#he's so pretty i almost forget he's french

[gum-iie]

centuries wept away

[ms-demeanor]

I'm not a huge fan of french toast so I don't make it all that often and when I do make it I prefer to eat it with this whipped cream cheese stuff that I make (8oz cream cheese, 8oz heavy whipping cream, 2tbsp powdered sugar, beat until fluffy) and raspberry jam. My dad also likes this, so when he was over this weekend I made some french toast. This, however, left us with a lot of leftover whipped cream cheese stuff and I was poking around trying to figure out what to eat it on when I realized that I had all the ingredients for scones, plus the raspberry jam and some lemon curd in my fridge.

I keep forgetting that it takes like less than half an hour to make scones if you have all the ingredients and a pastry cutter, and I almost always have all of the ingredients in a pastry cutter.

Anyway I ended up making us scones to have for breakfast to use up the last of the whipped cream cheese stuff as like a low-effort clotted cream and it fucking ruled. If you like scones you should know that it's actually pretty easy to make them. I should go make scones.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Prettiest Sight

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: really just cockwarming technically, sort of exhibitionism/voyeurism, Bucky has a filthy mouth even in such a casual setting, honestly this isn't much compared to some of my others lol

Genre: fluff and smut

Summary: Steve wants to draw you and Bucky and you plan to let him

***

You stride into your room humming to yourself as you finish a text. When you enter, Steve and Bucky are lounging around, Steve at the desk, and Bucky on the couch watching TV.

"Oh hey guys. I didn't realize you'd be back already." You say.

"We just went on a coffee run." Steve reminds you, tapping your coffee cup with his pencil.

"Well yeah I know but sometimes that shop gets busy." You shrug.

"Where did you get off to princess?" Bucky asks.

"Just had some laundry I thought I'd take care of while you were out. I just sat up there til I could put them into the dryer so I didn't forget." You explain grabbing your coffee from the table and taking a sip.

"Oh okay."

"What ya doin Stevie?" You ask looking over his shoulder where he's hunched over at your desk.

"Just some sketching." He mutters.

"He's been at it most of the morning. Even at the coffee shop, he was doodling away while we were waiting." Bucky tells you.

"Really?" You hum. "Can I see some of them?" You ask.

"They aren't like- great or anything just, trying some things." Steve mutters handing you the sketchbook. You flip through the drawings with wide eyes. Some of them are simple, outlines and such some barely more than shadows, but other pages are much more detailed, vivid depictions of places and things and the occasional person.

"These are impressive Stevie. You shouldn't sell yourself short." You tell him sitting down in Bucky's lap.

"Are these just strangers?" Bucky asks peaking at one of the drawings with an arm wrapped around your waist.

"Yeah- I don't draw people a lot but every once in a while I'll try." Steve shrugs.

"Well you could always draw us if you want the practice." You say with a wink. You're pretty sure he'll never actually take you up on the offer but you're not joking.

"Wanna draw us like one of your French girls Stevie?" Bucky smirks resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Don't tease. I was being serious." You lightly smack Bucky's thigh in reprimand.

"Actually- I did have this one idea." Steve mutters his cheeks tinged pink slightly.

"Really?" Bucky blinks at him.

"You wanna draw us?" Even you're surprised.

"If you guys don't mind."

"Of course we don't. What's the idea?" You ask. Steve doesn't answer immediately, but the tint in his cheeks is spreading in the space left after your question.

"Oh shit he really does want to draw us like Jack's French girls." Bucky laughs.

"Stop it." You roll your eyes. "Is that it Steve?"

"Well kind of. Unfortunately, my recollection isn't great otherwise I would just draw it from memory but- it's just that you always look so beautiful when Buck or I am filling you I thought it'd be a nice moment to immortalize." Steve explains and the revelation sends a shiver down your spine and has your core clenching slightly.

"Oh." You breathe out.

"You- wanna draw us with her sitting on my dick?" Bucky asks and you almost squirm at his words, the imagery now vividly at the forefront of your mind.

"It's a real pretty sight." Steve says.

"I mean I know it is Steve I'm just- surprised. You've never been one for that kind of exhibitionistic interest." Bucky says.

"Whatever man." Steve rolls his eyes. "Y/n? What are you thinking?" He asks you hesitantly.

 "I mean I'm not- against it. You just want me like in Bucky's lap?" You ask.

"Yeah pretty much."

"Well if Bucky's fine with it-"

"You'll never have to convince me to do something that involves you on my dick." Bucky shrugs.

"You are so vulgar." You roll your eyes.

"You had no problem with my vulgarity last night princess." Bucky kisses the back of your neck.

"Down boy." You joke. "Stevie you wanna give this idea of yours a try or what?"

"Now?" He blinks.

"Yeah why not? We're all here and you've got your sketchpad." You shrug. "Just tell us what to do and we can make it happen."

"O- okay, well you'll need to strip." Steve says.

"Risque." Bucky jokes as you climb off of his lap to tug off your shorts and t-shirt.

"You too Bucky." Steve says.

"Can do." Bucky winks at Steve shuffling down his jeans and pulling his shirt over his head.

"Actually- y/n put on one of our shirts that you've highjacked." Steve says.

"Hey you guys leave your clothes in here half the time." You protest but you grab one of Steve's shirts from your drawer anyway. You put it on and walk back over to Bucky on the couch.

"And the other half of the time you just go into our rooms and take things." Bucky says tapping your butt lightly. You stick your tongue out at him in response and he chuckles.

"Anyway, do you need a little warm-up y/n?" Steve asks.

"A warm-up?" You ask.

"Well yeah- you'll be sitting for a little bit, you both need to be somewhat comfortable." Steve says as if it's obvious.

"Oh." It's all you can come up with in response.

"Come here doll, let's get you ready hm, although- I'd bet you're already dripping for us like always." Bucky spins you to face him, a hand wrapping around your thigh, fingers settling incredibly close to your center. Close enough that if he stretched the digits he'd be touching, but where they are now it's just enough for you to be hyperaware of the closeness.

"Now's really not the best time for one of your games Bucky." Steve cautions.

"There's never a bad time for those." Bucky winks. Steve rolls his eyes which only makes Bucky's smirk widen as if he has every intention of riling you both up.

"This is supposed to be about me drawing you two babe, can't do that if you're just gonna make a mess of her til she's begging for both of us." Steve says and you almost want to abandon the drawing in favor of that when he says it.

"Alright I'll be nice." Bucky concedes tapping against your thigh lightly. The action instinctually has your legs spreading enough for him to slip two fingers between your slick folds. "Just like I thought, so wet before anyone even had to touch you. Always so ready for us." Bucky hums as he pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly, stretching you. You can't help the small whimpers and moans that fall from your lips at Bucky's ministrations with both men watching intently. A few minutes of playing your body like a custom instrument have you unsteady on your feet and that's when Bucky withdraws. "I'd say you're ready." He says sliding his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean and the action makes your walls clench. You take a deep breath before speaking again.

"Do you want me facing you Stevie? Or should I be facing Bucky for this?" You ask.

"Face me sweetheart." Steve says. You nod and climb onto Bucky's lap straddling him with your back to Bucky. You take Bucky in your hand and he hisses but he can't dwell on the sweet grip of your fingers because in the next moment, you're sinking down onto him, the molten heat of your core envelops him like the sweetest torture. You take your time settling on top of him, 'unintentionally' grinding further against his erection until his hands squeeze warningly against your hip. "Behave you two. I'm serious about drawing you." Steve warns.

"Of course baby." You smile innocently at him.

"Alright- Bucky get comfortable but your legs need to be spread so I can actually see where you're joined oh and slip your hand into her shirt, cup one of her boobs. And you can put your other hand on her thigh." Steve gives you a series of directions which Bucky follows quickly. "Y/n you can lean back against him." Steve adds and you settle against Bucky's chest, and his head rests on your shoulder. "Good girl. Now you guys can just sit there while I draw."

"Do we gotta be quiet and still or-" Bucky trails.

"I mean as long as you don't move too much it's fine, and you can definitely talk, at least until I'm drawing your faces but I'll let you know when I'm at that point." Steve's already started sketching, his eyes darting from you and Bucky to his sketchpad. Bucky swipes his thumb across the nipple of your breast that's in his hand and you gasp at the sudden stimulation.

"Bucky-" You warn.

"Sorry doll, you're just impossible to resist." He hums pressing a kiss to your neck that makes a shiver run down your spine.

"You're insufferable." You scoff at him.

"You say that but I can feel you squeezing me at my teasing." He says.

"Settle down Bucky." Steve warns him although you doubt Bucky will listen. If you're lucky he'll save the teasing for after the drawing is finished but chances are you'll end up doing way more than sitting on his dick within the hour. Bucky can be quite patient but when it comes to you neither of them is particularly good at managing their insatiability. You'll be seriously surprised if Steve manages to finish his drawing before one or both of them decides this time is better spent forcing orgasms from you.

***

[byechristopher]

chris x squirter gf plz ♥️

keep going. [+18]

– Chris Sturniolo smut.

chris x squirter!gf.

Author's note: you ask and you shall receive. Didn't think about it before this request but shit, that is hot. I hope you enjoy, lovelies. ♡ Don't copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: smut smut smut. Just pure filth. Long. Praise kink, squirter gf, don't know what else. Minors dni. Bye.

"Hey, cutie." I smile even though she can't see me through the phone, "I'm okay, how are you? Everything okay with the date?" I ask her. I am on the bed (I'm pretty sure she is, too), laying on my back and I close my eyes.

I can feel myself getting a little cold and I remind myself I am only in my underwear and a simple, thin white top. Not even wearing socks. Shit. I am a little too comfortable to move and I know Chris is taking a shower so, I just stay like this for a while, still talking to my friend.

I don't know how long it's been but me and my friend have talked about 55 different topics and I completely forget Chris is even home. So when I feel soft lips on my leg, I am a little caught off guard – I open my eyes to see Chris. His hair is still wet, water dripping down his body, he is wearing gray sweatpants. I can see his smile as he slowly trails kisses up my leg, all the way up to my thigh.

"I know right.." I try to keep my voice as normal as possible, although I can barely breath as he moves to the other leg. I'm not sure if I hear what my friend actually says.

Chris massages my thighs as he makes himself comfortable in between my legs. Droplets of water fall from his hair and land on my skin but his kisses make sure to keep me warm. He wraps his arms around my thighs and leans closer to where I need him the most – he rubs the tip of his nose against my panties and I try to supress a moan. He grins and places a soft kiss on the fabric. Then he sticks his tongue out and I almost lose it.

"Yeah.. no.. I mean, I guess?" I don't know what the fuck I am saying, all I know is that my boyfriend is fucking french-kissing me down there and I am dripping for him. I hang up as soon as possible and let out a groan.

"Why do you always do this to me?" I whine as I push my phone to the side (of course making sure it is switched off, just in case), spreading my legs a little wider to make room for him.

"Do what, babe?" he hums and continues locking me down there with my panties still on.

"Teasing me when I'm talking on the phone." I glace at him and he gives me an innocent smile back.

"Mhmm sorry pretty, want me to make it up to you?" his smile is always there, even when he hooks his fingers around my panties, slowly pushing them down.

"You better." I groan and as I am about to spread my legs again, he keeps my thighs together and pushes my legs so that my knees touch my chest. My panties are resting on the back of my knees and I can't see him in this position, but I can feel my pussy dripping.

"Shit, you're already making a mess, baby." he whispers before spreading those lips down there, taking my clit in his mouth, licking it hungrily. He slowly pushes his tongue inside of me and my hand immediately reaches behind my legs, finding his hair and grabbing a fistful of it.

"Please, you've tortured me enough today." I moan as he keeps slowly fucking me with his warm, wet tongue.

"Mhmm, that's true." he keeps his voice quiet and after placing a little kiss on my pussy, he sits up and grabs my panties, finally taking them off completely and throwing them to the other side of the room.

He gets up and I follow him with my eyes, trying to think of what he's doing instead of just fucking me already. I stay quiet, though. He sits on the armchair that is right next to them bed and motions me to come over – a little confused, I do as he says.

"I need to fuck you here, like this, I need to see you bouncing on me."

That's the thing about Chris – he could be the most playful, sweetest, smiley person but then, he says something like this when we have sex and I completely lose it. He's such a dirty-talker, I love him.

I immediately grin at his thought, but before I do exactly that, I get on my knees to take his dick in my mouth, after pushing his gray sweatpants down a bit, not taking them off though. He groans, throwing his head back and I place my hand on his chest, rubbing his skin as I continue to move my head up and down in a slow pace. My hand travels up to his throat and he immediately grabs my wrist, pushing his head forward to look at me with a look full of lust. He grabs the hand that's still on his throat and brings him close to his mouth, taking three of my fingers inside of it and I feel myself getting wetter. He sucks on these three fingers and then pushes my hand down, indirectly telling me to rub his dick with my hand.

"You taste so good." I groan and keep moving my hand as I place a soft kiss on the tip of his cock.

Then, abruptly, he pushes my hand away and grabs my shoulders, making me stand up and taking my shirt off, now leaving me completely naked. He grips my waist, fingers digging in my sides, and he kisses my belly gently before turning me around. My back is now facing him and as I feel him pushing me down to basically sit on his lap, my breath gets stuck in my throat.

"Pretty girl. I've been thinking about you all day." he whispers and I can feel him rubbing the tip of his cock against my pussy. He finds the entrance and without wasting any other time, he pushes me down on his dick. I scream.

"Fucking.. Chris.." my feet are on the ground, knees are bent, body slightly forward with my hands on his thighs and my ass pressed against him.

"Baby, shit.." he moans and leans forward to place a kiss on my back, hands caressing my thighs.

I know he's not moving to make sure I am okay and adjusting, so I take matters to my own hands and support myself on his thighs, starting to move my hips back and forth. He moans and I can almost hear his smile as he leans back again and grips my hips. He starts moving me up and down on him and I can't stop the loud noises that come out of my mouth.

"Babe.. you're fucking wet.. and so warm.. shit." one of his hands rests on my lower back and then drags itself up all the way up to the nape of my neck. He grabs it and pushes me forward, making me arch my back and perk my ass, as he lifts his hips to fuck me like this.

"Chris.. Chris.. yes! Like this.." I moan as he speeds up, his thrusts now becoming faster, rougher. His hands go back to my ass, squeezing it and slapping it, before grabbing it again and guiding me all the way down so he's balls-deep.

"Come on, pretty. Bounce on my dick, I wanna see you fuck yourself on it." he moans and slaps my ass again.

With my hands on his knees now, I start practically jumping up and down on him, his dick filling me up, "mhmm, I can feel you.. so deep.." I moan, bouncing on his cock, my ass slapping against his skin.

"Shit, shit.." he hums and wraps an arm around my waist, his hand moving up to my breast to pinch and tug on my nipple as his other hand goes down to my pussy, his middle finger rubbing my clit in circle motions.

"Chris! Please!" my moans start to get louder but he keeps the same pace.

"What is it, beautiful? Do you want to cum? All over my dick?" I am lost in the pleasure but I know he's smirking.

"Please." I want to cry from the overstimulation, he's been teasing me all day long and I didn't cum all day.

