#husband is holding the quilt
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Took a year to complete this quilt! Pattern is by NASA Astronaut Karen Nyberg called Cupola View. Fabrics used were also designed by Karen, the collection is called Earth Views.
#quilting#astronaut#handmade#longarm quilting#quilt#cupola view#space crafts#made for my son#husband is holding the quilt#removed his hands from the pic#you can see his shadow#quilts in the wild
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License to Kill
Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Marital bliss becomes a bloody massacre within hours of your wedding. Bucky has run the gamut of organized crime from gunrunning to public extortion, but an attempt on your life is a whole different ballgame. A honeymoon-turned-manhunt has Bucky out for blood.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Semi-public sex. Beefy, mob boss Bucky really wants to give you a baby. Praise kink. Size kink. Facefucking. Sex on a private jet. Attempted murder. Arms trafficking. Guerrilla warfare.
Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4
Any postnuptial banquet was bound to be the talk of Santorini when a groom arrived beaten half to death.
At least that was what you’d told yourself, what had plagued your mind for hours before the start of brunch, and what Bucky presently refused to acknowledge with so much as a bat of his eye or a word spoken in between.
“You worry too much,” he said as he sheathed himself inside you for the third time that morning.
Bucky seized your throat in one hand and tilted your chin to make sure you were capable of eye contact while he fucked you in front of the mirror. It didn’t seem to bother him at all that the face in his own reflection was bruised, bloodied, and sewn up like a patchwork quilt behind you.
Hazards of the job, he’d said.
Three masked assailants breaking into your villa the first night of honeymooning? Customary. Being yanked out of bed and made to kneel as your husband took the beating of a lifetime just minutes after consummating your marriage? More common than you would think.
Bucky hadn’t even blinked when he got pistol whipped by a gold-plated Beretta. Didn’t flinch when he was held to a wall and pummeled like a freestanding punch bag.
Almost smiled when he took a hard right hook to the nose and felt a torrent of blood flood out of his nostrils.
If anyone were to be accused of behaving too calmly in a home invasion, it would be Bucky Barnes. It seemed as though he’d seen this all before and had no qualms about getting the shit kicked out of him every now and then. Why he hadn’t so much as lifted a finger to fight back was still beyond your comprehension, though.
At length, he tightened his grip on your neck and tried to smile, his upper lip slashed in two and bruised a grim, violet hue.
“Who’s my girl?” he murmured an inch from your ear.
You whined when he delivered a particularly hard thrust, both of your hands flying to the mirror to steady yourself as he pounded you from behind.
“I-I am,” you whimpered.
The stretch was still something you were getting used to, but now Bucky knew just how to spread you open without making it hurt. He’d glide a thick finger between your folds, slide it down to your clit, and leave it there as long as you’d let him, rubbing quick circles while you bucked and moaned under his touch. And, in spite of all his cuts and bruises, your husband made sure to kiss your shoulder every now and then to let you know he still loved you—even if he was fucking you like he didn’t.
Bucky trailed his lips behind your ear and watched you writhe in time with every stroke he gave. Pressed his face close to yours, watched a desperate, fucked-out expression take over your features, and smiled to himself knowing that no one but him got to see you like this.
“Who likes getting stuffed full of this cock?” he taunted.
“I do.”
“Who loves making daddy feel this good?”
“I do.”
He never thought the sound of your vows could be repeated out loud in such an obscene way—his sweet bride bent in half with a thick, throbbing cock wedged between her legs—but he loved it nonetheless.
Bucky was rutting his hips at a breakneck pace and holding your head to the mirror like he’d never let go. Your climax was quickly coming close into view, and you felt your toes curl in the hardwood floor beneath them.
Suddenly, the chirp of a ringtone diverted your attention.
Bucky brought his phone to his ear as he continued to pound you mercilessly.
“Yeah, Steve?”
The mob boss’s business never took a break, it seemed.
“So what?”
“Yeah, no, I heard you the first time.”
“Well, I’m plowing my wife right now, can it wait?”
Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment at Bucky’s blunt choice of words. You saw his brow pinch behind you, his thrusts getting faster and sloppier, and in spite of the distraction, you sensed he was getting close too.
You yourself were right on the brink. Your gaze met Bucky’s in the mirror with a soft, pleading look, and before you knew it, your husband was bidding an abrupt farewell to his friend and chucking his phone to the side.
“Ready to cum for me, honey?”
You whimpered and nodded.
“Alright then,” Bucky said with a near-expectant look, weaving the fingers of one hand into your hair and pulling it back, tight, “Cum all over daddy’s cock.”
With a shriek you feared might carry throughout the whole banquet hall, you finally reached your peak and released around Bucky’s length, tears springing to your eyes as you closed them tight and moaned his name.
And, ever the cheeky fuck, Bucky leaned right in and kissed the sides of your face to collect all the moisture he could—‘Shit, honey, you taste as good as you look’—while he smirked. Would’ve grinned even bigger if he wasn’t so overcome with pleasure; but, as it was, he couldn’t keep from blowing his load just seconds after the last spasms of your orgasm. Bucky leaned over your torso and squeezed your body tight to his, fucking his cum deep inside you as far as it could possibly go.
For a few, dizzying moments, the man’s mind wandered to more primal thoughts of making it stick, knocking you up, and Bucky had to clench his jaw hard to suppress the groans that were threatening to spill through his teeth. Every time he fucked you, it was like something just clicked; he couldn’t rid the thought of giving you a baby.
But no, for now, the two of you were still on wedding time; before you could jet off to your real honeymoon destination—someplace in the Caribbean, if Bucky remembered correctly—your mother had insisted that you host one post-wedding event that day: a brunch.
Naturally, that meant you were obliged to serve a four-course meal on the terrace of the Canaves Oia Hotel.
The mother of the bride had been one hell of a staunch advocate for keeping this wedding party going as long as possible, and who was Bucky to tell her no? He reasoned he would have plenty of time to get you pregnant after all the wedding festivities had ended, so he didn’t mind.
At present, you tugged your panties and your dress back into place with a wince.
“I think you displaced my cervix, James.”
Bucky couldn’t deny he felt the smallest twinge of pride seeing you walk a little funny to collect the rest of your belongings and attempt to freshen up. It also gave him the perfect excuse to scoop you back up in his arms and pretend to be apologetic about your present dilemma.
“Did I really?” he asked as you giggled and tried to swat him away, “I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Barnes.”
“Like hell you are.”
With Bucky still draped over your body, proffering his apologies again and again as he assailed your face with tiny kisses, you’d barely made it two feet toward the door before you collapsed against a table and almost toppled a centerpiece. The pair of you would be expected outside any minute now, where the rest of your post-wedding party was likely trickling in and wondering where the hell the bride and groom had gone, but Bucky seemed adamant on keeping you to himself a little while longer.
That was until the back exit swung on its hinges and a familiar, frazzled groomsman stumbled in.
“Can you horndogs hurry the hell up?!”
So Sam had heard you after all.
You just might’ve blushed if you weren’t being pushed out the door a second later, the hurried, chiding tone of your husband’s friend ringing low in your ears.
“Your old man’s ready to hit the roof,” he mumbled to Bucky, “Won’t start drinking until you two show face.”
“Probably still thinks my bride escaped in the middle of the night,” Bucky mused, flitting a look to you.
The man behind rolled his eyes and continued to usher you both outside. Sam Wilson knew exactly what had happened last night; he’d been the one to bring in the cavalry to save you both from imminent death, after all.
As you had come to find out, Sam wasn’t just a friend of your husband’s but also a close associate of sorts—the kind that would wait in the wings and do whatever it took to keep Bucky safe. When the wait staff at the villa hadn’t been able to reach you for room service delivery last night, reporting some ‘strange sounds’ inside, Mr. Wilson had sprung into action. Called the rest of your husband’s entourage and was up to your room in minutes, where they’d dealt a swift, and final, blow to your attackers. You hadn’t asked many questions after—just thanked him. Profusely.
“You look like hell,” the man observed with a sidelong glance in his friend’s direction.
“Really? I feel great,” Bucky replied.
The three of you weaved through a crowd of partygoers—every single one of whom, without exception, stopped and stared at your husband’s mangled face as he passed—and you started to chew the inside of your cheek. People were gawking, talking amongst themselves as they wondered aloud what the hell could’ve happened to the groom overnight. You felt their stares turn to you in a mixture of pity and reproach, and you wanted to hide.
“Ja-ames!” a sing-song voice trilled across the way.
You, Bucky, and Sam all stopped in your tracks to regard the duo that was making their swift approach over.
Bucky’s mom and dad.
As the older couple drew near, you half-expected to see them take on the same wan, horror-stricken look worn by all those around you, but to your surprise, they didn’t.
In fact, they didn’t bat an eyelid. Seeing their son’s face all gnarled and bloody barely even registered.
“Good, you’re here! The photographers just arrived.” Bucky’s mother swept you into her arms for a brief embrace before shooting her son a frown. Your husband, in turn, offered her an apologetic peck on the cheek.
“Sorry, ma. We got caught up,” he said.
“Sure looks like it.”
That came from the elder Mr. Barnes, who had stopped to give his son a quick once-over. He looked amused.
“Get in a fight with a grizzly last night?” he quipped.
“Three, actually,” Sam answered for Bucky, who was already grinning from ear-to-ear—or as much as his facial lacerations would allow him.
You saw father and son exchange a brief, knowing look, before it was extinguished just as fast as it had come. Clearly, some sort of understanding had passed between them, and the old patriarch seemed pleased. Proud, even. You couldn’t begin to imagine why.
“The bruising shouldn’t be too hard to edit out of the wedding pictures,” Bucky’s mother turned to you as she started to lead the group away, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’s those damn lesions on his face that always give us trouble.”
She spoke so coolly about the trauma done to her son it damn near chilled you to the bone. You never thought the wife of a mobster would be oblivious to all the violence, but to talk as though this were just another day in the life as far as brutal beatings went was a little unnerving.
You strolled along and silently wondered what the fuck was wrong with this family. Then you realized, slowly, that this was your family now. Your stomach twisted.
When you got to the garden where the photographers were stationed, you saw your parents waiting, enrapt.
And, in a matter of seconds, you watched their expressions morph from exuberance to confusion to outright trepidation. Your father was quick to look away, but your mother clearly couldn’t be bothered to stop ogling Bucky’s gruesome appearance. She forced a tight-lipped smile at the very last second and stretched her arms out to you as the five of you approached.
“You’re glowing, my dear.”
She hugged you and, over your shoulder, tried to mask a discomfited look.
Your mother and father exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the group but seemed loath to linger on Bucky for more than a minute. Like they couldn’t quite tell whether the honeymoon beatdown was fair game for discussion.
“Places, people!”
The photographers were lined up like a flock of paparazzi. Each standing, crouching, squatting with their cameras in their hands, trying to get just the right angle.
The person in charge quickly busied herself with directing and adjusting every one of your positions before the pictures were taken. Telling Bucky’s father to straighten his tie, your mother to brighten her smile, the bride to tilt her shoulders just a little bit more, and Bucky, would you please stop groping your wife?
That last command had come from his mother, actually. Bucky had been palming your ass above your dress, and his mom couldn’t stand the thought of one camera capturing such crude behavior.
“My hand slipped,” Bucky retorted, much to the amusement of a few photographers.
You and his mother gave him identical admonitory looks, but it was you who was close enough to say something.
Just when you opened your mouth to speak, though, an odd sense stopped you on a dime.
There was a warmth. In your panties. Then a slow and silent oozing sensation. You squeezed your thighs tight together and, instinctively, lowered your hand to your stomach, as if that would have any chance of stopping it.
A smirk tugged at Bucky’s lips just as the lead photographer told you all to smile and hold it.
“My cum dripping out already?” he whispered, low as he’d ever spoken but still too loud for you to bear. His parents were literally standing right there.
“Shut. Up.” You replied through gritted, smiling teeth.
“Chin to me, Mrs. Barnes,” the lady in charge called out.
You did as you were told, and Bucky’s hand on your side pressed the flesh ever so slightly.
A series of shuttering sounds, then another directive.
“Think it’ll stay in your panties?” Bucky managed delicately under his breath.
You didn’t respond. At length, his seed was seeping out of your underwear. You bared an even brighter smile for the cameras and tried not to flinch when he squeezed you again.
“Feel it sliding down your thighs?”
“Eyes forward, Mr. Barnes. Head up, and—here, please.”
The man could barely peel his gaze, much less his hands, from your body. He stroked your hip with his thumb. Then, without warning, that same hand slid down to your rear and pushed into the fabric. You sucked in a breath.
“Bucky.”
“What?”
“Behave,” you hissed, and from the corner of your eye you could’ve sworn you saw your mother turn her head.
Unfortunately for you, your husband would do no such thing. He just moved his hand even lower down your back and brushed the space around that spot with the tips of his fingers. You felt a shiver pass over you, along with a whole legion of goosebumps spreading fast across the skin.
If you weren’t on camera and surrounded by family, you probably would’ve liked to smack him upside the head.
As the cameras continued to fire away, Bucky’s touch trailed down to the outline of your panties through your dress and started rubbing small circles over the area.
“Now just the bride and groom!”
The rest of your family members stepped to the side, and it was only you and Bucky before the cameras now. Still smiling like bright, shiny dolls and communicating like ventriloquists, your lips barely moved as you spoke.
“How ‘bout I push it back in?”
“Barnes, I will kill you.”
“Now kiss!”
At the direction of the lead photographer, you kissed your husband and felt a mixture of lust, hate, and love swell up inside of you. When you pulled apart, it was the latter of these three that was searing hot in your veins.
“I love you,” Bucky murmured with a grin.
“I love you, too.”
The rest of the morning passed away in much the same fashion—being pulled from place to place, person to person, while your filthy-minded husband kept whispering in your ear all the depraved things he was planning to do to you once he got you alone. It was romantic, in a way; just terrible for your poor panties.
You reluctantly mingled and laughed with some of the most boring people you thought you’d ever met in your life—though perhaps you were a touch too horny to make a fair appraisal—and gradually, family and friends pulled you and Bucky further and further apart until you were just being carted around like show dogs and forced to hold the same conversation over and over again.
“You look stunning.”
“Buck’s a lucky guy, I’ll tell you that.”
“Are you planning on having kids any time soon?”
You just smiled, nodded, and didn’t have the guts to tell them that Bucky’s baby batter was baking inside you right now. That would’ve been a fun one to watch the reactions from your uptight, intrusive relatives, though.
And speaking of Bucky, where the fuck had he gone?
Just twenty minutes ago he’d sworn he would have you bent over one of the hotel balconies overlooking the Aegean Sea, and now he was nowhere to be found.
Your parents were currently preoccupied with their second helpings of spanakopita, your in-laws draining mojitos like water, and Sam, like Bucky, completely MIA. No one else had seen hide nor hair of your husband in a little while, and frankly, your legs were growing tired of looking.
You let out a small sigh of relief when you saw Bucky sitting a ways away on the terrace with Sam and Steve huddled on either side of him. They looked to be deep in discussion.
Steve, Stevie, Rogers, or, simply, your husband’s second in command, seemed strangely out of sorts as he clenched a fist and said something close to Bucky’s face.
You decided to let the three of them hash it out and to take a rain check on that balcony rendezvous for now.
At any rate, a pack of Pall Malls was calling your name.
You would fully concede this was a filthy habit you never should have started—like most fun things in life—but the reprieve of a nicotine buzz was too tempting to refuse. You grabbed your clutch and took off toward the far end of the lawn, set for a small alcove apart from the party.
You slipped the lighter and cigarettes from your bag as you walked. The scent of pure salt and sea foam greeted your senses as soon as you drew close to the spot—less than a stone’s throw away from the ocean.
Your hands had jammed the cancer stick in your mouth before your mind could make a single word of protest. You brought the lighter to life in your right palm and raised the flame to your cigarette until the end was lit.
Then you inhaled. Exhaled. Hoped no one would see you. You fanned the smoke from your face every so often.
You’d taken up residence on a bench just shy of the beach, and finally, you could stretch your legs and rest.
Maybe indulge in some disgusting thoughts about your husband while you were at it.
If you’d told yourself just twenty-four hours ago that your mind and body would be on the fritz craving Bucky’s touch, you wouldn’t have believed it. If someone had said sex, and cumming around someone you loved, was a worthwhile experience, you probably would’ve told them they were full of shit. But here you were, splayed out on a bench by the shoreline thinking of nothing but the way your husband’s cock felt inside you. Feeling his seed dried on your thigh and aching for a fourth helping.
You felt pathetic. Maybe you were.
In any case, you didn’t really care.
You brought the near-spent cigarette up to your lips for the last couple puffs. When you’d plucked it back out, you heard someone clear their throat behind you.
Bucky! Your lust-addled brain all but squealed.
You turned much quicker than you meant and nearly jumped in your skin to see who was standing there.
A grinning, bright-eyed blond.
In a panic, you flicked your cigarette over your shoulder and forced a smile.
“Hi.”
“Howdy.”
Okay, John Wayne, what the fuck? The man sounded, and looked, like something straight out of a western film.
“No need to stop on my account,” he tipped his chin toward the cigarette on the ground, “I won’t snitch.”
His smile took on a shade of condescension, but the face seemed friendly enough. Then, to your surprise, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved something small and silver from it. He held it out to you.
“Courtesy of your husband,” he said.
You frowned. A flask?
“It’s not even noon,” you answered.
“Bucky wanted me to relay the message that your mom invited a boatload more folks, and it don’t seem they’re fixin’ to leave anytime soon. Said you might need this.”
Gingerly, you accepted the gift and unscrewed the cap. You almost gagged when you got a whiff of pure vodka.
“Fuckin’ A,” you coughed, “What’s this, nail polish remover?”
“Stolichnaya. Can’t talk shit until you’ve tried it.”
Your eyes were still watering from the pungent stench of 80 proof spirits when you saw the man’s outstretched arm again—this time, to shake your hand.
“Joey, by the way.”
You shook his hand and introduced yourself as well, blinking back a few tears.
“You’re a friend of my husband’s?” you asked.
“From the service, yeah. We go way back.”
You couldn’t help but raise both brows in question.
“The service,” you repeated.
“Russian Armed Forces,” Joey smiled.
And when the hell did Bucky plan on telling you he was a former foreign operative? You stared at the man before you in a medley of confusion and disbelief. Surely the thick Southern drawl had to mean he was joking.
“Sorry—I thought you knew,” he said sheepishly.
Your husband’s old comrade seemed genuinely contrite, blushing a shade of pink as he turned his gaze from you. You quickly regained your composure and flashed him a smile, insisting it was fine, just surprising to you is all.
“Perks of arranged marriage,” you said, “We’re wed for life and I don’t even know the guy’s job title.”
That earned a laugh from the tall, gaunt figure in front of you. His features visibly relaxed, and he wasn’t smiling so smugly anymore. He motioned toward the bench.
“You mind?”
“Not at all.”
You fished for a cigarette as Joey sat down beside you. When he’d taken a seat, you offered it to him, and he politely accepted.
With time, the two of you got to smoking and joking around with a little more ease. You didn’t normally get to see that happen—rarely seizing the opportunity to make friends of near-strangers—but this weekend had already presented a bevy of firsts. What harm could a quick smoke break with Bucky’s old friend possibly do?
You found the man to be quick-witted and charming, if not marred by the slightest stain of conceit under the surface. He was objectively handsome: all cool, clean features with an unblemished demeanor and a set of brown eyes so light they almost appeared the color of honey in the sun. The only imperfection to be detected was a skewed, razor-thin scar on his chin. You weren’t ashamed to admit he might’ve been your type maybe four or five years, and several degrees of naïveté, earlier. But you had Bucky now; not even the most sublime, finely-chiseled Adonis could set your sights off of him.
You continued to smoke and shoot the shit.
“So you’re a Puritan, then?” Joey said at length.
“Huh?” You leaned back to stretch.
“You haven’t touched that flask.”
You glanced down at the silver canteen between you. You picked it up.
“Haven’t been into straight liquor since college,” you shrugged.
“But it’s your wedding weekend,” Joey smirked, “Think it says somewhere in the rule book you’ve gotta be hammered the whole time.”
“Does it? I must’ve missed that one,” you hummed.
Rather than answer you verbally, Bucky’s old friend opted to snag the flask from your fingers and unscrew the top himself. Made an unusually bold move and took your chin in his other hand.
“Open.”
“No!”
You bared a tight smile to be polite, but inside, you were more than a little put off by his behavior. Maybe this was some stupid rite of passage into their ‘brotherhood.’ You had to assume he was just being friendly.
“C’mon. Quit bitchin’ and open up,” he chuckled, pinching your face even tighter.
That left an even more sour taste in your mouth. You jerked your head to the left and were just about to inform the man it’d cost him nothing to fuck off and stay off, when a voice broke out through the foliage behind you.
“Honey? Hon, you there?”
Immediate relief at hearing your husband’s voice.
You craned your neck to look around.
“I’m here, Bucky!” You waved an arm to try and get his attention, wherever he was.
It took him a second, but shortly, he appeared on the other side of some trees. He had a stern, if not slightly sallow, look on his face as he made his way over.
You turned back to Joey but found that he’d vanished. Your eyes scanned the beach, the lawn, even the bushes behind you and couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere. All that was left was the flask.
“Bucky, I just—”
“We need to go,” your husband cut in.
His narrowed, steely gaze sent a jolt of apprehension through you.
“Go wh—”
“Now, baby, please. I’ll tell you in the car.”
Your face dropped.
“We’re leaving?”
Shortly, Steve trotted over. Bleak as you’d ever seen him with his hands balled in fists at his sides. And a deep-set scowl.
“Whole fuckin’ swarm of ‘em now,” he pronounced.
Bucky didn’t wait to hear another word. He just grabbed your hand and joined his friend sprinting back up the lawn. You could barely keep apace with their steps and, still clinging to Bucky, almost tripped and stumbled.
“Get the fuck up,” Steve spat.
You tensed. For a second, your feet scarcely moved of their own accord as you trailed behind Bucky and felt a stabbing feeling in your gut. Bucky’s best man had surely been a little rough around the edges before, but never this needlessly cruel. What did you do?
Your husband delivered an uncharacteristically gruff shove to the man’s shoulder and made sure he felt it.
“Don’t you start this shit again,” he said, “Lay off.”
Steve ignored him entirely and took the lead around the hotel’s perimeter. You glanced to the throngs of partygoers still scattered along the veranda and saw similar looks of disquiet and alarm all around.
Just when a dozen different questions of what was going on, where were they taking you, and why the fuck did everyone look so afraid bubbled to the tip of your tongue, a thunderous sound brought you to a standstill.
At the opposite end of the plaza, a cluster of tents, tables, and catering stations all splintered apart in a single, headlong explosion. A bright red column of fire shot up toward the sky, and following its ascent rose a wave of shrill and horrified screams alongside it. A barrage of gunfire rained over the crowd, and before you could even spare a look toward its source, Bucky yanked you flat on the ground. Your hands and knees were shredded across pavement, had less than a second to register the pain, and were shortly made to snake along concrete and glass toward the garden down below.
You crawled, then crouched, then bounded down the lawn following Bucky and Steve like a bat out of hell. Another explosion sounded nearby—this time much closer, sending a shower of flames sailing through the air and all over—and whole droves of people just dropped. Facedown in the grass and covered in glass. Bucky clamped your hand in his own with a force that could’ve snapped it in two, but you didn’t blink. All of your senses were kicked into overdrive and focalized, unflinching, on the sight of more carnage than you could comprehend.
“Here!” Steve called presently.
He caught sight of a jet black sedan at the edge of the lawn and held a hand up to Bucky. A set of keys were promptly pelted into his grasp, and the three of you closed in on the car, quick, without another word.
Bucky tore the back door open and practically flung you inside. He primed himself to climb in right after, when a set of footsteps and a shout held him locked in place.
“Hangar’s clear.”
Sam, by the sound of it.
He jumped in shotgun while Steve seized the wheel. Bucky hadn’t gotten the back door so much as halfway shut before the engine roared to life and the car lurched ahead. Not thinking, you grabbed hold of a seatbelt, but Bucky was quick to pull you in and jerk you down.
You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting then, but it certainly wasn’t your husband’s weight crushing you from above as he pinned you to the floor of the car.
This wasn’t the seamless, smart exit that the heroes of the action-packed stories always had. Bucky didn’t hold you tight in his arms or cradle your head to his chest. He just draped the weight of his whole body over yours and begged you strenuously not to move or make a sound. By the looks of it, too, the car was tearing up the turf of the lawn and anything else that happened to cross its path; there was no rhyme or reason to Steve’s driving, it seemed, just frantic desperation and a will not to die.
Minutes, seconds, sights, and sounds—or what little of the world you could grasp from your cowered position—all bled together in a haze. Your pulse leapt and throbbed between your ears, and little more could be heard above that sound apart from the thrum of Bucky’s own heart, the thunder of gunfire, and the wail of sirens, coming low and faint and far too late to make much difference now.
You pressed your nose to the floor and got a dizzying whiff of nylon and bleach. Would’ve like to retch but gritted your teeth instead, lying in silence and wondering without humor if the splinters, the soot, or the blood would be hardest to wash out of your white satin dress.
The price of admission to board Bucky’s Boeing 787 came surprisingly cheap: just sit back and be ‘pregnant.’
You’d been flanked by medics as soon as you arrived at the hangar—a place tucked away just a few short miles from the hotel, where Bucky kept his aircraft for speedy escapes, apparently—and had been carried onto a jet. You didn’t squirm or protest, just hung limply in their arms and let them tend to you however they needed.
