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She's back! In time for Valentine's Day enjoy a new lovey moodboard with Mafia!Ari because he deserves all the love.

Inspired by how I told you I wanted to do an elopement moodboard and the ask you got the other week about who would rail you on top of money. Why not get married to your gorgeous mobster after you become his good luck charm.

Probably not Sunshine x Ari because of the whole "misplaced" thing but maybe another version of him or it's them in the future

You save a mobster's life and he changes yours.

Pairing: Mafia!Ari Levinson x Reader

CW: TBD, Ari is 6'6" in this.

AN: Preview of an upcoming one shot.

"You saved my life." His contemplative voice gently breaks the silence.

Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth, you add another layer of gauze to his wrapped knuckles. Your fingers linger over the tattoos lining the back of his hand.

"It was nothing," you attempt to brush off his words, your eyes averting to the first aid kit beside him. It’s a wonder you can hear over the dull roar in your ears, adrenaline still rushing through your veins like wildfire. "Anyone would have done the same thing."

Ari laughs. A deep, rich sound that sends a spark through your chest, sending your already racing heart into overdrive. It tapers off after a minute and you find yourself missing it.

"No. Not many people would," he muses with a smirk, aware that his reputation alone would have sent half of Las Vegas running from the restaurant even before his partner's betrayal was revealed and guns were brandished because Micah couldn't handle a fist to the face.

His eyes trail across your face. You didn't. He still can't believe that a pretty little thing like you saved his life. Of course in his world, that means one thing. He owes you a debt. It's not often that Ari owes anyone.

And he intends to repay you throughly.

"Let me thank you," he starts, removing his hand from yours, he stands with a roll of his broad shoulders, his shirt draped across the back of his chair, leaving only the sleek red suspenders, they're stark contrast to the dark ink splayed across his bare chest, your eyes lingering on a patch of script in a foreign language.

"I'll show you around my casino, teach you how to beat the house and show you everything Vegas has to offer." He offers with a wink his gaze catching the way your breath hitches.

You hesitate.

You can't believe you're considering this. Maybe you lost your mind in between ordering the risotto and rushing to help a man you don't know. A dangerous man. With a sinful smile and gorgeous blue eyes that are searing your skin the longer the linger on you. "I—"

"No one in this city will even think about harming you. So dont worry about anything." You're under his protection now. Ari takes your face in his hands, warm skin and soft gauze brush across your jaw as he tilts your face up. "Live a little. What's the worst that could happen? Give me one weekend to make up for tonight. All expenses paid, I have the best seats at every show and restaurant on the strip. The only thing you have to do is show up. "

He sweeps his thumb across your bottom lip, releasing it from your bite. "Are you going to make an injured man beg?"

He manages to pull an almost convincing air of innocence, the giggles escaping your lips before you can stop them. His smile in return is devastating to your senses.

When he puts it that way, how can you say no?

It's just one weekend. It's not like you'll wake up married to the man. What's the worst that could happen?

Ari knows he has 48 hours to convince you to stay with him. It's more than enough time.

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best part of KPop Demon Hunters is all the ridiculous faces the girls make

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the whole "ao3 and tumblr are our parents thing" is especially great considering the "you've already left kudos here." we are the petulant children who want more than one cookie and ao3 is saying no.

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REMEMBER!

YOUR CREATIVE WORKS ARE NOT DEFINED BY ITS SOCIAL ENGAGEMENT!

LOVE YOUR ART AND WRITING FOR YOURSELF NOT OTHERS!

YOUR WORKS ARE VALID, DO IT FOR YOUR LOVE OF IT. I SEE YOU! YOU ARE AMAZING!