"Mhmm, I'm not done with you, baby. Get up." he says and I whine because I knew it. I keep moving my hips desperately and he smacks my ass. I groan and slowly take his dick out, getting up and turning around to face him. I am a mess.

He doesn't waste much time this once and immediately pulls me into his lap so that I'm straddling his thighs, guiding his cock to where my entrance is and pushes all the way inside me again. I grab his shoulders and start moving my hips, throwing my head back. He takes one of my nipples in his mouth, sucking on it and I look at him, seeing that he hasn't taken his eyes off of my face.

"Like it when I fuck you like this, baby? When I make you mine, over and over again?" he whispers against the skin that's in between my breasts and continues to thrust inside of me roughly.

"I'm.. Chris.. I– please.." I actually feel a tear running down my cheek from all the pleasure and he smiles, grabbing my ass with one hand and rubbing my clit with the other. I lose it.

"It's okay, baby. Don't hold back. I am going to let you cum this time." he hums and places kisses all over me. I want to cry happy tears. A sigh of relief leaves my lips and I lean forward, placing my lips against his, my tongue searching for his immediately. He kisses me hungrily, his dick moving inside of me and his thumb still rubbing circles on my clit.

Then, something weird happens. I can feel a wave of pleasure desperately searching for release, but it's not quite the usual one. It's as if it's something.. more. Something that I have no control over whatsoever.

"Chr.. Chris.." I stutter because I can feel my whole body shaking, trembling.

"You feel it, baby, hm? Are you going to cum all over me?" his thumb presses a little harder against my clit and he thrusts into me faster, "are you going to make me wet, too?" he says and I literally scream, my fingers digging in his chest, "cum, beautiful. Cum."

That's all it takes for me to lift myself up quickly, taking his dick out as he squeezes my ass to keep me closer and keeps rubbing my pussy to keep me going – I let out another loud moan/scream and with my body fully trembling now, I finally let go, my juices coming out of me like water, "fuck, baby yes, that's it" I can hear him say and I can feel him cumming with me but I'm still going and he's now fully covered in my juices, from his chest, to his cock, to his sweatpants.

Utterly exhausted, I let my body fall on his, not caring that we're both covered in cum and sweat. His arms wrap around me carefully, making me curl up on his lap and placing little kisses on my head.

"Baby, you okay?" he mutters, his voice hoarse.

I just nod reassuringly and curl up even more against him. He strokes my hair and grabs one of my hands that's resting on his chest, placing little kisses on my fingers, my palm, everywhere.

"Sorry for making a mess, I didn't know.. you know." I whisper, my eyes closed – I'm tired.

"I love you so much, babe. So much." he hugs my head and rests his chin on it, "you're beautiful."

"I love you too." I place a little kiss on his chest.

"I know. Now, come on. Let's go get cleaned up." he picks me up and I chuckle, hugging him, "also, I didn't know you were a squirter. How much hotter can you get?" he teases and I whine, hitting his chest – he laughs, I laugh too.

[aestheticpearl]

— ‘girl, you really got a hold on me.’

✧·˚ you ask for some soft sex with the ghouls and they try their best to give you that, some are better than others at following the rules

characters. dewdrop, rain, swiss, mountain, phantom

themes. smut

[gender neutral reader]

➳ dewdrop

definitely confused at first

needs you to guide him through it

(not that that’s anything new)

actually really enjoys going slow

he gets to see your reactions more clearly

relishes in how warm you feel around him

you’re almost always on top so you control the pace you go at

he likes to hold your hips just to make you move a bit faster or hit a better angle

he’ll rub circles on your hips with his thumbs while holding you

➳ rain

the king of soft sex

he prefers it over rough and fast

holds your hand no matter the position

always makes sure you’re comfortable in said position and that it feels good

your pleasure >>> his

love to lean in and kiss you when you’re both close

rests his head on your shoulder and gives your neck gentle kisses

says ‘i love you’ when he cums

rubs your sides as you come down from your high

➳ swiss

says he’s not good at ‘soft’ sex but is literally the gentlest

he knows how to praise

will always notice if you get too tense during a session

‘easy baby, easy you’re going to hurt yourself.’

unfortunately he can’t stop his teasing nature from leaking through

will stop moving until you relax

likes to hold you very close while thrusting into you

loves to reassure how good you’re doing

grunts and groans from how hard it is to hold back because how good it feels

➳ mountain

the prince of soft sex

only because he forgets his size sometimes and will accidentally slip up

like to keep it basic and put you in missionary

will hold your hand the whole time

he’ll lose himself in you and sometimes do faster by accident

just snap him out of it and he’ll instantly lock his focus on you again

loves kissing every part of you

loves kissing you honestly

will french kiss you for half the time he’s inside you if you let him

➳ phantom

he’s awful at remembering that this is supposed to be a soft sex session

you’ll have to guide his hips if you still want to bottom

if you manage to wrangle him and get on top he’ll whine the whole time with how slow you’re going

give him other forms of stimulation and he’ll get all sensitive and ask you to slow down

loves to top but when it comes to soft sex he loves when you take control

whiny mess when you stop because you say your legs hurt from the position

will try again to top and actually goes slow

ends up overstimulating himself

you pretty people miss me? ;)

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

[cloudysleepingzone]

Heya^^ could we possibly get some romantic hcs about dazai, atsushi, and possibly fyodor with a artist s/o, they sometimes doodle on unimportant papers when the meetings are way too boring for them , and sometimes when they have free time they draw their lover in their sketchbook, maybe a painting or two of their lover <3 anyways love your writing and don't forget to hydrate! Have a wonderful day or night!!

BSD with an Artist S/O

Decided to add Chuuya and Tecchou due to a very similar request!

Contents : Dazai, Atsushi, Fyodor, Chuuya and Tecchou x Reader (separate), gender neutral reader (they/them used), fluff, suggestive for Dazai's part and sorta Tecchuu? Not really. Pet Names.

Dazai Osamu

Doesn't matter what your drawing, he's watching.

Can you blame him though? He just loves watching his lover just doing something they enjoy!

If you draw him he will start acting like a dramatic prince for a solid 10 minutes.

"(Name), draw me like one of your French girls~"

You sit quietly at your desk, the surface covered with your sketchbook and a handful of pencils and pens. "Belllaaa~!" Though your peace is interrupted by your loving boyfriend trying to get out of doing his job again. "What are you drawing beautiful?" He leans over you, his arms wrapping around you from behind as he props his chin on your shoulder. The sketchbook page had small doodles of the two of you, mostly just small cute doodles of holding hands, Dazai tilts his head slight to the side, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. "You know, if you need any ideas you could always draw us with less clothes~"

Atsushi Nakajima

Our sweet boy

He's so supportive of your work he loves seeing the look on your face when you make something your proud of

You draw him? Oh boy...he can't even form words

"You're getting even better sweetheart, you keep improving!"

Your a mess, your finger tips covered in different shades of blue and grey, just like the tip of your paintbrush. Atsushi was behind the canvas, laying comfortably on your shared bed with a soft smile on his lips. "Am I doing alright? I'm not moving too much?" He was doing an amazing job. A perfect job. "Your doing good sweetheart, I'm almost done". You've drawn him from memory plenty of times before, but it feels so much more romantic with him right in front of you. "You look really pretty when your focused..." He mumbles under his breath, even if your the one painting him, he's the one doing the most admiring <3

Fyodor Dostoevsky

To a non familiar eye he seems completely uninterested or even annoyed at your interests. But that's far from true

He adores your work though he sucks at showing it

Got a piece you're really proud of? Yep he's putting it in a fancy frame

You? Drawing him? Aren't you just a sweetheart...

It was already late at night, the curtains had been drawn and you were currently in the shower. Meanwhile your husband Fyodor was already dressed in something more comfortable and was waiting for his dear. Fyodors finger tips gently run over the cover of your current sketch book, which laid on top of a desk in your shared bedroom. He picks up the sketchbook, flipping through the pages slowly before a certain page catches his eye, a page seemingly dedicated to just him. His normally cold and hard gaze softens a bit at the sight, some being full line art and color and others being simple messy doodles. His admiring is interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening. "Sweetheart what are you doing?". Your husband gently closes your sketchbook, setting it down onto the expensive hard work surface. "Just admiring your work my dear..."

Chuuya Nakahara

New art supplies? He's buying it. You want a new set of expensive as hell paint brushes? Pfft, pocket change.

If you even mention getting into a new form of art he's already handing you his credit card without another question.

"It looks pretty already doll, make sure to show me when it's done yea?"

Like Fyodor, he puts his favorite pieces in fancy frames <3

You walk into Chuuya's at home office, not bothering to knock (not like he minds) "Chuuya, I finished that painting you wanted to see!" He slowly turns his chair around, a small smirk on his face, completely ignoring his task of sorting through files for now. "Let me see it babe". You turn the canvas around, showing him your paintwork you've spent a few weeks on. He stand from his seat, walking up to you and placing a gloved hand on your cheek, planting a loving kiss on the other. "It looks beautiful sweetheart, just like you. I'll be hanging it up." Chuuya had already started a small selection of your art that was displayed in fancy gold and silver frames over a fireplace, in the style as if they were million dollar paintings. To him they may as well be, to him your art is priceless. Your priceless.

Tecchou Suehiro

You could make something weird and he'll like it

He will just silently watch you draw whatever, doesn't matter what.

"That looks good sweetheart"

Drawing him? God I don't know if his heart can take something so sweet!

Here you are, sitting on your boyfriend's back while he does sit ups. It was actually pretty normal at this point. The only sounds in the room was the huffs coming from Tecchuu throat and the sounds of pencil scratching against paper. "Hm...maybe I should draw you like this, it would be pretty good anatomy practice" you quickly sketch up some messy line art you can fix later, shifting slightly to show Tecchuu. "Huff Looks good" Despite the slight strain in his muscles he's able to respond pretty easily. I get up from your seat on his back, letting him get up with a groan before stretching his arms. Moving your pencil back to the paper, you continue to look from your boyfriend to the paper back and forth. "This is a bit better" you your sketch book around, it was just a simple sketch of his muscular figure but it was like fine art in his eyes. "You've been improving a lot haven't you?"

[bloodykora]

Thonking hard about Buggy and long haired Buggy especially. Like I don’t mind the stylistic choice in the LA but maaaaan, maaaaaaaan. There’s the obvious stuff like playing with his long hair and braiding it but my mind keeps going back to Head!Buggy and you and it’s just a bit of time to kill before you get anywhere and you were honestly just supposed to watch him so he doesn’t get snatched up by a seagull and something and you both agree this doesn’t mean ANYTHING (he’s gonna develop a soft spot for you and ONLY you out of all the straw hats immediatly), but it’s so damn boring out here and you have some hairties you found somewhere and just… You using Buggy’s head like a hairstyling toy and just braiding it for him or putting it into little buns, clipping it out of his face so it doesn’t get into his eyes etc.

Sanji passes you once and is about to say something but Buggy just gives him a glare that’s all „Got something funny to say punk?“ and he just shakes his head and moves on.

(You forget one tie in there before he reuinites with his body. A simple little thing with two skull beads. He initially keeps it because he actually feels it suites his style but he developes a fondness for this little thing in particular that he doesn’t allow himself to think about for to long)

This is so much longer then I thought it would be so I'm putting it under read more but like yes.

- No cause I absolutely agree, love his long gorgeous hair. I like to think his hair isn’t thin either, its a good mix of thickness but not to the point of curly. He’s got the nice ‘wave’ going. Did you know that in his hat, there are small braids in the hair coming out of it in the LA.

- It didn’t take long for Buggy to start complaining about the heat and it didn’t take you long to get fed up with his complaints

- You kept looking at how his blue hair kept draping over the side of the barrel he was on, and how his bandana has not moved a inch since he was taken out of the bag on the ship

- "Let me do your hair." "No." "Let’s continue then to sit in almost complete silence, would you like to play cards? Oh, wait. You have no hands. What about I Spy? I spy something blue."

- Just making fun of the his situation until he caves in to let you, he says to stop your whining but in reality he could really use the scalp massage

- Putting a crate behind the barrel or something so you can sit and do it. It’s softer than you had thought it would be, and you could see small braids near his bottom layers.

- "Did you do these?" "Huh? I can’t really see the back of my head, you gotta be more descriptive." Holding one of them out for him to see. "Oh yeah, adds a nice touch to the hat when I’m performing!"

- The shed though, his hair would shed so much. You’d be pulling blue hair strands out of your clothes for the rest of time. And they’d get everywhere on the ship too.

- You could hear him sigh in relief when you first start brushing through it, and you felt relieved knowing those knots have been eradicated.

- First thing you do is just a little bun so his neck could get some fresh air for once and then it evolves into the craziness.

- Buns, pigtails, high and low ponys, 1 braid, 2 braids, fishtails, french, dutch, braiding 2 pieces and then wrapping it around his forehead like a crown. Favourite would be doing 2 french braids at the top of his head til it's the bottom and then putting the hair tie there so it becomes a fancy low pigtail.

- "I can't believe how pretty you are with your hair, not very fair to the rest of us good sir." You joke out, meaning it though. "I've always been pretty!" You snort at his reply not knowing how warm his face had started feeling.

- Every pirate has a niche collection, yours? Your hair pin collection. To die for. You have been collecting hair clips and such for this exact occasion. Butterflies, wooden, yellow, purple, bobby pins, bows, ribbons, flowers. The whole works.

- Buggy even thinks about asking you to join his crew just for your hair decoration skills.

- One time you even trim his dead ends for him, and some of his front pieces to frame his face more.

- He got so used to it that if you didn’t approach him with a brush in hand first thing in the morning that he would start asking for you saying how he needed his royal brushing. (He’s totally not worried at all sometimes when you take too long, ha that would be. Ahem.)

- Sometimes he’d even doze off, but would swear he was just resting his eyes.

- A few times someone would stop to glance at you two but never intervene, except Luffy. He was always in awe. Sanji had voiced his concerns for you but never says anything in front of Buggy, you could never see but the two men were death staring each other every time they passed.

- Word spreads through the crew and even though none of them had long enough hair to do or in Usopp’s case, has been doing it himself this whole time. They do come to ask for little clips here and there, Luffy wanting one for the string on his hat so he has something to fidget with, (Nami wanting some to wear with her different outfits later on), Usopp wondering where you got heart ones so he could get one for Kaya, even Zoro wondering if you had one he could wear for Kuina’s memory on special occasions.

-You knew you were nearing Coco village, you had overheard Buggy talking to Usopp about it. How they should be there within the day. You settle for a low bun that curls up right beneath his cap.

- "No beads today?" "Well there is some on the tie but you can’t see it, I was thinking that it would be a more relaxed day. I got some stuff to do around the ship."

- Everyone is so caught up in Nami that by the time things have cooled down you realize he’s gone, no more blue hair to twirl around your fingers.

- The clown realizes too, fiddling with the tie in his hands. Burying the longing deep down, hoping he never sees you again but praying he might get a glance of you once more. He takes it out if he knows he’s about to raid somewhere to avoid breaking it.

- Tears apart his quarters if he misplaces it, someone has almost lost a hand because it fell off a table. 