After all, you looked like fucking Carrie White on prom night: coated in blood and stiff as a board. Sitting with a thousand-yard stare and a frozen, muted expression as you tried, and failed, to process what had just happened.
You watched Bucky kneel down in front of you and hardly saw him at all. You sensed him stroke your hair but felt it from a place somewhere far outside your body. Bizarre was an understatement. All you could do was blink.
“It’s not— not her blood, is it?” your husband stammered, gesturing toward your dress.
“Some of it,” one nurse answered quietly.
Aw, hell. Bucky squatted on the floor and slotted himself between your knees, trying to get as close as possible so he could make you say something, even just see him. One of the attendants raised a warning look and placed a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off in a second.
“She’s not looking at me,” Bucky’s lip visibly trembled as he drew you closer, “Honey, I’m here— I’m right h—”
“She’s in shock.” Another voice came flatly.
Sure, shock works. In truth, your mind was floating somewhere even higher than the 43,000 feet the plane had ascended, and your brain had gone as soft as a clump of cotton candy in the rain. You couldn’t speak, but you could think in bits and pieces. You blinked again.
“She looks like death warmed over.”
Thank you, Steve.
Off to the side in a plush, leather seat of his own, the man nursed a scotch on the rocks and frowned. Bucky didn’t have the strength to throw a punch or a pillow at his head and instead said only to shut the fuck up, man.
Your husband turned to the nurses again.
“She’s pregnant.”
I beg your finest pardon? You blinked a bit harder.
“No, she’s not, Buck,” Sam said from down the aisle.
“Well, she could be,” Bucky chided, “We’ve been going at it like rabbits since the—”
“Fuck’s sake,” Steve slapped a palm over his forehead. If you weren’t currently balls-deep in a state of mental disarray you probably would’ve done the same.
Bucky had made sure to tell all medical personnel aboard the plane that you were—or very well could be—carrying his child, so would you please take all precautionary measures possible? She’s my wife. You suspected if the doctors and nurses weren’t all on Bucky’s payroll they probably would’ve rolled their eyes and reminded him that all you needed were stitches, dressings, and extra fluids. And no, Mr. Barnes, your wife probably isn’t pregnant, even if you think your sperm is ‘built different’ than most.
“She’ll be fine either way,” the medic on your left said, stifling a chuckle. Wondering if the man had ever taken a sex ed class in his years of prudish, private education.
Bucky wasn’t convinced. Against all physicians’ wishes, he climbed up beside you in the seat and pulled you into his lap with both arms wrapped around your waist.
By turns, the world was coming back into focus for you. You met Bucky’s gaze for the first time, and the man looked overjoyed.
“See? See? She’s back.” Bucky squeezed your hip—and immediately released it when you winced.
“Mind the bandages, Mr. Barnes.”
Your caregivers pro tempore shot your husband a couple wry looks as they packed their supplies and started to leave, getting the sense that their boss wasn’t going to stop badgering them, or you, anytime soon. That worked just fine for Bucky, because then he would get to hold you any way that he liked, as long as you’d let him.
Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as thrilled.
Sam watched the medics’ departure with a wary look.
“She probably needs to rest, Bucky,” the latter said, careful with his words.
Bucky’s eyes never strayed from yours.
“She’s okay, Sam. She’s good.” Perhaps speaking more to himself than anyone else. Steve shifted in his seat.
In your periphery, Mr. Wilson was approaching with a glass in his hand. You turned your head, and Bucky accepted the cup of water for you.
“Feelin’ alright?” Sam asked.
You tried to nod, but your husband was already cradling your head like a baby, urging you to take your first sip.
A spate of water splashed down the front of your dress. You shot Bucky a look as he hastily tried to dry it.
“She’s not a child, Barnes,” Steve muttered.
“Should probably keep that elevated,” Sam cut in, nodding toward your swollen ankle, “We’ll get some ice.”
Sam tilted his head again, this time to motion to Steve. His friend pretended not to see him, and then Bucky was back on his feet, keen as ever,
“I’ll go.”
He kissed the top of your head and assured you he’d be right back. He’d just started off toward the door, when Sam hesitated. He flitted a quick look between you and Steve and looked like he wanted to say something, but Bucky was already ushering him out of the room.
When you turned to Steve, you understood why.
The man had you pinned with a stare that could’ve killed you ten times over, fisting his drink in a white-knuckled grip.
You watched him right back. Tried hard not to blink.
“Something wrong?”
You weren’t sure how you’d even mustered the strength to speak. Steve just brought it out of you, you figured.
“You tell me.” Tone dripping with disdain.
You raked your gaze over the man for a second, finding him dressed head-to-toe in his three piece suit—muddied with blood here and there, but still no worse for wear than you’d seen him an hour or two ago. It was that frown you couldn’t shake.
What had you done to piss him off so much? Shit in his cornflakes? Step on his toe? Had he seen you with Joey and jumped to the worst possible conclusion? You sincerely couldn’t make sense of the man’s indignation, so you wanted to ask him directly; before you could, though, Steve was interjecting, at length,
“We should’ve left you to die with the rest of your family.”
Your jaw slackened a bit.
“What?”
“You, your mother, your two-timing shitstain of a father. Every one of you should’ve stayed there to rot.”
Never mind the fact that he’d just wished you dead to your face—what did he mean about your parents?
“But they’re coming with us. Bucky said,” you managed.
“He did?” Steve grinned humorlessly, “He lied, doll. Your folks are probably bound and gagged at the bottom of the ocean right now.”
That sent the first real wave of fear pulsing through you. You slowly rose to your feet but, feeling yourself restrained by the makeshift IV line stuck in your skin, you stopped. You plucked the needle out of your arm.
“What are you talking about?”
You drew closer to Steve, who only sat back and sipped his scotch with amusement.
“What? That wasn’t part of the plan?” he quirked a brow, “Didn’t think anyone would dare lay a finger on your precious, self-righteous fucking family—”
You hardly even noticed you’d swatted Steve’s drink out of his hand until the glass went shattering on the floor. You blinked and raised a shaky, bruised finger about an inch from his face.
“The fuck did you just say to me?” Your jaw was clenched so tight you had to speak through your teeth.
Steve was beaming.
The door to the room flew open, and Bucky and Sam strolled in with their ice packs and pillows. They stopped when they saw the glass on the floor and your figure looming over Steve.
“You picked a real spitfire, Buck,” the blond called out, his hands raised in surrender as he smiled up at you.
Bucky seemed more surprised that you were able to stand, much less take that menacing stance over his friend, and he quickly tried to guide you back to your seat. You wouldn’t budge.
“What the fuck are you talking about?! Where are my parents?” You tried to shake your husband off as Steve’s grin grew even bigger.
“They’re fine, honey. Sit down, please,” Bucky mumbled.
“No! He said they were dead!” you shot back, eyes never leaving the smug, smirking face that seemed to be enthralled by the spectacle in front of him.
“Why don’t you tell her, Buck? Girl deserves to know.”
“Shut the fuck up, Rogers,” Sam uttered quietly.
“Tell me what?”
“It’s nothing, your parents are fine,” Bucky seemed pensive now, gaze scanning the ceiling for a second as he tried to collect his thoughts. You shoved his hands off.
“Don’t you fucking lie to me, James,” you said, diverting your attention to glare up at him, “What’s going on?”
“Either she’s a world-class actress or she really doesn’t have the first clue about this. Enlighten her.” Steve seemed a little more serene as he unscrewed a bottle of Talisker and reached for a second glass. You would’ve liked to knock back one or two—or ten—yourself.
You turned on your heels to face Bucky. At the moment, he seemed torn between imparting a death black stare on Steve and a placating, apologetic one to you. The tips of his ears were tinged pink.
“Baby—” He reached for you, but you pulled back.
“No.”
You wouldn’t ask him again. Your husband was wounded by the sight of your recoil—and perhaps by some painful truths he’d be compelled to share as well—and he wrung his hands. Started to chew the inside of his cheek.
Sam snagged the scotch and made a heavy pour.
“Why’d you marry him?” Steve said suddenly.
Bucky’s face dropped; you raised a brow in question. Before your husband could stop you, you answered,
“Because my dad was in debt.”
“For what?”
You paused.
“Real estate. Gambling. Fuck if I know.”
Steve nodded. Ignored Bucky’s sharp, reproachful gaze.
“And how much money did he owe?” he asked.
“Steve,” Sam warned.
“Four, five million—more than he could ever repay.”
This time, it was Steve to raise both brows as he mulled over your response. He almost looked surprised.
“You’re forced to marry a man just to settle a debt and you don’t even know the price that tight little body’s paying?” he scoffed.
His words hadn’t hung in the air for much longer than a second before Bucky decked him, shoving him square in the chest and sending him stumbling back a couple steps. A splash of whiskey was quick to join the bloodstains adorning Steve’s tux, and the pile of broken glass on the floor grew even bigger. The man hardly flinched when Bucky shoved his head to the end table.
“Say it again.” Your husband sounded dispassionate as ever. Like this was something he was used to doing.
“She should’ve known!” Steve snapped anyway.
You shared a brief look with Sam but found his expression inscrutable. He kicked a few shards of glass with the toe of his shoe.
“I wasn’t exactly in a place to negotiate,” you grumbled, “They were going to kill my father if we didn’t settle it, so I wasn’t all that interested in knowing how much money my A1 cunt was gonna cost Bucky. Personally.”
If he could go low, you would go lower. Fuck him.
You saw Steve grin through a freshly busted lip and straighten himself back into a seated position. He wiped the blood with the pad of his thumb while Bucky seemed to contemplate swinging again. The look in your eye cautioned him against it.
“Fair enough,” Steve conceded. He stopped to consider his words—ones that wouldn’t prompt Bucky to punch him directly in the throat—and looked to you, curious,
“Why would the mob kill him over a few million dollars?”
You shrugged.
“He’s a real estate broker. They probably knew he couldn’t fork over that kind of cash.”
Something akin to a stifled chuckle and a cough sounded from Sam, while Steve outright broke out laughing. Even Bucky’s expression softened a little as he rubbed his knuckles and paced closer to you.
“What?” you spat, “Did I say something funny?”
Sam shook his head slowly, starting, “I don’t think—”
“Your daddy’s a fucking gunrunner, sugar,” Steve wheezed, “Head of a multinational arms trafficking syndicate—motherfucker is not selling houses.”
Your insides churned with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion, but you couldn’t let them see that. When Bucky reached for your hand, you yanked it back again.
“And how the fuck would you know?” you said to Steve.
“We work with him. Used to work for him, at one point,” Sam answered.
“And the man is horseshit at business”—Steve paused to see if Bucky had shot him a warning look but found your husband far too concerned with capturing your attention—“He was $90 million in the hole when Bucky came to the rescue.”
“James?” You finally turned to him.
“And your daddy didn’t even owe the money to Bucky, he owed it to HYDRA,” Steve sneered.
“James,” you pressed again.
You couldn’t understand why your husband refused to speak—going as deadpan and radio silent as the night before. He stood there and watched you with a rigid, inflexible gaze.
“HYDRA as in— the Russian mob?” you asked him.
“No, the Girl Scouts,” Steve huffed, “Yes, the mob.”
“Schröder’s boys. Your dad’s been in business with them for years—owed them a lot of money,” Sam added.
“And your dad and Bucky’s dad have been friends even longer. So Bucky figured he’d do yours a favor and pay the debt himself.” Steve seemed eager to tell this story.
All the while, the hue of Bucky’s cheeks grew even deeper—like he didn’t want this coming to light. He sensed you wouldn’t stand down until you’d heard the whole ugly truth, though, so he held your gaze and watched you grow more repulsed by the second.
“Then why’d he need me? Just another bartering chip?” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, “A pawn?”
“A peace offering,” Bucky said quietly.
Steve and Sam finally clammed up long enough to let him speak, but your husband seemed taciturn as ever.
“Your father didn’t owe me anything. I would’ve paid his debt and left it at that, but he insisted I— that we marry. He wanted an alliance no subsequent financial incentive could disrupt. He would take the money I gave him, pay HYDRA, and bow out of any future dealings with them. Our marriage was supposed to guarantee that.”
Bucky spoke slow, like every word was a labored breath. Hardly the same could be said for his friends.
“That was until your dipshit weapons dealer daddy decided he’d have his cake and eat it too. Struck an even sweeter deal with HYDRA and played in our faces,” Steve said.
“At the direction of Mr. Schröder, your father tried to intercept a shipment bound for one of Bucky’s warehouses in Brooklyn,” Sam continued, “Only problem is he fucked up the execution and cost Schröder a dozen men and tens of millions of dollars in artillery and blow.”
“So Schröder paid him a visit today,” Bucky muttered.
Without realizing it, you found yourself sinking into the nearest seat and bringing a hand to lay flat on your stomach. You felt sick. More than woozy, truthfully. Your head was spinning and your stomach was twisting something terrible, as if you’d just ingested cyanide.
Fuck, did you need a drink.
You couldn’t look at Bucky or Steve or Sam any longer.
You reached for your clutch and pulled out Joey’s flask.
And, bloodlusting mobsters and outlaws be damned, the Russians knew how to make the hell out of some vodka. A single sniff of the stuff told you this was exactly what you would need to cope with your current situation.
“So you think I had something to do with the new HYDRA deal?” you asked, “You honestly th—FUCK!”
Bucky lunged for the flask in your hand before you could take a single pull. He snatched it away in the blink of an eye and shot you a look.
“Liquor? For our baby?” he barked.
You audibly groaned and were just about to tell him that his understanding of human reproduction was a crock of shit when you stopped. You saw his expression change.
“Where did you get this?” Bucky asked, suddenly pale.
“You, dumbass!”
“Me?”
Bucky was presently passing the flask around to his friends, who were eyeing a spot on the bottom of the container with shared looks of alarm.
“Your friend gave it to me earlier saying that you wanted me to have it,” you said.
All three men looked up at once.
“What friend?” Sam asked.
“Joey,” you answered, “Bucky’s friend from the army.”
If it were possible for your husband to get any paler his skin might’ve turned the color of cottage cheese. His eyes were wide with fear.
Then he was hurrying to your side. Taking your hand.
“What friend from the army? What’d he look like?”
You were still scanning Bucky’s face, trying to make sense of the apprehension etched into his features, when you managed,
“I-I dunno. Blond. Light brown eyes.”
“Tall fella?” Steve asked.
“Very.”
“Have a German accent?” Sam pressed.
“No, a real thick Southern accent,” you shook your head. It didn’t occur to you then that it could’ve been fake.
You were about to turn your attention back to Bucky, brow still knit in confusion, when a vague memory crossed your mind. You looked up at Sam and Steve.
“He had a—” You tapped your chin lightly, “—a little scar right here.”
You would’ve thought you’d just announced you had a bomb strapped to your ass the way the three men reacted. Each wore identical looks of disbelief and muted horror, exchanging looks between themselves as if they’d just discovered the Atlantic Ocean—and found the Loch Ness Monster lurking somewhere underneath.
Bucky looked the worst out of all of them. His face had drained of all expression and color as he stared at you.
“Joey?” he intoned feebly.
“Yes,” you answered—feeling ineffectual, even dense, for not catching on to what the rest of them had discovered.
Fortunately, Sam wouldn’t let you wallow in ignorance.
“Johann Schröder,” he supplied in a second, “The man you were talking to was Mr. Schröder, head of HYDRA.”
Steve held the flask in his grasp for you to see the bottom, where a skull with six tentacles was engraved. Then he tipped the canister into a glass he’d taken in his other hand and watched a frothy pink liquid spill out.
“Looks to be a serum of his,” Steve said, hollow as you’d ever heard him, “Kind of like…roofies.”
“You didn’t drink any of it, did you?” Sam asked.
“Nuh-uh. Bucky showed up right as he was trying to, uh— to pour it in my mouth.”
A beat of silence gripped the room.
Bucky looked like he might burst a blood vessel, or someone’s skull. Or both.
Still, he wouldn’t speak to you.
The inside of your head was throbbing.
You almost preferred the ruthless, irate glint in Steve’s eye when he’d suspected you of being a traitor the first time around; this cloyingly sympathetic gaze he was giving you now had to be the most maddening thing. He and Sam both looked on at you like you were a victim. Like you were something to be pitied, or coddled, or left to the capable hands of your husband—a motherfucker who couldn’t even speak so much as a syllable to you.
You felt a pressure build, then swell, then peak between your temples, and you wanted to wince but couldn’t stand the thought of looking weak in front of them.
Then your nose started to bleed.
That, at least, woke Bucky from his reverie as he fumbled around for a napkin and helped you to your feet. He looped an arm around your waist and led you off to the bathroom, his grip tightening on your frame with every step you took.
In two minutes flat, you were flooded with fifteen feet of toilet paper and tissues. Bucky cupped the back of your head in one of his broad, warm palms and kept it plastered there as he instructed you to hold it, honey, hang on, I can grab a few extra rolls right here and guided you toward a private area at the back of the plane.
You could scarcely see above the bunched up wads of Charmin Ultra Strong pressed close to your nose, but you trusted Bucky wouldn’t lead you astray. You felt the welcome touch of a bed underneath you, and then your husband was helping you settle in amongst the pillows and the blankets and the rose petals that had been scattered around before—not entirely appropriate now, but a nice touch nonetheless—and slipping your shoes off your feet. You felt his hand graze your ankle, and then he was saying he’d be right back with those ice packs.
You reached for his hand before he could leave.
“I don’t want it,” you said, your voice slightly muffled by the tissues, “Want you to talk to me, James.”
Bucky’s brow pinched inward. He kneeled down in front of you, where you were sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I am— I’m talking to you right now, honey, I—”
“You know what I mean.”
Bucky wiped his hand down his face and shook his head. Like he was trying to rid himself of a thought.
“I don’t want to talk about HYDRA. Or your father,” he said simply.
“Why not?”
“You’re not in the right place to hear it.”
You plucked the toilet paper away from your face long enough to give him a stern glare.
“We’re on a plane. Fleeing Greece. After you got curb-stomped in our honeymoon suite, our post-wedding brunch was bombed by the Russian mob, I was almost drugged by their leader, and my parents are probably as good as dead, if not being held for ransom, as we speak. Please tell me a better place to have this conversation.”
Bucky was left stumped for a second. Then he slowly rose back to his feet.
“Okay.”
Infuriating.
“Okay?” you snapped, “We could’ve died five times today and all you can say is okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
Fuck this guy. You wiped your nose and stood up too.
Bucky tried to nudge you back onto the bed, wary of the ever-growing number of bumps, bruises, and nosebleeds afflicting your body. He tensed when you nudged him right back.
“I need to see my family,” You stood firm, “As soon as we land wherever it is we’re going, I’m on the first flight back to New York—or wherever they are.”
You dabbed at your nose once more and looked up at him.
“No, you’re not,” Bucky returned.
“What? You’re gonna stop me?”
“Yes, I will.”
The worst part was he wasn’t even smug about it. Just calm and self-assured. You flung your tissues to the side and threw your hands up in exasperation, feeling the need to step away from him and start pacing the room. The man’s reticence was grating on your nerves.
“Why bother, Buck?” you snorted, “It’s not like I’m even your wife, really. I’m just a peace offering that you get to bend over and fuck every now and then, right?”
You turned to make your first circuit around the foot of the bed but were shortly met with the expanse of Bucky’s chest. You looked up to find him frowning.
“Don’t say that again,” he glowered down at you.
Unlike most times before, you didn’t flinch. When he reached for your wrists, you didn’t let him win.
“I’m not your wife,” you repeated, “We may be playing the most fucked up game of mob charades, but this is not a real marriage.”
You ignored Bucky’s evident desire to grab hold of something of yours and side-stepped easily, expanding the gap between you two as much as you could. It was almost amusing to see him not in control for once, and floundering to recover what semblance of it he could.
“You are my wife,” he insisted, frown growing deeper as you crept along the edge of the room, “Everything I do now is for you—it’s not a goddamn game to me.”
“You used me for some Machiavellian marriage ploy! That is the definition of a game, James!”
“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” Bucky said, “But I love you.”
“You met me yesterday, motherfucker!”
You could feel another bloody nose rising in your bones. You turned around, swiped your lip with the back of your hand and were surprised to see nothing there. You waited for the bleeding to start back up again. When you turned, Bucky had closed the distance between you and was holding something in his hand.
Before you could protest, he was smoothing the thing over your face—apparently he’d grabbed a washcloth and dampened it—and laced his fingers through the hair at the back of your head. He held you firmly as he blotted the blood.
“Is it so hard to believe that I love you?” he asked quietly.
He was trying hard to placate you, but his actions were having just the opposite effect. You let him wipe the blood from your face but watched him begrudgingly.
“You want someone to control, Bucky,” you said, “Love is not a power play that you get to manipulate at will.”
Bucky blinked, trying to conjure up a response as he daubed the skin with a little more force. You weren’t finished.
“You look at me and see a victim. Someone you need to watch over— who can’t take care of themse—”
“That’s not true.”
“Really? That’s not what a ‘good little wife’ is to you?” you retorted.
At last, Bucky tossed the hand towel to the side and ran a hand through his hair. He stepped toward the dresser, shrugging off his suit jacket.
“That’s a— a bit I do when I’m horny. I don’t actually want you subservient to me,” he muttered as he looked around for a hanger. Finally, he just draped the coat over the back of a chair and sighed.
“So holding me hostage from my family is a bit, too?” you quizzed.
“To keep you safe from the people who tried to kill them. I’m sorry I don’t want to see you butchered because of me,” Bucky returned with just as much biting sarcasm.
“That’s rich coming from you.” You despised the indignation in your tone but couldn’t help it. These thoughts had been brewing inside your skull for hours. You watched Bucky struggle to undo his bow tie—just like the night before—and, again, your brain barely registered the action before you were reaching for the garment and tugging at the fabric to loosen it yourself.
“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed.
“Last night,” you yanked harder than you meant to. The knot just got tighter, “And today. Tonight. You’re as still as the fucking grave and won’t say a word when something bad is happening. You just let it happen.”
You tried to pry your fingers through the tie but found it stiff as ever. You groaned inwardly.
“No, I don’t,” Bucky objected.
“You’re doing it right now! You wouldn’t tell me about HYDRA, or my father, or the guy who could’ve— hurt me. You didn’t say a word of that to me, and you expect me to believe we’re in this together? That you’re trying to keep me safe? You couldn’t even—” you paused to pull at that stupid tie your husband had tangled about four times over, finally feeling it give way a little—“couldn’t even pretend to give a fuck when those men broke in last night and almost killed us!”
Just as you freed the silk from its knot, Bucky seized your wrist. Shoved your hand off of his collar.
“I had to do that,” he snapped.
He threw his tie to the floor and started to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. The sight of his broad, veiny forearms were only visible to you for a second before he headed toward the closet, peeling off bits and pieces of his ensemble as he walked.
“You didn’t do anything, Bucky! You just sat there and got the shit beat out of you for no fucking reason! You didn’t even try to fight back.”
Bucky had just muscled his way out of the confines of his dress shirt, leaving him in a tight, plain white tee. He turned to you with what seemed like the most pointed look of disdain.
“You think I wanted to do that?!” he barked. Suddenly facing you head-on, skin flushed a shade just shy of crimson.
“You were too chickenshit. Didn’t wanna get your hands dirty, so you let Sam do it for you,” you seethed.
Your husband looked as though he wanted to put his fist through a wall and pummel it several times over. Seemed like he did, anyway. In truth, he didn’t move—just watched you with the most cruel, unflinching gaze as he clenched his jaw.
“I’m chickenshit?” he repeated.
“Yeah. Coward,” you spat.
“Too much of a coward to keep you safe?”
“Precisely.”
At long last, you saw Bucky smile. It was the tightest, most humorless grin that had ever crossed his lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. He raised a hand over your head and bracketed his arm against the wall so he was leaning over you. Not meant to intimidate per se, but the sight of that smirk was unnerving, to say the least.
“Did you hear what language they spoke?” he asked, voice unbearably low as he drew his face closer to yours.
“It sounded like—”
“Russian, that’s right,” Bucky cut in, “Do you know what they said to me when they pulled us to the floor?”
You swallowed and said nothing. Bucky’s breaths were fanning hot across your cheeks, sending waves of a strange sensation all throughout your body—you weren’t sure if you were meant to be aroused or scared shitless.
“They told me, ‘If you move, we’ll kill her,’” Bucky deadpanned as he began to trace the wallpaper beside your head with a single, bloodied finger, “‘If you fight, we’ll dismember her and set fire to every piece of her body in front of you.’ Or something to that effect.”
The repetition of their words seared your veins like a legion of flames. You could picture them saying it. Grabbing hold of Bucky’s head by the roots of his hair and beating him over and over and over, threatening your life if he made a single move to stop it.
“Bucky—” you started.
“I know they meant it, too. HYDRA operatives make good on their promises if they really set out to harm someone.”
Your husband’s grin had transformed into something more of a crooked, downcast grimace, just baring his teeth as he tried not to lose his composure. Guilt flooded his face.
“I know I should’ve told you then. And after. I should’ve told you about your father as soon as Steve’s informant told us. I just—” Bucky stopped to swallow; he couldn’t meet your gaze—“I didn’t want that hanging over your head. Not after everything that happened last night.”
It was like a blade had just twisted in your stomach. Your throat ached. You wanted to touch him but were almost too scared to ask. He looked so fragile.
