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Unlocking Luxury: The Benefits of Investing in a Penthouse
Elevating Your Real Estate Portfolio Penthouse living is synonymous with luxury, offering a unique real estate investment opportunity that stands above the rest. In this article, weâll explore the exclusive benefits of investing in a penthouse and why it could be the ultimate addition to your real estate portfolio. Breathtaking Views 1. Panoramic Scenery Penthouses often boast unparalleledâŚ
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#entertaining in a penthouse#luxury amenities#luxury real estate#penthouse benefits#penthouse investment#penthouse views#privacy#real estate appreciation#spacious living#urban penthouse living
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Jennifer Lopez Sells Manhattan Penthouse for $23 Million After 7 Years on the Market https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/jennifer-lopez-sells-manhattan-penthouse-213653221.html
#yahoo news latest news & headlines#yahoonewstopics#yahoo entertainment#jennifer lopez#jlo#manhattan#penthouse
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Rooftop Deck
Example of a mid-sized trendy rooftop deck container garden design with an awning
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Home Bar - Contemporary Home Bar
Inspiration for a large contemporary galley dark wood floor and brown floor seated home bar remodel with an undermount sink, glass-front cabinets, black cabinets, granite countertops, black backsplash, ceramic backsplash and black countertops
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Barcelona Poolhouse Poolhouse Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary rooftop rectangular lap pool house remodel
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Not a gold digger
pairing: Max Verstappen x reader
summary: Fans think you only want Max's money. But as it turns out, you were wealthy before he came into your life--you just don't make it obvious.
warnings: No smut, but there's a part that makes me say MDNI.
note: So... I'm kinda back? Idk, I'll see if I'll stick around.
The toxicity of the fandom was becoming quite entertaining, really. It was the third time since you and Max had made your relationship public half a year ago that someone started an anti gold digger campaign to protect your boyfriend. They truly believed they were doing this for a greater good, and they all begged Max for his attention.
It always began after they sniffed out he had given you something expensive as a gift or took you shopping to a luxury boutique. While there were some people who tried to protect you by pointing out that maybe he enjoyed showering you with gifts, the rest didn't care about that.Â
You lived in a small apartment back home, you were driving a five years old Renault SUV, and no one knew what you did for a living. This was enough to enrage them and make them believe all you wanted was Max's money at the end of the day. Just think about the way she's looking at him, one of them wrote about two months ago, she's so clearly not in love with him. Poor Max, someone please save him.Â
Ridiculous.
âIs everything okay?â he asked when he got home and kissed the top of your head.Â
You were sitting in his sim rig, using the time while it was free to practice, because you wanted to play with him when you weren't here together, and he was more than happy to show you the basics. âSomeone started another campaign to cancel me,â you replied casually as you got out with his help.Â
Even when you were standing in front of him, he didn't let go of your hand, instead he raised it to his lips to place a soft kiss on its back. âGold digging?â You nodded with a sad look on your face, but less than five seconds later you were both laughing. âLook, I know you're having way too much fun with this, butââ
Without waiting for him to finish, you raised your hand to make him stop. âI'm not stepping out of the shadows, Max. I've been hiding for years, even fucking Forbes doesn't know my real name or face,â you told him.
Back in the old days, when Bitcoin appeared, your geeky uncle had gotten into mining and trading it. He knew the potential, so he put most of his savings into buying them, then he held onto them, and by the time he got sick years later, he knew they were valuable and would be worth a lot more in the upcoming years. In his will, he left his savings and his wallet to you, giving you the chance to use them as you wished since you had learned everything about crypto from him.
So now you had Bitcoin as well as old fashioned investments, and you had used your money to help out an up-and-coming tech company for a forty percent share, and it was later sold to a tech giant for a lot of money. But despite your wealth, you chose to stay under the radar, because you loved your small apartment, and you weren't about to trade it for some fancy penthouse.Â
You had met Max the year before in Las Vegas. F1 was a sport you watched with your uncle while he was still alive, and you were hell-bent on getting a VIP pass for the weekend. If you asked your boyfriend, he would say it was love at first sight, but in reality he was just annoyed by you. For a solid ten seconds, he would correct you every time you talked about it.
You agreed that you would hide in Max's apartment until this latest campaign died down, which gave you some time to spend together in peace. Every now and then you checked the tags to see how things were going, and after the silence of the past few days, today your name was trending again. Ready to have a good laugh, you opened the tag, but the most popular post gave you a minor stroke.
âOh, fuck me,â you yelled as you launched your phone into the couch.
Max pulled the headset down to his neck as he looked over at you. âIs everything okay?â You raised your finger to your lips as if you wanted him to stay quiet, but luckily he got the message. âI'm muted. So?â
You grabbed your phone and went over to him. âThey know. One of those idiots from the company I helped back in the day posted a tweet to protect me, saying that if it wasn't for me being an angel investor, they wouldn't be millionaires now,â you summarized as you gave him the device.
He scrolled through a series of tweets, and found a post from a journalist of Forbes in which he promised a proper investigative piece based on this info. He handed you the phone, then wrapped an arm around your waist. âIt's okay, schatje. I know that's not what you wanted, but maybe they'll stop with the recurring hate campaign now,â he tried. âAnd if youâre worried about the article⌠Donât be. There is nothing compromising about you. Yes, you inherited the money, but you have proven you know what to do with it.â
âMaybe youâre right,â you admitted with a sigh.Â
âIâm usually right. Câmere,â he said as he reached out to pull you closer, but you glanced over at the camera. Rolling his eyes, he quickly turned it off, then gave you an expectant look. âWill you hug me now? And I want a kiss too.â
With a laugh, you leaned down to wrap your arms around his neck and gave him a soft kiss. But he wanted more, his hand slowly sneaked under your shorts, his fingers running over your clothed cunt before he decided to pull your panties aside and dip a finger between your folds. You moaned into the kiss, but he pulled away a second later to lick his finger clean.Â
Shaking your head with a chuckle, you patted his shoulder and walked back to the couch. You could feel Maxâs eyes on you the whole time, and when you looked at him again, he flashed a devilish smile at you. âI should quit the stream. Now that I had a taste, I want more,â he told you.Â
âIâm not going anywhere, just try to be patient.â
He looked back at the screen, then put the headset back on his head and unmuted his mic. âSorry, I have to go. See you next time,â he told the others, then logged out. You couldnât remember the last time he left the sim rig this fast, and only a few seconds later he was kneeling in front of you, eagerly reaching up to pull your shorts off you.
liked by user1, user2 and 947,896 others
f1gossips: Breaking news! Turns out Max Verstappen's girlfriend isn't a gold digger after all as she has her own fortune according to the investigative article published by Forbes. Will the fans apologize?
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user2: And here I was, thinking she's just a greedy airhead...
user3: Easy to be wealthy with your uncle's money.
âł user4: Have you read the whole thing? She invested the money and helped out several startups--that later became pretty successful--as an angel investor. Yes, maybe she inherited a lot of money, but she knows what to do with it.
âł user5: May I remind you how many F1 drivers started their careers with their families's money?
user6: Told you she wasn't a gold digger. Suck it, haters.
liked by yourusername, landonorris and 1,577,353 others
maxverstappen1: If you don't buy your girlfriend gifts every once in a while, you're a bad boyfriend. I love to spoil her, it's not a crime. I love her, I'm proud of her, and you can send us as much hate as you want, it will only make us stronger.
tagged: yourusername
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yourusername: I'd be perfectly fine without the gifts, I already told you.
âł maxverstappen1: I don't care.
landonorris: You're absolutely right!
âł maxverstappen1: You're single, how would you know?
âł landonorris: Just FYI, I've been in relationships before.
danielricciardo: You're so disgustingly smitten with her. (I love you both.)
#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen#formula 1#f1#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#before i get the question again this is a random cute pic that came up at the top in the google search#no i wasn't paying attention to skin color
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do you know what?
I miss long seasons.
I miss seasons that had 20 episodes and half of them could be cut and nothing would be lost to the story.
I miss the episodes where nothing fucking happens but you get to see the main cast goofing around with one another. You get to see their interactions, their relationships develop, their day-to-day lives and how they all fit together in them.
You get the Christmas/halloween/valentine's special -is it needed? certainly not. but is it good? is it entertaining? does it give the show and characters life? do we, the viewers, enjoy it? YES!
give me long stories!! give me little quarrelling spats between characters that can be resolved in one episode with no need to have an impact on the greater story! make these stories real!
let me enjoy them before they end!!!
I absolutely love Hazbin Hotel and the little world that's been created, but I can't help but feel disappointed we're only getting two seasons of 8 episodes.
back in the early 2000's 16 episodes would have been ONE season, never mind the entire thing.
show my angel dust and husk and nifty and sir penthouse living their daily lives in the hotel! show me Charlie brainstorming ways to redeem sinners! give me Charlie forcing the hotel staff to do cringe-y exercises! give me an entire episode of Vox trying to follow alastor through security cameras! Give me husks typical day! Give me a special through the eyes of nifty on a mission to irradiate the hotel of bugs! Give me sir penthouse and the egg boys up to no good!
give me something other than the bare necessities to make the story flow
6 months have nearly gone by in the hotel, and it feels like 1 month.
#not for one moment am I blaming vivziepop for the shows limited time#its the corporations behind it that decide this#but it feels so rushed#and these characters feel so unexplored#I think we need more time with them#and I think many people would agree#the industrial revolution and its consequences ey?#its just-#we've waited 4 years for this and its amazing but it'll be over before its truly had chance to begin#hazbin hotel#vivziepop#vivzieverse#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin hotel velvette#vox#alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#angel dust#hazbin hotel valentino#hazbin hotel husk#velvette#hazbin hotel angel dust#sir pentious#hazbin hotel sir pentious#Charlie morningstar#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin hotel charlie#hazbin hotel vaggie#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin hotel lute
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Honor Among Thieves
Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Marrying Brooklynâs most dangerous man was easy. Divorcing him proves to be a bit harderâparticularly when youâre pregnant with his child.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Breeding kink. Hurt/Comfort/We-Almost-Just-Died-Sex. Morning sickness. Manslaughter. Brief coerced kissing. Beefy, mob boss Bucky is a possessive expectant father who just wants to make sure he knocked you up properly
Descriptions of violence throughout
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
âYou know exactly what youâre doing.â
Buckyâs words reverberated like a shotgunâs report, skimming across two dozen feet of marble, glass, and stainless steel before reaching your ears on the opposite end of the room. He was standing at the threshold of the kitchen, and your back was turned to him. Lucky thing, too, or else he wouldâve seen the smile threatening to tug at both ends of your lipsâeffectively blowing your cover.
âReally, I donât have the slightest idea, Barnes,â you told him, and it took everything in you not to laugh. Having just narrowly preserved your composure, you continued, âYou keep me locked in this prison all day and expect me not to find ways to entertain myself? Well, this is all it is.â
Like hell it was, you could already hear in Buckyâs head. Feeling him eye you up and down from the archway, take his first steps into the room, loosen his tie, most likely.
âPrison?â You registered a low scoff, and his voice was already so much closer than itâd been five seconds ago.
Your husband was striding as quickly as his smooth, dark, tailored suit would allow, and he was undressing as he walked. You could hear the clothes coming off but pretended not to notice. Instead staring more intently at the crab bisque simmering on the stove before you, you licked the spoon you were holding and hummed a little.
âYes,â you answered, simply, âPrison.â
Bucky was by your side in no time at all. Up close, he smelled like rosemary, oakmoss, and gunpowder.
âWell, this is news to me,â he said. He dragged out the middle syllables of his words longer than was necessary, likely to make his move sidling up closer to you. The last sound had scarcely died in his throat more than a second or two before you felt an arm loop around your back. A hand coming to rest on your hip, then his voice, again:
âSee, I never knew they built âprisonsâ up in first-class penthouse apartments in Brooklyn. Must be pretty nice.â
Bucky stepped behind you, and you were half-certain the black suit jacket heâd come home wearing was fully removed. Again, you pretended not to see, or care.
âItâs a metaphor, James.â But your voice wavered.
âA metaphor?â Buckyâs head sank into the soft groove between your neck and your shoulder, and he kissed it.
âYes.â
Your mouth made a sound more akin to a breath than a real, enunciated word, and you knew Bucky felt it too. He sensed this headstrong, no-bullshit façade of yours was sure to come crumbling apart any second, and each new brush of his hands and lips would be making it happen. Knowing this, he wasnât in a rush to get the rest of his clothes off. He did, however, start to toy with yours.
âTell me more. Am I really holding you hostage, doll?â
You took a ladle and started to stir, trying to stay cool. Meanwhile, your husband tugged gently on your dress.
âHostage, housewife, same thing,â you muttered, low.
For once, it was Buckyâs turn to break character, as he laughed. It was short-lived and sweet, and he pressed another kiss to the skin of your neck, as if in apology.
âRight, right. I forgot. You were forced to marry me.â
âRight,â you shook your head, just slightly emboldened by the way youâd made him crack, if only for a moment, âIâm forced to marry you, move into this horrific little shanty in Brooklynââgesturing to the multi-million dollar apartment surrounding you bothââand then you leave me here, all by myself, with nothing to do while you go play Godfather with your mobster friends. Itâs not fair.â
By the tail end of that last sentence, you and Bucky both were already grinning a little, coming to terms with just how ridiculous it sounded when you phrased it like that. Still, your husband seemed game to keep the bit going.
âNow thatâs just not true,â he said, tone all faux offense.
You felt the soft snap of a ribbon coming undone, and in a second realized it was the satin bow holding the back of your dress together. The fabric loosened, and Buckyâs hands slid down your sides, over your frontâof course.
âI didnât leave you âby yourselfâ at all, doll,â he said, and suddenly, his palms were fanning out, over something, âGave you this baby to keep you company, didnât I?â
The âsomethingâ he was touching now was your belly. All soft and smooth and protruding out in a perfect little globe beneath your dress, no bigger than when heâd left for work that morning. Bucky treated the bump like it was a novelty all the sameâlike he was seeing it for the first time and couldnât believe he was actually the one responsible for making it get like that. It had gotten to be a hobby of his, nearly, just how much he loved watching it grow. He had his fingers splayed out across your tummy virtually every chance he could get, and that didnât stop whether you were out in public or sharing a moment in the comfort of home; he couldnât get enough.
Which was why Bucky was right when heâd said you knew exactly what you were doing when he came home that day. You knew just the kind of effect that wearing a tight, white dress while cooking dinner would have on him, and you hoped it would rile him up just like this: with his hands roaming over every inch of your body, making soft, sweet circles along the swell of your belly, and kissing your neck again and again. Biting some, too. Getting so worked up he was all but gnawing at the skin as he drank in your scent and got lost to pure instinct.
If it wasnât clear that Bucky had had a breeding kink before, you saw it written plain as day across his face every morning and night since heâd first learned you were pregnant. Like all the life force within him was just a byproduct of the knowledge that you were hisâand this baby, growing bigger each day, was a mix of you both.
You hated to say it, but fatherhood suited your assassin-trained, mob-heading, bloodlusting husband better than anyone could have predicted in a million years or more.
Presently, Bucky flipped you around and sank to his knees. He slid you over to the counterspace area, away from the stove, and made sure to flip each knob to âoffâ to make sure there wasnât a chance youâd get burned. You cast one last look at the crab bisque and knew at once your hard work would have to be put on the back burner for now, because Bucky wasnât hungry for that.
Still, you kicked a foot in soft, muted protest when you felt him slide his hands up your legs, under your dress, and start to reach for your panties. You let out a breath.
âI spent two hours perfecting the seasoning on that, Barnes,â you chided him, gently and without much admonition in your voice as you pointed to the soup, âYou say you want a good little housewife but wonât even leave me un-fucked long enough to try any food I make!â
âAnd Iâm very sorry about that, Mrs. Barnes,â Bucky replied, head disappearing beneath your skirt so he could take your underwear off with his teeth instead.
But, much like your reproach, your husbandâs strained apology held less than half of its professed sincerity. Your blue cotton panties were discarded in a second, your hips pushed back against the cool white marble behind it, and Bucky, almost too cheekily, brought his head back up from underneath your dress just to steal a quick look at your belly, then up at you. He was smiling.
âAnything you make tastes amazing, honey. Daddy just needs to eat a little something beforehand, that okay?â
He already knew what youâd say. The sweet, shit-eating grin hovering over your lower half knew all that and more. Bucky just loved to tease, taking the hem of your dress between his index and thumb, and rubbing all the more tenderly, murmuring again, âThat alright with you, pretty girl?â and âMy wife likes getting tonguefucked in the kitchen, doesnât she?â while his breaths spread over you.
You nodded that you did. Momentarily forgetting the three-course meal youâd had planned for him since early that morning, you let your knees fall limply apart from one another, and Buckyâs broad form filled the space in between. The fabric of your dress was snug, especially so over your belly. Your husband pushed the material up your hips and let it rest just high enough to expose your warmth to him. Angling your hips back the slightest bit, trailing his fingers up your thighs and inside them, gently, Bucky let out a low groan against your body, and you could feel the vibrations of it travel up your spine.
âI really am mean for keeping you here all day, arenât I?â he teased, sliding the tips of his fingers between your glistening folds and watching you jolt in response.
âSoâ so mean. Bucky, please.â
Your voice was far more hoarse than circumstances would seem to beget; your husband had just eaten you out that morning. Nevertheless, your hand was trembling as it reached for his head. Your pull was taut and dire. While your fingers threaded in through his hair and your body opened itself more and more for him, you could feel that kind smile, even if you couldnât see it. Frankly, the swelling of eight-and-a-half months made it difficult to see much of anything below the waist, but Bucky made sure to let you know he was there. By holding your hand, skimming his lips against your skin, starting, just then, to sink his fingers in toward the heat of your body, and softly pulling his face away so he could look up at you.
âBaby?â he breathed.
Your eyes locked with his as he slid two fingers inside you. The stretch alone was enough to put your brain on the fritz, but, fighting the first shockwaves of pleasure:
âY-Yeah?â
He withdrew. Pressed them back in and let out a grunt.
âI need you to do something for me.â
You couldnât fathom what that might be, but you nodded anyway. âAnythingâ was what you managed to choke out.
âAnd you might not like it, doll.â
Your eyes widened some.
âOâ O-Okay, what?â
Buckyâs fingers curled inside you, and a short, sharp streak of dizzying pleasure pulsed through your body. Your knees felt weak, and your mind even worse, but with what little resolve you had left, you were able to keep your eyes entirely open and fastened to his. A look that struck you as almost bittersweet crossed your husbandâs features, and you saw his gaze soften again.
âI need you to wake up,â he said, calmly.
âWhat?â
Your toes curled tight underneath you, and the warmth between your legs leapt up to over a thousand degrees.
âMelaya, I need you to wake up.â
At the same time, your blood ran cold in your veins. Surely, you couldnât be hearing him right if the voice he used was so gruff and lowâand laden with a Russian lilt.
âBucky? Whatâ What do you mean?â
But you knew. Or suspected something of it anyway.
Now the sound from your own throat was hardly one that you recognized as yours, so shrill and high and strangeâwhat could he mean by that? Why was he watching you in that way? Your husband wasnât smiling so brightly anymore, and the once-gratifying conflagration between your legs had grown to an almost scorching degree, no longer nice, generous, or pleasurable in the slightest.
âWe need you to wake up now, honey. Right now.â
His tone, too, was distorted. Grating.
âBucky, I-I donât understââ
âWAKE UP!â
âWAKE UP!â
Natasha shook you hard, and it hurt.
She didnât mean for it to. She just needed you up and out of bed, and youâd been asleep for almost fourteen hours.
You started at the fifth or sixth shake, nearly punching yourself in the face when you tried yanking a set of covers up and over your head and discovered, shortly, that there was none. You were splayed out on a bed in an as-yet unfamiliar homeâSteveâs new placeâand, while you slept, youâd kicked all of the blankets youâd been given the night before off your body and onto the floor.
Your eyes were wide as saucers as they darted to Natâs.
There was no need to say what had happenedâshe knew these dreams were getting worse by the day.
