do it, repeat after me: Barco" He was pouting like a child "Ok but only if I can get a kiss" He smiled flirtatiously and cheekily. Weeks later he spoke the language quite well and was able to follow your conversations at ease, he felt as if he had discovered a new world full of possibilities. You two were on the deck holding each other. "Guess what new word I learned today?" He told you. "What is it?" He kissed you on the lips and then said "Te amo"

BUGGY

🎪 When he heard you speak Spanish for the first time he thought you were speaking in Chinese, he didn't understand a single word you were saying. You were quietly reviewing what you had to do in the next performance so that you wouldn't forget.

🎪 He slowly approached you without you realizing it. His face expressed confusion and extreme astonishment. He walked towards you like a zombie with languid steps, as if he were in some kind of trance. He just couldn't believe you were speaking another language.

🎪 You kept saying words that were incomprehensible and made no sense to him. Until you finished and turned around only to see Buggy standing near you like a fool. "Hello Buggy, is something wrong?" You said smiling. He blinked several times before answering, "A moment ago you were speaking another language, wha-what was it?" You were a little surprised that he listened to you. "Spanish why?" Buggy did not hide his surprise by raising his eyebrows, but then he made a movement with his hand, dismissing it. "Oh, for nothing. Keep rehearsing, I want my star to shine brighter than ever today."

🎪 The days passed and in each rehearsal you unconsciously went over your steps, always in a low voice and in your native language. And Buggy couldn't help but listen to you. First he was staring at you dumbfounded with his chin resting on his hand trying to figure out what the hell you were saying. But then came the anger for not understanding a single word you say.

🎪 And since Buggy is quite irritable, his bad mood did not go away immediately, on the contrary, it continued for weeks. He couldn't stand knowing that you spoke another language and he didn't, he felt useless. He wanted to understand you because he was genuinely curious about you but it was terribly difficult for him to retain a phrase or word that came out of your mouth.

🎪 The pirate clown became more surly and spent several hours in his dressing room without speaking to anyone. At first you didn't give it any importance since you thought it was one of his typical tantrums, but his distant attitude continued for longer than usual so you got worried. Had he gotten angry with someone from the circus? Had you done something wrong? There was only one way to find out.

🎪 So that night you sneaked into his dressing room, opening the door slowly to show your face. You saw him sitting with his back to you, he had his hat in his hands twisting it furiously, it seemed like he wanted to eat it. "Why she can speak another language and I can't?" He sputtered, chewing the words.

🎪 You walked in, clearing your throat and saying his name cautiously. When he heard you he jumped in his seat and turned quickly to look at you. "Oh y/n! I didn't hear you come in." You apologized and asked him what was wrong, he frowned and turned around "Nothing, nothing's wrong with me. Why do you think something's wrong with me?" His anger was so evident and he made so little effort to hide it that you couldn't help but smile in amusement. You knew that he wouldn't say anything if you didn't pressure him a little, but always with delicacy and kindness. You stood in front of him and squatted down to look him in the eyes. "Come on, Buggy, I know there's something wrong with you, and I'm afraid it has to do with me. Did I do something to upset you?" You said a little distressed. Buggy opened his eyes wide and looked at you as if it were the first time, he realized his sadness and said in a softer voice "No, it's not that, it's just…" He covered his face with his hands, sighing "It's your native language" You furrowed your brow in confusion but he didn't let you speak "I think I'm…jealous that you know a language that I don't" You relaxed your face and smiled in relief, phew, it was just that. You grabbed the clown's wrists and pulled them away from his face "Buggy dear, if it was just that you could have told me. If you want I can teach you to speak Spanish" Upon hearing that Buggy's face lit up slightly "Would you really do that for me? " You smiled and kissed his nose "For you, whatever you want."

🎪 From that day on every night you sneaked into Buggy's dressing room to teach him Spanish. It was hard work. Buggy seemed like a small child who had a tantrum every time he made a mistake about something, and if he didn't understand he would get frustrated and kick the ground. Rolling your eyes several times and gathering patience, you taught him everything you could, but from time to time you had to play the role of "strict teacher" and scolded him when he became a brat.

🎪 As Buggy slowly learned, he was as enthusiastic as if he were 7 years old. There were still words that he didn't know how to pronounce well and when he said them out loud with complete certainty, thinking that he was saying them correctly, you couldn't help but laugh. Even the other members of the circus, although they didn't know what the clown was saying, laughed anyway, causing him to get angry, but then you calmed him down by kissing him on the cheek. Other times Buggy would get into flirty or horny mode and want you to teach him more bawdy or lewd words. Which he achieved by touching your thighs and sitting you on his lap when he was on the throne.

for my gente latino

[mochie85]

Smut prompts “Show me how much you need me.” and “Hands behind your back.” Please for my baby Bucky ❤️ Love youuuu and thank youuuu

Brut Gold - Chapter 2 Rosaline & Bucky

1K Celebration Masterlist Brut Gold Masterlist Complete Masterlist

Summary: Of all the clubs to go to for your Bachelorette Party, you had to go to Thor's, your former lover. But you didn't know it was his, and when Bucky finds out, he tries to make you forget about him completely. Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Female Reader/OFC Word Count: Over 3.5K Warnings: Mentions of killing, language Steve Rogers wouldn't approve of, jealous Bucky (let's face it, that's a warning), praise and degradation kink, oral, P in V, rough sex. A/N: I want to thank @springdandelixn for this request and for being so patient with me while I write this. And I want to thank both her and @michelleleewise for being my BETA reader on it. Also, I'd like to thank @thalzr for helping me with some of the Romanian translations. Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Dugan walked down the hall toward James’ office. The classic Rococo furniture contrasted with what the newer generation of the family preferred. But they would never change it. Because what the Barnes family loved more than their outdated furniture was tradition.

They were immutable. The habit of the institution was ingrained into them as young as five years old. For James “Bucky” Barnes- probably younger because he was set to inherit the family business.

Dugan walked in as a lifeless body was being dragged out. The face was unrecognizable as the only feature standing out was a backward initial ‘J.B.’ imprinted on the man’s cheek.

Steve nodded as he saw Dugan approach. He held out his hands towards him in greeting. “Dugan, how are you, my man? Or should I still call you DumDum?” Steve chuckled.

James was watching through the window’s reflection as smoke from his cigar blew out from his thin lips. His other hand, adorned with bloodied rings, nursed a half-filled glass of bourbon.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, Rogers? I was four!” Bucky said talking to Steve’s reflection.

“And you’ve been calling him that ever since.” Dugan smiled wearily as he took Steve’s hand and greeted him. He didn’t want to end up like the faceless man that was dragged out moments before.

“Why are you here?” Bucky asked him suspiciously. “You were supposed to be watching the bachelorette party.” He turned around, looking straight at Dugan.

“Bucky, you’re not gonna like this,” Dugan answered, looking sideways at Steve.

“Where’s my fiancé, Dugan?” James asked level toned. Dugan took a moment to decide which information he should start with first. “WHERE IS SHE?!” Bucky yelled and Dugan flinched.

“She went into Odinson territory. Got into one of his clubs. I could only watch from the border. I left Junior behind to watch and inform me when she and her friends come out.”

“You left the protection of floricica mea to a greenie? WHY WAS SHE EVEN FUCKING THERE?!”

“Buck, I’m sorry. I tried…” Dugan started. Bucky grabbed his collar and pushed him up against the wall.

“And if something happens to her, Dugan? If she gets kidnapped? What happens? Will you be sorry then too?” Bucky let go of his shirt. “Go back and tell me as soon as she comes out. Grab the entire party and send them home. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, boss,”

“Bring Rose and Lia here!”

“Yes, boss,” Dugan quickly accepted his command and left. Bucky was seething. He knew of your history with the older Odinson brother. Why the fuck would you go there?

“Buck, I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Steve tried to placate him. “Maybe she didn’t know.”

Bucky contemplated, then sighed. “No. That’s bullshit. She knows the boundaries, at least.” He downed the rest of his whiskey and slammed it on his desk reaching for the decanter. Steve watched him from the corners of his eyes as he sipped his drink slowly. He knew Bucky could be temperamental…at best. You were an angel for having fallen in love with him.