“I am a coward. And controlling. Probably the most chickenshit, overbearing son of a bitch you could’ve been unfortunate enough to marry.” For a moment, Bucky’s gaze flickered to yours, and you saw a blooming red hue around the blues of his irises, “But that’s not how I’m supposed to love you—or going to love you.”
You weren’t sure how to reply; you tried raising a hand to his cheek, just to touch the skin, but decided against it.
“I’ve been a shit husband, fake or not. I’m sorry.”
Fake husband maybe, but the look on his face was intractably authentic. Palpable. He blinked as though trying to clear the warm and heady feelings from his expression—suddenly not wanting you to see the shades of his emotions painted there—and focused instead on a few stray strands of hair that had blown over your face. He got very invested in those, all of a sudden.
While your husband stroked the corners of your face and fixed his gaze away from yours, you felt the smallest prick of warmth spark within you. Bucky looked soft and serene and sincere in his apology, defenseless now as he grazed his knuckles over your cheek and said it again,
“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”
He paired his apology with a rapid succession of little kisses pressed to your forehead, moving his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.
You wanted to touch him, too. You almost felt as though you didn’t know how.
So you stood there and accepted his affections and tried to nod your head when he asked if you were alright, were you hurting any, baby? You leaned into the gentle pressure of his fingertips taking stock of every cut and bruise you’d sustained over the course of that day, watched Bucky’s brow furrow with each new discovery, and tried not to let his touch stray far down your body.
You wanted to be the one with your hands on him—now more than ever.
When Bucky’s hand trailed over your chin, you tilted your head just slightly to kiss it. Your husband didn’t think much of it, just smiling down as tender as he always did, when your lips really grazed over the skin. You pressed a kiss to his finger and wordlessly urged him to move it further. Now it was Bucky’s turn to be at a loss for what to do as you took the tip of his thumb between your lips and suckled it, gently.
“Honey,” he let out a sigh, half-encouragement and half-warning—what were you trying to do?
You glided your mouth down his finger so half of his thumb was enveloped inside. You sucked it again.
“You can’t…” Bucky maintained feebly, eyes briefly scouring all the cuts and bruises across your skin. He didn’t want to see you strain yourself any further.
But whatever pain this might cause was ancillary to you; you curled your tongue around the digit and moaned lightly.
The taste of one finger alone was enough to send you into a frenzy. That and the fact that he had been so open and honest and attentive to your needs made every bone in your body want to jump his. Something about a man taking accountability for his actions and communicating them in a way that didn’t intimidate or belittle you was refreshing. Sexy, almost. Admittedly, the bar for mob boss husbands was hovering somewhere deep in hell, but you admired Bucky’s efforts all the same.
You popped his thumb out of your mouth and smiled.
“You worry too much, Mr. Barnes.”
The echo of his words from earlier—the ones he’d said as he was railing you against a mirror—made Bucky’s cock twitch. His gaze trailed down to the sheen of saliva on your lip, and he almost folded on the spot. He swallowed.
“Don’t wanna hurt you, bunny,” he murmured as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and peered up at him.
“Hurt me how?”
You really hadn’t meant to sound like such a tease when you’d said it, but it was hard not to come across that way when you were watching him like that.
And sinking to your knees, with your eyes glued on his.
Bucky sucked in a breath as you kneeled between his feet and nudged the seam of his pants with your nose. He felt so big against your face, you almost couldn’t fathom how he’d fit inside of you the night before. You were amazed how quickly he’d gotten hard—as if the two of you weren’t just having a heart-to-heart a second ago—and you felt your own arousal pool in your panties.
“You know I don’t mind if it hurts. Love the way you stretch me out anyhow,” you continued, and tried not to smirk as you imagined a dozen filthy images from last night flash before Bucky’s mind.
You heard him stifle a groan when you ghosted your lips over the bulge in his pants and felt him swell even more. Your mouth watered at the sound, the sensation, the raw anticipation of what was to come and knowing that you got to dictate what happened. You undid the button and the zip of his pants and damn near drooled at the sight.
Even confined to his boxers, Bucky looked fucking huge.
Suddenly, you began to understand how needy he had been the night before when he’d first wedged his face between your legs and gotten a taste of you. You hadn’t so much as sampled an inch of his cock, and you were already aching to swallow him whole.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bucky grunted as he planted a hand on the wall in front of him. You kissed the outline of his clothed erection and earned a full-throated groan.
Well, that makes two of us, you wanted to say but were too busy palming him through his boxers to utter a word. Soaking in the sight of him with every sweet, soft groan he made and wanting to be the reason for even more.
“Can I take you in my mouth, daddy?” you asked softly.
Bucky flattened his palm against the wall and nodded. Beyond words as you worked him out of his boxers.
For one, fleeting moment, you almost wanted to walk back your big talk when his cock sprung out of the fabric. You really hadn’t seen his length at all last night—too busy having it stuffed inside your cunt to get a good look—but holy shit was it an intimidating sight. You weren’t sure if it was just the nerves of this being your first time giving head or if Bucky truly was that massive, but you felt your courage start to crumble before your eyes.
My husband is hung like a fucking horse and I’ve never fit anything bigger than a couple fingers in my mouth. This should go well.
Bucky was evidently so turned on that he didn’t notice the apprehension in your expression. After all, you were moving your lips down his cock and seizing the base of him with what looked like excitement.
Should I…lick it first?
It seemed you would have to learn all of this on the job. You stuck your tongue out and ran it up the length of his shaft.
When Bucky groaned in response, you sensed that that was okay. You pressed a few kisses on the underside of his member and scrambled to think of what else to do.
“Fuck, baby,” your husband let out the most guttural sound as you squeezed his length in your hand. Then, to your surprise, he seized a fistful of your hair between his fingers and rutted his hips, pushing the head of himself against your lips, “Take me in your mouth.”
You heard the Kill Bill sirens blare between your ears but said nothing. You could do this—you’d be fine.
Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and Bucky gripped your hair even tighter. Let out a deep, satisfied moan like this was exactly what he needed. You liked that noise and wanted to take him even further.
What you didn’t expect was four more inches shoved inside your mouth before you could stop to take a breath.
The whole girth of his cock made a sharp intrusion, causing your cheeks to stretch and hollow out around him. The head of his member barely grazed the back of your throat, and still, you gagged. And not only gagged but choked, as though someone had just tried to scrub your tonsils with a fine-bristle toothbrush. Unfortunately for you, Bucky’s dick did not taste like spearmint.
He pulled his cock out as quickly as he’d pushed it in.
“Sorry. Shit, sorry.” Bucky blinked twice to get out of that blissed-out headspace and shot you a sheepish look.
The man had rarely been obliged to slow down or take five when his old, ever-changing flavors of the night sucked him off before—most blew him without trouble. But you, kneeling there batting your lashes through a few more tears than expected, seemed uncertain. Even half of his shaft made for a tight fit in your mouth, Bucky thought with some guilty feelings of arousal. He watched you wipe your chin with the back of your hand and frown.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, baby,” Bucky said, stroking the top of your head.
Suddenly, the frown was turned in his direction.
You raised a brow.
“Why? That all you got, Barnes?”
Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle—and grunt, a little—when you grabbed the base of his cock and brought it down to your swollen pout. His hand instinctively moved back to the wall.
“Honey, are you s—”
He stopped the second you rubbed him up and down and pressed a kiss on the most sensitive skin.
“My mouth isn’t made of paper mâché. You can fuck it a little harder than that,” you said, running your touch down his length while holding his gaze. You looked eager.
Before Bucky could respond, you took the tip of his cock between your lips. Flattened your tongue and glided your mouth down as far as it could go before your cheeks started to hurt—then bobbed your head even further. One of your husband’s hands made a fist in your hair while the other scraped the wall, and you could tell it was taking some serious effort not to rut his hips out of habit.
Be gentle, be gentle, your dick barely fits in her mouth—
“—fucking hell you feel good,” he groaned.
Bucky took one look and could have cum on the spot.
It was one thing to feel you licking and sucking and stretching to accommodate his length, and another thing entirely to see you knelt in front of him with the world’s sweetest gaze, mouth stuffed full of his cock and eyes all but rolling back at the overwhelming sensation. You’d nearly made it all the way to the short tufts of hair on his lower abdomen—and looked so pretty doing it.
Bucky fucking loved it. And you. And fucking you, your face, any place he could fit himself, quite frankly. He stared down at you struggling to take his cock and felt a strange new wave of desire pulsing through his body.
“You like that, doll? Like when daddy fucks that slutty little mouth of yours?”
“Barely fits but you take it so well, bunny.”
“My good little wife and her pretty fucking mouth—likes sucking daddy’s cock however deep he needs it, huh?”
You liked it more than the air in your lungs, to be honest. Only problem was you couldn’t quite speak your mind with your mouth full of Bucky, so you had only to nod. Your husband groaned when you hummed along his length and bobbed your head to answer ‘yes.’ He saw you try not to gag and decided to thrust a little deeper.
He watched his cock drag back and forth along your tongue and took hold of your hair like a vice, fucking your face until your chin and cheeks were drenched with spit. Every now and then he’d pull his cock out just long enough to ask how bad you wanted him in your mouth, how desperate you were to taste him again, and every time you’d answer a little more sweetly and incoherently than before, eyes glazed with desire and mouth open for more.
You were amazed you’d lasted as long as you had—how quickly you’d devolved into this pliable, doe-eyed cocksleeve for Bucky and how keenly you desired to please him even more. It felt pornographic and lewd and somehow still loving as he plowed in and out of your mouth and sang your praises like no man had before.
Above you, Bucky was aching for release but adamant that he wouldn’t cum down your throat—not yet, at least.
His mind was alight with those pesky, primal thoughts again, and every time he watched you swallow him whole, he just wanted to fuck his cum someplace else.
Bucky wasn’t sure if he was smitten or simply dominated by carnal desire; all he knew was that he wanted to give you his babies.
Lots and lots of babies.
A hundred or more, if he had it his way.
Again, you barely had a chance to take a fresh breath before Bucky threw you onto the bed. You’d just tried to steady yourself in a semi-seated position when the man shoved you back in the pillows and slotted himself between your legs, pupils blown wide with hunger.
In a blink, you were flipped onto your stomach with your ass yanked high in the air. Back made to arch, toes about to curl, you closed your eyes and sank your teeth into the sheets, moments away from begging your husband to fuck you right then and there, but Bucky had other plans. He seized the hair at the crown of your head and jerked your head to face forward.
The first thing to greet you was your own reflection—in a floor-to-ceiling mirror at the foot of the bed—followed by Bucky’s broad form steadying behind you. You watched him wet his lips, furrow his brow, and use one careful hand to guide the head of his cock to your entrance. Completely piqued with arousal as you were, weeping beads of desire from that place between your legs, you almost wanted to buck your hips and fuck him yourself.
You refrained.
Bucky pressed the tip of himself to your clit and met your gaze in the mirror when you let out a whimper.
“You didn’t mean it, did you?” he asked, tone suddenly dropped to that of a stoic.
“Mean what?”
It took an unbelievable amount of willpower to fight the moan in your throat when Bucky dragged his cock down the seam of your cunt and rubbed every hot, throbbing inch of himself in the slickness between your folds. You were quick to take the sheets in your hands and squeeze as tight as you could—you wouldn’t let him win that easy.
“When you said you weren’t my wife. Did you mean it?” Bucky was coating himself now, rolling his hips back and forth while you seized the white linens for dear life.
“No. I didn’t,” you said through your teeth. Your eyelids fluttered with the feel of him circling your sensitive hole.
“Do you want to be my wife?” Bucky had to have known it was an asinine question, but he asked it all the same.
“Yes.”
“You do?”
“I do. I do. Now will you just fuck me already?”
In response, and as if to make a mockery of your request, Bucky just pressed the head of his cock inside you and watched you close in the mirror—daring your hips to move back another inch.
“What else do you want to be, doll?”
To say your mind was an empty slate bare of anything but the desire to be fucked was an understatement. You fumbled to find words.
“Your wife, your girl— that’s it, Bucky.”
Your husband nudged his cock a little deeper.
“A good girl?” he hummed.
“Yes, daddy,” you cried and clenched around him.
Bucky stayed where he was and stretched your wet, aching hole with just his tip, making the world’s most shallow thrusts as he flattened his hand on your back and made sure it stayed arched while he teased you.
At this point, you didn’t care what the man saw or heard. You fought with your hips and whined into the sheets.
“Bucky!”
“Wanna be my obedient little cockslut?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“My bunny?”
“Yes, James.” Your cheeks were enflamed, almost hot to the touch.
Bucky suddenly drove himself inside you all the way to the hilt. He squeezed your hip in one hand and with the other slipped a finger between your folds to rub vicious, tight circles against your clit as you bucked and moaned beneath his touch.
“How about a momma?” he pressed, almost too low to be heard, “Wanna be that, too?”
His hips fell into a quick and easy rhythm against your ass, stretching you wide and filling you up almost seamlessly. Your mind was too consumed with pleasure and him to think much else, but barely, you managed,
“W-what?”
Bucky delivered a thrust that knocked the breath from your chest, leaning down to rub your clit even harder.
“Do you want to be a mommy? Have me fill you up and put my baby inside you?”
Oh, fuck. Fucking—what the fuck? Your toes curled as a new jolt of pleasure shot through you, and your gaze locked with Bucky’s in the mirror. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“No— James, we’re not, shit—” you stopped to take a breath as he fucked you rough from behind, smirking the whole time, “We’re not ready for that.”
“Look pretty…ready to me,” Bucky stifled a groan when you squeezed around him and made obscene little noises sliding up and down his cock. He watched the way your pretty, wet pussy stretched and swallowed him down to the base and imagined it dripping with his cum. He snapped his hips against your ass even faster.
It wasn’t clear just who was more overcome with desire—both of you blissed out and fuckdrunk as you’d ever been—and then Bucky flipped you onto your back.
He wanted to see your face as he fucked you slow this time, lips hovering mere inches from your own as he dragged his cock gently in and out of you.
“James,” you breathed, digging your heels in his back with a wordless plea to speed up, baby, please.
In truth, you just knew what would happen if Bucky had the advantage of slow and soft sex with a mouth lowered close to your ear. How he’d shower you with kisses and bring you right to the edge, rolling his hips against your body with strings of sweet praises flowing fast off his tongue.
“Just one, honey,” he mumbled, lips grazing the edge of your jaw, “One baby and I promise we’ll be done.”
Yeah fucking right, you wanted to return with a roll of your eyes but felt your insides churn as he grazed that spot.
“Can you do that for me, doll?” he eased his dick back and forth and snaked a hand between your bodies until his palm was laying flat on your stomach, “Fit my baby in there?”
You couldn’t deny the feelings of pleasure were heightened to no end when he rubbed the heel of his palm into your tummy and continued to rut into you. That feeling of fullness, the delicate nudge against your most sensitive place, paired with the warmth of Bucky’s hand on your lower abdomen, was as close to euphoric as you’d ever felt before orgasm, and it wasn’t hard to tell from the way your body responded. Bucky worked his touch even deeper and watched you writhe beneath him.
“My sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing that spot, “You’d look so pretty all swole up down here, don’t you think?”
Fucking hell, this guy was good. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to shake your head.
“Someone…tried to kill us…twice in the last twenty four hours,” you managed between labored breaths. Trying not to whimper when the head of Bucky’s cock kissed your cervix and you felt him bottom out inside you.
Balls deep and enamored with the expression on your face, Bucky laid a kiss on your forehead and smiled.
“I’ll take Schröder’s life with my own two hands if it means keeping you—” he paused to press his palm even firmer on your stomach, “—and our child safe, honey.”
You wanted to believe him. You sincerely hoped your husband could make good on his promise—even if it meant delivering an agonizing, bloody death to a man you barely knew—but you sensed deep down that there were no guarantees in the world Bucky Barnes inhabited. From what little you’d seen in the last day and a half, it had become clear as ever that there were no certainties; no promise of tomorrow, much less a probability that things would pan out exactly as you planned. Add to that a living, breathing child between you two, and the prospects for a safe, secure, and peaceful future were small. Infinitesimally so, in the grand scheme of things.
“No, Bucky,” you finally opened your eyes to find his tender gaze watching over you. Still moving his hips gently, still blanketing your body with his own, “That’s entirely just— just irresponsible. You know it would be.”
“Making a child together?” Bucky seemed wounded saying the words.
And, in spite of the serious turn your conversation had taken, you could see and feel with the growing pace of your breaths that both of you were close. You wanted more than anything to repair that muted, injured look in his eyes, but then Bucky was blinking it away, to the best of his abilities, and lowering his head back down to yours to impart a soft barrage of kisses along your skin. He resumed before you could even think to speak again.
“Okay. No, you’re right. It’s your choice, my love,” he murmured against your cheek, getting back into the more deliberate rhythm of his thrusts before. He stayed there holding his body and his lips as close to yours as possible, and when you felt tempted to say something again, you found the sound drowned by a cresting wave of pleasure.
Your legs tightened around Bucky’s sides, and your head fell back on the bed. You felt Bucky’s drop right beside you, turned just slightly to graze his lips against your ear.
“Gonna cum for me, doll?”
You nodded.
“So close, Bucky,” you breathed, a tremor passing over your thighs as they squeezed him even tighter.
You felt your husband’s hand move from your belly to a place just below it—taking care to bring the pad of his thumb to that wet, aching bundle of nerves—and started drawing circles. Your back arched from the bed, into him, and the coil of pleasure in your lower half swelled.
“Good girl,” Bucky growled, “Good fuckin’ girl, taking me so well.”
The praises and gentle circuits of his thumb continued as he fucked you harder into the bed and panted against your skin. Increasing the speed of his thrusts before catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss, body sinking into yours.
“Gonna make a mess of this cock, huh? Show daddy just how much you love it?”
You whined in response, feeling your muscles start to ache from how hard your legs were wrapped around him. Bucky invaded your mouth with his tongue, kissing and licking and craving your taste as he fucked you stupid—and begged for your release.
“Cum for daddy, honey, I know you got it. Let daddy feel it, baby, please.”
A couple more snaps of his hips and you gave him just that: a hot, cascading ripple of bliss spreading all throughout your body, sending your mind in spirals and every muscle under your command a tense, throbbing mess. You swallowed a scream and took a bite of Bucky’s shoulder instead, causing the man above you to grin and fuck you harder.
“That’s my girl,” he mumbled with an audible hint of pride.
The smile only started to waver when his own release was coming close. Suddenly, his grip was moving to your hip and pinning you down to the bed, brows pinching in and breaths starting to hitch.
“Honey— honey,” he said, voice strained, “Baby, you— you gotta let go of your— ah, fuck.”
Still riding out the highs of your orgasm, you hardly even noticed how tight you were holding him with your legs, and shortly, this raised issues for Bucky, who was trying like hell to heed your wishes and not cum inside you.
“Baby, let go, I gotta—”
He probably could’ve fought to shake you off a little harder, been a bit more adamant about his efforts, but you looked so comfortable and lithe and sweet beneath his frame, so blissed out and happy to be taking his strokes, Bucky almost had to pinch himself to rouse his lust-addled brain to action and remind himself that this was how babies are made, man, get the fuck off of her.
Bucky let out a long, strangled groan as the ropes of cum left his body before he could think, or move, fast enough.
He hastily pushed your legs away and pulled out, but not before painting your walls with a good portion of his load. His hand fell to his cock and started jerking the rest of it out over your stomach, body washing with pleasure.
Vaguely, thoughts of babies and ballgames and neat white picket fences crossed his mind, but those views were fleeting; he remembered what you’d told him and forced himself back to earth, dropping a quick, apologetic kiss to the side of your face.
“I’m sorry. Should’ve pulled out quicker,” Bucky panted against your neck.
You stroked his bicep and shook your head.
“You’re fine. I kinda had you down like a boa constrictor for a second,” you breathed and shared a weary laugh.
Before you knew it, Bucky was sliding off the bed and shuffling toward the bathroom in search of a towel. You prodded the warm, gooey mess on your belly with your finger and raised an eyebrow. Curious, and only slightly worried.
Bucky had been hitting it raw for a day now—surely one more half-load of his wouldn’t get you pregnant, right?
Fortunately, you didn’t have much longer to ponder that thought because a trill of a ringtone sounded from the nightstand.
A phone call? At 45,000 feet?
“Just the intercom,” Bucky called out, “Probably Steve about to start complaining that we fuck too loud.”
Huh. You stared at the trimline-looking telephone on the table and let it ring. Then the sound stopped.
“You think they could hear us?” you asked.
Bucky had just wet a washcloth under the sink and was rifling through the cabinets for something else.
“Hope so,” he said with a shrug, “You know I’d never miss a chance to let ‘em know I took a trip to poundtown—”
“Please never say that again,” you groaned, closing your eyes in sudden fear of what Steve and Sam may or may not have just been made privy to outside of the room.
You were just about to speak up again—perhaps to tell your husband there would be an indefinite travel ban to poundtown if he didn’t hurry the fuck up with that towel—when the intercom’s jarring peal started up once more.
Fuck this. Ignoring the sticky-sweet puddle of love still painted on your stomach, you sat up and crawled over to the phone and ripped it off the hook.
“Barnes residence,” you announced without ceremony. Then, imagining how smug Steve was probably looking on the other end of that line, you decided to be crass and add, “Bucky Barnes is very busy laying pipe on his wife right now, but if you could leave your name and number, he’ll be sure to call you back as soon as possible!”
You heard the caller burst out laughing, and you smiled to yourself. Pleased to have made an otherwise moody and brooding Steve Rogers crack at one of your jokes, you were just about to hang up when the caller cut in.
Bucky was returning with your towel in hand, lips curled in the faintest of smirks at hearing your crude declaration, when he stopped at the foot of the bed.
He saw the smile fall from your face, and his did, too.
From the other end of the line, a soft and familiar Southern drawl crawled out of the phone’s receiver.
“Sure thing, doll. Tell him it’s Joey Schröder calling.”
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#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#marvel#mcu#mob bucky barnes#marvel smut#marvel x reader#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes
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Alfie noticing that guys who are way younger than him (like Michael? John?) having a thing for reader, who is close to age to these young gentlemen but has only eyes for ol' man Alfie? Thoughts?
Near Deadly Sin
Alfie Solomons x F!Reader; fluff
AN: IM BAAAAACCCCKKK hello my loves it’s taking me forever to write again but I’m glad to be back. I miss you all and hope you all are doing well!!! MUAH - Mo
No. No this acidic flame burning between his ribs is not jealousy.
Not at all.
The embers stoked in his chest. The flames licking up his neck and around his ears. These are normal… manly… sensible reactions.
Alfie had been invited for ‘drinks’ with the Shelbys. He had refused adamantly, and was only coerced upon your promise to accompany him and to never. leave. his. sight. As if you would ever be far from him or out of his thunderous gaze. But as he is sitting across from Thomas and Arthur and Polly, he is regretting ever bringing you near this nonsense. This den of wolves and snakes. The murmurs of Thomas faded like the crackle of a radio as he focused in on John Shelby’s lustful gaze over you. With every sweep of his young and unbridled eyes and suck of his teeth, Alfie became more and more enraged. Not that you noticed. You didn’t notice John’s roving eyes or the quickening pulse of your husband next to you. You were content sipping the tea Polly served, making quiet conversation with Ada in the corner, holding a babbling Karl.
Alfie knew there was supposed to be a deal or something tonight. Or maybe an update on a job. Or something. It didn’t matter. Fuck the business. Fuck the Shelbys. Fuck John Shelby. Fuck it all. Standing quickly, pushing through the screaming pain of his back, Alfie grunts, “Darling get your coat. We’re done here.”
Your head spun, “Meyn Likht?”
“Up. Coat. Now. Cyril needs us.”
You press your lips in a firm line. Holding back your tongue from lashing at him for his impromptu exit. You knew what he actually meant. Thinking of Cyril was his code for indicating murderous intent that needed to be snuffed out immediately. You watch Alfie as you slip on your coat, going to Thomas to whisper something just out of your reach. Had you heard him, you would have heard the volcanic timber of his voice promise, “You control that little brother of yours Tommy yeah? It’s against holy law to look at another man’s wife like he been doing. Will have to go back to Mosaic law if he don’t shape up.”
With heavy stomps he approaches John, who is trying yet failing to keep a stone expression. “You keep them eyes to yourself little boy. Or someone may just take ‘em from you.”
“Darling? Cyril needs to be let out and will not wait for you!”
With a firm pat on the cheek Alfie turned away, gripping your waist firmly, hand as hot as a brand on the skin under your dress.
-
It’s late now, Alfie is fuming under the crisp sheets and thick quilts layered living on the soft bed. He’s pretending to read. Putting on his glasses and taking them back off again to stare at the ceiling. You emerge from the bathroom, face flush from the hot water, and hair pulled away from your bare shoulders. Arms crossed across your chest, you sit on Alfie’s side of the bed, “You want to talk about it like a grown up now?”
He huffs and shifts lower into the bed, as if to hide from you. With a shrug you walk back to your side, shuffling your sock feet across. You crawl back in bed, back to Alfie to let him fume. It was better than fighting with him to get him to share his feelings.
“He was looking at you.”
“Well Karl is a baby darling.”
“Not Karl! John fucking Shelby! Little bastard was undressing you with his eyes! And you said nothing!”
Ah… there it was.
You let yourself sit up to look at your husband’s face. Folded up into himself, glasses precariously balanced on his nose, cheeks ruddy from rage. Jealousy was his greatest sin and vice. Bigger than rage. Bigger than his love of rum. He was an only child and as such he grew into a man who did not like to share. Not even your image. You curled up next to him, like a cat preening for attention. “Meyn Likht… I didn’t even see him. You shouldn’t be jealous of a figure of vapor.”