Itâd been a week since you fled your Brooklyn apartment in an all-out terror. A week since a senseless, short-sighted idea on your part had led to the discovery that your husband was once part of a HYDRA sleeper cell whose activation phrase turned him into an agent of total destruction at will. A week since youâd seen a half dozen bodies litter your living room floor, more still being bludgeoned by the so-called âWinter Soldier,â as Bucky had formerly been known. A week since youâd sobbed in Natashaâs arms and begged her not to let you go back. A week since youâd been obliged to hide out in Steve Rogersâ new bachelor pad upstate, because, frankly, there was nowhere else you could safely live until this whole ordeal with Bucky was settledâif it ever would be.
A full week since youâd learned you were pregnant, too.
As far as you knew, your husband was wholly unaware of this fact, and of Steveâs most recent real estate purchase up in Buffalo, and youâd been existing in a semi-serene and largely dissociated state for the past seven days.
Your gaze adjusted to the light, and you blinked up at Nat, feeling damp in just about every place on your body. You looked down and found yourself drenched in sweat.
âHydrate. Please.â
It wasnât so much a request as it was a standing order: Nat holding out a glass of water and instructing you to drink. Though your first instinct was to make a face and shake your headâyouâd found that any new fluids in your body this early in the morning would only get thrown back up when you made your first frantic trip to the toiletâyou accepted it anyway. You drank three big gulps to appease the woman standing next to the bed, then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and smiled
âIâm gonna go puke now,â you said.
âAim for inside the toilet bowl if you can,â Steve called out from the doorway. By the look on his face, youâd been doing a pretty shit job of aiming vomit lately.
âMy bad, Rogers.â
You had a hand on your stomach, slowly easing back up into a seated position, when you heard something being flung across the room, followed by a âHEY!â and a crash.
âYour aim sucks, too, Romanoff,â Steve griped, loudly, âAnd I was kidding. She can puke wherever she wants.â
By the door, a hefty hardcover book lay open on the floor. Apparently Natâs options for projectiles had been limited.
âAll good, Rogers,â you offered anyway. Fighting a smirk.
You were starting to stand, and your head felt as if youâd just taken your first steps off a rocking boat. Your other hand jumped to your mouth, and you muttered, âFuckâ before brushing past Nat and her outstretched arms.
She held your hair while Steve retrieved the glass of water, as well as a towel. The unsightly first trimester ritual proceeded as it had for all of the last week, with Nat rubbing circles in your back and Steve making well-meaning but completely useless live commentary like, âBabies are a real pain in the ass, arenât they?â At the conclusion of each new stupid remark, Natasha would shoot a dirty look his way, but you never let her shoo him away. Through no conscious choice of your own, Steve had become something of a comfort blanket over the course of the past chaotic days. At the very least, you two were no longer at each otherâs throats flinging accusations and exorbitantly-priced tumblers in the otherâs direction, which was a marked improvement from where you were the day after you and Buckyâs wedding.
At length, you lifted your head from the toilet, and he daubed at your cheek with the towelâmostly just trying to wipe off spit and your own queasy-looking expression. He succeeded in clearing away just the former, but you forced a smile all the same, then shared it with Natasha.
Nat couldnât smile back. In fact, the grimace on her face only etched even deeper, and her forehead creased.
âThis is a horrible time to be asking you this, I knowââ
âNat, please.â Steve groaned.
Nat, what? There wasnât a lot more that could catch you off guard after all the shit youâd come to see that week. Still, Natâs breaths were both measured and slow, and you could see she was chewing on the inside of her cheek like she wasnât quite sure how best to phrase her words. This, coming from one of the most astute legal minds this side of the Hudson River, gave you pause.
âAsk anything. Iâm pretty numb, if you havenât noticed.â You rapped on the side of your head for comedic effect, but neither Natasha nor Steve laughed or cracked a grin.
âHow do you feel about filing for divorce tomorrow?â
At the sound of Natâs words, you felt the bile jump back up your throat. You knew there wasnât enough food or fluid to make much of anything now, but all the same, you craned your neck back over the toilet and retched. When nothing came out, as expected, you turned back.
âWhat?â
Natasha looked a little ill herself, but still, she continued.
âHow do you feel about justâŚfast-tracking a divorce from him and taking off new? Weâll talk assets later.â
Assets? Fast-track? Divorce? What the fuck?
âWhat the fuck, Nat?â you repeated as much out loud.
It normally wasnât your thing to be so blunt with her, but the inquiry certainly seemed to invite some extra candor. You swiped at your mouth for any excess spit that mightâve trickled out, crudely, and in a second, Steve was handing you the towel. Then helping you to your feet, holding your arm and lower back in a grip you could feel was secure. You were unsteady on your legs, so he and Natasha guided you over to the sink, where you could regain your bearings and freshen up a bit. Sneaking a look at your reflection in the mirror was a bad idea; your face was sallow, and the rest of your body had every appearance of being horribly weak, for lack of a better word. You caught a glimpse of a gash sitting just above your left temple and immediately looked away. Stupidly, you hoped Steve and Nat hadnât seen it.
âHe did that to you,â Nat said without missing a beat.
You winced, and you washed your hands, not looking up.
âI thought you said it wasnât him. Soldat, you told me.â And for a second, your eyes flickered to Steve, whose expression was a touch more sympathetic, if not visibly discomfited now. Like he didnât want to speak for once.
He did, anyway: âDoesnât matter if it was Winter or him, really. Point is he hurt you while trying to protect yââ
âAnd yet, you asked me to forgive him just last week for killing my dad in the same type of rage,â you replied, and instantly regretted the accusatory tone youâd taken on.
Your anger was misdirected at Steve. It wasnât his fault for sharing the truth about your husbandâsâhis best friendâsâpast when youâd asked him. These were queries youâd made, helping to form justifications for your own decision to stay after what had happened in Madripoor. Obviously, Steve would be biased to help support his friend in a time of need. But now things were different; Bucky had never been activated as soldat and ended up hurting someone heâd loved before. Steve was free to change his mind after seeing that happen and urge you to leave, or at least reconsider, your marriage to Bucky.
The second look you gave him attempted to convey as much, a bit more apologetic as he and Natasha led the way out of the bathroom. Steve smiled and held your arm again, though you probably didnât need it. You walked downstairs to the kitchen together. Over by the toaster, Sam was inspecting a charred bagel with a scowl
âRogers, you really need to ditch this shit,â he said, gesturing to the rusted metal contraption that appeared to be from 1918, and had just burnt two bagels to a crisp.
âIt was a gift from a friend, piss off,â Steve replied, grinning a little. Reaching for the blackened bread roll and even going so far as to take a bite, crunching loudly.
âDid your friend happen to fight in World War II?â Nat asked. She lent one look to the archaic machine but said nothing further, opting instead to take a seat at the kitchen table, where a sea of papers was strewn about.
Then, to you, âCome. Sit.â
Somewhere in your tentative stroll from where you stood to where she sat, and in the middle of the menâs toaster bickering, Sam called out that heâd have bacon and eggs ready in a second. Steve offered up his singed sesame bagel in the interim, and you told him no thanks. With a still slightly throbbing skull and a nauseous gait, you took the chair next to Natâs and looked down at her papers.
Honestly, you thought your present condition might warrant some leeway when it came to holding off on the heavy-hitting topics first thing, but, to your surprise, Natasha slid a crisp white packet over almost instantly.
âNat, what the fuck?â you groaned for the second time.
âRead it. Give it a second to digest, then we canââ
âNo!â you cut in, pushing the packet back to her with a little more force than youâd meant, âI-I canât. Not now.â
On the very first page, in bold and capitalized typeface, there was printed a brief string of words youâd never wantedâor thought you would ever needâto see:
âVERIFIED COMPLAINT: ACTION FOR DIVORCEâ
âItâs just the petition. No harm in taking a look,â Nat said.
You could hear a faintly gentler tone in her voice, even as you shook your head and looked away from the papers.
âI donât want to. I canât do this right now.â You kept shaking your head for a couple seconds after, turning your gaze instead to the bay window of Steveâs kitchen.
A nice, sprawling yard stretched as far as you could see. In the distance, a fuzzy white horizon was punctuated the slightest bit by the outline of a wood fence, but apart from that, the land was empty. The lot was secluded. Happy and effervescent in a nearly cloudless sky, the midmorning sun cast its rays without so much as the threat of a stormâs hinderance. You fixed your eyes on the clear expanse above and silently wished it would rain.
Before more than a minute or two had passed like that, Sam was approaching the table with two platters. Steve balanced four more by himself, watching the sway of one plate of scrambled eggs in his arms with a wary look before setting each one of the dishes on the table.
âBon appĂŠtit,â Steve said, butchering his French just about as badly as Sam had the bagels. You and Nat thanked them both anyway and started clearing off the table, pushing papers away in favor of steaming plates. Sam and Steve sat down, and all of you began to eat.
While you dutifully piled on each scoop of eggs, bacon, sausage links, biscuits, gravy, and gritsâfar more than you knew you could feasibly consumeâyou wished again for a rainstorm, and maybe a quiet breakfast. One that wasnât marred by talks of legal separation and lengthy battles in court, if you could help it at all. To this end, and perhaps against your bodyâs best interest, you shoveled two supersized spoonfuls of egg in your mouth, so that if Nat tried reviving those subjects again, you could put off the conversation by simply continuing to chew. You felt your stomach turn inside you but, stubbornly, ate more.
You had just swallowed it all, about to make way for a warm, flaky buttermilk biscuit, when a sound cut in, and your belly flipped again. Your teeth had barely sunk into the bread a second when Nat set her own food aside, then used two fingers to push something toward you.
âJust skim it. Let me explain what the process can be,â she said, tapping her index on the first line and meeting your eyes as if to plead. She had to have known sheâd be met with resistanceâfrom you, of course, but also Steve. She raised a defensive hand to him before he even cut in:
âCome the fuck on, Nat. Will you give her a break?â
âIâm saying this for her sake! Iâm doing it for her.â
âAnd throwing divorce papers in her face over breakfast is really the best way of going about it? Is that for her?â
Sam swallowed whatever heâd been chewing on, glanced down at the top paper, and seemed to brace himself.
âGuys, is now really the right timeââ he started.
âThatâs what Iâm saying!â Steve barked over him.
Natasha ignored the plainly disdainful look from the latter, lifted her hand off the paperwork and instead trained her gaze solely on you. Just like she had in Zurich. Focusing intently on your face, ignoring whatever Steve or Sam were saying in the moment, she turned to you and found your expression was stale. Unmoving. Frankly, half of what was running through your mind right then was how badly you wanted to puke again. As if the eggs had turned rotten in your gut the second they reached their destination in your GI tract, you felt a heavy, oppressive fog of nausea taking shape between your ears, and you just wanted everyone to stop talking.
Sam and Steve continued on without a hitch, agreeing vaguely but also appearing to bicker over other things, like when was the most appropriate time to have this conversation. Natasha was leaning in, reaching for your hand this time, and you knew she meant well. You would bet any large sum of money there wasnât a malicious bone in her body, and she was doing this for your benefit. All the same, you were grateful when the front door swung back on its hinges, and a new person walked in. Nat, Sam, and Steve all suspended their conversations.
âHey, whââ the blissfully unaware, semi-stranger began.
âSharon!â Steve cried, âWould you tell Romanoff sheâs being a goddamn pest with no sense of boundaries?â
Sharon halted at the threshold of the house, skating a look between Nat and Steve at first, then Steve and Sam, then just at you. The look didnât linger for long, and before you knew it, she was setting down a fistful of grocery bags and twisting her mouth into a frown.
âWill you shut up, Steve?â was her only response.
Sam rose from his chair and pointed as if to say, âYeah, thatâ before joining her in the foyer to help carry in the Wegmans bags. Natasha leaned back in her chair with a vaguely pleased look, and Steve just rolled his eyes. He slapped his palm overtop the stack of divorce papers still laying before you and, seemingly undeterred, continued,
âDo you think itâs fair for her to force divorce papers on this poor soulââ pointing to you, the poor soul, apparently, ââwhen itâs been a week since she left?â
Sharon started handing off the frozen stuff first, sliding a box of Stoufferâs across the counter to Sam, who then deposited it in the freezer. These exchanges took place in relatively quick succession, with Sharon only chancing a look toward the kitchen table once or twice as they did.
âI think she should do whatever the hell she wants,â she said, âAnd I think their divorce is none of our business.â
Fair enough take. One that you could respect, at the very least, even if you werenât certain she particularly cared for you at all. You reckoned she had no reason to, and on the whole, appeared to be a pretty reserved person.
You wanted to add a word in her defense, reiterate to Steve that he didnât have to go to bat for you, the poor, defenseless soul, right now. Instead of being able to speak, though, you felt an upsurge of something heavy in your throat. You clamped a hand to your mouth again, cheeks flushing with the heady sensation and also out of embarrassment, then pushed your chair back and stood.
âIâ gottaââ you stammered, just audible to the table, through the wall your fingers had made over your lips.
You sprinted up the stairs without another word.
The first trimester ritual repeated, and ten minutes later, you re-emerged from the bathroom feeling two big spoonfuls of scrambled eggs lighter and still none the happier, healthier, or wiser. You took a peek in the full-length mirror at the other end of the room and discerned from a distance of ten feet that you looked like dogshit.
You flopped down on the bed face-first, heedless of the pool of sweat that still encompassed roughly half of it, and let out a weak, muffled breath into the sheets. Someone had been gracious enough to replace all the blankets and pillows youâd kicked off last night. When you heard a knock on the door, it sounded a lot like Natâs.
You rolled to the side, eyes screwed shut in frustration.
âIf youâve come to tell me my marriage is a fucking dumpsterfire, I agree completely, Natasha. Iâm dumb.â
A little huff of a half-laugh sounded from the doorway. You opened your eyes and saw Sharon standing there.
Up close, she looked a little paler than youâd remembered seeing her last in Switzerland. Soft beads of perspiration dotted her neckline from what had likely been a hot and arduous journey walking up the driveway with all the food, and presently, she seemed tired. She wore a simple gingham blouse that had her eyes shining with vibrance, though, and both hands, you noticed, were fullâshe had a mug in one and a spoon in the other. She smiled kindly.
âThe mob tends to have that effect,â she said, strolling in. Setting the mug on the nightstand and easing the spoon into it, stirring, âDonât be too hard on yourself.â
You had no idea what all she knew about your marriage. You werenât so sure you could extricate yourself from all the blame of having the thing go up in flames in four short weeks. Nevertheless, you smiled back and offered up something good-humored in return, like, well, Iâm not exactly winning wife of the fucking year anytime soon.
Again, Sharon chuckled. It was small. She leaned back against the nearest armchair and, pointing to the cup sheâd left to rest on the nightstand, said in a soft voice,
âGive that a minute. Itâs hot.â
You glanced over and saw a little string that you guessed was attached to a teabag sitting at the bottom of the mug. The drink smelled like chamomile, maybe. You sat up, readjusted your pyjama top, then slid your socked feet underneath you so you could scoot closer to the edge of the bed. On a deeper inhale, you decided the tea was definitely chamomile. And too hot, as Sharon said.
âThank you,â you told her.
âItâs not poisoned, I promise,â she replied. Letting out that funny little chuckle of hersâone too low to be considered a full laugh, but very closeâand then, seeming to realize what she said mightâve sounded off, âLikeâ I heard what happened with SchrĂśder. Him trying to drug you after the wedding and allâŚthat. Iâ Iâm sorry.â
Bad time to be making jokes, she appeared to chastise herself, but you just nodded along with the faintest grin.
âItâs OK. Iâd pay money to be knocked the fuck out now.â
You grinned bigger, and she smiled too.
âIt should make you sleepier, if you wanted to nap.â
You replied that you would, in fact, love to be unconscious right now if it meant not having to put up with all this bullshit morning sickness, and you slowly reached for the mug. Sharon stood up, and while you took your first sips, she fluffed the pillows behind you.
She was right. The tea felt like a hug. You settled under the covers and brought the cup to your lips once more, taking two big draughts before setting the drink aside. Yeah, that shitâll put you right out, no drugs needed. You sank even further under the sheets and watched Sharon hover between the bed and the doorway, looking around as if trying to find something to doâsome way to make herself feel more useful, if you had to guess from the pensive look in her eyes. Finally, she settled closer to the door and gave you one, fairly sanguine look. The warmth of your drink had already begun to nestle inside your weary bones, and your eyelids felt heavier. Still, you tried to return the sunny look before getting fully settled.
âThanks again, Sharon. I appreciate it.â
âYeah, of course.â
She started to leave. In fact, sheâd already made it three-fourths out of the room when something stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to you, and you looked up.
âThisâŚprobably doesnât mean a whole lot coming from me, butâwhatever you decide to do with BuckyâŚis okay. Weâll support you, whether you choose to raise this baby with him or doâŚwhatever it is you want to do. Donât let Nat or Steve or Sam or anybody tell you differently. Itâs your choice, yâknow, whether you wanna stay marriedâŚâ
Sharon trailed off, and somewhere inside, you could tell she meant to finish with words like, ââŚeven if you didnât get to make the choice to get married in the first place.â You appreciated it. You beamed with just your head poking out from over the covers and thanked her again.
And, before she left, for the second time, she stopped. She walked over to the nightstand and bent slightly at the waist, just enough to set something small down. You turned to the side and saw a vialâa minuscule tubeâon the surface. Your eyes widened, realizing what it was.
âSam picked it up in Madripoor. He said Steve had given this to youâŚto, uh, give to SchrĂśder, and I thought you should have it back,â she said, pausing, âJust in case.â
You eyed the little vial of poison on the nightstand and nodded, still not completely understanding. Your head throbbed, your stomach was still turning, churning. Your brain was about ten blinks away from logging off entirely and drifting to sleep. All you could do, then, was repeat what Sharon had said as you exchanged one final look.
âJust in case.â
Your eyes closed, and you fell asleep very soon after.
You couldnât have been out for more than an hour; you were sure of it. However, the next time you glanced over at the clock on the bedside table, you saw it read 11:04.
P.M.
Shit.
SHIT.
That chamomille tea was no fucking joke.
Just as your thoughts drifted back to Sharon, the conversation youâd shared, the drink sheâd given you, the poison sheâd left behind for you to keep, you heard her voice all over againâand now, not just in your own head.
Presently, she was standing over your bed again, though the room was much darker this time around. She pressed a finger to her lips, hey, please, please, be quiet, alright? At first you wanted to make a sharp and strangled sound. A cry for help? You werenât sure. Didnât know. Couldnât see very much of the woman at all, except for the outline of her face from the moonlight streaming in through the window. She stared and âshhâedâ some more.
And you were contemplating yelling out a loud obscenity in response to it when next she cut in, markedly gentler:
âKeep it quick. Nat and the guys will be back in thirty.â
You blinked hard into the darkness and waited for your vision, or else your still-missing voice, to return. It didnât. You just stared back, eyelids going up and down and up and down like a goddamn idiot gone sluggish off one too many Quaaludes, and it was several seconds more before she gestured behind her, into the shadows.
You tensed under the covers, chock-full of terror. You squinted, and shrank, and mightâve nearly pissed yourself were it not for the intervening force of a face.
A familiar face.
Buckyâs face.
You leapt up from the bed, displacing each one of Sharonâs cool and careful warnings from your mind all at once. You didnât mean to, and as soon as sheâd shushed you again, you shut your mouth. Fell still. Sharon slipped out of the room, reminding you both, again, that you had to be quiet, and you had to be quick. Then it was just you and Bucky. Silence and slightly less than five feet of space between you two. Then, shortly, no space to spare at all, as you ran to meet each for a hug a second later.
Your head struck his chest, and it was hard. That, alongside the pythonâs squeeze he wrapped around your body, hugging you to him in the tightest embrace imaginable, had your mind reeling, skull pulsing just a bit. You pulled back and stood smiling up at Bucky, whose eyes were wide, drinking the sight of you in.
âAre you hurt?â were his first words.
You shook your head that you werenât, still unable to talk.
âWhy are youâ Whoâ who brought youâ I didnâtââ
It seemed Bucky was equally hard-pressed to form a sentence himself, while his eyes were roaming wildly, all over you. Looking for bumps or bruises or cuts, whatever the wound might have been. He stumbled to the lamp and flicked it on. You tilted your head left, reflexively.
âIâm fine, Bucky,â you said. Sudden and swift, âIâm good.â
But you didnât move your head too far to the right, either, for fear he might see the cut above your templeâthe one soldat had caused when heâd pushed you to the floor, trying to protect you from a threat he couldnât see.
