Latest Posts by vandahama - Page 2

“You will have days where you feel better, and you will have days where you want to die. Both are okay. There is no magical cure. You just need to close your eyes, and trust that the waves will pass, and soon you’ll be able to breathe again.”

— Unknown

Little things that help moods:

- getting enough sunshine - opening the curtains - eating regular meals - short walks with your favourite music - don’t stay up until 3am - don’t try to relate to negative tumblr text posts - get off tumblr/social media if it’s unhealthy - shower - don’t stay in bed the whole day - plan out your day - listen to music - change your clothes - set yourself small goals - say yes to fun events - drink water, it takes 5 seconds - talk to a close friend - remind yourself: a bad mood can lie to you - you’re not unwanted or hopeless - you deserve love so be nice to yourself

Apply for that job. Date that person. Buy that plane ticket. Move to that city. Do all the things that scare you, because they’re worth it.

Unknown

“You think attention is love, and that’s why you suffer so deeply.”

— Unknown

“There’s really no shortcut to forgetting someone. You just have to endure missing them everyday until you don’t anymore.”

— Unknown

“There’s really no shortcut to forgetting someone. You just have to endure missing them everyday until you don’t anymore.”

— Unknown

“I need to stop fantasizing about running away to some other life and start figuring out the one I have.”

— Holly Black

“Before you ask why someone hates you, ask yourself why you even care.”

— Tiffany Alvord

KINGDOM HEARTS

Como em um jogo de xadrez, o Reino Vogrincic estava sendo ameaçado, e com o rei pronto para bater as botas a qualquer momento, seu herdeiro precisa tomar uma decisão, se movimentar dentro da partida. Além de precisar defender seu reino da ameaça externa, precisava colocar em ordem sua estrutura interna, manter a hierarquia. Mas o que haveria para organizar? Apenas o essencial, afinal, em seu jogo, faltava a peça mais forte: A Rainha.

1. Os Peões

2. Os Cavalos

3. O Bispo

4. A Torre

5. O Rei

6. A Dama

OS PEÕES

masterlist da fic

Avisos: Menção a guerra, sangue e morte, como a fic é "medieval" tem umas noções bem machistas e coisas do tipo mas deixo claro que eu NÃO COMPACTUO com essa visão, apenas tentei adequar a escrita a época que eu tinha em mente. é também a primeira vez que eu escrevo algo assim então peço perdão se não estiver tão bomkkkkk

Notas: Oie! e veio aí, minha segunda fic e essa eu to SUPER animada. finalmente prince!enzo aparecendo nesse perfil. já adianto que os capítulos vão sair beeem devagarinho então peço muita paciência. to bem ansiosa e feliz com esse projeto e espero que vocês gostem muito!

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O dia do xeque-mate. O nome surgiu como piadinha entre todos da nobreza, dia este que é tradicional durante anos, tornando a piada antiga. Hoje era o grande dia que o príncipe escolheria sua esposa, algo que era comum e era na verdade um dos eventos mais aguardados da realeza sempre que surgia um novo príncipe, afinal, é graças ao dia do xeque-mate que surgia todas as novas fofocas. Ninguém nunca pensou que o dia do xeque-mate do Príncipe Vogrincic chegaria, apesar de ser o sucessor do trono, muitos acreditavam que ele não teria uma rainha. Mas algo mudou, ninguém sabe o que e isso que tornava o dia do xeque-mate mais interessante ainda. Toda a nobreza queria saber o que fez o príncipe mudar de ideia, foi o rei que mandou? Foi o próprio príncipe que decidiu sair da vida de bordéis e finalmente sossegar em um casamento? Ou é apenas um casamento qualquer apenas para gerar um herdeiro? Será que tudo não passava de uma jogada política? Ou será que o príncipe já tinha alguém em mente e o dia do xeque-mate era apenas para disfarçar o fato de que ele já fez sua escolha? As perguntas não tinham respostas, mas talvez o dia de hoje mudaria tudo. No dia do xeque-mate, diversas filhas de duques, marqueses, condes e até mesmo de antigos guerreiros do reino eram selecionadas a dedo pela rainha. Todas as filhas eram convidadas a ir até o palácio real se apresentar ao rei e a rainha e logo em seguida ter um jantar com o príncipe. Apenas o príncipe e todas as suas pretedentes, e, se passado 24 horas após o jantar, o príncipe não tivesse feito sua escolha, a rainha, sua mãe, o faria. É por isso também que o dia do xeque-mate é tão importante, pois marca o início de uma nova dinastia, o início de uma nova era, além de que todo o povo adora um casamento real.

Você é filha de um ex guerreiro do reino, seu pai por muitos anos comandou as tropas das batalhas de uma das guerras mais importantes da história: a Guerra dos Amantes, entre o reino Vogrincic e o reino Kukuriczka. Segundo a história, como contava seu pai todas as noites antes de te colocar para dormir, O rei Kukuriczka se casou escondido com a filha do antigo rei Vogrincic, irmã do atual rei, e aparentemente isso foi suficiente para se iniciar uma guerra. Você sempre achou a história esquisita, achava que um casamento deveria unir os dois reinos e não os fazer entrar em guerra, mas como sua mãe dizia: homens são bobos e entram em guerra por qualquer motivo. Apesar de, graças ao seu pai, o reino Vogrincic ter vencido a guerra, os reinos permanecem inimigos até hoje. Não lembra muito da guerra em si pois era muito nova, mas lembra quando seu pai teve que ir pessoalmente em uma batalha. Geralmente seu pai ficava só no comando, montando estratégias de guerra, mas conforme os soldados iam morrendo, ele precisou participar da briga sangrenta. Isso infelizmente causou a morte dele.

