#Sedulity | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fawniswriting · 3 months ago

Text

Mr. Congressman

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: After Congressman James Buchanan Barnes buys you a drink at the bar, your night takes a turn for a more passionate one.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warning(s): no use of Y/N. use of the nickname angel and sweetheart. alcohol consumption. lots of flirting. smut (18+ mdni)—dirty talk, so much praising, handjob, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), multiple orgasms (reader), unprotected sex (p in v), creampie. lmk if I missed anything!!

Author's Note: I decided to drop this while I'm rewriting the next chapter of Faithfully Yours. I've wanted to write Congressman Bucky for awhile but didn't know what kind of story to make until this idea came upon me. For the record, smut is my kryptonite, and it took a lot of miracle for me to even finish this up. I genuinely have developed a new kind of appreciation for all of you smut writers out there. Anyways, the concept of this story sounded a lot better in my head, but hopefully this isn't that bad for a first attempt and I hope you'll still like it xx don't forget to comment/like/reblog to support :)

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“Your drink, Ma'am.”

The bartender slides a tall flute across the counter, settling it beside the empty glass of spritzer you downed earlier. It doesn't take long for you to recognize the fruity aroma wafting through the air, the rusty red liquid rising in tiny bubbles as you scrutinize the drink with furrowed brows.

The Minimalist Bar and Lounge is nestled on the ground floor of Rosewood Hotel in Georgetown, Washington, D.C. The bar's interior exudes subtle sophistication, its dim lighting casting amber reflections across the polished mahogany counter. Soft piano jazz hums through the speakers overhead, cruising into the low murmurs of the sparse Thursday night crowd.

You look up towards the bartender, a middle-aged man with laugh lines creasing his tan skin, and push the glass slightly towards him. “I didn't order this.”

“A gentleman sent it over,” he apprises, tapping his fingers against the counter with a knowing smile. “Says to tell you that you've got an admirer.”

Before you can say more, the bartender gives you a cheeky wink, striding away to whip up an order from another customer.

You drag the slender glass closer, spinning the drink around until the golden liquid at the top simmers into the red. As soon as you take an intrepid sip, the sweet tang of blackcurrant explodes in your mouth, compelling you to hum favorably at the familiar flavor coating your tongue.

You have barely set your glass back down when a deep voice suddenly erupts by your side.

“May I join you?”

The low, rough timbre of the voice sends a shiver down your back, chased away immediately by the warm presence that has settled next to you. Shifting in your seat, you tilt your head and lock eyes with another pair in cerulean, breath hitching in your throat when you take in the scent of fine spices mixing sedulously with bergamot.

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes is a sight to behold within the quiet establishment. With his tall stature and lean muscles stretching taut under the fancy suit, he is bound to attract every thread of attention in the room. The faint gray dusting his stubbled cheeks only adds to the man's overall charm, and as he peers down at you from his full, subjugating height, you can't help but ponder about how none of his pictures ever did his attractiveness justice.

Gathering your composure, you manage a small smile before nodding towards the empty seat beside you. ”Of course.”

The congressman doesn't waste time sliding into the stool, reciting his order towards the bartender with a practiced speech and a methodical gesture of his hand. His whole focus is back on you in a matter of seconds, bright ocean blue eyes taking in your features like curators would a priceless piece of Monet. You burn under his blatant appreciation, trying to mask the crack in your poise by taking another sip of your cocktail.

“How's the drink?” he asks, the curve of his lips discreet but genuine under the warm lighting.

“It's good.” You set the glass down, tilting your body to the side until your knees nearly touch his. “I gather you're the one who sent it?”

Congressman Barnes doesn't say anything in return. He only continues staring at you—as if nothing else exists in the world at that moment except for the woman sitting in front of him—but the glint of mirth in his pupils tells you everything you need to know.

Your knees bump into his. “Very smooth, Congressman.”

The corner of his lips tilt higher. “Call me Bucky.”

Your eyebrows rise.

Before you can give a response, the bartender returns carrying the congressman's order of a classic Old Fashioned. Congressman Barnes accepts the drink with an easy nod, his fingers curling around the short tumbler as he turns towards you again.

“It's what my friends call me,” he adds, smirking behind the rim of his glass.

“Is that what we are now?” you muse, eyes flicking twice between his hypnotizing eyes and kissable lips. “Friends?”

The man chuckles. He puts down his glass with a deliberate slowness, each stretch of movements calculated and needlessly arousing. Then, he leans in, just enough to steal the air between the two of you, just enough to make the world beyond to begin blurring around the edges.

“Angel—” his voice dips, the raspy edge floating along your skin, “—we can be whatever you want us to be.”

A shudder runs through your spine. You try convincing yourself that it is due to the chill in the air and the sheer material of your dress, but the simultaneous quickening of your heartbeat, along with the rush of goosebumps across your skin completely banishes that attempt. It was all your body's reaction to Congressman Barnes, and he knows this. He can read you like a goddamn open book—pinpoint the slightest change in your posture, detect the tiniest rise in your pulse, and spot the way your pupils dilate with each second your gaze stays locked on him.

He leans even closer, the ghost of his metal fingertips venturing the skin of your knee until he catches the silent gasp in your throat.

It excites him.

Biting your lip, you shuffle slightly to your side to escape his electrifying touch, putting on a pristine smile while pretending as though your composure weren't currently lying in tiny broken shards on the floor.

“Well, Bucky—” your voice is soft, baiting as you reach for your flute on the counter, “—thank you for the drink. How'd you know Kir Royale's my favorite?”

The smirk on Congressman Barnes’—Bucky's—face widens.

“Simple, sweetheart.” His velvet voice drips with amusement. “I just picked something that suits you the best.”

Bucky's fingers drift along the edge of the bar, brushing against your own hand and pulse point, lingering there as if committing the rhythm of your heart into memory. By the dark flicker in his gaze, you know that he must have caught the stutter in your heartbeat, the indisputable evidence of his infuriating effect on your being.

Without breaking eye contact, Bucky plucks the glass from your grasp, his fingers warm where yours have been.

“Something sweet,” Bucky murmurs, swirling the red liquid before lifting the drink to his lips. He takes a long, unhurried sip, letting the moment stretch, cerulean blue smoldering into your eyes over the rim. “Seductive.”

He sets the glass back down with a soft clink. Never once taking his attention off you. Tracing his heated gaze over your entire body in a way that sends fire searing through your skin.

“And dangerous,” he finishes with a husky whisper, heavy with tension and unspoken revelations.

“Dangerous?” Your eyes twinkle. “How am I dangerous?”

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh, flashing you his striking pearly whites. “You kidding me? A woman like you, looking like that.”

His eyes roam the length of your legs, landing on the skin of your thigh peeking through the slit of your dress, delicate and tempting. Bucky's tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he takes a moment to admire you.

“And that dress—” his eyes dip lower to your chest, drinking in the sight of your exposed collarbones and the shape of your curves, lingering too long as if it were the first time he ever laid eyes upon a woman, “—is the very definition of sin, sweetheart.”

A surge of delight curls your lips as you sway slightly in your seat, letting the dress grip tighter around your frame like a second skin, feeling the material shift just enough to taint Bucky's eyes with something prurient. Your fingers slither down the side of your body, half-conscious of Bucky's heated gaze that seems to map the path of your provocative touch.

“Do you like it? It's new,” you goad coyly, caressing your body through the silk. “I bought it today for a special occasion.”

Bucky's eyes crinkle at the corner, his pupils glistering with intrigue. “Yeah? Like a first date, Angel?” He takes a casual sip of the amber liquid in his glass, his nose scrunching up in thought as he plays along. “Bought it for a boyfriend? A husband, perhaps?”

You fight off the thrill traveling through your veins and answer, shrugging nonchalantly, “Something like that.”

The tip of Bucky's mouth lifts. “What a lucky bastard,” he says earnestly, eyes drilling into yours as if he wants to bury himself there.

You evade his intense stare, feigning interest at your cocktail instead. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well,” you pause purposefully, studying all of the sharp edges that forge the man sitting in front of you, picturing all of the tenderness that he has concealed beneath the crisp white shirt and that impeccable tux of his. “Are you here on business? Or something else?”

Bucky's eyes wander towards the rows of bottles and liquors lining the wall of the bar, tweaking his bow tie as though just now remembering that it was there in the first place.

“Business,” he replies, straightforward, the pad of his index finger circling the lip of his glass on the counter. But then his eyes fly upward, sealing you in place. “Maybe a bit of pleasure as well.”

You hum, leaning closer until you feel the neckline of your dress flitter recklessly from your skin, divulging parts of you that manage to reclaim Bucky's sole interest. “Is that so?”

His throats bob.