[callme-darling]

I just need to be Vincent's little secretary 😍 running some errands, bringing him his coffee, or some lunch when he's too busy to remember that he has to eat... Wear tiny skirts and low cut shirts just to tease him, among other services 😊

anon, darling beloved anon, i adore you for this. this genuinely made me come up w like 3 oneshots/headcanons for being his secretary, so expect the rest to be posted sometime🤭

the little secretary

word count: ~550

warnings: fem reader, workplace flirting, implied age gap, nothing explicit (yet, heheh)

a/n: this was so much fun, i LOVE this concept

vincent works so hard, so it’s only natural that his secretary works as hard (if not harder). that very concept is the reason the last lady quit. but then came you—young, enthusiastic, and oh so pretty. vincent almost thought his coworker was playing a joke on him when you were introduced as his new personal assistant.

the tasks themselves usually weren’t too laborious. mostly a lot of organizing, filing, and administrative duties vincent didn’t have the time or energy to be bothered with. and you always completed them with a small smile and quiet “yes, sir”, something that never failed to get your supervisor’s eyes to linger on you for a thoughtful moment before he’d turn back to his desk to resume his own work.

and how, even in the coldest of winter, you’d still shuffle into the office in those tight little skirts of yours that should be a workplace violation, but no one says a word. vincent knows it’s technically his responsibility to reprimand you, but any thought of doing so disappears as soon as he sees you walk into his office, sheer black tights a poor attempt to cover what the skirts don’t. and, god, the heels. usually black or a muted red. he felt no better than pavlov’s dog when he’d hear the distinct, faint clacking come down the hallway, on alert and ready.

after a month or so, you became more comfortable and began to take genuine enjoyment in your eagerness to be of use. it started with a casual coffee offered from your hand every morning—black, one sugar—just the way he liked it. he’d always thank you with a small smile and nod, his fingers ghosting over yours for a moment before taking the cup.

then it developed to you wordlessly dropping off lunch from a restaurant downtown when you noticed his shoulders get tense with stress. occasionally you’d leave a handwritten note atop the parcel for him to find when he comes back from a meeting. ‘brb—went to the downtown office to drop off the files you approved. don’t forget to take a break.’ he’d never admit it aloud, but it was those kind acts of service that made his heart beat the quickest.

but while you were sickeningly sweet most days, you could also be painfully teasing the next. you’d get your nails done, a simple french manicure that he never failed to notice when you handed him a folder. and then his eyes would inevitably trail up your arm, only to see you’re wearing a new blouse. a new, and rather revealing blouse at that. he’d look away quickly, clear his throat, and nod that you were good to go back to whatever task he called you away from.

now vincent isn’t a dumb man, quite the contrary. he’d never admit out loud, but he knew the game you were playing. knew that you were strategic in how you toyed with him—giving just enough that, to the untrained eye, your little smiles and the pretty batting of your eyelashes were simply mannerisms of politeness. vincent, however, was quicker than most to catch on. you’re just in luck; he has his own games he likes to play too.

[sky-kiss]

Okay I had a thought and you can do with it whatever you want... but Raphael speaking infernal is so underrated. Even in game when he casts spells during battle, he doesn't really verbally say anything which is a shame (but is kinda cool if certain beings are powerful enough to cast nonverbally. Either that or my game is hella bugged). When you had that moment in your latest chapter of him speaking infernal to transform that made me 😳Like the way it'd described of being this harsh language and Raphael speaking it just snapped some part of my brain and I'd imagine it'd do something for Joi/Tav too. Like would Raphael still somehow make it sound beautiful (to quote Mamzelle, "a voice that could make the foulest blasphemy seem the sweetest hymn" or it would he still sound harsh but it's still hot because it's flying out of THAT mouth?

__________

A/N: There’s an actor I used to adore who was German, but often spoke a lot of french. So his German would come out with that gentle French lilt. Gonna channel that.

__________

He comes to her in the evening, this devil she loves, and the scent of cherries, sulfur, and musk hangs about him like a shroud. Raphael prowls about her suite like some great cat, his dark head held high. In the hells, his hellfire eyes will light with their inner fire. On the prime material, he’s softer. Warm brown, a touch of honey, almost sweet enough to make her forget. 

“You’re late,” she says. 

He hums lowly. The natural theatricality of the noise does not rob it of its power; Tav shivers. The devil sees; he knows. He always knows. “Ah, but there is such beauty in anticipation, wouldn’t you agree? Desire honed to a knife’s point.” A turn of his right hand, long-fingered and elegant. “Before one tips over the edge.” 

It’s a fine enough point in principle, but less appealing in reality. Their time is short, limited to stolen moments when their schedules align. She has a city to rebuild. He has the lower planes to conquer. 

Her devil smiles, patronizing. “If you feel neglected, mouse, I have already proposed a solution. You’ve only to accept the offered hand.” 

“Join you in Hell?” He nods, eyes wide and lovely. It strikes her that he has cultivated every aspect of this human skin: the smile is so wide, so open, and so nakedly suffused with guile that it wraps back around to innocence. 

Raphael steps close. The scent again: cherries, sweet and delicate. Her devil, wearing sweetness and silk to hide his uglier underbelly. He brushes the fringe of her hair back from her cheek, touch lingering. “Deny me all you like, pet. It shall make the eventual fall all the sweeter.”

Anticipation. Tav shivers. 

Some nights, they fuck in front of the fireplace or on the chaise. Never in the bed. It’s her stipulation. Raphael crinkles his nose at the coarse language and indelicacy of the location. She deserves better, he says. The phrase always comes with an accompanying hand gesture, as if he's framing her for a portrait. Something pretty he can lock away from the world, point at when he wants to feel superior. Admire his wealth, this wild adventurer he’s collared. 

Most nights, they work. Tav shuffles through requisition orders. Raphael amends his contracts. She watches him work, more often than not, gaze flicking across the elegant script. It burns, and there’s an undeniable elegance to the infernal ruins. Tav reaches out to race a line, mouthing the words. She’s out of practice. Infernal is not a pretty language; it fits particularly poorly in her untrained tongue. Raphael rests his chin in his palm, amused by her attempt. 

“Allow me.” 

The devil repeats the phrase. It may as well be a different language. The words drip off his tongue, the harshness erased in favor of a lilting cadence. Tav chews the inside of her cheek, brow furrowed. “Is that…is it a regional dialect? Something distinct to Cania?” 

“In all likelihood, you’ve only heard the lower dialects. The least baatezu are harsh and guttural. The higher speech has a grace to it, provided one is willing to learn. It is a melody, dark and heady as any wine.” Raphael places his hand, palm up, on the table. “Allow me.” Tav sets her hand in his. “Close your eyes, pet.” 

She does. 

Raphael traces lines across her palm, humming to himself. “There are four tongues, sweetling. Lower, lowest, high, highest. For the sake of your sanity, we shall avoid the dialect of the archdevils. But the language of the courts might please you.” 

“And is there a reason my eyes must remain closed?” 

He chuckles, thumb pressing against the veins of her wrist. There is an awful note of potential in the touch; he could break the fragile bones with half a thought. “Feeling, Tav. Like the steps of the dance, it should fill you, move you.” 

She shivers as his fingers ghost up her forearm, featherlight nerve strokes. Raphael repeats the lines of infernal, his fingers drifting up on the mouth melodic stretches, dipping down when the words adopt a guttural edge. It is never grating, never clipped; some of that is exclusively him, years of experience and language marrying in a distinctive vocal pattern. Tav chews her lower lip. She’s too aware of his heat, pinpricks of warmth dancing across her skin as he plays his game.

It is beautiful and dark, and she feels the words on her skin. Raphael traces the runes. Her mind struggles to translate the higher dialect, flowing until it isn’t, succinct until double-meaning creeps into the terminology. Tav feels drunk in the darkness. 

“And now,” his voice is closer, spoken against the shell of his ear. The devil gathers her into his lap. He smiles into the curve of her throat. “The student demonstrates what she’s learned. Come, pet, impress me.” 

He traces the runes on her thighs. Over the skin of her belly. Between her breasts. And if she loses the thread, if her voice gives way, her devil stops. He’ll suck a bruise into her throat, press teeth until they threaten to breast skin, tease, tease, tease…

Anticipation, she thinks, that earlier word flitting across her awareness. 

And her devil is ever patient.

[lonelywitchv2]

Through the window

James and his friends find themselves receiving a nasty surprise the night his best friend gets home.

major AU where Regulus isn’t muggle-phobic/a blood supremacist, Regulus isn’t a death-eater (just stuck at home because he doesn’t know how to leave), Regulus is going to magically be the same age as the marauders and the reader (18), takes place after 7th year (all of the characters are 18+), the wizarding war isn’t mentioned in the story, and the marauders don’t automatically join the OOTP as soon as they graduate (explanation for why they’re just chilling at home after graduation). Also, James’ feelings could definitely be interpreted as him being jealous and liking the reader, although that wasn’t necessarily my intent so feel free to imagine them as super close best friends and James just letting his inner teenage boy get the better of him.

cw: unintentional (on regulus and the reader's part) forbidden romance, small mentions of abuse (Black family household), an allusion to smut with some not-entirely-explicit-leading-up details, kind of lied on the last one (brief mentions of some smut lol), me accidentally forgetting about Peter so he’s just at home/on vacation or whatever, the other 3 marauders being little creepers and lowkey pervs to the reader, making out, underage drinking, neglectful parents, she/her pronouns

internally crying a little bc there are so many aspects to the AU and cw

yeah so this is pretty dumb but i kinda just thought of the idea and rolled with it...

to my anon: i saw that you enjoyed the forbidden romance trope so here's another. albeit, this work is lighter on the trope and not necessarily romance (if u didn't catch that based on the description) but i might do a part 2 where it evolves into a romance. ig we'll see!! <3

join my taglist!

minors DNI!!!

James had known you his whole life. You were next-door neighbors and, although you and your family were muggles, you had grown up as childhood best friends. As far as you were concerned, James went to some fancy private school in Scotland while your parents, who were rather rich, sent you off to boarding school in France. James wasn’t the biggest fan of your parents if he was being honest. They never really cared about what you did, only sending you off to an entirely different country and forgetting you existed until you arrived home for the holidays. Even then, you would mostly end up spending the majority of your free days at the Potter house.

The moment you arrived home from France for your summer vacation, you sprinted out of your parents’ car (not that they cared) and ran to the home of the Potter family. Before you could even knock, James sprung open the door and engulfed you in a hug.

“I missed you,” James muttered into your shoulder, still squeezing you.

“I missed you too, Jamie,” You responded with a smile, ruffling his curly hair. You looked over James’ shoulder and spied the tall frame of Remus and the (slightly shorter) frame of Sirius.

“Is that Remus and Sirius I see?” You teased jokingly, pulling away from James’ hug, albeit not without some resistance from the boy, to hug the other two boys and place kisses on each of their cheeks.

“The French are rubbing off on you a bit too much, mademoiselle,” Sirius said charmingly.

“You can only resist the charm of the French for so long, Sirius, it’s harder than you’d think when the boys over there look as lovely as they do,” You said with a cheeky grin as you turned to Remus, “almost as charming as Mr. Lupin here.”

You pulled Remus into another hug, whispering in his ear as you squeezed his shoulders.

“Although you still have yet to beat the lovely ladies over there.”

Remus only chuckled as you stepped away from the embrace and sent him a wink.

James sent a questioning look to Remus, who only shook his head, before scooping you up and tossing you over his shoulder.

“My mother has been dying to see you, she’s brought you up in just about every conversation we’ve had since I arrived home,” James said, carrying you into the kitchen where Euphemia was arranging daisies from the field out back behind their house.

“Oh, darling- James put her down before you drop her on her head! If it isn’t my favorite child,” Euphemia said with a wide smile as she pulled you into a warm hug, “It feels as though it's been forever- you look as beautiful as ever.”

“Thank you, Euphemia, it’s so lovely to see you, I’ve missed you more than Jamie,” You responded teasingly, throwing a smile at the already pouting boy.

The five of them, soon joined by Fleamont, sat around the table enjoying pastries, which Euphemia had baked and you had brought from France, and tea as you told them all about France and James, Sirius, and Remus told everyone (muggle-friendly) stories about all the mischief they had gotten into at school.

Hours passed and the sun began to set as you said your goodbyes, promising to come back in the morning to enjoy breakfast with them.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? You know there’s always an extra seat for you,” Euphemia asked, reminding you of the offer that has stood for years.

“Thank you, Euphemia, but I ought to head home, I still have to unpack and get settled back in. I’ll see you in the morning, thank you for having me over,” You called as James walked her to the door.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I mean are your parents even making dinner?” James asked, concern etched across his face.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll see you in the morning, Jamie,” You thanked, pressing a kiss on each side of James’ frowning face, “I swear, it’s okay. Now go do some stupid shit with Remus and Sirius.”

James smiled, “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, Jamie.”

Later that night, James, Sirius, and Remus observed the dark window leading to your room, which was directly across from James’.

“Do you think she’s asleep?” James asked.

“Dunno, mate, it seems a bit early,” Sirius muttered.

“She just got back from France, she’s probably exhausted, Sirius,” Remus pointed out.

The three boys sat in silence for a while, continuing to watch the manor, void of any light within the house. The darkness was soon broken when a taxi pulled up to the house, shining its headlights onto the street in front of it. They watched as you, looking rather drunk, climbed out of the cab, along with a dark figure whose face they couldn’t see, and paid the driver. You waved the car off and it drove away, leaving the only source of illumination to be the glow of two lights on either side of the door to the house. The boys watched as you grabbed the hand of the figure, walked up to the front door, unlocked the door, and entered the house.

After waiting for a few minutes, all of which were spent whispering about the situation to each other, a dim lamp in your room flickered on and the attention of the marauders was turned back to the house. They watched as you and the figure walked in view of the window, which, in turn, made the two of you visible to the boys, who sat huddled together as you grasped the collar of the mystery person and pulled their head down to meet your lips in a sensual, drunken kiss, your hands entangling themselves in the curly hair of the still unknown person as their hands traveled up and down your body, grazing over your shoulders, back, hips, and ass. Your hands moved down to lift the shirt off of the person, the two breaking their kiss and light finally shining onto the face of your hookup.

“Holy shit.”

“Sirius is that-”

“Regulus? I think so.”

“Oh my Godric,” James muttered, gagging slightly at the image of one of his best friends swapping spit with Regulus Black, of all people. He glanced back at the window to see you now topless and Regulus groping at your breasts eagerly.

“This is so wrong,” Remus muttered, glancing over at his two friends.

“Which part? That my best friend, since I was two, is making out with Sirius’ brother- a Slytherin- or the fact that we’re watching it?!” James exclaimed.

“Both- dear Godric, we look like fucking pervs,” Remus muttered, shamefully glancing back at the window as both of your nude bodies moved back until you fell onto your bed, Regulus underneath you and you straddling his hips.

“Look at us, Rem- we’re camped at James’ window watching two people, that we know, getting it on! Shut the curtains,” Sirius exclaimed.

James stood up, reaching for the curtains before sparing one last glance at your window, eyeing your naked body rocking on Regulus’ with your head tossed back and his hands on your waist.