Por seu pai ter sido uma figura importante na guerra, você e sua mãe sempre foram consideradas nobreza, moravam em um castelo, tinham uma quantidade considerável de riquezas e claro, mantinham o status social. Sua mãe nunca se casou novamente, além de nunca ter amado nenhum homem além do seu pai, sempre deixou claro que nunca botaria um homem dentro de casa para que ele pudesse controlar toda a vida dela. Sempre viu sua mãe como um modelo a ser seguido, não só por ela ser uma mulher independente e que comandava tudo no castelo, sempre sendo uma figura forte até mesmo quando seu pai era vivo, mas por tudo o que ela fez por você: Naquela época, mulheres não podiam estudar, leitura só se for de romances, romances estes escritos por homens, visto que mulheres nem sequer sabiam escrever. Mulheres deveriam ser comportadas, recatadas, deviam saber como administrar uma casa, costurar, tocar o piano, ter a mão delicada para as artes e ir para as missas de domingo. Você sabia de tudo isso, cresceu aprendendo tudo sobre postura, sobre como organizar jantares, sobre como bordar decorações de mesas lindas, sobre como tocar as mais complexas músicas não só no piano, mas também no violino, sobre como pintar os quadros mais belos, além de ser bastante dedicada a sua religião. Mas além disso, sua mãe fez questão que você estudasse: Sabia ler os mais diversos livros de filósofos, cientistas e sacerdotes, sabia caçar, sabia técnicas de guerra, golpes de autodefesa, basicamente, sabia como sobreviver em qualquer lugar, sabia como pensar, como falar, como se portar, como impressionar as pessoas certas. Você sabe como ser esperta em mais sentidos do que as pessoas imaginam.

Em seu lar, era você, sua mãe e seu tio, irmão de sua mãe. Precisavam de um homem para comandar as finanças, já que sua mãe era viúva, mas seu tio estava ali simples e puramente de fachada, afinal, sua mãe que tomava conta de tudo. Administração do lar, do dinheiro, da educação, tudo era sob o controle da mulher mais velha. Sua mãe também recebeu uma educação diferenciada e ela sabe o quanto isso foi importante para vida dela, por isso quis te fornecer o mesmo, e graças a Deus por isso. No entanto, nenhuma educação no mundo permitiria que ela impedisse o inevitável: Você precisava se casar. Não há horror maior na alta sociedade do que uma mulher sem marido, afinal, uma mulher só era algo quando vinha acompanhada de algum homem. Ela tentava amenizar as coisas para você, claro, nunca te forçaria a casar, mas rezava todas as noites que você achasse um amor genuíno da mesma forma que ela achou com seu pai e você pudesse satisfazer as demandas sociais sem sofrimento.

Por ser filha de um ex guerreiro, nova e solteira, foi convocada para o dia do xeque-mate. Achava tudo aquilo uma grande besteira, mas não tinha escolha. Não tinha esperança nenhuma para tal dia, mesmo que estivesse usando seu melhor vestido (e só o usava pois sua mãe o demandou). Sabia que havia muitas outras mulheres desesperadas pelo posto de princesa e futura rainha e estava mais do que feliz em ceder lugar a elas. Compareceria, se apresentaria ao rei e a rainha, jantaria com o príncipe e depois voltaria a sua vida normal, esse era o plano.

"Ouvi dizer que o príncipe anda estressado." Sua amiga Erica diz conforme atravessam o jardim, se encaminhando para dentro do castelo real. "Talvez eu possa ser a que vai ajudar ele a desestressar." Ela dá uma piscadinha na sua direção, te arrancando um risinho.

Erica é sua amiga de infância, seus pais lutaram juntos na Guerra dos Amantes, mas infelizmente o pai de Erica voltou sozinho. Erica também foi convocada para o dia do xeque-mate e você admite que era reconfortante ver pelo menos um rosto famíliar. Diferente de você, Erica estava muito animada com o dia do xeque-mate. Enquanto você nunca sequer se preocupou em arrumar um marido, Erica sempre dizia que o dia do casamento e o dia que concebesse o primeiro filho seriam os dias mais felizes da vida dela. Naturalmente e de acordo com seus sonhos, Erica tinha grandes expectativas para o xeque-mate e realmente acha que a melhor coisa que poderia acontecer com ela seria ser nomeada como a mais nova princesa do reino Vogrincic. Erica é graciosa, é tudo o que você não é, mas isso não é motivo de inveja ou ciúmes, na verdade, era o contraste entre vocês duas que tornava a amizade tão interessante.

"Você é tão indecente." Você brinca, um sorrisinho travesso no rosto.

"O que foi? Vai me dizer que sua mãe nunca te contou sobre as noites de núpcias?" Ela diz, provocando de volta.

"Sim... mas não com detalhes." Você diz, Erica te lança um olhar. "Quê?"

"Nada. Só acho que você está perdendo a melhor parte." Ela dá uma piscadinha. Erica pode ser bela, recatada e do lar, mas por dentro ela é uma garotinha bastante travessa.

Quando entram no castelo, são encaminhadas para uma sala e ao invés de entrarem em forma desordenada, são colocadas em fila pelos funcionários do castelo. Fica logo atrás de Erica, que te lança um olhar como quem diz "A coisa é séria." que só faz te revirar o olho, sabe o quanto ela está amando tudo aquilo. As mulheres entram aos poucos, mas você nunca as vê saindo, talvez estivessem sido encaminhada para uma outra sala. Não sabe exatamente o motivo, mas se sente meio ansiosa e precisa limpar as mãos suadas na saia do vestido mesmo que estas estejam cobertas por uma luva branca delicada. Quando Erica entra, você sussurra um "boa sorte" e o sorriso no rosto dela é tão majestoso que você não consegue evitar em pensar que o príncipe seria doido se não a escolhesse.