There is no mistaking the whirr of his vibranium arm as the fingers clench, metal plates shifting in tandem with the torrent of desire rushing through Bucky’s mind. He imagines dropping his head to your chest, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses on the expanse of skin, coaxing gasps and sounds of pleasure from those perfect, alluring lips. He imagines sinking to his knees, running his mouth up the length of your leg until he reaches the one place that would make you quiver and crumble in his mercy. Worshipping at your altar like a madman finally finding the true meaning of religion.

Public decency be damned.

But before he can open his mouth, before he gets the chance to act on the budding ache tightening his slacks, the ringing coming out of his suit pocket stops him dead in tracks.

Bucky curses.

You study him curiously, taking in the augmenting scowl on his face as he glimpses at the screen of his phone. Nursing your drink, you let your voice soften while asking, “Something urgent?”

“No.” Bucky is quick to answer, shoving the phone back into his pocket like he is eager to be rid of the gadget. “Not at all. Nothing more important than you, Angel.”

The next round of ringing downright betrays his words.

It takes Bucky a copious amount of willpower to not launch the despicable device across the room. He grits his teeth, blue eyes hurling invisible daggers towards the number on the screen, a number belonging to one of the jerk-ass faces with whom he has no intention of doing business at this moment in time. Bucky wishes he could just block the sleazy bastard's number and be done with it.

But he can't.

Because as hard as Bucky tries to shed the new title when he steps out of the confined spaces of his office, at the end of the day, he is not merely Bucky Barnes anymore.

He is Congressman James Buchanan Barnes.

And playing nice with people he would rather punch in the face is, unfortunately, part of the unofficial job description.

Bucky heaves a sigh, running an exasperated palm across his face before his repentant gaze finds yours.

“I have to—” he pauses, voice thick with guilt and frustration.

Bucky expects you to scowl, to see the same kind of disappointment that is gnawing at him etching on your beautiful face. Instead, all he finds is your effortless smile, the kind that has the power to wage a war or two. It makes something inside him lurch.

“You should take the call, Mr. Congressman.”

You glide out of the comfort of your seat with ease, finishing your drink and collecting your stone-studded clutch in hand. Bucky moves to protest, nearly leaping out of his own seat to prevent you from leaving, but the soothing press of your palm against his chest renders him back in place.

“Finish the call,” you tell him, adamant. Above the counter, your hand skims forward, furtively sliding something under Bucky's own palm before your fingers squeeze his in fervent. “And when you're done, come find me.”

Upon your departure, Bucky turns his hand over, smiling to himself when he sees the key card with a room number scribbled on the paper holder. He examines your retreating figure once his head lifts, consuming the languid sway of your hips, the way your silk dress is clinging to every hard and soft edges that sculpt your captivating figure.

His body tenses with the urge to follow, to sneak his palm onto the small of your back and guide you towards where he knows this night is leading. But the shrill ringtone of his phone is relentless against his eardrums, ousting the compulsion away, forcing him to tear his gaze off as he answers the call with a clenched jaw.

As he brings the phone to his ear, Bucky's flesh hand flexes around the key card, letting the corner dig into the center of his palm, a silent reminder that the night is far from being over yet.

The clean smell of cotton bedsheets and the tang of lavender air freshener greet you the moment you step into your hotel room. Inside, though, your lungs constrict, yearning instead for the scent of cloves and bergamot that you left behind at the bar alongside the handsome gentleman who possesses it.

Your heels are discarded somewhere in the foyer before you tread indolently towards the bathroom, going to the sink to splash some water on your face, mindful not to mess the makeup you have expertly painted on earlier in the evening. The cold water does little to eliminate the heat on your cheeks, the same one that now travels through your entire body as your skin tingles with the phantom touch of a certain super soldier turned congressman.

It should be illegal—the facile power he holds over you.

The carpet is plush underneath your steps as you exit the bathroom, sauntering towards the balcony and delighting in the breath of late May’s fresh air that hails you when you walk through the sliding doors. Washington, D.C. sprawls out beneath you in a tapestry of scintillating lights and colossal silhouettes. From your vantage point, The Potomac snakes through the city like a ribbon of obsidian, its surface catching the occasional reflection of passing headlights, glinting in contrast against the ink-dark sky. The Capitol's dome gleams in the distance, a beacon of order and principle, while the Washington Monument stands unyielding like a silent sentinel.

The city buzzes with life even at this hour, cars speeding through the streets and far off laughter resonating from the avenues below. And yet, even with all of its grandeur, the city's view still pales in comparison with the images of him in your mind—the way his blue eyes darkened when he took you in, the way he ignited your body just from a single touch. No matter how much you try to focus on the cityscape, your thoughts inevitably circle back to him: Bucky Barnes. Every time you blink, he is there—braided into the crevasses between your heartbeats, dithering in the warmth still coiled beneath your skin.

As though summoned by the constant notions of him in your head, you catch the unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking, followed closely by the echo of heavy footsteps entering the room.

When you emerge from the balcony, Bucky is already standing in the middle of the lush executive suite, shedding off his tuxedo jacket and bow tie where they end up in a pile above the sofa. He looks up at the sound of the sliding doors being locked, the stress in his shoulders dissipating when his eyes finally find yours.

Examining him from head to toe, you lean your shoulder against the balcony door and ask, “How was the phone call?”

“Fine,” Bucky answers simply. “I took care of it.”

“Hm. Good.”

The atmosphere desiccates with tension. There is a flame starting in the pit of your stomach, one that you’re trying miserably to quell before it grows into something destructive and menacing. But the way Bucky is looking at you from the distance, so stubborn and piercing, suggests that he already knows what kind of turmoil your body is currently battling with itself.

Clearing your throat, you walk over to the assortment of liquors available in the mini bar, avoiding Bucky’s stare as you ask, “Would you like something to drink?”

Reaching for the undoubtedly expensive wine, you turn it over in your hand, nearly dropping the bottle when Bucky replies, “I don’t know, sweetheart. Kinda craving something else right now.”

Your chest hammers as you listen to the scratch of shoes against the floor, the surrounding temperature rising with each breadth of space Bucky erases with his footsteps. He is a fortress when he finally stands behind you—a man of battle and steel, whose hands have seen bloodshed beyond your wildest nightmares, whose same hands are now ghosting over your arms with a tenderness that tugs at your heartstrings.

Bucky drops his head on the nape of your neck, his breaths spluttering as he grounds himself with a grip around each of your forearms. Your stomach folds at the brush of his plump lips against your skin, the nudge of his nose as he breathes in your scent like it was an appropriate substitute for oxygen.

“What are you doing to me?” he bleats, almost to himself, sucking in a bruise to your pulse point that wrenches a gasp out of your throat.

“Bucky.” You sigh, the bottle of wine long forgotten as it stands lonesome on the counter. Turning in his arms, you are faced instantly with the intense blue of Bucky’s eyes, brimming with a hunger so conspicuous it threatens to consume you whole. You card your fingers through his hair, rejoicing in the gravelly rumble Bucky makes over the simple touch. “I could ask you the same thing.”

In Bucky’s company, the extravagant suite around you feels smaller, as if the walls were closing in to bear witness to the charged moment simmering in the meager space separating you both. Metal fingers sweep your jaw, featherlight yet sizzling, treading carefully before finding purchase on the side of your face. You barely register what is happening before Bucky’s lips are suddenly on yours—kissing you, claiming you, molding against yours in a dance of affection that soon bleeds into desperation.

Bucky swallows every whimper and plea, his tongue exploring your mouth as if the kiss itself has become his soul's main source of sustenance. His vibranium palm on your cheek is alleviating, but his flesh hand on your waist is rough, gripping tenaciously, pushing you back until your spine is pinned between his imposing frame and the mini bar's counter. His lips teeter away from the kiss to find your jaw, trailing a path down your neck until there is no inch of skin free from the adornment of his marks.

He slots his thigh between your legs, nudging against the place where you yearn for him the most, making you mewl.

“Bucky, please,” you cry out, grinding yourself down on the toned muscles of his thigh.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Can't believe you're wrecked and bothered already,” Bucky muses, eyes drifting downward to drink in the erotic roll of your hips. “And I haven't even started yet.”

You should be embarrassed, should be alarmed by the mess you have become from just a single kiss. But any semblance of self-consciousness in your body evaporates in the blink of an eye, especially when Bucky yanks at the flimsy straps of your gauzy dress without so much as a warning, tearing it clear from your frame and letting it pool in a pathetic heap around your feet.

“Bucky!” you shriek, half from shock and half from the cold air that has suddenly enveloped your skin.

The man only licks his lips. “I'll buy you another one.”

You do not protest after that—not when his eyes rove over you as if you were the long-awaited feast to his ravenous beast. A thrill runs down your spine, satisfaction blooming in your chest at the way his stare lingers on the lacy matching set you so carefully chose to don for the night. It was meant to be a simple indulgence—a cute little thing you bought on a whim after catching a glimpse of it while you were out window shopping with friends—but now, under Bucky’s shameless admiration, the lacy number feels like the most brilliant spending decision you have ever made in life.