“Buck, she’s madly in love with you. YOU! You crazy, fucked-up psycho. She’s a saint for doing so. And for all you know, it could’ve been Lia who suggested it. She wouldn’t know where the borders are.”

“Lia can be rebellious,” Bucky noted.

“She’s naïve. Which in our line of work, can be dangerous.” Steve answered back.

“She didn’t grow up in the life.”

“Does she know? That you’re…about your family business?” Steve waved his fingers around.

“If she doesn’t, I think she suspects. She’s smart. Or Rose told her. They tell each other everything.”

“That whole family has brains. How’d you manage to snag Strange’s daughter anyway?” Steve asked finishing his drink. “Does that mean The Hospital isn’t neutral anymore?”

“Strange won’t let me anywhere near The Hospital unless I’m on my deathbed.”

“Hmm.” Steve nodded, knowing he wouldn’t get any more info other than that from his long-time friend.

You stepped out into the cold evening air, a slight breeze chilling the night. Bucky was not gonna like this. If you learned anything by now, you knew that Dugan had sent word to him that your bachelorette party wandered into Odinson territory and that he would be furious.

You didn’t know this was one of Thor’s clubs. You just followed your bridesmaid’s lead, talking about a brand-new spot that was trending. The lot of you had gone from one bar to another. Always within James’s borders of protection. You tried to steer the party back, but your cousin, Lia wanted to see it. Lord knows you can’t say no to her and her damn puppy eyes.

You thought it would be ok, one quick drink and lay low so you don’t gather attention. It wasn’t until you saw Lia kissing Loki Odinson, of all people, that you realized you were going to be in trouble.

You walked out onto the breezy summer night and before Lia could step foot on the concrete, Junior had already come up to you and your friends.

“Ma’am,” was all he said.

“He’s not happy, isn’t he?” you asked quietly.

“No, he’s not,” Dugan answered from behind Junior. “He’s furious.”

“I’m sorry Duggy. I didn’t know,” you said out of earshot from your friends. You were the only one who could call him that and make it sound endearing. You tried to channel Lia and gave him your sweetest puppy-eyed face.

“Well maybe you can get away with that, but I can’t. C’mon, he wants you guys to end the night,” Dugan ordered, motioning you guys back to two large SUV’s waiting on the curb.

In all honesty, you were glad that the night was ending. Aside from Lia, everyone there just tolerated you. They were there because your fiancé was “Bucky” Barnes and wanted to make advantageous connections with his future wife. They weren’t there for you.

After dropping the two of you off at Bucky��s house, Dugan set off to drop off the rest of your bachelorette party. Holding your hand, Lia followed you down the hall into James’ grand office. She gave your hand a heartfelt squeeze. Making sure you were all right.

“I’m sorry, Rose. Did I get us in trouble?”

“No. No, it’s all right,” you squeezed her hand back. “Even if Bucky is mad, what’s he gonna do? We didn’t do anything wrong.” You put on a brave face. You knew what kind of temper he had. It was never directed at you, but you’ve heard the cries of the men that have wronged him. He tried to shield you the best he could, but you were around it all your life. Especially since your father was the neutral doctor for all the families.

The scent of fresh cedar and tobacco hit your senses as soon as you entered his office. You froze for a half second. A habit you did involuntarily whenever you saw James. Not because you were frightened, but because his presence, his undeniable charisma always made you pause.

Lia walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. She held his hand and whispered, not too quietly, “Be nice. Or I’ll have to hurt you!”

“I’m always nice!” Bucky played offended. “C’mon. Have I ever not been nice?” he lovingly touched her nose with the tip of his finger and Lia giggled. You were so happy that they got along. Lia was hesitant about him at first, but she saw how you looked at him with love and devotion in your eyes. She saw how happy you were and how much you were yourself whenever you were around Bucky.

Most importantly, she saw how completely and madly in love Bucky was with you. How he would move heaven and earth for you to be happy. That was what won her over.

“Rogers, why don’t you take Lia here for a walk in the gardens? I need to speak to my future wife,” James calmly ordered. Both Steve and Lia looked at you. Worry and wistful glee warring on their faces. Steve held out his arms and Lia took them. Their footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors as they left the room.

A quietly charged moment went by, and all James had done was stare at you. The deep-set brows on his face downturned in anger. Or worry? Neither was good when it came to Bucky.

You crossed the small space in between you and placed your hands on his chest. He lifted his head and looked down at you. His devastating features only got more handsome as he tried to be indifferent and stoic. His jaw was set, his nose flared and his eyes narrowed at the innocent cherubic features you were trying to portray.

His fingers grabbed your chin gently and forced you to look into his eyes. “Of all the places, Roza, why his?!” You heard his deep Romanian accent come forth. A shiver ran down your body, making your stomach curl in desire. His accent was only obvious when he felt a deep emotion. You recounted all the times that voice came out in the throws of passion as he took you over and over again.

“I didn’t know, Bucky. Honestly. I was just following the girls. They wanted to try out a new place. Some place they hadn’t been before, and I was just catching up with Lia. I didn’t notice that we had gone into Odinson territory. Or that Dugan had stopped following us.” You caressed your hands up and down his chest.

“HIS PLACE, ROSE?! Of all the clubs it was his place!” he held on to your hands and stopped your caress.

“Bucky! It’s over. You know that it is. He never loved me. Not like you!”

“Oh, don’t start comparing me to that bastard!” he let go of your hands and moved away in anger.

“It’s true!” you yelled out. “I was just something to pass the time for him. I…”

“Do you think that makes me feel any better?”

“Let me finish!” You stomped your foot. Bucky picked up his glass of whiskey and threw it against the wall from your opposite direction. You didn’t let it faze you as you slowly walked over to him. His anger dissipated with your every step. “He didn’t mean anything to me either Bucky. He was a tool. To anger my father. But you…you are the love of my life. The one I chose to spend the rest of my life with. I hadn’t even thought about him until tonight when I found out where we were.” You said placing your hands in soothing circles over his chest.

“Did you see him tonight?” he snarled.

“No.” You answered looking into his eyes so he would know you weren’t lying.

“Did he see you?”

“I honestly don’t know. I was too busy dancing with Lia.” You tried to give him your best apologetic face. You peppered small kisses onto his cheek and made your way to his lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, wanting him to open up and kiss you back. “What can I do to prove to you that I love you, dragostea meu, my love?”

Bucky stood there stubborn, yet slowly losing his resolve. Your soft lips on any part of his skin always excited him. “No one makes me weak like you do,” he said grabbing your waist. “Or so fucking angry!” James growled at the last word.

He pushed you up against his desk. The familiar cold mahogany sends chills up your skin as he picks you up by your waist and sits you down. He pulls up his chair and sits. He lounges in it with a slight swivel as his eyes travel the length of your body. He spreads his legs, showcasing the hard bulge he’s been trying to conceal.

“James, I really am sorry…”

“Shh. Spread them for me, sweetheart. One leg on each armrest,” he commanded as he scoots closer. You quietly and slowly open your legs and lean back as you placed your strappy heels on the armrest of his chair. The hem of your dress rides further up your waist and you almost whimper from his stare. That hungry look in his eyes, as if he found something he would kill for. Something he would die for.

“You’re so beautiful spread out for me like this Roza. Ready and willing.” He traced his fingers on the outside of your calves. His warm lips pushed against your supple thighs, slowly inching closer and closer to where you wanted him most.

“Tell me, Roza, did he ever worship you like this?” his nose grazed against the hood of your clit, sending shivers throughout your body. His tongue traced the seam of your panties and made you open wider. “Answer me, sweetheart.” He grabbed you and pulled you closer to his face. He looked up at you, but your head was thrown back in ecstasy, savoring him between your legs.

“N-no. Never,” you gasped as his mouth latched on to your sensitive nub. The thin fabric of your panties stopped his tongue from entering further. You pushed yourself closer to him. But he held you still, teasing you, knowing you wanted more.