“I can’t believe it,” James muttered slumping onto his bed.

“It’s so fucking nasty- if I could, I would pay my entire lost inheritance to get rid of that image- don’t get me wrong, and sorry Prongs, she’s smokin’ hot, but with Regulus? Hell no,” Sirius complained.

“Padfoot-“ James whined, turning to face his friend, a disgruntled look on his face.

“Imagine what the rest of the Black family would say if they knew Regulus was…-” Sirius interrupted, pausing in disgust as the thought sunk into his mind.

“Having sex?” Remus continued for him.

“With a muggle. He’d be disowned faster than me,” Sirius muttered as his dark hair, which was very similar to Regulus’, hung over his face.

“Can we stop talking about my best friend fucking your brother, Sirius? It’s grossing me out more than I already am from seeing it,” James groaned from his bed, which was right next to the window.

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I need to go to bed before I vomit,” Sirius responded, climbing into one of the beds Mr. And Mrs. Potter had set up in advance of him and Remus staying for the summer.

The three boys muttered goodnights to each other, the rustling of sheets settling into a summer night's silence.

It didn’t take long for Remus and Sirius to be passed out on their respective beds, however, James was unable to sleep and remained lying on his bed. As he stared at the ceiling fan, he felt the itch to peek through the window and see if Regulus had left. Climbing out of bed, James glanced over at the sleeping bodies of his friends before pulling back the curtains just enough to see into your window, where he observed your nude form lying on Regulus Black’s chest, your sleeping face barely visible with the light of the moon shining through your window.

Regulus definitely hadn’t left.

Shamefully, James shut the curtains once more and returned to his bed, allowing the darkness of sleep to claim his confused, perverted mind.

[ultraacherries]

Ballon Blow 🤭- JB ♥️

this is my first time ever writing smut so please go easy on me and enjoy !! sorry if there’s any mistakes !!

Him in that suit feeling himself did something to you. The urge to touch him all over made you vibrate in your seat, even the cold french breeze couldn't exstingush the fire that burned your body. As soon as the award show came to an end, you rushed jude back to the hotel room, ready to get down on your knees right that second.

"someone's eager" he chuckled as you got down on your knees fighting with the zipper on his trousers. A warm coat of red washed over your face because you were in fact eager, you needed him so bad. The energy he exuded that night filled you with sexual frustration that could only be calmed by Jude.

"don't be embarrassed baby, that dress is hugging all the right places so trust me i feel the same way" the familiar strain in his voice made you push your thighs together and in no time you had him out ready to place in your mouth.

His desperate expression and the throbbing you felt in your hand, you needed a minute to take it all in, only he could make a sight like this so pretty.

" stop looking at my fucking dick like that y/n" he whined at the mesmerised look on your face as you watched him.

"sorry you look so pretty like this" you said softly, you spat on his length reducing the friction and started to jerk him off slowly in a why that made him crazy. That had his face contorting into a look of pleasure that you could never get used to but your hand wasnt enough. Not this time. Cumming deep down your throat was what he needed to stcratch the incessant itch he felt that night.

"baby" he groaned and you swore it went straight to your pussy.

"hmm" you answered distracted by the sound he made.

"youre doing so so good but i need that pretty mouth on my dick now honey" you already thrived at the praises he gives you now add some pet names and your automatically at his beck and call. You wanted to be good for him, so you did what he asked.

You looked up at him as you pushed his length as deep as you could, that was his favourite part, watching you struggle to take him all in paired with that doe eyed innocent look that makes him almost forget the dick thats in your mouth. He was obsessed with the way you made him feel and you weren't any better.

You welcomed every beautiful moan and groan that escaped those pretty lips, you wanted to hear more so you went deeper. He couldnt control the way he sounded every noise that broke free was against his will, he couldn't control it.

"j-just like that baby god youre so good f'me" the slur in his speeech and the unfocused look in his eyes indicated how gone he was, and it was all because of you. You made him feel like that.

You slid his length out of your mouth, going back to jerking him off with a giggle.

" you like my mouth golden boy you want more?" you teased.

Suprise took over the dizzy haze that clouded his mind, the sudden confidence was unusual to him, it made his dick twitch with anticepation. However the surprise was short lived, with a smirk accompanied by hooded eyes he grabbed you by the back of your neck and shoved your mouth back onto his cock.

"not so cute with my dick in your mouth now huh ?" he taunted and all he could hear from you was the sound of your throat struggling to accomdate his size. That only fueled his desire to go harder. Your thighs rubbed together to ease the pulsing need, he felt whimpers and soft moans vibrate onto his length, intensifying the hot pleasure that burned throught out his whole body.

"aw sweetie i know you like getting that throat fucked like a pussy" his condescending tone makes you whimper pitifully around him as you focused on breathing from your nose. You didn't want him to stop.

The sounds you created was evenough ushes him closer to the edge, you knew this by how he twitched, the grip on your hair got tighter, the way his abdomen tensed.

"f-fuck baby im gonna cum-" excitment filled you up to the brim as you felt his sweet release coating you from the inside, but that didn't distract you from the sight above you. From the way his eyes roll to the slight shake his thighs, you took it all in, his pleasure was yours. The loosened grip and the way his hips bucked meant his orgasm came to an end, which allowed slide off him and catch your breath.

With a hazy look on his face and a lopsided grin, Jude put his fingers through your hair lovingly and said,

"let me take care of you now honey…”

[steddieas-shegoes]

Request: POLYGLOT STEVE??? WHO SPEAKS FLUENT FRENCH, ITALIAN, KOREAN, POLISH, SPANISH, ENGLISH AND PORTUGUESE??? EDDIE CONSTANTLY BEING FLUSTERED AS HELL HE FINDS IT REALLY HOT THAT STEVE SORAKS SO MANY LANGUAGES AND HE WILL CASUALLY USE THEM IN CONVERSATION????? WITHOUT MEANING TOO???? LIKE HE'LL FORGET A WORD IN ENGLISH & SAY IT ANOTHER LANGUAGE WITHOUT REALIZING????

MY LOVE! OKAY SO LET ME PREFACE BY SAYING I AM A LAZY PIECE OF SHIT WHO DID NOT WANT TO EVEN ATTEMPT GOOGLE TRANSLATE BECAUSE IT IS OFTEN WRONG ANYWAY OKAY. Also, English is my first and only language (damn Americans amirite) and while I did take a year of Spanish and two years of French in high school, my auditory processing is so shit, I can pretty much barely get through an introductory conversation in those languages. But I tried to still make this cute and fun! - Mickala ❤️

-------------------------------------------------------

“Gówno!” Steve exclaimed from the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” Robin yelled from the couch.

Eddie looked at her with wide eyes.

“The fuck did he say?” he asked quietly, not wanting Steve to hear him.

“Shit.”

“No, what did he say?” Eddie asked again.

Robin stared at him, annoyed.

“He said, ‘shit’ in Polish.”

“Steve knows Polish?!”

Robin rolled her eyes and got up to physically check on Steve.

Eddie sat and stewed in this new knowledge.

But this was only the first of many surprises.

—-------------------

“Mama, no.” Steve’s voice came from his bedroom as Eddie made his way up the stairs.

His mom was here?

And then Eddie heard Steve speaking in…Spanish? It was too fast to tell for sure, but it definitely wasn’t English.

He peeked his head through the door, relaxing slightly when he saw Steve was on the phone.

Steve gestured for him to come in while he spoke, so Eddie slipped his shoes off and sat down on the bed, getting comfortable.

But then it sounded like Steve started talking in another different language.

It was close to Spanish, but some of it sounded almost French?

Eddie blinked at him, his free hand gesturing wildly as his voice got louder.

Eventually, he sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Eddie rubbed his back in a totally friendly, not loving, manner.

“Okay. See you then,” he sounded resigned, tired.

Eddie hated it.

When the phone was back on the hook, Steve sank back against Eddie and sighed again.

“My parents will be here next week for a couple days. They’re organizing the sale of the house, so they are packing what they want to move into a storage unit and having a cleaning company come get the rest to be donated. I have until the end of the month to be gone.”

Eddie looked down at Steve’s hand, how it was playing with the edge of Eddie’s shirt, how tense the rest of his body was even as Eddie played with his hair.

“You speak Spanish?”

That wasn’t really what he meant to say, but the shock hadn’t quite worn off from hearing him speaking in another language. Or two.

“I speak Spanish and Portuguese,” he replied.

“Oh. Well…why?”

Steve sat up and looked down at Eddie with a smirk.

“Because my mom’s family is mostly from Spain and Portugal and if I wanted to talk to my grandparents, that was my only option.”

“Oh. I…had no idea.”

Steve rested his head against his chest again, finally seeming to relax a bit.

“I really only speak it with her now. I took Spanish in high school for the easy A.”

“Makes sense.”

They remained quiet for a few minutes, Steve coming down from the stress of his phone call and impending parental visit.

“So you wanna live with me?” Eddie finally asked, casually.

They weren’t…well. They just weren’t. And that was okay. Eddie told himself that if all he was for Steve was a great friend who could hold him when he needed it, then that was enough.

But they also kind of…were.

It was very confusing and he was constantly balancing between pushing too far and not pushing enough.

“What? Like, in your trailer with you and Wayne?”

Eddie shrugged.

“Wayne wouldn’t mind. Long as you help clean up sometimes and maybe chip in for groceries.”

Wayne also was team Eddie-tell-Steve-you’re-in-love-with-him-before-I-do and would absolutely support this type of thing.

“But you guys only have two bedrooms.”

“You can share with me or like, we can work something out where we section off a part of the living room? I dunno. It’s not perfect, but I know you don’t have quite enough saved up for your own place yet.”

Steve hid his face in Eddie’s shirt for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll share with you for a bit. But probably only for a few months, I swear. I have almost enough to get that house by Robin,” he said.

It was a house for sale in Robin’s neighborhood, and it wasn’t selling because it needed quite a bit of work done to the yard and bathrooms. But Steve knew he could do it, he just needed to make sure he had money for everything first.

He wouldn’t let anyone chip in, either.

“No rush. But, yeah, I’ll talk to Wayne about it tomorrow.”

—-------------------------------------

Steve moved in the next week after a long argument with his parents, who didn’t seem too thrilled about him becoming “trailer trash.”

Eddie thought about the last words Steve said to his parents before leaving: “I’d rather be trailer trash than your son.”

About how he’d spit them at them, poison from his lips.

About how he’d said it in French.

He probably didn’t think Eddie understood, probably didn’t realize that most of the reason Eddie had been so quiet on the ride to the trailer was because he was turning over Steve’s words in his head.

He still hadn’t quite come to a conclusion more than eight hours later, but he was busy helping Steve unpack the last of his things anyway.

“You seem quiet,” Steve said from where he was putting some of his tapes by Eddie’s boombox.

“Hm?” Eddie looked over at him, smiling to himself when he saw Steve putting Eddie’s tapes on top of his. “Oh. Just thinkin’.”

“Thinking about…?” Steve looked over at him.

“Just what you said earlier.”

Stev’s brows furrowed as he thought about what Eddie meant.

“You mean before we left?” Eddie nodded. “I said it in French though? You understood?”

“I’m not fluent, but I took it for three years in high school. One of the only classes I passed with flying colors.”

“Really?” Steve asked in French. “So I could say something in French right now and you would know what I’m saying?” he continued, still in French.

Eddie understood enough to nod.

“So if I told you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and that I wish I could hold your hand right now, you’d say…”

Steve’s blush gave away some of what he was saying, though Eddie had to admit to himself, he hadn’t quite understood some of it.

Steve sounded so natural, was speaking so quickly, Eddie wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Um. I guess I’m not so good at it when someone as natural as you speaks it,” Eddie awkwardly said, turning back to the closet where he was moving some of his things so Steve would have room for his clothes that couldn’t be folded.

He felt Steve’s body heat behind him, knew he would be right there if he turned back around.

Steve said something in Italian (how many languages did he know?) and then something else in a language Eddie didn’t recognize.

He finally turned to see Steve blushing, looking down at the floor of his room.

“What was that one?” he asked, moving in a bit closer, barely leaving any space between them.

“Korean. My dad insisted on all of us learning it when he acquired a business in Korea.”

“So you know…how many languages?”

“Seven counting English, but I’m also learning Russian from Robin. Kind of a way to ��own the trauma’ or whatever she tells me,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“You know seven languages?” Eddie squeaked.

“Oui,” Steve smirked up at him.

They were so close. He could almost feel Steve’s breath against his lips, closed his eyes and imagined how he would taste.

“Eds,” Steve breathed out.

“Hm?” Eddie felt high, or like there was a severe lack of oxygen in the room, maybe both.

“Can I kiss you? Please?”

Eddie’s eyes popped open, his jaw dropping in shock.

Steve asked again, this time in French.

Eddie groaned and threw his head back.

“You’re killing me.”

“...so that’s a yes?” Steve teased.

“Oui,” Eddie replied.

Steve’s lips were warm against his, surprisingly soft, though demanding.

His whole body was demanding, pushing Eddie backwards until his back hit the wall with a thump. Eddie had never been so glad that Wayne was at work.

His hands found Steve’s waist, squeezed until he was sure he left bruises, only tightening his grip more when Steve moaned against his mouth.

Steve’s body was flush against his now, their shirts rucking up just enough for the skin of their stomachs to rub together, sweat slicking between them.

Eddie couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t really want to, didn’t want to part from the closeness he’d been hoping for for so long.

Steve did pull away though, even if only enough to rest his forehead against Eddie’s.

He whispered something in Spanish, then opened his eyes.

Eddie was hot.

“It’s really fuckin’ hot when you do that,” he admitted.

“Do what?”

“Speak any of the 100 languages that you know.”

“Oh?” Steve kissed the corner of his mouth, then his chin, then his jaw.

He kept whispering things in different languages, right against Eddie’s skin, until he was practically ready to fall to his knees.

“Steeeeeeve. You’re killing me,” Eddie complained.

“I can stop,” Steve said against the curve of his neck and shoulder.

“No, please don’t,” he groaned out.

So, he didn’t.

Steve spent the next hour kissing, and teasing, and whispering things Eddie didn’t understand against his skin.

He didn’t stop until Wayne knocked on the bedroom door to let them know he was home and was cooking burgers on the grill.

Eddie smiled as Steve left the room to help Wayne with dinner as he’d been looking forward to doing.

He thought about how long they weren’t anything but friends who could have been more.

But now they were. Hopefully they always would be.

[bestedoesmeow]

⋆Barmen Charles leclerc x Younger reader⋆

inspired by the summer I had few years ago. Still thankful for the experience, and joy you brought to my life even though we are not really in good terms right now :)

'' One summer your whole system of understanding love changes due to some monegasque barmen that you meet on a holiday that you thought to be just like others.''⋆

PART 1 ( click on the title to listen to the song while reading the story!!)