“Goddamn, Angel,” Bucky rasps, his teeth sinking down onto his bottom lip. “You sure as hell know how to send a man to their knees.”

“And yet, here you are.” You raise your eyebrows. “Still standing.”

The grin he rewards you is a thousand times brighter than the sun. “Not for long.”

Bucky drops his head lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your décolletage, nibbling on the silky skin that borders the line of your lacy bra. He makes quick work unclasping the garment and tossing it to the side, the cool air briskly nipping at your skin before his mouth is back on you once more, lavishing attention on each sensitive peak until you are trembling in his arms.

“Oh, Bucky,” you murmur amorously.

“I know, sweetheart.” He pinches your nipple, forcing you to bite his shoulder to stifle your squeal. “God, you’re one beautiful thing.”

His journey continues southward, across your torso, all the way down to your most private area. Bucky is kneeling before you now—the madman finally paying reverence to his most beloved goddess—and he looks absolutely fucking ecstatic. The sight of him between your legs, mouth-watering and aching to taste, is enough to have your head spinning in anticipation.

“I can smell you.” Bucky groans, sinking his head to press a kiss on your clothed core. The contact sends you spiraling over the precipice. “So fucking pretty. My pretty angel.”

Bucky's hands caress the back of your thighs, the contrast between flesh and metal sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. He dips his head again, this time wrapping his mouth around your mound, and starts eating you out despite the barrier of your panties.

You moan wantonly at his sinful attention, nearly collapsing to the floor if it weren't for Bucky's firm support keeping you upright. He fidgets with the fringe of your underwear, holding the fabric to the side to coat two of his flesh digits with your wetness.

“So wet for me already,” he murmurs, lapping at his soaked fingers with a blissful look across his face. “Tastes like nectar, sweetheart.”

“Bucky,” you whine, pulling at his shoulder-length hair until his blue eyes are locked onto yours. “No teasing.”

The shit-eating grin on his face would have aggravated you if it weren't for how unbelievably gorgeous he looks, kneeling at your mercy.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

Without wasting another second, Bucky lets go of your underwear with a final kiss on your covered clit, standing to his feet and hauling you up in his arms all in one breath. You yelp in surprise, securing your legs around Bucky's waist as he carries you efficiently towards the bed, the delicious friction of his pants compelling your inner walls to tense in ardor, making you crave him even more.

Bucky ensures that your back meets the mattress gently before he withdraws, though your whine of protest stops him before he can go far, your arms reaching for him as he takes your hands with a laugh.

“Eager, are we?” he asks impishly, peppering tiny kisses across your knuckles.

“Only for you, Buck.”

Bucky's smile softens, his lips securing a final kiss on the back of your hand before his deft fingers start undoing the buttons of his shirt. You observe with bated breath as he reveals the muscular panes of his torso, biting your lower lip when his hands begin working on his belt buckle and dress slacks.

Once he is back on you again, this time in nothing but the thin fabric of his boxer, it feels like everything in your life has slid right into place.

“Hi,” Bucky says, breathless, a boyish grin stretching his lips into a charming curve.

“Hi, handsome.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, lugging him down into a heated kiss and relishing in the feeling of metal fingers pinching your hip. Every sensation is amplified as his breath stumbles in your mouth, the softness of his lips contrasting with his metallic touch. Your hand wanders the expanse of skin, exploring the river of veins and the constellation of freckles, drawing random patterns down Bucky's abdomen until you reach the waistband of his drawers.

When your palm slips inside, circling around his hardening length, Bucky stammers into the kiss.

“Angel.” His voice comes out as a guttural moan. “What are you doing?”

“Wanna make you feel good, Buck.” You bury your nose in his temple, kissing the corner of his eye. “Please.”

Bucky barely has time to nod before your fingers scramble to rid him of the last barrier casing his body. His underwear is gone in a swift motion, ditched somewhere in the room through the haze of urgency.

At last, Bucky is there—above you, all around you, entirely overwhelming in his presence—and the sight of him alone steals the breath from your very lungs. The austere glow of the room carves shadows along the solid lines of his body, every muscle and sinew sculpted into something unreal. His skin is littered by old scars and the passage of time, telling a story that you long to trace and memorize with every subtle scrape of your heart.

He is devastating—an Adonis chiseled not by gentle divinity, but by violence and calamity. And yet he is here, flesh and blood, naked and glorious, a whole man despite history and remorse masticating him bit by bit. And right now, Bucky Barnes is looking at you like you are the only thing in this world tethering him to reality.

Your heart constricts, synchronously with your pussy, catching you somewhere between awe and want as you reach for him once more.

At the first grip of your fingers around his shaft, Bucky lets out a hiss.

“Is this okay?” you ask cautiously.

“God, yes,” Bucky respires, forehead creasing when you give an experimental squeeze around his girth. “Yes, sweetheart, it’s more than okay.”

His rough response motivates you to start pumping.

It doesn't take long for you to settle on a rhythm, moving your hand up and down, twisting and clutching until you are requited with his morose sighs and moans. Bucky is utterly beautiful like this—eyes shut, long hair shielding his face as his hips snap up to meet your depraved ministrations. Each moan that escapes him only drives you to move faster, your own pulse quickening as you feel him unraveling beneath your touch.

When your thumb resolutely swipes over his slit, Bucky's entire body staggers, a shuddering gasp tearing through his throat as he jerks in your grasp.

Your chest inflates with titillation. “You like that?”

“Y-Yes. Oh God,” Bucky stammers, burying his face in your neck when you repeat the movement again, collecting his precum. “Shit, Angel. M’ not gonna last if you keep that up.”

His admission only spurs you on, tightening your grip, encouraging your strokes to grow bolder. Bucky is a mess above you—all ragged breaths and sweat-slicked skin, every muscle in his body coiled like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. It is an addictive view, so intoxicating that you could live off it, spending the rest of your days ravaging him like this.

But before your dream can materialize, a calloused hand clamps around your wrist out of the blue, putting an end to your movements and forcing the thrill in your veins to a halt.

Your forehead knits in confusion as you stare into Bucky’s eyes.

“Gotta stop, sweetheart,” he pants, an easy but wrecked smile embellishing his gorgeous face. “Or else I'd blow before we even get to the good part.”

Heaving a deep sigh, you jut out your bottom lip and sulk. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Christ, no.” Bucky chuckles. “Another time, I might take you up on that. But tonight?” He ducks his head, stealing a quick kiss that has you seeing stars. “I wanna be inside you when I cum.”

The promise catches you off guard, sending a dash of anticipation through your ribs and into every corner of your being. Bucky's fingers gently unwrap yours from his length, his cock still red and leaking from your recent attention. He regains control in no time, his lips descending upon your skin like a voyager mapping out a sacred route, pressing open-mouthed kisses as he charts a path down the curves of your body.

His breath is warm against your stomach, each kiss dragging lower, teasing ruthlessly, until his fingers hook into your underwear and strip it away in one hasty, practiced motion. He groans at the sight of you, his voice thick with admiration and something more primal as his mouth lets out a muttered curse.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” Bucky’s dark lashes flutter, drinking you in. “You’re a damn masterpiece.”

The raw compliment nudges your heart, brewing the fog in your mind until you are nothing but a heap of fire and lust.

Words fly out of your head as Bucky eats you out like a man starved—licking, sucking, and biting with a desperation that borders on worship. His tongue moves in volitional strokes, alternating between featherlight flicks and deep siphoning of your bundle of nerves. Your fingers twist into Bucky's hair, tugging hard enough to earn a growl, the sound vibrating in pleasurable waves all throughout your body.

As if his current ministrations weren't enough, Bucky suddenly brings his metal fingers to your opening, prodding and unfolding gently, pushing two of his digits in until they are sheathed inside the heat of your weeping hole.

“Holy shit, Angel. Look at ya,” Bucky mutters, watching your walls throb around him as he pushes and retracts his vibrainum hand. The sight alone makes his own hardness twitch. “Soakin’ me like a dam, sweetheart. This all for me?”

“Yes, Bucky. No—ah! N-No one else,” you let out between helpless gasps, grinding despairingly onto Bucky's hand.

Bucky's pupils dilate, his eyes scanning you from head to toe as if immortalizing you into memory. The pace of his fingers is increasing by the minute—scissoring, curling, grasping for that one magical spot that never fails to ruin your whole being. Bucky's mouth returns on you in no time, nibbling and tracing with his tongue, humming heartily with every wrecked sound escaping from your chest.

“S-Shit. Bucky, that feels—mpphh. I'm s-so close—ah!”

The climax crashes into you in a matter of minutes, arriving like a tsunami, abrupt and earth-shattering. Bucky is patient as he guides you through it all, continuing the lazy licks on your clit and the slow pumps of his fingers inside you. He only relents when you begin squirming away from him, whining at the over-sensitivity aching through your bones.

“Are you okay?”

You blink through the mist in your vision, your eyes slowly refocusing on Bucky's concerned face.