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My girlfriend is on a cruise so while she’s gone I’m gonna cut the sleeves off of all my shirts

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Me, age 10, doing an essay on the pharaoh’s curse for school: huh. So this archeologist that died and everyone thought it was because he disturbed the pharaoh’s tomb actually died because he used a rusty razor to shave and it infected a mosquito bite. I can see how people could come to that conclusion, but it is a bit silly

Me, today, shaving my mosquito bite-ridden legs: I must tread carefully lest I incur the pharaoh’s wrath

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When my uncle finally divorced his abusive wife and became a bachelor again he was like 55 and already used to wearing dad attire. Anyway so that year at the big family camping trip my aunts were trying so hard to hook him up with their friends but he kept wearing this sweater with a kitten in s hammock that said “beach bum” on it. And every time they saw it they’d say “Wear a nicer sweatshirt Stan!” And he would just earnestly reply “This IS a very nice sweater!”

Anyway my aunts were full of shit that sweater kicked ass

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“Writing is so fun,” I say, as I:

Rewrite the same sentence six times.

Cut a line I loved for "flow" and immediately wish I found a way to make it fit instead.

Sit motionless for twelve minutes trying to decide whether I should use commas or em-dashes for one particular phrase.

Get distracted imagining a scene four chapters ahead that has nothing to do with the current plot.

Change one word and feel like I just altered the fate of humanity.

Re-read my own dialogue and debate whether it’s good or if it will make people give up on the fanfic instead.

Delete an entire paragraph because it didn’t feel right.

Spend twenty minutes choosing between “said,” “asked,” “murmured,” or “whispered,” as if it will alter the timeline.

Get emotionally attached to a metaphor no one else will even notice.

Write one (1) good line and convince myself I deserve a national award.

Leave a comment for myself in the draft like: “Fix This Crap” and then never fix it.

Realize I cannot explain how time works. Was that scene three minutes or three hours? Unclear.

Pause mid-sentence to stare at the wall and question my life choices.

Get so overwhelmed I close the page and proceed to feel guilty about it for three days.

Threaten to delete everything and start over. Again. For the seventh time this week.

Post it anyway. Obsessively check stats like my life depends on it.

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I loved your Bob and John threesome…. But could you do a stucky x reader threesome? with I think number 21: “Wait—uh—do…do that again.”

this is the first real smut scene I’ve written with Steve so bare with me lmao

(mentions of squirting & dp)

-

The room is warm.

Golden light leaks through the blinds. The covers are tangled around your calves, kicked halfway down the bed. The air is thick with sweat and breath and the slow, steady sounds of skin meeting skin.

Bucky’s mouth is at your throat. Steve’s hands are on your thighs. And you?

You’re somewhere between the third and fourth time they made you come, hips trembling, breath caught somewhere in your chest, so full you can’t think straight.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs against your jaw, voice thick and gravel-deep. “You’re doin’ so good for us.”

His metal hand cradles the back of your neck. His other hand is gripping your waist, anchoring you while Steve’s head dips low between your legs, mouth dragging lazy, devastating circles over your clit.

“Mm,” Steve hums into you. “Tastes so sweet.”

You gasp—back arching off the mattress—and Bucky chuckles softly, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“She likes that,” he mutters. “Bet she likes it even more when you suck.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s voice is hoarse, low. “That true, honey?”

You try to answer but only manage a broken whimper, fingers fisting the sheets.

Steve’s smile ghosts against your thigh. Then he sucks—slow and deep and focused—and your whole body jolts.

“Wait—uh—do…” you stammer, voice cracking, eyes flying open. “Do that again.”

Steve pulls back just enough to glance up at you. Bucky does too—still hovering above, his eyes burning, jaw slack.

“Yeah, doll?” Bucky teases, thumbing your cheek. “You want him to suck your pretty little clit just like that again?”

You nod—frantic now. “Please.”

Steve groans and does it again. Harder this time. Tongue flicking, lips sealed, suction just strong enough to push you to the edge all over again.

Bucky growls against your ear. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ perfect. So goddamn responsive.”