'' I am just gonna go and get a bottle of water from the bar. Why am I making such a big deal out of it?" You are talking to yourself, while your hands are shaking with the excitement you feel and your blood is rushing crazily through your cheeks. It's hot—unbelievably, amazingly, and almost unbearably hot for someone to even try to walk. But there you are, walking in a rush in your swimsuit and sunglasses, with flushed red cheeks and shaky hands because of the image you have of him in your mind. You are afraid that you are going to forget how to talk when you see him—his pretty green eyes, showy smile showing off his dimples, the almost invisible freckles he has on his nose due to the humidity and salt. Is he 24? Maybe 20? You don't know anything, probably you don't even care though—all you care about is how he makes you feel whenever you see him standing at that bar, preparing drinks for people and sending that shy yet confident smile at the same time whenever someone says "thank you" or "you look handsome." Old ladies, their daughters, and even some gentlemen—everyone there is in awe of how handsome and charming he is. It would be a pity if you weren't. You don't know if you feel jealous that he has too many options or feel happy that you are not alone, with everyone adoring him. While wishfully thinking, you realize you are almost standing in front of the bar, with the sounds of the harsh sea in your ears and some people sitting on the chairs behind you after getting out of the sea to grab something to eat. Lunch? Probably.

"What can I get you?" His French accent echoes in your ears, leaving you even weaker and more vulnerable to any attack. He smiles at you—those dimples, those damn dimples. Those smiling eyes and his welcoming gesture—almost too welcoming that you start to think about telling him everything. Right there, just right there.

"Can I get a bottle of water? It's getting even hotter and I just can't stan—" You stop, wondering why you just couldn't get the water and go. Did you really have to?

"Oh, it's unbelievably hot today," he says. "I can't tell you how many t-shirts I've changed into. It's freaking hot," he adds. You feel the sweat drops on your back flow down by the time he stops speaking. Thanks, thanks for not leaving me there cringing hard at myself. Thanks for talking back about the fucking weather and making it seem like a big issue.

"Why don't you take a seat? I'll make you a Martini. Pink? That'll cool you off for sure."

You try to comprehend the moment, his voice, his offer. You look around to see if he has anyone other than you to talk to, but it seems like you are alone.

"You aren't underage, are you?" he says this time. It is the fourth time he has spoken, but there is something in your throat that controls you, and you just can't come up with words. You take a seat, and your bikini drips some water.

"I am wet, like, so much that I probably shouldn't sit, so I'll only get the water, thank y—"

He cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence, as if he is just as excited to talk with you. At least you wish he is.

"Oh, come on, do you think people who come here to drink are all suited up? Don't worry, I'll take care of it after. Martini?" His French accent is even more visible now, and he is raising an eyebrow at you. Is he being flirty or just being nice? Or is he always like this?

"Yeah, okay," you say, trying not to sound so unsure, excited, or like a teenager who has a crush on an older guy who seems like a Greek god or a prince?

He nods and looks into your eyes before acting to prepare your drink, while you pick at the sides of your nails.

"What is your name?" he asks suddenly, and you are not expecting it. It's too much for you to handle, and your heart is almost about to stop with all the affection from the guy. You are determined not to show it, though.

"Oh, it's Y/N."

"That's a nice name. Mine is Charles, nothing special, you know," he says while pouring your drink with almost shaky hands. Is he okay? Or too shy? Or are they forcing him to make connections with people?

"I love your name. I mean, I love the name 'Charles,' sounds magical, maybe?" His lips are curled into a wide smile, while little sweat drops are determined to fall from his forehead.

"You think so?"

"Yes, it's a great name. You should realize it too," you say this time before taking a sip from the Martini he just prepared for you—with his own, freaking beautiful hands.

"How old are you, huh?" he says. He leans his body on the counter, and his gaze is focused on yours. His green eyes wander around your face while you try not to turn your head around because the connection is too much more than you can handle.

"Nineteen."

"That's a nice age. I am 24, and I feel like I am already too old to do lots of things," he says. Finally, he cuts the eye contact to clean some glasses left behind by the people who just thanked him for the delicious drinks.

"Well, that's wrong. You look much younger, though, if it helps," you say. Did you really say that? You can't believe you can just sit there and talk to him—the guy you've been drooling over for almost three days maybe? Is this what magic feels like? Or am I in a dream?

"Thanks, amour. That's so nice of you to say. How long are you planning to stay here? In France?"

"We are leaving this weekend." And I am also leaving you here, with all of my beautiful feelings and all of my dreams.

"That's bad. Have I served your family before? How long have you been staying here?"

"About a week, maybe? Yes, and you have. They like you, to be honest. Your vibe is all over the place."

SHUT UP. TELL HIM YOU LOVE HIM, HUH? STOP IT. HE'LL THINK YOU'RE DESPERATE.

"That's so nice to hear such a thing from someone like you. How come you never came to the bar?"

"I did, but it's always too crowded, you know? It's hard to find a place to sit."

"I know, I know," he says, and he turns his head to take another hotel customer's drink order. You take another sip from the Martini before wrapping your towel around your shoulders and pretending to get up from the chair.

"Thanks for the drink, Charles," you say, hoping he can hear you. You wouldn't take it personally if he couldn't, though.

"Nice meeting you, Y/N," he says, leaving the shaker there to say goodbye to you. He left his job to say goodbye to you? What is going on here? Can someone punch or pinch you?

He comes closer to you before handing you a napkin with some numbers written on it.

"Call me before you leave, so we can spend some time together. We can hit the downtown or go anywhere you'd like to see, huh?"

"Yes, of course."

He leaves you there with bouncy heart, sweaty palms, shaky legs, and body. His cologne follows you to your room, along with the dream of him.

[rosepetalsinwinter]

Meant to Be — Bucky Barnes (7)

Chapter 7 — Mr. And Mrs. Barnes

Pairing: mafia!bucky x innocent!reader

Word count: 7,856

Summary: There is more than meets the eye, and Bucky is suspicious. What is everyone hiding?

Warnings: language, sexual innuendos, brief nudity? (blink and you'll miss it)

Note: Sorry, it's been a while. Enjoy!

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist│Series Masterlist│Series Playlist

Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

"Today I know that such memories are the key not to the past, but to the future."

— Corrie Ten Boom

May 4th, 2018

He never understood what triggered it, but he found himself reliving it at odd times. The figure always sneaked up on Bucky in his dreams with an eerie silence, draped in shades of gray and brown.

"You really don't remember me?" the figure would taunt.

Bucky's responding grin was almost derogatory. "I'm sorry, am I supposed to?" He dismissed the flicker of familiarity attempting to crawl up his spine.

"You've changed."

He chuckled, deciding to humour the person. "Have I now?"

"You used to keep your promises."

"Did I?" Bucky slowly loosened the restraints behind his back, reaching for the concealed metal in his waistband. "You hit my head pretty hard earlier. I don't remember much."

"At least you kept your stupid sense of humour."

Bucky scoffed, spitting out the blood that pooled in his mouth from his bleeding nose. "You think you know me?"

"I do."

He shook his head. "You don't," he retorted. "You don't know me." The click of the safety turning off made them both pause. "And you never will." Years of training propelled him into action. The figure collapsed on the floor before the gunshot could reverberate through the room.

He stood tall over the lifeless form. "I always keep my promises."

May 4th, 2018

Bucky was beyond pissed. So far, his entire day had passed attending to one matter or another, making call after call instead of getting to know his wife. Not that she was in a state to talk.

Hmm, his little wife had been unconscious for nearly eighteen hours since she fainted in church. Bucky would have been seriously concerned if it weren't for the French maid and her reassurances. Fran—was that her name?—had informed him that the girl hadn't slept properly in over a week. Stress, she claimed, though Bucky suspected a deeper meaning behind the word. The way the maid narrowed her green eyes and tilted her reddish-blonde head hinted at something more.

The mobster took large swigs of Scotch straight from the decanter. Earlier, when the flight attendant came by to pour him a glass, Bucky had unleashed his rage, barking at him to leave the whole thing and disappear. He was in no mood for small talk.

A pounding headache throbbed in Bucky's temples. The entire day had been a whirlwind of problems. First, waking up to discover Phil Coulson dead. Dealing with Rollins' men—though that was stress relieving, at least.

Then, being brutally attacked outside the church, resulting in the need to dispose of the body in the East River, where the strong currents would erase any traces of foul play.

And let's not forget the spectacle that was his wedding. Fuck. The fucking wedding. And the shitshow that followed after. Bucky had so many questions. So many things he needed to address.

He hadn't been married a day, and already his wife was causing him problems. Bucky was exhausted, drowsy, and to make matters worse, he was overwhelmingly aroused.

With a scowl, Bucky downed the last of his Scotch, then glanced at his watch to see if he had enough time to address his growing... predicament.

He didn't.

They would reach Constanţa in half an hour, the estate in one. Bucky couldn't wait. Suddenly, his phone lit up with an incoming call, causing him to huff before ending it. Not even a minute passed before Danial Burgundy's caller ID appeared again. God, the man was persistent. After ignoring twelve calls, he still tested Bucky's patience.

"What do you want, you sick fuck?" Bucky answered impulsively.

The man on the other end sounded amused. "Hello to you too, James."

"Cut the bullshit, Danial. I'm in no mood for small talk." Danial was the last person Bucky wanted to talk to, especially after their conversation in New York. The older man was lucky he was Bucky's father-in-law now, or he'd already be six feet under.

"Right. Straight down to business then," Danial sighed. "I want to speak to my daughter."

Bucky scoffed dismissively. "No ace."

Annoyance tinged Danial's response. "Don't tell me—"

"She's taking a nap," Bucky interrupted. "She can't talk right now."

"I don't fucking believe you, James."

"I don't care." Bucky didn't give a damn about what Danial thought of him.

"Listen, asshole," Danial began losing his temper, "I know you've always been a good-for-nothing motherfucker, but—"

"Is that why you gave her to me?" Bucky taunted, a sardonic grin on his face. "Is that why you gave me everything?" That seemed to silence Danial, at least for the moment.

"Because I'm a good-for-nothing motherfucker?" Bucky chuckled, acknowledging a minor defeat. "I'll admit, you caught me off guard before with the stipulation you threw in my face, but don't think you have the upper hand here." Adrenaline coursed through Bucky's body as he further provoked Danial. "I got what I wanted. I didn't even have to work for it. You handed it to me on a silver platter." He prepared himself for the final blow. "In fact, I've already begun fulfilling that condition of yours." Bucky clicked his tongue. "No complaints so far. She's amazing."

"You bastard!" Danial exploded.

Yes, Bucky was being vulgar. Danial had forced his hand to leave for their honeymoon two days earlier, and Bucky didn't appreciate it.

He hushed Danial. "You'll wake her up. I tired her out. She needs all the rest she can get."

And there it was, the silent row of defeat. Danial sighed, audibly distressed. "She's still my daughter," the coward insisted.

"No, she's not," Bucky retorted, not to mock but to state a fact. He shrugged nonchalantly. "She's not yours. Not anymore. She's mine. She became mine the second I signed your papers."

"You Barnes' have always been greedy," Danial sneered. "Wanting what's not yours. Not giving a shit who gets hurt in the process. Fucking murderers."

"And you Burgundys have always been manipulative bastards," Bucky spat. "Pulling underhanded shit. Whoring out your women for a quick buck."

"You little—"

"Then that's exactly how I'll treat her. Like a slut, a fucking whore."

Danial's breath hitched on the other end of the line.

Bingo.

"No! Wait, no! Barnes, don't you fucking dare! Don't you dare fucking touch her—"

"Leave me the fuck alone."

Bucky ended the call.

The moon hung low in the sky, making way for the impending sunrise in a couple of hours. Bucky tossed his phone onto the seat opposite him and turned his attention to the porthole, gazing out at the soft glow beginning to fill the horizon.

They should be flying over Pitești by now, en route to Constanța. It felt good to be back home. Bucky stretched his arms above his head, contemplating Danial's reaction. If he didn't know any better, he might have mistaken Danial's tone for genuine concern about his daughter. Fortunately, Bucky knew better. With most of Danial's cards laid out on the table, Bucky would respond accordingly, starting with his bride.

Suddenly, the cabin door opened, causing Bucky to whip his head around, prepared to unleash his anger on the intruder. It was his bride, leaning against the entrance of the small bedroom at the back.

She still wore her wedding dress, barefoot and breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and hair rumpled. Her gaze wandered around the cabin in a daze, clutching the door frame in a white fist when the plane encountered slight turbulence.

"You're awake," Bucky broke the silence.

Her eyes scanned the surroundings as she took in their location. "Where am I?" she croaked.

Bucky frowned, realizing she must be thirsty. "Sit," he commanded instead of answering. His wife blinked owlishly, staring at him as if he had grown another head. A faint smile threatened to emerge. "Don't make me drag you here," he muttered. "Because I will."

His wife snapped to attention, unsteadily walking across the aisle, leaning against the empty seats for support. The image stirred something pleasurable in Bucky's mind. She halted across from him, hesitating to sit when she noticed his phone perched precariously on the edge of the armrest.

When Bucky reached over to retrieve the device, he let his arm brush against her leg. It was a gentle graze against the white lace that, nonetheless, left her flustered. Bucky smirked, savouring the sound of his wife's hitched breath.

The girl slowly lowered herself onto the brown leather, almost robotic in her movements. Her back remained rigid, and she wouldn't look at him. Why wouldn't she look at him? Bucky didn't like that. The table separating them was the only thing preventing him from reaching over and forcing her eyes to meet his.

Bucky pressed the overhead call button, his gaze fixed on the girl. He noticed black smudged under her eyes and lipstick smeared around her mouth. How many hours had it been since the ceremony? Too many and not enough. Her features appeared more striking in the natural light than in the harsh illumination of the church.

And there, when her eyes flicked up ever so slightly at the sound of the call button, Bucky recognized that same dead look from before, the one she had when he leaned in for a kiss that never happened because she fainted. It was more subtle, tamped down, but still present, difficult to ignore and even harder to comprehend.

Bucky summoned the flustered flight attendant and ordered food, water, and another Scotch. He may not have been hungry, but he assumed she was.

"Drink," Bucky pushed the glass of water toward her. She was playing with her fingers, gaze fixed on her lap.

"Where am I?" she breathed.

Bucky frowned when she didn't immediately comply. "Drink," he demanded with more force, pushing the water closer. He watched as she brought the glass to her lips with trembling hands and took a small sip.

"Where—"

"More," he interrupted with dissatisfaction. She was an impatient one.

Bucky thought he heard her huff in annoyance but disregarded it as she began to take hesitant sips that soon turned into large gulps, causing water to trickle down the sides of her mouth.

The glass was empty within seconds.

"We're in Constanța," Bucky answered her earlier question.

She looked up at him in surprise, eyes wide and lips parted. Bucky was hit with a sudden urge to kiss her.

"Excuse me?"

"Constanța, Romania," Bucky clarified. "I have a family house in Mamaia. We'll be landing in ten minutes."

Bucky leaned back in his seat and sipped his Scotch, raising an eyebrow at the girl's obvious shock. The slight burn of alcohol felt pleasant, immediately relaxing him.

She glanced around the cabin, blinking owlishly. She seemed flustered. "I don't have—" She took a deep breath. "Why are we in Romania?"

Bucky couldn't help but smile. "Why do you think? What do newlyweds usually do after getting married?"

He waited for the realization to dawn on her, watching as she trembled and shied away. Bucky wondered how experienced she was if a simple innuendo left her so flustered. He couldn't wait to find out.