He is a perfect picture of debauchery—kneeling on the bed in all of his majestic nudity, remnants of your release coating the nether part of his face. His question should be startling—the way it juxtaposes everything he has done to you thus far. However, Bucky Barnes is no man if he is not a decent one, and you let yourself find solace in that little fact as your lips widen into a smile.

“Bucky.” Your voice is sheer, grated away by the daze of satisfaction that still muddles your mind. “I am fantastic.”

A cheeky grin overtakes Bucky's lips as he crawls up your frame.

“Fantastic, huh?”

“Hm.” You nod, cloaking his neck with your arms. “You're fantastic.”

Bucky seizes your lips in a kiss, allowing you to taste your own desire on his tongue. Moans spill out of your mouth at the delectable shove of his shaft on your wetness, cherishing the way Bucky returns each roll of your pelvis with his own, his haze-lidded mind reducing the once mighty soldier into a mess of broken whines and crushing rapture.

With a sudden tide of momentum, you push against the formidable wall of his chest, catching Bucky off guard as you send an abrupt shove that sends his back straight to the mattress.

Bucky blinks up at you, stunned, taking in the sight of your body above his, straddling his hips like they were a throne created specifically for you to sit on. His hands instinctively come up to grasp your thighs, fingers flexing against fiery skin as his gaze darkens with an avid yearning.

“Damn,” he breathes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t see that one comin’, sweetheart.”

You brush your mouth against his jaw. “I can’t wait any longer, Bucky. I need you inside me.”

A responding groan rumbles from Bucky's chest the moment you start to sink down, his cock stretching you open, filling you inch by inch until the two of you are joined as one. The world outside ceases to exist as you take him in, your bodies fusing together until there is no distance separating you two, no way of knowing where Bucky ends and you begin.

You take a speculative roll of your hips, testing the waters, finding your footing before descending on a lascivious, steady tempo. Bucky's hands are explorative on your skin, caressing down your thighs and up your hips, all while mumbling breathy curses and gentle encouragement that crackles down to your hankering core.

"That’s it, Angel," Bucky rasps, his hands squeezing the plush flesh of your backside. "So damn beautiful. Feels like you were made for me.”

“Buckyyy,” you wail, your hands bracing on top the sturdy surface of his chest. “You feel—oh! S-So—uhh—so good.”

Euphoria stumbles past your lips in a concoction of jumbled words, babbling against Bucky's chest while occasionally littering his hard panes with kisses. Every nerve ending in your body is alight, every drag of him inside you a luscious reprieve. Your entire senses are heightened with everything Bucky.

The gallant man beneath you sits up slightly, drawing you down by your neck until your foreheads are wedged against one another.

“You tired, sweetheart?” His voice is the epitome of lust, woven discreetly by a tenderness that threatens to liquefy your bones.

A breathless nod is all you can manage. Before you can fully grasp what is happening, Bucky is already taking control, wrapping you in his embrace and thrusting up into you like there is no tomorrow. Each snap of his hips sends you spiraling closer to the edge, his name spilling from your lips over and over again like a prayer to the moon, the stars, and the universe.

“B-Bucky!” Your voice hitches. “P-Please, I want to—ahh.”

“I know, sweetheart. Come on,” he urges, rough and terse, a drastic contrast to the kiss he presses to your forehead. “Give it to me.”

The pinnacle crashes over your whole being in an explosion of colors and light. A sharp cry tears from your throat as your walls tighten around him, your entire body convulsing while Bucky holds you through it, murmuring praises into your cheek and peppering soft kisses all over your face. You lose track of how long the two of you stay in that position—your face nestled safely in the crook of Bucky's neck, his hands skimming abstract patterns on the dimple of your spine.

The room is still buzzing in the aftermath of your orgasm when Bucky gently maneuvers you onto your back, switching places with you so that he is now hovering on top of your spent body. A quiet whimper escapes your throat the moment you feel him nudge against your over-sensitive core, the aftershocks still humming through your nerves like the echo of a symphony’s final crescendo.

Bucky notices immediately, his lips curving into a smirk as he brushes a hand down your cheek. “Too much, sweetheart?”

You swallow an empty air, the heat returning to your belly at the way Bucky is looking at you, like he is not nearly done devouring your body, mind, and soul. Still, he waits, his breath warm against your lips as his vibranium fingers stroke slow circles along your outer thigh.

“I know you’ve got one more in you,” he coaxes, sprinkling teasing kisses to your jaw, your throat, and the curve of your shoulder. “But I need to hear you say it, Angel. You want this?”

Despite the delicious ache between your legs—the overstimulation still singing beneath numerous layers of your skin—you don’t hesitate. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him grunt.

“Yes,” you whisper, breath staggering when he moves his hips against yours. “Please, Bucky. I need you.”

Your confirmation is all he needs.

With a low, unruly sound, Bucky slams back into you, his restraint disintegrating as he buries himself to the hilt. This time, there is no leisure buildup—just raw, unadulterated need that ignites the blood coursing through your arteries. His rhythm is frantic and desperate, his hands bruising your waist like he needs to hold onto something real before he completely loses himself deeper in the bliss.

“Fuck. You're so tight, sweetheart. So warm and wet,” he groans, his forehead dropping against yours. “You feel perfect around me.”

You gasp at the thickness of him, the drag of each ridge of his length against your tender walls. Bucky is pounding relentlessly into you as he chases after his own release; the air between you thick with heat, with the sound of your bodies moving in an erotic, exquisite harmony.

“Oh, Bucky. Feels s-so good. So big.” You meet each of his thrusts eagerly, your body welcoming him as if the two of you were always meant to be one. “That's it. Ah, ah, t-take what you need, baby.”

A ragged moan rips from his throat, his movements turning erratic as he barrels toward the edge. Your walls shudder around him, making him stutter in his rhythm.

“Grippin’ me like a vice, sweetheart.” Bucky's eyebrows furrow, jaw clenched as his gaze finds yours. “Can't last long. Gonna—fuck. Shit, shit, m’ gonna cum.”

You pull him down into a frenzied kiss, pouring every ounce of your need into him, letting him listen to the way your blood, your organs, and every other thing inside you chant his name like a prayer recited in reckless devotion.

Bucky trembles as he reaches his peak, spilling everything he has to give into the deepest crevice of your heat, his body tensing before melting into a pliable mass above you. A broken moan catches in your throat as the pleasure pummels into you once more, your limbs clinging to him with whatever bit of strength remains in the fragmented pieces of your body.

For a while, there are no words spoken between the two of you. Just the shared intakes of your breaths, the soft press of Bucky’s lips against your temple, and the grounding strokes of his fingers tracing along your skin.

You shift slightly beneath him, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, and what you find there steals what little breath you have left—something reverent, something vulnerable. His thumb brushes over your cheek before he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss so gentle and profound, a stark polarity to the frantic passion that has consumed you moments prior.

Bucky exhales a quiet chuckle once he withdraws, resting his forehead on top of yours.

"Christ, Angel," he mutters hoarsely, his voice strained with exhaustion and something unguarded. "You're gonna be the death of me.”

You hum, an appeased smile decorating your lips as you thread your fingers through his damp hair.

When Bucky finally pulls out, the absence of him leaves you aching and remarkably empty. Your body, already boneless from exhaustion, instinctively reaches for him, fingers grazing over his flesh hand in an attempt to search more of the warmth he naturally emits. Bucky chuckles, low and affectionate, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to the clammy skin of your forehead.

"Stay put, sweetheart. Gotta take care of you," he says before putting on his boxer and disappearing into the bathroom.

Bucky returns a moment later with a damp towel in hand. He goes to kneel beside you, his touch reposeful as he cleans you up with a forbearing care. The first press of the cloth against your sensitive core has you sucking in a breath, a whimper slipping free before you have the mind to stop it from resonating in the air. Bucky’s gaze flicks up at the sound, concern knitting his eyebrows as his hand stills above your pelvis.

“Easy, Angel,” he soothes, trailing a hand up your thigh in a comforting caress. “I know what you're gonna say. But you took me so damn well. Gotta make sure you don’t wake up hating me in the morning.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes despite the fond smile wresting your lips. “Pretty sure I already hate you a little.”

Bucky's responding beam is radiant, his chest deflating in the assurance that you are okay—or at least, okay enough to still have the fire to put him in place—before tossing the used towel onto the floor where it lands with the other discarded fabrics of your clothes.

“Nah,” Bucky shakes his head, flumping beside you on the bed and gathering you in his arms. “You love me.”

You sigh in contentment the second Bucky's arms surround you, keeping you pressed to his side and pulling the covers over both of your satiated bodies. You fit against him like two conjoined puzzle pieces, like you were always destined to lie in each other's arms and slot perfectly into the apertures of each other's lives. Bucky’s flesh hand finds your right palm on his chest, bringing it to his lips to fleck tiny kisses across each knuckle, the matching golden bands wrapped around your ring fingers glinting against one another.