Pouco tempo depois, o guarda permite sua entrada e você dá o seu máximo para dar seu melhor sorriso. Não é porque não estava interessada que não precisava jogar conforme o jogo, certo? Mas seu sorriso se desmancha assim que entra. Há dois tronos no final da sala, nos quais o rei e a rainha estão sentados, mas algo está esquisito. O rei tem um balde perto do rosto, tosse de forma bruta e a rainha tenta o confortar ao passar a mão pelas costas dele. Pensa que é apenas uma gripe, mas quando o rei se afasta do balde e limpa a boca com um pano, consegue ver o rastro de sangue manchando o pedaço de tecido branco. Assim que o rei devolve o balde e os dois monarcas retomam sua postura, seu sorriso volta ao seu rosto, age como se não tivesse visto nada.

"Peço perdão, Milady." A rainha diz.

"Vossa Majestade." Cumprimenta primeiro o rei, se curvando lentamente e logo em seguida cumprimenta a rainha.

"Qual seu nome, minha jovem?" O rei pergunta, dando mais algumas tosses, cobrindo a boca com o pano ao fazer.

"Sou Lady Belfort, filha de..."

"Alexander Belfort." O rei te interrompe, você dá um sorriso simpático e concorda. "Eu lembro dele, um dos guerreiros mais nobres do reino." Ele diz, olhando pra rainha, que mantém um sorriso no rosto. "Seu pai era um grande homem, querida."

"Obrigada, Vossa Majestade."

"É uma honra ter a filha de um homem tão bom se apresentando hoje." O rei diz. "Seu pai estaria muito orgulhoso." Ele diz, você sorri e não consegue evitar de abaixar o olhar, a saudades do pai atingindo seu peito com um forte golpe.

"Agradecemos por ter aceitado o convite." A rainha diz.

Não é como se eu tivesse escolha né... pensa.

"Agradeço pelo convite, Vossa Majestade. Boa noite." Diz e os cumprimenta novamente, deixando que um guarda real te guie para a próxima sala.

É encaminhada para uma porta diferente da que entrou, e assim que passa, sente que pode respirar novamente, relaxar a postura e as bochechas que forçavam um sorriso. Não evita de dar um suspiro, que é cortado ao ser levada para uma sala com todas as mulheres que se apresentaram antes de você. O guarda te deixa por conta própria e volta para a sala principal, fechando as grandes portas atrás de você. Tenta olhar pela sala a procura de Erica e dá um sorriso aliviado ao encontrar a amiga no canto, olhando pela sala desinteressada. Vai diretamente em direção a ela, levantando um pouco o vestido no processo para poder andar mais rápido. Erica sorri ao te ver indo na direção dela.

"Como foi?" Ela pergunta logo de cara.

"Muito esquisito." Você diz, Erica dá risada. "É sério!"

"Você acha tudo esquisito, principalmente quando se trata da realeza." Ela diz. "Eu acho que eles gostaram de mim, agora só preciso conquistar o coraçãozinho do nosso querido príncipe."

"Não, Erica, você não ta entendendo, eu vi uma coisa esquisita." Você diz e apenas isso é necessário para Erica te dar atenção.

Antes que você pudesse abrir a boca, todas as damas que estavam na sala vazia são chamadas para o jantar. Você sabe que não poderia contar o que queria para Erica em qualquer lugar, afinal, se tal informação fosse vazada, poderia causar um caos. Lança um olhar para a amiga como quem diz "depois a gente conversa", a deixando curiosa. Se encaminham para a sala de jantar, mas conforme anda, não consegue tirar a imagem do rei tossindo da sua cabeça.

Normalmente veria isto como uma cena comum, afinal, o reino estava passando por uma série de gripes, mas a imagem do sangue no pano não abandona sua memória. Tinha lido sobre aquilo em algum lugar, uma doença com um nome esquisito que por algum motivo você não consegue lembrar agora, mas lembra que é mortal. Sua cabeça dá voltas e voltas. Todos do reino estavam curiosos para saber o motivo do xeque-mate repentino, e talvez você tenha o achado sem nem mesmo o ter procurado. Mas não poderia ser só isso, certo? Quer dizer, reis morrem a todo momento e apenas isso não sustentaria o desespero do príncipe de achar uma esposa. Começa a pensar o que poderia haver por trás disso, talvez uma esposa apenas para dar ao trono um herdeiro? Mas pra que a pressa se ainda temos um príncipe perfeitamente saudável para assumir o trono? Por mais esperta que você seja, esse é um enigma que você não consegue resolver. Pensa nisso durante todos os seus movimentos, quando um funcionário indica seu lugar e puxa a cadeira para você, quando você se ajeita no assento equanto coloca as mãos por cima da mesa, estava tão imersa em pensamento que nem sequer nota os olhares que Erica te lança do outro lado da mesa. A única coisa que te tira de dentro da própria mente é quando a porta principal é aberta bruscamente, causando um barulho tão alto que você chega a dar um pulinho na cadeira devido ao susto.