“What you don’t notice the… the young men just staring at you? Gapped mouths like dead fish?”
“Those children?” You hum, gently kissing his scruffy jaw and temple.
“Those… men closer in age… to you.”
With that you crawl into his lap, looping your arms around his broad shoulders. “Darling… what could I do with those men? I’d break them.”
“Break them?” He chuckles, gripping you tighter.
“They’re too soft. Too pretty. No. I like my men… rougher… more sturdy… someone who can stand strong and not worry about their pretty face getting dirty. I like my old man.”
“Do you now?”
“Love him even. Deliriously in love with him. Couldn’t live without him.”
Before you could take another breath, he was on you, kissing all over your face, tickling you with his rough beard and mustache. “Good Lord woman you make me feel 20 again.”
#alfie solomons#alfie solomons x reader#alfie solomons x you#alfie solomons fanfic#alfie solomons x y/n#peaky blinder fanfic
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“Look what Daddy got ye, Claire.” Johnny smirked at his little blonde babe, the girl clapping her little hands at him with a toothless smile. In his hand was a little stuffed rabbit, fabric hand-sewn from the market in town. “Here ye go, lass.”
The baby squealed in her high chair, she clutched her new toy in her hand while she eyed it curiously. Johnny leaned down and kissed her curls, the little thing squealed again. He felt a gentle hand on his lower back, he didn’t even have to look to know it was Simon.
“Didn’t hear ya come in.”
Johnny chuckled a little before standing up straight, hand seeking purchase on some inch of Simon’s side. He peered into view, Johnny’s hand settled on Simon’s hip before he kissed him. “Thought th’ babe was nappin’, so ah was quiet.”
Simon nodded towards Claire, his own hand gripped Johnny’s side. “She’s been lookin’ around for you all day. Little Bird found it funny, she laughed and made Claire cry.”
Johnny looked back at his daughter - who was chewing on an arm of her toy - then back to his husband. “Where is the wife anyway?”
“Laid up in bed. Woke up ill.”
Johnny gave a curious look, Simon smacked his side.
“Haven’t been doin’ anything, Johnny. You know that.” His hand reached for Claire, gently petting her shoulder. “She’s not sure she even wants another now. Mad that she’s sick ‘cause Claire was.”
“Mm.” Johnny nodded before he turned to look into the bedroom, seeing the shape of you underneath the quilts. “Join us when she’s down?”
Simon kissed him again, quick and chaste but with a smile. “Always.”
Johnny moved into the bedroom with a couple steps, his smile large as he slipped under the quilt with you. “Hello, Little Bird.”
“Gon’ get you sick.”
His head settled on yours, arm on your side and wrapped around your front. “Don’t matter.”
“You’ve got horse duty tomorrow.”
“Ah know it.”
“Johnny…”
He kissed your cheek before closing his eyes. “Sleep, Little Bird. Jus’ wanna hold ye.”
#montana moonshine series#montana moonshine#lethalchiralium#lethal chiralium#john soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish x reader#johnny soap mactavish#soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish x f!reader#johnny soap mactavish x wife!reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#call of duty#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x f!reader#simon ghost x wife!reader#simon riley x wife!reader#ghost x soap#ghost x soap x reader#ghost x soap x wife!reader#simon ghost riley x johnny soap mactavish
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miguel o’hara x blind! wife headcanons
love language: physical touch…i think miguel would always cup your face, caress you face, gently rub his nose against yours which earns you some giggles, nose kisses, cheek kisses, forehead kisses, and of course regular kisses <3 but he would always go in the order
he may kiss your neck and collarbone and gently trace circles onto your skin to show you his love…you may not see him :( but you can imagine your husband being handsome (like imagine not being able to see your beloved’s face ☹️)
always holding onto you whether he has his arm wrapped around your shoulders or holding your hand whenever you go so you don’t bump into things, now, you’re capable doing anything on your own but miguel is very protective of you
he made sure that whenever you went out in public you had the best technology to assist you wherever you may go & safe to say it has worked wonders for you !! lyla makes sure to check up in on you every once in awhile and reports it to miguel because he a worrisome person (he tracks your location LMAO)
other than that though, you like to paint and draw on your free-time!! you’re very into arts and crafts so you made miguel a big quilt! he was in utter shock because it was very intricate and pretty, very well made done. he made sure to use it whenever he could :) and he cannot thank you enough for thinking about him <3
miguel is your muse 🧚🏽♀️
you’re very outspoken and love to play around with miguel in which miguel adores a lot! “i can’t see you but i do know you’re handsome….” “well, how do you know darling?” “i can hear it in your voice” and you both break out in laughter, honestly so cute 😭
another love language; words of affirmation…you always tell your husband how much you love him and how he his your dream man for as long as you could ever remember :( OH! miguel is very good at affirming his love with you, definitely mutters sweet praises whether you’re doing a chore or doing nothing <3
music is a part of your life
miguel has brought you to many concerts to your favorite artists
gabriel is very fond of you and he thinks you’re a very cool person yet he always pokes fun of miguel because he genuinely thought no woman would ever fall for him because of his stoic and serious nature. gabriel refers to you as his sister and loves you like one
“for as long as i live, you’ll always be the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he says it while he holds your ears in his hands and gently caresses them which makes you all flustered and shy <3
tags 🏷️: @kairiscorner @meeom @emiemiemiii @sabcandoit
#spiderman atsv#spider man: across the spider verse#miguel o'hara#atsv x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#🌱 lin writes#miguel spiderman#miguel o’hara x y/n#spider person#blind reader#blog post#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel headcanons#miguel o’hara fluff
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Our Nest (Bob Floyd x Reader)
Summary: You and Bob are preparing for your little one's arrival and already, shenanigans have ensued
Warnings: Pregnancy, parenthood, Auggie being a menace etc.
Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @callmemana @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @sebsxphia and the lovely @bradshawsbaby my darling, I leave this as a little gift for you 🥰🥰🥰🥰
It was one of those gloriously warm spring days in Montana when all the flowers were in bloom, the windows of the house open to let in the breeze and the birds singing. The lilacs and the crape myrtles that you and Bob had planted after your wedding several years before had fully bloomed already, releasing their heady scents and causing more than a few sneezing fits.
Bob hummed a little as he organized the bookshelf in the corner of the nursery, right next to the rocking chair. Already Meemaw and Papa had sent over an old box of books that had been his when he was a baby, each one carefully picked with all the love in the world and inscribed with his date of birth and a message from Meemaw and Papa.
"Whatcha got Bob?" you asked folding one of the little blue onesies to put in the laundry.
"All the books that were mine when I was a baby," he answered. "Got Baby's Good Morning Book, Baby's Bedtime Book, Baby's Story Book, the Christmas Stories, Child's Story Book, Child's Fairy Tale Book, Peter Rabbit and.......looks like Winnie The Pooh too."
You couldn't help but ooh and aah over the books and their illustrations. You wished you could have a few of them to hang on the walls.
"Hey!" chirped a little toddler voice. "Get out me swamp!!"
You and Bob laughed when you saw Auggie running to the door with the kitchen broom as soon as the doorbell rang, when who should enter but Jake Seresin himself, greeted by his godson wielding a broom.
"Bob! I think Shrek's at it again!" Jake announced. "He's chasing me out of his swamp!"
"You're the one who had to show him that movie," Bob informed him.
Jake rolled his eyes as Auggie laughed and hugged his leg, hanging on for dear life and giggling like crazy as Jake lifted one leg and then the other.
"How goes Mommas?" Jake said, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Good, save for the fact that my husband is right there watching you," you chuckled.
"Hey it's called being courteous, it's technically not flirting," Jake explained.
"Although Natasha might disagree."
Jake made a noise that caught in his throat, his hand moving quickly to protectively cup his denim clad scrotum.
"That's what we thought," Bob said with a shit eating grin.
Jake gathered up Auggie to go and cause havoc elsewhere for the day, leaving you and Bob to finish putting together the nursery. You unpacked all the baby clothes, blankets, shoes and other things your family and friends had sent you over the last few months including adorable little bunnies, puppies, bears, elephants and duckies for your little boy.
"Oh remember this?" you laughed, unfolding one of the blankets from the box.
"Oh, my Uncle Red's wife made that years ago," Bob cooed, holding up the little ducky quilt. "I used to sleep with it every night and Mom had to wrestle it away just to wash it."
You and Bob shared a few laughs as you kept organizing and putting everything together. Outside, you could see two mountain bluebirds in the nest they had made in the crape myrtle, wondering if there were any eggs due to hatch. Already the chicks had begun to hatch while there were more horse and cow births happening at least twice a week. The bunnies too had been hard at work, their numbers multiplying in the last few weeks as well.
"Oof," you breathed, feeling your baby kick. "Oh I know little guy, you're ready."
Bob helped you up from where you had been sitting, letting you lean against him as his hand rested gently on your belly. "Did he drop?" he asked.
You nodded.
Bob smiled broadly as he knelt to kiss your bump. "Now you wait a minute mister," Bob chuckled. "There's still some things we need to get ready for you."
You laughed as Bob pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. He wasn't wrong. Even though you were days away from giving birth, there were still so many things to do in such a tiny time frame.
The next few days were spent prepping the house and finishing the nursery. The laundry and the last of your knitting went smoothly although your cats would have said otherwise. Bluey and Echo, Bob's two blue-heelers, had taken to fetching the oddest things from the other rooms which led to an odd assortment of everything piling up in the living room. But you wouldn't have had it any other way.
At last, the day had come, a warm and calm night when you woke up suddenly after your water broke unexpectedly. Jake and Natasha came to take Auggie back to their place for a while, while your midwife came to the house to help. Bob stayed with you the whole time, just as he had done with Auggie, letting you squeeze his hand as you relaxed in the warm bath.
At long last, on June 1st, at 1:30 in the morning, your sweet little boy, Patrick Lewis Floyd, was born; sharing a birthday with Bob's father Joe. As soon as you were back in yours and Bob's shared bed, he snapped a few photos and sent them to his parents, siblings and the Daggers. It's not long before his phone is flooded with messages, all from the proud aunts, uncles and grandparents of your new little boy.
Joe and Irene, Bob's parents, are proud as ever of their grandson and of you both, more so now that Joe can joke about Patrick being his birthday present for that year. His Meemaw and Papa are all too proud to be great-grandparents again, all of them offering to come by and help with whatever is needed.
You and Bob wake later the next day at the sound of Patrick's fussing in the little bedside bassinet, Bob carefully lifting him into his arms and bringing him to the window to hear the birds singing. Patrick calms right down as soon as he's heard the birds sing and as soon as he's latched onto you to feed.
And when you and Bob are snuggled in your shared bed with Auggie coming in to see his new baby brother, you are both overjoyed and happy at the little nest you've built together.
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A GLIMPSE INTO THE LIFE OF NOA FAMILY – noel noa
a little glimpse into the nao family. wherein you get to see a few of their daily antics.
It’s evident in the eyes of your son that he is quite not found of his father’s affections for you. The three-year-old cannot for the fact digest that his mother is loved by his ugly father – it is his view of his dear dad. Aimé is quite literally the biggest hater of his dad. The best striker in the world – Noel Noa.
Noel kisses your cheek? Aimé is probably out and about to find tissues, dip them in sanitiser and run off to you to clean it. Noel has his head in your lap? Aimé is on his way to plop himself in that very special place. The young boy tries his all to throw his father of the edge, but the older man doesn’t budge, he seems to always shrug it off, finding a better place to hold you close and not bat an eye to his son’s intentions.
It only makes Aimé adamant on doing much more to gain your attention away from his father, and that he gets when he slides into your shared bed. Yes, that’s right. Aimé Noa slides right in the middle of the bed between Noel and you with the shit eating grin on his face, and that is the only time he irks the father of his. The veins protruding from his neck are visible but you seem to not notice that because you are too focused on your little son.
That’s right, stay focused on sweet little, Aimé.
“I’ll sleep with you and papa tonight!” The three-year-old cheers, a cheeky smile on his face. You being a mother take the ruse, for in your eyes he is but a little angel, and oh, how you love your sweet innocent angel. But that words to the opposite to Noel. They do not set well with him, nuh-uh, he ain’t letting his son get in the time he has with his wife – no, not at all.
Noel is smart. He knows of the glint in his son’s eyes, it was pretty much evident with the way he always washes you in sanitiser whenever Noel’s hands or lips land on you. It makes him annoyed to no end, but he indulges in his son’s antics, not minding much because he gets you to himself, all at night. That’s fine with him, he gets you at night so his son could get you in the day.
But oh, oh, oh, such a wolf he is in sheep’s clothing. He has started to become the bane of Noel’s existence. It feels as if his wife is not his anymore but belongs to his son. He knows you love him and Aimé the same, but that look Aimé is giving to Noel in the moment, makes Noel boil with annoyance and jealousy. Because at times he doesn’t like sharing his wife.
So when the lights are out, the young lad stuck in the middle of you and your husband. Your husband gets the most amazing ideas of all times, when he hears the little twat snoring to his comfort, Noel picks the boy up gently, and places him right at the corner of the bed – not too to the side for the boy to fall, he is loving father after all – and shifting in the middle to hold you in his arms.
Ah, such satisfaction his heart gets as he finally pulls you close. A blissful smile sets upon Noel’s lips as he feels you nuzzle in his clothes, as he himself wraps you in his arms, as he himself snuggles with you and falls into a deep slumber, not caring of what the morning brings for him.
And when the sun rises from the east, it also awaken the little boy too quick as well. Aimé rubbing the sleep away as he sits straight in bed expecting to jump into his mother’s arms, but what he sees is his father’s giant back and nothing else. Uh-oh, looks like Amié is down one point now and like father like son, he is not going to accept defeat so easily.
So, he does what he does best, he jumps with all his might on the both of you, jerking you out of your sleeping states, as you scream in shock while you husband wakes up frazzled, and for you son to be laughing to his heart’s content. It’s quite the sight for you, when you see your husband push him deeper into the quilts and tickle the boy to no end as he laughs and laughs and laughs.
You like it. The sight feels warm for Noel is out and about most of the times. But the times he spends with you like these become deeper and well cherished memories. You are well aware of the little war going on between these two, but you don’t mind, for it gives you moments like these to wake up too.
Your son’s loud laughter bounces of the walls while Noel speaks to him in french of how hurt you could have been, without stopping his tickle attack on his son. It’s funny. So, you laugh at the view set before you, and as you do, it’s your turn to be tickled by the two. They share the same brain cell at times, for Aimé is just like Noel, there is not the slightest difference between the two.
It’s fun. It’s family. So you cherish what you have been blessed with.
This is but a little glimpse in the daily life of the Noas. They are but together. They are unique in quite the amusing ways and well that is who they are.
noel is a bit ooc i think 😭 but i feel like he is a super good dad 🗣️
NOIRFLMS 2024 ! all rights reserved - plagiarism is a crime , do not translate my works without permission. REBLOG MORE PLEASE !
#౨ৎ ⋆˚｡⋆ 𝒔.tamped#dad! noa is my another new agenda 🗣️#people need to write about him man 😋#he’s so fine like scrumptious 😩😩#blue lock#blue lock noel#noel noa#noel noa x reader#noa x reader#blue lock x reader#blue lock x you#bllk!dads#bllk noel#blue lock scenarios#blue lock imagines#blue lock drabbles#blue lock fluff#bllk scenarios#bllk imagines#bllk fluff
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✺ (1/8) ✺ @jegulus-microfic prompt: converse — 1,130 words (jegulus dads ft. harry; going through harry’s baby things)
“Oh no.” There’s a dramatic level of pain in James’ voice —there has been all afternoon since they started this project— and Regulus sighs quietly, lips twitching at the corners. “Reg, look at these.”
Regulus finishes folding the quilt that Pandora made for Harry to leave the hospital in, sets it in its new box marked ‘keep,’ then turns to his husband.
This has been a common occurrence as they’ve undertaken this task; going through Harry’s baby things to see what they truly need to hold onto and what can be donated has been an emotional journey. Admittedly, Regulus is having a progressively difficult time keeping it together the more that they find, but he’s let James be the one to express the feelings they’re both experiencing. Loudly and repetitively.
Balanced on James’ wide palm is a pair of infant-sized Converse, so tiny it’s hard to believe they ever belonged to a person, much less that that person was the five year old that’s currently coloring at a folding table in the corner of their garage. The little shoes are red, matching a pair that James has kept consistently replaced and in his wardrobe for years.
“I can’t believe he was ever this small,” James muses, stroking one finger over the laces of one.
“I know,” Regulus sighs, bottom lip jutting out in a faint pout. Okay, it’s getting to him now. They’ve been at this for hours, they’re near done. He told himself he wasn’t going to get in his feelings about this, at least not until they’d finished, but… “I think I miss it.”
“Me too.” James reaches for his hand, tows him close to his side to curl his arm around him, both their gazes remaining fixed on the baby shoes. “Should we have another one?”
Regulus lets out a surprised sounding laugh, swinging a backhanded swat gently into James’ stomach. “We have Luna in the picture, too.”
“Also no longer a baby,” James points out. “We could definitely do it.”
“You’re forgetting an important detail.”
“What’s that?”
Regulus half-turns in the curl of James’ arm to look toward their son where Harry sits. A marker clutched just a smidge too tight in one hand, tongue poking out between his teeth in concentration. There’s smudges of different marker colors on his hands, a few pens uncapped and drying out scattered on the table top. Harry doesn’t look up until Regulus calls his name.
“Yes, papa?” He nudges his glasses up and blinks wide green eyes over at him, curious.
“How do you feel about having a baby brother or sister?” Regulus asks.
Harry’s brow furrows deeply. “I already have a sister.”
Regulus gestures toward the little boy as if his point has just been made.
“Another one, then. Wouldn’t that be fun, mate?” James suggests.
Scrunching his face up further in thought, Harry tilts his head, taps the marker in his hand against his chin. Regulus huffs a quiet laugh when the pause extends for several seconds, serious thought clearly being given to this question. In the end, Harry shrugs his shoulders dramatically, keeping them held up toward his ears.
“Well, I don’t know,” He says. “Would I have to share my toys?”
“You already have to share your toys, because that’s the nice thing to do,” Regulus reminds him.
“But a baby can’t play with all of my toys. Because they’re a baby and I’m not a baby.”
“Solid logic on that, mate,” James chuckles. He moves to set the red Converse on the table between the keep and donate boxes, undecided on where they belong. “We’ll think about it, eh? Put a pin in it?”
Harry looks at them both for a long moment before nodding his head once, poking his open marker into the air like he’s physically putting a pin in the thought. Instead of returning to coloring, he drops the marker onto the table —Regulus makes a mental note to replace this pack again when it’s the fifth one left to dry out. Wiggling off his chair, Harry comes over to them, picking up the shoes James sat down.
“Were these mine?” He asks, giggling when he stuffs his fingers into one and wears it like an odd glove. “They’re so small.”
“Yeah, so were you,” Regulus hums.
“But I’m tall now. Taller than Luna and Draco, too.” Harry puts the other shoe on his opposite hand, smacking the small soles together in semblance of a clap.
“You used to match daddy when you wore those shoes as a baby, you know,” Regulus tells him, pointing at his hidden hands.
“Used to put you in them all the time when we’d go out together,” James adds, smiling fondly.
Harry looks down at the shoes, silly with his hands in them, then back up at the two of them with an unexpected frown. “How come we don’t anymore?”
Regulus turns his head, looking at James in playful accusation. “An excellent question.”
“Hey, now, don’t act like this is my fault. You were the one that encouraged him making all his own choices. He never picked the Converse himself,” James argues.
“Well, I could get some now, daddy,” Harry stresses like this is the most obvious answer. He holds up his hands, shoes on display. “‘Cause these ones are too small.”
“Should we save them for the baby, you think?” James asks him.
“So we can all match.” Harry nods at first but then cuts himself short, eyes landing on Regulus. “But papa doesn’t have any.”
“Red isn’t papa’s color,” Regulus says.
“Beg to differ.” James’ mumble earns him an elbow in the ribs, a laugh punching out of him. “We’ll get some for papa, too, just for fun.”
“And then these ones are for the baby,” Harry confirms, setting the Converse back on the table.
“Well. We’ve circled back to this very quickly,” Regulus comments, amused, shaking his head slowly.
James hums in acknowledgment, grinning triumphantly when Regulus looks at him. He leans in and leaves a kiss against his forehead, lips still pressed against the spot, breath breezing through black curls, when he tells Harry to drop the shoes into the keep box for them. Regulus watches him examine each box, fondness blooming warmth in his chest as Harry sounds out letters he recognizes to figure out which box is the right one.
They’ve all done such a good job with this perfect little boy of theirs, doing it all over again with a new baby might just make life impossibly more wonderful.
We’ll put a pin in it, Regulus thinks again.
He’ll have to wait and see when it’s truly circled back to in seriousness. He keeps it to himself that he wouldn’t mind if it was sooner rather than later.
#jegulus#starchaser#sunseeker#jegulus microfic#baby harry#except he’s a big ol five year old#i missed them#got jeggy dad feels today so here have this cute fun little time#gonna curl up into a ball over them actually i’m emo#i love them so much#kay’s writing#kay’s microfics#jeggy dads series
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Newt Scamander x Reader One Shot- Lean On Me
Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night and notice Newt's absence. You go searching for him in his suitcase to find him passed out over his papers and try to bring him back to bed.
Warnings: fluff, fluff, and more fluff :)
Word count: 1.3k words
A/N: I wrote this simply to satisfy my Newt craving. He is an adorable little cinnamon roll that must be protected at all costs.
#4- Lean On Me
You pried open your eyes and squinted in the darkness. The other side of the bed was vacant; you knew it without rolling over. Newt’s presence had become so familiar to you that when he wasn’t there, it was as if part of your heart had gone missing.
You sat up, rubbing your face groggily. There was a light on somewhere in the house. You slid your feet into your slippers and padded toward the source, hugging your thin nightgown to your body. It had begun to get chilly, especially at night, and oftentimes Newt found you cuddled up in bed, shrouded by a multitude of blankets.
The suitcase was propped open on a table in the foyer. A dim light glowed from within.
Yawning, you stepped over the rim and descended into its depths. The creatures weren’t exactly aware of the passage of day and night in the suitcase, but most had seemed to settle once the sun had set in the outside world. A few of the nocturnal ones hooted and hummed as you entered.
“Newt?” you called sleepily, lighting a candle from the cabinet. “Are you awake?”
You turned a corner to his study, a small nook by the stairs crammed with bookshelves and creature care appliances. There he was, sleeping sprawled over his desk, stray papers from his latest endeavor strewn about, hair ruffled and mouth open slightly. You smiled at the sight of your husband. You’d given up urging him to go to bed months ago, realizing that he all too often tried to heed your words but became so swept up in his work that he lost track of time.
You came up behind him, sliding your hands over his shoulders. “My love,” you kissed the top of his head. “Won’t you come up to bed?”
He started awake, blinking sleep from his eyes. “(Y-Y/N)?” He had a line imprint on his cheek where he’d fallen asleep on the table. He looked at his papers in confusion and began gathering them together. “What time is it?”
You ran your hand down the length of his arm and slipped your fingers into his ink-stained ones, preventing him from touching his work. “Time to go to bed,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear.
He stopped and leaned into your touch as you ran your thumb over his knuckles. He trapped your fingers, brought them to his lips, and nodded.
You helped him to his feet and sneaked a hand around his torso as you led him up the stairs. Newt, of course, was wholly capable of climbing the stairs by himself, but you wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to close the physical distance between you two.
Newt didn’t seem to mind. You were the bolder one when it came to affection, but he always caught your touches and held you closer as if he could make them last forever. Often he would absentmindedly caress your arm or twirl a curl of your hair between his fingers. It was in the little things that you knew Newt showed the most care; sometimes a single touch from him said more than a thousand words.
You tugged him into the bedroom you shared and released your hold as you went to fold an extra quilt over the bed. Your tendency to hog the blankets on cooler nights left Newt searching for warmth, you knew, though it didn’t escape your thoughts that his lack of cover usually led him to snuggle closer to you. Perhaps that was part of your subconscious plan.
He stood on the other side of the bed, framed in candlelight. The fire shone around his hair just so, making it appear that he was crowned in a rubicund halo. He was unraveling his tie, his sluggish movements betraying how sleep-deprived he truly was.
You flattened the quilt and came to stand by him. “Allow me,” you said, taking the tie from his hands. Deftly, you undid the knot. You had made Newt’s tie for him countless times each day before he headed off to work to the point that you could do it with your eyes closed. You tugged it from his neck and tossed it to the dresser.
When you looked back up, Newt’s eyes were locked on you. When you first met, you found his inability to look you in the eye odd and yet a little endearing. As you two grew closer, he would hold your gaze for greater lengths of time, as if he had gotten lost in your eyes and was physically incapable of tearing himself away. Even now that you were married there was something vulnerable about it. It was like you were each seeing a hidden part of each other’s soul, like you were baring your hearts before each other and were unafraid of what it could expose.
Not breaking his gaze, you allowed your hands to trail down his chest, grasping the buttons at his vest. His heart was racing underneath your palms. Yours skipped a beat. You were melting under that look. Gently, you unattached each of the buttons and slid the vest off his shoulders, leaving him in an undershirt that was already popped open at the collar. On the undershirt you let yourself undo only the first three buttons; you knew if you went any farther your hands might never stop exploring every inch of his skin.