Something in the cerulean blue of his eyes shifts. By the next time you blink, Bucky is already claiming your lips in a kiss so compassionate you fear your heart might burst from the sheer ferocity of it.

When he pulls back, Bucky is grinning, utterly smitten as he nuzzles his nose to the apple of your cheek.

“Happy anniversary, Angel,” Bucky murmurs, his voice heavy with selfless devotion and helpless exaltation. “I love you.”

A slow smile spreads across your lips, your nose wrinkling in happiness as you return, “Happy anniversary, my love.”

Your wedding bands catch the dim lighting of the bedside table lamp as Bucky laces his fingers through yours—sure and steady, a silent vow renewed without the necessity of spoken words. He exhales deeply, thoroughly at peace, and you let yourself sink into the warmth of his love, knowing with absolute certainty that there is nowhere else in the world you would rather be.

Nowhere but here, in the safety of your husband's arms, where your heart has always meant to stay.

1K notes · View notes

edenspoem · 8 months ago

Text

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. ♡

summary: ellie simply cannot dance the odette variation perfectly without you spotting her. she calls you in, and swans begin to sing.

content: ballerina!ellie, smut, mdni, dom!reader, white swan and black swan dynamic, fingering(e!rec), slight choking, slight degradation, semi-public sex, presence of risk, drabble length, had to get something of this au out before i went psycho. think of this as series teaser, almost. barely, somewhat proofread. wc: 1.7k

Ellie works against her body, and time works against her.

“Dammit—I can't get it right.”

It is February: the unfurling of the year, and she is Odette this season. The white swan had incarnated, plucking only the most graceful, most sedulous ballerina from the flock. She begins to believe herself after all the blood, sweat, and tears produced in anticipation, and training. Nothing is graceful about this loathing season, though, and save for the culmination of when she was cast her sorrowful-swan, ivory feathers, this is a tribulation that eats her down to the sore ligaments of herself. Perfection is eroding.

She tries and she fumbles. “Fuck!”

Usually, this is no issue. Ellie is inherently so given to pirouettes; the group instructor is unapologetic about that praise. But their momentum overwhelms their beauty—her instructor also claims. She must find a balance, within, and without thinking too hard.

So she ends up calling you in to think for her.

The black swan.

Tutoring, of a sort. “You have the wings of a vulture,” you broach, pacing forth and from the space behind. You only brace the front when you spot an incorrection. “Loosen up.”

She is nervous to have her heartbeat in your ears. You have this touch nobody else can give, and yet it is for a reason she wishes not; correction, not love. However, she just might love it regardless. Touchings of the arms that mean nothing to you, and many things to her. You tap her shoulder, and the muscles noticeably stiffen. With a gulp, the chafing organ inside her is a solitary song she hopes you cannot sense the thrumming of.

Tired hands fall to her thighs in a slap. You watch her lips form a question in the mirror. “Can't you just show me?” She is adamant with it. Adamant with everything, if you recall each sentence you overheard from her private sessions. Somethings of malediction, most a pained curse.

Those bruises and bumps reflect that.

“Your grace should come from within, Swan Queen.” Although an aphorism most would groan at and nullify, it is almost vital to every professional dancer. Even you nourish yourself with the saying, and you are at the top. “Just as Pavlovich would say, right?” Ellie has technique. In fact, she has a grasp on it so violent—so obsessive, not a single other picture-perfect girl in that room on the day of Swan Lake casting could bear it.

Except you.

She puffs her cheeks into apples, “Fuck,” and mumbles under her breath. This day would leave a sprain.

Nuturing her inelegance. You think of it like this, and you treat it as such. When your palms introduce two gentle pressures upon her ribcage from behind, she fears you can hear it. Her heart; its rage. She overthinks the gesture and places her hands over yours on accident.

You hear air snag in her throat. Feel her fill.

“Feel my hands?” You motion with your thumbs, rubbing them back and forth under hers.

Ellie drops her head, and a strand of auburn slips. “Yeah.” Her voice is a feather. It writhes into the abditory of her chest.

She hates catching your eyes in the mirror. Especially right now.

Because she so graciously has her hands on yours, you turn your palms and basket the tense, fidgeting things in them. Raising them heavenward as a halo. “You have to let go up here. Don't overthink it.” Your fingers downpour all around her, until they return to her palpating ribcage. “Focus on your core.”

Fuck, what has she done? She invited you in here with the strict notion that you could implement her perfection. Nothing more, nothing less. Pavlovich would replace you as her tutor if the sun shone with the littlest deviation; you don't have to be here. But you are here, and she is borderline bleeding from her precious lips trying to distract herself from the warmth crawling out below. The visceral image of her leotard stained with a wet patch.

She feels like a loser.

She does anything but let go. “Like this?” It is so achingly obvious, the sleek of her juices making it uncomfortable to lift her leg.

“No,” you huff in a heavy increment, drawing away. Ellie's impliable arms were all over the place—and not in the graceful, poised manner of a swan. The poise she despairingly needs. “You can't be this nervous on stage. Someone psych you out or something?”

She descends from pointe. This girl is a rose-red silhouette of confusion, and crackling. “Um, not really.” But she is fucking easy to read.

All she needed was your hands again.

Handling her waist, her hips. “Did you lock the door?” Eating her mouth which gushes with the same, quiet concerns. You close it with yours.

“Mhm.” Ellie is feeding on your hums: fitting her lips in the cleft of yours, opening and closing, nodding and accepting, eager to pick from your fruit again. Docile creature in caging limbs. She is sat softly in your lap, doing all this like she cannot get enough of you, regardless if you are endless.

Her skin is peeking quietly from her neckline. Shining, shifting over her collarbones.

Post-practice glow.

She tries to relieve the throes of wanting immediately. This is not the same Ellie you tutored minutes ago; someone else crawled inside of her, made a corruptive influence. “Fuckin' soaked down there,” she hints with pacing breath, flexing her pelvis up. “Gonna buy me new ones?” She mentions about her tights. Those tights that always make her toned legs look woodland-born; spry as deer, long boughs laden with white bloomage.

You chuckle. “Oh, cause it's my fault?” But your hands push for that hot gap beneath, peel her leotard aside, and she goes white-eyed. Nudging to find the same kisses.

Opening her mouth opens her heart to you.

Then, her legs.

Full-walled mirrors reflect before her. Ellie goes insane watching the muscles of your fingers work her in numbing circles over the wet patch of her tights, and sometimes, insane from the stare you give while doing it. The friction is like molasses, but it is all she needs. God, she is pulsing on you. Whining on you. Does she come to rehearsals horny?

It certainly coheres.

Warming up next to each other on the barre, beholding one another during auditions, her cascading stares when you stretch, creeping softly up your legs. Wearing sheer skirts so wispy, so mini: you get it. Those sculpting shorts she wears—you're not even going to lie—prove the pleasure is visual. It creates a vertigo of pounding, indecent thoughts.

You folded them so delicately down her lovely hips. Now they lay stranded somewhere in the room, but fuck—does your skin raise thinking about her ass flexing in them before. Picture-perfect, palmful of an ass.

Has she touched herself to you?

She still avoids your eyes when you pick up your speed. “Fuckin' slut, aren't you?” Watching what was being done to her was all the more invigorating, hoping she would ruin her panties enough and swallow up your motions. Take you in closer.

She tells you she does like it. Well, whimpers, at least, and humps your river-paced fingers.

Then, she plucks at the band of her tights with her thumb, stretching it over the knuckle. You see where your finger pins it down.

Shadows brush against the frosted door. Soothing yourselves too comfortably into primal abandon and taking every tight piece of clothing off would maturate a scandal. Risks are high; you lead her wrist back.

Dopey giggles form her smile. “Why not?”

You affirm. “You know why.”

But no secretion of articulation was coming from her lips, only confirming sounds and thigh contractions when you grope and grab her thumping crotch. It was as though she was pent-up. Panting often out of her mouth, and glancing into the hoods of her eyes with a short leaning motion—you think she is. Pent-up, religiously for you. Little ligaments in her shiver with every little tug, barely moving anything under the layers, but she loves it.

She spent deadlight mornings dreaming that her bed beheld hers and your legs interlocked, cunts rubbing each other into humiliating moans and reeking of sex days afterward in the studio. It aches that she cannot see her bare pussy, and you, inside her. She thinks she might be fucking glistening under there. How exciting: what would it feel like if you ripped the fabric and stuffed her, displayed and degraded her? Your glare already does, Odile.

She needs to take you home. She needs the veiling between you and her so eroded, it rewrites the all-encompassing, eternal-age ballet right there on the grand stage. Makes the audience mull in their sleep. “Put your hands around my neck,” she beckons, inviting more hands on her.

“Yeah?”

She gulps. “Uh-huh.”