Quando olha em direção ao barulho, vê um príncipe afobado andando em direção a mesa, se posicionando perto da cadeira na ponta da mesa. Havia um homem do lado dele que segurava um livro pesado, conversavam entre si algo que você não conseguia entender, mesmo que os sussurros ecoassem pela grande sala de jantar. Olha para o príncipe atentamente, já havia o visto anteriormente, em bailes da nobreza, mas hoje ele parecia diferente, menos posturado. Enquanto nos bailes ele sempre era visto com uma vestimenta extravagante que exibia algumas poucas medalhas, hoje ele estava mais casual, o cabelo levemente bagunçado, provavelmente por ele tanto passar a mão, como fazia enquanto conversava com o homem do seu lado, jogando as madeixas negras para que saíssem do seu campo de visão. Enzo Vogrincic era um dos príncipes mais belos da história do reino, mas também o menos acessível. Quer dizer, pelo menos quando ele se encontra no castelo ou em bailes reais, mas você facilmente poderia o achar em tavernas ou em bordéis do reino, vivendo o melhor que a vida poderia oferecer a um homem. Enzo era muito mal olhado por pessoas mais velhas da nobreza, achavam que o rapaz não tinha culhões para ser o sucessor. Mas outros, inclusive você, sabe que ele está prometido para ser um dos melhores reis que esse reino já teve. Ele pode ter seus momentos irresponsáveis, claro, mas a empatia que ele tem pelo seu povo e sua inteligência são únicas. Enzo termina de cochichar com o homem e ajeita sua postura, assim como seu companheiro, que fecha o livro e se ajeita. Todas tomam como uma deixa para se levantar, típico da etiqueta real.

"Peço perdão pela minha entrada afobada, Senhoritas." O Príncipe começa. "Acredito que todas aqui me conheçam, mas ainda sim vou me apresentar, afinal, o rei odiaria saber que criou um homem mal educado." Ele brinca e dá um sorriso tão charmoso que você consegue ouvir alguns suspiros apaixonados pelo ambiente. "Sou o Príncipe Vogrincic, mas vocês podem me chamar somente de Enzo. Eu não faço nenhuma questão de toda essa baboseira de Vossa Alteza, mas podem me chamar do que for conveniente e confortável para cada uma." Ele diz e olha pro homem do lado dele. "Esse é meu fiel escudeiro, Soldado Pardella, se as senhoritas não se incomodarem, ele se juntará a nós essa noite pois estamos tratando de... assuntos importantes para a coroa." Enzo diz, Pardella concorda. "Creio que a presença do nosso soldado não irá interferir no objetivo dessa noite." Enzo sorri. "Então... Vamos jantar?"

Todos se sentam e no mesmo instante os empregados chegam com os pratos, posicionando-os perfeitamente na frente de cada um que se encontra a mesa. A comida cheirava de forma deliciosa e o visual era tão bonito que você sente sua boca salivar.

"Espero que gostem da comida, é meu prato preferido." Enzo diz, você sobre o olhar do seu prato para ele e já o encontra te olhando, se sente esquisita por uns segundos e por isso desvia o olhar rapidamente.

Começa a comer sua comida junto com todos e as conversas começam a acontecer. Mulheres conversando entre si enquanto o príncipe divide sua atenção entre seu guarda e algumas pretendentes que puxam assunto com ele. Você olha para Erica, que estava tão vidrada no príncipe que você precisa tampar sua boca com o guardanapo para não rir, faz a nota mental de a zoar posteriormente por isso. O jantar é tranquilo, muita comida é ofertada e você sente seu espartilho te apertar cada vez mais. Tenta conversar com as mulheres que estão sentadas do seu lado, mas não consegue se aprofundar muito em assuntos que não sejam o príncipe, casamento e filhos. Bem, a situação é apropriada, mas não torna tudo menos entediante. Desvia o olhar para o príncipe novamente, o vê concentrado conversando com seu guarda, o cenho franzido conforme o guarda explica algo. O Príncipe não diz nada, apenas escuta atentamente e você não consegue deixar de notar como ele parece intimidador na posição que está: levemente inclinado na cadeira, uma mão no queixo na típica posição reflexiva e o olhar tão concentrado em um ponto fixo que ele poderia atear fogo em algo com apenas o poder da visão.

"Príncipe Enzo." Uma das mulheres na mesa o chama, estava consideravelmente longe do príncipe então a atenção de todos são voltadas a ela. "Se Vossa Alteza não se importa que eu pergunte... Eu não pude conter minha curiosidade e gostaria de saber o que você e o Soldado Pardella tanto discutem." Ela diz, o silêncio na sala é mortal e os olhares desviam entre ela e o príncipe.

Todos achavam que o príncipe iria dar alguma resposta grosseira, afinal, era o momento propício para isso. Esperava tudo, que ele dissesse algo como "Temo não ser do seu interesse" ou até mesmo um "Isso é um assunto real e, portanto, confidencial", mas o que Enzo faz pega todos de surpresa. O Príncipe toma um gole de seu vinho, limpa a boca com o guardanapo rapidamente e abre um sorriso.

"Estamos discutindo estratégias de guerra." Ele simplesmente responde.

"Estamos em guerra?" Uma outra pergunta.

"Não, de forma alguma." Ele sorri. "Não há motivo para pânico, podem ficar em paz." Ele garante, arrancando um suspiro de alívio de todas. "Mas o reino anda tendo algumas dificuldades com o reino vizinho. Os Kukuriczka." Ele explica. "E temo que se tais dificuldades não forem resolvidas, teremos que nos preparar para mais uma guerra. Mas não se preocupem, podemos dar conta."

Você não segura a risadinha que te escapa, mas, para ser justa, achava que haveria um bafafá e os sussurros fossem fazer com que sua risada passasse despercebida. Nada disso acontece. Você ri enquanto olha para sua taça, sem notar que agora a atenção está em você. Só nota quando percebe o silêncio fatal que se instala no salão e quando levanta o olhar, se depara com todos te olhando, inclusive o príncipe.

"Perdão." É rápida em pedir desculpa.

"Algo sobre uma possível guerra soa engraçado para você, Lady...?"

"Belfort. Lady Belfort."