She still wouldn't look at him.

"Where's my father?" the girl asked, her question directed at the floor.

It appeared the Burgundy princess was close to her last remaining parent. "Danial?" Bucky sneered, unable to suppress his annoyed scoff. "In New York, where he belongs."

She seemed taken aback. Her lips parted, and she straightened her posture in attention.

Bucky narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why?"

Flustered, she started to answer but then froze, her eyes wide with an emotion he couldn't quite discern. She shook her head furiously. "Nothing."

Bucky's suspicion grew tenfold. He was ready to interrogate her, but she interrupted him.

"And my friend?" she asked desperately. "Where is she?"

"Hmm," Bucky mused. "The blonde with the big mouth?" He missed the expression on her face as he finished the rest of his drink. "Dove, was it?"

"N-no," the girl denied. "She's French."

It took a second for Bucky to recall, and once he did, he couldn't help but smile.

"The French maid? She stayed with you after the ceremony. I talked to her about—"

"Well, is she here?" the girl cut him off.

Bucky met her eyes, and the second he did, she averted her gaze. Acting on instinct, he reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You interrupted me."

He watched as her breath quickened and her irises dilated. Bucky waited for a verbal response, but she remained frozen, struck dumb by his intimidating presence. "You're lucky you're cute," Bucky said, finally releasing her.

She seemed to deflate the second he retreated from her personal space and mirrored his relaxed posture, melting into her seat as if suddenly drained.

"Eat," Bucky ordered, pouring a finger's worth of Scotch into his glass and pushing it toward her.

An indescribable tension filled the air, an unspoken awkwardness. Which was to be expected, Bucky supposed, since this was their formal introduction. The girl shook her head. "I'm not hungry," she whispered.

Bucky downed the rest of his Scotch, keeping his gaze fixed on her. Her discomfort in his presence was palpable, incredibly aware of him with how she uncomfortably squirmed in her seat.

"Eat," he repeated, the finality in his voice leaving no room for argument. The girl obediently picked up the fork, ready to dig into the food. The meal consisted of a variety of fresh fruits, sweet and savoury pastries, and various breakfast proteins. She nibbled on a melon, taking such small bites that Bucky became frustrated.

The pilot's voice came through the overhead speakers, announcing their impending arrival, and the flight attendants prepared for landing.

"Shall I pack this to go, Mr. Barnes?" the female attendant asked, gesturing toward the untouched breakfast.

Bucky nodded. "Has the car arrived?"

"Of course, Mr. Barnes. Also, the police commissioner is waiting for you on the tarmac, per your request."

Bucky hummed. "Good." He retrieved his wallet and handed a few hundreds to the male attendant, who was closer. "For both of your discretion," he explained, referring to his previous phone calls.

"Thank you!" The attendant quickly pocketed the money, and the area was swiftly cleaned. The table between Bucky and the girl was folded and moved out of the way.

"Mrs. Barnes?" the female attendant called. "Mrs. Barnes, please fasten your seatbelt."

Bucky watched as the girl stared blankly at the attendant. "What?"

"We are preparing to land," the attendant explained, struggling to hide her bewilderment.

After a few more uncomfortable moments, Bucky leaned forward and fastened her seatbelt himself, ensuring it was secure. She tensed under his touch, but he ignored it, both amused and annoyed by her reaction to him.

He would need to rectify that later. There was no sound reason for a woman to be so cold toward a man. But for now... They needed to discuss more pressing matters, starting with why she...

Vaguely, Bucky recalled a drunken whisper from his father regarding the Burgundys. Something he had said after one too many drinks. "Their manipulations killed your grandfather."

Bucky hadn't comprehended it at the time, but perhaps he did now. He remembered his conversation with Danial. Surely, any offspring of Danial's would be just as cunning and manipulative as him.

Bucky would uncover the truth if it was the last thing he did.

May 4th, 2018

The car ride from the airport was filled with silence. The girl had lost her appetite but was picking at her food at the behest of her husband, who was engrossed on his phone. She took small, reluctant bites of the fruit, struggling to keep it down.

Husband. The word brought a welling of tears to her eyes. She fought to hold them back as she felt his penetrating gaze upon her. Was this how prey felt just before they were pounced upon by their predators?

James was a prevalent man, it seemed, if the Romanian Chief Commissioner himself came to the runway to greet the newlywed couple on their recent nuptials. The commissioner discreetly pledged his unwavering loyalty to them, and they exchanged handshakes.

"If you need anything," James assured him, "don't hesitate to reach out. You have my number."

They were on their way to James' villa, situated on the outskirts of the city and nestled in a little strip of private land. It was a secluded house meant to provide the newlyweds with privacy during their honeymoon. James had explained this to her before diving straight into his work.

Honeymoon. The girl felt a bout of fear wash over her at the thought. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with a murderer.

Oh God! Would she have to...? Bile rose in her throat. Fleur had warned her that the first time could be painful if both partners weren't ready. She vividly remembered the almost-kiss with Nathan two weeks ago—the anticipation, the push and pull. The immense relief when their moment was interrupted.

No, she wasn't ready at all.

Horror struck her. If Nathan, the university's golden boy, could stoop so low as to drug her, what would James be capable of? James, with his imposing stature and intimidating presence, his unconventional upbringing and violent tendencies. He was involved with the mafia! And now she belonged to him, bound by the laws of God and man.

He would force himself on her and take what he wanted. After the events of the past week, She wouldn't have the strength to fight him. She would lie there, helpless, as another piece of her soul withered away. At this rate, she wasn't sure how much more she had left to lose.

Bile rose even higher, but she forced it back down. Through the tinted window of the Escalade, the Romanian landscape flashed by, though she could not find solace in its fleeting beauty. The unfinished food sat neglected as they finally arrived at their destination.

The house was beautiful. Its dark exterior was adorned with soft lights hanging from nearby trees, creating a mesmerizing canopy that resembled a starry sky. Nestled behind trees and overlooking a meticulously landscaped garden, the two-story Spanish-style building exuded charm and elegance.

It seemed like a place she could one day call home... but she hated it.

The car faltered to a stop on the smooth cobblestone driveway, and the girl was so enraptured by the view that she didn't see James at her side until he opened her door and extended his hand.

She hesitated. Of course, she hesitated. Her father had sold her to this man as part of his despicable retirement plan. A man responsible for her mother's death. Perhaps he would be the one to eventually kill her as well. She didn't want to touch the hands that would bring about her demise, nor did she wish to meet the eyes that would watch the light in her own slowly fade.

Fear took over, and she let him help her out of the car. Clutching her skirt in her free hand, she took cautious steps, mindful not to trip over the fabric that now grazed the pavement without the support of her tall heels. It was then she realized she was still barefoot.

James barely acknowledged her, offering only a quick nod. His grip on her wrist remained firm and unyielding as he guided her pliant form around. They passed stone figurines portraying scantily clad fairies, a white deer with golden antlers, and fire-breathing dragons. They crossed over a small bridge above a flowing stream, with a seating area to their right and a vibrant array of flowers that tied the scene together.

A sudden wave of sadness washed over her as they reached the threshold. Like countless other girls, she had dreamed of her perfect wedding. She envisioned her lover cradling her in his arms, gazing at her adoringly, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he carried her into their new home. Never did she imagine being dragged by her arm, trailing behind a husband she did not love, and into a house she never wanted to call home.

James released his grip on her wrist as they entered the foyer, and the girl exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. And if his touch provided even an inkling of comfort in this strange and unfamiliar place? Well, it was promptly ignored.

A few servants had gathered at the entrance to welcome the young couple. A frail older woman dressed in splashes of red and white stepped forward. "Ai venit devreme," she grumbled, her shoulders stiff and an ugly frown etched on her face.

"Scuze," James replied.

"Cum a fost zborul?"

"Lung."

"Trebuie să fii obosit."

"Nu prea."

The woman's eyes flicked toward the girl. "Ea trebuie să fie obosită."

James and the woman studied the girl until she warmed with shame, realizing they were talking about her.

"Poate," James grumbled, and they looked away.

The older woman suddenly embraced James, running her arms down his back. "Bine ați venit acasă, domnule Barnes!"

The girl was surprised to see a smile on James' face. The sight made her pause, and she tilted her head in contemplation. In her dreams, the monsters that appeared as smokeless fire, mocking her pain and suffering, never smiled. Yet here was one of those monsters standing before her in the form of a husband, smiling, laughing, displaying emotions she did not believe him capable of.

"Bunică!" James kissed the older woman's hand before gently touching it to his forehead as a sign of respect. Ah! So she was his grandmother. The girl understood that much Romanian. "Mi-a fost dor de tine!"

Their attention was solely on each other, and as if compelled, the girl found herself stumbling backward, one step at a time. It was an instinctive reaction to the turmoil festering in her gut, threatening to drown and suffocate her.

"She's not wearing shoes," a voice with a thick accent remarked.

The girl froze in place. James' grandmother looked at her pointedly, with a kind of resentment the girl couldn't comprehend.

James gestured toward the girl's stiff figure. "Bunică, this is—"

"I know who she is," Bunică snapped. "I can smell a Burgundy from a kilometre away."

"Bunică," James warned in a low tone.

"I want to know why she isn't wearing shoes."

The girl consciously flexed her toes, trying to hide them beneath her dress. Her feet were dirty and sore from walking across the tarmac and then from the car.

Bunică circled the girl, closely scrutinizing her. "Well? Can you speak, girl? Or are you going to stare at me dumbly all day?" For a slighter woman, she was very assertive.

"Bunică," James warned once again.

"I just want to know if Danial gave you a mute bride. I wouldn't put it past him."

"She can speak," James snapped. "Say something."

The girl raised one arm in an awkward wave. "Salut." Shame filled her immediately after having obeyed him.

Bunică narrowed her eyes. "You speak the language?"

The girl vigorously shook her head.

Bunică turned to James for confirmation. "She doesn't," James replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Nu mă face cu ochii aia mari! How can I know if she isn't just as manipulative as her grandma—?"

"Bunică," James interrupted. "Why don't we talk in the study?"

The girl trembled from the number of accusations and verbal abuse hurled at her. She didn't know what she had done to deserve such treatment, but it obviously had something to do with her father.

Bunică gave the girl one last piercing look before abruptly walking away. Her eyes stung at the harsh treatment she was receiving from this stranger. If the grandmother was like that, how unpleasant would James be? She didn't want to find out.

James strode toward her, firmly gripping her arms. "Yelena will show you to my room. Get comfortable and wait for me there." He paused as if considering his words carefully. "Don't leave."

From one prison to another. Perhaps it wasn't such a drastic change from New York. He shoved her into someone else's arms without waiting for a response and hurriedly strode away to catch up to his Bunică.

Yelena was a sturdy young woman with broad shoulders and a slender waist. A dirty blonde braid rested atop her heart-shaped face, with round eyes and pink lips adding to her appealing features. "This way," she said in a thick, palatal Russian accent.

The girl followed Yelena further into the house and up the stairs. The Spanish-style villa boasted ample natural light with contrasting dark accents. Climbing the stairs, they reached a small hallway that led to a pair of doors.

"The master suite," Yelena announced, pushing open the double doors with a flourish and guiding the girl inside. Coming to a stop in the middle of the spacious room, the girl took in the striking contrast of grays, blacks, and earth tones that adorned the bedroom. Floor-length mirrors adorned one wall parallel to the bed, and a set of French doors leading to a small balcony graced the far side of the room. Cool air swept in from the open door, causing the girl to shiver as her heated skin lowered in temperature.

"Your luggage has already been brought up, and a warm bath has been drawn," Yelena informed her, closing the balcony doors when a strong gust of wind carried in some leaves.

The girl nodded but gave no reply, locking herself in the bathroom. It was spacious, surpassing the size of her room back in Vancouver. It exuded luxury, resembling something out of Architectural. Marble floors, wooden accents, twin vanities facing each other, a rain shower at one end, and a window overlooking the black sea at the other. And in the middle of it all, made prominent by the red rose petals scattered around, was an oval bathtub brimming with steaming water.

The girl approached the tub, hoping to relax her weary muscles and wash away the stress of the past few weeks, when something caught her eye. Folded neatly on a stool next to the tub were two engraved robes, a flash of gold against matte black. One bore the inscription "Mr. Barnes." She held her breath. While the other said, "Mrs. Barnes." She felt a sudden confusion, momentarily forgetting how to breathe—was it inhale, exhale, inhale, or the other way around?

She gave a frustrated cry and began tugging at her dress, the only barrier preventing her from resurfacing. From breaking through the layers of hurt and deceit, to feeling the fresh air on her skin, in her lungs. She kicked harder—clawed savagely, but her legs felt lifeless—her fingers weak, and try as she might, she couldn't swim to the surface—couldn't breathe.

The dress clung to her like a second skin, too tight in some places and loose in others. She reached for the zipper at the back but couldn't find it—couldn't break free of her cage. Another cry of frustration escaped her as she dropped to her knees in defeat.

And most curious, her hand snagged on something as she ran it through her hair. She painfully untangled her fingers, revealing the culprit—a ring, forcibly placed upon her by him. It was heavy, and big, and so beautiful ugly. She tugged at it, desperate to remove it from her body and cast it far away. That is what kept her here, anchoring her feet, clipping her wings, depriving her of oxygen.

This—his—ring.

Dipping her fingers into the soapy water, she watched as the diamond disappeared behind a floating petal. Yet, the ring remained stubborn, as if sewn onto her skin, fused with her very being.

Her right hand slipped, causing pain to bloom across her palm. The stupid ring had cut her! She huffed indignantly. How dare—how—why? Her lips curled, quivered, and a whimper escaped her. Then another, and another.

Pain seemed to follow the girl, clinging to her every step. Now, she finally let it wash over her. Pietro's duplicity paled in comparison to the betrayal of her best friend. Her friend who spoke too much and too fast, who pretended to care about her. Her sheepish smile at the ceremony was seared onto the girl's mind. And to think she had been involved in the entire scheme, conspiring with Pietro and her own father.

Was nothing real?

Pain! The girl recalled the last conversation she had with her mother. They talked about school and her mother's garden. Her mother had soothed her after another nightmare, as only mothers knew how. It had been nice. She had been happy.

Until she wasn't, and it wasn't. Now her mother was dead; her father had lied about it. And the girl found herself married to her mother's murderer.

Blood spread through the soapy water, turning it pink. And she finally allowed herself to cry, releasing the pent-up emotions that had thus far consumed her.

He didn't expect the first sob, nor the second or third. When Bucky heard the fourth sob echo through the room, he reached two conclusions. Firstly, he realized he needed to soundproof the bathroom and possibly the bedroom as well. He could hear every hitch in the girl's breath, every pained cry, and every sob she attempted to suppress.

Secondly, Bucky concluded that he must have overlooked a crucial detail in his extensive research regarding the girl, and something was clearly amiss. A lingering suspicion had plagued him since the morning of the wedding. Everything felt off.

Bucky recalled his conversation with Danial after the disastrous ceremony. When his father-in-law threw papers at Bucky's face and made him sign on the dotted line. Bastard.

Another sob caused Bucky to flinch, and he sank onto his bed, loosening his bow tie. Perhaps little Burgundy was unaware of her father's deceitfulness.

