#bridal hair comb | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

janneymorgan · 10 days

Text

Expert Tips on Securing Your Bridal Hair Comb

Every bride wants to look her best on her wedding day, and choosing the right bridal hair accessories can play a significant role in achieving the desired look. A bridal hair comb is not only a beautiful addition to your hairstyle but also a practical tool to keep your hair perfectly in place throughout the festivities. However, securing the comb correctly is crucial to avoid any hair mishaps. Here are expert tips to ensure your wedding comb stays secure from the ceremony to the last dance.

1. Choose the Right Comb for Your Hairstyle

Before you even consider how to secure it, choosing the right wedding hair comb is essential. Consider the style of your hair on the big day:

Updos require a comb with longer teeth and possibly a slight curve to fit snugly against the head.

Loose styles may benefit from a lighter, flatter comb that won't weigh down the hair.

Select a comb that complements the thickness and texture of your hair and fits comfortably with your chosen hairstyle.

2. Prepare Your Hair Properly

Proper hair preparation can make a significant difference in how well your bridal hair comb stays in place:

Texture is Key: If your hair is too soft or freshly washed, it might be too slippery to hold a comb securely. Consider adding some texture with a bit of product, such as dry shampoo or hairspray, before styling.

Secure Foundation: For updos, make sure your hair is pinned securely before adding the comb. The comb should have a firm base to grip onto.

3. Correct Placement of the Comb

Placement is critical when securing a wedding hair comb:

Inserting the Comb: Always slide the comb into your hair against the direction of the hairstyle for a secure hold. For example, if your hair is swept back, the comb should be inserted moving forward.

Avoid the Scalp: Position the comb so that it grips enough hair without pressing directly against the scalp, which can become uncomfortable.

4. Use Additional Support

Sometimes, a bridal hair comb needs a little extra support:

Bobby Pins: Use bobby pins that match your hair color to secure the comb further. Slide the pins through the teeth of the comb and into your hair, crisscrossing them for added stability.

Hidden Elastics: For heavy or large combs, tiny clear elastics can be used to tie sections of your hair together where the comb will sit. The comb can then grip these sections more firmly.

5. Check the Weight and Balance

A heavier comb might require additional security measures:

Balance the Weight: Ensure that the weight of the comb is evenly distributed across the area it covers. A comb that is too top-heavy might require redistributing pins or adjusting its position.

Regular Checks: Throughout your wedding day, have a bridesmaid or a stylist check that the comb is still securely in place, especially before key moments like walking down the aisle or dancing.

6. Practice Makes Perfect

Lastly, it's always a good idea to have a trial run:

Hair Trial: During your hair trial, experiment with different placements and securing techniques for the comb. This will give you an idea of what works best and what feels most comfortable.

Conclusion

A bridal hair comb is a beautiful and functional element of your wedding day ensemble. By following these expert tips on how to secure it properly, you can ensure that your hairstyle remains both stunning and intact all day long. Whether it's an intricate updo or a simple, flowing style, a securely placed wedding comb adds elegance and charm to your bridal look, allowing you to shine worry-free on your special day.

#Wedding Comb #Wedding Hair Combs #Bridal Hair Accessories #Bridal Hair Comb

0 notes

bellafashionjewelry · 1 year

Link

#bridal hair claws #bridal hair comb #crystal white barrrette

1 note · View note

thecharmjewelry · 1 year

Link

#wedding #somethingblue #blue wedding #bridal hair #hair comb #hair accessory #bridesmaids gift #gift for her #vintage weddding #blue and gold #dusty blue

1 note · View note

nolinebluejewel · 2 months

Text

#accessoire de coiffure #wedding hairstyles #bridal hair #accessories #bijoux fait main #necklaces #peigne cheveux #fashion accessories #hair comb #hair vine

0 notes

artequeen · 3 months

Text

Crowning Glory: ArteQueen Bridal Headpieces Unveiling Timeless Elegance

In the realm of bridal accessories, there's a piece that holds the power to transform an entire bridal look—the bridal headpiece. As brides embark on the journey to find the perfect adornment for their crowning glory, ArteQueen emerges as a beacon of artistry and elegance. With a collection that marries tradition with contemporary flair, ArteQueen Bridal Headpieces are enchanting brides worldwide, offering a touch of timeless grace for their special day.