As it was, your husband seemed to be too much in shock to see anything else apart from what stood immediately in front of him. He hugged you again. He kissed the crown of your head. He constricted your body so tight in his arms you felt a pressure start to build behind your eyes, and suddenly you werenât so much pulling away as you were wrenching your body from him. When you met Buckyâs gaze again, the sweet blue irises were glossy.
âNat wouldnât say where you were, just that you were safe and needed to beâŚbe alone for a while, but Iââ He stopped, and it was as if he couldnât even finish with the words, because his breath was stuck in his throat and his eyes were stinging too much. He looked down, briefly.
You wanted to reach for his hand but hesitated. He took yours a second later, holding extra tight as he continued:
âI thought Iâdâ thought you mightâveâŚleft. I donât know. I hadnât been able to sleep, and then sheâ Sharon, she called me tonight, said you were here, soâ soââ
You felt a pang of guilt holding his gaze, seeing how all the hurt that had come to accumulate behind those eyes over the last week went spilling, at length, into emotions he was either too overcome or sleep-deprived to express. The weight of this suffocated him, made him extra quick to speak his mind but slow to make sense of just about anything that was coming out of his mouth. He stopped, sucked in a breath, then pinched your hand in his, and you didnât know what to do. You had no idea what to say.
âI was scared, Bucky.â
It sounded pathetic coming out of your mouth. Your husband nodded as though youâd just said the most profound thing in the world. His knuckles went white from just how hard he was gripping your hand, his head bobbed along in agreement, and for a moment, you winced to think that he might hug you again. Instead, the fingers tangled between yours just made a tighter knot.
âI know. Iâm sorry. Iâm sorry,â he said.
âYou scared me,â you added, voice wavering.
Your left hand was going numb. You didnât want to give him pauseâpossibly hurt his feelingsâby freeing your touch from his, but that grip was brutal. Deathly rigid and unforgiving. Thoughts of Brooklyn and Madripoor came flooding back; Bucky was so much stronger than he realized. His tone, in contrast, was dulcet and soft.
âI didnât know Iâd get like that. I shouldâve told you, doll.â
âI shouldnât have tried the activation in the first place.â
You shouldnât have tried digging into Buckyâs past all. When all there seemed to be at every turn was a brand new way for him to hurt you, or the people you loved, maybe there came a time when you had to stop asking questions altogether. Maybe that was what his mother and all the women whoâd gone before her had known to do, what you had been too stupid to see all along. There was no knowing these men at all, only taking them as they were and learning to cope with what they became.
Bucky shook his head.
âNo, doll, itâs not on you,â he murmured low. Still forceful
Thankfully, he released your hand to cup your cheeks, and he kissed your forehead. You felt your pulse in your palm, throbbing from where heâd held it. When he let go the second time, his expression was considerably softer.
âListen, Iâll take you home, we can talk things over. As long as I know youâre safe, it doesnât have toâ toââ
Hey. He was already halfway toward the door before he realized you werenât following him. He turned and gestured forward. He beckoned you, brows drawing in.
âBaby? Câmon.â
You didnât budge.
Your feet were rooted in place, as though cemented to the floor. No matter how much you wanted to appease him, go along with whatever he asked, you couldnât. You shook your head, and Bucky tilted his own, confused.
âBaby?â
âIâm leaving, Bucky.â
You couldnât hear your own words slipping out between your teeth, only the blood rushing through your ears. Bucky stopped and turned to face you completely.
âWhat?â
âIâm leaving.â
âWhatâ what do you mean, âyouâre leavingâ?â
âI want a divorce.â
That part you did hear yourself. You wished you hadnât.
You wished you hadnât seen the light break off from Buckyâs eyes, expression going limp the instant your words registered with him. You nearly wished you hadnât said them at all, seeing just how far his face fell and how hurt he looked by themâbut quietly, from somewhere more rational-headed inside yourself, there was a voice reminding the rest of you that it needed to be done. You couldnât keep pretending like this wasnât what had had to come next. What youâd been skirting with Nat all day and hadnât been able to bring yourself to admit before now.
Your husband still didnât seem to be computing it fully. He walked closer to you, and his gait was unsteady.
âDivorce?â
Your vision was bleary; you hadnât even realized tears had begun to brim at your waterline as you watched him.
âItâs what we need, Bucky,â you could barely get it out.
âI donât,â he shot back, not missing a beat, âI donât.â
âItâs what I need.â
âYou donât mean that.â
His voice was hoarse, face shifting from lax incredulity to one of a winceâscrewed up in a way that said he felt ill. You shook your head but couldnât look away from him.
âYou donât mean that,â he repeated.
âItâs what I want,â you pressed on, just as sick yourself.
âYou said what you wanted was me.â Again, Buckyâs voice splintered, and you could feel the pain in it.
âYou said you wouldnât hurt me, Bucky.â
Gritting your teeth, unsure where else to fix your stare on his face but those eyesâwhile your own betrayed their feelings too easily, fraught with wet, rolling tearsâyou shouldnât have been surprised when his went wider.
âWhat are you talking about?â
The question was short, sharp, and biting, spoken with such haste as might be mistaken for anger, but the eyes softened his look at once. The anguish painting them now as he stared back at you were a proof, beyond a doubt, that it was betrayal, not rage, which steered him. He turned, and it was as if he couldnât see a thing but you; his elbow clipped the lamp and knocked it over, but still, he just stared. In turn, the ceramic appliance rolled onto its side, toppled the mug and the vial beside it, and all three went crashing to the floor. Bucky didnât blink.
âWhââ he started again, but you didnât hear the rest.
You remembered Sharon. Heard a flash of her last admonition in your headâbe quiet, be quickâand without thinking, you fell to your knees. You tried retrieving what pieces of chipped lamp and shattered mug you could, quickly. You spotted the small vial on the floor and shoved it in a pocket. Your hands swept over the broken pieces without any real idea of what you were doingâall except needing to clean Buckyâs messâand then swiftly, stupidly, you tried picking it up by yourself.
Of course, a shard cut you. The little slit that was left in its wake could have been no wider than a fraction of an inch, but still, it bled. You looked down at the cut, just then starting to sprout red from left to right along the side of your palm, when a new sight crossed your vision. It was fast, too. All but thoughtless in the way it broke in, gripping your hand in his, and yanking you to your feet. Bucky hadnât seen that youâd cut yourself, it seemed, and, out of instinct, had grabbed your hand to help you up. As before, his grasp was like a vice, and his thumb pressed right inside the lacerated flesh, sending a whole new maelstrom of pain shooting up your wrist and arm. Now, as then, he was heedless of his strength and his sheer, brute force, that he didnât even see the effect of his grip. He just held on, held you, tighter, tighter, andâ
âSTOP!â you shrieked.
You shoved him off. Pried his touch off your palm and gripped your forearm in your other hand and pored over the sight, seeing the gash almost doubled in size from just where Buckyâs finger had sunk into the fresh wound. You let out a sharp, muffled cry through lips that tried to stay closedâremembering Sharon again. You shook your head, clenched your jaw, and tore off the other direction.
And when your husband reached out, eyes wide with their own shock and apologies, âBaby, fuck, Iâm so sorrââ you threw him off again. With your non-bleeding palm, you thrust your hand against his chest and pushed hard:
âDonât touch me!â
When he reached for you again, as if by force of habit, you held up a defensive arm and sobbed out, âStop!â
âDonât touch me, donâtâdonâtâdonât fucking touch me.â
You screamed it. You didnât mean to. Thinking only vaguely of the need to be quiet, and almost entirely on the stabbing pain in your hand, the imprint of Buckyâs touch on your body, and the blood trickling down your forearm, you darted into the bathroom and threw the door closed behind you. You locked it. You meant to.
Twenty minutes might as well have been twenty years in Bucky Barnesâ mind. In a moment like this, following yet another supreme fuck up on his part, he felt powerless. He had had to fight the instinct to barge into the next room over with every fiber of his being, and, making fists by his sides and pacing the floor and hating himself was all that seemed capable of occupying his mind just then.
Heâd knocked on the bathroom door at least ten times. Heâd been ignored each time, no matter the duration.
He still had your blood on his thumb, and it made him ill.
You said you wouldnât hurt me, Bucky.
While he uncurled his hand from a fist just long enough to stare at the streaks of red stretched over his finger, he heard those words replay over and over again in his head. Heâd said itâswore itâhimself, and still your blood was turning a cool, dark, dry shade of crimson on his thumb.
This wasnât how heâd meant for any of this to go. Still, notwithstanding his best intentions, none of it mattered. Heâd seen a sincere look of fear in your eyes looking up at him, and nothing in the world would change what heâd done, or who he was. Heâd caused you pain tonight, last weekâthough his memory of that was still so hazy and dark he hardly knew what else had happened, even nowâand above all, heâd failed you as a husband, a protector.
You were likely curled up in a ball by the bathroom sink, cowering in fear because of him. The thought sent another tidal wave of nausea thrumming through his skull, a lump in his throat growing larger alongside it, and before he knew what he was doing, Bucky was striding back to the bathroom door. He banged his fist against it.
âHoney?â
No answer.
âBaby, please open the door.â
More silence.
The moment brought to mind a memory from the night you two had been married. How youâd fled to the en-suite bathroom and locked yourself in it; how Bucky had rattled the whole doorframe with the force of his knocks, demanding you come out. Heâd hardly known you then. You hardly knew him now. The realization of this made the weight in his throat all the more excruciating as he stood, and, wincing with pain, Bucky kept knocking.
âIâm sorry, honey, Iâm so sorry.â
Pleading now. His voice was hoarse all over again.
Had he been the slightest bit more desperate and reckless, he mightâve been tempted to muscle through, kick the door in with his boot. But Bucky knew better. He could already guess how much that action would terrify you now, while tending to an injury that he himself had inadvertently made worse. Barreling inside would be neither romantic nor sweet, just sinking what may then be a lethal dose of salt in the deeper, metaphorical wound. He refrained. Instead of continuing to knock, he dropped his forehead to the door and closed his eyes.
âPlease believe me, baby,â he tried again.
Heâd said it so quietly he feared you might not hear it. Then, a little bit louder, âPlease, please believe me.â
No sound to be heard inside but running water.
âYou mean everything to me, doll.â
By now, his voice was clogged with pain, teetering on the brink of agony as he rested his hands on the door, and willed you to open it. Say something to him. Anything.
âIâd never mean to hurt you. Not in a million years.â
For a moment, he heard nothing more. Just how desperately he needed to hear a voice in reply could not be overstated. Craving a new sound worse than oxygen in his lungs. At first, when he heard something other than himself nearby, it nearly knocked him back with joy.
A voice right next to his ear, âBut you did, didnât you?â
The joy lasted less than a second.
The voice beside him was low. And close. Not coming from the other side of the bathroom door, as he mightâve reasonably expected from you, and not even in the tone of a femaleâs voice, as he mightâve seen, were Sharon to have appeared by his side. This new voice was deep, and masculine, and in his ear now, chuckling some as a gloved hand pressed the barrel of a gun to his temple.
Bucky didnât blink.
You stepped outside not wanting to see him.
The bleeding had long since stopped, thanks to the aid of a cool, damp washcloth and a few minutesâ pressure, but even once it ceased, your legs were reluctant to carry you back. You dreaded the thought of having to resume your conversation with Buckyâof having to look him in the eye and tell him all over again that it wasnât safe for you to be married to him. But you didnât have much of a choice now, either. This wasnât your honeymoon, where you could stay locked in the bathroom, try climbing out a window, and hope for the best like youâd done before. You had the manâs child inside you, for fuckâs sake.
That uncomfortable subject and at least a dozen more were already swarming your brain as you made your way out of the bathroom. Youâd taken a few extra squares of toilet paper to press into the cut, were looking down at it with a tense, uncertain gaze as you ventured out, when you were obliged to stop just a few steps into the room.
âHi, honey.â
It wasnât Bucky.
Your eyes snapped up to the source of the voice in an instant, and, on seeing you were rightâthat it wasnât Bucky but a gaunt, grinning blond with a gun to your husbandâs headâyou almost screamed at the sight.
Youâd wanted to scream, anyway. It wouldâve been the sane thing to do, and one that nobody couldâve blamed you for in the moment, you reckoned, but strangely the sound never came. You just stared at the two, eyes wide and jaw slightly more lax as your lips made an âoâ. Bile jumped up in your throat. You wished it would choke you.
âPlease. Donât.â was all you could get out.
Johann SchrĂśderâs smile stretched wider.
âDonât what?â
The question was clearly meant to be derisive, rhetorical. Still, with your fingers trembling, you tried answering:
âDonât hurt hââ
âWhy?â
You watched the gun sink deeper against your husbandâs face, and he flinched. Your stomach clenched inside you.
âWhy shouldnât I hurt him, hon? Seems like heâs gotten pretty damn good at doing it to you,â SchrĂśder sneered.
His words stung. The grin didnât flinch. And, as if to punctuate his sentence, or else remind your husband that he was tied to a chair and entirely at his mercy now, SchrĂśder struck Bucky in the face with the butt of his gun. If an onlooker hadnât known better, they mightâve mistaken you for the one whoâd been hit, thoughâat last, you unleashed that scream, and you reached out for Bucky, hands open and pathetic and desperate to help.
âThink it hurt as bad as your hand?â SchrĂśder hummed.
Your feet were stumbling forward, âHe didnât meanââ
Another resounding thud against Buckyâs skull, this time hard enough to split his lip in half. If heâd grimaced in the slightest, you wouldâve seen the teeth smeared with blood. But, true to form, James Barnes didnât wince. He hadnât even seemed to acknowledge the blow as it landed. Just stared at you and, with eyes as hollow and deadened and faintly pleading as youâd ever seen them before, manifested their silent apology to yoursâagain.
âBet he didnât mean to hurt anyone as the Winter Soldier, either. Still couldnât have felt too good for all the folks he butchered, though.â At that, SchrĂśderâs sick amusement morphed into a laugh, and he was taking Buckyâs collar in his other hand. Shaking him lightly while he spoke.
âCouldnât have felt all that great for your dad, I bet.â
The diversion turned to you, all toothy smiles and mocking eyes. He didnât care. He let you stagger another step toward the two of them, even try to get your hands close to Bucky. But when youâd drawn too close, he stopped you cold. Not thinking much else in the moment, you made a move to push SchrĂśderâs arm away, hard, and were shortly rewarded with a shove of your own. He knocked you sideways onto the bed, and you landed on the hand youâd hurt. Before you could let out so much as a sound yourself, Buckyâs voice tore in:
âSchrĂśder.â
SchrĂśder turned. He raised his Ruger to your husbandâs head again, as casually as if heâd asked him for the time.
âYes?â
âDonât touch her.â
SchrĂśder turned to you. Though he didnât move the Ruger again, he did point his finger at your form, haplessly curled into itself amidst the covers and pillows.
âWhy? Saving all the rough stuff for later, are we?â
You cowered as his free hand reached for you, and just as your husbandâs eyes went wide and a vein nearly tore through his skin from how hard it protruded, you cried,
âWhat do you want?!â
SchrĂśder stopped. He brought his hand to a halt just south of your thighâand then he dropped his weight on the bed beside you. He gestured indistinctly, almost disbelievingly, toward Bucky. The latter appeared near-apoplectic, nails raking down either arm of the chair.
âWhat do I want?â SchrĂśder quipped, incredulous, âWhat do you want, doll? To stay married to him?â
And you knew heâd intended the question to be hurtful; you knew it by the glint in his eye, the goading tone of voice and the look heâd flitted to Buckyânondescript and yet saying a world more than words could ever convey. He knew what had gone on between you, had likely heard your last conversation in its entirety, and was now using it against you. Mostly to taunt, then to injure your husband with truths he hadnât yet uncovered himself.
SchrĂśderâs eyes were shining with sadistic delight as he took your hand in his. He didnât waste another second.
âNo, no, that isnât what you want at all, is it?â
Ignoring the screech of Buckyâs restraints as he tried to lunge out of his chair. Hearing him curse when he failed.
ââyou said youâre leaving him, right?â
SchrĂśder slid the thin, glistening ring off the hand heâd been holding before you could even think to stop him.
ââsaid you want a divorce, is that it?â
Then his grin got so big and conceited and enlivened by the sight of pain working its way onto Buckyâs face that any good sense youâd had left inside you was abandoned in a blink. You didnât hesitate, or else try and make a pass to retrieve your ringâyou just hit the man in the face.
Your fist was small, and his chin was hard. You knew before you ever threw the punch that itâd probably hurt you more than him, but you did it anyway. It succeeded, at the very least, in catching SchrĂśder by surprise and swiftly pissing him off. Seeing this and feeling a bit bolder, you were somehow able to dodge his hands when he lurched for you again. Inside, your own anger flared.
âWhy the fuck do you care?â you spat.
You found momentary respite in the corner of the bed, sliding back against a wall that would only protect you for so long. As soon as SchrĂśder regained his bearings, he had you back in his sights and his grasp just as quick.
He dragged you back. He pulled you up. He dug the tips of his fingers so hard into your side that you thought the flesh might tear in two across your ribs. But it didnât. Crescent-like indentations did leave their mark in a grisly set of five, though. You felt the sting of it as SchrĂśder loosened his grip, then sucked his next breath through his teeth as if calming himself. Your gaze only hardened.
âI care,â he said, once heâd completed this slow inhale. He replaced his touch by pinching your face in one hand and bringing it up to his, expression more like a snarl. Then, raising the gun to your face in his other hand, âbecause I made a deal with your father. Remember?â
You did. Your head jerked back by force of instinct, but he held it. From every direction, then, you had nothing to hear but the sound of your own pulse thrumming a fast, panicked tempo in your skull. You tasted blood in your mouth without a drop on your tongue. And, had that deafening fear and revulsion been anything less, you likely wouldâve heard something else beneath it all.
Wouldâve felt it, if you werenât already so numb: SchrĂśderâs hand sliding its way down your body, diamond ring still stuck to the tip of his index finger. You sensed it as though seeing yourself from another perspectiveâwatching his hand trail lower, lower, lower until something in Bucky split in two and he bellowed:
âSCHRĂDERââ
He said something more after that; you were sure of it. You just couldnât hear him, or see him, or discern much of anything else but your own racing heart as the man whoâd just beat your husband twice and lifted a gun to your head proceeded to press his touch to your belly. Almost conscientious and gentle as he lowered it.
âWas this part of the deal, too, doll?â
Your eyes widened. Realizingâthen feeling fear seize you completely. Forgetting the metal at your temple and shaking your head with a force, but slow enough that your husband wouldnât see it. Meanwhile, across from you both, Bucky seemed more than sufficiently occupied by his own blinding rageâhe spit a glob of blood to the floor and, with his teeth bared again, swore heâd kill him.
Over and over and over again, oaths of taking SchrĂśderâs life and making it gruesome and painful and slow filled your ears, but none of it stuck, for either you or SchrĂśder. Instead, your maniacal captor just smiled, leaning in.
âI said, was this part of the deal, Mrs. Barnes?â
The heel of his palm sank into your stomach, and as the shock of his first words began to fade, a pain replaced it. His hand made an impressive demonstration of flattening and forcing itself so hard against the skin that a flurry of stars cropped up in your eyes, and you cried:
âStop! I-It wasnâtâ justâ just stop. Stop.â
âStop? Was it part of the deal or not?â
SchrĂśder bore down even harder.
âIt just happened!â you keened. Unsure why you felt compelled to answer for what had gone on at allâaddressing the baby in this awful, oblique wayâthough reckoning it had something to do with the pressure he was applying to your stomach. You tried to squirm back.
But your stuttering pulse and your pleading gaze and the ache in your stomach proved to be all too much for any real progress to be made. Youâd scarcely moved off an inch before he drove his palm deeper, and with the agony of a body about to rupture beneath it, a shriek clawed out of your throat. Your mouth fell open, and for once, you couldnât curtail the pain, or fear. SchrĂśderâs hand had just forced the noise from your mouth, along with some mindless, broken pleas to stop pushing, it hurts, please, please, when the face above yours only brightened. SchrĂśderâs cruel, snide mouth flashed a smile above you, and before you could whine againâ
He kissed you.
It couldnât have lasted for more than a second.
Still, the moment seemed to stretch indefinitely. And felt perverse. So deeply nauseating and unsettling to every last nerve, muscle, tendon, and bone in your body that the response it evoked could be nothing less than visceral. You didnât need to think at all to shove him off. Whatever mightâve given you pause with a loaded gun to your head was forgotten in a second, and soon enough, you werenât alone in letting your reproach be known.