You pressed on his shoulders and eased him to sit on the bed. He reached up to hold your hand, but you knelt to untie his shoelaces instead. You set his shoes aside and he drew you back to your feet, slowly wrapping his arms around your waist.
“I don’t deserve you,” Newt mumbled, eyes flitting away and settling on your mouth.
You cupped his face in one hand and ran your fingers through his fluffy hair with the other. “The world doesn’t deserve you, my love.”
He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand. “But you deserve the world.”
Your heart seemed to liquefy in your chest, sending warmth trickling all over your body. You leaned forward to kiss his brow. When you pulled back, his eyes- half-lidded and aglow with the candlelight- were once again fixed on your lips. He pulled you closer. Softly, as if it demanded the utmost care in the world, he tilted his head up and pressed his lips to yours.
He kissed you like he couldn’t believe you were his, as if you would disappear from his arms at any moment. It was delicate and utterly sweet and ended far too soon.
“I love you,” he murmured against your mouth. His voice was shaky, and he was looking at you like you were a dream.
In reply, you kissed him again. You lowered yourself to sit on his lap and he scooted back, tugging you with him, your hips curved into his body. Your hands stroked his neck and once more found their way down his arms. He shivered under your touch. You smiled against his lips and moved the kiss deeper.
Newt leaned back and pulled you both onto the bed. You fell against his chest and dipped into the crook of his arm. Running the back of your fingers over his cheek, you whispered, “I love you too.”
Sleep was quickly claiming him, and you could feel its steady hold on you too. You kissed him once more, then rolled over and blew out the candle. You snuggled underneath the blankets, feeling Newt’s warm arm slip around your waist, his ankles entwining with yours.
You were entering a world of blissful dreams when you felt his soft lips on the crook of your shoulder. You cuddled closer to him, your back up against his chest, and smiled into the night.
“Good night, my love,” you said.
“Good night, my darling,” he said as he drifted off to sleep once again.
Masterlist
#newt scamander x reader fluff#newt scamander x reader#newt scamander one shot#newt scamander#fantastic beasts and where to find them#fantastic beasts#reader insert#harry potter x reader#harry potter#fbawtft
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Hello! Why not a lil drabble where the husband thinks the worst every time the love of his life is a bit sick? I think it'd be funny to imagine Steven Grant worrying all the time and Marc Spector + the reader trying to reassure him 😅
Sick as a dog
Summary: You have a cold and Marc nurses you back to health.
ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST
The insides of your throat feels like it's on fire. Your shoulders and back are stiff and your limbs ache.
The quilts lying by your feet is drawn up to your shoulders, and soft fingers come to the your cheeks, gently cupping your face.
"Love, are you sure you're okay? Maybe it's best I take you to the GP?"
Steven is biting his bottom lip with worry. He's been hovering and fretting over you since this morning when you woke up. Insisting on calling in sick to take care of you. (Something that is definitely going to get him in trouble judging from the screeching voice of his boss Donna that you overheard from the phone when he made the call from the other end of the flat).
You shake your head. "It's just a cold. no point. If I go there, they're just going to send me packing back home."
"Can I at least get you something to eat?"
Your stomach roils at the idea. Everything hurts. Your lungs feel like someone doused it in gasoline and lit a match and then left it in a barn filled with hay and in this imagery your body would be the barn. You don't think you can keep anything in your stomach.
You shake your head, burying your face further into the soothing coolness of your pillow as you close your eyes to it. "It's just a cold, just need some sleep," you murmur, and it only takes a handful of seconds before you feel the lightheadness of sleep try to claim you.
There's voices in the room. You think Steven is talking to you. He sounds so worried, and your chest aches when you hear him. But he keeps talking even as you're unable to answer him and you realise he must be talking to Marc. You don't know what he's saying and you're too exhausted to drag yourself from sleep to let him know that it's ok. It's just a cold. He doesn't need to worry, even if it feels like your body is going to burn away into ashes.
You wake to darkness. You don't know how long you must've been out with sleep. Is it already evening? Twisting your sore neck, you peer out over the room. The drapes have been carefully drawn shut, and for the wide window with no drapes, someone's done an impromptu fix, covering it with large bedsheets to block out the afternoon sun.
"How you feeling?"
You blink up at the voice. Brown eyes are staring down at you. Not Steven's big and wide eyes, instead they're narrowed and intense, but no less worried than Steven had been. Marc you realise.
A large hand comes up to your forehead and settles there. He grinds down on his jaw and you can see the tense muscle there flex as Marc's tight expression turn into frown. "Shit, baby you're burning up."
"It's just a cold and a fever," you offer weakly. Too tired to fight him.
His hand comes to your face, thumb smoothing over your cheeks, and it feels so good. It's soothing. Then he pulls away, and you find yourself chasing the doting touch, tilting your face up for him and nearly whine at the loss.
His hand pushes you back down by your shoulders, flat on the bed. "Stay down," he orders.
There's the din of clutter in some far away remote place of the flat, but you're too exhausted to turn your head to look again. Struggling to stay awake when the mattress dips next to you and Marc is there with a cup of water and an arsenal of things lying next to you.
There's two pills in the open palm of his hand, as he pushes the glass into your hand. "Drink," he orders, just as curtly as before. Mother hen to the core, but with none of the soft bedside manners of Steven.
You try to raise yourself in bed, and Marc's hand are quickly there, holding your arm and waist to steady you as you take a gulp. It hurts to swallow.
When you're done, he takes the glass from you, setting it down by the shelf for now, and then his hand comes to the hem of your shirt and starts to pull it upwards.
His fingers skirt over your ribs and it feels so pleasant, your whole back tingles with it until your face is awash with the gentle touch as you stare up at him in confusion.
"You're soaked in sweat," Marc explains, as he tugs it the rest of the way, leaving you naked waist up in front of him. Then he shakes his head, with a small amused smile tugging at his lips. "Get your mind out of the gutter, baby."
You can't help but laugh. How can you not, when Marc is smiling at you like that, eyes crinkling softly.
"Sit up," he instructs, a hand steady the small of your back, and then he brings a wet cloth to the expanse of the bare and sweat drenched skin there and wipes you down.
It feels like heaven. Soothing as the lukewarm wet towel wipes away at the cold sweat there, and you make a small and pleased humming noise.
"Yeah?" Marc asks. "That feel good?"
You don't even have words for him, you just nod, as his touch comes up to your sore neck, with a gentle thoroughness that makes a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter in your chest.
He comes down to your stomach, and the front of your chest, wringing out the water in a basin until he comes back to massage at the tenseness of your aching thighs. The pain and soreness eases, the achiness melting away at his gentle touch until you unspool at the seam and can't do anything but lie against the mattress in a half-lucid puddle.
The quilt comes up to your shoulders and he tucks it beneath your chin, until you're like a folded burrito. "Get some sleep. I'll make you some soup you can eat when you wake, okay?"
He rises to leave, and your hand flings out to grab at his wrist and he stops abruptly. "Stay," you whine. It's selfish. You're probably going to get him sick. But you feel vulnerable and weak, and all you want is for him to stay here next to you. To feel his reassuring weight pressed next to yours. "Please?"
Marc looks down on you, and even though you must look something horrific. Nose stuffed with snot, eyes crusted and hair a matted and sweaty mess against your forehead, a zone of infectious disease, there's no hesitation as he drops back down on the bed and settles next to you. His arm wraps all around you, hand cupping the back of your head as he tucks your face into the nape of his neck.
"Thank you."
He turns, just enough for his mouth to brush against your clammy and disgustingly sweaty forehead and then he presses a kiss there.
"Get better," he whispers, and as his arms tighten around you, and you can feel his comforting warmth wrapped all around, you want to tell him that with him here, it already is.
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#marc spector#marc spector x reader#marc spector x you#steven grant#steven grant x reader#steven grant x you#moon knight#marvel#marvel mxu#moon knight x reader#moon knight x you#oscar isaac#💌 asks
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Fire Like A Targaryen Pt. 2
Pairing: Daemon Targryen x Fem!reader
Summary: the aftermath of the attack on your family
Warning: Angst, fighting, cursing, mentions of child death
Masterlist - Part One
---
"Where were you, Daemon?" You say his name like a curse. Gritted teeth, you circle your disheveled husband, who sits at the end of your bed. His head leans into his hands before running them through his hair to look at you.
"My love, I am so sorry-" He starts, reaching out to you before you smack away his hand.
"NO! WHERE the FUCK were you when a man tried TO KILL OUR DAUGHTER?! Huh? This blade almost killed both of your children, and you can't tell me the truth? You are a coward, Daemon Targaryen." Tears burn down your face as you throw your arms to your side, tossing the bloodied dagger onto the white sheets while he stands, stepping towards you. His cheek, damp with tears, glistens in the glow of the fireplace beside you.
"Tell me where you were. Please, Daemon. You owe it to me to tell me the truth." You let him grab your hands as you look up at him, looking for honesty in his blue eyes.
"I was with Rhaenyra." Everything you feared was confirmed at this moment as your heart stills. Dropping his hands, you slowly step away from him before turning to face the wall, feeling the heat against your face from the fireplace as a fire inside your soul goes ablaze. Your world collapsed as you lay between a blade and your child, and your husband, the man who swore to you, made a vow to you, was getting his dick wet. 'Why are you surprised?' A nagging voice echoes in your head, your voice.' You knew the man you married.' Blame creeps into your bones before a realization takes hold.
"Of course you were. Of course, only you would bury yourself in another woman as your two children and wife were brutally attacked. What is wrong with you?." You snarl, turning towards Daemon. He is speechless, with his arms stretched out to you, making you scoff.
"I have sacrificed so much for this Targaryen name. I have balled up and thrown my pride and dignity out the window for the sake of this family. I have shed blood for this family. I have KILLED FOR MY FAMILY. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE BUT FUCKED A WHORE?" Screaming, you throw a glass vase from the table to your left, narrowly missing his head as he dodges it.
"Enough! Stop this! You speak of sacrifice! Huh? I have killed many to protect this family. Blood doesn't stop covering my hands, Y/N. Every day I go to battle, I think of this family. I think of my daughter. Of my wife." He reaches for you, but you smack him away. Luckily, he pulls back and resorts to picking at his cuticles. His outburst caught you off guard, as he had been silent for the rest of this argument. Unknowing what to say next, you walk away from him, heading towards the door.
"I wasn't fucking her." He whispers, making you abruptly stop before turning to him.
"What?" The shock was clear on your face as you swore you heard him wrong. "What did you just say?"
"I wasn't having sex with Rhaenyra when you were…when the two of you were…I wasn't fucking her. I wanted you to know that." He sits on the bed's footboard, pushing his hair out of his face.
"Then what were you doing with her? Making fucking quilts?" You spat, unable to believe the words he was saying. He's lied to you over and over about this same woman. "So you deny being with her after admitting you were? Liar." You shake your head, mumbling the last part.
"I was leaving her." You scoff at his words. "Please listen to me. I wanted to break it off with her. I have been unfaithful to you and our family and wanted to make it right. I wanted you and Alys and our family. Not her. I swear to every God that exists and doesn't, my love. I am so sorry I wasn't here to protect you, Alys, and our son. I have failed our family too many times; I know this. Just please allow me a second chance. A chance to be the man our family deserves." You've found yourself moved to his side, sitting on the bed. His words moved you, but doubt still rang in your head.
"How do I know this isn't another lie? How do I know you are truly over her?" You ask, defeated, as your anger leaves your body and tears fill your eyes.
"If it helps, you can ask her yourself. She will not lie to you. She never has." His words were correct, seeing how Rhaenyra was the one who told you about their affair. "But I will spend every day of my life proving it to you until my last breath." He declares as you silently take in his words.
After a moment of silence, you have decided your plan of action.
"I will have my own room." You finally say, breaking the crushing silence. To your side, you see him turn to look at you as you stare straight ahead.
"Y/N, pleas-,"
"Let me finish. I will have my own room until I can trust you again. Alys can choose which room she'd like to stay in if she doesn't go between them. I can't pretend this didn't happen and go back to normal, not overnight. I need time." You state, nodding your head in satisfaction before finally turning to him. His features look broken in the light illuminating the fireplace. Tear streaks mark his face as you fight to reach to brush them away but curl your hand to stop yourself. He takes in your features, deciding how serious you are before deciding not to push anymore.
"How much time?" Daemon finally says after a moment of silence. Without hesitation, you answer him.
"As much time as it takes to forget the images of you with her, Daemon. I want to forgive you for our family, our daughter, and me. But I need time. I'll stay here tonight but find a room for myself tomorrow."
"Okay." He says with a sad sigh.
Despite how hard you fought against doing this, you found yourself knocking on the dark wooden door. Once the door swings open, it reveals the silver-haired heir to the throne. Her glossy hair is messy and sticking out in tendrils as she uses the door to cover her nightgown.
"Y/N. Hello. This isn't the best time this moment-"
"Are you and Daemon done?" You throw the words at her, but she barely flinches; barely. Her eyes give away her surprise at your confrontation.
"Uhm, let me get dressed, and I'll come out." She goes to close the door, but your hand stops the wood.
"No. You have been sleeping with a married man, your uncle." You lower your voice at the last part. "You owe me this. Are you still seeing him? I could care less about status and the throne. This is my family. Answer the damn question." You growl through gritted teeth, grinding them so hard you thought they were crushing into powder. Rhaenyra almost looks scared for a second before she blinks it away, standing straighter before looking into your eyes.
"He broke it off with me. I won't lie. I didn't take it well at first. But we aren't meant for each other. It was a mistake. For both of us. He told me it will be one of his biggest regrets for not bonding with you and leaning into me." Her words light a different rage in you as you hold back from grabbing her. With a deep breath, you ask your final question.
"When did he break it off?"
"The night of the attack on you and your daughter. He was leaving the room as the guards met him in the hall and alerted him." She says, still hovering behind the door when someone shuffles in, making her look into the room before turning back to you.
"I am sorry, Y/N. As a woman, as family, I should've told you about the affair. I should've ended it. Nothing I say will take my actions back, but it is one of my biggest regrets too." With that, turn away from her halls before returning to your chambers, where your daughter lies in your bed. Blowing the candle out, you lay beside her before pulling the covers over you and closing your eyes to let sleep take hold.
part three coming soon!
#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targaryen fanfiction#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen fic#daemon targaryen imagine#daemon targaryen x fem reader#house of the dragon angst#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon imagines#house of the dragon#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon imagine
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Kisses for Bad Days
Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader
Warnings: talking about depression, language
A/N: A few days ago I was having what I call a “low day”. Transparently I’m going through my summer of healing, so I’m doing a lot of heart work and sometimes I get down. So I wrote this to just… idk cope I guess. If anyone struggles with this kind of stuff, just know you’re loved, and you’re wanted and needed. - Mo
As an aside, I’m running out of ideas!! Send me some ideas if you wantttt!!
The day started out well enough. The weather had finally turned a sweet cool, and there was a beautiful sunrise. You and Alfie shared a good strong cup of tea, he read the morning paper to you, and you gave a him more than a few kisses goodbye as he left for the office.
It was setting up to be a good day. You had a list of chores you wanted to get done, and a great meal planned out for tonight. It should have been a good day. It should have. It really should have.
Nothing, happened, per say. It was just your thoughts getting in the way. It had been like this for a few years now. Where you would get your hopes up for a good day. Have your plan. Get excited for the day. But as the day went on, you felt your body aches, your heart turning heavy, and your mind would just race without peace. Sometimes, you could control it and push through. But some days. Some days you could only lay back down and cry. Ever since you’ve started living with Alfie, you tried to keep your crying to a minimum, not letting him see you. But he’d caught you sometimes. And he’d worry and caress you, asking what was wrong, if he had done anything. Bless him. He didn’t do anything. He never did anything. Nothing happened. Nothing caused it. It just… washed over you. Shrouded you like a massive blanket that you couldn’t get out from under.
Today was a crying day. You did the best you could. The laundry was never folded. The grand meal in your mind turned into pot roast to roast in the fire for the rest of the day. Then you just crawled into bed. Laying there. Staring into space, watch the plaster on the walls change in shape. Listening to the wind and voices outside your window. Hours passed. Tears fell. And soon enough the evening sun came, and the front door rustled with the sound of Alfie’s boots.
“Darling! Sweetheart I’m home! Oh it smells great my dove. Dove? Darling?”
When Alfie heard the rustling of the sheets, he knew what kind of day it was. He just sighed, taking off his jacket and boots. He hated seeing you like this. Not because it was inconvenient or bothersome. No, just because it broke something deep within him. His darling, suffering so. Alfie was someone who found the solutions. Always had the answer. Always was able to piece together the broken china, fix the squeaky door, figure out where the draft was coming from. That’s what he does. He makes his sweet heart smile. Makes her day better. That’s what he does. It’s his joy.
Alfie knows the sadness is no one’s fault. He knows that it just is, and maybe one day it’ll leave you. He just wishes he could take it from you. He wishes that if anything, he could hold it for you. He felt helpless not being able to carry it for you. All he could do was be there.
He find you huddled in the sheets and quilts that you’ve made and collected. No longer in the dress he left you in. Your hair is loose, spread around you like another blanket, and you have one of his shirts wrapped right around you like a shield. Alfie changes from his outside clothes, and lifts the sheets and blankets up, “All right little bird, scoot over yeah? Yeah let me get next to you. No no don’t worry about your face and tears I don’t wanna hear it. Now come here, tell your old husband what’s the matter. What’s got my little wife upset. Your mind playing tricks again eh?”
You buried your face in his chest, just letting the tears flow freely. Alfie just hummed to you, patting the top of your head. Eventually, your breathing evens out, and you let your fingers trace the unruly curls on his chest. You finally feel ready to talk, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me Alfie.”
“No no nothing, is wrong with you pet. Ollie, he’s got something wrong with him, that silly little boy. You are perfect sweet heart. So what you let your tears ruin all my shirts?”
“Alfie!!!!!”
“Oh my dove I am just teasing you. No no don’t be cross with me please treacle. You know those shirts were ruined before we even met.”
He places his palm beneath your quivering chin, tilting your face to look up at him, "You're safe little bird. No one is upset with you. You've done nothing wrong my darling."
Though his words were so soothing to your racing mind, you still felt the tears well up, "I just don't want you to feel like I'm a burden."
Alfie shook his head quickly, kissing the tip of your nose, "You've never been a burden to me dove. Frankly, I wish you would be more of a burden. A little too independent, leaving your poor old husband in the dust."
You let out a small giggle, and Alfie felt his heart lighten, and he just pressed your closer to him, "Oh my sweet girl. My sweet sweet girl. I know it hurts. I know. But I'll always be here to hold you. You trust me?"
You nodded kissing the corner of his mouth, "I trust you Alfie."
"Good, but you missed treacle lets try that again yeah?"
You couldn't help but roll your eyes and try to push him away, but his strong arms just pulled you right next to him, allowing him to pepper your face with his scratchy and bushy kisses. Once you both were thoroughly out of breath from roughhousing, Alfie just stared into your eyes, pushing the stray hair out of your face, "I love you so much darling. More than you know. Why don't you take a bath, and meet me in the parlor? We'll listen to the radio and play cards?"
You nodded in assent, kissing him gently but fully.
Days like this were hard. Sometimes it felt like the loneliest island in the world. But with Alfie, there was a saving grace. There you could escape from the loneliness and find safe harbor in his arms. With Alfie, you could survive anything. You could thrive. You could have a beautiful evening. You can feel love where you still need to love yourself.
#alfie solomons x reader#alfie solomons x you#alfie solomons x y/n#alfie solomons#alfie solomons fanfic
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The sweetest fruit (11)
[ Aemond • Targaryen x Valyrian! • female ]
[ warnings: depression, suicide attempt, miscarriage, fluff ]
[description: (Anon Request) Aemond is to meet his future wife from Essos, in whose veins runs the blood of Old Valyria. They’ve been engaged since they were kids, but he’s in no hurry to get married and he’s not happy about her arrival. His future wife, however, turns out to be someone completely different than he expected. Smut, angst and a lot of sexual tension.]
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Previous and next chapters: Masterlist
_____
By the time they returned to King's Landing, Lady Vhassar's belly was slightly rounded. The king and queen received the news of their future offspring with great joy and organized a feast on this occasion.
Since it turned out that she is carrying his child in her womb, her husband has changed beyond recognition. Though he was still cold and distant to others, he was tender and gentle with her. Even in bed, during their successive intense raptures, he was very attentive and made sure that he didn't hurt her.
She thought that she did not give herself hope for such a marriage - especially since it was predetermined. The trip to Volantis had brought them closer in every way. They discussed a lot, lying naked, hugging each other. He listened attentively to her observations and arguments, presenting his own. Their conversations were always respectful and understanding.
She carried her pregnant belly with pride, walking around the palace with a broad, contented smile. Even the ladies who until then had simply pretended not to see her, bowed to her from the waist. She didn't really care what they thought of her, but she felt more and more at home in the Red Keep.
However, one morning, as she lay cuddled up to her husband, she felt a strange, uncomfortable spasm. She murmured softly, trying to sleep on, but she felt the pain again, pinching and stinging like a needle. She lifted herself lightly on her shoulder and felt the warmth between her thighs. She lifted the quilt and froze. She saw a pool of blood.
All she could hear, was her own heartbeat and her rapid, labored breathing. She was unable to move or make a sound. Her lips tightened and trembled, her eyes turned red from the tears welling up. Her body began to tremble, she was making high-pitched noises, her hands clenching the sheet.
Aemond propped himself up on one elbow, sleepy, seeing that for some reason she was awake. He froze, looking at blood on the sheet.
Neither of them moved for a moment, breathing heavily. He touched her back with his trembling hand, as if to convey to her what he felt with his touch. She heard him take a quick breath and bow his head. He stood up, opened the door, and ordered the measter to be summoned.
***
Aemond watched as his wife's servants changed her into a clean nightgown, and helped her lay in bed in fresh new sheets. Lady Vhassar was pale and had not spoken since morning. The queen spoke reassuringly to her, stroking her shoulder, but she didn't seem to be listening, completely in her own world. She didn't shed a single tear.
The maester was saying something to him, but he wasn't listening, staring at her deliberately. However, he shuddered at his last sentence.
"I'm afraid, my prince, that your wife will not be able to carry any pregnancy to term." He said finally. Aemond felt his heart pounding. He pursed his lips and said nothing. He wanted to cry.
"Does she know about it?" It was all he managed to get out of him.
"Yes. I had to tell her." He said, and Aemond squeezed his eye shut in rage, holding back the tears he felt in his eyelid.
"Get out. All of you. Immediately." He said cooly and cold.
His mother looked at him surprised, crying, and got up. She walked over to him and grabbed his arms, stroking them comfortingly, looking at him with pain. She nodded and left, followed by the maids, closing the door behind them.
They remained alone in the chamber, outside the window which his wife was looking at they could hear the quiet, pleasant singing of birds.
Aemond walked slowly over to the bed and sat next to her, watching her. For the first time since he had met her her face was expressionless, her gaze blank. He was horrified by what had happened, the maester's words and her condition.
"Say something." He said in a shaky voice, looking at her expectantly. All he heard was her swallowing softly.
"Marry your mistress."
He stared at her in disbelief, thinking that he had misheard. His lower lip parted slightly. He felt a pain in his chest as if someone had stabbed him with a dagger.
"What?" He asked, enraged and devastated.
"Take a second wife like Aegon the Conqueror. You must have an heir, and I can't give it to you. I'm useless as a wife." She said it so calmly, gently, and without hesitation that he felt as if he would burst into sobs in front of her.
"I don't want a second wife." He whispered in a trembling, cracking voice. "I want you."
There was silence between them. He saw a tear roll down her cheek.
"I'm sorry." She whispered almost inaudibly.
He leaned forward suddenly and buried his face in her hand, which was lying haphazardly on the sheets, kissing it again and again.
He thought that she was broken and in despair, that she said these things because she was suffering. She wasn't thinking straight, she was terrified and wanted to push him away from her. He tried to calm himself with these thoughts.
“I will not take a second wife. I want you to rest. I will order all your favorite fruits and flowers to be brought." He said, looking up at her, but she didn't even spare him a glance.
He swallowed hard and stood up, leaving the room. He found Namyss with his eye and nodded at her. The girl ran to him quickly, terrified.
"How is my Lady? Does she need anything?" She asked in a trembling voice, her face red from crying. Aemond nodded.
"Convince her to eat something. Bring her some orange juice. The measter said it would give her strength. Don't leave her alone even for a moment." He said coldly and walked quickly down the corridor.
He had a plan. If anyone could help his wife, it was Alys.
***
It took him several hours to fly to Harrenhal on Vhagar. He landed in a place a few kilometers away from the castle, so as not to endanger the inhabitants.
He knew that what he was doing was risky. That his wife would be furious when she found out. He wondered if he should tell her what he wanted to do, that he thought there was hope.
He thought that she was in such a state, that the thought that he was going to bring Alys to her would probably break her even more. He didn't want to take any more risks.
He also knew that he was coming to Alys with a request that would hurt her dignity and her feelings for him. He had never felt so helpless and desperate in his life.
He couldn't get out of his head the sight of her pale face, staring blankly to the side. He had the impression that the fire of life she had inside her was just extinguished before his eyes.
Alys greeted him as he entered, throwing herself into his arms, but he didn't hug her back. After a moment she released him, feeling how tense he was, and looked at him, her lips pressed together.
"You didn't come here to stay in bed with me, did you?" She asked, pain painted in her eyes. His heart clenched at the sight.