They fill the pale emptiness. After that, she finds herself trying to fuck herself more desperately on your fingers: she rides the length of them, using what is softened of her panties to slide up her folds. The pressure indescribable. She almost forgets that you are her competition; rivals shouldn't make her come this hard.

But, it's you. You lull the filthiness out of her.

When your fingers dig in the right spot, she pierces through her lower lip. “Yes, baby—fuck!” She jolts with a whimper. The sides of your fingers are scratched by the synthetic material of her thighs, her legs impulsing, eyes pinching, and her neck stringing up in your grasp. It is a chasm full of splutters. “That's it—right there, right there. Fuck, don't stop, please don't fuckin' stop.”

You palm her through it, fingers pouring out through the heart of her thighs in the mirror. And something else. Something that sticks her to her shame: orgasm-sopping panties she may replace, and replace twice. There is subtle moisture on your fingertips.

No way she goes home and sleeps soundlessly without flicking her pussy for you. In devotion of what you could not. She feens to be properly played with.

Ellie lies breathless in your lap, her skin sweating into yours. The scene is a silent basking until she breaks it:

“Should we continue this tomorrow?”

541 notes · View notes

torturingpeople · 7 months ago

Text

this has made me realise i have also never stated my characters accents or speaking styles+habits...

player characters

edison: standard english with an accent somewhere between rp and estuary english. no contractions, but uses innuendo often and elongates his words for effect

harper: german accented standard english (sort of like lme) which mostly comes out in his inflections and the way he pronounces "th" and "w"

dove: northern accent with a heavy dialect and slang usage. but she can imitate a lot of other accents including rp, cockney, irish, french, american etc etc but her comfortable normal speaking accent is northern

freya: rp but contracts her words and uses slang and leans a tiny bit more into cockney when she's stammering/fumbling her words or swearing

non player characters

marie: standard english and a very old fashioned and overemphasised rp accent. trills her 'r's in a way she doesn't need to and puts a lot of effort into sounding "posh". also speaks in a quiet and lilting tone to entice the listener if you will

dionysia: english with some contractions but minimal slang and a southeast london accent. not quite essex but not exactly estuary english either. speaks quite quickly i.e. hurrying to get her words out, a lot of her speech lacks quality

rosier: transatlantic american/english accent and standard english. scarcely ever uses contractions. usually appends his sentences with a question i.e. "is it not?" or "are you not?" or fronts them with "why". very standard 'trad husband of the 20s' speech type

filip: polish accented standard english with contractions, and can be rather rude in his speech. one to swear and insult quite often

(bonus) vasily: russian accented broken english. refuses to learn standard english but also doesn't use contractions because he omits the article (i.e. "you are an idiot" becomes "you are idiot")

esther: essex/southeastern accent. can speak in rp/standard english if she wants and will do so in formal settings but at work or home her natural accent is between medway and essex

Realized I’ve never said what accents my Fallen London blorbos have—

Atlas: French + Northern (was more comfortable with French as a kid, learned to speak and pronounce English in the North but never really lost their first accent)

Thomas: RP

Carlo: South London

Agamemnon: Greek

#i have. a lot to tag now LOL #the sybaritic laureate #the soothing counsellor #the volant hare #the hallucinating violinist #the vicious capitalist #the sedulous revolutionary #the sordid devil #the outre geneticist #the chatty servingwoman #i think i have a problem. of making 1000 ocs #tp ocs #oc thoughts

8 notes · View notes

tarotbyjam24 · 1 month ago

Text

Pick a pile : describing your future spouse's chaotic-ness through words

Masterlist\pick a pile feedback

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3

Hey there! If you're vibing with my readings, a little tip would be amazing and really help me out. You can also book a personalized reading for a deeper dive! And don't miss out on my free reading offers

Your likes, reblogs, and feedback mean the world to me 🩷.

Take a peek at the piles and see which one calls to you 🫶🏻 – let me know which you choose, I'd love to hear from you! Remember, these are general readings, so take what resonates and leave the rest.

Pile एक

meraki : when you do something with soul, creativity or love; putting a piece of yourself into what you do.

Illumoria : the realization that every person has hidden parts of themselves, a light they rarely share.

Autodidact: a self taught person.

Sedulous : Working hard and never giving up.

Apricity: the warmth of sun in winter

athazagoraphobia : the fear of forgetting, being forgotten or ignored, or being replaced.

Revery : A pleasant daydream or deep thought.

Viridity: naive innocence.

Marmoris: the shining surface of ocean.

Seraphic: angelic, sweet.

Book your 1:1 session or tip your reader

Pile दो

limina :The smallest feeling you can notice.

Nirvana : a state of perfect happiness, harmony and freedom.

Collywobbles : butterflies in stomach .

Salience : Being very noticeable or important.

Opacarophile : A person who loves sunsets .

philophobia : fear of falling in love.

Arcaniva : The hidden power within.

Solumetis : The mindful solitude.

Wind down : relax .

Book your 1:1 session or tip your reader

Pile तीन

selah: A musical pause that means stop and listen.

metanoia: the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self, or way of life

melomanie: an excessive and abnormal love and deep attraction to music and melody.

Desist: To stop doing something

kalopsia: the delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are

saudade: a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; "the love that remains

noceur: one who stays up late

eunoia: beautiful thinking;a well mind

Enigma: something hard to understand or explain.

agape: the highest form of love. selfless, sacrificial, and unconditional love; persists no matter the circumstance

Book your 1:1 session or tip your reader

Thank you SO much for stopping by and letting me share my insights with you. Wishing you the most wonderful day/night! Sending you tons of love! - Jam

166 notes · View notes

virtyalangel · 7 days ago

Text

clueless

content warning : awkward teenagers + fluff + no established relationships + intentionally use of lowercase + interpretative ended + wc: 969 (lol) + not proofread, i’m lazy

loser jackson!ellie x f!reader

the composed strum of guitar strings resonated in the barren room. ellie hummed along to the chords, the formation of lyrics dancing around her mind. she was concentrating, pouring all her senses into this song that she would never play to anyone else. it was therapeutic, it allowed her to alleviate the stress of survival and work and just exist.

her fingertips were growing numb, but she kept moving forward, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in search of the satisfaction she got whenever she finished her songs. the same intoxicating high she felt nesting in her bones when she worked on the thing she was passionate about. the thing she was destined for.

in the back, deep cracks of her mind, she knew it was useless. her life wasn’t promised another minute in this lifetime, and she was doubtful that it would ever change. she ignored those pestering thoughts.

ellie was immersed in her thoughts. so immersed that she had missed you slipping into the corner of her room, your fingers lighting pushing the door shut. her mind was too busy calculating and constructing lyrics in her mind to notice your light footsteps.

you stood there staring, your eyes fixated on her frantic but controlled movements. you’d never seen her like this before, she almost looked possessed. if it was anyone else you’d feel like a creep, but it was ellie. it was different with her, in almost every aspect.

you watched as she played, her fingers waltzed along the strings of the guitar. you listened as she hummed seraphically, occasionally muttering out words that swelled in her mind. you watched as she worked sedulously, perfecting her craft with careful precision.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

she played for you before, the first time she did was your birthday. you remember the celebration. the rush of adrenaline and excitement of all the attention from the people you loved most being on you for that small moment. it felt special. and once everyone had left, saying their goodbyes, ellie had rushed you back to her place for a last-minute surprise.

you remembered the dazed confusion and anticipation building in your atoms as she rushed you through the door, shutting it behind her as soon as she had you there with a smile that was too timid for the ellie williams you spoke with everyday.

“don’t laugh.” her voice rang throughout your mind, the strong feeling of deja vu hitting you in the moment as you sat in the timeline between the present and past.

“i won’t!” you said, twisting your head to look around the room, almost expecting something to be waiting for you there. “not unless it’s funny.”

“i’m being serious. i’ve never done this before.” you remembered her expression, how looked like she’d faint right there. you remembered how your heart skipped a few beats and how your stomach dropped.

“you know i won’t laugh.” she offered a small smile before she turned her back to you, her eyes searching for her guitar, and once you saw it, you were intrigued.

she was silent as she climbed onto her bed, sitting down with the guitar in her lap. you mirrored her position, your eyes watching her with a deep aura of confusion.

“this my gift?” you taunted lightly. you remember the way the corners of her mouth lifted, the tension easing from her face ever so slightly. you remember her shaky hands and the deep breaths she took to calm her nerves.

your hand reached out, landing on the small of her back. the sudden sensation shocked her out of her anxious-ridden mind, her eyes widened slightly before she relaxed again.

“it’s just me.” you muttered. she nodded silently, offering a mumbled ‘thank you’ before she looked away.

you watched as she recollected herself, watching her take deep controlled breaths as you rested your head against ellie’s shoulder, your eyes closing as your breathing aligned with hers.

suddenly, the music began.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the music ended once ellie saw you. she looked a mixture between horrified and relieved when she saw it was you, but it didn’t ease the sudden strain that lingered in the room.