It started off with a crack, then a harsh, crude splintering of wood. A violent rift, from what you could hear of it, and when you turned your head, your suspicions were confirmed: Bucky had snapped half the arm of his chair away from the seat, and his right hand was almost freed.
Whatever barrier he faced in being bound more than four times over with rope seemed immaterial to him now. He could strain as hard as he pleasedâfeel the coarse synthetic fibers dig into his flesh and leave streaks of red, if not break the skin itselfâand any pain, as before, hardly appeared to register with your husband at all. He just muscled through it, thrusting his wrist even harder. The whole force of this movement rocked the chair on its legs, and just when you sensed it might collapse beneath his weight, you felt SchrĂśder stand up. The man didnât need to move too far or do much else other than drop his hold on you and flip his gun to point it at Bucky instead.
Even when he had, though, Bucky didnât flinch. His hands were in fists and his drive was like a machineâsâhe tried forcing his way out of the right handâs restraints, and the second the wood gave way, he was shoving it off.
Blind to the firearm SchrĂśder was holding, or his words:
âStay where you are, Barnes.â
Bucky was just then shaking off the rope that had been loosened by the break in the wood, jaw still tight as ever.
âYouâve got three other limbs to free, my friend, justââ
SchrĂśder was still speaking when you saw his finger slip to the trigger, and it seemed to you it was itching to pull.
âJames, stop!â
That plea came from you. More of a strangled cry, reallyâno more pleasant for either man to hear than it was for your throat to shriek. It did, however, stop Bucky cold. Your husband paused just long enough to meet your gaze. And in it, you saw, at least, that he was all there, if not enraged. But not soldat, or anyone else but himself.
You sighed in relief, despite what seeing two red rivers seeping out of Buckyâs mouth might otherwise provoke.
It was him. You mightâve smiled if another hadnât cut in.
SchrĂśder seized Buckyâs wrist. With it, you saw his hand just as mangled and bloodied as his lips. Knuckles cracked, slit, and soon to be littered with bruises of every shade, he shocked you again by how calmly he took it. Even when SchrĂśder sank a thumb inside a big, gaping crater of a flesh wound heâd found on the back of his hand, your husband didnât blink; he just looked at you.
âIâm sorry.â
When the barrel of the gun returned to his headâthis time, at the rear, as SchrĂśder had circled back around the half-broken chair and was leaning over himâyou could see the apology lodged in his eyes on full display.
âFor safekeeping.â The man wielding the gun seemed almost pleased as he dropped your ring inside the breast pocket of your husbandâs shirt, before patting it gently:
âNow where were we?â
A beat. Buckyâs right hand twitched beside him, but evidently, he knew better than to move in that moment.
âRight, rightââ SchrĂśder pretended to be remembering, tapping steel to Buckyâs skull, âSheâs leaving, isnât she?â
More silence.
You wanted to speak, beg SchrĂśder for mercy, anything.
âDo you know why that is, Bucky?â
But before you could utter even a word of protest, the voice pressed on. SchrĂśder was leaning in his ear.
ââwhat you did to her?â
The baby. Brooklyn. All the bloodshed that had ensued last week, leaving your husband completely in the dark. Of course, he couldnât remember. He hadnât been himself, and was scarcely more able to control his actions as the Winter Soldier than he could in a dream.
To your horror, SchrĂśder reached down for Buckyâs hand, and, still holding the gun to him with the other, lifted it.
Pointed it.
Pushed it closer to you.
âCâmon, Buck. You donât want me touching her, right? Why donât you feel for yourself what sheâs been hiding?â
Your blood turned to ice. Youâd never felt so immobileâparalyzedâin your life, but seeing the hands drift closer and closer and feeling defenseless to their course, your body went numb. Your limbs grew heavier than lead.
And when you felt the smug, smiling blond guide your husbandâs touch toward your head, you understood it all.
You were perched at the edge of the bed a foot away. SchrĂśder was nudging Bucky forward in his chair, urging him to reach out and tilt her chin a little, go on, thatâs it. And neither one of you had a choice, so he touched you. His fingers, directed by someone else, were obliged to brush the skin of your chin, your jaw, your cheek, and your brow, before finally settling above your left temple.
Your husband felt the cutâtouched the stitches.
You winced, but not from any physical pain. It was Buckyâs face as the tips of his fingers skimmed the wound. The look of chagrin that crossed his eyes. Then bewilderment. Fear, as plain as anyone could see itâ was he the cause of that? Had the hurt been from him?
You couldnât bear to answer him, so you looked away. It was SchrĂśder, again, who had all the power to speak.
âCanât remember pushing her down?â he said, tone dark, âMaking her split her head open on the bedside table because soldat didnât know his own strengthâonly that he had to keep her safeâand sensed a threat outside?â
Bucky shook his head. His face was grave.
SchrĂśder kept making him prod the skin.
âItâs bruised here, too. You feel it?â
Your husband did, and you thought it might break him. So tender and forlorn were the eyes, raking over every spot where a touch, his touch, had left you hurt before.
If nothing else could bring you back to your senses, the wounded look in Buckyâs gaze was sure to get it done.
You hardly thought again, just croaked: âItâs not his fault.â
SchrĂśderâs hand then descended your neck, your torso.
As if he hadnât heard you at allâ
âYou already saw what happened to her hand.â
âand forcing Buckyâs touch lower still.
âBut what about here?â
Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt your husbandâs hand come to rest on your stomach.
It was like a fire had ignited in your lower half, and nothing close to the soft, pleasurable kind. Not the flutter felt in anticipation of a touch from your husband, not the desirous sort. In fact, you dreaded it now; seeing SchrĂśder over his shoulder, urging him closer, making him flatten his big, broad, scorching palm over your belly.
What shouldâve been the ecstatic scene youâd conjured in your mind at least a hundred times since marrying himâthe picture of domestic bliss as you said it, smiling, Iâm pregnantâwas now nothing short of torture. Choice all but stripped from you here, forced to emerge inside this terrible place, you found yourself needing to shrink back, shake your head, look to SchrĂśderâs stubborn, unyielding gaze and beg him not to make you do this now. Not now.
Not here, with Buckyâs skin a shade of glacial white and his eyes going wide, taking on a look youâd never seen.
âWhat do youââ
He stared hard at the hand on your belly, but it didnât last for long. As if realization were trying to seep in, he couldnât meet it. His eyes flitted back to your face.
âBaby, whatâsââ he tried again, stammering.
ââright, thatâs it, Mr. Barnes.â That was SchrĂśder.
Satisfied in the suspense of the moment keeping your husband still, he lifted his hand from Buckyâs and snapped, thatâs it, and clapped him over the shoulder.
Congratulating him before the truth had even sunk in.
âA baby, thatâs right! Youâre going to be a father, Buck.â
And how far was the look on Buckyâs face from the one youâd dreamed before. The lips youâd envisioned in a smile now twisting bleakly, parting slightly, and the eyes youâd once hoped to be bright and elated only staring back with rings of red enveloping the irises. Whatever tears formed at his waterline were decidedly not of joy.
Only guilt.
âYou did it.â
Desperation.
More moisture in his eyes as his hand started to tremble across your stomach, voice hoarse and soft, âIs it true?â
You didnât need to nod. You just watched him, let your own eyes fill with the worst, stinging tears you had felt in your life, and from the silence that followed, Bucky knew.
As if the life beneath his palm were something dear, but still too much for him to comprehend, he shook his head. He stroked his thumb over the cotton of your pyjamas and tried inching closer, as much as his restraints would allow him. Then, with words that were audibly strained, but always gentle, he lowered his voiceâas if to keep the communication between you two, despite your position:
âI love you.â
His hand was still on your belly as he said it. He reached up to cup your face. Even lower than before, âIâm sorry.â
Iâm sorry.
That much was evident from every look heâd given you tonight. Every move he made a de facto apology, all actions in the vein of atonement, it couldnât possibly escape your mind or his that he knew heâd done wrong. It was only a matter of accepting thisâmaybe coming to terms with the fact that your life wasnât safe in his handsâfor the guilt plaguing Bucky to multiply. Paralyze him.
There was no better time for SchrĂśder to strike. Just as the anguish had flooded Buckyâs face completely, and his hand had had to lower itself from want of strength, a sound split the air. Bucky was so lost in his thoughts that it didnât even register at first, but the impact was real, and it was harsh: SchrĂśder punched him squarely in the jaw. The next, swift snap was his nasal bone taking a blow, and breaking beneath it. Blood breezed down and into his mouth. Feeling warm, his lips and chin doused in a second, he sensed nothing else. He mightâve groaned.
He caught another swift right hook, and his mind went blank. Nothing of substance threatened to materialize between his ears, save for the rush of blood through and from his skull and the dim recognition of something ugly.
Something horrific.
He couldnât protect you.
His body was as much an idle waste as it was a danger. Useless now, as he was tied to this chair, and a risk to your well-being even if he werenât. The hazard was him.
SchrĂśder hit him again, and Bucky realized that the ringing heâd heard in his ears was your screaming.
âIâm doing her a favor,â SchrĂśder spat before shoving him back in the chair, almost knocking it sideways.
The blond advanced with ease. His knuckles were drenched in blood; none of it was his. When he reached for Bucky again, the resistance was slight, and a simple, firm grip on the collar was all that was needed to drag his frame to sit straight. Bucky was barely upright for a second before the nextâand worstâblow struck his face. His whole head rang with it, reeling, but still, he could make out the words as they were spoken to him.
âSheâll never be safe with you, Barnes. Neverââ and at the last, SchrĂśder lowered his gun. Started to loosen the rope from Buckyâs left arm, ââI could free you now, and you still wouldnât get within an inch of what you want.â
He nudged the rope away and let it fall to the floor. Bucky lifted his hand, but the effort was in vain. No sooner had a finger of his stirred than SchrĂśder was delivering a kick to the chair and letting it splinter. Topple. Skitter a half-foot across the hardwood floor with Buckyâs ankles still bound to it, before finally, gracelessly, breaking apart.
Bucky was on the floor, blinking through a stream of blood and a sea of muddied thoughts when SchrĂśder kicked the chair again. The rope slackened some more.
âHer own father knew as much, so he made me a deal to take her off of your hands. Settle his debts the way he shouldâve done the first time around,â SchrĂśder said, and now his tone was lower. Lethal as it ever was, and stern.
âI know how much you hate to lose your playthings, Buck, but this oneâs better off with me, I promise.â
And, as if to emphasize his point, SchrĂśder turned and reached for you. Buckyâs own hands were slow, fumbling in fits and bursts to get the rope unwound from his ankles, but they were determined. He just couldnât get the bleeding to stop, the ringing to subside, or his brain, in its concussed state, to let him move with a little more agility. Heâd been hit too many times. He could barely lift his head off his shoulders and hold it straight, so he was forced to stay where he was, keep at his task, and listen.
âYouâre weak when youâre not soldat.â
Using his knuckles, SchrĂśder brushed the blood that was evidently all Buckyâs across your cheek, and you flinched.
âWhen you make the switch, stillâŚyouâre inhuman.â
Then he tilted your head, making you show them both the mutilated, stitched-up flesh above your temple. Again, you tried to slink away, but his touch was firm.
âDonât you think your bride deserves better than that? Your child? Forced to live in fear of that thing you are?â
Blood coursed down Buckyâs face, and his lips were curled apart in a grimace, mouth hanging slightly ajar. His eyes fixed their look on you. The rope was undone.
Heâd just started to try and stand when the edge of his vision blurred. He felt the lacerations in his face pulse as one, and with it, half his sight went skewed to the left. SchrĂśder couldnât help but crack a smile seeing him stumble, pitch back, and barely catch himself on the bedside table. When he stood, he was mostly hunched.
âLook at you, Buck. You canât try and save her like this,â SchrĂśder taunted, drawing you closer, âSo stop trying.â
The manâs hand was like ice holding your face. The grip grew tighter when he saw your husband limping your way, and before either one of you could move, the index of SchrĂśderâs other hand had slid down to the trigger. He didnât wait to give another warning before he did itâjust pointed the gun and fired one shot over Buckyâs head.
His aim was good. The bullet missed your husband by less than an inch. The gun had gone off by your ear, and immediately, you seized the side of your head as a sharp, searing pain cropped up. Your skull was still ringing when you heard the thing discharge again, and you realized it had been aimed at Buckyâs neck. Heâd ventured another step, and SchrĂśder had fired a second round to graze the top of his shoulder. Crimson bloomed through his shirt.
Bucky shouldâve stumbled again. He mightâve staggered back with a grunt of pain, lifted a quick, reflexive hand to feel the wound, but the sense of it all was slow to reach him. The moments that passed him were delayed just the same, as if the world around him were distortedâthe fibers of time tugged and stretched before his eyesâand he could hardly keep himself straight. When he got another look down the barrel of the gun, he didnât blink. Couldnât see, really. It was all misshapen sights and sounds and a dim recognition that his mind was in a fog.
Somewhere from within that mist, he heard, faintly:
âIâll goâ Iâll goâ Iâll go with you, Iâll goâ just stop.â
SchrĂśder turned to you, and the smile that he wore was cruel, but Bucky wasnât able to make out the expression.
All he could see then, to the faintest extent, was youâyour face, gripped hard in another manâs hand, eyes pleading and wet with tears, and a slightly slack jaw.
âLeave him for me?â SchrĂśder repeated, sneering.
You nodded. Blinked. Rolled your tongue along the inside of your cheek before pulling it back and biting down once. There was a hint of a wince in your eyes, but, from what Bucky could tell, it vanished just as fast as it came.
Your lips parted again. Your eyes widened a little.
âSo the girl has some fucking sense.â That was SchrĂśder.
Heâd had his weapon re-holstered and your face firmly seized in both of his hands in no more than a second.
What came next surprised no one, though the sensations of disgust and rage were as quick to turn a stomach as the shock would have done. SchrĂśder bent down and, having pulled your face closer to his, kissed you again.
SchrĂśderâs mouth was glistening with a grin and Buckyâs own bloodâsmeared all over your face from how hard heâd been holding youâwhen he looked up and turned.
âSensible and sweet, isnât she? Tastes like it, too.â
Bucky saw nothing but red. It wasnât just blood crowding his vision now but violence and rancor and outright hatred, stirring his limbs to start moving again when the rest of his body was plainly too battered to venture an inch in that condition. He staggered again, watched you again, and had made it almost halfway across the room when another sight slowed him, if only for a moment.
SchrĂśderâs lips were back on yours, as if to mock him, but what startled him, really, was the way youâd opened your mouth. You couldnât mean it. Clearly. SchrĂśder was gripping your jaw, forcing it openâit had to beâand he was coaxing your tongue out from inside and weaving it with his. Once more, time moved like molasses, and that was all your husband had had to see: you kissing him back, gripping his arm through the thick, black tactical gear, and still parting your lips more and more for him. Like you needed a touch, or something, worse than ever.
That stalled Bucky, though he was nowhere close to stopping now. Briefly preoccupied, and seemingly shocked as well that youâd accepted the kiss so eagerly this time, SchrĂśder didnât see the approach. If he had, he likely wouldâve turned and made a move for his Ruger, but as it was, he had only to blinkâand there was Bucky.
He hit him with a force that was blinding, directly to the side of his head so hard that heâd had no choice but to separate from you. SchrĂśder was stunned one second and on the floor in the next. Bucky threw him there, kicked him down, and, wavering for only a moment to cock back the shoulder thatâd been shot, he ignored the pain and punched the man again. And again. And again.
There was a callousness, an indolence, and an ease with which he was able to inflict the pain, that much was evident. What didnât seem so natural, at least in Buckyâs mind, was the weight that was in his hands: SchrĂśderâs body felt limp before heâd even landed the second blow.
The pressure grew heavier and heavier in his hands the harder, and more frequently, he delivered each hit, but for now, he didnât care. Bucky kept on punching until the face beneath him was gnarled and bloody, and his own fist, too, slashed every which way with more cuts than he was able to count. He wouldâve kept goingâcouldâve ignored the stabbing pain in his shoulder for as long as it would take to ensure the man was deadâbut as it was, he refused to ignore the voice he heard. It was yours.
Muffled now, as your body was bent to the side and your head drooped lower still. Your voice was soft but clear:
âBucky, please, stop.â
He did.
He dropped the manâs collar from his hands as soon as heâd heard you say it, and he turned away as if nothing had transpired behind him at all. His focus was on you.
âBabyââ
To his surprise, he watched you spit on the floor.
Your face was grim and almost sick, and you spit again.
The look grew even worse, and afterward, you didnât waste a second more; you stood and left the room.
Bucky was stunned at first, and his instinct had been to follow. Then he heard a rattling sound beside him. He glanced down and paled, seeing SchrĂśder there.
His face had turned blue much sooner than Bucky had expectedâand not from any bruising but a lack of oxygen in his lungs. He was choking, foaming slightly at the mouth while he gasped for air. Surely, it hadnât been the hits that caused it. The whites of SchrĂśderâs eyes were as conspicuous as heâd ever seen them. Desperate.
Bucky swiftly got the sense that the life of his former captor was lost, and frankly, he didnât care enough to watch him die. He left what remained of SchrĂśderâs form to continue writhing on the floor, choking and sputtering for a breath that would never come, and went after you.
Downstairs, he found you hunched over the kitchen sinkâspitting, retching, and trembling, too, but breathing.
You let the water from the faucet fill your mouth, and you rinsed again. You winced as something stuck your cheek.
Bucky drew closer, quickly, and when he was right by your side, he saw you spit a shard of glass into the sink. He looked over to the counter, and he spotted three more
They were minuscule, really. Nothing quite the size to leave a wound too deep, but sharp enough to cut your lips, your tongue, or the insides of your cheeks. When Bucky leaned in, he saw droplets of red joining the flow of the water beneath it. You coughed over and over again
âDonât,â you croaked, seeing Bucky reach for the glass.
Before he could reply: âItâs the poison. From Madripoor.â
Your husbandâs blood went cold in his veins. He didnât touch the glass, but he did press closer to you, feeling his insides churn as the cogs started to turn in his head.
The vial of poison youâd been given to slip in SchrĂśderâs drink at the Foxy Denâhow the hell had you gotten it back? Why would you think you needed it, if heâ but no, that couldnât be the case. There wasnât a shot you justâ
ââput it in your mouth?â Bucky couldnât curb the fear in his voice. He reached for you and spun you to face him.
âDid it kill him?â
Your eyes were wide for entirely different reasons. Bucky couldnât believe what he was seeing; his mouth was dry.
âI didnât want to kiss him,â you went on, voice shaking a little, âI didnâtâ I justâ I couldnât get him the poison any other way. I knew heâd kiss me again, and when he didââ
âI know,â Bucky said. He smoothed the hair from your face, shaking his head. Feeling his stomach clench with fear and dread as he hurried to get a look in your mouth.
Youâd snuck the vial inside your cheek, then crushed it between your teeth before SchrĂśder had kissed you. Youâd all but forced him to swallow the poison, shoving your tongue down his throat, but what of the stuff that remained? The rough, trembling fingers of Buckyâs hand were trying to pry your lips apart as gently as they could, ensure all the serum was out, but at present, you wouldnât let him. You pushed back gently, though not too far to prevent your own touch from roaming his shoulder.
âThe bulletââ you started.
âBarely nicked me,â Bucky cut in, âBaby, I need to seeââ
That youâre safe. That you wonât be hurt in any way. He couldnât finish the thought himself, having seen what the poison did to SchrĂśder. Instead, he just held you closer and fought the lump that was starting to form in his throat. Adrenaline had worked well enough to clear his mind of the haze, but the rest of him was all high-strung.
Your clothes clung to you both, wet with blood and sweat. Your breaths were fast. Your expressions were feral, eyes no calmer as they scanned over the otherâs form and soaked in every trace of what had happened. Bucky in his formalwear and you in something close to a chemiseâlike your honeymoon night all over againâyou each got a glimpse of the gore ornamenting yourselves and let the room fall quiet, if only for a minute or two.
Your husband was the one to break the silence, at length, with cracked and grisly hands sliding down to your hips.
âYouâre okay?â
His touch shifted you back in place to sit on the counter.
âIâm alright.â
You wanted to say more; assure him, in a voice as sedate as you could manage, that this wasnât his fault. Whether he would believe a word of what you said was a separate question, but, at any rate, it didnât matter. The next thing you knew, Bucky was slotting himself in the space between your legs and pulling you into his arms.