“Mmm. This little number you have on is beautiful. Did I buy this for you?” you shook your head no. He traced his fingers on the gusset of your panties and pulled to a snap. You yelped in slight shock, more than pain. “Hmm. And these shoes?” Bucky asked as his hands pulled your panties off and traveled the length of your legs down to your ankles.

“I bought them, baby.” You answered. Bucky stood up slowly and leaned over you on the desk. He trapped you in between his muscular frame as he looked down at your lips. He kissed you fervidly. All teeth and tongue, leaving you gasping for air. His lips roamed down to your collar, and he bit the chain hanging on your neck.

“And this? Who bought this?” he said licking the bruise he just made.

“I did.” You answered. “I bought it for myself.”

“So you don’t need anyone, do you floricica mea? You certainly don’t need that low-life prick who couldn’t even bother to get on his knees and worship you like the goddess you are.” His head dipped lower, trailing his tongue in between your breasts. “Which means you don’t need me either, do you?”

“No, I don’t need you.” You whispered. Bucky paused and stared deep into your eyes. He started pulling away, but you grabbed his face between your hands and pulled it back up to yours. “I don’t need you. Or your money.” You brushed your lips against his. “But I want you. I want you Bucky Barnes! In every way and in every chance I get.” You kissed him, sucking on his top lip, as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

You reached for his belt, undoing the fastening and making quick work of his zipper. Your hand brushed up against his hard length, feeling him throb through his boxers. Your mouth salivated at the thought of his arousal.

“Do you see what you do to me, Roza?”

“Oh, Bucky…” you whimpered as you pushed him back down to his office chair. He grunted when he hit the cushion and you swiftly placed yourself in between his legs. He stared up at you with ravenous eyes, licking his lips as he watched you lower yourself onto your knees. “Let me prove to you how much I want you.”

Bucky leaned forward to capture your lips. Your fingers unbuttoned his shirt one by one tracing the hard muscle underneath. You dipped your fingers under the hem of his boxers and pulled them down, his large erection springing free from the tight confines of his pants. He groaned as you fisted him, your fingers barely closing around his large girth.

You licked the tip, tasting him. “Fuck,” he growled as his head rolled back. You continued to give him small licks, kissing and sucking down the length of his cock. Your hand moved to a rhythmic pace as you softly bit the base of his shaft, sending bolts of pleasure up his spine. You licked your way back up to the end and swallowed his tip. You could see his knuckles clenched and white on the armrest of the chair.

“Don’t tease me now. Show me how much you need me. How much you want me.” He said, one hand holding the side of your face. You moaned, opening your mouth wider and sticking your tongue out further. You took him in slowly. Inch by inch until his cock hit the back of your throat. “Look at me while you suck my cock.”

You looked up to see his gorgeous face curled in pleasure. Your eyes watering as he slowly pushed deeper into your throat making you gag. He pulled out slowly, savoring your lips around his girth. “Fuck,” he panted as he saw himself coated in your saliva. “That’s a good girl.” He thrust back into your mouth. “A good fuckin’ girl.”

You continued to bob your head up and down. Your hand worked in tandem with your mouth. All you could hear was the gulp and swallow of your mouth mixed with Bucky’s shameless, feral moans. Even after holding the base of his cock, he felt heavy in your mouth as you dragged him faster and faster through your lips.

“St-stop,” he whimpered into the air. But you kept going. “Stop, Rose.” But you couldn’t. He chuckled at your eagerness. With one hand on your head, he pulled you off his hard cock as it bounced back toward his stomach. “Naughty little Roza” He smiled as he pulled your hair up to look at him. “I didn’t know I was going to marry such a slut.”

His words sent a chill throughout your body. He always danced that fine line between praise and degradation that always made you weak. “Bucky,” you whined.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. You need my cock inside you, don’t you?” You nodded as you turned your head licking his wrist that was holding your hair. “Stand by my desk and bend over for me. Hands behind your back.” He commanded.

You quickly complied, moving to stand by his desk and bend over it. You spread your legs apart putting most of your weight on the desk. The cold mahogany felt like ice against your heated face. You placed your hands behind your back and slowly pulled your dress up, showing him your dripping cunt. You heard the sound of his buckle as he stood. “You’re such a good little slut for me aren’t you?” Bucky slid two of his fingers through your folds, teasing you.

“Only for you, Bucky.”

“Only for me,’ she says.” There was an edge to his voice that made you nervous.

“Only you.” You repeated.

“Oh, floricica mea, you have no idea what I would do for you.” He spanked your ass, causing you to cry out in shock. He grabbed both of your wrists in one of his hands and secured them on your back. With his other hand, he lined up his cock at your entrance.

“You have no idea what I would do to anyone who ever touched you,” he slammed into your heated core making both of you cry out at the same time. Bucky bent over you, his hot breath tickling your ear as he said, “You are mine, Rosaline,” he growled. “MINE. I’m gonna make sure you forget that he ever existed.” He slammed further against you making you scream. A gargled plea between pain and pleasure.

Bucky stood back up and began thrusting his hips inside you. “…Ohfuck…God Bucky!...”

“That’s it, baby girl, say my name.”

“…B-bu…” you panted. With every thrust, every push, you felt the weight of his large cock pressing inside you. “…bucky…youfeelsogood…so good baby…” He took you hard and rough, keeping your chest pressed down onto the desk.

“You like that, sweetheart? You like my hard cock inside that tight pussy of yours?” he asked out of breath. You nodded your head, unable to make any coherent words other than grunts and moans. “Then say my name,” he growled.

“Bucky! yesyesyes…oh!Bucky…” You screamed over and over again. Every thrust had you yelling his name until it was the only thing you could say. Your legs started shaking. He could feel you squeeze him hard, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

“Give it to me baby. Come all over my cock.” And with his words, you screamed out the pleasure that he built up in your body. Bucky grunted as he stilled inside you. “Squeeze me harder, baby.” And somehow you obeyed as incoherent as you were.

When Bucky finished inside you, he pulled out slowly, watching his spent drip down your thighs. “Can you walk baby girl?” he said massaging your shoulders as you stood up slowly. You had a dazed look in your eyes as you shook your head. He picked you up bridal style and carried you down the hall to your bedroom. You giggled and made small love bites on his neck. “Just as well. I’m not finished with you yet.”

⬅️Brut Gold: Chapter 1 | Brut Gold: Chapter 3 (Coming Soon)➡️

A/N: This is part of my 1K Follower Celebration and also part of @the-slumberparty April Challenge: Mob AU.

🏷️ @emarich7 @coldnique @vickie5446 @psychospore @mukagentropy @lokisgoodgirl @silverfire475 @fictive-sl0th @springdandelixn @wheredafandomat @goldencherriess @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallows @irishhappinesss @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @tallseaweed @gigglingtigger @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @splendidreads

[cevans-is-classic]

"Your hair is getting longer." You ran your hands through the locks, little slivers of gray catching the light.

His finger traced the line of your kneecap, dragging over a scar you're not sure you know the story of.

Maybe a childhood thing? Fell off the monkey bars or scrap it on a tree, maybe. Did you climb trees as a kid?

Seb hummed, moving his head to look up at you, "Yeah, growing it out for Bucky."

That makes sense.

Bucky had good hair. Oily hair.

You contemplate your next words but decide to land at, "That's hot."

He snorts, rolling back over to bury his face in your thigh and ignoring the cackle you let out.

It'd be raining all day for the last three days and the air outside had a humid heat that made it difficult to breathe. The two of you decided to stay inside — lounge around half the day and get some work done the rest.

That lasted for about one day before Seb declared feeling restless and needed to move. He went to the kitchen, paused, looked up the stairs, went back into the kitchen then out, and decided on working out for a few hours.

You'd brought your laptop into the spare room to body double and realized that instead of editing any photos, you spent hours watching him — sweat.

Maybe more than sweat, the man was a walking Romanian God (despite what he says. It doesn't matter.) Ogling him turned into fondling him which turned into being fucked against the wall of the gym wondering if you could spend your days tasting his skin.

Who could blame you — it's Sebastian.

Which meant for the last three days any work you were supposed to get done got pushed to the back burner for the opportunity to glue your eyes to Sebastian or the TV — with him splayed across your lap.