"Belfort?" O Príncipe pergunta, um sorrisinho sacana em seu rosto. "Bem, estou surpreso que de todas logo você acha graça em um assunto tão sério, visto que você, mais do que qualquer outra mulher dessa sala, sabe as consequências que esta pode causar a uma família." O clima era péssimo, você desvia o olhar rapidamente para Erica, que te olha apreensiva, mas logo volta a olhar para o príncipe.

"Sim, Vossa Alteza." Responde. "De forma alguma eu estava rindo de algo tão..."

"Então do que você estava rindo?" Ele te interrompe.

Você olha em volta, incerta se deveria responder. Todos estão esperando, inclusive o príncipe. Poderia facilmente dar uma desculpa qualquer e prosseguir com o jantar, mas não o faz.

"Eu ri pois achei engraçado a forma como Vossa Alteza fala de uma guerra com os Kukuriczka de modo tão confiante." Responde. Todas as mulheres te olham como se você fosse louca, mas o príncipe está interessado no que você tem a dizer.

"Não acha que eu devo ficar confiante? Nós vencemos eles uma vez."

"Mas talvez não podemos vencer novamente." Diz. "Os Kukuriczka tiveram um desenvolvimento significante após a Guerra dos Amantes."

"Eles se afogaram em dívidas, seu povo passava fome." O Príncipe argumenta.

"Passava... Há talvez anos atrás." Diz. "Eles tiveram tempo o suficiente para se recuperar e, permita-me dizer, o fizeram de forma majestosa."

"Está dizendo que eles são melhores que nós?"

"De forma alguma." Nega rapidamente. "Mas é inegável que eles têm mais preparo para uma próxima guerra, caso esta aconteça." Diz e olha em volta, o olhar medroso e julgador das outras não te acanha. "Eles já perderam a primeira vez, não se dariam a desonra de perder novamente. Eles vão se aproveitar dos nossos sentimentos de triunfo e confiança para nos atacar." Respira fundo. "Temos a vitória, o poder, mas até mesmo nestes podemos encontrar a vulnerabilidade."

O Príncipe te olha por um momento, reflexivo, analisa seu rosto, repara em você. Nota a forma como seu cabelo está preso, alguns fios rebeldes se desprendendo do penteado que foi feito com tanta delicadeza. Nota como não há nenhum sinal de nervosismo na sua expressão facial, não há hesitação. Sua postura o deixa dividido se ele a ama ou odeia, por um lado, admira sua coragem, por outro, acha um absurdo sua petulância.

"E o que você acha?" Ele pergunta.

"O que eu acho?"

"É."

"Eu acho que iniciar uma guerra seria muita burrice da sua parte." Solta sem querer e na mesma hora suspiros de horror são ecoados pelas outras mulheres da sala.

Você mesma fica horrorizada com o que te escapa. Como você ousa falar com um príncipe dessa forma? Mas mesmo assim, não perde a postura, falou besteira e agora precisa arcar com as consequências, como uma mulher justa e virtuosa. Pardella olha para você e logo em seguida para Enzo, mas o príncipe não desvia o olhar de você. A expressão dele é inelegível. Não sabe se ele está se divertindo com a situação ou se está irritado, pois ao mesmo tempo que seu cenho está franzido, um pequeno sorriso é formado no canto da sua boca.

"Obrigado por nos fornecer seu ponto de vista, Lady Belfort..." Abre a boca para pedir desculpas, mas antes que pudesse emitir qualquer som, o príncipe continua. "Mas eu acho que o jantar chegou ao fim para você."

Sua expressão cai, se sente envergonhada, e por mais que Pardella te ofereça um sorriso empático, não consegue evitar a humilhação que te domina. Se levanta lentamente da cadeira, deixa o guardanapo que antes estava posicionado em seu colo na mesa e dá um último cumprimento ao príncipe antes de um funcionário te guiar para fora do salão. Não tem coragem de olhar para trás e assim que sai do castelo e o vento gelado da noite te atinge, se permite chorar. Chora durante toda a viagem de carruagem, mas antes de chegar em casa tenta se recompor. Não ligava para o xeque-mate, mas também não queria que sua família soubesse do mico que você pagou em cima do nome dela. Só queria poder esquecer e sabe que provavelmente todas àquelas mulheres esqueceriam, afinal, a notícia do novo casório abafaria qualquer outro escândalo. Mas também sabe que a vergonha que te domina voltará em outros momentos, talvez quando estivesse em um baile e visse o príncipe, ou antes de dormir, quando estivesse pensando demais. Era uma situação péssima e seu pai, independente de onde esteja agora, com certeza está muito decepcionado com você.

"Voltou cedo." Sua mãe te pega de surpresa pelos corredores assim que você volta para casa. "Como foi?"

"Bem. Mas sinto em dizer que eu muito possivelmente não serei a próxima princesa." Diz, um sorrisinho fraco em seu rosto.

"Você sabe que eu não ligo pra isso." Ela diz e te puxa para um abraço, você relaxa nos braços de sua mãe. "Pelo menos se divertiu?" Ela rompe o abraço, te segurando pelos ombros, olhando bem para o seu rosto

"Acho que sim." Dá de ombros.

"Isso que importa."

Being a woman holds value. Know your worth and don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise, ladies. 💕✨

Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

somente o fato do enzo não usar anéis no anelar e no médio faz a minha imaginação voar MUITO 😖😖

as veias, minhas irmãs JURO ☝🏽😫😫

This is the beginning of loving yourself. Welcome home.

Desperate for a change.

"não há amor maior do que aquele que dá a vida por seus amigos" João 15:13

"you are different."

...How so?

"Look at everyone else. They are merely words while you are poetry."

-Timothy Joshua

“Soul Connections” 🖤🖤

New Coraline design drop

favorite horror movies (61-90)

eu vendo que a europa tá roubando o enzo dos latinos:

Starving is NOT an option when you're my friend!