He remembered what his bunică had said. "How can I know if she isn't just as manipulative as her grandma?"

Or perhaps the girl was as cunning as described. Bucky knew his family had a history with the Burgundys, but he was unsure to what extent. He was gaining a lot from the marriage—power, money, land—what was she getting, apart from his last name? One thing was certain: the girl was keeping secrets from him. She had refused to see him before their wedding, and now she refused to say more than two words.

An evocative wail drew Bucky's attention back to the present. His feet carried him toward the bathroom, but he hesitated to knock. Bucky doubted the girl wanted his comfort, not that he knew how to provide any if she did.

Bucky Barnes knew women like the back of his hand—their bodies, that is; understanding the female brain was a whole different matter. Bucky knew the basics. He knew that "I'm fine" meant "I'm not fine." And "I don't mind" meant they definitely minded.

There wasn't much else Bucky felt confident about when it came to understanding female behaviour unless it concerned sex. Sex, he knew. It was easy and instinctual.

Boy meets girl. Attraction. Mind-blowing orgasm. Boom, it was as simple as that.

He had heard that honeymoons were filled with sex, sex, and even more sex. Where one's carnal desires came to life. It was supposed to be romantic, sensual, and sexy.

Bucky had spent the past month or so fantasizing about all the sexy things he would do to his wife. Nothing about her crying in the bathroom was sexy.

"Fuck." Bucky quickly changed out of his uncomfortable clothes and into a loose pair of black sweats. He neatly folded his wedding attire and placed it in the dresser, intending to have it dry-cleaned later.

Bucky plopped down on his bed. "Motherfucker," he whispered in disdain. He was not supposed to lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to block out the girl's cries. He was supposed to be fucking her hard and fast, using her to release the stress of the past few weeks out of his system. Her tears were supposed to be tears of pleasure, not pain. His groans were supposed to be of satisfaction, not annoyance.

God, he was exhausted. Now that his body knew he wouldn't be getting lucky tonight, the weight of the entire week's stress settled heavily on his shoulders, making him feel foggy and worn out.

Bucky must have dozed off because the house was eerily quiet when he opened his eyes, and almost an hour had passed.

He stretched his lithe body with a yawn and forced himself up. He wouldn't let the girl rot away in the bathroom all day. They needed to talk, she needed to eat, and then Bucky planned to take her sightseeing in the city.

The bathroom was locked as he went to open it, and there was silence on the other end. Bucky called out his wife's name and knocked on the dark wood. "I know you're in there," he said, exasperation creeping into his voice. When he received no answer, his jaw clenched in frustration. "Come out, I need to talk to you."

There was some rustling on the other side, yet the door remained closed. "If you don't open this door in the next five seconds, I'm breaking it!" Bucky warned. He was not against property damage if it meant she would come out.

It took longer than five seconds, but the door eventually opened, revealing the girl in her wedding dress, still as beautiful as the night before.

Bucky cursed under his breath, momentarily distracted by her appearance. His mind worked a lot slower when she was wearing white. He let his gaze roam over her body. Her hair was a dishevelled mess, with pins sticking out every which way, and mascara streaked in lines down her face. It was unmistakable that she had been crying.

"What's wrong?" he found himself asking, concern evident in his voice.

The girl shook her head dismissively, avoiding eye contact.

"I could hear you," Bucky pointed out. He couldn't have ignored her cries if he tried. She was that loud. Her head bowed lower in what he suspected was shame. "Is it your father?" Bucky ventured. "Do you miss him?"

She remained quiet for a while, frustrating him further. Eventually, she spoke in a voice so low he wouldn't have heard it if he were not waiting for her reply. "My mother."

Of course. Bucky immediately realized his mistake. How could he have forgotten about her mother?

He apologized, "I'm sorry. Any idea who did it?"

His wife slowly lifted her head, eyes wide with alarm.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge her reaction. "I heard it was an inside job. You really don't have any suspects?"

She slowly shook her head. "No," she whispered.

Bucky nodded, as if satisfied. In reality, his sharp mind was assessing her sincerity.

His attention shifted, noticing that her neckline had plunged significantly. It caused his heart rate to increase with excitement, his body coming alive from her proximity. He could see more of her skin than before, not that he minded in the slightest. God, she was sweet. Then a sudden thought struck him—she was still in her wedding dress.

"You haven't changed?" he asked in a husky voice.

Her response was hesitant and quiet. "No, I—I couldn't reach the back."

Cute. Bucky moved aside, gesturing for her to leave the bathroom, smiling when she accidentally brushed against his chest. He closed the door behind him and approached his little wife who stood near the edge of the bed with her back turned.

Slipping behind her, Bucky pressed his body flush against hers, feeling her stiffen. "Relax," he whispered, lowering his head to meet her height. He gently tucked a straight strand of hair behind her ear. "Let me help you."

She didn't object as Bucky ran his hand over the back of her bodice, searching for a zipper or clasp to aid in removing her dress. Instead, he discovered an intricately woven corset, revealing glimpses of smooth skin from between the silk ribbons.

After a few attempts, Bucky managed to undo the bow at the small of her back, and the dress unravelled before his eyes. His wife inhaled in surprise, using her hands to cover the rest of her modesty.

Bucky removed the remaining lace, discarding it somewhere behind him. He noticed red marks on her skin where the corset had been digging in, and he couldn't resist running his fingers over the slight indents. God, her skin felt burning hot against his. It made his heart beat in his ears—made sweat line his neck.

Reaching around, Bucky grasped his wife's chin, tilting it toward him. The sight made him lick his lips in anticipation. Her eyes were darkened with lust, her mouth slightly parted, and her chest rose and fell with each breath.

Sweet, so sweet. And so close he could just reach over and claim her mouth for his own. They were so close he could almost taste the dried tears on her face. Bucky felt an overwhelming desire to touch her, to feel if she were as soft and sweet all over.

His hand tightened on her chin while his other arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer until their noses touched. He was ready to lose himself in her scent, but just like earlier at the wedding, his wife's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed against him.

"Fuck," Bucky muttered, holding his half-conscious wife in his arms. She was not fully unconscious and was mumbling incoherently, blinking her eyes, trying to regain control of her body. "What the fuck?"

Was this a regular occurrence? Bucky hoped not. His line of work was not for the faint-hearted. Hell, she was a Burgundy! Her father, Danial, was ruthless and unapologetic when it came to his empire, so it made no sense for his daughter to be so fragile under minor stress.

Unless she's faking it.

But the longer Bucky stood there, cradling his wife, the more absurd the thought seemed. She looked too sweet and innocent to be as cunning and deceitful as her father.

"God damn it!" Bucky carried her to the bed and laid her down on the sheets. Her eyes were droopy, but she was fighting to stay awake. "Hey," Bucky lightly smacked her face. "You're fine. Open your eyes." She slowly regained composure, blinking and looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

"Fuck." Bucky ran a hand through his hair in frustration. All he wanted was a conversation, a simple conversation with regular-sized sentences and no fainting spells. Was that too much to ask for? He didn't think so.

He blindly grabbed a shirt from his closet and handed it to his wife. "Put this on. We need to talk." He made sure to leave no room for argument. Leaning against the wall, Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and waited for his wife to dress.

"Well?" Bucky questioned when she looked at him blankly. "Get a move on. I don't have all day." He chuckled when the girl gasped in surprise. She could think whatever she wanted, but he wasn't going to let anything else delay their conversation. "I'm not moving until that dress is off," he warned.

She swallowed audibly before slipping her head through the neck hole and pulling the fabric over her dress. Bucky observed as she fixed the sleeves and neckline, making final adjustments and letting the dress fall to her waist. Hmm, it was a sneaky move, but Bucky decided to let it slide.

"Go on," he encouraged.

His wife remained seated on the bed, lifting her hips to remove the dress from her legs. It fell to the ground in a heap, and for a moment, Bucky was met with the sexiest thighs he had ever seen. He thought he saw a flash of white lace, but it was quickly covered. His wife pulled his red henley down, attempting to hide her skin, which made him frown.

What had Steve said about him getting some? Yeah. Right. That didn't seem to be happening anytime soon. Didn't mean he couldn't look.

Bucky hummed, breaking the silence. "You faint often?"

His wife appeared taken aback. "N-no, not really."

"Not really," Bucky echoed sarcastically. "Right, we need to talk about that. What happened yesterday?"

"I don't know," she replied, fidgeting with her thumbs, a clear sign of nervousness.

Raising a patronizing brow, Bucky remarked, "Come on, you can do better than that." The girl remained tight-lipped. "Were you drunk?"

She vehemently shook her head, denying it.

"I could smell it on your breath," he accused, recalling the moment before their failed kiss when he leaned in and caught a whiff of alcohol. There was no mistaking it.

"I had some Champagne, but I wasn't drunk," she insisted with desperation.

"Well, someone saw you finish an entire bottle," Bucky pointed out, caught between his wife's words and Dot's account. "Honestly, you don't strike me as someone who can handle her alcohol."

"It was nerves," she finally admitted, avoiding eye contact by focusing on the ground, the window, or the rings adorning his fingers.

"Nerves?" Bucky raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

"I got nervous because I've never done this before," she explained.

Bucky understood her perfectly well, but he couldn't resist playing with her. He faked a frown. "I'm not sure I understand."

"You know," she shrugged, silently urging him to fill in the blanks. Bucky took pleasure in making her say the words. "What newlyweds normally do after getting married."

"You mean fuck?" Bucky chuckled, enjoying her reaction. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"Doubt what?"

"Doubt you've never been screwed," his words hit the mark.

The girl's eyes snapped toward him. "I haven't."

Bucky felt a surge of excitement at her false confession. "I wouldn't lie if I were you."

"I'm not lying," she insisted.

Bucky uncrossed his arms and stood tall. "So you're telling me you've never had a boyfriend before?"

Something resembling shame flitted across her face. She hesitated to answer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes."

Bucky didn't buy it, not for a second, especially after what he discovered the day before. He swallowed his harsh words and retorted with a snide remark. "Never had a boyfriend, huh? Interesting."

"I'm still young," she argued.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her argument. "Still young, huh? Well, sweetheart, age doesn't determine romantic experiences, but hey, who am I to question your luck with Cupid?" He couldn't help but add a touch of sarcasm to his voice.

The girl's face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. "It's the truth," she insisted, her voice tinged with defiance.

Bucky leaned in closer, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Sure, sure. I guess it's just a rare case of a twenty-two-year-old with zero love history. Must be some kind of record."

The girl clenched her fists, clearly affected by his remark. "It's not as uncommon as you think," she retorted.

Bucky grinned mischievously. "Oh, I'm sure it's a regular occurrence," he replied sarcastically, enjoying their banter. "Cupid must have taken an extended vacation when it came to your life."

She shot him a piercing look. "Well, maybe I've been waiting for someone worthy."

Bucky chuckled, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Someone worthy? Well, here I am, sweetheart," Bucky spread his arms in an elaborate display, "ready and willing."

With that final snide remark, Bucky settled back into his previous position, eager to see her reaction. The tension in the room lingered as they locked eyes, both unwilling to back down.

"You have some nerve," the girl huffed in irritation.

Bucky's smirk widened, thoroughly enjoying their verbal sparring. "You have no idea, sweetheart," he replied, his voice laced with amusement. "Nerve is practically a requirement in my line of work."

The girl's cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. She clenched her jaw, determined not to let his taunts get the better of her. "Just don't expect me to swoon over your nerves," she retorted, her voice laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Bucky chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. "Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn't dare," he said, inching closer. Somehow she seemed even smaller when he towered over her. "But it seems like you're pretty daring for the both of us." He grabbed her chin and narrowed his eyes, dropping all pretense of humour for a moment. "Don't forget though, this marriage won't be built on swooning or romance. It's a partnership, an arrangement. And you'll find that I bring much more to the table than fucking nerves."

The girl flinched at his harsh words, pursing her lips. Angry tears gathered in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. "And what is that exactly?" she spat. "Because so far, you've been a beast."

For the first time that day, Bucky felt a genuine flash of rage rise within him. He stepped back and released her chin, clenching his fists at his sides and away from her. What had he done to warrant being called a beast? He was trying his best to make sure she was comfortable, but it seemed the Burgundy princess had higher standards.

He breathed through his nose, plastering a mocking smile onto his face. He could tell the second the girl realized the weight of what she said because she was suddenly back to her quiet self.

"Power, protection, and a life you couldn't even fathom," he responded with intensity. "I may not look like your typical knight in shining armour, but I can guarantee this much—no one will ever dare to mess with you as long as you're mine. You have my name now. There's nothing you could possibly want that I couldn't give you."

Bucky paused and took another step back so the girl didn't have to strain her neck as much to look at him. He wanted her full attention on him as he delivered his last blow. "What will you bring to the fucking table?"

The girl's expression softened slightly, her defiance giving way to a flicker of uncertainty. She seemed to be grappling with conflicting emotions, the weight of their unusual situation bearing down on her.

Her eyes went vacant for a moment as if she wasn't in the room anymore. "I'll give you an heir," she whispered.

"What?"

She shook her head, seemingly returning to the room. "I'll give you a son. An heir."

Bucky cocked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Well, that's a given."

He watched with mild pleasure as she deflated in front of him, defeated. Bucky turned to leave.

"I don't understand you." Her voice was the softest it had been.

"You don't know me," Bucky retorted, slowly warming up to her fluctuating tone. "And I don't know you." He glanced at his watch. "Be ready in five. I'm taking you out for lunch."

Note: Thoughts?

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[jamneuromain]

Wild Child Chapter. 4

Series Summary:

As the granddaughter of the sole Duke in your country, you know that you were going to marry some douche prince, because it is the only way to solidify the grasp the future king has on the Upper House. On the flight home, you come up with a brilliant plan to defy your upcoming matrimony.

Bringing a random man to your grandfather's place, and say you have a boyfriend already.

"Is there anything else I should know about? Before I meet your family?" Ari cocks his head to the side, watching you adjusting your cerulean Valentino dress when you wave your hand dismissively.

"Just say we're in love and help me get out of marrying this D-bag."

Ari Levinson x You

#i didn't know he is my fiance-douchebag-prince

#when i did, it was too late

A/N: A big smooch to @rogerswifesblog for she has come up with some of the most hilarious conversation XD Please send her some love<333

You were young, carefree. Came back from school only five minutes ago. Happy, giddy.

You were showing your mother, who took your school bag from your shoulders, a face you make, learnt from your friend in school.

You pulled your lower eyelids, and stuck your tongue out, making your mother laugh at your shenanigans.

“Very funny, sweetie.” Your mother tapped your nose with her finger with a “Boop”, before kissing it gently, “Now go wash your hands, okay? Daddy’s going to be with us for dinner. So be an elegant little lady, and don’t disappoint daddy, okay?”

“Okay!” You dashed to the bathroom with a happy grin, having your mother raise her voice.

“Don’t run in the hallways, sweetie, you might fall!”

Your father barely came to visit you. He would occasionally stop by for an hour or two, leaving you and your mother in this house for months before visiting again. To you, he was a stranger, but your mother’s attitude proves more than that. She would tell you to obey your father and be a good girl, that he is busy and could not afford to visit you often, and that your father loves you.