In spite of himself and all the wounds, he held you tight.
âYouâre alright,â he repeated.
His face sank into the crook of your neck, and you felt his muscles contract againâpulling you closerâas he drew a shaky breath against your skin. You hugged him back.
âAre you?â Your voice was small.
In a blink, Bucky resurfaced. He lifted his head from your neck and, still holding you, hadnât seemed to have heard.
âThe baby,â he said quickly.
He stepped back. Lowered his gaze and his hands to trail over your hips and near your stomach, and he stared, as if trying to make sense of something dire. His blue eyes were wide, and they assumed such a look of panic that you feared a blood vessel might actually burst in one.
After all the great lengths heâd gone to, ensuring you were safe and taking extra precautions, on the off-chance you might be pregnant, here you were.
And there he went, sliding his touch lower and lower again until his hand was pressed into your belly, and the gaze youâd once thought soft before had all but melted into tendernessâdelicacy. Complete, loving unreserve.
When his eyes met yours a second time, they were shiny.
Wet with the only kind of tears youâd want to see in them.
âYouâre reallyâŚâ he started, just to taper off, blinking.
And then his cheeks were dotted with the tiny, round droplets, and heâd finally ventured a smile for the first time in what seemed like ages and you couldnât keep from reaching for him. The second youâd lifted your arms you were back in his, lips and nose smushed against the front of his stained white button-up and breathing deep.
Or trying to, anyway. Bucky had you squeezed so tight to his chest you had nothing but his shirt to inhale at first. You didnât mind, and when he pulled away a moment later, you realized that your eyes, too, were filling up quick. You had to steel yourself against a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to emergeâthe aftermath of a half-dozen traumas laid bare over the last hourâbut the longer you were here, and the more your husband stared at you like that, the quicker your courage was depleted. In the span of five seconds, your senses were shot to hell. All you could think was what you could feel, and all you felt was Bucky: his arms and his hands and the raw, blistering heat between your bodies. The rest was noise.
It surprised you both when you kissed him. Physically, your mouth and his were hardly up to do it, injured as they were, but the impulse was strong, and it flowed between you. As soon as your lips latched onto his, Bucky was holding your face, molding his body to yours without so much as a second thought, and the mouth you met was sturdy. Hungry in the way it kissed back.
A string of words from SchrĂśder flashed in your mindââNever be safeââand you grit your teeth together, snagging the cusp of Buckyâs lower lip as you did it. He groaned. Before you could even try to apologize, though, he was gripping your face harder in his hands and coaxing your mouth open with his tongue. His front was still flush with yours, and your legs were starting to wind around his hips. Your husband nudged you back against the cabinets, and from the force of that push, you felt it.
Felt him.
Surely, it had had to take two very fucked up individuals to get all hot and bothered from a bloodbath that had just taken place; but, again, here you wereâtogether.
And there you went, grinding your lower half with his.
âDoll?â Bucky broke out, word slurred just a little.
For a second, you thought he was going to stop you. Your eyes scanned his, and you were already planning to apologize for being so horny, it must just be theâ
âYou know I love you, right?â he breathed.
You blinked. You were about to nod, when you felt the bulge in his slacks start to rub against your barely-clothed heat, and something akin to a shockwave coursed through your frame. It couldnât be helped. A monsoon of hyper-sensitized pleasure trembled over the skin in a way youâd never felt it before, and suddenly you were letting out a moan: a muffled cry of, âYes, I-I know.â
Your husband swallowed and stared, slightly taken aback by the reaction his erection had produced. Heâd never felt that either. At least from what he could remember.
The truth was that heâd never had a pregnant wife beforeâsomeone whose body was now extraordinarily responsive to his touch, nearly aching for him.
When you scooted your butt to the edge of the counter and dug your heels in the backs of his legs, humping him, almost, he got the idea. Bucky swallowed again.
âI love you too, Iâ Iââ you started, already out of breath, âI just really need you to fuck me. Can youâ pleaseââ
Bucky didnât need to be asked once, much less twice. He already had his belt, button, and zip undone before you could even look down, and then your own pyjama shorts were sliding off too. The counter was cool against your skin, but your husbandâs warmth was more than enough to compensate for the loss. You smiled again, sheepish.
âItâs justâŚhormones,â you said, quieter toward the end.
You werenât sure why you felt so ashamed to simply say, âJames, Iâve been damn near insane with desire ever since you put a baby in me. Can you give me five more?â But you did. You felt your cheeks start to heat as your lower half was left exposed to the air, and Bucky slipped his hand down between your legs, practically groaning:
âHoney, youâre soaked.â
There wasnât one iota of shame in his tone.
He was more than happy to find you drenched beneath his touch. He had a smile on his face and a warmth bleeding from every fingertip as he caressed that soft, tender spot. You didnât need to tell him what was on your mind, either. He sensed something was making you shy, and rather than have you say it aloud, he just touched you gentler, stroked the skin more affectionately, and tilted his head so only you could hear him, quiet as ever:
âThatâs my girl. Feeling good for me?â
You felt your heartbeat between your thighs.
âMy baby,â Bucky went on, voice dulcet and slow.
Your body was trembling at the edge, waiting. Impatient.
âMy wife,â he said that with a smile, into your neck.
He lowered you onto his length, and you whined.
âMother of my child.â The smile got bigger.
You couldnât see it, but you could feel it. Feeling him slide inside the most precious, wet, pliable part of you, stretching you out, you couldnât help the sounds you made. You felt full in a whole new way; the groan Bucky let out when you were impaled down to the base of his cock said he shared the feeling. He throbbed inside you.
âYouâreâfuck.â Buckyâs words broke off at the sensation.
Your walls were as slick as ever, your body delicate, rolling your hips to the first gentle thrusts that his shaft carved inside. Neither one of you could last long like this.
Still, at the threat of sublime pleasure, you felt fear, briefly: SchrĂśderâs implacable stareâand the thousands more like him in HYDRA. You couldnât help but grip Bucky tighter, willing these thoughts away with the rhythm of your body over his. Feeling him fill you up, fuck you with quick, deliberate thrusts and hold you, âThatâs it, take what you need, sweet girl, youâre okay.â
You wished you were. You wanted to be. With every stab of Buckyâs hips, you hoped this would be the last night you ever feared for you or your childâs life, but deep down, you knew that wasnât true. This was everything your husbandâs varied âenterprisesâ entailed, and a life with him meant never knowing a day without itâfear.
The head of Buckyâs cock grazed an especially sensitive ridge in your walls, and you whimpered into his shoulder.
You smelled blood.
He pushed you back against the counter and pounded harder, breaths heavy and labored and gruff as he spoke:
âYouâre okay, baby, itâs alright.â
Your mind tried clinging to that thought, nodding along as if to convince yourself. The pleasure grew stronger, and your body was hot. Everything was heightened. Bucky couldnât keep his eyes or his lips or his rough, bloodied touch from roaming you wherever he could reach, and he kept rutting his hips, assuring you gently, again and again, that it was all okay. He was right here.
The pleasure from the depths of your body was beyond your controlâyou couldnât help it when the band inside of you snapped. You held Bucky closer and you moaned, more desperate and needy and soaking for him, taking something from him, and knowing the bliss you felt would only steal the dark thoughts for a moment or two.
Bucky���s eyes said it just the same. He couldnât keep stuffing you full, feeling his pleasure hit its peak, and finally painting your insides without sharing that look.
You were less than halfway down from your highs when you felt him go still, panting fast, then hold your face.
âI love you.â
It was desperate. Hoping for something.
âI love you, too,â you told him, and you meant it.
But there was more. Both of you knew there was more.
âI canât be married to you, Bucky.â
You didnât know why it had to come out now, but the emotions were thereâhis gaze had all but drawn it out.
Still sheathed inside you, your husband tensed. He looked as if he might try and shake his head, but the movement was stalled by his own momentary shock. Heâd known the words were coming, but the sound of you saying them now wasnât any less jarring to hear. Before he could reply, you found yourself cutting back in:
âNot now, at least. We need someâŚtime. To think.â
You werenât sure what you were saying, just that your lips were moving and every new word was hurting him more.
âEven with SchrĂśder gone, there are so manyâŚdangers for bothâor, allâof us, and I donât knowâŚI just canâtââ
âimagine bringing a child into a world like this. Like his.
You didnât need to say it.
The pain in Buckyâs eyes already communicated as much, and the conviction in your own only convinced him that youâd meant itâand what you said was the truth. You couldnât stay in a marriage that wasnât safe.
Just as you opened your mouth to say something more, the man surprised you when he squeezed your hand.
Nodding, almost imperceptibly, in front of you.
âI can wait,â he said, âWhenever youâre ready, doll.â
His voice was hoarse, words strained from the lump in his throat as he spoke, but the message was sincere.
âWhenever you feel safe,â he added, softly.
You wanted to hold him again. Like before, your eyes began to well with something stinging and harsh, but the look youâd fixed on him was filled with nothing but love. You wouldâve reached for him then, if he hadnât moved his hand to his pocket. He felt around inside it, briefly.
Then Bucky retrieved your wedding ring.
Holding you up against him, pressed snugly into the counter with your legs still wrapped around his lower half, he pinched the silver band between his forefinger and thumb and held it up to you. It glistened in the light.
âThe next time you wear it, I want it to be because you chose to marry me. Not for anything, or anyone, else.â
Nothing arranged, no game, no being forced to stay.
You nodded and had to blink through a layer of tears.
Buckyâs thumb traced the moisture, cupping your cheek in one of his hands. Heâd had to keep blinking himself, and before you could reach for him, he kissed you.
âI really hope you marry me again one day, Mrs. Barnes.â
You smiled, having parted but still holding on.
âI think I would like that, too. One day.â
The next thing you heard was a sound at the front door: what sounded like a crash. Half a dozen sets of feet stumbling inside, crowding the foyer, making a loud, frantic clamor that you and Bucky knew only too well. The two of you scrambled to get your clothes back on as Steve, Nat, Sam, and Sharon all seemed to yell at once.
You had one hell of a story to tell them.
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A Good Girl's Reputation | Aemond Targaryen
Modern!Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader
Summary: It was the last place you wanted to be but nonetheless, you found yourself pulled along to a party you hosted by none other than the Targaryen's, only for spilled wine to force you into Aemond's shirt. A sight that had him dragging you to his bed, eager to corrupt the well-behaved girl who had set him ablaze with desire.
Word Count: 6.7k.
Warnings: MDNI 18+ only!! Oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V sex, dirty talk!!, a major cliche on the good girl trope, reader is shy!, slight degradation, mean friends at a party maybe?, Aegon being sneaky, bad language. Unedited. Please let me know if I missed anything!
Author's Note: Okay, I wasn't going to post this one because it was purely self-indulgent and I kinda wasn't happy with my pen game in this but I was feeling bad about the delay in Dark Cherry part 5 so wanted to share something!! I also love the idea of Aemond being totally feral about seeing reader in his clothes. Share your thoughts my loves, I'm more than happy to discuss things, thoughts and feedback with you all - xoxo, kisses!! <3
There was a nonsensical grandeur about everything that Jilly dragged you into. This time was no different and you silently waited for the sound of the elevator ding while listening to your best friend chatter about the âworldâs best fucking boyfriendâwait, do you think this makes him my boyfriend?â
âI donât know, Jilly,â you nibbled on your lip, craning your neck to look around the corner of the entrance hallway. For what reason, you werenât sure but there was a crawling nervousness on your skin and the urge to make sure there were no unexpected surprises was consuming. âItâs Aegon. Only he can answer that question for you.â
The elevator was taking an infuriatingly long time. You wondered if this was the buildingâs way of telling you to turn around and return to the dorm room that had become your safe haven over the last two years. Jilly had somehow gotten herself involved with none other than Aegon Targaryen, a man notorious for his partying and hedonism.
It was entertaining at first, and you were more than happy to remain a spectator of the ridiculous pairing. Jilly was entirely different to Aegon and tended to carry herself with a lot more modesty than Aegon was known for. She was calculating and calm where he was impulsive and excitable.Â
You thought back to the first time they had met. In a tutorial for a statistics class you needed to take to meet course requirements, the three of you paired together to facilitate a useless discussion on probabilities. The bickering between the two of them was amusing and the first greeting that Aegon had graced the two of you with was a grumbled âwhat kind of name is Jilly?â
And weeks later, Aegon had decided to hold another one of his campus-famous house parties. He had obviously invited Jillyâand by extension he had invited you because there was no chance Jilly would go to a party without you. In fact, before she had met Aegon, there was no chance Jilly would go to any party regardless.Â
A loud, excited hmph! fell from Jillyâs lips when the elevator doors finally opened. You had hoped it had broken down on its way to pick you up and that there was a rather convenient lack of staircase to climb instead.Â
âI donât thinkââ
âDonât say it,â Jilly held a hand in front of your face. She clicked on P with her other hand. For the penthouse, you guessed. âI know you donât want to be here. But we are going to have a good night.âÂ
You sighed, tugging the short, black skirt that Jilly had wrestled you into further down your thighs. It looked good paired with the white satin button down you had insisted on wearing for comfort but it was shorter than you were accustomed to. The thought of maintaining it enough so it didnât ride up past your bum was tiresome but there was no arguing which you could do to wiggle your way into some pants instead.Â
Jilly snickered. âQuit fiddling with your skirt, youâll poke a hole in your tightsâOh!â
The two of you shared a gasp when the doors opened. No wonder people had so much to say about the Targaryen siblings and their parties when their apartment looked like it was straight out of a Forbes magazine. For a moment, it seemed impossible that the apartment housed two students. It was incomparable to the wardrobe sized dorm you had been living in over the semester.Â
Distant chatter pulled you out of your thoughts and you followed Jilly further into the apartment, reminding yourself not to let your jaw drop as your eyes adjusted to the dimmed lighting. The party was an hour or so away from starting - Aegon had told everyone to head in after seven but had given Jilly an earlier time so that the two of you could join their pre-game.Â
Not that you would. The prospect of getting as drunk as Aegon planned at your (embarrassingly?) first student party was daunting.Â
Anxiously, you followed Jilly into the living area where a handful of familiar faces were lounging and drinking. There was a deep bumping of bass, and you could feel the floor vibrating with it, but you couldnât make out the song that was playing.Â
âJill!â Floris, Aegonâs friend who you had only ever seen on campus, pulled Jilly towards the nearest couch. Hesitantly, you followed, flashing Aegon and Cregan a purse-lipped smile as they made their way to greet you. âWe were worried you wouldnât show up. Is this your friend?â
With a smile, you introduced yourself. Floris only grinned at you before returning her attention to Jilly, who had started up an animated conversation with Helaena. Aegon whistled at Jilly, tipping the neck of his beer in her direction as if to say hello, and threw his other arm around your shoulder.Â
He laughed when you cringed, pulling back from him slightly. Aegon smelled like a mixture of beer, red wine and sandalwood cologne. âWe placed bets on whether youâd show up. Glad you did. Thereâs multiple motherfuckers in here who owe me a silver stag each. Not that I need it.â
You spluttered a bit. âWhat-âÂ
âRelax,â Cregan teased you from the other side of Aegon. He was clearly drunk. âYouâre clearly not much of a party girl but that changes two-â he held up two fingers and then aggressively pointed them down at the floor with a jerk. â-night.âÂ
Aegon laughed, handing you a glass of wine which suddenly appeared in his hand. You shook your head and he shrugged, downing it himself. He turned away from you, waving someone down. âAemond!â
Oh gods, no.Â
You tried to keep your smile on your face. Aemond fucking Targaryen was leaning against a counter, a beer loosely hanging between his fingers. He was in the middle of a conversation with Criston Cole, a friend of their family who you had heard of only through mindless campus gossip. Aemond glanced toward Aegon in response, an eyebrow raised lazily.Â
If there were ever a man you had crushed on, it really had to be him. It was a little bit maddening because you were exactly like your peers in thinking Aemond may be the most attractive man youâd ever see in your lifetime. He was tall, had an air of darkness and mystery to him and his silver hair framed his defined cheekbones and sharp jawline perfectly. But it was the severity in everything about him that had caught your eyeâright from the first lecture you had seen him in.Â
Aemond, as you understood, had no idea who you were. And while you knew exactly who he was, it wasnât odd. Everyone knew of him and his family. He had practically been birthed into the public eye.Â
âThis pretty thing here,â Aegon, much to your protest, had pulled you across the room to introduce you. âJillyâs best friend. Much like you, dear brother, she hates parties and is not here by her own will. Youâd get along.â
Aemond looked at you and you suddenly had no idea what to do with yourself. You met his eye, fiddling with the hem of your skirt and waiting for whatever this moment was to end quickly. Your skin was tingling under his gaze which dropped from your head to your feet and then back to your face.Â
When he didnât say anything, you offered him a tight lipped smile and a timid wave. âHi?â
He was going to respond. You could see it in the way he had moved but Aegon was quick to cut him off, ever the loud mouthed brat. As subtle as Aegon believed himself to be, he was an incredibly obnoxious drunk. Â
âSurely,â Aegon drawled, wrapping his arms around Jillyâs waist when she appeared by your side and pulling her into him tightly. Mockingly, he targeted his question at Jilly but switched his gaze between her and Aemond. âYour little-good-girl friend could use a bit of corrupting, Jills. Seems like Aemond would be entirely capable, from what Floris hasââ
âThatâs enough, Aegon,â Aemondâs voice was smooth and darker than youâd expected. He gave you a small, reassuring yet tight smile. âDonât be an ass. Let her be.â
You were a little breathless. Sure, you didnât quite let go of yourself as much as everyone else did but you were no prude. Right?Â
There was no offence intended in Aegonâs teasing but you couldnât help but feel the sting. He was rightâyou were relatively good. All of your time and effort went into studying and working. Where you werenât doing either of those, you preferred the solitude of a good book at a quiet cafe. There were very few bad habits in your life, the worst of which would only be the likes of a dependence on tea or coffee. Parties were a rarity but on the odd occasion you would tag along wherever Jilly would go. And, regardless of that, here you were.
It was embarrassing. You had hoped that if you were to ever introduce yourself to Aemond, things would go slightly better than this and your uptight prudish reputation (which you didnât realise you had until today) would remain undiscussed. He was different and he didnât tend to spend his time with people of your tendencies. Aemond was the object of everyoneâs desires; if they didnât want to have him then they certainly wanted to be him.Â
You were clearly different from his normal type. If only for the fact that he also had a reputation and that reputation consisted of a string of heartbroken girls who he had never pursued or never shared more than his bed with. Those girls were a lot more like his friends; confident, daring and well accomplished. Aemond was not Aegon; there was a lot more respect in the way people spoke of him and his academic and professional talents were impressive to most people.Â
Thankfully, Jilly had pulled you away from that dreadful conversation with a harsh glare pointed at Aegon. The kitchen, which was the closest place for you to hide, was filled with snacks and drinks almost falling off of the countertops. You recognised Helaena, and waved at her.
Helaena had been a friend whenever you had bumped into each other. She was sweet and kind and you actually enjoyed her company. âItâs nice to see you, Helaena. Didnât think weâd ever run into each other at a house party but hey, itâs been an hour full of surprises.â
She laughed with you. There was an easy flow of conversation between the two of you and when Floris and Jilly had taken to what they called âKitchen Karaokeâ, you had even danced together. Jilly, as drunk as she was, pushed the bottle of wine in her hand to you, waiting for you to drink. With some encouragement from Helaena and Floris, you smiled and took a few sips.Â
The peace you had found in the kitchen was short lived and when Jilly, joined by Aegon and caught up in her exaggerated Lady Gaga performance, flung her arm out, the bottle of wine in her hand spilling right onto your chest and soaking through the white fabric of your shirt.Â
âShit,â she winced. It was cold and you had a small sense of panic that raised goosebumps on your skin at the thought of wearing a wet, stained shirt all night but at the drunken apologetic look on her face all you could do was force a smile. Jilly giggled nervously. âAt least it makes your tits look good.â
âRight,â you mumbled, fingers pulling the wet fabric off of your skin. It was uncomfortably sticking to your skin and the smell of the red wine was beginning to catch. âNo problem.â
Aegon tapped your shoulder gently and gave you an animated salute. âDonât worry, Iâll find you something from the fresh laundry.â
You followed him into the laundry, which was only just around the corner, waiting as he grinned and shuffled through the clothes that were sitting in the dryer. When Aegon turned to you, he had a stupid toothy smile and passed you a grey shirt. âWear that. Itâll be big but itâll still look good with the rest of your outfit if you tuck it in or something.â
The t-shirt Aegon handed you was a little long but you werenât going to complain when you were much happier to be in dry clothing. It was a Slipknot shirt, the graphic on the front slightly worn down with time and washes. You figured it could have been worseâat least Slipknot were good. Aegon had long gone, giving you privacy to change and when you stepped out of the laundry room, you were surprised to see that people had started piling into the apartment.Â
Some hip-hop song you could barely recognise played loudly and you were a little thrown off by the crowds of unfamiliar faces. But everyone was having a good time, smiling and dancing among themselves.Â
Cigarettes, cologne and coffee filled your senses and you let out a small yelp as you met with a hardened surface, stumbling a little to catch yourself. Aemondâs hands reached out to grab hold of your arms, holding you steady against him so that you wouldnât fall to the ground.Â
âEasy, missy,â he stepped back slightly, as if he were trying to get a good look at you. As Aemond dragged his gaze over you from head to toe, he smirked and hummed deeply.