“What a terrible mistake to let go of something wonderful for something real.”

— Miranda July, No One Belongs Here More Than You

80. ENZO VOGRINCIC IMAGINE +18

ᡣ𐭩 ─ enzo vogrincic × leitora.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ gênero: smut. 🍷

ᡣ𐭩 ─ número de palavras: 794.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ notas da autora: oioi meus aneizinhos de saturno, como vão? espero que gostem viu? se cuidem e bebam água, um beijo. 😽💌

─ Enzo, pelo amor de Deus, aquieta o facho! ─ A garota fala repreendendo o mais velho.

Já se passavam das onze da noite e como Enzo Vogrincic está acostumado a transar todos os dias antes de dormir, achou que na casa dos seus pais seria assim também.

Ele estava choramingando de tesão, seu pau estava muito duro e latejando dentro da calça moletom. As veias grossas saltavam um pouco pela extensão de seu membro e sua glande se tornou mais sensível do que já é.

O uruguaio pensou em se masturbar, mas ele não sabe controlar seu vocal nessas horas. Sua tesão fala mais alto e ele sente uma enorme vontade de grunhir ou de gemer manhoso ─ se ele estiver muito necessitado, que era o caso.

─ Por favor, cariño. Eu não aguento mais. ─ Enzo sussurra todo desgosto e se aproxima de sua namorada.

Ela respira fundo e se vira para o uruguaio, que estava chorando, mas não de tristeza, e sim, de pura vontade de sentir prazer e se aliviar.

─ Oh meu amor… ─ A garota fala um tom de preocupação enquanto seca as lágrimas dele com o polegar.

─ Me deixa te foder um pouquinho. Papai e mamãe mesmo, vida, por favor. ─ Implora Enzo olhando nos olhos de sua mulher.

─ Você não sabe se controlar, meu bem. ─ S/n sorri fazendo carinho na bochecha dele. ─ E outra, a cabeceira da cama vai ficar batendo na parede e seus pais estão acordados no quarto da frente!

─ É só a gente fazer amorzinho bem devagar. ─ Enzo se aproxima e segura firme na cintura da brasileira, que respira fundo e responde:

─ Está bem, mas depois vamos dormir!

Vogrincic dá um sorrisão de orelha a orelha e começando e tirar o cobertor de cima deles. S/n se arrepiou por completo por conta de seu corpo exposto agora no ar que, em instantes, deixou seus mamilos durinhos.

Massageando um e sugando com força outro, o mais velho gemia manhoso observando sua namorada tombar a cabeça para trás sentindo ele chupar com vontade seu peito. Vogrincic foi para o outro, começando a passar a língua, chupar e mordiscar lentamente logo em seguida, deixando sua mulher louca e reprimindo vários gemidos.

─ Eu vou te foder bem gostoso, mami… Você me acostumou muito mal, sabia? Me deixou viciado nessa sua boceta apertada e agora não consigo viver sem ao menos meter meu pau ou minha língua nela. Você é muito gostosa. A minha gostosa. Só minha.

A brasileira abre os olhos, incrédula e olha para o homem que estava em cima dela, se questionando se ele era realmente o mesmo uruguaio manhoso de minutos atrás.

Como ambos estavam com poucas peças de roupas e excitados, foi fácil para Enzo meter o seu pau em sua garota. Os dois soltaram um gemido juntos e o mais velho não tardou em iniciar com as estocadas. Ele murmurava frases sujas quando olhava para seu pau entrando e saindo rápido da boceta de sua mulher... 

Sussurrava no ouvido dela elogios, falava que naquela posição o mastro dele ia fundo em sua intimidade, que ele ama como a bocetinha de sua brasileira engole o pau dele e por aí vai.

─ Amor, vai com calma. ─ S/n o alerta escutando a cabeceira da cama bater na parede.

─ Eu vou gozar, vida. Vou gozar dentro, tá? Vou encher sua bocetinha com a minha porra. ─ Ele diz ignorando a fala dela, estocando forte enquanto a garota levava suas mãos na boca pra não gemer alto.

De repente, o que já era ─ e não era ─ de se esperar acontece: alguém bate na porta.

─ ¿Enzo, mi hijo? ¿S/n? Está tudo bem aí? ─ A mãe de Vogrincic pergunta batendo na ponta. ─ Eu ouvi alguns barulhos e achei que vocês estavam discutindo, vocês estão bem?

Quando Enzo abriu a boca para responder, seu orgasmo veio em cheio e o de sua namorada também. O uruguaio não parou e continuou estocando seu pau na boceta dela, prolongando o orgasmo de ambos.

Novamente a mãe dele bate na porta.

─ Vocês estão acordados? Oi? Acho que estão dormindo... ─ A senhora sussurra e se distancia do quarto de seu filho, indo para o seu.

─ Não era pra ser um amorzinho devagar? ─ Pergunta a brasileira se levantando mesmo com as pernas fracas e indo ao banheiro, dentro do quarto.

─ Como você mesma disse, chiquita... eu não consigo me controlar. ─ Enzo responde e acompanha ela até o box.

Seu olhar desceu um pouco, observando o corpo de sua garota e um sorriso ladino cresce em sua boca quando nota que sua porra estava escorrendo pelas coxas de S/n.

I imagined the thing and then it happened.

—Neville Goddard

eu amei a saga do enzo ceo rico e poderoso mas fiquei imaginando...

enzo artista pobre que acabou de começar a atuar e reader filha de um homem muito influente no mundo dos negócios que odeia ele...

imagina ela toda moça de família e ele levando ela pro mundinho dele e tirando o cabaço dela🗣🗣🗣 aff eu amaria

nossa, como eu adorei isso aqui! amo a virada de chave pra nós comendo o palhaço rolinha pobre coitado.