It wasn't a bad thing, except for your photographer who trusted you.

You still had Sebastian wrapped around you with sleepy eyes and a warm smile.

Your photographer would understand.

They like Seb.

He stretched, "You want to watch another movie?" Seb kissed your thigh, sending a zing of adrenaline through your body.

"Sure what are you thinking?"

"Something light-hearted." Kiss, "Maybe a comedy," another kiss, "You're obsessed with that Pedro guy, how about one of his movies." A nip of teeth, and you gasped.

"Or," He kissed your thigh, moving slowly, his hand following the path as he turned onto his stomach and slid off the couch, "We could have an early lunch."

You gasp when he nuzzles you, his nose pressing in, the thin material of your shorts warming as he breathes against you.

"I was thinking we could watch a buddy comedy-" Seb trailed his fingers up your legs to the waist of your shorts and gave a little tug until you lifted your hips and helped him pull them down.

He left your underwear where it was but pulled you closer to him.

"Which one?"

His fingers traced you, stroking up and down, dipping in enough to make you squirm, then back out, "Baby."

"Ah-" He moved them to the side and slowly slipped his fingers inside, spreading them, curling them, starting a slow stroke.

"What are you thinking?"

You hiss a moan in response.

"Baby, I need you to use your words."

"I — shit — uh — Superbad." Bill Hader's glasses popped into your head, which distracted you from him, slipping two more fingers in, and Seb huffed when you yelped in surprise.

"I could be down with that." He pressed the hell of his hand against you, "What about that Seth Rogen movie, uh, oh, Sausage Party?"

You gasped, jerked, almost hitting him with your knee, "Too crude. It's a slow day — the movie doesn't fit the vibe."

He hummed again.

Both of you focused on his fingers, the prodding curl, how he spread them out and made a hissing noise when it squelched.

"Damn, baby. Talking movies riles you up-"

"Now and then-" you gasp. Your thighs were shaking, quivering, that tell-tale pressure building behind your belly button and up your thighs.

"The movie or your reaction?' His thumb pressed down on your clit and your skin felt electric.

"The movie. Instead of come-oh-comedy we do feel good."

"Yeah," Your breathing picked up more, "You want to feel good?"

"Yes." Pant.

"Want both of us to feel good?"

Pant, twitch, "Yes."

"What about-"

Your hand reached out, grabbed his wrist, back arching off the couch as you came. Seb's fingers deep inside you and his breath against your neck as he tugs you forward, then down for a kiss.

"What about Captain Fantastic?"

You laughed.

He kept going.

"Bastian-"

"I said lunch, didn't I?"

Hey, wonderful Anon — is this along the lines you were looking for 😃😄

Sebastian Stan

[late-to-the-party-81]

Kiss it better

An: Here is my entry for @flordeamatista's Loveeeeeee Song Writing Challenge. I chose the song ‘Kiss it better’. Love you Alice! Enjoy some angst, smut and action with our bad boy.

Beta’d by the American disaster, @yarnforbrains 

Master list

Relationship: Nick Fowler x Morally grey private contractor Fem!Reader

Word count: 4.5k

CW: alcohol consumption, violence (knives and guns), angst, smut (oral - m receiving, unprotected sex - don’t do this) star-crossed lovers, feels, Nick talking a bit of Romanian. (înger means angel)

You weren’t surprised when you ran into Nick. Given the line of work you were both in, it was inevitable that you’d cross paths now and again.

You’d both spotted each other at about the same time, and he raised his champagne glass in salute at you from across the ballroom, flashing you a wry smile. You tilted your head in a small nod in return, before returning to the conversation you’d been having with your mark. You chatted; you flirted, and you simpered, putting out the air of a vacuous party girl, only concerned with dresses and jewellery.

You felt you were getting there, turning the older millionaire in front of you into putty in your soft, manicured hands, when suddenly you were snagged by your arm.

“Please excuse the interruption, but I haven’t seen this lovely lady in quite a while, and we have lots to catch up on.” 

The pretty speech was aimed at your companion, and before you could open your mouth to protest, you found yourself whirled onto the dance floor in the arms of the man you hated to love and loved to hate.

“Rude, Nick.” You pouted at him as you looked up into his artic eyes. You took in the subtle changes since you’d seen him last: another small scar on his left temple - no doubt a souvenir from some kind of fight - a few more grey hairs here and there, and a deepening of the scowl line across his forehead. “I had that guy just where I wanted him, and now he probably thinks I’m going to throw him over for you.”

Your heart and your stomach lurched, and it had nothing to do with how he was gracefully leading you around the floor and everything to do with the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“You mean you’re not, sweetheart? I thought you’d at least try it on with me, especially after last time.”

“What can I say, Nicky. Sorry, not sorry. It was just business, nothing personal.”

He pulled you closer, lowering his head and whispering directly into your ear - anyone watching would take the gesture as romantic.

“You cost me a lot that day, înger. Not just money either. It was the connections too. So let’s just say that any loss you make today is just a rebalance of the scales.”

He artfully twirled you away and then brought you back into the sturdy enclosure of his arms. You weren’t going to escape him or get your way through brute force, but you had your cunning and, while you didn’t want to hurt him physically, if push came to shove, you had your handy stiletto strapped to your thigh under your Versace gown.

However, now you were being held by him, your body recognised a certain safety, so you slid your arms up around his neck, your fingers delicately teasing the ends of his dark brown hair. His hands came down lower on your back, almost sweeping the top swell of your ass, pulling your hips flush against his. You reacted instantly.

“Is this your way of saying you want me to make it up to you?” You rubbed the side of your nose against his jaw, his trimmed stubble biting in a way that made you want to salivate. 

Why the two of you had never properly teamed up, you didn’t know. You’d be formidable if you did, but it was probably because both of you had trust issues. It was a shame really. Both of you were ambitious, driven, intelligent, and fast on your feet - figuratively and literally. Then there was the chemistry. Neither of you could deny the pull between you, like opposite poles of a magnet, constantly being drawn together. 

Sex with Nick was something entirely mind blowing. He managed to perfectly toe that line between being rough and dominating enough to excite you, but not so far it made you rail against it. You were independent; no simpering miss waiting for a ‘Daddy’ or a ‘Sir’ to make you feel loved and cherished. You knew what you wanted and when you saw it, you took it. And despite it being a very bad idea, your mind and your body wanted Nick again as soon as you’d locked eyes with him earlier. You had to promise yourself that this would be the very last time you succumbed to his charms.

You rotated your hips and scraped your teeth down the column of his throat, pleased when you saw his reaction - a narrowing of his eyes and an almost inaudible grunt that no-one but you would pick up on.

“Come on, Nicky-baby. Let me say sorry. You can put your pride aside for that, can’t you? Let me kiss it better.”

When he came to a sudden halt on the edge of the dance floor, you knew you’d pushed him too far, too fast. He unwound your arms from around his neck and stepped back, looking down at you with his nostrils flaring in frustration.

“Nice try, înger. Despite how tempting your offer is, we both know it would be a bad idea.”

Time to go for broke. You smiled at him, coyly and tried to close the distance between the pair of you once more.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you agreed to a bad idea. One last time, whaddya say?”

He snorted then, in derisive amusement and taking hold of both humour wrists in one of his hands, stroked the knuckles of the other down the smooth skin of your cheek.

“Are you that desperate for my cock? Your hungry little cunt not satisfied by anyone else? How very sad for you.”

You felt the heat of embarrassment suffuse your neck and face and pulled your arms from his grip with a sudden jerk. Now you remembered why sometimes you couldn’t stand him.

“Fuck you, Nick!”

“You wish, sweetheart. You wish.”

You spun on your heel and stalked towards the bar, deciding you needed a drink to wash the bad taste of that conversation from your mouth. Fuck Nick and the helicopter he flew in on.

A martini and a half later and you were feeling decidedly more calm. You planned to finish this drink and then see if you could recoup lost ground with your mark from earlier. Part of you wondered why Nick was at this gathering, but given the mixture of folk in attendance, it could be anything from corporate espionage to arms dealing. Everyone here was in pursuit of power and money at all costs. You and Nick were no different than the rest of them.