Crafting Dreams into Reality:

ArteQueen's Bridal Headpieces are more than mere accessories; they are dreams meticulously crafted into reality. Each piece is designed with a keen understanding of the significance of the bridal headpiece in completing the bridal ensemble. From delicate tiaras to ethereal flower crowns, the collection caters to diverse tastes, ensuring that every bride finds the perfect piece to crown her on her wedding day.

Artistry in Every Detail:

What sets ArteQueen apart is the unwavering commitment to artistry and craftsmanship. The Bridal Headpieces are not just mass-produced accessories but intricately crafted works of art. Skilled artisans delicately weave together elements such as crystals, pearls, and lace to create headpieces that exude a sense of delicacy and luxury. The attention to detail ensures that each piece is a testament to ArteQueen's dedication to providing brides with nothing short of perfection.

A Symphony of Styles:

ArteQueen's collection of Bridal Headpieces embraces a wide range of styles to cater to the diverse preferences of brides. Whether a bride envisions herself as a classic princess adorned with a regal tiara, a bohemian goddess adorned with a flower crown, or a modern muse with a sleek and minimalist headpiece, ArteQueen has a piece to complement every bridal style. The collection is a celebration of individuality, allowing brides to express their unique personality through their choice of headpiece.

Timeless Elegance:

While trends come and go, ArteQueen's Bridal Headpieces embody timeless elegance. The designs are carefully curated to stand the test of time, ensuring that brides look back on their wedding day photos with the same awe and admiration for their chosen headpiece. The use of high-quality materials and classic design elements ensures that these headpieces become cherished heirlooms, passed down through generations.

Versatility for Every Bridal Ensemble:

ArteQueen's commitment to versatility is evident in the variety of Bridal Headpieces offered. Whether brides opt for a veil, a tiara, a hair vine, or a statement headband, each piece seamlessly complements different bridal ensembles. The flexibility in design allows brides to experiment with various looks, ensuring that their chosen headpiece enhances the overall aesthetic of their wedding attire.

Customization for a Personal Touch:

Understanding the desire for a unique and personalized touch, ArteQueen offers customization options for Bridal Headpieces. Brides can collaborate with the design team to create a bespoke headpiece that aligns perfectly with their vision, theme, and wedding gown. This dedication to customization ensures that each bride walks down the aisle with a headpiece that is as unique as her love story.

A Lasting Impression:

Beyond the wedding day, ArteQueen's Bridal Headpieces leave a lasting impression. The enduring beauty of these accessories allows brides to relive the magic of their wedding day whenever they don their headpiece for special occasions or even pass it down to future generations. The headpiece becomes a tangible link to the memories, emotions, and elegance of the wedding day, making it a cherished keepsake.

In conclusion, ArteQueen Bridal Headpieces go beyond being accessories; they are embodiments of dreams, artistry, and enduring elegance. As brides crown themselves with these meticulously crafted pieces, they embark on a journey of timeless beauty and sophistication. With ArteQueen, brides not only find the perfect headpiece but also a symbol of the everlasting love and grace that defines their wedding day.

#Bridal Headpieces #Dried Flowers Comb #Rose Boutonniere #Wedding Hair Accessories #Wedding Hair Combs

0 notes

kimludcom · 6 months

Link

#kimludcom #kimlud #Wedding Hair Comb Bridal Hair Ornaments Crystal Pearl Beaded Hair Clip #Wedding Hair Comb Bridal Hair Ornaments #Crystal Pearl Beaded Hair Clip #Wedding Hair clip #hair #hair accessories

0 notes

cammys-imagines24 · 7 months

Text

°•Astarion Drinking Your Blood•°

Oh, Astarion never tires of your taste.