“what are you doing here?” ellie asked frantically, the tension between your brows told a story louder than her words. was she scared of you?

“.. just stopping by,” you hummed, walking over to her bed with a sweet smile. “sorry for barging in. didn’t think you’d be doing something important.”

“i’m gonna invest in a lock.” ellie huffed out, the tension slowly settling between you two.

“you have one, you just don’t use it.” you countered, hoping in bed to sit next to her. “can i hear?”

ellie looked surprised at the question. she remembered the last time she played for you, your birthday. she remembered how you fell asleep against her and how she panicked, not knowing if she should wake you up or let you sleep over for the night. she chose the latter, spending the night on the couch instead.

“uh— it’s not.. finished.” ellie stammered out, her now shaky hand coming up to rub against her neck as a way to comfort herself.

“it’s okay. i’ll like it.” you assured her, your smile softening at her display of anxiety. “i’ll help, i sing too, y’know?” you offered, only half joking. ellie snorted.

“yeah right.” ellie muttered, her hand falling from her neck to rest back against her guitar. she shifted her position, straightening her posture slightly— although still pretty bad— silently aligning her fingers to the strings along the neck of the guitar. she froze.

“don’t laugh.”

you let out a soft chuckle, your features relaxing at the familiarity of the situation. it was adorable, seeing ellie so riled up. you’d tease her about it later.

“i won’t”

i wrote this at midnight with a dream and one singular hope

#ellie the last of us #ellie williams #the last of us #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie williams x you #v.angel once wroteˏˋ°•*⁀➷#lesbian #tlou2 #ellie x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie tlou #the last of us 2 #the last of us game #ellie williams x reader #dividers by enchanthings

90 notes · View notes

yullalightk · 2 months ago

Text

✨Diligence Headcanons pt2!✨ ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Just writing a few more that I came up with! mostly has a lot to do with their life as a human.

They had a habit of putting high expectations on themselves when they were a human (Still has them currently!)

The type of music they listen to is prolly... classical music. And some opra too. I can see them listening to some while they take a short break.

They can't sleep. Even if they wanted to, I don't think the Virtues are alloud.. They can take something similar to a nap but it's not exactly the same.

They weren't socially active as a human, they just worked hard on their job. They were praised, and respected as a result.

Even though they won't admit it, they ADORE praises. I think it's due to the fact that their a tad bit egotistical lol.

They would do anything to reach their goal as a human, even if it meant distencing themselves from their loved ones.

Seceretly envious of others who has a family or friend. But! they also have a little respect to them as well. They were distant from their family as a human.. but, they didn't hate them either!

Their brains are REALLY sensitive! So, everytime someone is waaayyy too close they'll make sure It. Won't Happen. Again.

When they were a human, they were considered boring 'cause of how much they dedicated themselves to their job. I kinda based their human life off of songs such as: Are You Satisfied?, Oh No!, Top Of My School, I am not a Robot, Teen Idle.

As a human, they shut out most of their family, people who could've been friends, and so on. They thought that they would lose themselves if they let lose, even just a little bit, so they ended up isolating themselves as a result.. after becoming a Rotling, they regretted every single decision they made, wishing that they chose a different path then the ones they took.

Diligence might not show kindness towards others, but he does have respect to those who knows their place. And wouldn't dare speak up unless necessary.

They also care for their angel bird, Sedu. Sedu is short for Sedulous, that's a synonym to Diligent.

Now.. I thought A LOT about this but, their sexuality is.. either Omni or Pan. Omni isn't really MY hc, it's someone else's!

Mud was one, if not their personal favorite soldier of theirs, so it obviously pissed them off when they realized that their favorite left what was to them, Heaven.

They play favorites on their soldiers. Dili obvi has their favorites.

Diligence polishes themselves often, they do care about their appearences sm that, everytime you see them, they're metal plates seem shinier than before!✨✨

They gloat about themselves when they get the chance, and will expect you to listen.

They don't show it but, they hate it when someone reminds them that they were a Rotling, Diligence hates their former self sm that they will shut anyone up for bringing back that godawful memory.

Annnnnnnd I'll end it here!

I have school on Wednsday so, this'll prolly be my last post. I hope some of you guys liked these new hcs that I came up with! for our sexy Ahem! I-I mean, interesting character Diligence!

Please remember these are headcanons! and don't take them as fact!!

I make these mostly for fun, and some are again, a bit far-fetched.. so if you guys have your own hcs for our guy Diligence here, let me know!

Anyhow.. thanks for reading! and have a great day/afternoon/night!

Love ya!

#yullalightk post #tgd diligence #the gaslight district #Diligence headcanons #headcanons #headcanon dump #the gaslight district diligence #tgd #I love them your honor..#I don't think I'll run out of 'em anytime soon...#I might make a reader x Diligence hc but who knows!!

73 notes · View notes

torturingpeople · 6 months ago

Text

i felt like i should give dionysia some actual colours + reveal her design so i drew this up ^_^ i also wanted to show off how short marie actually is LOL

#shes like if queen victoria was even worse #but also i love dionysia's design so much #tposts #the vicious capitalist #the sedulous revolutionary #tp ocs #tpaints

18 notes · View notes

tillichan · 3 months ago

Text

❀˖° [Fluffy Flowers] for @babulejka °˖❀

Rose — What makes them realize that they're in love with you?

It's sappy, but Alexis swears that it was love at first sight. Your mysterious aura, the way you reminded him an ethereal creature from his favorite books or the way you were so beautiful, cheerful and confident. Alexis always was sure that only the sad or lonely faces can attract his attention. Oh, how wrong he was!

The moment Alexis even got a glimpse of you, he realized that he was down bad. He was deeply in love with this amazing girl who reminds him a gorgeous witch. He felt an irresistible desire to get to know you better. He wanted to approach you first, talk to you about magic and about you. Who are you? Where are you from? Do you like magic? He needed to know it!

This was the first time Alexis was so fascinated with someone. It was the first time he was in love.

Aster — Courting/flirting headcanons. How would they act around their crush?

His main love language is the acts of service. Alexis wants to be helpful to you, so he is always here whenever you need something. He also wants to spend more time with you, talk to you and get to know you better.

Alexis is enchanted with your world. When he first visited your house, he thought that he had stepped into a fairy tale. Beautiful plants were everywhere, cute animals now and then appeared while you were showing him your place, the garden you sedulously maintained attracted his attention. And all he wanted was staying here with you. Forever. Helping you with your garden, enjoying the life full of magic and adventures, being with you, ah, Alexis would sold his soul for this. And he started moving toward this goal step by step.

Whenever Alexis has time he tries to spend it with you in a subtle way. Be it a hangout at your home or something else it doesn't matter. Slowly but surely Alexis enters your life becoming your friend at first. But then he begins to have signs of attention. He asks you will you let him braid your hair. Alexis secretly practiced for a while to show you a good result. On Kaiser. And secretly from Kaiser instead of cutting his hair. But then Alexis was exposed. Nothing can be done, he started practicing on you, but the true is he's really good at it. Even elves would be envied by your beautiful braids decorated by flowers, ribbons and hairpins he gifted you.

Even if he isn't interested in this theme at all, but you like it, Alexis does his best to learn more about it. Because everything, even dull topics, became the most interesting and full of magic with you by his side.

Tulip — Confession headcanons. How would they confess to you?

Alexis had long planned to confess you but couldn't decide how. Maybe he should write a love letter for you? Or do something grand with magic and fireworks? Or confess you after the match? Oh, he was a mess. Not to mention that you may not accept his feelings, because you were an ethereal creature straight out of a fairy tale, and him... well, he was just a good football player. You're from two different worlds. There is no way you'd love him back. No, dear Alexis, this's not true.

Alexis continued to be nervous, overthinking and trying to come up with a good idea of confession. But he was not expected that it would be so easy to confess. It went much smoother and easier than he thought.

One day Alexis helped you in the garden, while you were talking about your childhood dreams. About marrying a fantasy creature, to be exact.

"If I were a fantasy creature, would you like to marry me then?", softly whispered Alexis, yet almost as if to his own self. He was so lost in thought, he even didn't realize that he spelled it out for you.

Imagine his surprise when you chuckled softly and said that you want to marry him one day, because he is the most precious fantasy creature in your life.

Lilac — What are they like when they're in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

When Alexis is in love it's very obvious for others. He is open about his feelings, everyone around him just knows that you're his special, his significant other, the love of his life. Not that Alexis flaunts his love on purpose, he just can't hide his feelings. You are his and he is yours, he is not in need of someone else. His team noticed that Alexis stopped his attempts to draw Kaiser's attention. Instead, he chats with you, does video call or reads the book you recommended him. His football skills improved remarkably, he has been walking on air ever since the two of you met.

Alexis Ness in the most dedicated boyfriend ever, the most loyal too. He makes you feel like you are the only person in his life, it's pretty much true. He tends to spend time with you and you only. All his interests are your interests, he is at your mercy. His love is expressed in the desire to be close to you, to become a part of the beautiful world of love and magic you showed him, just to be yours.