The problem with a group like this, though, was that it only took one idiot with a short fuse, and an even shorter dick, to turn it into a shit show. 

Across the room, you became aware of Nick being in deep conversation with some other men that made even someone as hard as you shiver in distaste. Yes, you were ruthless, but even you had morals - certain enterprises that you would not entertain even as a means to an end.

The conversation turned heated, voices rising to a level where they could be heard above the band. You slipped away from the bar, drink abandoned, instinct driving you to see if you could assist Nick and lower tensions. You were charismatic and had a way with people, especially certain men who could be manipulated by a melodic laugh, a flash of cleavage, and the insinuation of a good time to come.

“Nicky. Gentlemen. Everything alright over here?” They fell silent at your interruption, but none of them took their eyes from each other. You stifled the urge to sigh. Men and their need to dominate one another.

“It’s all good, înger. You run along now.” Nick’s voice was tense, and you guessed that the man he was staring at was the leader of the group. Unfortunately, you were standing closer to him than any of the others, and with the protection of his men around him, he felt confident enough to drag his eyes from Nick and run his gaze over you. His interest made you feel nauseous, but you kept your vapid smile on your face.

“I think she should stay, Nicky. It’s always a good idea to improve the view.” He took hold of your arm and hooked it through his, pulling you close, half in front of him, his free hand poking into the small of your back. No, not his hand. His gun. With only Nick able to see your face now, you rolled your eyes. This idiot had signed his own death warrant, and didn’t even know it yet. And he kept on talking.

“Let’s take this party outside, shall we? Continue our discussions in private. I’m sure I can persuade you to see my point of view, Nicky.”

Your hand inched down leg, to the thigh-high slit in your dress, and you watched the tiny twitch of Nick’s own hands, desperate to be holding a firearm and taking out these bozos. You turned your head to look up at the man holding you, putting on your most doe-like expression.

“But I don’t want to go outside. It’s cold. And the party's here.”

He gave you a rough shake.

‘Shut your mouth. You obviously mean something to my friend here, so I need you to help me keep him in line.”

With as much honey dripping from your mouth as possible you delivered your coup de grace.

“But how are you gonna keep me in line?”

For a second he was speechless, processing what you’d said, but before he could make any retort he jerked as your blade pierced his side, sinking into his flesh with hardly any resistance. He let out a grunt and his gun clattered to the floor. 

There was a moment’s silence before all hell broke loose. 

You dropped down, out of his slackening hold, scooping up the firearm with your free hand as you jerked the knife from his body. He collapsed, blood pouring from the wound and splattering your dress. 

Then the gunshots started. 

Whether Nick started shooting first or the goons, you didn’t know or care, but the ballroom was filled with screaming, and the smell of gunpowder mixed with blood. Nick grabbed your hand and pulled you up and behind him, shielding you as he reversed you both out of the chaos, returning fire against the four men shooting at the pair of you. 

You plastered yourself to his back, the pilfered gun in your left hand, firing around his body. Nick jerked, letting out a stifled shout and you glanced with him, seeing the darkening of his suit jacket fabric on his right upper arm. It didn’t slow him down though. 

Reaching the doorway, you turned and bolted through it along the corridor towards the exit. The pair of you burst out into the chill of the night, passed the startled valet’s having a secret smoke, and towards the rows of parked cars.

Keeping low with Nick covering you, you tried the handles, finally finding one that the low paid teens hadn’t locked properly. Carefully, you slid into the passenger side, then moved across the centre and into the driver’s seat. Nick followed you in, closing the door quickly to extinguish the overhead light.

“Why the hell are you in the driver’s seat?” His whisper was harsh as your hands worked their magic with the wires under the steering column.

“Just keep an eye out, okay, Nick? Let’s play to our strengths here and not gender roles. I’m better at hotwiring, and you’re better at shooting. Also, I’m not bleeding. Therefore, I drive; you clear a path. Oh, and put your seatbelt on.”

From the corner of your eye you saw him shake his head and heard him chuckle, and you couldn’t hold back your smile. However, your concentration returned to the job at hand as the engine of the car roared into life. You heard shouting as the men chasing you suddenly identified where you were.

“Hold on!” You threw the car into reverse, the spinning wheels kicking up gravel as you manoeuvred the car out of its space. A loud bang, followed by a ‘thunk’ let you know your escape vehicle was now being shot at, and the pair of you ducked your heads as you moved the shifter into drive. In a shower of glass, the rear windshield was gone, but that just allowed Nick to turn in his seat and shoot back as you flattened the accelerator, and the car screamed down the driveway. You exited onto a narrow, country road. You had no choice but to turn on the head lamps, because without them you were likely to end up upside down, in a ditch, on fire.

For a minute or two it was quiet, the only sounds were those of the engine and your and Nick’s breathing.

“We need to turn off this road. Might be being followed.” His voice was strained, probably due to the shot he’d taken.

“I know a place nearby.”

He grunted and went silent again. Then a minute later, “Did you have to kill him?”

You chuckled. “You know me, Nick. He pissed me off. Underestimated me, and he only got to do that once. No second chances. Besides, he was annoying you. Only I’m allowed to do that.”

Another grunt, but you could tell it was one made with a smile, albeit a pained one.

The car hugged the road surface, and you drove along at breakneck speed, only slowing down just before you returned off, not wanting to leave obvious treadmarks leading onto the dirt track.

You pulled up outside a small cabin and killed the lights and engine. Knowing Nick was capable of getting out of the car himself, you strode straight to the front door, turning the handle and giving it a shoulder barge in just the right place to pop the ineffective lock.

It was a rustic place, and you grabbed hold of the oil lamp and matches, quickly illuminating your immediate surroundings with a soft glow. The door clicked, letting you know that Nick had joined you.

“Get that jacket and shirt off, big boy. Let’s see how big your new scar is going to be.”

You moved off toward the back of the cabin, searching for the first aid kit and the half bottle of vodka.  When you came back, Nick was standing where you left him.

“Swallow your pride, Nicky. Sit and strip.” You inclined your head to the rickety chair next to an equally dilapidated looking dining table, and finally he complied, but not without a deep sigh. He hissed in pain as he took off his suit jacket, and even in the low light it was impossible to hide the amount of blood on his dress shirt underneath.  It was obvious his adrenaline was dropping with how sluggish his movements were getting, and after watching him fumble one handed with his shirt buttons, you came to his rescue, freeing them all in a matter of seconds.  You helped him shed the ruined fabric and tried not to let your gaze linger on his chest.

Passing him the vodka bottle, he took a hearty swig before sloshing some over his wound.  Taking the bottle from him, you gave him the lantern to hold instead.

“Hold it steady - I need to see what I’m doing here. I was never any good at embroidery at school.”

You did your best not to listen to the small sounds of pain he let out as you cleaned away the blood and shirt fibres from the wound.

“You’re lucky, Nick. Just a deep gouge where the bullet grazed you. Good job those guys couldn’t shoot for shit.”

“Stop yapping and get on with it. I wanna go to sleep and try to forget that this evening ever happened.”

“Well excuse me, Mr Grumpy Pants!”

You didn’t take his attitude to heart - you knew he was cross with himself for how the evening had gone down and for letting himself get hurt.

Having made sure you’d done the best cleaning job possible, you threaded the needle, heated it in the flame of the lantern and then dipped it in the vodka to cool and sterilise as best you could. Nick let out small grunts as you pulled the edges of his damaged flesh together, doing your best to be neat about it. You found some gauze and dressed the wound, wrapping the fabric around his firm bicep.

First aid completed, Nick placed the lantern in the middle of the table and you slumped down in the chair next to him. You took a drink of vodka from the bottle and then passed it to him, watching as he took another swig.

“You sure you’re okay, înger?”

“Peachy, Nick. Can’t say the same for my dress, and I really liked this one.” In the gloom the blood stains on it weren’t obviously visible, but you knew they were there. The pair of you lapsed into silence, passing the vodka bottle back and forth, and you trying to ignore how Nick looked at you when you hiked up your long skirt to make it easier to remove your heels. 

As you freed your feet from their confines you wiggled your toes.