You saw her taking out the beautiful lilac dress that she had kept in her wardrobe for years, putting on make-up, and finding a pretty white dress for you, which was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. Calling the two servants in this house, your mother ordered them to place the best silverware you had at the table, and having the chef cook a five-course meal.

You and your mother always had dinner together, in the small house on the outskirts of Ancetol. She would supervise your homework before dinner, and take your little hand, and walk you to the dining room.

But she forgot about tutoring your homework that day, and you were simply glad that you didn’t have to practice your piano and violin, do your math questions, or recite the poem in French that she taught you the day before.

You watched the few people in this house swoop in and out of rooms in haste, curious as to why the simple presence of your father could make your mother (almost) completely forget about you.

In the end, this was the one problem you could not have figured out, no matter how hard you tried, using the brain of a 7-year-old.

The clattering of plates, furniture, and heels clicking on the floor slowly died down, and you hid in your room, reading the fantasy stories written by some brilliant female writer, whom you hoped to be one day.

One of the servants knocked on your door.

“Miss. Y/L/N, your father asked to see you.”

“Coming!”

If there is one thing that you have figured out, it is that making your father happy equals making your mother happy. And you’d want that, making her happy.

So by some sort of twisted logic inside your head, when your father asked you what have you learned in school, you pulled your lower eyelids, and stuck your tongue out, making a face.

You remembered every detail of how your father snapped, slapping you across the face and shouting at your mother, hitting her forehead with an ashtray that cut into her skin, before storming out of your house.

It was a memorable lesson as your mother locked herself in her bedroom and cried, while you sat by the dining table with a swollen cheek, looking at the meal gone cold, flinching at every sound, fearing that he would return.

When one of the servants came and informed you that your mother wouldn’t be joining you for dinner, by the time your stomach cramped in protest, for you were persistent in waiting for your mother to dine with you, you nodded in silence, grabbing the knife and fork, cutting the cold chicken into small pieces.

In the large, dim dining room, with romantic candles lit on either side of the long table, you sat on your chair, eating chicken and wiping your eyes, until your hands were soaked with tears that you could barely grasp the silverware anymore.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Guy, Guy Thomas approached you and sat down right across the table. He wore something more casual today, a blue T-shirt and a dark green jacket with a pair of sunglasses.

“Y/N.” His smooth brunette hair tousled as he removed his sunglasses, and a lop-sided grin lingered on his lips, “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Guy.” You rolled your eyes, signalling the waitress to take your order, “I called and asked you to come. There’s nothing surprising here.”

He folded his sunglasses, placing them on the table, right by the menu, “Since I am accompanied by this kingdom's future queen-”

“SHHHH!” You glared and kicked his shin under the table as the waitress clicked her pen and flipped a new page on her pad.

“May I take your order?” The waitress asked in a bored voice, not even bothering to lift her eyelids and look at you.

“Chamomile tea, please, and two croissants.” You handed the menu to the waitress.

“Ice Americano, please. Nothing else.” Ari scanned over the piece of paper briefly, handing it to the waitress as well.

Your focus drifted to the empty sidewalk and a few pedestrians. A young couple, having large mountain bags on their shoulders, taking a selfie with their daughter in a pink lacy dress.

All you remembered were the flashing camera lights at proms. Where you were forced to smile with pearl-white teeth. Or carefully orchestrated family pictures, which took hours to pose and select the best one.

Photos.

You and Ari both remained silent as your food and drink arrived,

Ari observed you.

You still didn’t look happy.

There was a cute little frown on your face, as you stared outside of the window in this small café.

However, his observation did not last long, for you turned to him and put a smile on your face. The smile had all the elements, the movements of the muscles on your cheek, the corner of your lips, even the little lines at the edge of your eyes.

It looked sincere. Yet a small voice at the bottom of Ari’s heart told him, it was not.

"I've got this all figured out." You chirped up, a total change from your brooding status, pulling out a little notepad and started reading, "We met at a business dinner party in London when we got acquainted because the host accidentally put us next to each other. We had a fun night and talked about literature. I'm thinking French or German but you can decide the details. We exchanged phone numbers and started texting. But we're also new into this relationship so I'm thinking six or seven dates before sex, which of course, happened in my place."

Ari choked on his iced coffee.

“Sex??” He wiped his lips with a napkin, “Hold on. Hold-on.” Ari raised his hand, gesturing you to stop reading from your notebook, “You are making up a background story for this fake relationship?”

“Well yeah,” you shrugged as if you were not the one who just made up a story detailed enough to publish, “they are going to ask these embarrassing questions anyway, and they'd probably separate us to see if our story stays the same."

“They?”

“My folks. Parents. My dad, especially.” You quickly changed the center of attention, “So … six dates before sex?” You quirked your eyebrows at him.

Ari made a mental note not to drink when you were speaking, “Sure, six.”

“Great!” You traced your finger on the notebook, finding the part where you had just left off, “Oh, right, new to relationship. I shall say three months? So we met in June, one months of texting and flirting and we settled the relationship on August 10th."

“Is it really necessary to have a date?” Ari huffed a laugh in amusement, you were way more fun than he had imagined, “You're making it sound like they will torture us for this information.”

A disapproving look was thrown in his direction. “I know my family. And trust me, talking to them is pure torture.”

Ari put both of his hands up in surrender, "Fine. You were saying?"

It didn’t take you long to find your notes this time. “Oh, the date. Because you are going to prepare a small gift. Small. To celebrate our 100th day together. Without saying, I'll obviously buy the gift and all you have to do is give it to me so that I can act surprised and talk about it in front of my family.”

Seeing Ari having nothing else to add, you continued: “About the time period of our relationship. You only need to remember one month of texting and flirting before we get together, but I'll act like slightly pissed at you in front of my parents. I'll say six weeks or five weeks and four days. Or forty days. Don't react to my answer. I'll probably sway your arm and pout and ask you to agree with me. And it doesn't matter if you do or still say one month; that would be real enough."

Ari nodded, biting the inside of his cheek to stop the laughter from bubbling out. He was now part of your plan, he had to follow it through.

“One month. 100th day, three months. Got it.”

You let out a sigh of relief, seeing there was still about 1/3 to go. “Right, sex. (Ari waited for a moment to swallow the coffee in his mouth) Two months should count for at least a dozen. But the first time should be in my bedroom. My parents are way too traditional to be told otherwise. And you took me to a fancy restaurant before that.”

“Anything else?” After listening to your fake relationship project, there was nothing that could shock him now.

“Anything else you need to know is on that piece of paper.” You snatched a piece of paper from your bag, with a list of likes, dislikes, and some fun facts about you. “Questions?”

Ari was reading through your likes of fantasy novels and dislikes of realism movies, “Only one.”

Not that there was only one question, but the only important one, that he wanted to ask, ever since he met you.

“Is your family always like this?”

His misty blue eyes focused on you. Yet the pitying and the condescending sympathy were too much for you to take in.

The need to share and the bottled wrath crashed into one another, prickling your eyes with tears. It had been so long since anyone comforted you – someone who wasn’t connected to you by blood. This was much less a comfort, and more of a confirmation that normal families, with emphasis on “normal”, should not need their daughter to join hands with a total stranger and lie to them to get out of a marriage proposal.

You shrug, pretending that it didn’t bother you, “You know, family expectations. And then the family I'm supposed to marry has another ton of expectations. And expectations crush you into something you're not. Showing them one side and trying to hide away another. But anyway, I bet the guy I'm going to marry is a lot worse. Machoman shit or stuff like that.”

Seeing him frown, you added, “Not you, Guy. The guy I was supposed to marry. The other guy. His name is not ‘Guy’, of course. But that guy…” Feeling like you had made the conversation a lot weirder, you gave up explaining, frustration taking over your tone, “… you know what I mean.”

Ari found that he was more prone to silence these days. True love was a vague concept for him ever since he knew that he would marry you one day. He thought about how you look like, how you speak or act in front of him. But it never occurred to him that the rules from both families are crushing you, molding you into a lifeless doll rather than a living human being. The twisted family you had, imprisoning you in your house, stripping you of connections to the outside world, and forcing you to marry someone that you did not even know about.

Was it the right choice to marry you? After seeing first-hand what the title and the royal burden meant to you?

Ari was sure before. Now? He was not so certain about it.

Changing the topic of your conversation almost jokingly, he swept away the heavy tension hovering above you: “You sure I’m the right guy-” Remembering your frustration on the “Guy” subject, he decided to ditch the word for the time being, “person to be your boyfriend?”

You dismissed his doubts with a simple reply, “Yeah yeah yeah, you have good genes. They’d love to see our kids.”

Ari was drinking the last few drops of coffee before choking on it again.

He would never drink anything while you were talking.

“That’s-” He coughed into his napkin, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Joking!” You pushed the napkin box in front of him, the smile on your face bright enough to dazzle the sun, “I’m joking. Seriously though, you don't need anything else. I think they'd be more welcome to someone twice my age…”

Twice your age?

Despite the fake documents and birth certificates that the royal secret services forged, the age put on the fake documents were similar to his own, for example, different birthday but the same year. On paper, Guy Thomas was the same age as Ari Levinson, both had turned 32 earlier this year.

He was six years older than you, not old enough to be your father!

The veins on his temple jumped with the beat of his heart.

He did not even look that old! Twice your age is what? 52 years old?

“…they are going to like you. One more thing, I need to know if you have any likes? Dislikes? Allergies?” You were so excited about your plan that you did not notice the muscles twitching down his neck.

“No allergies. Not that I know of.” Ari clenched his teeth. The rules bound to him ever since he was a child, telling him to be polite, were the only thing that prevented him from snarling after getting his ego (and his age) jabbed at.

You clapped your palms together, barely containing the giddiness from the bottom of your heart, somehow completely oblivious to Ari’s fuming, “Splendid! My parents think allergies are for the weak. They are going to love you.”

Later that night, Ari went drinking with an old friend of his, Sammy Navon.

Sammy recently returned from a trip with Doctors Without Borders, before that, he had served two years along with Ari in the Ballenian Royal Navy.

While Ari continued serving for two years each in the Air Force and the Army, Sammy did two more in the Navy before deciding that he preferred saving lives in countries struggling in poverty rather than on the battlefield, and spending last year in South Sudan.

Both Doctors Without Borders and the Ballenian Army did not leave much space for press, let alone personal communication, hence they had only been reunited for a few months.

The tall, lean man slumped on the chair, pouring himself a healthy dose of scotch.

“To what do I own the pleasure of the future king raiding my private collection?” Sammy drummed his long fingers on the bar counter, glancing over the empty tavern that the royal bodyguards had ordered to clear out.

“Can’t it be a men’s night out for old time's sake?” Ari half-complained and dumped two ice cubes in both of their glasses, “How’s South Sudan?”

“Diseases. Famine. Warlords. The likes.” Sammy grunted a “thank-you” for the ice, before asking back, “How’s the royal family? Did the plan work? To check out the girl you were going to marry?”

“Sort of.” Ari hissed due to the spiciness of the scotch, “Gah- This is some pretty strong stuff.”

Sammy smiled ever-so-faintly, “Sort of?” He mocked his friend’s voice, “What – she found out about it?”

“No. Not yet.” Ari chewed on some salty peanuts, “One thing though.” He cleared his throat, swallowing with another gulp of scotch, and asked, “Do I look 40?”

Sammy opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, which made Ari more miserable.

So he did look that old.

Sammy finished the liquor in his glass, and replied, grinning, “You mean with or without that bush on your face?”

Taglist (also tagging those who might be interested: @irishhappiness @patzammit @identity2212 @lokislady82 @petalj @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @magnificentsaladllama @xx-rennyxx @cringeycookies @autumnrose40 @hawkeyes-queen @vonalyn @theliheat @boo8008 @mrsevans90 @bradfordmyworld @delldenaro

Find the Wild Child Masterlist here 👈

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[desultory-novice]

Noir's Field Trip - "Starting Out"

"...Thanks, you two."

-

Ahem! Following in the footsteps of several other Kirby OC contest peeps, you may send in asks for [Noir]!!

(...But I'm SUPER busy so it may take until May to respond! ^^;;)

[Notes/Rules About Asks:]

-I'm iffy on back-and-forth style dialogue-based RP, due to the complex interplay of pseudo-linearity in an amorphous situation plus my autistic-self often being unable to figure out what my RP partner is actually trying to say tone-wise or what they are thinking and then-I-answer-them-wrong-and-embarrass-myself...!!

That and long post-chains make me a little nervous. ^^; Asks in the form of questions Noir can answer in-character are preferred.

(You may also ask me generic "What does your OC think/do when...?" style questions, such as those from THIS detailed OC ask meme!)

-You can also send an ask for Noir from your OC, if you'd like to find out how the troubled teenage boy would react to meeting them! (These may or may NOT(!!) come with art, depending on mood, time, and a variety of circumstances. Tourney OCs will generally get preference. If I AM inspired to draw said meeting, I may request additional information/clarification before going through with it.)

Again, I'm pretty autistic, so if you are going to go this route, it'll help if I have something more than "Hiya, Noir!" to work off of - else he'll just react to you the same way he does to Marx.

(Not that you can't go places from there! XD)

-You can also prod Noir about his traumas if you like! XD Note that asking for details about certain things (the "murders" on Shiver Star or his hatred of physical contact) may result in responses with TRIGGER WARNINGS, if I decide to answer them.

-Tournament!Noir is currently in his own similar but separate timeline from Mainline Apologies Noir. However, events during this contest MAY influence his fate and the fates of those he holds dearest!

-Noir's latent cross-dimension sight means that you can ask him about his various other timelines or Kirby games he was not alive for and probably get some pretty unique/funny/strange answers.

-I almost assuredly won't be able to get to every ask/comment. Some I may avoid answering due to complexity, uncomfortableness, them not fitting tournament!Noir's narrative, or me just not having any good ideas. Please don't take this personally.

-Lastly, please leave space between sending multiple asks. ^^

omg I'm so nervous about this. I want to draw lots, for me and for others (!) too if I can but I want to follow the flow of the tournament and not JUST go off on my own crazy thing, except that I'm not even completely familiar with what the rounds will be like?!

[Non-Ask Notes:]

-The flowers in the BG are the forget-me-nots that Adeleine drew for him on his birthday and that he received in this post. That post was also the inspiration for Tournament!Noir. (Although he retains the corruption + the collar here.)

PS: In addition the song that post is, you know, named for, Noir + the forget-me-nots also makes me think of the lyrics: "Since the day I met you, there's never ceased to be music in this hell of mine" from the opening to Sousei no Aquarion.

-This, and the tag name, was inspired by @Graycoin's comment "Noir gets to go on a field trip. I hope he has a good time : D " (then I saw Starflung had the same idea to send her OC off with a backpack! Haha! XD)

-The fish bone is a gift from Gooey. He's doing his best. Adeleine is also doing HER best. ("...A comb? Really?" "It's unbreakable!")

-As to the bento box, I'm not sure if I mentioned this before (?) but the Fontaine children are French-Japanese...on their mother's side.

-Why yes, that IS a cellphone in his backpack! I wonder who might call him...?