(não revisado, tenham piedade pls)

segue aqui seu pedido, minha queen:

Você conheceu Enzo em um evento da sua faculdade em que ele era bolsista em teatro e artes cênicas, enquanto você pegava a mensalidade total em um curso renomado. A primeira vez que se encontraram, você ficou totalmente encantada por ele, aqueles cabelos sedosos, o rosto de galã e olhos gentis, mas quando você descobriu que ele fazia teatro e se vestia tão... desleixado, então deixou de lado sua atração por ele, sabendo que sua família nunca aceitaria caso vocês tivessem algo.

Entretanto, Enzo simplesmente estava em todo lugar que você ia. Ficou louco pelo seu jeitinho de princesa e como você parecia uma bonequinha toda inocente e arrumadinha. As suas unhas sempre feitas, o cabelo impecável, usava joias a qualquer momento do dia e suas roupas e sapatos eram de marcas de luxo. Mesmo que ele recebesse olhares enojados do seu pai toda vez que ia te cumprimentar, o moreno fazia questão de te dar pelo menos um oizinho.

Você evita ele em todos esses lugares, mas Enzo sabia que era muito educada para simplesmente ignorá-lo. A situação mudou totalmente no dia que você foi ao teatro sozinha porque seus pais cancelaram de última hora, mas estava ansiosa para ver a obra e era muito fã do diretor, então decidiu assistir sozinha no camarote exclusivo da sua família. Ao ver quem era o ator principal seus olhos se arregalaram e outras reações incomuns surgiram pelo seu corpo, assistir ele atuar era hipnotizante, não só Enzo era extremamente talentoso, como aparecia em algumas cenas sem camisa fazendo uma pulsação irritante crescer no meio das suas pernas. No fim da peça, ficou esperando no hall de entrada do teatro, distraída admirando as belas pinturas e ornamentos do ambiente. Apreensão toma conta do seu ser quando sente uma mão grande tocar suas costas, vira-se rapidamente para ver quem foi.

Seu coração acelera ao dar de cara com aqueles olhos castanhos enquanto os lábios tinham um sorrisinho arrogante.

"Você por aqui, bonequinha." Diz ainda sem tirar as mãos do seu corpo, agora deixando-a descansando no seu ombro.

"Que susto, Enzo." Responde colocando a mão no peito, tentando em vão acalmar seu coração que martelava no seu peito, nervosa com a proximidade dele."V-você é muito talentoso, fiquei impressionada."

"Obrigado, gatita." Fala agora brincando com a alça fina do seu vestido, sorrindo ao ver suas bochechas corarem por causa dos nomes carinhosos que ele te chamava.

Você nem lembra direito como acabou se beijando com ele no corredor escuro dos camarins. Só recorda dele dizendo que te mostraria umas coisas do cenário e quando chegaram perto de um canto escuro, ele só te puxou e te pressionou contra a parede. Agarrando sua cintura e roçando o nariz grande no seu pescoço, falando como você estava cheirosa e muito linda com essa roupinha, sentia seu corpo tremer com a voz grave dele te dizendo tudo o que imaginava antes de dormir.

Não demorou muito para vocês começarem a se beijar enquanto as mãos passeavam pelo corpo um do outro. Enzo subiu seu vestido apertado até a cintura e enfiou uma coxa musculosa no meio das suas pernas, logo empurrava seus quadris para você começar a se esfregar nele. Desajeitada, se mexia buscando estímulo, mas sentia que não era o suficiente, só manchava o tecido fino da calça e sua intimidade pulsava, intensamente, buscando alívio.

Percebendo que você gemia implorando por mais, Enzo desceu uma mão até a sua bucetinha, acariciando onde sabia que te fazeria ver estrelas, e pelo o que ele notou você era bem inexperiente, soltando sonzinhos e miados só de ter a língua dele massageando a sua ou as mãos apertando sua bunda e peitos.

Quando ele afastou sua calcinha para o lado e você sentiu o contato pele a pele do indicador dele esfregando seus clitóris, soltou um gemido alto contra os lábios carnudos e desatenta acabou mordendo o a carne macia. Seu rosto ardeu de vergonha por se sentir tão patética.

"Uau, a gatinha morde." Disse rindo e lambendo o cantinho dos lábios que sangrava um pouco. Sua buceta se contraiu ao redor de nada ao perceber que seu batom manchou o queixo dele e como os olhos escuros te devoravam.

Enzo retomou a massagem contra a sua entradinha molhada, esfregava círculos lentos no seu pontinho inchado na medida que distribuia beijos pelo seu rostinho quente, já que você não conseguia beijar ele direito e nem parar de choramingar. Você gemeu mais alto quando ele enfiou um dedo comprido na sua entradinha, penetrava até a metade tentando te fazer se acostumar com a sensação, notando que você começou a se foder no dedo dele, Enzo baixou a frente do seu vestido, chupando seus biquinhos tesos e grunhindo com a sensação deliciosa da sua bucetinha molhada engolindo o dígito.

"Goza pra mim, princesa, quero sentir essa bucetinha me apertando." Sussurra no seu ouvido, adicionando mais um dedo e acelerando os movimentos. Tapou a própria boca ao soltar um gritinho quando seu orgasmo chegou, com a outra mão fincou as unhas no braço musculoso e sentia os espasmos da sua buceta quase expulsando os dedos do mais velho.

Depois disso, vocês engataram em um relacionamento sério, apesar das diferenças, se entendiam como ninguém e ambos estavam começando a se apaixonar.