Whether it's his first time drinking from you or the hundredth.

You were his first human after all.

But even if he hadn't of lived centuries slaking his thirst with that of vermin...

Forcing their rotten, diseased blood down his hungry maw in sheer desperation...

The Vampire would still find your blood to be like ambrosia from the gods.

The sweetest thing to grace his tongue and warm his belly.

Sometimes it's hard to stop, if Astarion is being honest with himself.

But he loves you too, too much to put you in any mortal peril.

Though after a feeding you may feel dizzy and need to recuperate the next day.

It's just, after so long dining upon infected, squirming rats with mottled fur and yellowing buck teeth...

In the shadows of night, prowling the pests and repugnant riffraff.

He can't help himself and he's grateful you allow him to indulge a little.

But despite however ravenous he is, he's always gentle.

Pulling you close and kissing the moonlit column of your throat.

Tenderly wrapping his ivory arms around your waist, his tone sultry while whispering sweet nothings and gratitudes in your ear.

Astarion is so well versed in his ministrations that you've come to want him to feed off of you just as much as he wants, no, needs to be fed by you.

You relishing his hands leaving indents in the flesh of your hips and his breath upon your nape...

Often finding yourself tugging on strands of his curled silver locks to pull him closer.

Until no space is between you two. Until his mouth touches your neck.

And once it does, Astarion can't help but close his eyes, an involuntary shudder resounding through his whole body at the perfume of you.

Your essence a seductive potion which the Vampire would gladly, willingly lap up forever and ever.

No matter how gentle and inviting he makes the build up though, there's simply nothing to be done about the initial pain.

Astarion can't help the fact that once he bares his pearly, white fangs and sinks them into the sensitive flesh of your neck that it's unpleasant.

His fangs like two white hot pokers burrowing into your jugular vein, causing a muffled scream to leave you.

Your bottom lip plump from how hard you gnaw at it.

He does hate your scream. It revolts him that he's the cause of it.

But it is a momentary distress from you before you reassuringly comb through his hair again.

And after a few labored breaths, you ease into the pain. Getting used to it every single time.

By then he's drunk on you. Gorging himself on the nectar of your life. The crimson, pulsing river of your very being.

He's practically sent to heaven with each swallow and he never thought a spawn like him would get there.

Once you go slack in Astarion's arms he holds you tight, cradling your warm body. His fingers ghosting over your chest, hips, stomach...

And when your heartbeat begins to slow that's when he forces himself to pull away.

Licking the scarlet stream which drips down the two raw puncture wounds.

Cleaning up his mess all the way down to the start of your cleavage, exposed from your unlaced shirt.

Aftercare is incredibly important to Astarion and he is quick to sweep you up bridal style in his arms.

Tucking you safely into your shared bed and fetching you a glass of cool water.

You, weakened and tired, putting up little fuss but managing to smile at him and reach out to take his hand.

He wastes no time, falling into bed with you and pulling you close so your head is upon his chest.

He keeps you in a vice grip all night long so that any who would dare come to harm you in your diminished state would have to go through him first.

And he damn well would never let any harm come to you, save that of the wounds he assaults upon your neck.

And with you content but exhausted in Astarion's arms he licks his red stained lips and smiles in satisfaction.

He thinks you are a marvel really, to allow him to drink your blood in the first place.

To consent willingly and give him a taste of pure ecstasy.

And with his flushed cheeks and twinkling, enlivened crimson eyes, he places a kiss on your forehead.