"I need your help." He said with a slightly trembling voice. Alys stared at him with an unreadable expression on her face.
“I will give you what you want if you give me what I want. Although this last time." She whispered softly, her lips swollen with desire and longing. Aemond squeezed his eye shut.
"I can't." He whispered.
Alys looked at him coldly and pursed her lips in pain.
"So I can't help her either." She said calmly, hurt and humiliated. Her eyes widened in shock as he knelt in front of her.
"I am begging you. I failed you, not her." He said in a shaky voice, lowering his eye. Alys breathed uneasily, shivering all over. “She had a miscarriage this morning. The maesters say she will never bear a child. I trust only you on this matter. I'm just asking you to examine her and see if there's anything you can do."
Alys swallowed hard at his words.
"I know. I saw it in my vision." She whispered, lowering her eyes.
There was a long, awkward silence. Aemond couldn't look at her. He knew how much she had done for him, he knew what he had promised her, and he knew how much he now expected of her.
"You promised me that she would only be the mother of your children." She said softly, painfully. Aemond squeezed his eye shut at her words, tears welling up in his eyelid.
"I know." He whispered. He couldn't add anything else.
A lone tear ran down her cheek as she looked at him.
"Take me to her."
***
As they landed back in King's Landing, Aemond felt a surge of hope again. He had seen Alys treat incurable cases and she knew herbs and ointments that remedies unknown to the maesters. He was grateful to her that despite the pain, she decided to help him.
"Thank you." He whispered as they walked together through the palace corridor side by side. It was evening around them.
People around him looked at them in surprise, but he didn't care. He knew his wife would be furious, but he hadn't broken his promise, and she was the only one who could help them. He hoped she would forgive him.
He froze as he saw Namyss, trying to reach their shared chamber, grabbing at the door, trying to open it to no avail.
"What happened?" He asked coldly, approaching her agitated. Namyss was breathing heavily, terrified.
“My Lady said that she wanted to take a bath. That I should bring her some oils that were left in her old chamber. I left for a while and she shut the door." She sputtered.
Aemond felt as if a huge rock had dropped into his stomach. He turned towards the door, hit it with his foot several times and it swung open with a bang. The three of them stared in horror at the sight before them, but only Alys had the nerve to rush straight towards her.
His wife lay in a tub full of blood-stained water, her wrists cut, her head resting unconsciously on the edge, her mouth slightly parted. She didn't even react when Alys pulled her by the arms. Namyss screamed loudly and sobbed, covering her mouth with her hand. Aemond couldn't move.
"Help me get her out!" Alys called out, and only then did he suddenly regain control of his body, rushing over to her, lifting his wife's body out of the water. The cries of Namyss drew the guards. They scattered around the keep, wanting to inform the king and queen about this event. Aemond hadn't time to think about it.
They slipped her nightgown over her and laid her on the bed. Alys tore a piece of her dress, poured it with the oil that she had brought with her in her pankit, and wrapped her wrists tightly, squeezing them tight.
Lady Vhassar was half-conscious, staring at some distant point with misty eyes. Aemond knelt beside her on the bed, looking at her desperately, trembling all over.
"What have you done?" He asked, his voice breaking as he said the words. He saw a tear roll down his wife's cheek.
"You flew to her. You did the right thing. I wanted to help you. If I die, you can remarry." She whispered softly. Alys watched in pain as Aemond sobbed loudly, pressing her head against him, burying his nose in her hair.
"I flew to her so she could help you, I didn't break my promise!" He sputtered, devastated by her words and the thought that she did it because of him. That she thought he had left her, that he had returned to his mistress because she could not give him a child.
"I don't want another woman, I want you, I want you, I want you” He sobbed, holding her tightly in his arms. Alys had never seen him like this before. She swallowed hard, tying her other wrist.
"She lost a lot of blood. We need to replenish the iron in her body and make her stronger. Don't let her fall asleep." She said firmly, pulling jars of herbs and liquids, sealed in airtight jars from her large bag.
Aemond kissed his wife's forehead, stroking her head tenderly.
"Look at me." He whispered softly, lifting her chin. "Do not leave me."
The queen ran into their chamber, pale and terrified. She covered her mouth with her hand and nearly screamed when she saw the tub full of blood. The maester ran inside as well, moving quickly to the bed, checking her pulse.
"What have you done to her, woman? What is this?" He asked, seeing the jar she was pouring into one of the cups.
"Step aside, old man, and let me work." She said coldly, as she climbed onto the bed, parting her lips slightly with her fingers. "Lift her up a little, don't let her choke on it. It won't be tasty or enjoyable." She said briefly, and Aemond lifted his wife up so that she was sitting against his chest. He had to hold her head to keep it from slipping.
Alys began to force her potion down her throat. Lady Vhassar coughed and tried to break free, but they wouldn't let her. The maester protested.
"What's that supposed to mean? My queen, order this witch to be brought out." He said angry. Alicent shook her head, silent. She knew who this woman was. She looked at her son. She had never seen him like this before in her life.
Everyone calmed down as the maester checked Lady Vhassar's pulse several more times over the course of the hour. It began to feel more and more palpable, her face began to take on color again.
They finally let her fall asleep, tired and weak. She lay in the arms of her husband who lay behind her, his hand over her heart, making sure she was still alive. Alys watched the scene calmly.
"She'll survive." She said gently. "We made it on time."
______
Aemond Taglist:
(bold means I couldn't tag you)
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Others: @ethereallocs @bellameshipper @tssf-imagines @menaosama @it-is-getting-better @czegochceszlol @strangersunghoon
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Tainted: Delirium
Pairing: Eren Jaeger X Female Reader
Genre: Secret Agents/Assassins AU, Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU, Smut, Romance, Strangers-to-Lovers-to-Enemies
Summary: You have been married to your husband for six years where you both kept secrets from each other. Little did you know that your husband was an undercover agent just like you, ordered to take your life within two days.
Warnings: unprotected sex, bondage, choking, biting, daddy kink, blow job, cunnilingus, spanking, swearing, slight exhibitionism
Word Count: 12k
Sequel to Tainted: Euphoria but can be read separately since this is pretty much just sex
Poster art by @/kisstilludrop on Twitter
You woke up the next morning on an empty bed, your bedsheet all crumpled and stained by the shade of your lipstick and the alluring woody scent of Eren’s perfume. The bitter taste of the alcohol you’d consumed still lingered thickly on your tongue, your lips bruised by his kisses, your skin marked possessively by his teeth. You were lying on your stomach, your arm stretched out to notice that there was not a trace of his warmth remaining on the other half of your bed.
What did you expect, exactly? Did you wish for him to stay? Did you want him to wake you up with a kiss on your shoulder as a lover would do? You almost laughed. How naive of you to even think that way. This was how one night stands were supposed to work. A handsome stranger like him wouldn’t care enough to stay for another hour after he got what he wanted. It was mortifying how you felt a pang of disappointment rising in your chest, how your lips still yearned for another taste of his. One night should be enough, shouldn’t it?
You sat up on the bed, holding the fabric of your quilt against the front of your bare chest.
“This is stupid.”
“What is?”
A voice–his voice–suddenly rang through your hearing. Elevating your face, your gaze drifted instantly toward the source, catching the sight of him walking through the door frame. “I hope you weren’t talking about me.” He closed the door behind him with the back of his foot, his hand holding up a food tray. His voice was light and airy, oozing with charm and coated with a hint of mischief. It felt almost uncanny in your ears as you had grown more familiar with how deep and husky it was when he growled and panted your name with his teeth grinding against your neck last night.
You were stunned, your lips parted, words unspoken. You wanted him to stay but the second you saw him step closer, it felt surreal, almost like a dream. Unlike you who was still nude, Eren was dressed handsomely in a pair of black jeans and a light blue denim shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His top three buttons were unfastened, showcasing a glimpse of a sculpted chest, and if he had unbuttoned it a few inches lower, the love bites you’d left on his chest would’ve been put on display. His hair—the same long, dark locks that were tangled and twisted around your fingers the night before—was tied up in a bun. He was so effortlessly sexy. The kind of allure and beauty that even the deities would pause to marvel at. “Take a picture, Sweetheart, it’d last longer,” he smirked, shifting closer, the smell of aftershave and the same expensive perfume gyrated in the air.
Eren settled the tray on the bed, a whiff of freshly made pancakes tickled your nose. There were poached eggs lathered with hollandaise sauce on another plate, some sliced fruits, and toasts. A few frangipani flowers were placed on the sides of the tray, giving it a tropical touch. “I just thought that you…” you trailed off, watching him take one of the flowers from the container.
“That I left you?” Eren stroked your hair, pushing your strands behind your ear before he added the flower to enhance your beauty. His smile was lopsided, giving you a peek of perfect marbled teeth. “Well, usually, that’s what I would do, but…” He tarried, knowing that he had you dancing on the palm of his hand.
You were begging him with your eyes, urging him to finish his sentence. Once you realized that, you regained control of your face, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. If he wanted to see you beg for another touch of his hand, you could just torture him the same way.
You took a cherry off the plate, holding it between your pointer finger and thumb as you laid yourself down on the bed. “But what?” You asked him, the cherry resting between your front teeth, your mouth parted slightly in a tantalizing smile. You released your hold from the duvet, your legs sliding against the sheets. The fabric slipped down your porcelain skin. Your breasts were half-exposed, giving him just a peek of your hardened nipples.
Fuck, Eren thought, hungry eyes not so secretly examining every little inch of your body that you offered to his eyes. Now that the sun was out, your skin had an exotic glow to it. He could see the angry marks he left on your soft mounds and neck, but instead of giving him the sense of achievement he wanted, it only left him craving for more.
“Take a picture, Sweetheart, it’d last longer,” you threw his words back at him, morphing your pretty smile into an elfin grin.
Eren snorted. “How about I just take a video of you?”
“With your tongue inside me? Yes, please.” You rolled the cherry between your teeth, relishing the sweetness of it as the flavor exploded in your mouth. You seemed so obscene in his eyes. Even the slightest glimpse of your tongue made his thoughts wander. “What’s wrong, Stranger? You seem distracted.”
Eren returned his gaze to your face, his jaw clenched tight as he tried to fight back the temptation. You were playing his game, and you knew how to beat him at it. Normally, he would hate to lose; his ego wouldn’t let him. Answering your question would be the same as admitting his defeat but he didn’t care. He knew you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, but something told him that you could play this game all day long if you had to. And Eren didn’t have the patience to wait for even a second longer.
So he tossed the tray off the bed with one swipe of his hand, not giving a damn that he just broke all the plates when they crashed against the marbled floor. He pried the blanket off your body and pulled you down by the legs. You giggled, squealing when you felt his mouth on your neck, the rough fabric of his jeans grazing against your sensitive zone. “You’re such a fucking tease,” he murmured against your ear, the perilous hint in his voice returned. “Thought I’d taught you a lesson last night.” He had one hand gliding up your thigh, kneading on your ass cheek while his other one pinned your wrist against the sheets, right above your head.
It was thrilling to be handled roughly like this. Most men would be deceived by your delicate appearance, treating you like glass no matter how much you permitted them to push you to the limit. But not Eren. “If there’s anything I learned about you,” you paused to grind your knee against his crotch, feeling him hardening fast even with the slightest friction. “Is that you like it better when I put up a fight.”
“Is that so?” He slanted his lips over yours, a moment before his tongue slipped inside to explore the recesses of your mouth. You tasted like cherry, but in a few minutes, you would just taste like him. Eren would make sure of that. When he broke away, his free hand found your breast, thumb brushing against your sensitive bud. “What else have you learned about me?”
The touches he bestowed on your body were salacious enough for your heartbeat to quicken. But you kept your face unfazed, your titillating smile perched on your lips like usual. “That you think you’re always in control,” you said. “That you could command me as you please and I’d say yes to your wishes.”
“And am I wrong?” His devilish smirk resurfaced. “You seemed pretty docile to me last night when you had my dick in your mouth.”
“Only because I let you.” Your grin was just as wicked as it was sinful. “If you think having your fingers around my throat would send me into submission, you better think again, Daddy.”
Eren’s eyes glazed in a new light, the mockery at the end of your sentence riled him up exactly the way you wanted. You loved how cocky and confident he was, but just like him, you loved it even more when you managed to strip all of that away from him.
He scoffed, gazing down at you. “Let’s see if you can still run your mouth after this.”
He flipped you around, slamming your face down against the pillow while he forced you to stick your lower half in the air. You were on your knees, your body pinned down by the hand that he placed on the center of your shoulder blades. His mouth was hot and eager as he licked the length of you from behind, fingers spreading your folds and ass cheeks at the same time until he could see the way your holes were twitching. Last night, he was exploring, listening to the sounds you made, using those keys as a road map, and enjoying every step of the journey. He was patient, eager to please you. Right now, he was anything but.
Ah, fuck, he’s so good. A wanton moan nearly escaped you as he ate you out, brushing his tongue against your hot entrance before he fucked you with it. “I can’t believe you just threw our breakfast away,” you said, trying to sound collected even when you were gripping tightly against the sheets, your nails turning white. Eren’s tongue moved between your folds, lapping up from your clit to your end, rubbing the sensitive spot on your pussy wall in circles.
“I’m having my breakfast right here.” He took a long swipe, flattening his tongue against the swell of flesh, savoring your essence before he moved up to tease your rim.
“W-wait–” You clawed against the bed, feeling ashamed when you felt him switching from one hole to another. It had been a while since you had someone do this to you, let alone a stranger. “That’s–”
“Don’t move.” He sank his nails deep into your hips, spreading you open wider. “Not until I’m finished with you.” You could feel his growl on your skin, a nice vibration that sent tingles to every nerve. His tongue flicked across the tight ring of your ass before he shifted down and licked the juices that flowed from your arousal, drinking them all up and moaning at the taste. Hot spears of agonizing need tore at him, driving him to taste as much of your wet flesh as he could. Your breath sharpened, your lip bitten hard to contain your moan. Eren loved it. He loved the way he could reduce you to a whimpering mess just by fucking you with his tongue.
“Come on, baby,” he sneered as he stood on his knees, his palm smacking against your behind before he spat onto your hole and plunged two fingers deep inside your sopping cunt. “Talk back to me. I thought you wanted to put up a fight.”
You couldn’t even think let alone form a witty retort. You were biting on your pillow as his fingers fucked into you faster. He scissored them inside, crooked them in a way that made you feel like your body was being remolded. Your pleasure was building up fast and you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a pathetic whine as you squirted all over his fingers.
“Ah, fuck, such a waste,” he chuckled, taking out his fingers as your body still convulsed from ecstasy. He stuffed his fingers inside his mouth, his tongue circling around his digits to taste your cum. “Would’ve loved to have you squirt on my face.”
You were breathing hard, your knees felt weak underneath you. “That can be arranged,” you sighed, utterly spent. “You still want your breakfast, Ren?” You rolled yourself onto your back, spreading your legs until every bit of you was exposed. “Or is that all you got?” You caught his attention, his gaze piercing as he stared at your movement. Your center was glistening with your juices and his saliva, smearing all the way down to your thighs. “I don’t know about you, but…” You slid your fingers down your body to your heat, driving two fingers inside you to scoop up your slick. You brought them into your mouth, tasting yourself and putting on a show just to tug on his patience. “I’m still starving.”
His cock was straining against his jeans, desperate to feel your walls clenching around him again. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll get your breakfast in a minute.”
Your mouth twitched up in a condescending smirk. “You think you can finish this in a minute?”
“I can guarantee you will.”
You nibbled on your lower lip, a seductive minx to his eyes. “Come here then,” you told him, parting your pussy’s lips as wide as you could with your fingers, purposely clenching your hole around nothing to rile him up. “Remind me again just how good you fucked me last night.”
He wanted to act haughty about it, but he was just as desperate. You hooked your ankles around his hips as he settled in between, waiting for him to work on his belt. You continued playing with your clit as you toyed with your nipple at the same time, pinching and squeezing with your other hand. Eren took a sharp breath at the sight, his hands moving impatiently as he struggled with his zipper.
“Take your time, Stranger.” Your giggles were muffled harshly by his kiss but you could feel his lips smirking.
“Shut up,” he muttered in amusement, rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance. “I want to fuck you raw this time. Can I?”
“Mmm–no,” you moaned, arching your back to taste the friction of his member grazing against your sensitive bud. His condom was in his bag, three meters away from your bed, which meant he had to break away from you, jumped back to his feet and—
Oh, fuck it.
You spread your legs wider, guiding his tip to your entrance. When he hesitated, you raised your hips and he groaned. He stretched you out, painful and satisfying at the same time. “Thought you said I couldn’t,” he chuckled the second he was throbbing inside, his hips moving quickly to hit the deepest part inside you.
You tangled your heels around his lower back, your hands ripping the buttons off his shirt. “Now I’m saying you could fuck me as hard as you want.”
His shirt slid off his shoulders, pooling on his elbows. “Well,” the muscles on his back rippled as he pushed your thighs forward, bringing your legs over his shoulders and folding your body in half. He grabbed tightly onto your waist, his devilish smirk intact. “If my queen says so.”
You cried out his name, startled by his sudden thrust. Eren pulsed deep inside you, not stopping even when you writhed beneath him. His cock was deeply wedged in your tight depths, drawing his hips back and letting go with no mercy. “Oh my God.” You couldn’t help but let the words slip out your mouth.
“Feels good, Sweetheart?”
So fucking good, you wanted to scream out but he already sounded so cocky even before he heard your answer. As he pounded into you mercilessly, you tried to match his thrusts, raising your leg higher, and hooking your fingers around his silver necklace to yank him down for a kiss. “Ah, I’m gonna cum,” you gasped out against his mouth. “I want to–fuck, Eren, let me ride you–”
“Later.” He slapped a hand across your mouth, pushing you down until your skull was glued to your pillow. He robbed you of your options, not letting you take control and you could only scream against the lines of his palm, your muscles tightening at your impending release. “You wanna cum?” he panted, picking up his pace, going even rougher than before. “Come on, baby, cum on my fucking cock.”
Your blood pounded in your ears, his skin smacking hard against yours as he fucked the breath out of your lungs. Your nails scraped his chest, your back arching, signaling your release.
“Ah, shit, you’re cumming–” He moaned, throwing his head back in rapture. “Your pussy feels so good, baby, fuck.” He removed his hand from your face only to smash his mouth against yours, tongue mingling in a sloppy dance. As the roar of climax surfaced, gripping him, milking his cock, Eren tensed above you, sinking into your tight wetness one last time before he pulled out completely.
“Open up,” he commanded, pumping his dick fast with one hand as he moved up your body, trapping your chest between his thighs. You were just beginning to part your lips when he drove his cock inside, his fingers clutching against your strands to keep your head in place. “Gonna cum down your throat,” he warned, fucking your mouth a few times before he groaned, hot seeds spurting out of his tip and streaming down your throat.
Your eyes were misted by your tears, struggling to breathe as you willed yourself not to gag around him. He kept you close, the tip of your nose pressing against his pelvis as he grunted out your name. He was hot and heavy in your mouth, spasming with every bit of his release. “Mmm, baby, you’re so good,” he muttered deliriously, riding the wave of his orgasm by slowly rocking his hips against your mouth. He turned limp inside you, slipping away from your lips once his muscles started to unwind. “Let me see it,” he said and you opened your mouth. A thick layer of white semen still coated your tongue but the rest of it was swallowed. He smirked, stroking your cheek as a reward. His thumb was resting against the corner of your mouth when he asked, “How’s your breakfast, Sweetheart?”
Maintaining eye contact, you closed your lips around his tip, sucking every drop before you let your tongue move obscenely against his slit. You pulled away, your tongue tracing the shape of your lip before you mirrored the vanity of his smile.
“Delicious.”
***
“Spend the day with me.”
Your hands stopped mid-air, your strands still damp with hot water as you tried to dry them with a towel. You were standing in front of a tall mirror, dressed in nothing but your lace lingerie, its color complimenting your skin. From his reflection, you could see how Eren was perched on the edge of the bed with his elbows propped on his thighs, making a steeple of his fingers. After how vigorous and dominating he was with you an hour ago, the sight of him looking somewhat uncertain of his own words made you frown.
Because, truth was, Eren was also asking himself what the fuck am I doing? He had never done this—never asked a girl out on a date, never even thought about doing so, especially after he had sex with them. Twice. He'd never wanted to spend a second with them, but right now, as he watched you put your earrings back on, with the sunlight illuminating every curve, every mole, every beauty that blessed your body, he felt like he wanted to stay with you for eternity.
And the thought made him blush, made his stomach twist in discomfort, made his brain turn haywire. He felt repulsed by the thought but he couldn’t deny that it was real. He wanted you, more than what you already gave him. He wanted your attention, your company, wanted to see your other expressions, wanted to learn if there was a bashful side of you–or any side of you, really. He wanted to know the secrets behind your smile, the dreams you dreamt at night, the glimmer in your eyes—all of them.
“Let’s get some breakfast together or something,” he offered, keeping his face nonchalant.
You surveyed his reflection in the mirror with a coy smile. “I thought you’d had your breakfast.”
“Well, I’m still hungry.” But with the way his eyes ran down your body, lingering a little too long at the dip of your waist where he sank his nails deep just a few minutes ago, you knew he was craving something else. “Let me take you out on a date.”
“Oh?” You tossed your hair over your shoulder, bending down to collect your dress off the floor. “That’s a surprise.” You sent him a sly grin. “Do you do this with all your one night stands?”
He mimicked your expression. “Only with the pretty ones.”
“Hmm, smooth. Can’t, though. I’m supposed to fly back home tonight.”
“Change it. We can fly back together tomorrow.”
“I have work tomorrow.”
“Take a day off then.”
You scrunched up your nose. “Are you always this demanding?”
“Part of my charm.” He stood up from his seat, making his way to you and closing the little gap that separated you. Embracing you from behind, he snatched your dress away and threw it haphazardly to the floor.
“Stay,” he said, firm and gentle at the same time. It sounded less like a request and more of a command. Landing his chin on your shoulder, Eren wound his strong arms around you, just below your breasts. His eyes found yours in the mirror, almost glowing underneath the light. They were stunning, his eyes, deep as the bottomless sea, wild like a cornered wolf.
His mouth found a sweet spot at the juncture of your neck, hot tongue pressing against your pulsating vein. Smiling, you inclined your head to the side, letting him taste the scent of jasmine soap that veneered your skin. “And why should I?”
“Because I want you to.” He let out a little breathy moan as he took the shell of your ear between his lips.
“Hmm.” You leaned your entire weight against his chest, resting your hands above his. “Tempting, but not good enough.”
You were going to make him beg for it and he knew it. “Because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. You felt his fingers raking against your stomach all the way to the curve of your waist. “And I can make you feel even more beautiful if you stay.”
It wasn’t just the words he said. It was the way he said it that got to your heart, awakening the butterflies inside your stomach. “Like I said,” you wetted your lip, your head falling to his shoulder. “I’ve got a flight to catch.”
Through the mirror you could see the way he moved his right hand on your body, gliding against your bare skin like an artist painting colors on a canvas. He dragged it up from your stomach to the valley between your breasts, stopping right in front of your throat. He spread his palm, calloused fingertips dancing with the pulsating veins on the side of your neck.
“I’m a pretty determined man.” He kissed the skin below your ear, murmuring the words. His fingers closed around your throat, lightly at first, but once he noticed you were swallowing your breath, he couldn’t handle the temptation. “I have to get what I want.” He pressed harder, not enough to choke you, but enough to make your heart jolt at the contact. Eren locked your gaze with him in the mirror, lighting your body on fire with the intensity of it. You reacted instinctively, body arching for more. “I won’t back down until I have it.”
It wasn’t your first time having a hand wrapped around your throat, nor the second or the third, but anyone who did it would end up with a blade piercing through their neck, a moment before they laid lifelessly under your boot, eyes wide open. It was easy for you to break free from Eren’s grip, you were certain of it, but why would you? His touch made your blood boil. His touch was like methamphetamines flowing through your system. And it was arousing to see yourself looking so defenseless and frail in his arms, as if you were his slave, begging for his mercy.
Eren squeezed your breast with his other palm, causing you to moan. His lips were brushing against your ear again. “Sshhh.” He was watching you closely from the mirror, emerald eyes entranced by how sultry you looked. His hand was strong, large enough to hold the front of your throat, and grazed your lower lip with his thumb at the same time. He dragged it down, forcing you to part your lips with it. You obeyed, letting him rub the pad of his digit against your tongue before you closed your mouth prettily around it.
“You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever been with,” he said, his eyes drooping at the sight of you treating his finger like how you treated his cock. Saliva pooled in your mouth, dribbling down your chin. “Having you for one night isn’t enough for me.”
He could crush your windpipe in a heartbeat if he wanted to. You were just another girl, another life he could take if he was ordered to do it. You were beautiful, so goddamn beautiful, but he knew there was something else that captivated him. But what is it, he wondered. Why do I find you so enticing?
His patience was growing thin. “Stay,” Eren ensnared you once again, making your skin crawl with excitement both from his words and the little growl that reverberated from the back of his throat. “Stay and I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked in your life. I’ll fuck you backward, and forward—I’ll fuck you upside down if that’s what you want. I’ll fuck you long and hard, nice and slow. I want to make you cum so hard, you’ll scream my name in languages you didn’t know existed.”
I want to wreck you apart. I want to ruin your pretty face until you couldn’t live without me.