“Up.” Nick’s command didn’t take you too much by surprise. He knew how much you hated wearing heels. You placed your feet in his lap, and with his good hand he started to massaged up the ball and arch of your foot. You let out a moan at the feeling and heard his small laugh.

“Don’t change, do you, sweetheart?”

“Neither do you, Nick. It’s why we make such a great team. Like tonight. Thanks for getting me out of there.”

“Hey, I think we both got both of us out of there.”

He was right, and you hated to think how things could have ended this evening. There was a lump in your throat as you considered your life without Nick in it. It was getting harder and harder not to admit how you felt.

You watched him concentrate on your feet, seeing some of his rarely unveiled softness.

Fuck it.

You suddenly pulled your feet from Nick's lap, and while he was still momentarily confused you rose out of your chair, closed the distance between you and sat down on top of him, your legs bracketing his thighs.

You took his face in your hands and watched the yellow glow of the lamplight reflect in the mist-blue of his eyes.

“You know how I feel about you, Nick?”

His left hand came up to cover your right, an unusually tender gesture for him.

“I feel the same, sweetheart.”

“But we’re no good for each other, are we?”

“Not in this lifetime, no.”

Nick responded so apologetically, and you felt your heart swell. Leaning forwards you pressed your lips to his, kissing him slowly and sweetly. He accepted your kiss for what it was, not trying to deepen it. Your hands fell to his shoulders and his large ones clasped your waist. 

You pulled your lips from his and trailed them down his throat and across his right collarbone. He stayed still, his emotional state only given away by the way his fingers tightened their grip.

You pressed your kisses over his shoulder stopping where the gauze you’d wrapped around his arm started.

“Will you let me kiss it better, Nick? Just one more time?”

“Of course, înger. This last time, and all the other ‘last times’ we find ourselves in.”

“I mean it, Nicky.”

“You mean it every time, sweetheart…”

Your lips smiled against his warm skin, moving back across to his chest. His scent was stronger due to his earlier exertions, and you breathed it in as you kissed across his small, pebbled nipples. You couldn’t resist the urge to bite down on the meat of his left pectoral, and you delighted in the sharp intake of breath that Nick took.

“Înger….” He growled out a playful warning and you laved your tongue over the small marks you’d left. Part of you hoped it would bruise and leave him with a reminder of you that would linger.

Your hands moved lower as you continued to worship Nick’s torso, working on his belt and the fastening of his dress pants. Nick shifted on his chair, allowing you to pull the expensive black fabric down his legs. You didn’t need bright lights to know how aroused he was; the way his cock bounced against your hand from inside his briefs made it more than clear.

Curling your fingers around the waist band, you freed him as your mouth travelled lower. You licked up his length and revelled in how he rested his left hand on the top of your head, not controlling, but just to feel you. You licked him again, just to feel him shudder with anticipation, before finally taking the tip of him into your mouth.

The chair creaked as Nick shifted his weight under your sensual onslaught. You’d done this dance so many times before that you knew what he liked, how to make him lose his resolve. You dipped into the slit of him, tasting the pearly drops of precum that leaked out before swirling around his head and teasing his frenulum.

You sank down further, drawing him deeper into your mouth, feeling his cock twitch as it bumped against the back of your throat.

“What are you doing to me, sweetheart? You know I can’t resist you.” Nick’s voice was soft, almost tender and romantic, and you wished the pair of you could be more.

His hips twitched pushing him further into your throat, and you could feel tears prickling at your eyes. If this was going to be your last time doing this you wanted him to remember it. Your hands rubbed up and down his thighs, feeling the strength of them as the coarse hair grazed your palms.

Nick’s breath was coming out in heavy pants, his hand gripping the back of your head.

“Înger, fuck, I need you. Please…”

You allowed him to tug you away and off his cock. He dragged you back onto his lap, pulling and pushing at your long skirt so that the only thing separating the pair of you was your flimsy lace underwear. This time when he kissed you it was with more passion than before, like he was trying to brand his body with yours.

You rolled your hips over him, both of you moaning into each other, desperate for that final connection. It took you only a moment to reach between you and pull your thong to the side, finally allowing him access to you.

You took him all in, relishing in the burn and stretch, too impatient to feel him to take your time.

“Nick!” His mouth latched onto your throat sucking and biting, his hands gripping your waist as you started to move. There was no romance here, just need and passion and want. As much as you wanted the former, there was no space for it between you and Nick - it would just make it hurt more.

“I wish we could run away, sweetheart. Tu și cu mine, away from all of this, somewhere where no one could find or bother us. Ți-aș da lumea.”

“I don’t need the world, just you.”

His hands were on your back, working the fastening of your dress, pulling it down your body to pool at your waist. He freed your breasts from your bra and lavished his attention on them, rolling your nipples between his forefinger and thumb, then pulling the sensitive nubs into his mouth in turn.

The fingers of one of your hands ran up into his hair, holding him to your chest, and the fingers of the other moved to where you were joined, drawing tight circles on your clit as you rode him.

Three words rested on your tongue, words that you desperately wanted to say, but knew you couldn’t. You both knew there was nothing more for the pair of you than this, and you just had to accept it. 

You whimpered as you felt your orgasm approach, repeating his name like a litany.

“That’s it, înger. Give me it. I need to feel you cum, vă rog.”

His words, though starting like a command, ended with a plea, and you knew he was feeling as wrecked as you were.

You cried out, your walls spasming around him as you kept rocking, waves of pleasure threatening to overwhelm you.

“Fill me up, Nick. I need you.”

You kissed him, letting him take over the movement as he planted his feet and thrust up into you in harsh strokes, reaching for his end. You swallowed the noises he made as he spilled inside you and you ground down on him, the final darts of your aftershocks shooting through your body.

Your bodies continued to rock gently against each other and you lazily made out as you both came back down. Nick shocked you though when he stood, and you squeaked as he let you slide down his body.

Your dress fell down your legs to land on the floor and Nick toed off his shoes and shook off his pants and briefs from around his ankles. His skin glowed golden and there was still a feral hunger in his eyes.

“Lead the way to the bed, sweetheart. You need to be lying down for what I have in mind next.”

Sunlight shining on your face finally woke you. Your eyes blinked open, and you found yourself lying with your head on Nick’s chest with your legs tangled together with the sheets.

For a moment you let yourself daydream about what it would be like to wake up like this everyday. You watched his face as he continued to sleep. It was strange to see him so relaxed.

With a sigh you made yourself get up, gently easing away from the man you could easily give your heart to. On silent feet you gathered your clothes, quickly redressing in your bloodstained gown. You didn’t fancy wearing your heels, so you stole Nick’s socks to protect your feet.

You felt bad about what you were about to do, but Nick had his phone with him, so he’d be able to sort himself out, sooner or later. You snuck out the door and climbed into the car, finding it much easier to start it up in the light when you could actually see the wires you were trying to manipulate.

Just like last night, the engine roared to life and shifting into drive, you drove a tight circle to turn the car to point towards the track back to the main road. You had a lot of damage control to do after last night, and despite your feelings, as you’d said to Nick last night, it was just business. You just needed your heart to get the memo. 

As you pulled away you glanced in the rear-view mirror, and there was Nick, standing in the doorway, in just his briefs and arm bandage. His expression was unreadable as you lengthened the distance between you until you turned the corner and could no longer see him. Why did driving away this time hurt more than last time?

Hurting bad man, and it hurts inside when I look you in your eye.

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @sidepartskinnyjeans @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel @buckyismybicycle

[sailtomarina]

A Sprig of Unluck

Hermione x Draco | @hp-yuletide-bliss Day 17: “How about the floating mistletoe?” | WC 2596 | Rating: M

Hermione thoroughly questioned her sanity for once again accepting an invitation to the Weasley twins’ holiday bash.

It wasn't because she harboured some anti-Christmas agenda or that she was avoiding any particular person per se; it was a decision fueled purely by an intimate understanding of how out-of-hand their sorts of gatherings got no matter how much effort was put in on her part to counteract the inevitable.