Whispering how very much he loves you while you sleep soundly upon his chest.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion x reader #astarion x reader #astarion imagine #astarion imagines #astarion headcanon #astarion headcanons #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 imagine #baldur's gate 3 headcanon #bg3 x reader #bg3 fic

2K notes · View notes

itz-amani · 5 months

Text

Sukuna as your boyfriend [Soft Sukuna]

-Honestly, when he is soft it gives me another perspective of him.

-He is probably the type that strokes your hair as he combs it Oh come he just wants to feel your hair.

-Spoils you with many kisses and [kinda] praises ''You know you are cute that I can just poke your eyeballs out'' or ''I could just pinch both of your cheeks until it explodes''

-You two always cuddling together Of course you are the little spoon and he is the big spoon.If you have plushies on your bed he will throw them from the bed and say ''Why would you have those foolish plushies when you have me?'' You just giggled at his ''possesived act'' and ended you being the big spoon.He just love the feeling being spooned sometimes

-Petnames for you such as [Sweetheart ,My Queen , Paradise , my little dreamer , My lovely human.. ]

-Petnames for him such as [ Ryomen , Charming , My King , Mr possesive , sometimes Your Majesty ..]

-Waking up with him doesnt let you leave the bed . Would cuddle tightly in his arms . Even you tried to move an inch he'll raise a brow and open his eye a little bit .He could feel that you are trying to get out from him.

-Would have his wallpaper of you even his profile picture.

-You invite him to listen to your playlist at first he be like ''What kind of ''noise '' that you want me to listen human? he scoffed but once you put your earphones on him...He is in love .

-He is the that put his hand on your pockets if you arent comfortable he put his arms on your shoulder.

-Listens to what you are venting your life, your problems everything

-If he saw you slept on the couch while you are doing your work he is the type that sigh and move your laptop away from you,carries you in a bridal style saying ''Has my paradise been working and ended felt asleep? Such a poor thing..'' ''B-but Ryomen..I have to finished i-it-'' Shh..My Queen , shh..its going to be okay..'

-He sleeps shirtless with pants on ..He places you on the bed bed,tucks you saying ''Sleep tight my little dreamer ..Hope you dream about me''

[end]

1K notes · View notes

boxofbonesfic · 7 months

Text

Title: Monster

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Orc!Bucky x Sacrifice!Reader

Kink: Teratophilia (Monsterfucking)

Summary: You draw the devil’s coin in the village lottery, you will buy another season of peace for your people—but you don’t want peace.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Monsterfucking, References to past violence, References to past murder, Witch Burning, Forced Marriage, Dubious Consent, Violence, Revenge, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Darkfic, Dark Fanfiction

A/N: as a note, this story does NOT share a universe with my other Orc story, Brave. this is another version of Orc!Bucky that i cooked up for kinktober. speaking of which, i hope you all enjoy the first installment of my 2023 kinktober ficlets and drabbles! mind the warnings, and enjoy!

Your wedding day dawns bleak and cold. The snows have come early this year, snuffing out the brief, brittle green of summer with icy finality, blanketing the hills in thick layers of white.

Your death day.

“Up with you.” You aren’t asleep, but Thera rips the blanket from you anyway. “Come. It’s time you prepare for your... husband.” There is no pity anywhere on her wrinkled face as she grimaces at you, her eyes dark with disgust. “Witch.” She mutters the last part like a curse you aren’t meant to hear. You do, though, and you bare your teeth at Thera like an animal in response. You are satisfied when fear settles over her features, her rheumy eyes widening.

“If I were a witch,” you hiss, “You would not stand whole before me, Thera Truthspeaker.” This time it is her name that burns in the ear like acid. “You would lay at my feet in pieces.”

She slaps you for the threat, and you taste blood in your mouth as your head jerks painfully. Thera grasps your chin, and you turn dazed eyes toward the old priestess.

“You speak with as foul a tongue as your mother,” she spits.

“Pity you couldn’t burn mine out of me like you did her.” At this, she looks regretful, cutting her eyes at you angrily.