Enzo te levava a lugares que você nunca tinha ido, aquelas lanchonetes de esquina que seu pai criticava, os brechos e sebos que sua mãe odiava e ainda te fazia acompanhar ele em festas da galera das artes. Além disso, te ensinou a apreciar as pequenas coisas da vida, como andar de bicicleta ao amanhecer e fazer trilhas para se conectar mais com a natureza. Claro, você fazia tudo isso escondido dos seus pais, jurando que estava passando o fim de semana na casa de uma amiga que te acobertava e torcia pelo seu relacionamento com o moreno.

Como era um pouco mais velho e mais experiente, Enzo te ensinou tudo que sabia sobre sexo. Após o dia no teatro, quase todas as vezes que se encotravam rolava algum tipo de atividade sexual. Vocês já tinham feito de quase tudo, te ensinou como chupar o pau dele, como se masturbar da maneira correta, as vezes vocês ficavam só se esfregando até ele gozar na sua coxa e você se contrair ao redor de nada, mas nunca realmente fazendo sexo.

Estava decidida que hoje seria o dia que finalmente sentiria o pau grosso dele dentro de você. Por isso, planejou tudo antecipadamente, colocou uma roupa que sabia deixar ele cheio de mãos bobas, se perfumou mais do que o normal e colocou um filme entediante para vocês assistirem. Não demorou muito para você já estar por baixo dele só de lingerie, Enzo chupava seu pescoço enquanto você gemia em protesto para não deixar marcas que seus pais pudessem ver, ele chupa uma marquinha roxa na sua nuca onde o cabelo cobre e baixa os lábios até encontrar seus peitos cobertos por uma renda fininha. Ele lambia e chupava seus seios por cima do tecido, encharcando o pano e pressionava a ereção pesada na sua calcinha igualmente fina.

"Quero fazer hoje, Enzo." Diz ofegante quando ele retira seu sutiã e começa a chupar seus mamilos enquanto apertava a carne macia. Seus quadris se remexiam um contra o outro e sua umidade melava suas coxas.

"Tem certeza, muñequita? Quer que eu foda essa bucetinha virgem, hm?" O moreno te responde, voltando a aproximar o rosto do seu, olhando no fundo dos seus olhos para ter certeza que você realmente queria ele. ao te ver assentir entusiasmada e murmurar vários sim's, Enzo enfia uma mão entre seus corpos para tirar a cueca dele e passar os dedos pelas suas dobrinhas molhadas, gemidos manhosos saiam da sua boca conforme dois dígitos te penetravam e o polegar esfregava seu clitóris. Apesar de você já estar bem molhada, Enzo sabia que não seria fácil meter o pau sem preparo ou se você não estivesse gozado pelo menos uma vez.

O mais velho sabia como te fazer enlouquecer e onde estava todos os seus pontos sensível. Curva os dedos dentro do seu canal, acariciando aquele lugar que te fazia soltar mais lubrificação ainda ao mesmo tempo que beijava seu pescoço sensível. Você agarrava as costas musculosas, gemendo com a chegada inesperada do seu orgasmo. Suas costas arquearam e chamava o nome dele desperadamente, pela sensação elétrica que corria pelas suas veias ao jorrar mais líquidos nos dedos grossos.

Quando você se recuperou, Enzo voltou a unir seus lábios, te dando um beijo amoroso e lento para tentar transmitir toda a paixão que sentia por ti. Pincelava a cabeça vermelha do membro na sua buceta encharcada, ele admirava seus olhos te achando a coisa mais preciosa do mundo e pensando como era sortudo por ser seu primeiro, e com certeza, vai fazer questão de ser o único.

O mais velho enfiou pouco a pouco o pau grosso na sua entradinha apertada, arromabando seu buraco totalmente, te esticando ao máximo e fazendo seus olhos se fecharem para aguentar a ardência que crescia junto com o prazer. Observando sua expressão, Enzo acariciava seu corpo e passava os dedos levemente pelo seu clitóris sensível, quando ele meteu tudo, você se sentia cheia e como se ele cutucasse seu útero com a profundidade que alcançava. Pediu para o seu namorado começar a se mexer, rebolando sutilmente contra os quadris do mais velho.

Ele iniciou um ritmo devagar, pressionando o corpo suado contra o seu, preenchendo todos os seus sentidos, te fazendo gemer loucamente. Enzo gemia alto com o jeito que sua bucetinha quente e estreita apertava o pau dele, massageando o comprimento de uma forma tão gostosa. Além disso, suas bolas tensionavam com a maneira que você estava desesperada por ele, arranhando as costas definidas e agarrando os cabelos sedosos tão forte que o couro cabeludo dele doía.

Quando ele passou a te foder com força, fazendo seus corpos emitirem sons altos ao se chocarem e sua buceta molhar os pelos da virilha dele, choramigou que não iria aguentar mais e precisava gozar no pau dele dentro de você. Enzo também sabia que não duraria muito, subestimando como era sentir uma buceta virgem espreme-lo e ainda por estar fodendo a mulher que ele amava mais que tudo. O uruguaio passa a te foder mais rápido, desengonçado e com grunhidos altos misturados com palavrões.

Enzo enfia o rosto no seu pescoço ao soltar jatos quentes de porra dentro de você, grudando mais ainda seus corpos e levou uma mão para beliscar seu clitóris até sentir suas paredes se contrairem ao redor dele. Se afastou para ver o gozo escorrer pela sua bucetinha arrombada, passeou os dedos pela sua intimidade espalhando o líquido branco por toda a pele da região, te marcando de uma forma que ninguém nunca faria. Por mais que o relacionamento de vocês fosse um segredo por agora, ele não poderia esperar para colocar um anel no seu dedo e te ter assim todos os dias.

E claro que sua família descobre tudo quando acha um teste de gravidez positivo no meio do seu lixo❣️