Take, for example, her first year in attendance. This had been five years ago now, when she still looked fondly on the twins and their Hogwarts legacy. A large part of her guard was lowered in reaction to Fred’s miraculous recovery following the final battle; they’d all been convinced he was a goner, but through the valiant efforts of the St. Mungo’s Healers and the non-stop support of his many family and friends, he pulled through.

And how had they repaid her joy?

She became a victim of their experimental Potion Popper.

Just like the name entailed, the Christmas popper imposter presented the recipient with a random potion from the extensive stores of WWW. The miniscule bottles were charmed to prevent identification of the potion within. Hermione hadn’t been that concerned, because previous renditions of the constantly-updated surprise presented her with draughts that changed hair colour, or caused the imbiber to break out into one of Celestina Warbeck’s holiday hits. 

Hers, however?

It took all of one minute before she was spilling her guts to the nearest person, who just so happened to be her childhood bully. Malfoy had looked at her like she’d sprouted horns as she waxed on about the flattering way that his white blond locks fell just so across his forehead, and how much it made her want to brush it back. His grey-blue eyes widened with each word that passed her lips, looking around frantically like he was mortified to even be in her presence.

She hadn’t been able to look at him for weeks after.

She hadn’t talked to Fred and George for nearly half a year.

She’d skipped their holiday party the following year, and only returned for the next one after they’d sent her nonstop owls bearing increasingly exotic flavours of Sugar Quills.

Hermione loved eggnog with a fierce passion. She bought her own cartons in as large a size as she could get them, drinking a full glass each morning starting on the first of December and going all the way through to January. It was important to note, however, that her particular eggnog was strictly nonalcoholic. It wouldn’t do for her to be strutting into the Ministry drunk off of nog.

When she spotted the festive drink at their table of beverages on her celebratory return to the infamous party, she gave in to her impulse and promptly drank three cups in a row; they’d been tiny, after all!

There had to be some kind of law against liquor posing as harmless bearers of joy. She hadn’t detected a single thing different about the milky beverage, nor had she questioned the uncharacteristic warmth in which she struck up a conversation with Malfoy. Again.

Rather than spill her truths, she just talked and talked and talked, downing cup after cup.

She couldn’t remember much of that night after a certain point, but what she did recall included her finding whatever he’d said riotously funny and laughing so hard that she upchucked all over his dragonhide boots.

Queue another month of avoiding the poor wizard, which hadn’t been too difficult the first time around but was made exceedingly difficult this time due to the fact that they were now coworkers at the Department of International Magical Co-operation. When she finally mustered up the courage to ask him about replacing his boots, she’d nearly swooned when she looked up his particular brand of choice. He had to make due with an entirely different model she’d purchased at discount from the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary’s ethically-sourced suppliers. Malfoy had looked pleased as he inspected the leather and soles up close. She later thanked Charlie for his recommendation with an off-the-record International Portkey for himself and Lauren the next time they chose to visit.

This year, she checked herself over in the full-length mirror that barely fit in her bedroom and asked herself, yet again, why she even bothered. Perhaps if she avoided the party completely, she’d be spared another Malfoy surprise.

She was curious how the prat would react to her new outfit. She’d gone with Pansy’s recommendation and purchased the charcoal sweater dress she now wore. The soft-as-sin fabric clung to every curve and swell, accentuating the rewards from the sweat she’d put in at the gym lately in all the best ways possible. The dress was the perfect combination of modesty and sexuality, and she wanted to see his jaw drop.

“Eat your heart out, Draco Malfoy.” She smirked into the mirror and tossed her unrestrained curtain of curls over her shoulder as she checked out her arse. Perfection.

By the time she walked through the fireplace, the party was well under way.

As usual, their storefront was emptied of all shelves and merchandise, the room instead converted into an entertainment space worthy of keeping year round if they ever chose to switch focus. That would never happen, though. They were content with the once-a-year extravaganza, for which Hermione was endlessly thankful.

“Hermione!” Harry’s voice carried across the crowd and she soon found herself facing his familiar crooked smile and tousled black hair.

“Harry, Happy Christmas!” She flung her arms around and squeezed tight enough for him to grunt. 

“Steady on there, Granger. He’s more fragile than he looks.” From behind him popped a handsome young man whose lips always looked on the verge of a snarky comment.

“Theo!”

The series of exclamations repeated themselves as more and more friends came up to greet her. First was Harry and Theo, who’d begun dating earlier in the year, then of course Pansy dragging an amused-looking Neville behind her. Hannah and Susan walked by, each with a hand in the back pockets of Ernie Macmillian; they’d come out as a triad shortly after Hogwarts and now had a handful of children.

“Hermione–” Fred threw an arm around her neck.

“—love.” George swooped in to kiss her on the cheek.

“How do you do,”

“—this fine evening?”

“Fred. George.” She addressed them in turn without hesitation. “Happy Christmas. Your place looks stunning, as expected.”

They shook their heads in joint amazement.

“We can never fool you no matter how much time passes, can we?”

“The missing ear helps,” she teased, pressing a return kiss to George’s cheek.

“Oi! What about me?” Fred pulled her around to him, a look of deep indignation etched onto his face.

“Yes, yes, you, too.” This time, she tugged him down to lay her noisiest, most moist lipsmack against his forehead. “There!”

“And I shall wear it like a crown. Enjoy yourself tonight, love. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!”

They were off, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She checked herself over for any lingering possessions they might have left on her person, but as far as she could tell, she was safe.

The hours passed quickly in the company of her friends, and before she knew it, there were only a handful of couples left in the darkened room. Music still played, soft and slow, the multi-coloured lights casting festive patterns across the dance floor.

All in all, this might have been the most successful Weasley holiday party yet. There hadn’t been any unwelcome pranks, and she’d tamped down on the urge to over-indulge in refreshments. The only thing missing had been–

“Lingering, Granger?”

Pivoting slowly in place, she looked up and up a dark green Oxford, the buttons shaped like tiny snowflakes.

“I was just on my way out.”

No Christmas was complete without running into Draco Malfoy. She supposed she should consider herself lucky that there were few witnesses to what would no doubt end in yet another memorable event.

“I’m surprised you stayed this long, but, then again, you are always one to please, aren’t you?” 

She couldn’t quite make out the meaning behind his expression, but if she were pressed to guess, she’d say he seemed tense.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, even though she agreed with him. While she might not be the first one at a party, she did prefer to stay behind and see if the organizers needed help cleaning up. 

“I think you spent time with every single person in the room tonight except myself, of course. Were you avoiding me, Granger?”

He stepped close enough for her to reach out and touch. Or puke on.

“Don’t you think that’s wise, given our Christmas traditions? Those shoes look expensive.”

And they did. They obviously were not his former dragonhide boots, nor the replacements she’d purchased. They were a foggy shade of grey in a suede that would absolutely be ruined by any sort of bodily fluid.

“Everything I’m wearing is charmed, so go ahead and do your worst.”

Again, she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. There was a slight uptick to one corner of his lips, but that could have just as easily been a trick of the light.

With nothing else to add, she thought it best to escape while their luck still held.

“I’m going to do us both a favour and bid you farewell and Happy Christmas, Malfoy.”

At least, that’s what she had intended, but her attempt to back up was halted as securely as if she’d been cast into a full-body bind.

“What the–” No amount of pressing against the invisible barriers around her worked.

She looked up.

Oh.

“Is something the matter–”

“Malfoy, don’t!”

The timing was impeccable, the setting perfectly arranged for their entrapment. Nestled above them almost invisible between the floating decorations and exposed beams was a sprig of telltale green. 

Silence reigned for a beat as they registered their predicament, then slowly looked down and at one another.

“Well, then, how about the floating mistletoe?” 

She winced at his wry tone.

“You really shouldn’t have stepped close without checking first–”

“Yes, well, it’s far too late for that. You know what needs to happen now,” he snapped, irritation now quite evident in each word.

Hermione wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. Of all pranks, it had to be mistletoe to finally strike. She’d been on edge for something less obvious, more stereotypically and creatively Weasley that she’d overlooked their highest-selling Christmas product.

“I’m really sorry, Draco.”

She couldn’t look at him as she said it, her eyes trained to a snowflake button that glistened like it was inlaid with diamonds. 