“Lucky for you Demon King likes his brides whole.” She squeezes until you grunt with pain. “And unspoiled.” She tosses your head to the side before standing away from your cot before brushing her hands down her long, thick robes as though wiping your taint from them. “Save your venom, little snake. It is by my grace you were not put to the torch two seasons ago with your witch mother.”

You almost wish they had, instead of forcing the scarred coin into your hand. At least you can serve the light like this, the priest had said, his grim face illuminated by the firelight. You have not forgotten the way your mother’s body burned bright, her head turned heavenward, her mouth open in silent scream as the flames leapt from her blackened lips.

At least you can serve some good when he comes.

Despite her age, Thera’s grip is strong as she forces you up out of the narrow cot. The stone floor of the chapel is like ice on your bare feet as you stumble after her. There is an old metal basin in the chapel’s meager kitchen, and Thera instructs you to strip before ushering you into the steaming water. You hiss at the burn, but it’s the warmest you’ve been in weeks. Months, more-like. She scrubs your skin raw with rough fingers, and tears through your hair with the comb until your scalp stings. When you wince, Thera cracks her open palm against the back of your skull.

“Be still!” Your ears ring from the force of her blow. “This is an honor—a great privilege you have been afforded, though you are tainted and unworthy.”

The laugh that bubbles from your chest is bitter. “This is not your pulpit, Truthspeaker, and I am not your sheep.”

Thera paints the symbols for fertility and prosperity on your damp shoulders in perfumed oil before rubbing them into your skin. She combs the oil through your hair, too, braiding gold thread into it as she pins it up away from your face. As she is closing the bridal robe around your shoulders, the door flies open.

The priest practically falls through it, his face shining with sweat despite the temperature. The charcoal around his wide, fear-bright eyes runs dark on his pale skin, like dark tears tracking down his gaunt cheeks. His terror is catching, your own heart pounding against your ribs.

“He comes! The Demon King comes! He rides for the village!” Thera glances at you, her thin lips curving into a cruel smile.

“And his bride waits.”

—

You have seen a bride taken, once. You were young, six seasons, perhaps? Seven? You saw the Demon King ride away with her, her long, black veil whipping behind her in the icy wind.

Mother had told you not to go, not to watch—It’s barbaric, my love, we needn’t take part—but you couldn’t help yourself. She is lucky, she is blessed, the townspeople murmured amongst themselves as they watched her go. Chosen. She’d drawn the coin from the bag, the same pitted, pocked metal that the priest had forced into your trembling hands as you’d watched your mother burn.

Life for life.

The rope bites into your wrists as you tug uselessly at your bindings. Your breath leaves your lips in frantic clouds of white as you pull and pull. Your only victory is the creak of the rope as it tightens. Your teeth chatter as you stare into the fog. It rolls out between the trunks of the bare trees like tendrils, creeping along the snow-covered ground until it fills the air, obscuring light and sound until all around you is dim as twilight.

“Your bride awaits you,” the priest’s muffled voice trembles. “Take her and honor our agreement, as it has been, and as it shall be.”

For a long time there is no answer from the thick, swirling fog. You count each second, your aching arms stretched above you, the rough wood of the post digging into your back through your cloak. The cold eats away at your bones as you shiver. It’s not snowing any more, but the loose drift blows up into your face as the wind rips at you. The priest’s voice trembles as he begins again.

“Take her and honor our—”

“Silence.”

The voice vibrates powerfully in your very marrow, in your head and all around. He is near. You can barely see a foot in front of you, and now you are glad for it, glad you cannot see the face of your death. The mist swells, roiling angrily around you as your skin prickles with his closeness. You know not what the Dark King looks like, but you know what you have heard murmured in the dark corners of ale-soaked taverns and in the pews of every chapel of the Holy Light—he is darkness, he is devil made flesh and set upon the children of light so that they might know fear.

That the price of flesh paid by your people is all that keeps him from loosing his terrible fury upon the valley—

But you do not yet know you believe.