His cock is hard against your hip. You reach for it without thinking, hand closing around him, and he lets out a sharp breath—eyes fluttering, hips grinding into your palm.

Steve keeps going.

He’s relentless. One hand holding your thigh open, the other teasing just below your entrance, fingers slick from where you’re already dripping.

“Such a good girl,” he mutters. “You’re takin’ everything we give you.”

You cry out again. And when his fingers slip inside—slow and curling, finding that exact spot he must’ve been hunting for—your whole body convulses.

“There,” you gasp. “Oh my God, there. Steve—again. Do that again.”

“Think we found her spot,” Bucky murmurs, kissing your temple. “You gonna squirt for us, sweetheart? You gonna make a mess?”

You sob.

Steve pumps his fingers harder now, tongue never leaving your clit, and Bucky kisses you through the chaos, holding your jaw, swallowing every whimper as your hips lift off the bed.

And then? You shatter. It rips out of you—wet, hot, uncontrollable—as your thighs quake and your breath stops and Steve keeps his fingers inside, stroking you through it.

“Jesus,” Steve pants, pulling back to watch. “Look at that. Look what we made you do.”

“Made her come so hard she forgot her name,” Bucky grins, licking his lips. “You okay, doll?”

You nod, dazed and soaked, still twitching. Steve leans up. Kisses you. His face is slick with you.

Bucky kisses the other side.

Then their mouths meet—right in front of you, lips slick from the same place, tongues slow and hungry, like they need to taste all of you from each other’s mouths.

You whimper.

They break the kiss.

And Steve looks down at you with blown pupils and that boy-next-door-turned-sinner smile. “Think you can take one more, honey?”

Bucky smirks, already reaching for your hips. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, cock dragging along your thigh, “you better hold on tight.”

You can barely breathe, let alone speak. The sheets beneath you are damp. Your thighs are shaking. Your chest is rising in desperate, shallow gasps as you blink up at the two men above you.

And they aren’t done.

Bucky’s already between your legs again, cock thick and flushed, dragging through your folds like he’s trying to remind you just how much more you can take.

“Sweetheart,” he says gently, brushing hair from your face. “You still with us?”

You nod. Whimper. Writhe.

Steve’s behind you now—his hands on your hips, steady and warm. You feel his cock, still hard, pressing against the curve of your ass.

“You’re okay, honey,” he murmurs. “We’ve got you.”

Bucky leans down to kiss your mouth. “Just gonna fill you up a little more.”

A little. That’s a lie. Because when Bucky pushes into your cunt—slow, deeper than before, stretching your slick walls all over again—you cry out, eyes rolling back. Your body clenches, and you can feel how sensitive you are, every nerve ending lit up like electricity.

But then you feel Steve.

His cock, slick with your own arousal, nudging at your ass. Pressing in slowly, inch by inch, one hand massaging your hip, the other rubbing gentle circles over your lower back.

You gasp. Bucky holds your face. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers. “That’s it. Take us.”

“That’s it, honey,” Steve echoes, voice thick. “You’re doin’ so good.”

And then he’s in.

All the way.

You’re stretched so full you don’t know where one man ends and the other begins. Every movement makes you tremble. Every breath makes you clench.

And they stay still.

You’re cockwarming them—both of them—and you can feel every twitch, every pulse, every drop of arousal leaking from their cocks and mixing inside you.

You try to speak. Fail. Whimper instead.

Steve kisses your shoulder. Bucky strokes your cheek. Then, slowly, they begin to move.

Not fast. Not hard. Just a slow, grinding rhythm, one thrusting shallow while the other withdraws, their rhythm impossibly perfect, like they’ve done this before in some dream they both refused to wake from.

And you? You’re gone. Overstimulated. Stuffed. Desperate.

You cry out, and Bucky cups your jaw. “Look at me, sweetheart. I wanna see those eyes when you fall apart again.”

Steve groans. “Feel her squeezin’ me. She’s close already.”