The heat that rushed to your cheeks was quick and you wondered if Aemond had always smelled so delicious. Your mind was clouded by him and the way he didnât remove his hands from you, his fingers still gently squeezing your flesh and keeping you far closer to him than you needed to be.Â
Whatever it was, if he continued to look at you with so much intensity and hold you as if he didnât want to let go of you, there was a high chance youâd do something that would only leave you disappointed and embarrassed.Â
âSorry,â you squeaked, pulling away from him in one movement and rushing into the kitchen. Jilly grinned at you, eyebrows wagging exaggeratedly in her drunken state.Â
The rest of the girls had found their way to the kitchen, which had actually quietened down even more in the short moments you were away. You found yourself once again at Helaenaâs side, watching as Jilly danced with her bottle of wine in hand, and failing to listen to the conversation that was somehow still in flow.Â
If you were being honest, the party was a certain type of boring. There was a lot going on yet nothing at the same time and you chalked it up to the fact that you werenât that friendly with anyone here. Helaena was only part of the crowd because she lived here and Jilly was becoming a part of Aegonâs group of mates, all of whom you knew of but had no real friendship with.Â
Floris, who had been staring at you on and off since you had returned, took a sip of her drink and flashed you an odd look. âIs that Aemondâs shirt?â
Helaena giggled beside you, watching you keenly as you frowned. When you answered, Floris looked at you with narrowed eyes. You cleared your throat, nervously nibbling on your bottom lip. âI assumed it was Aegonâs since he gave it to me.â
âWhat was wrong with what you came in?â
âFloris, you saw that blouse get ruined,â Jilly rolled her eyes, stepping closer to you when she noticed the gentle alarm on your face. âShe couldnât have stayed in a stained top. It won't dry out until tomorrow.â
Floris only huffed, regarding you with a harsh stare and a forced shrug. There was an odd silence that lingered and you considered offering her an apology. But you quickly realised that you didnât really have anything to apologise for, even though it is probably Aemondâs t-shirt and it was no secret that Floris was all about Aemond.Â
The night was passing slowly and you continued to make small talk with the same few people you knew. But the weight of Florisâ glare never disappeared. And Aemond, with his gentle smirk and quiet confidence, had been lingering the entire night. You were half-certain that it was Floris who was the purpose of his prolonged presence in the kitchen, which had become somewhat of a break room for everyone at this point.
There was a pointed silence from him aside from the few words he had muttered in conversation with Helaena or Daeron yet his gaze was communicating more than his words could. Aemond kept looking towards you, his wanting eye holding yours assertively whenever youâd catch him watching you. You couldnât help the heat that crept up your neck at the way he looked you up and down at every chance he got.Â
It was suffocating when paired with the daggers you could feel from Florisâ stares and Aegonâs vexing grin.Â
âIâm going outside for a bit,â you told Helaena, placing your glass down on the counter and flashing a pursed-lip smile at whoever caught your eye on your way towards the terrace.Â
The journey to the terrace wasnât easy and you could feel your throat closing in as you tried to squeeze through crowds of people. It was sweaty and loud, shoulders knocking and elbows bumping as you finally pushed your way through to a secluded part of the terrace, sighing at the fresh air and solitude.Â
Once again, your peace didnât last long before you caught a flash of silver in your peripheral.Â
Aemond stood beside you, so close that your shoulder brushed the leather of his jacket. âYou alright?âÂ
His proximity had turned your brain silent and you simply nodded, forcing your eyelids not to flutter shut at his delicious smell. There was a comfortable silence that followed. He rested his elbows on the railing as you were, relaxing against it and watching the street below.Â
A tickle on your cheek from a loose strand of Aemondâs hair following the breeze woke you up from the haze you were entering. âNot enjoying the party?â
âI donât like parties,â he chuckled, reaching into his pocket.Â
You snickered, eyes trailing across his hands as he fiddled with a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Taking a moment to admire the way his rings complemented his nimble yet clearly strong fingers, you couldnât believe how attractive a manâs hands could be. âYouâre not like your brother, then. Thatâs goodâcouldnât handle having two Aegonâs about.â
Aemond shook his head, smiling as he held the box out to you. âThankfully my brother and I are not alike. Cig?â
âNot for me.â
He hummed, popping a cigarette between his lips and holding the lighter to it. âGood. Do you mind?â
You didnât have much else to say other than a shrug, letting him know it was alright for him to smoke. It would hardly be anything to complain about with the way Aemond seemed to look ten times sexier with a cigarette between his fingers and hanging from his lips.Â
âI guess your reputation isnât a lie,â Aemond let his eye fall to you, holding a world of darkness and sin as he smirked at you. A cheeky grin played on his lips as he turned to his side, resting on his arm and leaning back a bit to look at you better.Â
You swallowed thickly. A wave of heat to your core had you turning away from him, the intensity of how he looked at you like you were tempting all of his urges. âI just try to stay clear of bad habits. It doesnât really matter.â
âSo you are a good girl,â Aemond leaned closer, his fingers gently tipping your head upwards at your chin. He was closer than he was before you had blinked and all of your senses were overwhelmed by him. âI like that. I wonder if Aegon was right about us.â
Because of the way he was holding your chin, firmly and gently at the same time, you had no choice but to meet his gaze. Goosebumps arose on your skin and you shivered despite the burn of his fingers on your skin.Â
âLet me take you somewhere more comfortable,â Aemond drawled. The air grew charged when he grazed his lips against yours, so softly it was almost nonexistent. âThey all thought I would be the one to corrupt you but I can show you all the ways youâve corrupted my mind instead.â
The small gasp that fell from your lips made his jaw tick and he let go of your chin, dragging the knuckles of his fingers across your cheek affectionately.Â
You nodded and cleared your throat quietly, surprised at your own eagerness. âBut I donât understand.â
âI think you do,â Aemond gently lowered his hand to hold your hip, letting one last puff of smoke out before putting his cigarette out. He guided you inside, keeping you right in front of him and his free arm loosely extended in front of your body to stop people from pushing into you. His lips lingered at your ear all the while. âYou were already a pretty little thing, missy. But I never could have guessed that youâd be so fucking delicious in my clothes.âÂ
You were grateful that you werenât facing him. He couldnât see the flush that had crossed your expression and had you shying away gently but only to sink further against his chest as he led you through a quieter hallway. When Aemond pushed open the door to his bedroom, he finally noticed your dishevelled state and let out an affectionate huff.Â
Only letting go of you for a moment so that he could close the door behind him, Aemond had turned you to face him and pulled you back to your place against his body. His bedroom was pointedly his; neat and collected, the walls decorated with a few posters of the bands he likes and bookshelves that were almost filled entirely. It smelled like clean linen and his cologne.Â
âWait.â You remembered the girl who had been far more than unhappy to see you in his shirt and stiffened. âI thought you and Floris-���
âFloris and I are nothing,â Aemond was calm when he spoke, still watching you with that fierce desire that you had felt from him when you bumped into him earlier on. You swallowed down your apprehension visibly, avoiding eye contact. âI promise.â
Odd, considering you were well aware he didnât need to promise you anything.Â
Aemond watched your chest heave with your heavy breaths, covered entirely by his favourite t-shirt which draped perfectly from your breasts. A hand returned to your hip, squeezing lightly while the other rested at the crevice of your neck and shoulder, his fingers tickling your warm skin.Â
He pursed his lips, hyper aware of how tense you were in his hands. âTell me to stop and I will. We donât have to do anything you donât want. We can just chat and get to know each other.âÂ
âNo,â you shook your head.âI donât want you to stop.â
It was impossible to resist the way that Aemond was pulling you against him, as if you werenât close enough despite how you were pressed flush against him and the fabric of your clothing was all that could fit between the two of you. Gods, he smelled so good.Â
Confident with your reassurance, Aemond dipped his head so close to yours that you were sharing air, his smirk returned when he felt you shiver against him. âAre you nervous?âÂ
âI donât usually do this,â you muttered, eyelids fluttering shut when he brushed the tip of his nose against your cheek and pressed a featherlight kiss beside your lips, dragging them to your jaw when you instinctively moved to try catch his lips in the kiss you only now realised you were craving. But you failed and he cheekily worked away from your attempted kiss. His lips felt good on your skin and a soft gasp in his ear had him squeezing your hip harder. It reminded you what you were telling him. âWe technically just met.â
He never stopped placing the smallest of kisses along your jaw, moving them towards your neck. âTechnically?â
âWe have a couple lectures together.â
The thought that it was rather surprising that he had never noticed much of you crossed Aemondâs mind but when you let your hand fall to his chest, fisting the lapel of his jacket and tugging like you needed him more than oxygen, it disappeared into a haze of your perfume and warmth.Â
Aemond hummed as you noticed he did often. âDoes it count if I take you out the day after?â
âIâm sure it does,â you bit your lip to hide your smile, frowning when he pulled away from your neck. âBut only if you really wantââ
All your thoughts were lost when Aemond swallowed your words, his lips finding yours eagerly. You moaned against him, stiffening for a moment as your skin flushed under his touch but returning his vigour when he laced his fingers through your hair, holding it in a tight fist. It was a perfectly coordinated mess of tongue and teeth, and Aemond never once faltered in his fervour.Â
Blindly, you let him guide you to the bed, pulling him down without breaking the kiss when the edge of the bed hit the back of your legs.
In the soft glow of candlelight, the both of you were enveloped in a world of your own. The air was thick with anticipation as your bodies drew closer, the heat shared between you palpable. You tilted your head back, inviting his lips to trace a path along your neck, each kiss sending your blood rushing to your core.
âTell me what you want,â he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.
âEverything, Aemond.â
As his hands found their way under his shirt, fingers gliding over your soft skin, you let out a soft gasp, arching into him. His hands roamed freely, seeking out the warmth beneath the soft fabric, craving your skin against his own.
You felt the weight of him above you, powerful and intoxicating. With a careful urgency, Aemond sat back momentarily, pulling you with him so that he could reach to unclasp your bra. When you moved to take the shirt off with a soft smile, he stopped you.Â
âKeep it on,â Aemond placed a kiss to your clothed shoulder, running his hand across the side of your leg as he let you get rid of your bra underneath the shirt. He pulled your skirt and tights off with steady hands, humming appreciatively at the way your underwear peaked out from where the t-shirt had bunched at your hips. âI want you in my shirt only.â
You watched him, entranced, as he took in the sight of you and muttered under his breath about how perfect you were for him, his eye dark with longing. Aemond moved downwards, nestling himself comfortably between your legs, pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs, his mouth warm and inviting.Â
When you whined impatiently he smiled, a wicked glint in his eye, and returned to his explorations, kissing his way closer to your core. Aemond never took his eye off you and you could see him watching you from where he teasingly licked at the skin where your thigh met your covered womanhood. The tension in your core tightened and you jerked when he wrapped his lips around your clothed clit and sucked hard.Â
Strong hands held your hips down as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs. Again, you whined at him. âYouâre not very patient are you? Already so wet for me that I can taste your delicious pussy through the fabric. Tell me what you want.â
You propped yourself on your elbows, your arms quivering under your weight and breath hitching when you noticed his own clothes had been haphazardly taken off. Aemond was ridding you of your mind and he had barely done anything. âMore, Aemond. I want more.â
âMore what?â
âMore of you,â you whined again, mouth watering at the way he gazed at you from where he was nestled. âI want more of you.â
Aemond complied, pulling your panties off as soon as your hips had lifted on his command. He gave you a pointed look, scolding you gently when you gave him a shy whimper, moving to shut your legs so he couldnât see you spread for him.Â
âSpread your legs, pretty girl,â he let out a coarse breath when you wordlessly did as he said, baring yourself to him and gracing him with a sight more tempting than all the gold and jewels the world had to offer. Aemondâs hands guided your thighs apart encouragingly. âThatâs itâlittle bit more.â
His gentle commands were both exhilarating and daunting. The weight of his gaze was both thrilling and intimidating, sending heat rushing to your cheeks and your cunt and the chuckle coming from the man between your legs was enough to tell you that he had seen you clench around nothing.Â
Trailing his kisses from your knees and down your thighs once again, Aemond groaned, fisting the bottom of the shirt that rested against your raised thigh and licking a long stripe between your folds. It had you sucking in a breath, the sensation of his wet tongue suddenly exploring your cunt taking over every part of your mind and body, your fingers grasping at the sheets when he lapped at your clit and moaned into your wetness.
âGods, Aemond-â you made the prettiest noises but Aemondâs cock jumped at the way you said his name, giving him a newfound fervour as he ferociously sucked at your clit, flicking it with his tongue.Â
Nothing you had experienced with anyone had you trembling from sensitivity and pleasure so easily. His tongue and lips moved against you expertly and he let his arms wrap around your thighs as they rested against his shoulders, using his thumbs to spread you even more for him.Â
Spit mixed with your wetness, creating a slick that dripped from your cunt and tainted his chin and his cheeks but Aemond seemed only to revel in it. His cock grew painfully hard at the beautiful sounds you made and the sweet, slightly tart and metallic taste of you on his tongue.Â
At a particularly harsh suck on your clit, you jerked, legs clamping shut around Aemondâs head as you felt your orgasm building faster than you had expected. âAemond. Oh fuck, itâs good-â
âAre you going to come for me, missy?â Aemond asked and the vibrations of his voice while he continued to feast on you had you moaning out an incoherent answer. He was watching you as you nodded, head thrown back so all that he could see over your body and his t-shirt was your chin and glimpses of your blissful expression.Â
Shuddering and struggling to even your breathing, a heated pleasure took you with surprising intensity. Aemond continued to suck on you, delving into you with his tongue and teasing you with his fingers as he helped you through your orgasm, groaning at the way your body tensed and your pussy clenched.Â
Placing a final kiss on your clit with a cheeky grin, making his way up your body, enjoying the way you continued to tremble and whimper under his touch. He took a nipple into his mouth through the shirt, teasingly only giving it a moment of attention before his lips were back on yours.Â
Sharing the taste of you, Aemond kissed you hungrily despite having done the same within your folds only seconds ago. It was unbelievably hot in the room and you became dizzy with how your body gave into his, moulding against him perfectly as his hips found their place between your legs.Â
Aemondâs voice was dark and confident, dripping with lust.Â
But you salivated at the thought of taking him in your mouth and tried to push him back. âI want you in my mouth too.â
âNot tonight.â His hand found one of your breasts, touching you over the shirt. When you pouted at him, legs still jerking around his hips, Aemond softly moaned. âArenât you full of surprises? Good girl like you, so eager to suck me.â
Hot and heavy, Aemond grinded his cock against you, pressing it deliciously to your clit and then taking its place with his fingers. He wondered whether the pout on your lips would disappear when he pushed a digit into you, satisfied to see it fall away and be replaced with a furrow of your eyebrows and a silent gasp.Â
Keening at both his words and the way that Aemond slid another finger in and curled them inside you, searching for that spot that had your toes curling, you were increasingly desperate to taste him now that you had felt how hard and ready he was for you. âPlease, let me taste you.â
âYouâll have plenty of opportunities for that.â He sighed deeply when you moaned loudly, grasping at his shoulders and pressing your face into his neck. âI would kill to feel your pretty lips on my cock. Do you want to know what I think, missy?â
Aemond was intoxicating, sending your body into overdrive and your mind hazy with need. All you could do was nod, lost in the way he was perfectly bringing you to so much bliss.Â
âI think,â he purred. âThat Iâm going to make you mine. And that Iâll fuck the well-behaved girl right out of you in each and every shirt that I own.â
Gasping for air as he pushed himself into you, replacing his fingers with his cock, you clung to him as he stretched you out. There was a sharp sting from his size but it subsided quickly and you could feel the effects of Aemondâs cock in you all the way down your legs and to your toes.Â
Aemondâs breath hitched, his eye holding yours as he gave you time to adjust, jaw clenched and holding you tightly as if heâd fall to the pits of the hells if he were to let go of you.Â
For someone he had just met properly only hours ago, Aemond thought he had found his own heaven in you and your body.Â
You mewled, pushing your hips forward greedily. âIt feels so good-so good, Aemond.â
He slowly moved his hips, hissing and letting his forehead fall to your shoulder where he bit down gently. The way Aemond pushed deeper into you at every thrust forward stole your breath from your lungs each time. He felt like he was a virgin once again, feeling the comfort of a wet, hot cunt for the first time, losing the control he had over the urge to claim you properly and spill into you already.
Aemond was no stranger to the pleasures of the body but never had he fallen victim to weakness by a woman and Aemond was of half a mind to understand that he would do anything you asked of him simply because your bodies were a carnally perfect fit. Right now, he would burn down cities if you asked him to.Â
Keeping the steady pace, Aemondâs thrusts became more forceful, driving into you harder and drawing out nonsensical murmurs and whimpers from you. It was white-hot, each thrust sending a barrage of pleasure and sensitivity through your body.Â
âIf only they could see you now,â Aemondâs tone was deep, laced with lust and somewhat desperate as his hips snapped into you, the sound of skin against skin and his cock pushing lewd sounds from your wetness that couldnât be drowned out by the distant thump of the partyâs music. âThe perfect, innocent girl that they all believe you to be, squeezing my cock like a good little slut. Just for me.â
Blissful, incoherent sounds that he pulled from only spurred him on further and you could feel how his cock twitched and moved within you. The way that Aemondâs body fit with yours was perfect and it had that tension return to your stomach, your skin tingling and toes curling as he sped up his movements. It was blinding and deafening at the same time, stealing your breath from you each time he dragged his cock out only to push it back in.Â
Shaking and trembling, your legs squeezed around his hips and Aemond grunted, his head falling to your shoulder as he grabbed the flesh of your thigh and pushing it up and holding it beside you. Angling your hips perfectly, Aemondâs rough thrusts found a sensitive spot and you gasped, back arching off the bed as you gripped him tightly in your arms. You were barely of the right mind to notice him hiss when your nails scraped across his skin.Â
Aemond was convinced he had found a version of peace in your body, the feeling of your warmth and wetness squeezing him, quieting the loud, painful thoughts that never ceased in his mind. He swore, his voice constrained and his fingers digging further into your flesh. There wouldnât be a day that could go by in which he wouldnât be haunted by your perfect cunt and pretty sounds. It was a thought that would have had him scoffing in any other circumstances but he was so lost in you that he couldnât find it in himself to give a damn.Â
âYou are so fucking-â he groaned. âTight. Made to fit my cock perfectly.â
âAemond-â
He chuckled, enjoying the way his name was the only word you could force out between your moans. Aemondâs hips stuttered as you clamped down around him, your eyes rolling back and falling shut as you turned away from him reflexively, pressing your head into the pillow and whining pathetically.Â
âYes, missy?â Aemondâs voice was constricted but still smooth.Â
âGonna comeâIâm gonna come,â you gasped out between whimpers and moans, calling out his name as if he was your salvation.