You are afraid, that much you can tell from the thundering of your heart and the staccato sound of your own breath. You cannot see him, but you know he circles you, like a wolf, just behind the curtain of smoke and mist. The silence is deafening, and for a moment you wonder grimly what the Truthspeakers will do with you if the Devil himself does not take you—

“I accept this offering.”

He steps sideways out of nowhere, the air simply parting like a curtain to reveal him. The Orc regards you silently, watching your breath cloud the air and disappear. He reaches for you and you flinch, but he doesn’t touch you. Instead, he pulls at the ropes. The priest knotted them tightly around the post, but when the Orc pulls lightly, it comes away easily, as if undone by his touch.

His face is more human than you expected, fierce blue eyes set above chiseled cheekbones. His tusks poke out from beneath his bottom lip, but only barely, more evident as he grimaces. You wonder if he is displeased with you, as he looks you over, and you flinch when he reaches out with one massive, gloved hand. He grasps your chin firmly, turning your head this way and that before sighing.

“Come.”

This time, his voice does not echo through the clearing as if spoken by a dozen men. He reaches for you again, this time drawing the dark veil down over your face. His horse is as large and dark as he is, and the great beast paws the ground as you near, and you see your own fearful face reflected in its strange red eyes. He chuckles at your reluctance.

“Afraid, little bride?”

You are. Truly afraid. Of him. Of the village. Of the way forward, wherever it led. But you would not be like Thera, like the cowering priests in their chapel. Your fear would not rule you.

You grasp the reins and fit a foot into the stirrup.

“I am afraid.” Swinging your leg up, you climb into the saddle. “And I am more than fear.” He smiles, the sharp, white points of his teeth gleaming as his lips part.

“Good.” He steps up behind you, and your face flushes with heat as he fits you against his front.

“What are you called?” He hesitates, and you wonder whether or not he will tell you the truth.

“James.”

—

The sun is low in the sky by the time you see the encampment, nestled in the dark, snowy hills like a glowing ember. You tense as you see it, going rigid in the saddle.

“I did not know you came to collect your bride price with an army.” You reply, and behind you James chuckles.

“How else would I make sure it was paid?”

You feel small and alone as you ride into camp, your veil still pulled low over your eyes. The sounds of music and conversation die as the king approaches, the garrison watching with curious apprehension. The pack parts for you, people stepping away from James’ horse with a respectful bow. He is King here, of that there could be no doubt. A great fire blazes at the heart off the encampment, and James rides close enough to feel its heat before dismounting. He holds out his hand to you with a thin smile.

“Come, little wife. Lay aside your fear and let us know your fate.” You return his grim smile with one of your own.

I suppose I always knew it would end in fire.

You take his hand, and James helps you down. For a moment, there is no sound other than the roar of the flames and the shrill whistle of the icy wind.

“She is small.” The voice is heavy with age, and rife with irritation. “It will not be her.” You turn to see the stooped Orc step out from the crowd of onlookers. She leans heavily on the staff she carries, the top adorned with an assortment of feathers and tiny, white bones. James does not look away from you.

“The fire will tell.”

He pushes your bridal robe from your shoulders, undoing the tie around your waist. The cloth falls to the ground, leaving you naked. You are not cold, though, not this close to the fire. The veil he leaves on, and the fabric whispers against your bare ankles. The old Orc hobbles closer, peering at you with her one good eye.

“You know what to do.”

You do—you step into the fire. It burns—burns hotter than anything you have ever known—

But there is no pain. You open your eyes. All around you is light, beautiful, glorious light. You lift an arm, and flames dance along your skin, leaving trails of radiant heat. You raise your arms above your head with a shout. They should have burnt me in the village. You imagine the streets burning bright with your flames.