Freesia — Firsts headcanons. Where/when/how was your first meeting, first date, first kiss, first time they said I love you.

♡ The first time you and Alexis met was in the book store. The both of you reached for the same fantasy book, his hand brushed yours, and Alexis quickly pulled his hand away, offering you to take this book for yourself. But you just smiled, grabbed the book from the top shelf and handed over it to Alexis.

"Are you sure?", asked him in surprise. "This is the last book in this store".

But you responded with a mysterious smile, asking him to lend you the book when he has finished reading it.

Alexis felt like you put a spell on him. He felt a wild overwhelming desire to grab your hand and never let it go. You were like a beautiful illusion, a wonderful dream, so different from the other girls, from the other people. Alexis thought you would disappear in the blink of an eye and he would never see you again.. He had to do something! He should hold on to you!

While Alexis frantically tried to figure out a way to tell you something. You asked him for his phone number, otherwise how can you get the book. Alexis opened his eyes wide.

Oh.

He thought, he fell in love with you. Right now. At this very moment. And there was no turning back.

♡ Your first date happened when Alexis met with you to give the book. It's needless to say that he was very excited to see you again. So much so that he read the book in one sitting and, plucking up courage, invited you to a cafe. Fantasy-themed cafe to be exact. It was his favorite place. And even though he was a little nervous that you may not like it, you assured him that you like this place too.

Alexis used a drink and dessert he ordered you as an excuse to spend some more time with you. And then... it was like a fairy tale. It was the first time Alexis enjoyed conversation with someone so much. You knew so many interesting things about fantasy books, about magic, about the world. You were so open, but at the same time there was a mystery about you.

"Could we... meet again and talk?", asked Alexis with hope.

Did you agree? Of course, yes.

♡ Your first kiss was on Christmas. Alexis slipped out of his house to spend this Christmas with you. Every time he hung out at your home he felt like he was in another world so different than the world of his family full of science, logic and practical way of life. They even never celebrated Christmas. Why is this necessary? They can dedicate themselves full-time to research instead of doing something futile, such as celebrating Christmas. But this year, with you, it will be different!

The two of you spent the whole day together decorating your home, building a snowman, watching your favorite Christmas movies and listening to Christmas songs you played yourself, while Alexis was sitting there watching you with the eyes full of adoration. Then you and Alexis created a puppet show, acting out your favorite fairy tales and baked the sachertorte Alexis loved so much, especially when you were the one who cooked it.

While you were cooking, Alexis helped you with serving and preparing the ingredients. After a while, you playfully handed him a spoon to taste the apricot jam. Alexis obediently accepted the sweet treat with the happiest smile.

Alexis kept holding your hand with the spoon in his, even though he already tasted the jam. He looked straight into your eyes, as if transfixed. He wanted to kiss you, but hesitated. And then, as if by magic, Alexis noticed a hanging of mistletoe right above you two. It gave hime a confidence. Alexis pulled on your hand gently, as he wrapped his other hand around your waist. Your faces were inches away from each other.

"May I?", he whispered in your lips.

You smiled and kissed him. And Alexis can swear this was the best Christmas gift he has ever gotten.

♡ The confession followed immediately after your first kiss. Alexis pressed his forehead against yours, the happy smile revealed his true feelings. "I love you", he whispered and gently rubbed his nose with you.

Forget-me-not — Their favorite memory with you?

Alexis will always remember the day the two of you saw the first snow together. The two of you hung out together. Sitting in the cozy cafe you and Alexis enjoyed each other's presence. And then the snow just started and it was a total whiteout. Alexis frowned, he never liked snow, it brought back bad memories about his squashed dreams. The dreams about Santa, about magic, about Snow Golem Servant, his family ruined it all.

What Alexis didn't expect was you offered him to make a snowman in your garden. So the two of you ended up having fun in your garden playing with the snow. Alexis spent the whole day with you enjoying the snowball fight and making a snowman. As soon as your cute snowman was completed, you suddenly started drawing magic symbols around it.

You smiled in response to his puzzled face. Your precious boyfriend always wanted to summon a snow golem, right? So why not do it right now?

Hesitating for a moment, Alexis joined you. Yes, this's his favorite memory with you.

Daffodil — Love triangle headcanons. The character who has a crush on you and how does your s/o react to their crush?

Bachira Meguru has a big crush on you even though he knows that you see him only as a friend. But he can do nothing about his feelings. He is in love, deeply in love with you since childhood.

The two of you are the childhood friends. You were absolutely in love with his mother's paintings and spent a lot of time at his place playing with Meguru and his mother. The monsters and fantastic creatures has always interested you, so you wasn't mind when Meguru mentioned his monster friend.

Your kindness, your uniqueness, your bright smile, all this made Meguru fall in love with you. More and more. Every year, his feelings only grew stronger. But unfortunately, your heart is already taken.

When it comes to Alexis, he is well aware of a crush your childhood friend has on you. And he gets jealous and anxious a little every time you hang out with Meguru, because sometimes Alexis feels that Bachira is better than him. He is bright, confident and knows you better.

But every time Alexis feels insecure, you assure him that there is only one person you love, and his name is Alexis.

Iris — What do their friends and family think about your relationship?

His family was... Let's say, very chill about your relationship at first. Why the two of you spend so much time on being lovey-dovey instead of doing something useful. But they didn't knew whom they were dealing with! As soon as they met you and talked to you a little, they changed their mind. Such a smart, talented and brave girl is worthy of joining their family. Not that you really need their blessing. Especially since you know well that they ruined your boyfriend's childhood.

His friends and teammates love you a lot! Especially Michael and his coach, Noel Noa. They love to talk to you every time you come to visit Alexis and bring his team some snacks and gifts. When it comes to your relationship, they are a little jealous because the two of you are so in love with each other. It makes Bastard Munchen feel lonely. But they still very happy that you're together, not to mention that Alexis become a better player since the two of you met.

Dahlia — Marriage headcanons. Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

♡ Alexis wants to marry you so bad, oh my God. Married life with you is his biggest dream. Yes, he wants to marry you, live together, spend the rest of his life with you, die in one day and date again in your next life. This is the dream of Alexis.

Because of you he became more confident and grew more determined. His life began to play with new colors with you by his side. So the idea of proposing you had been brewing in his mind for the longest time. But Alexis just couldn't choose the right way, the right time too. He bought you a beautiful wedding ring decorated by your favorite flowers and stones. The perfect ring for his fairy.

And the day when Alexis proposed you has finally come.

It was a pretty typical day, the two of you spent time at your home. You were excited to show him the new dolls and puppets you recently made, but Alexis looked spaced-out during the whole day. He was nervous about something and zoned out often. But when you asked him what happened, he somehow turned even more nervous and asked you if you'd like to watch the puppet show he prepared for you.

The story was about the lonely monster who was always alone, because he was different from all other members of his family. He had had no place, he was a stranger everywhere. Until he met a gorgeous witch who lived in a house with a garden. She accepted him the way he is and fell in love with him. The monster fell in love with her too, they got married and lived happily by the end of their days.

As soon as Alexis ended the story, he got on one knee and asked, "Will you be my wife?".

♡ Your marriage was held in the circle of close relatives and friends. Even though the two of you had enough money to do something very luxury and fashionable, non of you two wanted it. Instead, you and Alexis preferred to have your wedding ceremony out of doors in a beautiful garden full of flowers and plants.

The two of you didn't expect that the whole Bastard Munchen team came to congratulate you two. The most part of them came because of you, because, oh, they love you very much, even though some of them are too proud to admit it.

You spent the whole day with the people you love the most and who love you even more than you do. Alexis was happy but nervous, he couldn't believe that this beautiful fairy agreed to wed him. You in your wedding gown, walking down the aisle to him, made Alexis tear up with joy. But, you know, even tough he truly enjoyed your wedding party, he also couldn't wait for this to be over. Why? To unwrap your presents, of course. And, maybe, not only the presents.

Daylily — Do they want to have children? What would family life look like? How many children do they want?

Alexis wants to have children. He wants to have a big family with you, he wants to give his children the childhood he has always dreamed about. Not to mention that every time he sees you with children, he has a small baby fever. You're just so motherly, he can't wait to meet your and his children. Two or three would be prefect, but it depends on you, of course, and on your wishes. Especially Alexis wants to have a girl who looks like you, it'd be so cute!

Family life with Alexis would be very funny and stable. He is a pro football player, so you always have enough money. Alexis would make sure that his family is happy, enjoys their life and believes in miracles. He'd do his best to spend as much time with his family as he can, playing with his children, reading them his favorite books and devoting a lot of time to you.

Ah, Alexis wants to start this family life with you so much.

#fluffy flowers event #blue lock matchup #babulejka ♡#bllk matchup #matchup

89 notes · View notes