Aemond let go of your thigh, his fingers clasping around your throat and squeezing the sides enough so that he could force your head out of the pillow. âLook at me when you come, pretty girl.â
When your eyes met his, you were surprised to see that his eyepatch hadnât been discarded but couldnât linger on the thought. Not with the way that overwhelming tension had become too much, coiling in your stomach and making you quiver underneath Aemondâs strong body, coming to its peak and snapping with an earth shattering, burning intensity that forced your entire world to go quiet.Â
With strained gasps, Aemondâs peak quickly followed yours and he pulled out, surprised to see how swiftly your hand replaced his. You felt the ropes of his hot seed fall onto your stomach, the warmth of his breath against your skin as he buried his face into your neck, heaving as he rode through the strength of his orgasm.Â
Strings of curses came from him as he let his body fall to the space beside you. Aemond barely wasted two seconds before pulling you into him so that your head rested against his chest as he held you against him. âYou okay?â
âYeah,â you smiled, letting yourself melt into him, too spent to spare a thought for the mess on your stomach. âBut I doubt Iâll be feeling so great tomorrow.â
A deep chuckle vibrated against your ear. âIâd apologise but Iâm afraid I wouldnât mean it.â
âCheeky.â
Aemond took a hold of your wrist when you slapped his chest gently, bringing your hand up to place a kiss on your knuckles before letting his hand fall to that spot on your hip. âI wasnât lying you know.â
âAbout?â You raised an eyebrow, craning your neck so that you could see his face without moving away from him.Â
âI will take you out.â Aemond grinned, squeezing your flesh playfully. âAnd I will fuck you in every single one of my t-shirts.â
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen imagines#aemond targaryen smut#aemond fanfiction#aemond one eye#aemond smut#aemond targaryen#hotd x reader#house of the dragon#aemond x reader#aemond fic#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond angst#house of the dragon aemond#aemond x you#aemond x oc#aemond x y/n#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x female#aemond x fem!oc#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond fandom#aemond fan fiction#aemond targaryen x ofc#smut
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Salt Lake City Wallpaper Inspiration for a large contemporary guest carpeted, beige floor and wallpaper bedroom remodel with no fireplace
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Barcelona Poolhouse Poolhouse
#Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary rooftop rectangular lap pool house remodel modern pool#gray outdoor couch#penthouse#mountain views#outdoor entertaining#poolhouse
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Galley in Salt Lake City
#Inspiration for a large contemporary galley dark wood floor and brown floor seated home bar remodel with an undermount sink#glass-front cabinets#black cabinets#granite countertops#black backsplash#ceramic backsplash and black countertops bar#colorful accents#bar area#entertain#home bar#interior wall coverings#penthouse
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i beg of you to write more mean abby.. i reread all of ur mean abby works religiously i swear i just love her too much ૮ Ëśáľ áľ áľËś á
Ęâ§á´ĽâŚĘ NONNIEEEEE STOP THIS JS TOO SWEET!!!! IM BLUSHING IM BLUSHING I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!! sorry this is a lil bit messy, i havenât really had time to lock in on anything official I HOPE THATS OKAY!!!! here are some thoughts⌠18+
i think mean!abby is one of those people who are discreetly rich. sheâs not the type of person to go on big fancy vacations, or buy expensive sports cars, or to always have the newest technology. before she met you, she probably spent most of her money on books or expensive brands of tea imported from countries sheâs never even heard of. after she met you, though? sheâd swipe her card a million times a day to see you smile.
the best way i can describe her personality is like some old cranky grandpa, the scary guy on the block who never smiles but is very confrontational. if youâve seen her around, youâd know that sheâs always wearing a scowl, only leaves her penthouse apartment early to go to the gym, and has beef with most of her neighbors. but if you know know her? sheâs a sweetie pie. she loves spontaneous sweet treats, slow dancing to 70âs music, old horror films (mean!abby letterboxd goes CRAZY i just know), and most shockingly, her cats.
and she LOVES those fuckers. itâs so perfect how she can have a companion whoâs quiet and small and independent, and two of them? barely any responsibility. they have an automatic feeder, entertain each other, and only bug her about once a day for attention.
as for her job, i could see her having two possibilities. one being an extreme workaholic. maybe an office job or a surgeon or something?? (NOT a nurse because theyâre supposed to be good at talking to peopleâŚ) OR she only really works part time, some freelance job that doesnât really have any rules. a photographer or a tattoo artist or some sort of small business that she can mostly manage on her own. money has never been an issue for her, coming from a family of doctors. her ass was spoiled rotten as a kid, and after her dad died she inherited all of that money.
sheâs the biggest protector in the world. someone was talking shit about you? sheâs breaking their nose right now actually. i think the biggest reason sheâs âmeanâ is because she actually just has anxiety. the last time she felt a love this strong, it was for her dad. she canât afford to lose you like she lost him, so she always has to make sure youâre safe and sound. itâs not like sheâs trying to be controlling by texting you every half hour, she just worries that maybe she wonât be able to protect you for once, and itâll be at the worst possible time.
ok lock in here are some nsfw thoughts :3
you know that trope thatâs like âbig mean stoic character is actually the subbiest bottomest little puppy in the whole world.â yeahâŚ. if you donât agree what are you still doing here.
it definitely took her a while to be this vulnerable, but jesus christ is it worth it!!! the way you get to watch her squirm and whimper underneath you, knowing that youâre the only one who can make her feel this way. to give your big protective guard dog girlfriend a night off, to take care of her in return for all that she does for you.
and she lovessss being tied up!!!! something about the intimacy of knowing youâre gonna give her a good time makes her submit to you almost instantly. she has to trust you on this, has sit back and relax and let her brain melt because she physically canât do anything about it.
when she does dom i imagine sheâs a pretty big brat tamer. câmon, not everyone has the luxury of having a girlfriend like her. if you donât act grateful sheâll whip you in to shape. literally. sheâs not afraid of a good spanking.
also sheâs strapped up 24/7 but this is canon in every universe⌠no matter what sheâs doing or where sheâs going or who sheâs gonna meet, the strap stays ON!!! just in case she may need itâŚ.
but sheâs the aftercare QUEEN. of course. apart from the basics like food, water, cuddles, etc. she has tonssss of knowledge on proper aftercare. youâd never have to worry about being hurt or getting a uti or feeling unloved because sheâs read every forum to exist about aftercare!!! i just know this bitch runs a tumblr kink blog like itâs the military⌠đ¤Ś
thatâs allâŚ. going to eep nowâŚâŚ
#sorry for neglecting yâall⌠iâve been busy please forgive me#abby anderson#abby anderson tlou2#abby anderson headcanons#abby anderson fluff#abby anderson x reader#abby the last of us#abby anderson x female reader#the last of us
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Beautiful Liar (Teaser)
pairing;Â kim mingyu x f!reader
genre; smut (minor dni), toxic, angst, dark content, fluff
summary;Â Kim Mingyu's life has always been complicated, but you just add another layer. At least he is a beautiful liar.
dark content/content warnings; mafia au, murder, guns (used/sold/bought), cops, gun dealer!mingyu, mafia boss!jun (shut up), second in command/drug dealer!minghao, lawyer!wonwoo, blood, fighting/beating, drugs mentioned, smoking (cigarettes), alcohol, alludes to alcoholism, depression/anxiety, toxic relationships, commitment issues -- best friends sister to lover, bosses sister to lover, jun's sister!reader, soonyoung, dino (chan), vernon as side characters, names eunseok and haneul used (have no connection to riize and kiof), crying, food and drink as always, mentions being sick, doctor!reader, medical terminology and medical procedure/wound described -- as always i'm certain i have missed something. if there is anything glaring send me an ask.
smut warnings; dom!mingyu, mean dom!mingyu, brat!reader, unprotected sex, rough sex, pulling out, creampie, cum on skin, cum play, cumming untouched, cumming in pants, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjob, edging/orgasm denial, degradation, pet names/degrading names, praise, impact play, pussy slapping, biting, crying from pleasure, dacryphilia, aftercare. as stated above, i am sure there is something i am forgetting. send an ask if it is glaring. Â
w/c; 25.6k and some change (2.8k extra words for patreon bonus) [2.2k this teaser]
beautiful liar - monsta x
a/n; thank you to my @junkissed for proofreading for me once again, i love you forever. i hope you all enjoy this one. i missed my boy so much and i wanted to expand a bit on gyu from shut up. give him a bit of life. its not the end of some of these characters, but we will see where they pop up in the future.
this fic will be released 8/15 at 3 pm est to read it now subscribe to my patreon and click here
Glancing around the large living room, Mingyu glances towards you as you drop your bag onto the sofa before moving towards the floor to ceiling windows. He knew he really didnât have to do much more for you. Yes, Jun had told him to keep you entertained, but he had done the first part. He had gotten you from the airport to the penthouse. The bar was going to open soon.Â
Biting at his lip, Mingyu takes his phone from his jacket pocket and checks his messages when you glance back to look at him in the hallway, your luggage on either side of him. You could see his brows furrowed even from across the room. He had seemed so tense the entire drive from the airport and you could barely get him to open up to you. He was like a puzzle that you were dying to solve.Â
âTalking to your girlfriend?âÂ
Your words pull Mingyu out of his haze as he reads Minghaoâs text and back into the present with you. Lifting his brow, Mingyu scoffs but quickly clears his throat before shaking his head and sending a quick text back to Minghao. "No, I donât have one. I was just letting Minghao know I had you here. Seeing if he wanted me at the lounâat work.âÂ
You watch as Mingyu quickly changes his wording and clears his throat once again. Stepping closer to the middle of the room, you can see the way he swallows hard and you know itâs because heâs trying to hide something from you. Smirking, you nod and gesture towards your bags before pointing towards another hallway. Mingyuâs eyes follow your hand before finding your eyes once again when you speak, some teasing in your voice. "Well, before you leave me for my brotherâs shady bar, can you put my stuff in my room?âÂ
Mingyu feels his stomach in his throat as you mention the bar and start to walk towards the bedrooms. Groaning, he closes his eyes, feeling his phone go off in his hand, finding himself unwilling to look at it right away as he listens to your high heels click against the floor.Â
So you knew about the lounge. Jun had told him you were a respectable woman. Mingyu had done his own research. Respectable was putting it simply. You were a doctor and where Jun might have lined his familyâs pockets in his own way, you were like a beacon of joy for them, with your face in scientific journals and standing in front of hospitals with sick children. The lounge was so far away from who you were.Â
Looking around the master bedroom, you nod before glancing back towards the door when Mingyu moves into the doorframe, only to stop and clear his throat as if asking for permission. He was not only breathtakingly handsome, but one of the most adorable men you had ever seen. You knew he worked for your brother in some capacity and in his less than desirable business adventure, but you couldnât imagine it right now. Mingyu did not seem like the type of man to work for your brother. Then again, at one point in your life, you said the same about Minghao.Â
âYou can come into the room, Mingyu. What did my brother say to you to make you so afraid of me?â You smile, a small laugh in your words, as you take a step backwards to sit on the end of the bed as Mingyu puffs up his cheeks.Â
Pushing your suitcases into the room, Mingyu looks down at you on the bed and he feels the image being burned into his brain as he tries not to imagine you lying back on it as heâsighingâshakes his head and lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair. âHe told me to take care of you. Entertain you while he was gone, but he also told me to behave... in not so many words.âÂ
Biting at your lip, you laugh once again, lifting your leg to cross it over the other, feeling Mingyuâs eyes drop to your legs before he has to force himself to look away, pulling out his phone once again to check his messages. âBehave, huh? And what does that mean? Are you bad, usually?âÂ
Feeling heat rising in his neck, Mingyu swallows hard, not only at the text messages from Minghao but also at your words. What were you trying to do? You were obviously testing him. You were teasing him. He should run for the hills and a cold shower.Â
Laughing, Mingyu focuses on his phone, sending one last text to Minghao, pressing send harder than necessary as you watch him closely. âWho are you texting, Mingyu? Still talking to Minghao? I might start to get jealous. I thought you were supposed to entertain me.âÂ
Glancing at you over his phone, Mingyu sees the smirk on your lips. You were causing some intense feelings for him. He was afraid of you for so many reasons already. You were bad for his job and his friendships. You were a brat and he could tell you were having fun, seeming to know that he wasnât going anywhere.Â
Minghao: Donât need you tonight. Jun wants you to get some shit and guard Y/NÂ
Mingyu: You gotta be kidding me.
Minghao: I donât need to remind you, but I will, because sheâs like my sister tooÂ
Minghao: Keep your dick in your pantsÂ
Mingyu: Iâm not an animal
Minghao: Yes, you are. Donât let anything happen to herÂ
Minghao: Understand me?Â
Mingyu: I understand!Â
Giving you a strained smile as he shoves his phone into his pocket, Mingyu takes a step back from you and lifts his shoulders with a deep breath. âWhich room is mine?âÂ
You had already known that Mingyu was going to be assigned to be security for you until your brother got back, even if you had told Jun and Minghao that you didnât need a babysitter. At the time when you said it, you hadnât known who Mingyu was or how much fun it might be. Now you are happy to have company.Â
Smiling, you slide off the bed and up to your feet, glancing around your room with a teasing smile as Mingyu lets out a breath, afraid of what you are implying. Stepping past him, you glance up at him, letting your fingers trail over his hand before moving to the door. âFollow me.âÂ
Mingyuâs skin felt like it was on fire where your fingers had brushed over his. He was being stupid with just a small touch, but god, you were driving him crazy. You knew exactly what you were doing; it was going to take everything in him to keep some professionalism about him during this. He was already counting down the days, hours, and minutes until Jun would be back and this job would be over.Â
Following behind you, Mingyu lets his eyes move down your back and over your ass before he glances off to the side when you make a quick right turn into the room right beside yours and nod. Glancing over your shoulder at Mingyu, you lift your hands to do a quick eye to hand measurement of his height before doing the same for the bed and making an unsure sound. âYou might fit, big boy.âÂ
Unable to stop the scoff before it starts to leave his mouth, Mingyu walks past you into the room and looks at the bed. It wasnât a small bed, and he wasnât that big. Meeting your eyes, Mingyu watches you smirk at him before you glance around the rest of the room and pout your lips at him. âYou didnât bring anything with you? Maybe I could take a ride with you and stretch my legs while you pack a bag.âÂ
You knew he didnât have anything else with him. Clearly, he hadnât been planning on staying, but you seemed to have known he was going to be sticking around before he did. Sighing, Mingyu scratches at his eyebrow before gesturing towards the door and giving you a strained smile. You could tell you were wearing him down. You wanted to crack him. Get to the real Kim Mingyu, not this professional mask he was wearing for the sake of your brother.Â
Mingyu hadnât expected you to follow him up into his apartment, so when you did, he could feel the heat rising in his neck and face. His apartment was nothing compared to the penthouse you were staying in or the penthouse that Jun owned. All Mingyu had was a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment in a decent part of town and he kept it pretty clean. Thank god.Â
âUh, Iâll be quick. Justââ You watch as Mingyu hurries past you into his living room to swipe a gun from his coffee table, a few bullets hitting the floor as he curses under his breath, leaning down to pick them up. âMake yourself at home, I guess.â Glancing over his shoulder at you, Mingyu pushes the bullets into the magazine in his hand before pushing the magazine into the pistol and hearing it click.Â
Your brows were raised and you were watching him curiously. He hadnât planned for you to be in his space. He had been cleaning one of his guns the night before, well before the bottle of jack, but normally people werenât inside his apartment. Especially people who looked like you and were decent, normal people.Â
Following Mingyu with your eyes, you watch as he leaves the door crack, probably to listen to in the other room as he grabs a bag and starts to fill it with various things. You werenât surprised that he had a gun and it didnât bother you; in fact, it made him even sexier somehow. You felt a bit safer around him knowing that he was armed, especially if he was supposed to be taking care of you.Â
Looking over the books on his shelves, you tilt your head and smile at the titles. They werenât what you would expect someone like Kim Mingyu to have. As that thought crosses your mind, you think to yourself that it isnât fair of you to think that. You didnât know him well enough to judge his reading habits or intelligence. You just hadnât expected to see The Count of Monte Cristo sitting on his shelf with the binding broken as if it had been read several times.Â
Pulling the book out, you hold it delicately in your hands as you flip through, reading over the wordsâsome you remember, others that you hadnât forgotten, having not read it in so long. What makes you smile are the notes in the margins in the same chicken scratch that you had seen your name written in at the airport.Â
Grabbing a few things from his bathroom, Mingyu zips up his bag and checks his pistol before sliding it into the holster under his jacket. You were quiet in the other room and that was making him nervous. He had tried to be quick while packing, but he had no idea what to bring, so he went simple and only took what he needed.Â
Turning the corner into his living room, Mingyu stops in his tracks, seeing you standing in front of his bookshelf with one of his books in your hands. You were gorgeous in the evening light pouring in from the decently large windows he had been blessed with, and you had the prettiest smile on your lips as you ran your fingers over the margins of the book. He could already tell what book you were looking at before even getting closer. It was his favorite, but that was probably easy to see, which is probably why you picked it up. It was obviously the most well loved book on the entire shelf.Â
âAll human wisdom is contained in these two wordsâWait and hope.â You read the quote from the book that Mingyu had re-written at the top of the page before glancing up at him as he watches you carefully. Closing the book, you slide it back into his place and take a breath before offering him a smile. âAre you a tortured soul, Kim Mingyu?âÂ
Laughing into a scoff, Mingyu adjusts his bag on his shoulder and shakes his head. âI just enjoy the idea of revenge being fulfilled, I think.â Mingyu watches you nod and take a few steps closer to him, the air feeling thicker as he tries to take a breath only to get a deep breath of your perfume.Â
âAnd it has nothing to do with the love story attached to it? That isnât why youâve read that book so many times that the pages are falling out.â Mingyuâs eyes fall to your lips as you speak and he has to force himself to look back up to your eyes before pulling his gaze away from you and towards the window with the golden light.Â
âItâs just a story.â You think to yourself as you hear the words come out of Mingyuâs mouthâwhat a beautiful liar he is.
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HI BABY OKAY SO I HAVE A LITTLE ONE SHOT IDEAâď¸âď¸
so basically reader and paige know each other but arenât exactly close just flirted a few times wtv wtv. so reader goes to a game and sheâs wearing the other teams jerseyđđ after the game paige sees her, they hang out have a few drinks and hookup.. and paige is like âtake this shit offâ then pulls the other teams jersey off reader
ALSO CAN I BE đ¤ ANON??
yes ofc you can !!
đ/đ§: okay i literally love this idea , and congrats on being my first anon love !
đđ¨đŽđŤđđŹđ˘đđ
⪠đ¨đ§đ đŹđĄđ¨đ
THREE DAYS AGO you had been sitting quietly in your apartment, the tv displaying an episode of Gilmore Girls that you, if prompted, could recite word for word. Leftover Chinese food sat cold upon the coffee table, your roommate occasionally returning to her forgotten bowl of beef broccoli.
âWhatâre you doing this weekend?â her voice abruptly cut through the silence, drowning out the show which could hardly be heard to begin with.
You leaned your elbow against the arm of the couch, shrugging your shoulders. âProbably nothing.â
âPer usual,â she snorted, amused. After reaching to pause the tv, she pulled her legs up under her and twisted around to face you. Her face held a look of mischief and you typically tried to steer away from any kind of conversation with her at this point, but there was nowhere for you to go. âDo you wanna take a little road trip?â she raised her eyebrows, hopefully.
âA road trip?â you repeated, your tone laced with confusion. âItâs the middle of February and you wanna take a road trip?â
Excitedly nodding her head, she scooted closer to you. âYou know how iâve been talking to Noa a lot lately?â She hadnât even given you a chance to respond before she continued on. âWell her school plays UConn on Friday night and she said she could get me courtside tickets! How sick is that?!â
Courtside tickets to any game would be exciting, but courtside tickets to see UConn Paige play was an entirely different level of excitement.
You had met the basketball star at a penthouse party last summer. It was being hosted by some trust fund NYU student whose parents were out of town. It was said to be âselect invite only,â the hierarchy groups of the social food chain would be there along with whoever else they wanted to bring. You originally werenât supposed to go, but after finding out your name was on the invite list, you and a few friends couldnât think of any better way to spend the night.
Paige had been wearing a white crop top and a pair of jorts, and she looked far too good not to entertain for the night. All night you two had mingled and flirted, dancing together and taking shot after shot. Nothing came out of it other than another follower on Instagram, but you were just happy to have made the night a good one.
âYeah, thatâs pretty cool,â you admitted quietly. You leaned forward to grab the box of shrimp fried rice, aimlessly picking at it with your fork in an attempt to hide your clear interest in the conversation.