Something is changed in you, something opened, something broken free, something you’d never even known was caged inside you. You are the fire, it is you—

The old Orc slams the staff against the ground with a sound like thunder, and the flames cool to embers as you drop your arms, panting. You are giddy with power, your heart beating in your chest as fiercely as the flames.

“Fire-sign.” She draws symbols on your face in red ichor, and matching ones on James. Her scarred mouth twists into a smile as she pulls the veil from you. “Burn brightly.”

James gathers you in his arms, lifting you with ease. He makes for one of the tents, pushing aside the heavy canvas hanging over the opening. James spills you unceremoniously onto the furs by the small fire, ripping at his clothes as he sets upon you with his hungry hands and mouth.

“Knew it would be you,” he mumbles as he lowers his mouth to yours. “Could smell the smoke on your skin.”

Gods you burn as he kisses you. You are no longer standing in the fire but you feel it in your veins still, like it’s part of you. Your head swims as though you’d drunk your share of mead, James’ touch only adding to the dizzying rush of sensation. He kneels down between your legs, his eyes dark as he drags them down your writhing body. He licks his lips.

“My fire-sign.” He cups your cunt with one massive hand, trailing a thick finger along your slit. From the bits of hushed gossip you’d overheard from the older women in the village, wifely duties were to be penitently endured, you were to feel pain and discomfort, not this, this—

Fire.

James parts your thighs until they are wide enough to accommodate him, and he bends low. The whites of his eyes barely visible as he stares at your slick center.

“What better wedding gift?” He says lowly, tugging your hips roughly forward until you can feel his breath on your cunt.

You lick your lips. “And what is mine?” You ask, and James laughs. You keen as he licks a long, hot stripe up your soaked slit.

“What would you ask of me?”

“Burn the village.” There are two voices coming from your throat when you speak. There is you, the you you know, the you you have always been—

And there is the fire.

The thing of smoke and passion and rage in your skin now, too.

“Leave nothing standing.”

James lowers his head to your sticky core, and wraps his arms around your thighs anchoring you to his face as he feasts. His tongue slides hungrily through your slick folds, and your eyes fly open a your hips roll of their own accord. You come apart then, shuddering and whining, but he doesn’t stop. Your hands tangle in his dark hair, pulling at his ceremonial braids as he tastes you till you’re dizzy. James finally relinquishes his hold, and when he rises his chin is wet with your pleasure.

“You wish me to wage war, little wife?” He asks, reaching between your bodies to palm his cock. You can’t look away. “To spend fire and blood for you?”

You nod.

“For that, I will require more than a marriage of convenience,” he replies, and you shiver as he taps the head of his cock against you with a slick, sticky noise. You whimper as he circles one of your nipples with his thumb. “I want more than just your body, understand, little bride?” His hand spans half the length of your belly it’s so big, and you stare wide eyed down at his cock.

“I will have all of you.” James growls down at you. “Not part.” You whine as he pushes against you, the blunt head of his cock pressing inside with a pop. Your lips fall open, a strangled moan escaping them. James’ claws dig into your hip, and he utters a curse. You’re already so full of him, you don’t know how more can fit, but James works his hips against yours, rutting shamelessly against you until you swear you’re choking on him.

The ache is so sweet it brings tears to your eyes.

“Y-yes!”

He draws out, leaving you almost empty before filling you with a hard thrust. James moans low in his throat, his head falling back. He cups your face with one hand, dragging his thumb across your lips. You rake your fingers over his muscled chest and he grits his teeth, driving into you harder, curling over you as he presses your knees against your chest.

Your breaths escape you in choked little mewls, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he drowns you in pleasure again, and the fire in your veins swells, consuming you. Behind him, the fire blazes more brightly than ever before, and James looses a low growl, his cock pulsing inside of you.

“Then you will have war, little queen,” he says, nosing down the side of your jaw. He nips at your throat, hard enough to bruise.

You smile.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fandom #boxofbonesfic #boxofbones #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober week 1

1K notes · View notes