He was a devil, wasn’t he? A handsome incubus who lured you in with his charm. And you trusted him. If there was one thing he was good at, it was how he pleasured you in bed. It felt so right and so wrong to be in his arms like this. Eren was a passionate lover but his eyes didn’t speak the language of love, nor did his mouth. He praised you with filthy words, he stared at you with nothing but lust in his eyes. Was that the reason why you liked it? Because you knew this was just physical attraction and nothing more? That this was all just a game, and you could play as long as you wanted—as hard as you wanted—before you finally got bored and threw each other away? One thing you knew for sure right now was how exhilarating it was to be this wanted by someone as attractive as him. You didn’t want it to end. At least, not now.
Your hand moved to his wrist, holding him down before he added even more pressure and choked you further with his fingers. A strained whimper broke free from your lips and he released you from his grip, soothing the pain on your neck with tender kisses on your shoulder. He chuckled lightly to himself, watching your chest heave up and down as you returned the air to your lungs. He grabbed onto your hand, guided it to your chest, and pressed your palm against your heart. You could feel it racing, could hear the beat in your ears, loud and fast.
“Thrilling, isn’t it?” He cooed, grabbed your chin, and tilted your head, exposing more of your neck for his lips to ravish. He didn’t sink his teeth this time, only rewarding you with the lightest brush of his lips.
You swallowed, your fingers itching to soothe the aching on your throat. “What is?”
You could feel his sinful grin breaking on your skin. “Being with me.”
His confidence made him more alluring than anything else, but you were done playing games. “You think you have me under your spell?” You challenged him, surprising him with a smirk. You turned around, making him stiffen when you slid your hand under his shirt, nails scraping against his prominent v-lines. You weren’t being careful. You wanted him to find pleasure underneath the pain, just like he did to you. “You’re sure that it’s me who wants you,” your clouded gaze tantalized him, “And not the other way around?”
He tried to refrain himself from kissing you, wanting to see you become desperate for it, but he couldn’t, and you were right. It was the other way around. You had him in every way you wanted him. He grabbed the back of your head, bringing your face closer until his lips were smashed against yours. The way he moaned between kisses—as if your lips were the most wonderful thing he ever tasted—always left you a bit weak, stomach somersaulting in delight. “Why don’t we just agree,” he breathed out, bruising your lower lip with his teeth. “That we both want each other just as much?”
You stood on your tip-toes, leaning in for another kiss. He closed his eyes, lips parted and ready to take another taste of—
“Let’s go get breakfast,” you suddenly said, breaking the spell. You pressed two fingers against his lips, holding back your smirk when you saw him frown, startled and confused. “I’m going to go get dressed. Can you wait outside the room?”
He laughed once. “You’re not serious, are you?”
You smiled sweetly at him, taking his hand and leading him toward the door. Tapping his cheek, you said, “Be a good boy and wait for me.” You placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “I won’t be long.”
When you pushed him outside and closed the door behind you, Eren stood there on his feet, thinking, she’s fucking with my head.
And he liked it.
***
Eren didn’t believe in love. He believed in ecstasy, in lust, in the raw passion that ended after one or two rounds in bed. Being with you, even only for one night, was like a shot of adrenaline being pumped through his veins. You were addicting, and he was addicted to you. Like a man downing a bottle of gin after being sober for weeks, his craving for you was intense. No woman had ever satisfied him in the way that you did. He was fooling himself if he thought this was purely physical. Seeing you swallow his cum down your throat didn’t put an end to his curiosity. He wanted to do more, wanted to feel more—to sense something beyond skin meeting skin. Eren wanted something invisible, something stronger, like a red thread of fate that connected your fingers.
You were so goddamn alluring to him. It was the way you carried yourself, graceful in your steps, mischief in your eyes, kindness on your lips, and temptation on your tongue. You were everything at once, everything he could never have. You answered his curiosity with more secrets, his devilish smirk with seduction. Arrogant and proud, that was how you looked in his eyes whenever you caught him stealing glances at you. You didn’t chase after him; he had to chase after you. You challenged him in his own game, and you were winning.
Eren wanted to tame you as much as he wanted you to tame him. But the more time he spent with you, the more he realized that you were still a child at heart. The little pout you made when you lost an argument. The little giggles that escaped you when he joked around, even when you’d tried your best not to laugh. Slowly, he learned that you had many sides he didn’t know just yet. The stark contrast made him dizzy. To him, you were the biggest mystery and he was only eager to unravel every bit of you until you were left bare and open, unable to stand on your own feet without him. Until you were the one who begged him to stay. Yes, he would love that. His ego would love that.
Eren didn’t want to admit it, but he could feel himself letting go around you. For once, he could forget the things that happened in his past, the sins he committed, the souls he robbed with his hands. He never felt any remorse, true, but it didn’t mean he could pretend everything was normal either. But with you, for once, he could act like he was just a boy his age, sharing summer love and summer kisses with a girl who was the embodiment of the sun itself. He felt younger, lighter, innocent.
You’re a fucking idiot, that’s what you are, he chastised himself, watching the way you tucked your hair behind your ear as you scanned your eyes along the menu. He marveled at the way you smiled at the waiter, the way you blinked your beautiful eyes—
“Eren, would you like some cream for your coffee?”
God, he fucking loved the way you called his name too. “No, thanks.”
“That would be all, thank you,” you said to the waiter before you returned your attention to him. “Can’t stop looking at me, can you, Stranger?” You teased him with a naughty twinkle in your eyes.
“Yeah,” he admitted with a smirk. “Just trying to remember how pretty you looked when you were riding me last night. Do you always do that?”
“Do what? Taking control in bed?” You landed your chin on your palm, elbow resting against the table. “Only with the pretty ones.”
The two days you spent with him were magical, but all magical things must end at some point. It was already a miracle that you both came from the same country and lived in the same city, but it was just a summer fling, wasn’t it? There was no future in your relationship, no commitment and you both knew that.
And yet, when Eren was about to part ways with you at the airport, he realized how you had seized his heart and made it yours; how his body still longed for you, no matter how many times they had made contact during your two days together. So when you kissed his cheek, bid him goodbye, and pivoted on your heels, he circled his fingers around your wrist before you could take another step. You turned around, eyebrows raised as your heart rate escalated.
With a sheepish smile—a striking difference from how he usually lured you with his smirk—Eren suggested, “How about we get some coffee first before we head home?”
You smiled, a form of perfection to his eyes. “Sure.”
***
Weeks had passed, and neither of you ever talked about your relationship status. It wasn’t important, anyway. But what started as a strictly physical bond, became so much more the second you opened up about your childhood days followed by him disclosing his recurring dreams and nightmares. Personal things were shared, intimate memories were told and the wall that separated you from him began to crumble.
Despite how talkative he was, Eren could listen when you needed him to. He wouldn’t give you any advice because he knew you were capable of figuring everything out on your own, but he would embrace you tightly to his chest with his lips grazing against your fringe, his fingers playing with your strands. And if you wanted him to say something, he would pepper delicate kisses on your body with every praise he gave you, starting from your forehead, your cheek, your lips, and your jaw, whispering, “You’re the smartest, strongest, most resilient woman I know. You’ll get through this. But if you feel like you’re tired of their shits, give me a call. I’ll finish them for you.”
You laughed. You thought he was joking.
The hardest part of being an undercover assassin was you had to travel most of the time for your work. Your target could be walking in another city, living in a different country, or speaking a different language and you just couldn’t afford to be distracted. So whenever you got the chance to meet him, you’d try to satisfy your needs—mostly, physical—as best as you could. Lucky for you, he was only eager to comply.
Hovering above you, nude except for the silver necklace hanging around his neck and the jeans that were hanging low on his hips, Eren took a detailed look at your wrist. The lighting in your room wasn’t bright enough for him to examine the bruises blooming on your skin, but the way his eyes narrowed, accompanied by a frown, told you that he knew it wasn’t just a simple injury.
“Who did this to you?” His choice of words startled you. He didn’t ask what or how—he straightforwardly asked who, confident that it was done by someone and not merely a result of an accident. Shivers ran down your spine. The truth was, you were wounded during your last mission when you tried to infiltrate the enemy’s base by getting caught on purpose. At one point, you were restrained to a pole with ropes tied firmly along your wrists, hence the bruises. But there was no way you could be honest.
“I tripped and accidentally twisted my wrist,” you lied, moving your hips to distract him. He was still sheathed deep inside you, his cock slightly twitching in response, but he held you securely by the waist to keep your body still.
“Did someone hurt you?” His voice was deep as it reverberated through the air, and you grew rigid once you noticed how his previously laid-back demeanor suddenly turned solemn, almost dangerous even as if he was facing a threat. “Who is it? Tell me his name.”
He was smarter than you’d expected. Way smarter. “I was tied up.”
“By who?”
The way he strictly sought revenge at the thought of someone hurting you was both arousing and frightening at the same time. You knew how protective he was over the things he owned. You just didn’t realize you were one of them.
“By this cute guy I met at a club,” you said, smiling coquettishly at him. “‘Cause I asked him to.”
His grip around your wrist loosened a little bit, his lips parted in surprise. “What?”
“It’s not like we’re officially dating or anything,” you taunted him, clenching your walls around him on purpose. “Are we?”
Eren’s eyes were almost gleaming at that point, staring down at you so coldly at first before he broke into a smirk.
“Not official, huh?” The way he suddenly flipped you over to your stomach stole a giggle out of your mouth. “Get on your knees.”
He smacked your behind, shutting you up with the stinging pain of his palm meeting your skin. He was angry, you knew it, and you were grateful that you were facing the headboard as you could feel your smirk creeping up your face.
“He tied you up with a rope, did he?” He held your ass in the air, his nails painting half-moons into the skin of your hips as he forcefully thrust inside, slamming his entire length in one motion. “I wasn’t aware you were into that.” He gathered your hair in a messy ponytail, tugging you back harshly with one hand until you had no other choice but to stare dazedly at the ceiling. Eren was tempestuous in nature. You knew that from the very first night he laid his hands on you. Tonight, he was ten times worse, borderline brutal. He was forceful and ruthless, and you enjoyed every second of it.
You didn’t hold back your moans, knowing he wouldn’t want you to anyway. Your voice would most likely be hoarse tomorrow and that would be awful since you had a meeting scheduled for the next morning, but you couldn’t care. It was easier to let go than to hold back. Eren was hitting you at the right spot, fucking you at the right pace, at the perfect angle.
“Tying you up with a rope is a bit much, don’t you think?” He breathed out, pounding into you hard and fast, his hand sliding down your stomach to rub his fingers against your clit. “If it was me, I would’ve just used my belt.”
“Then—” Your breathing began to stutter, matching the snap of his hips. “What’s stopping you? Ah–”
“I want to hear you ask for it first.” You were astonished by how thoughtful he was. “And force you to beg for it afterward.” You took your words back. He was a fucking tease, after all.
You fisted the sheet beneath you, desperate to keep a hold on something as you gasped out his name. “I want it,” you choked out.
”What was it, baby?” He leaned forward, his pendant grazing the dip of your spine, cold steel pressed against hot skin. Despite his question, he did not slow down his pace, continuously fucking you like a beast in heat. “Want me to tie you up?” You nodded in response, biting your lip. He used your hair as leverage, tugging on your roots as he slithered one hand to the front of your neck. You moaned from the pain, eyes closed shut. “Say it.” His voice was right next to your ear, breathy and deep. “Like I said, I want you to beg for it.”
“I want you to tie me up,” you panted, feeling yourself being stretched out, filled up, and wrecked apart in ways you didn’t know possible. “Want you to take control of me.”
He hummed, smirking against your earlobe. “Now, say please.”
You opened your mouth, ready to vocalize the word, but he curled his long fingers tightly around your windpipe, choking you. “P-please.”
“Louder.” He tightened his grip.
“Please!”
He chuckled, slowly releasing his hold and you sucked air back into your burning lungs. “Good girl.” He stopped moving his hips for a moment, tilting your face to the side so he could brush his lips against yours. He kissed you, chaste yet firm, doing it so softly that it left you stupefied. “I’m gonna be so gentle with you, okay?”
But when he pulled away, sliding his cock out of you and shoved your head against the pillow, he was anything but. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you, Sweetheart.” He tossed you over to your back, your body bouncing once on the bed from how harsh he was being. Eren lifted you by your arms until your upper back was pressing against your headboard. He raised your hands in the air, yanked his belt out of his loops, and tied your wrists together to the headboard. You flinched from the pain. He was being rough, more than you’d expected him he would be.
He stood on his knees before you, trapping your body between his legs. Pushing his jeans down to his mid-thighs, he said, “Open up, baby,” with one hand holding his throbbing cock, smearing his pre-cum over your lips. You only parted them halfway when he pushed in, grunting lowly at the feeling of how hot your mouth felt around his length. He had his fingers resting on the side of your face, rewarding you with gentle caresses across your jaw. “Such a good girl,” Eren purred, chuckling lightly. “You take me in so well. Both your tight little cunt and your pretty mouth. Feels like they’re made for me.”
You took his cock into the velvety warmth of your mouth and he shoved it down your throat. You gagged around him, tears welled in your eyes. “Hold it in,” he told you, pushing your bangs with his fingers. “Now, look at me.” You lifted your face, your glassy eyes finding him in the dimness of your hotel room. Eren had his bottom lip between his teeth, pushing back your bangs and gripping tight on your hair as he fucked your mouth, slower in motion, but deeper than before. “Ah, baby,” his moan was a form of sin, sensuous in your ears. “You look the prettiest when you’re stuffed with my cock.”
You weren’t sure if it could be considered praise but your body reacted to it like it was. You let your jaw turn slack, your eyes were shut when he hit the back of your throat and Eren clicked his tongue. “No, baby,” he tugged on your strands again. “Look me in the eyes.” You obeyed, given no other choice. His smile returned. “That’s right. Now you keep your eyes on me, okay? Keep your eyes open as Daddy fucks your mouth. Close your eyes again and I won’t let you cum, you understand me?” You moaned around his length, sending vibrations to tighten the knots in his stomach.
You didn’t know how many seconds or minutes had passed by before he was satisfied. Your throat felt sore by the time he pulled away from you. You coughed, a tear slipped down to your cheek, and Eren, still kneeling in front of you, lifted your face and brushed his thumb to erase the tear stain. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.
You snorted. “Are you going to apologize if you did?”
He loved it when you fought back. “No,” he said, his smile conceited. “Spread your legs. I’m not done with you yet.” His cock was slapping against his abdomens before he aligned it toward your entrance. It was slick with your spit, sliding in almost too easily into your heat. He was the perfect fit. If you could, you would’ve spent every second of your life connected to him this way.
His thrusts were powerful and merciless. His grunts mixed with your restrained moans in the air. “Was he any good?” He slammed his hips once, pausing for your answer. You were distraught at first, wondering what the fuck he was talking about until you recalled your earlier conversation. When he saw you nodding, he thrust again, harder this time, sending you back until your skull hit the board. “Better than me?”
You were having the toughest time concentrating, couldn’t even breathe properly, let alone form a word. You were pushed against the headboard, your moans bounced off the walls.
He grabbed you by the neck again. “Answer me.”
You shakily nodded, wanting to rile him up even more, driving him to the brink and practically forcing him to give the best fuck of your life. And he did, exceeding even your wildest expectations. When he asked again, his lips were grazing against your ear. “You sure about that, Sweetheart?”
You couldn’t tell if more words were falling from his mouth because the rest of the world had faded into a blur. He was giving you the same amount of pain and pleasure from how he was frantically thrusting inside you, and it felt so new, so raw, that you started feeling lightheaded, drowning in ecstasy. You closed your eyes, stars sparkling behind your eyelids as your orgasm hit you like a wave, leaving you shaking and whimpering against the sheets.
Eren consumed your lips, teeth gnawing against soft flesh, tongue sliding against yours in a messy kiss. His hands were squeezing your thigh, bringing you closer so he could release inside you. “Where do you want me to cum?” He asked, a bit breathlessly from how erratic he was ramming his hips into you.
“Inside,” you pleaded, “Cum inside me—ah, God, Eren—”
He cummed with a loud, breathy moan, which you swallowed directly with your mouth.
When both of your bodies had stopped trembling from your post-orgasm, Eren kissed you again, idly this time, as he was still trapped in a haze. You responded with a contented sigh, your heartbeat gradually reducing to its normal pace. He untangled his belt from your wrists, examining the way it burned marks on your skin. Bringing your hands closer to his face, he washed the pain away with kisses on each wrist, soft lips brushing against your pulsating veins. “I’m sorry,” he said, and you could feel the sincerity from how tender he pressed his lips against your skin. “Are you okay?”
“Just a little bit fucked-out,” you teased him with a grin. “Other than that, I’m fine.”
“Good.” He smiled, landing a sweet kiss on your forehead. There was a pause where you could tell he was sorting out his thoughts.
“What?” You asked him, running your fingertips along his cheekbone. “What is it?”
Eren released a breath. Fuck it, he thought. “Let’s make it official.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to share you with anyone else,” he sternly stated, eyebrows stitched together in a wave of redeemed anger. “You’re mine.”
“I’m yours?” Your lips almost twitched in a smile. “I’m not just a thing you can own, Jaeger.”
You thought he would raise his voice, frustrated at your words but his eyes drooped in something you couldn’t yet understand. Was it sadness? Loneliness? You couldn’t tell. He placed his forehead against yours. His eyes were closed, his breath felt hot on your lips. “I’ll be yours,” he whispered, erasing every bit of amusement off your face. “Every part of me that you want, I’ll give it to you, so—” He opened his lids, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “Be mine.”
You glid your hand up, tracing the muscles in his upper arm. “Your body?”
“All yours.”
You smiled, moving your hand to his chest. “And what if I want this?” Your palm was pressing against his heart, and you could feel it pounding fast.
He clamped his fingers around your wrist, holding it still. “I don’t know why you’d want it,” he said as he broke away, his smile was a hint of loneliness, shrouded by guilt and regret. Suddenly, he felt so imperfect. All those sins he committed, he felt like they were written on his face in huge, red letters, painted by the blood of his victims. “But if you’ll take it, then it’s yours.”
It was the first time you saw him acting so vulnerable. Perhaps it was the first time he ever felt brave enough to show it. It’s what I truly wanted, you hoped you had the courage to say the words but you stayed mute.
“So, you belong to me as much as I belong to you, huh…” You beamed at him, making his heart swell. “That’s not too bad, I think.”
Eren blinked twice before he broke into laughter. “Playing hard to get? Really?”
“Hey, I wasn’t the one who just offered my heart—”
He silenced you with his kiss, and you returned it with a smile.
“A fucking tease.”
***
Eren was protective but not possessive, which played a huge part in why your relationship with him worked so well. He knew how to keep you safe, how to give you comfort, and he wouldn’t let anything harm you even when he knew you could protect yourself just fine. Being with Eren was easy because he respected you without making inquiries. He was a man with a lot of demands, but he always gave you the space you needed and knew when to put your priorities before his. He picked up the little details but never made unnecessary comments or questions unless you wanted him to.
Sometimes it made you feel nervous, perturbed by the possibility of him finding out about your real identity. But with a pocket knife hidden inside your vanity bag, you knew what to do if something went wrong. It would be near impossible for you to hurt him as you probably wouldn’t have the heart to do it, but your identity and your profession remained your top priority.
You just wished, really wished, he wouldn’t notice.
***
“So, I met this girl,” Eren said, right after he landed a mean hook at Jean Kirschtein’s face. The taller male, a fellow agent from the same firm, toppled over, body hitting the side of the ring. He tangled his arms around the ropes to balance himself, groaning loudly both in pain and protest.
Unlike Jean who wore his headgear and groin-guard to protect himself, Eren didn’t even wear a shirt. He stood there inside the ring only in his black boxing shorts and his hair tied up, his feet bare. His key-shaped pendant dangled above his heart, swaying with every movement he made. Eren had his red sparring gloves on (for Jean’s protection, really), which was already an improvement. Whenever he sparred with Levi, they always did it the hard way, not wearing anything else but wrist wraps.
“You okay, buddy?” Connie Springer, another agent, patted the top of Jean’s headgear. The male with the buzzcut had finished his training with Marco Bodt half an hour ago but he lingered around to watch his best mate getting his ass handed back to him.
“I’m fine, don’t touch me,” Jean spat back, shoving him away. Even with his gloves on, Eren could still make his head ring with one punch.
Jean was a decent fighter. He was ranked seventh during their last training, which was quite an achievement as there were hundreds of other agents working for the agency. But when you had to face one of the top three—Eren fucking Jaeger—this was bound to happen.
“Sorry.” Eren grinned when Jean rose back to his feet, groggily making his way to him. “I already held back my punches for you, I swear.”
“Shut up.”
“Am I being too hard on you, Princess Jeanne?”
“Shut. Up.” Jean smacked his gloves together, cracking his neck before he returned to his stance. “A girl, huh?” He questioned, legs moving cautiously, circling the other man around as he searched for the right opportunity to strike. “Is it like a girl girl or a girl claiming herself to be a girl but then you sneaked a hand inside her dress and you found a dick between her legs and then you figured out that she wasn't a girl, he was a man who pretended to be a girl so he could kill you 'cause he's pissed his girlfriend cheated on him with you.”
“Dude, no.” Eren knitted his eyebrows together, looking at him funny. “I don't even know what you're talking about but no.”
“Happened to me once,” Connie chimed in, slurping down his protein drink.
“No, a normal girl,” Eren said. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“That’s bullshit. Mikasa’s the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen in your life,” Jean corrected, throwing his lead hand to the side of Eren’s head. “She’s the prettiest girl any man has ever seen in their lives. She’s a goddess.”
Eren dodged it easily. “Well, she’s ten times prettier than her.” He landed a punch on Jean’s stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. “She’s so sexy,” another punch, “Smart,” another one to his chest, “Funny,” an uppercut to his chin, “Best. Sex. I’ve. Ever. Had.” He emphasized each word with a punch, giving him five jabs in a row, lighter in pressure but faster in speed, enough to make Jean nearly throw up his lunch. His final blow sent the other man back to the edge of the ring.
“Fuck!” Jean hissed, the throbbing pain bringing tears to his eyes. He turned around to glower at Connie, looping his arms around the ropes for support. “Connie, did you put something in his gloves?!” he shouted in whispers.
“As much as I would love to,” Connie said, sneering. “No, I didn’t.”
“Hurts like a bitch!”
“Yeah, man, I can see you’re dying over there. Look, just kick him in the crotch.”
“What—” Jean coughed. “But that’s cheating!”
“He’s not wearing any guard, just do it.”
“I won’t stoop that low!”
“You’re getting your ass kicked. You’re literally at the bottom of the barrel here, bro.”
“Yo, Jean!” Eren interrupted, calling from the center of the ring. “I’m not done with my story yet.”
“Give me a minute!” The vein on Jean’s temple was about to pop. He returned to Connie, practically whimpering. “Dude, he’s gonna fucking kill me.”
“Kick him in the groin!”
“But I don’t want to che—Fine!”
The bearded man returned to his position, standing before his opponent with the biggest sigh he had ever released. Eren smirked at him. “You’re gonna try and kick me in the balls, aren’t you?”
“No,” Jean scoffed loudly, his face reddening for a different reason. Eren raised one of his eyebrows, mischief in his eyes. “You know what? Yeah, I’m gonna kick you in the balls just so I can wipe that fucking smirk off your face, you cock gobbler!”
His taunt only made Eren’s smirk grow larger. “I’d like to see you try, Horseface.”
“For fuck’s sake, guys,” Connie groaned, throwing his head back. “I’m gonna kick you both in the crotch. Just start the damn match already!”
“By the way, man, you gotta see her eyes,” Eren said, ignoring Connie’s protest. “She’s got such pretty eyes. You know that poem that goes, ‘her eyes were the color of faraway love.’ I don’t understand poetry but that shit sounds beautiful and beautiful things remind me of her.”
“You read poetry?” Connie scrunched his nose in disgust.
“Yeah, she told me about it and I gave it a try. Pablo Neruda, The Fable of The Mermaid and the Drunks.” Even when Eren had his eyes on Connie, Jean still wasn't able to land a scratch on his face. “It’s really good. You should read it sometimes.”
“And risk myself turning into a sappy schoolgirl like you?” He snorted. “No thanks. She’s fucking with your head, bro.”
“Oh yeah, she is,” Eren grinned. “And I love it.”
“You’re fucking gross.” Jean took the moment to catch his breath. Five fucking attempts at knocking the teeth out of Eren’s mouth and he missed his shot every time. “Also, eyes? You’re kidding me? I don’t wanna hear about her eyes. Tell me about her tits.”
“Oh, she has amazing tits, for sure.” When he sighed, Eren had a dreamy expression on his face. “But her eyes, man. They’re like… stars in the sky. Feels like I can stare at them forever, you know?”
“Oh my God, just punch me,” Jean groaned. “Punch my fucking face right now before I throw up on your—” To his surprise, Eren actually did, probably even breaking his nose if he had used his full strength. Jean stumbled back, his hands rising to his face. “Hey!”
“What?” Eren played dumb. “I thought you said—”
“I was being sarcastic, you jackass!”
The brunette rolled his eyes. “Fine, punch me then. I’ll give you a freebie.”
Jean wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. Placing his whole rage into one punch, Jean planned to knock him out for good. Eren wanted to stay true to his words, he really did, but when he saw his opponent’s fist coming, his reflex took control. His upper body moved by instinct. His cheek was grazed but he barely felt it.
Jean, not expecting Eren to avoid his attack, fell forward, almost landing face first on the ground. “Bitch, you dodged!”
“Sorry, reflex.” Eren tried to show his empathy by extending his hand for the other man to take. “You know, that’s what you should do when someone tries to punch you.”