You are. Too close. “Can’t—” you whimper.

“Yes you can,” Bucky whispers, leaning close, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You can take it. You’re takin’ both of us, baby. You’re doin’ perfect.”

Steve leans in too, lips brushing your spine. “You’re ours. You hear me? Ours.”

And then they fuck you just a little harder. Not wild. Not punishing. Just deep. Full. The kind of fucking that says you belong to us.

You’re crying when you come again—wrecked sobs, hips twitching, walls spasming around them. Bucky groans and holds you tighter. Steve kisses your shoulder like he’s trying to ground you.

Their rhythm deepens, slow and brutal, the kind of movement that feels like ownership. Not hard—devastating. Pressed in close. Their hands never leave your skin.

Bucky has your jaw cupped, thumb sweeping beneath your lip. He kisses you like he means it, like he’s marking your mouth as much as your body. Steve’s hand never stops stroking over your lower belly, firm and reverent, murmuring something ragged and low against your ear that you can’t understand through the haze of full, so full, too full.

“Still with us, honey?” Steve pants.

You nod. Or maybe you sob. You can’t tell anymore.

They don’t stop. Bucky fucks up into you with a sharp exhale. Steve grinds deep behind you, his cock dragging slow and thick along every trembling nerve.

And then it happens.

Steve’s fingers dig into your hips—tight, desperate—and a shudder rolls through his chest. He lets out a broken groan against your back, one thrust, then another, and you feel the first twitch. The second. The hot, pulsing spill of him inside you.

You cry out—because you can feel it. All of it. Warmth blooming deep in your belly, Steve’s hips locked in, holding you still while he floods you.

Then Bucky presses his forehead to yours.

“Goddamn it,” he growls, voice shaking. “You’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart—I can’t—”

He thrusts once. Twice.

And then he follows.

His mouth goes slack against your cheek, his cock kicking inside you, heat spilling, more and more, and your cunt flutters around him, unable to take even one more drop without it spilling down your thighs.

And still—neither of them pulls out.

Their cocks stay buried inside, twitching, throbbing, leaking as your breath comes in wet gasps and your legs give out completely.

You feel it seeping.

Sliding down the backs of your thighs. Between your cheeks. A slow, thick stream of everything they gave you, caught between their bodies like a well they’ve broken open and left overflowing.

“Good girl,” Steve breathes, mouth brushing your ear.

“Look at her,” Bucky whispers, kissing the sweat at your temple. “So full of us.”

They still don’t move. Just stay inside you.

Bucky collapses beside you eventually, pulling you to his chest. Steve wraps around your back, palm soothing over your belly, lips at your temple.

You’re cockdrunk. Breathless. Crying and smiling and so deeply in love you can’t see straight.

And you stay like that.

All night.

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Natasha: I just want someone to take me out.

Wanda : On a date?

Y/N: With a sniper gun?

Natasha: Both if you're not a coward.

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bro you're seizing the day too much you're gonna give yourself carpal diem

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Forever mad that Maysilee never got to learn that Haymitch blew up the arena not once but TWICE. Maysilee, so intent on making a stand, so mad when she thought Haymitch wouldn't anymore. Imagine her face when Haymitch threw that last bomb she should have been allowed to witness that she would have been so proud

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🫦🫦

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x

2019 v 2025

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oh also? An absolutely freaky thing I'm seeing yt leftists do?

STOP TRYING TO TRACK DOWN PROTESTORS THAT DO 'BADASS STUFF'. STOP POSTING ABOUT IT ONLINE.

PEOPLE FUCKING DIE.

AND IT'S USUALLY SOMEONE MELANATED.

THE GOVERNMENT IS WATCHING YOU FUCKING DUMBASS.

y'all are so stuck on egoistic heroism that every time someone does something 'sick' at a protest you wanna turn them in to the next celebrity to have a parasocial relationship with and then they go missing.

Tf is wrong w y'all.