Wait, were they real?

The inane question bounced around her skull as she contemplated the one and a million ways she could kill the twins, except death would be far too kind of a punishment. They needed something suitable to the crime, after all.

“Of all fucked up scenarios, this was not the one where I planned to hear you say my name for the first time.”

He sounded…upset?

Hermione looked up to search his face. It wasn’t the sort of upset that was aimed at her; it was the sort of disappointed tone one used when an idea, or maybe a dream, they’d long held had slipped through their fingers, or turned out less wonderful than they’d expected.

“I say your name all the time,” she protested, still puzzling through his statement.

He bent his face close to hers to stare into her eyes, stormy irises wrapping around and drawing her near. 

“Not. Like that. You don’t. It’s always ‘Malfoy’ or ‘you’...or, if I’m very, very lucky, ‘sir.’”

Now that was definitely a smirk on his face. She could feel her face heat up and imagined she was as red as a certain reindeer.

“That’s only when you catch me off guard and I don’t notice I’m talking to you.”

“Whatever you say.” His lips stretched across his face and Hermione was strongly tempted to kick him in the shins. “Well, shall we?”

He flicked his eyes back up in reference, before settling back down and waiting for her reply.

“It’s Weasley mistletoe.”

“I know.”

“Which means a peck won’t cut it, even if it’s on the lips.”

“I know.”

His gaze dropped to the aforementioned body part, and, sweet Circe, she couldn’t help but part them in surprise. He looked like he wanted to kiss her.

That couldn’t be right, could it?

Then he had to go and swallow, like the sight of her mouth opening affected him. Curiosity reared its head up and demanded satisfaction.

“Kiss me, Draco.”

Grey orbs snapped back up in shock, but Hermione wasn’t about to allow him any further delay. She fisted the silken fabric of his shirt right over that damnable shiny button and tugged him down, while her other hand reached up to caress his cheek.

Soft skin, the barest hint of stubble that she couldn’t even see with her naked eye, pink lips parting in anticipation.

Just as she felt the lightest brush of his mouth against hers, Malfoy wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her into him so that they pressed up against one another and she felt every deliciously hard muscle of his body.

She melted.

Into him, into the kiss, into the tantalizing scent of dark amber and wood.

He teased her with a dip of his tongue against hers, then a languid rubbing to say, hello, hi, how are you? She greeted him back with exuberance, earning herself a chuckle in response.

She lost all awareness of her surroundings. If there was anyone left in the store to witness their stroke of unluck, she wasn’t aware of them. There was only Malfoy. Draco.

If he hadn’t been holding her up, she would’ve collapsed the moment he pulled his face back. As it was, she clung to him, her mind struggling to catch up with the last ten, twenty minutes? How long had they been snogging, anyway?

“Well, this certainly beats all our previous Christmases.”

She gaped at the unexpected joke. Still hugging her against him, he threw his head back and laughed, the lovely lines of his throat bobbing with the motion. Merriment still in the crinkle of his eyes and the smile on his lips, he tilted his head as he considered her.

“It looks like we’re free.” He held out his free arm in demonstration, easily leaving the space of their former prison.

“So we are,” she uttered softly.

She didn’t make a move to pull away, nor did he let go of her.

“Keep me company? At least for a while longer?” The hand against her hip tightened as he asked, and, for the first time that night, lines marred his forehead.

He was anxious. About her?

Hermione thought back to the past handful of years, skimming over all the disastrous Christmas parties and their nonstop dance around one another throughout the rest of the year. He could have easily turned down her gifts, or steered clear of her tonight.

But, he hadn’t.

He’d accepted whatever she offered him, pestered her every chance he could, gave as good as he got, and he had approached her tonight.

“Your place, or mine?”

Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t torture the twins. If the night progressed the way Hermione hoped it would, she might actually owe them a hex and a gift basket.

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3.

Okay, well, I think this one could have gone on much longer if I’d had more than half a day to work on it. I really had fun with this premise! I love the idea of ill-fortuned Dramione and their continuing to go back for more.

[protect-daniel-james]

I have been writing! There is so much inspiration out there, and my life has been - surprisingly? - going so well lately! I just want to finish some fics before I go on holiday (Netherlands and Belgium) in two weeks.

So, what's in store? Please note that the names are not the real names, they are the names of the files I write the fics in (yes, I am no longer writing directly in drafts of AO3, it was a bit too brave and backfired a couple of times)

Daddy A in the army - this one is taking forever because it is....tough. I got the Zinky Boys book from my local library, and I will probably have to go through that for some more inspiration

His uncle was more pragmatic. “God helps those who help themselves," he said when Roman Arkadyevich brought up the topic of young men returning from their two-year service with wives, kids, apartments, and a bumaga entitling them to vacation in Bulgaria.  With that in mind, Roman Arkadyevich bought the three lucky packets of cigarettes; ready to meet Lady Luck halfway. Naturally, his packets of cigarettes were confiscated on the first day.

Pippo's wedding - this should be a short lemon-y smut because we all know the Inzaghis and we know what they are.

It’s not even ten in the morning and Simone is on his second glass of wine - it’s not a big deal, everyone around the house has already had something, right after their morning coffees, toasting to the groom’s health and happiness, but Simone stayed sober throughout the season, pedantic and precise as ever, wanting to always keep his mind clear throughout the season. Now even the small amount of alcohol, combined with the heavy humid air before the rain that was forecasted for the day, made his head swim.

Numa numa iei - because what's not to love about random EURO pairing

“Nikoushek.” Now he’s mocking him. Nikoushek is a specific memory that not everyone knew about. “Nikoushku,” he corrects him, burying his fingers in the dark roots of his hair. He wishes Adrian kept it longer, all over his head, and didn’t shave the area around his ears and nape. “You use the vocative case when addressing someone.” “Vocative case, what is that. Nikoushku,” Adrian repeats, and his eyes shine brighter than before. “I can’t even speak Romanian properly,” he jokes, before laying his head down on his captain’s bare chest. He can’t resist, and places a quick peck on the skin. He likes the contrast between the bare, hairless chest and the arms covered in tattoos of significant memories from Nicolae’s eventful life. The arms are for the world to see, to learn Nico’s birth date, see the image of his grandmother, admire the colors of the flag, read the names of his children, and get to know the sources of his motivation, Biblical, fictional, inspirational – but the chest is only for him to see.

Juicy - finally putting on "paper" the food kink Ange/Poch fic that celebrates juiciness in all forms, good food, loving good food, loving yourself, and all the good summer Greek-Aussie-and-Argentine stereotypes together.

Juicy. He couldn’t think of a better word. There was so much under his skin - so much to touch and knead and hold onto and rub - and the excess of everything about Ange, his body, his hair, his deep voice, the smile that usually played in the corner of his lip, it all filled Mauricio’s head with a soothing sense that everything will be alright.

Lentemente - it is called this because of the Django Reinhardt song Lentemente mademoiselle, no idea *why* though. It's the Unai x Andoni bookstore!librarian!AU, it's fun and sweet and soft and pointless

“I’m sorry – I noticed you have been standing here with this specific book – “ He quickly glanced at the book’s cover, just to quench his private and nosy curiosity over the book that seemed to have captured the customer’s full attention. It looked like one of those cheap paperbacks dedicated to sensationalistic retelling of history, politics, or anything else – but the cover was nicely done in a clean, aesthetically pleasing way, showing a traditional house façade. Que disent les maisons basques? He had to smile; it didn’t seem like the most thrilling read. “ – and there is a line outside,” he finished his sentence, trying not to seem too judgemental of the book of choice. He made some calculations in his head already – he’d never seen anyone even just remotely interested in buying this book, and he certainly never sold a single copy of it. It was one of those volumes that was always there during the physical inventory and yet Andoni wanted to keep it – if nothing else, it had a nice cover and looked professionally made, which wasn’t the case for some of the faster-selling ones. It was a French-language book, which added a sense of internationalism – and it concerned a local theme, the traditional inscriptions on the lintels of rural houses. It was exactly the kind of book he liked to keep in the shop, even if it wasn’t selling well – it added a sense of rootedness to the place.