âPretty cool?â your roommate gaped, âitâs fucking awesome! I finally get to meet her and you get to see Paige play in person.â She was practically bouncing off the walls at this point, her cheeks red from how hard she was smiling. She was biting her lip, no doubt to keep from squealing.
You sucked your teeth unconvincingly, your mind scattered as it tried to provide you with a quick response. âWhy would I wanna see Paige?â you frowned, avoiding her eyes.
âArenât you guys friends?â
âWhy would you think that?â
âWell you follow each other on Insta, and youâre always watching her games,â she shrugged innocently, thankfully not picking up on the way your eyes refused to meet hers or the blush that had unknowingly crept onto your face.
âOh,â you mumbled, âwell we arenât.â
Unfortunately, it was the truth. You and Paige hadn't interacted with each other since the party and you chalked the night up to the two of you just having some drunken fun.
"Oh, so, do you wanna come down or no?"
You weighed your options, though the answer was clear. Stay in your apartment with nothing to do other than binge watch shows by yourself or join your roommate on a trip down to good ol' Storrs, Connecticut. You sighed and leaned back against the couch, crossing your arms.
"When do we leave?"
âď˝ĄË âď¸ Ë・â・
That was how you ended up sitting courtside at a UConn versus Creighton game, a white and blue jersey over your sweatshirt, the number seven displayed on the front. Your roommate had insisted that you both wear Noaâs jersey, that way she felt âdouble the support.â You didnât mind despite the fact that you couldnât name a single player on the team.
The game ended with UConn sweeping Creighton, you had tuned out sometime during the third quarter after accepting the fact that the blue jays wouldnât be able to come back. You hadnât even noticed the game was over until the blonde beside you stood up with a groan, throwing her hands in the air.
âThatâs it? Itâs over just like that?â she turned to you with wide eyes.
You shrugged your shoulders, âGuess so.â
She was beyond upset, you wouldâve thought she had been the one on the court. She went on a tangent after the teams disappeared into the locker room, expressing her opinion on why the game should be longer and what Creighton shouldâve done. She had no idea what she was talking about, and you knew that, but still listened nonetheless.
âAre we getting something to eat?â you asked when you were sure she was done talking.
âYeah,â she sighed out, ânot sure what Noa wants to do but we can figure it out when she gets out here.â
âOkay, âm gonna use the bathroom real quick.â You stood from your seat, brushing off your jersey and heading toward the bathrooms.
Never before had you been to Gampel Pavilion, and curiosity got the best of you as you disregarded the large âRestroomsâ sign for a more enticing place. You ambled down one of the corridors, looking at all the pictures and awards that were up on the walls. Pictures of alumni in all the different uniforms through the decades, different championship trophies and plaques.
Your eyes stopped on one picture in particular; it was from the 80s and the men had bright smiles on their faces as they held up a large trophy. Their shorts were incredibly short, and you laughed to yourself as you wondered how theyâd ever played in them. Before you could bring your attention away on your own accord, a familiar voice did it for you.
âYouâre not supposed to be back here.â
There stood Paige Bueckers in all her six foot glory, her eyebrows knitted together as she stared at you. For having just played a game, she looked amazing. Her hair was still pulled up in its usual braid and ponytail but it was now partially covered with a gray beanie, she had put on a jacket and sweats over her uniform and looked about ready to slip out without being seen. Thatâs probably what she was doing.
âOh sorry, IâI didnât know,â you shook your head, embarrassed.
âNah itâs cool, usually it doesnât matter but theyâre tryna clear the place out now,â she explained with a shrug, a keychain jingling from the movement of her bag on her back.
You nodded your head, silently walking past her to make your way back to the gym.
âWait,â she called out.
You whipped your head around quicker than you shouldâve, your face holding a look of innocence as you waited, no, hoped for her to say what you thought she was going to say.
âDonât I know you?â
âYeah, we met last summer,â was what you wouldâve said had you been able to think straight. Instead, you stared at her dumbly until she finally spoke again.
âI think I do, we met at that one kidâs party last year,â she said. Was she trying to remind you? Like anyone would forget meeting Paige Bueckers at a party.
âYeah, yeah I remember,â you nodded. You rubbed your forehead with a breathless laugh, thinking of what to say next. âThat night was pretty blurry to be honestâŚâ
Thatâs all you could come up with?
It wasn't even the truth either. You remembered everything from that night; every look, every touch.
âNo yeah I get what you mean,â she laughed, âdonât even remember how I got home.â
You nodded your head to feign agreement because you knew exactly how you had gotten home.
âCreighton fan, huh?â Paige asked, gesturing to your jersey.
You glanced down, pulling the material away so you could examine it yourself. âNo uh, my friendâs girlfriend or â whatever is on the team and we just came down to support her.â
âAh, so I take it youâre not a UConn fan either?â
You laughed, âIâve watched a couple games.â
Another lie -- you've watched every game.
âIâll take it,â Paige smiled. âIt was good seeing you again,â she said, beginning to back up. Had you not been so captured by the shade of blue that her eyes held, you wouldâve missed the way they'd scanned your body. Running up and down your legs, gently biting her lip. Her eyes once again met yours and she flashed you that signature smirk before she turned around and headed out.
âď˝ĄË âď¸ Ë・â・
"This place is fucking packed," Noa commented, surveying the bar with narrowed eyes.
"Yeah, i'm gonna go see if I can get us a table."
Your roommate left your side and approached the hostess podium, you and Noa now being alone near the door. She awkwardly rocked back and forth on her feet, hands resting comfortably in her pockets. "Y'all came down here together?" she asked suddenly.
"Yeah, got here a little bit before the game actually," you smiled.
Noa hummed, "Hope you aren't driving back tomorrow," she said with a small laugh.
"What do you mean?"
"The couch at the apartment isn't the most comfortable," she sighed, scratching the back of her neck, "so I was just saying you'd probably be better off making blondie drive."
As if on cue, said blondie motioned for the two of you to follow her. "The wait was like forty-five minutes but the bar has the full menu," she said and gestured to three open seats right beside each other. You all gladly took them, sighing as you finally put your feet to rest.
The bartender came around and took your orders and the three of you finally settled in. Conversation came easy, you and Noa bonded over all things basketball. You discussed the calls that were made during the game, how a lot of them were made in favor of UConn because it was their home gym and all. While it hadn't been a complete lie, UConn would've won even without those calls.
You sipped casually on your martini, letting your two friends fall into their own conversation while you busied yourself elsewhere. Your gaze moved from table to table, scouting out someone who could turn your night around from the eventful one it had been. Once again, as though the man above had been listening solely to you, Paige and her teammates waltzed right in.
She had changed out of her basketball uniform, now dressed in a pair of cargos with a long sleeve and a vest.
Instinctively, you straightened up in your chair. They'd seated themselves on the other end of the bar, Paige sitting perfectly in your line of view. You felt like a creep the way you were watching her, but you couldn't help it. There had been a point in time where Paige had been focused on you. Her hands roaming your body as you danced together, her eyes locked on yours only, determined to make you laugh. You smiled unconsciously at the memory of that night, wishing over and over that you could relive it.
When you looked up again Paige was gone, missing from the rest of her group.
"If I didn't know any better, i'd think you were following me," her voice came from close behind you, and you found her standing there with an untouched drink in her hand.
"Well if I remember correctly, I was here first," you smiled, tilting your head. You were hoping you looked cute doing it and not dopey like you had pictured yourself. "So who's really doing the following?"
Paige chuckled, "You got me there." She moved to take the seat beside you, glancing around for a sign that someone was already sitting there. When she didn't find one, she proceeded to get comfortable. You watched contently, sipping your drink with crossed legs and waiting for her to settle. "That's the girlfriend?"
You nodded your head without looking behind you.
"Whatchu got?" you pointed at her glass.
"Dirty Shirley."
"Ah, your favorite."
Paige pursed her lips, a smile threatening to break through. "How'd you know that?" she asked.
"It was all you drank that night," you reminded her.
"Hm," she smirked, "thought you said you didn't remember much."
'Fuck,' you thought to yourself.
"I remember bits and pieces," you shrugged, distracting yourself with your drink.
The blonde playfully narrowed her eyes. She remembered everything from that night, she had only pretended not to because she felt embarrassed that she remembered everything and you didn't. She had visited your Instagram multiple times in the weeks following that, cursing herself for not having the courage to ask you out or do anything other than pointlessly flirt with you.
But here she was, being presented with the opportunity to turn things around, and she planned to take advantage of it.
"So tell me, what else do you remember?"
âď˝ĄË âď¸ Ë・â・
Two martinis and four rounds of shots later, you and Paige found yourselves in an intense game of pool. She was currently beating you, her only objection to sink the eight ball in while you still had a few balls left to knock in.
You leaned over with focused eyes, carefully lining up the stick with the ball. You could feel Paige's presence beside you, her breath hot on your ear as she spoke. "She's crumbling," the blonde teased. She sensed your stress and she was feeding off it, a thrilled expression upon her face. "Will she sink it? Or will she fumble?"
You pulled the stick back, and with a swift movement, jolted it forward. The ball flew quickly across the table, ricocheting off the side and rolling back toward the middle.
"Oh! She shoots, she misses!" Paige commentated enthusiastically, the alcohol running through her system and giving her a buzz. She pointed her finger annoyingly in your face as she backed away, getting closer and closer to her position behind the eight ball. She mimicked the stance you had done; leaning over the table and zeroing in on the ball.
A beat of silence passed and Paige still hadn't moved, her eyes slowly moved upwards to meet yours. A smile broke out onto her lips, she stood up and twirled the stick around in her hands. "How about we make this a little more interesting," she suggested lowly.
"Interesting how?" you snorted, leaning against the table.
She stepped closer to you, towering over you with a gaze that had you practically foaming at the mouth. If Paige wanted to take you on the pool table right at that moment, you would've let her. Of course, that was just the alcohol talking, and there was quite a lot of it.
"I need one shot to win, and I want a reward when I do."
"A reward, huh?" I raised my eyebrows, noticing her step closer, "What kind of reward do you want?"
"I can think of a few things..." she murmured. Paige was trying hard to be seductive right now, and she couldn't tell if it was working or not. She had already failed to hookup with you once last year at the party, and she'd be damned if she failed again.
"Like what?" you took a step closer, batting your eyelashes at her. You were teasing her and she knew it. The alcohol coursing through your system was giving you a confidence boost like no other, and you couldn't think of a better way to make use of it other than flirting with Paige.
"Well for starters," she sighed, pulling gently on the Creighton jersey that you had yet to change out of, "I don't wanna see this anymore tonight."
"Oh yeah?" you quirked a brow at her.
"Yeah, and when I win, i'm gonna take it off you," she said confidently.
You could feel yourself sweating beneath your clothes, the pool stick in your hand suddenly becoming difficult to grip. You cleared your throat when she finally stepped back, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she repositioned herself on the other side of the table and focused on the ball. With a quick and calculated shot, the ball swiped cleanly across the table before falling into the desired slot.
The noise from the bar seemed to fade away as the realization of Paige's victory sunk in. People drunkenly moved around; dancing, singing, cheering at whatever was playing on tv, but none of that mattered to you anymore. You were unable to focus on anything other than Paige's blue eyes staring into yours, the color seemingly darker than it was just moments ago.
You rolled your eyes and set the stick down on the table, reaching for the hem of the jersey to take it off. Paige's hands quickly found your wrists, her face contorted in utter confusion. "What're you doing?" she asked.
You were playing with her.
"Taking the jersey off, isn't that what you wanted?" you frowned innocently.
Paige scoffed, "Don't test me. Let's go back to mine, you can take it off there."
You both bid your goodbyes to your friends, your roommate tossed you a questioning look that you dismissed with the wave of your hand. You waited impatiently outside for an Uber, Paige holding you close in attempt to shield you from the cold. Her eyes were fixed on your lips, the very ones that were trembling, begging to be warmed up by hers. From the moment she had seen you in the hallway she immediately recognized you, she'd recognize that ass anywhere. She had planned to send you a message tomorrow, running into you tonight had been unexpected but not unwelcome. It just gave her less time to think of what to say.
The car ride back to Paige's house left the two of you bright eyed and rosy cheeked; the radio was switched off and the driver spelled like he had just played in a basketball game and didn't bother to shower afterward. The backseat windows appeared to have a child lock on them, preventing either of you from breathing in fresh air. Between the buzz from all the drinking and toxicity of the car's air, you and Paige couldn't stop yourselves from laughing the whole way there. Her hands didn't leave your legs, but in the midst of all the welcomed chaos you hadn't even noticed.
You rolled out of the car, basking in the cold air with open arms. Paige trailed closely behind you, her hand on the small of your back as the two of you made your way up to her apartment. The second the elevators doors shut and you two were alone, your lips met hers in a searing kiss. She tasted sweet, like Dirty Shirleys and peach CĂROC shots. With your hands tangled in her hair, you pulled her closer, wanting needing to taste more of her.
Her tight grip on your hips, fingertips pressing into you, sent shivers throughout your body. She backed you into the wall, her tongue exploring every inch of your mouth while you lowered your guard and let her. So caught up in the taste of you, she almost missed the elevator opening up to her floor. Hardly even breaking the kiss, you two made your way out. Paige knew exactly where to go and you were blindly being led by her, stumbling over your own feet.
Paige fumbled around in her pocket for her keys, roughly jamming them into the lock and pushing the door open. The apartment was dark with the exception of a few city lights pouring in through the windows. Standing in place for a couple seconds longer, you felt the kiss slow down before Paige stopped it completely.
"Fuck," she spoke breathlessly, running a hand through her hair. She reluctantly backed away from you, turning on the lights. With the apartment's kitchen now being fully lit, you could see into the living room as well. The place was beautifully furnished, with little fake plants placed around on the shelves and pictures of Paige and her friends framed up on the walls. Her couch looked far more comfortable than the couch Noa had described earlier and you were dreading having to return to it later tonight.
Paige appeared in front of you, her hands coming up to cup your face. "I want you to go into my bedroom, turn the light on, and then sit down on the bed and wait for me," she instructed lowly. You nodded silently, backing up in the direction of the bedroom while giving Paige the sexiest smile you could muster. In reality, you were absolutely panicking.
Once you got to the bedroom, you switched on the lamp that rested on the bedside table and seated yourself on the edge of the bed. You were unsure of how to sit, or maybe you should try lying down? You decided on taking your shoes and socks off first, neatly dropping them on the side of the bed. You didn't have time to further your thoughts on how to sit because just as you had finished putting your things aside, Paige entered the bedroom and shut the door behind her. She was carrying a bottle of water that she set down on the nightstand, laughing when she noticed you awkwardly staring.
"You look uncomfortable."
"I'm not, just waiting for you," you replied, hoping the shakiness in your voice didn't betray you.
Paige walked over and stood before you, enticingly biting her lip. She leaned down at the same time that you leaned back, a seductive game of cat and mouse as she crawled forward whilst you crawled backward. Your smiles grew when your back hit the headboard and you realized you had nowhere else to go.
"You've been staring at me all night with those eyes," she murmured, and you felt her breath on your lips.
"What eyes?"
Paige rubbed her own nose against yours before she reconnected your lips. She pushed your legs apart with her hands, running them up and down the smooth material of your leggings. You let out a soft moan into her mouth when her knee came in contact with your heated center, bucking your hips in order to feel more of her.
Paige took it upon herself to quicken the pace, instinctively grinding into you. Her lips eventually left yours, trailing down your neck and leaving wet pecks all over. Her teeth bit softly into your skin, marking you as hers. You pressed her further into you, hands snaking under her shirt and roaming all over her back. Her attack on your flesh was violent, the pain pulling a pathetic whimper out of you.
"Fuck, do that again," Paige mumbled against your skin, repeating her actions a little rougher this time to gain a bigger reaction from you.
"Ah, Paige!" you slammed your hand against her shoulder, screwing your eyes shut.
She yanked harshly at the jersey still clinging to your body, "Take this shit off," she spat out. She pushed you down into the mattress, ripping the garment from your body and discarding it somewhere in the room. Your sweatshirt came off next, leaving you clad in only a bra and your leggings. Paige pulled her own shirt over her head, her necklace dangling over your face. You used it to pull her back down into you, hungry for a taste of her again.
Her fingertips crept underneath you and she hooked them onto your bra strap, skillfully unlatching it and pulling it off you. Dilated pupils gazed down at your exposed breasts, her hands hastily coming up to touch them like a child in a toy store. She kneaded, sucked, licked, kissed, her attention focused solely on your hardened nipples, leaving your neglected pussy uncontrollably dripping.
"Paige," you whined desperately, your back arching so far off the bed that Paige's hands forced you back down.
"Hm?" she hummed inattentively.
"I need you..."
A loud popping sound came from Paige letting go of your nipple, holding your stare as she lowered her body closer to where you needed her most. Just as she had hooked her fingers on your bra strap, she hooked them on the waistband of your leggings and slowly pulled them down.
Your panties were downright soaked, earning a mocking laugh from the blonde.
"So wet for me mama," she purred, a smirk on her face.
She took her thumb and ran it straight down your clothed slit. You sucked in a sharp breath, hands already grabbing at the sheets on the bed. To Paige, you looked like an angel lying there, like a good girl with those pleading eyes as you waited to be fucked senseless. Finally, Paige removed your panties and tossed them aside with the rest of your clothes.
She shamelessly played around in your slick, soaking each and every one of her fingers in it.
"Tell me you want it."
"I want it Paige," you breathed out.
Paige's face appeared overtop of you, her jaw clenched tightly in disapproval, "Beg."
You were so turned on you didn't even protest, instead just propped yourself up on your elbows to be closer to her. Her fingers danced around in teasingly slow circles on your clit, a knot gradually forming in your stomach. "Please I want you to fuck me, please baby I need it so bad. Want your fingers inside me," you exhorted pathetically.
Without wasting another second, the blonde inserted two lengthy fingers inside of you. It was like looking into a mirror the way Paige's face copied yours; when you bit your lip, she bit hers, when your mouth involuntarily gaped open, so did hers. She was taunting you, forcing you to see how undone you were becoming. Tightly gripping her bicep, you dug your nails into the large muscle.
Her fingers pumped in and out of you, thumb doing work on your clit to bring you closer to the edge. The squelching noise that filled the room sent heat to your cheeks, and if it wasn't that then it was the look Paige was giving you as she fucked you. She was proud of the mess you were becoming, the mess she was making you. She kissed your lips over and over again even though you couldn't kiss back.
Your head was spinning with thoughts of Paige, the feeling of Paige inside you. Your toes curled involuntarily, noises you had never heard yourself make before echoed off the walls of the room.
"Yes yes yes, i'm close," you cried out, "fuck just like that!"
Paige hurriedly kissed her way back down to your pussy, replacing her thumb with her tongue. She mercilessly sucked you like a starved woman enjoying her first meal, or a guilty one enjoying her last. Her tongue moved nimbly against you, fingers fucking in and out of you and feeling the tightness as you clenched around her.
"You gonna come for me, huh?"
"Uh huh," you fervently nodded.
"Hmm," she hummed into you, the vibrations nearly sending you over the edge, "let me hear you say it. I want to hear you say it."
"Yes! I'm gonna come for you..."
Paige expertly curled her fingers inside you, lying her tongue flat against your clit and forcing you to do none other than let go. The knot that had been building in your stomach finally fell apart, your legs snapping shut and trapping Paige's head there. You pushed and pulled at her, your desires becoming fuzzy as the orgasm swallowed you whole. Moans and strings of curse words unconsciously spilled from your lips. They were a stark contrast to the sweet things Paige cooed as she left kisses along your stomach, and your chest, and back up to your lips.
"Such a good girl," she whispered on your lips, "you were so good for me."
You shivered at the empty feeling you got from Paige pulling her fingers out of you, they were covered in the same slick that her chin was, glistening under the lamp's light. You smiled tiredly at her, snaking your arms around her neck and pressing your lips to hers.
"You tired?" she asked, observing your face.
"Yeah."
She pulled away from you and reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, twisting it open and bringing it to your lips. "Sleep here tonight," she said, "I can take you where you need to go in the morning."
Swallowing the water you said, "You sure?"
"Yeah, you probably can't walk after that anyway."
"Shut up," you snorted hitting her chest.
The two of you settled in bed together, your naked body finding warmth against her clothed one as she cuddled you close to her. You smiled to yourself, nuzzling your face in her neck and drifting off to sleep.
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