“I’m gonna fucking—” Jean tackled him to the ground, throwing random punches and kicks, exhausting himself without being able to land a single scratch.
“Where did you meet this chick anyway?” Connie asked and Jean was grateful. He didn’t give a single fuck about Eren’s story but if it could at least distract the man from his attack then he would let him babble about it all day long.
“Bogota.” Eren, lying on his back, flipped Jean’s body around. He wrapped his legs around his waist from behind, hooking one arm around his neck. “During my mission five months ago.”
“Five months ago?” Connie snorted, enjoying the way Jean was struggling to break free from his headlock. “You’re in love with the woman you met five months ago?”
“Dude, I’ve never even stayed with the same woman for five days. This is breaking all my records.” Eren talked so casually as if they were conversing over bottles of beer. “Wait—love? You think I’m in love?”
“Either that or you’re just growing even more obnoxious than you usually are,” Connie yawned. Jean choked, tapping Eren’s arm vigorously in desperate need of air.
“In love…” Eren tightened his grip around his opponent as he fell deeper into his thoughts. “I don’t think I even believe in love, but now that you mentioned it… Fuck, maybe I am in love with her. I’m going insane. Connie, am I going insane?”
“Eren…” Jean was turning blue. “Can’t… breathe…”
“Do you think it’s insane for me to be in love with her this fast? To want her for the rest of my life? Shit, now I’m thinking about marrying her. You know what? Yeah, I wanna marry her. I’m really going insane now, aren’t I?”
“Mmm, yeah, probably. Jean’s dying, by the way.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.”
***
“You look nice,” you commented when Eren showed up at your flat, dressed sharply in a black suit and oxford shoes. His hair was untied, cascading down to his shoulders, making him seem more mature than usual. It was the night of your first anniversary—well, counting from the day you met him anyway. The top of his white shirt was unbuttoned, two more than necessary, as always.
He smiled, taking you by the wrist, and yanked you forward until you fell on his chest, lips locked with his. When he broke the kiss, he licked his bottom lip once. “You taste nice.”
You slapped him lightly on his shoulder, smiling to yourself as you grabbed your purse. “What time is our reservation?”
“In half an hour.”
“Then, we better go.” You linked your arm around his. “I’ll just have you for dessert later.”
The way he chuckled made you feel warm inside. “Can’t wait.”
His jet black Bentley smelled more of citrus and less like bergamot—the perfume he often wore—and you wondered whether it was a rental or he just rarely used it. You didn’t have the strength to care, too busy stealing glances at him during the drive to the restaurant.
Before you stepped inside his car earlier, he lent you his suit to cover your bare shoulders from the night cold, saying, “Stop being so cute,” when he caught you sniffling. Eren had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his veiny arms with his silver Tag Heuer watch glinting along his wrist whenever a passing car shone headlights. He only had one hand on the steering wheel, with another one propped up against the window, unconsciously pressing the side of his index finger to his lips and a thumb on his chin. He drove in silence, his eyes focused on the road but also vacant at the same time.
“Thinking about something?” You questioned since he seemed to be ruminating.
He took a glimpse of your face, the corner of his lips curving upwards. “Just trying to figure out why you keep on looking at me every two seconds.”
You were a bit flustered but kept your composure in check. “Honestly? You just look so good in that suit.”
“Yeah?” He changed gears, a peal of soft laughter reverberating in the air. “Then, what should we do about it?”
“Well, it’s been a while since we’ve had the time for ourselves, what with us being busy with our jobs.” You placed a hand on his thigh, rubbing up and down the silky fabric of his black trousers. “I’m sorry I left you alone for so long, Ren. I’ve always hated going overseas, even more now since I met you.”
Your boyfriend glanced at the way your fingers are reaching dangerously close to the part he had been longing to be touched for the last three weeks you had been separated. “That’s… fine… ” He forced his eyes to go back to the road when a car passed by from his side, honking angrily at him. “I had to go out of town too, so we wouldn’t have been able to meet anyway.”
You bit the corner of your lip, trying to contain a smirk from breaking on your face. He was obviously distracted, but the way he tried to act so reserved was adorable too. “Then…” You tucked some loose strands behind your ear, wetting your lips. “Want me to make it up to you?”
You leaned over to his seat, close enough to be able to unfasten his belt and unzip his pants. Eren took a sharp breath when he felt your fingers curling around his length, stroking him gently until he came alive in your hand. “What’s your answer, big boy?”
He caught his lower lip between his teeth as he watched you close, his stomach somersaulting at the thought of your lips, painted in bold red, clamping around his cock. “Yes.”
“Ask nicely then.”
A grin, just as naughty and sexy as yours were, broke on his lips. His demeanor remained pompous, which made him even more attractive when he said, “Please, Sweetheart. I want you to make it up to me.”
“Keep your eyes on the road,” you said, smiling at him as you ran your thumb across his tip.
“Yes, Ma’am.” The last thing he saw before he shifted his gaze on the road was you darting out your tongue.
When you dipped your head, slanting your lips around his head, he let out this small sigh of contentment that urged you to please him more. You slid your tongue across his slit, going down to the side to trace his probing veins, murmuring sinful things against his sensitive skin.
“You seem like you’re in a good mood today,” he comments, returning to his previous position where he only had one hand maneuvering his car, his other arm resting against his window. His voice sounded stable but the way he bit the tip of his thumb to contain his groan betrayed him. “Did something happen?”
“I’m just happy,” you paused to engulf his length completely, bobbing your head twice before letting him go with a pop. “That I get to see you again.”
The way he hit on the brakes was not as gentle as before. Waiting for the red light to go green, Eren leaned back to his seat, his fingers twisted in your hair, tugging softly at your locks as he slightly thrust into your mouth.
“Mmm, Sweetheart,” he moaned, reeling in the sensation of your heated mouth enveloping him. “That feels good—you’re so good at this.”
“You can cum in my mouth.”
“Open up and let me fuck you harder then.”
You roll your eyes. “Always so demanding.” But you loosen your jaw, letting him plunge himself deeper into your cavern. But when a car stopped just three meters away from you, he was forced to straighten up on his seat. The driver—a middle-aged man with a goatee—was nodding his head to the music, both windows of his car opened for him to enjoy the night wind. He noticed Eren’s car, perhaps amazed with how expensive it was, and your lover slid his window down to expose his face.
Shocked, your protest was sitting on the tip of your tongue but Eren held you down by pressing his palm against the back of your head. “Relax. It’s too dark, he won’t be able to see,” he assured you and you grunted in response, which made him titter.
“Nice car, man,” shouted the man.
Eren waved a hand, an innocent smile strapped to his face. “Thanks. I like your tires. Custom made?”
And they began to have a casual conversation as if he didn’t have your mouth wrapped around his cock. He was always like this, a fucking tease, but two could play at this game. You sucked harder around his tip before you went down completely on him, swallowing around his cock. Eren’s grip around your locks grew tighter when he was shrouded in your warmth but his voice was airy when he replied to the man.
“Hey, you’re taking left?” The driver asked. “Might want to re-route, mate. There’s roadwork on the seventh street, probably gonna cause traffic.”
“Aaw, that–” Eren bucked his hips against your mouth. “Sucks.”
You growled at his choice of words. His chuckle resonated deep from within his chest, his hand shoving you harder against his cock.
“You seem all dressed up. Going on a date?”
“Yeah,” Eren answered with a smile. “I’m celebrating my first anniversary tonight.”
“Aye, good for you, mate. Picking up your lady, then?”
“Oh, no, she’s right here.” Before you could react, Eren pulled you back by your hair, raising your face high enough for the other man to see. Heat pooled on your cheeks, your saliva staining your chin. The man’s eyes grew wide, his face painted with crimson but before he could say anything, the light turned green and Eren stepped on the gas.
“Asshole!” You slapped him hard on his chest. “He saw my face!”
“It’s not like we’re going to see him again,” Eren chortled lightheartedly, using one hand to zip his pants. He caught you pouting, and still with his grin intact, he said, “I’m sorry, baby. Want me to make it up to you?”
“You’re an asshole,” you crossed your hands in front of your chest. “But you can try and buy me something nice.”
“I’ll buy you the world if you want me to.” He stole one of your hands away, his lips dancing across your knuckles. “You’ll forgive me then?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe,” he chuckled. “You’re adorable.”
“I’m still pissed at you, by the way.” A lie. It was hard to stay upset when he was acting this juvenile around you. As you returned your gaze to the road, you noticed that he was no longer heading to the restaurant. “Where are we going?”
“Someplace quiet where I can fuck you properly,” he said, answering it so casually. “You don’t think I’m gonna let you go just like that, do you, Sweetheart?”
You scoffed, but you could feel your grin threatening to appear. “Can’t this wait until we get home?”
“I’m fucking you now and I’m fucking you later.” He smirked, changing gears. “It’s our anniversary, isn’t it? We should celebrate it.”
The second he pulled over to an empty parking lot behind an abandoned building, Eren immediately moved your seat all the way back and latched his lips on yours. “Is this your way to celebrate?” You questioned him, giggling against his mouth on your way down. “Taking a girl in an abandoned parking lot? How romantic.”
“I’ll take you to Paris next weekend, how’s that for being romantic?"
“Now we’re talking.” You slanted your lips together, feeling his smile pressed against your own. “Let me be on top this time,” you breathed out heavily when he pushed your lingerie to the side with one hand and stroked himself with his other one.
Eren glanced at you from behind his bangs, his lips bruised from your kisses. He confirmed your plea with a nod and let you switch positions. It wasn’t easy to move around in such a small space that you ended up bumping your head against his chin but the hilarity of it all only added more emotional feelings to be involved. You felt so comfortable around him as if you were dating your childhood friend instead of a stranger you met a year ago. Suddenly, the need for physical contact didn’t matter as much as before. You were enjoying his laughter, blushing when he swatted the bangs out of your eyes and pouting when he told you how ridiculous you looked trying to work this out. You just really loved having him around, enjoyed his company more than you’d enjoy a cup of good coffee.
Maybe it worked the same way with him too because Eren’s eyes were not solely filled with lust anymore. They were soft, tender as they peered into yours. And the way he caressed your face was soothing as if you were the most fragile being he had ever touched in his life.
“Kiss me,” you said, not sure if you could handle his gaze any longer than that. He made you feel vulnerable, made you feel transparent and you were scared of having him look into your soul and find out the secrets you’d been hiding.
He pressed his mouth gently to yours, kissing you so romantically, it sent goosebumps breaking on your skin. He broke away, his lips brushing against your jawline when you were about to deepen the kiss. Then he peppered more to your cheek and your temple before he landed a peck on the tip of your nose. “I’ve missed you,” he confessed in a whisper. “I missed you so much when you were gone. I thought about you all the time.”
You stiffened in his arms. It was very unusual for him to profess romantic words in such a serious manner and you were left speechless, dazed even, at the way he tenderly embraced you. You rested your hand on your shoulders, swatting his hair away from his face before you tucked his strands behind his ear. “I thought about you a lot too,” you meekly replied with a sheepish smile.
It was rare for him to see you act this way too. His heart thumped faster. Every little thing you did made him feel so alive, like a zap of electricity that awakened all of his nerves at once. He caught your face, his thumb rubbing comforting circles across your cheekbone. “Did you miss me?” There was not a trace of amusement or teasing in his voice when he vocalized his question.
“I did.” You nuzzled your nose against his. The sweet gesture caused his stomach to swap places with his heart. You then rested your temple against his, closing your eyes as you whispered, “Everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.”
Eren stroked your back, tugging your zipper down until it stopped just a few inches away from your tailbone. “Pablo Neruda, If You Forget Me.”
“Hey, you read it!” You grinned like a child. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
“Of course, I did.” I would do everything for you. He kissed the front of your throat, making his way up to your chin before he ended his journey on your lips. The straps of your dress slid down your shoulders, revealing enough skin for him to mark on. “You see, I wanted to impress this hot stranger I met at a hotel,” he murmured, cupping your breast with one hand and closing his mouth around your nipple. “Wouldn’t want her to walk away from me so I did everything I could to make her stay.”
“Oh, she’s staying,” you sighed in rapture, tangling your arms around his neck. “She’s staying as long as you want her to.”
“What if I want her to stay forever?”
It wasn’t butterfly wings that fluttered inside your stomach. It felt like fireworks exploding at once. “Huh?”
“What if I want you forever?” He repeated, a bit shakily this time as soft pink bloomed on his cheeks. He seemed to have lost his confidence, not knowing whether you’d like it or not, but when your rejection never came, he took a deep breath and tried again. “What if I never want to let you go? What if I just want us to stay like this, just you and me, forever?” The way he cupped your cheek, gazing at you so deeply and intensely as he spoke those words, nothing could compete with how perfect it was. “What do you think?”
“I think forever is a really long time, but…” You buried your face in the crook of his neck, concealing the fire that bit through your cheeks. “I don’t… hate the idea.”
A sense of relief washed over him, so much that it paralyzed him for a second. “Don’t hate the idea, huh?” He pressed the shape of his smile against the center of your forehead. “One year, and you’re still playing hard to get.”
You giggled. “Sorry. I couldn’t afford to sound too sappy. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you see.”
“Stop being so damn adorable.” He playfully bit your shoulder, making you laugh just a tad louder. Pulling back, he rubbed the tip of his nose against yours. “Happy anniversary, Sweetheart.”
“Happy anniversary, Ren.”
It felt different that night, the way he held you, the way he moved inside you, the way he made you feel. It was the first time he ever made love to you, truly, and it was both weird and funny to know that it was happening in an abandoned parking lot, with both of you fully clothed except for the parts where you were connected to him.
As he tried to be quiet, you could hear him sigh and curse almost inaudibly under his breath which felt somehow more erotic to your ears. Usually, he would be rough and dominating, sucking bruises until you hissed in pain but this time, he only applied soft kisses on your skin, sometimes peeking out his tongue just to make you shiver. Sex with Eren had never been boring since he knew how to keep his women entertained, but tonight, your senses were taking so much more details because your heart was involved. And so was his.
“I’m—” You quivered, the sway of your hips moving out of rhythm. Being on top of him let you take control and you used it fully to maximize your pleasure. “Ren, ah, I think I’m gonna—” He added the sensation by rubbing his thumb over your clit, almost making you jump off his lap. “Wait—” You could feel the knot in your stomach tighten.
Knowing that you were so close to the edge, Eren’s hand found home in your hair once again and he brought your lips to his. “I love you,” he whispered between kisses and you lost it. You lost every sense, every control, every thought that you could only whimper against his lips when you came undone, with him following soon after.
Eren muffled his moan by mouthing against the bare skin of your shoulder. His whole body shook under your touch and you let him finish without a word, just pressing your lips lazily against his collarbone.
Your heart was beating loudly, and you wondered whether it was simply because of the intercourse you just had or his last three words. You had known that he was committed to you, just like you were to him, but you didn’t know that he loved you that way.
Eren had his head thrown back, eyes tightly closed as he enjoyed the rest of his orgasm, breathing heavily through parted lips. You kissed him softly on his chin, making him look back at you.
“Hey,” he smiled, a bit drowsy.
“Hey, stranger,” you cooed, fingers stroking his jaw. “How are you feeling?”
“Just a little bit fucked-out,” he imitated the words you once said to him. “Other than that, I’m fine.”
You pinched his nose and he tasted your smile before he let you rest your head on his chest. You spent a minute or two drawing your name on his skin, right above his heart. Then, “Did you mean it?”
“Hmm?”
“When you said you loved me.” You pulled back to analyze his expression, every contort of his face. “Did you really mean it or was it just a spur of the moment thing?”
The sudden defenseless look on his face made you freeze. Eren had always been a little guarded and you’d noticed that, no matter how hard he tried to hide it behind his teasing smirks and mischievous smiles. You just never questioned it because, similar to him, you also had your secrets to bury inside your chest. You thought it wasn’t fair to pester him about it when he’d never force you to spill one of yours. It wasn’t like he was hiding the fact that he murdered people on a monthly basis like you did. Unbeknownst to you, anyway.
“I don’t think I know what love is,” he answered truthfully with his gaze turning just as soft as his voice. “What I do know is that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Like I said, I think about you a lot when I’m with you. I thought about you even more when you were gone—so much that it freaks me out.”
You quietly laughed. “I think you’re just obsessing over me.”
“Whether it’s an obsession or love, I’m willing to have it.” He cupped your face, eyes peering deep into yours. “I want to feel everything. I want you to make me feel everything.”
“That’s quite a demand.” You gazed down to his lips, tentatively touching his plump lower one with your fingertips. “But as a start, I think I want to love you too, Ren.”
The way he reflected your smile was both beautiful and heartbreaking—as if it was the first time he ever heard someone say those words back to him. He pulled you for another embrace, his lips grazing against your earlobe when he sighed, “That’s good enough for me.”
You giggled, nuzzling closer to him. “I think we’re late for our reservation.”
He chuckled. “We have got to stop skipping our meals for sex.”
“Should we just get some tacos?”
“Mmm, yeah. After one more round.”
“You’re insatiable.”
"Is that a bad thing?" Eren smirked and you mirrored it the same way.
"Not at all, love."
***
His trip down memory lane comes to an end when he parks his car on the driveway of the house he has shared with you for six years. Eren sits on the driver’s seat, shuts off his engine, and retrieves back his keys. But instead of stepping out of his car, he lays his folded arms on the steering wheel. With cautious eyes, he takes a quick scan of his surroundings, usually out of habit, but now out of necessity. Nothing seems strange, but perhaps, not yet.
From his car, he can see your movements through the kitchen window. You look beautiful, breathtaking as always, maybe even more as you're celebrating your seventh anniversary tonight—eight, if he counted it from the day he met you. You’re wearing your hair high in a braid, showcasing the skin of your neck that he would love to sink his teeth in and color it purple. But tonight… Tonight he has to slit it open. There would be no bruise, only blood.
The thought makes his stomach churn. It’s so hard to believe that you’re doing the same profession as a living. You, who claim to work as a tech support consultant. You, dressed in your apron and the sexy red gown that he loves. You, with that beguiling smile, seduction in your eyes, his name on your lips, his taste on your tongue.
It’s either you or her. Eren reminds himself. Now that his firm knows the truth, there’s a fat chance that your agency must have discovered his true identity too. Maybe the knife you're using to slice his favorite roast chicken for dinner would be the same blade that ends up driven through his chest by the time the night ends. He can’t tell. He can never tell. Six years you’ve been married to him. Six fucking years and all he could see was the same beautiful woman that seized his heart from the very first night. You are the perfect lover. The perfect wife. You’ve always been.
What he feels for you is real. He knows love because you taught him. He feels it because you gave it to him. You turn the monster inside of him into a human capable of emotions. But now they're just fabrics of lies, aren't they? How would he know that you were just playing a role? Is he just a part of your cover? Or is he your mark, one that you’ve been trying to take down since the first day you met him?
Even right now, it still feels easier for him to forget what Levi said than do what he is ordered to do. But when it comes to killing and being killed, he knows his instincts would kick in. He loves you. He loves you so much, it's sickening. But would he sacrifice his own life just so you can laugh over his corpse and get a new string of numbers on your bank account?
No fucking way.
So he steps down from his car with his handgun pressed securely against his lower back. His bullets are ready to be shot. His fingers are prepared to dance around the trigger. He walks up to his porch with his mind determined, his blood boiling inside. He casts away his heart, the one that loves you, the only one that is human within him, and he never looks back. Right now, he only has one mission.
He curls his fingers around the doorknob, dragging the door open.
“Honey,” he smiles. “I’m home.”
***
AN: This is so bad omg I'm so sorry 😭😭😭 I'm not proud of this one but I still hope you enjoyed it 😭 Thank you for reading, everyone!
Super huge thanks to Aleks, Joli, Coi and Ben for beta-reading this!
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💚❤️Happily Ever After 💚❤️
Cowboy Joel Miller x f reader
Surprise! @frannyzooey I’m your @pedrostories Secret Santa!! I was so excited to write this for you! You said you liked modern and western au’s so here’s a fluffy modern western!(: this is the fluffiest fic I’ve ever written so I really hope you enjoy it!
Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, p in v (use contraception my dudes), 1 time jump, 1 flashback, bondage with Christmas lights, 1 use of spit as lube, alcohol (reader drinks 1 beer), reader is described as having tits and ass, 1 use of gagging with panties, use of ‘daddy’ , anal fingering, pussy eating, breeding kink, pregnancy, marriage, I believe this is everything if I missed any let me know! ❤️💚❤️
Words: 2,334
Las Vegas, Nevada
December 7, 2022
Wrangler National Finals Rodeo
The noise inside the stadium is almost deafening as the last bull rider lasts longer than eight seconds on a bull named Bodacious who’s well known for injuring riders. Everyone expected to see the Joel Miller get bucked off quick and probably end up with several severe injuries. So to watch that man beat the record for staying on the longest on what’s probably the most dangerous bull in America is the greatest spectacle any one could’ve witnessed. You’re not surprised though. Your husband has been one of the best cowboys in the nation for a while now. The two of you met when he moved to your town a few years ago and started practicing on your dads ranch. You’ll never forget that afternoon when you first laid eyes on him. You had been looking for your dad and had walked out of the stables only to find a very handsome stranger brushing your Appaloosa horse named Whiskey. Poor Joel never stood a chance, you had him wrapped around your pinky finger from the very first ‘Well howdy cowboy’.
You watch Joel walk back to the sidelines in the arena and your quick to down the rest of your beer and head down to the stables to surprise him.
Mid afternoon in the Nevada heat. Nothing but peace and quiet, laying out by the pond under the shade of a few trees. Nobody else around for miles, just you and Joel. The sun warming your body as you lay back on the soft quilt covering the ground as Joel peppers soft, sweet kisses down your body as he makes his way to that sweet haven between your legs. The way he pulls the most delicious sounds out of you as he brings you to orgasm again and again before he makes his way back up your body and fills you to the brim with his thick cock. Your lips on his as he thrusts deeply into you over and over. Joel grabs your hands, threading his fingers with yours as he holds them above your head.
“I love you Joel” you whisper softly into his lips before falling apart on his cock.
His gorgeous brown eyes widen as he takes the beautiful sight of you in, “I love you darlin’. I love you so damn much.”
Music is playing through the speakers and the roar of the crowd is dimmed as you make your way down to the stables. You made sure to wear your favorite pair of blue jeans that make your ass look sensational. Paired with a green plaid button up with the top three buttons undone with a push up bra on so your tits look fantastic. Standing in the far back corner you hide behind a stall wall as you hear a few voices approach.
“You did great out there man! I couldn’t be proud of you Joel, that is what’s it all about man!” You hear your daddy say
“I wouldn’t be half the man I am without you sir. You know I appreciate everything you do for me.” Joel responds as both men lean in to each other for a one armed hug and a pat on the back.
You can hear footsteps move away but before you move out from behind the wall, you feel a big hand grab your hip from behind.
You yelp as something pulls you back. Covering your mouth with your hand, eyes wide as you see it’s just Joel.
“Joel! You scared me! I was trying to surprise you!” You reprimand him as you swat at his chest. He just smiles real big as he grabs you by the hips and pulls you into him.
“You’re so cute when you get all flustered darlin’. I can’t help myself”
All you can do is smile back at him as you reach up and clasp your hands together behind his neck, getting up on your tip toes to press your lips into his. You smile into the kiss as he kisses you back. Letting him take control and deepening it as he swipes his tongue across your lip. You open up for him as your tongue meets his and you both begin to explore each others mouths. His spiced, woodsy musk filling your nostrils, you can already feel your panties growing damp with your slick.
“Ahem” a man clearing his throat, jolting you away from Joel, embarrassed you’ve been caught yet again, “Mrs Miller I hate to interrupt but Ima need Joel to come with me now for the awards ceremony.”
You and your husband’s embarrassment subsides as you both let out a chuckle. Joel leans forward and softly presses his lips against your forehead before walking away with his assistant, Jake.
Later that night. . .
Christmas lights twinkle in your bedroom as Joel ties you up. Laying on your back, your knees pushed into your chest as he ties the lights around your arms and wrist to your legs, keeping you spread wide open for him. You can’t help but moan around your panties he’s gagged you with. Watching him tie you up, his fingers working fast. The both of you naked as the day you were born.
Joel stands up next to the bed, admiring his work as he starts stroking his cock, “You look so fucking beautiful baby, all mine too.” He says as he begins to kneel on the bed in front of you. Joel takes his cock and drags the tip from your clit down to your entrance. He does this a few times, gathering your slick on his cock before gently pushing just the tip inside of you.
Joel is mesmerized as he watches your tight cunt bloom open for him. Still holding his cock, he slowly pulls back out and swirls the head around your hole before slowly pushing the tip back in.
“Goddamn darlin you look so beautiful taking me. I’m the luckiest bastard alive.”
He dips his head slightly forward and spits on your cunt. Your eyes wide as you watch it drop down. His saliva lands on your clit, sliding down to join the wet mess you’ve made. You let out a muffled moan.
Joel groans before using his cock to spread his spit up and down your slit a couple of times before pushing back into you. This time feeding you more of his cock before pulling out once again. You’re so turned on his teasing starts to hurt in the most delicious way, you can’t help but let out a whine.
Joel makes a clicking noise with his teeth, “ now baby I hope that wasn’t a whine I just heard. You know I’m gonna fuck this pretty little cunt good. Ya gotta have a little patience sweetheart, let daddy play with ya first.”
You begin to whine again and it turns into a moan as he pushes back into you, going all the way to the hilt. His thick cock feels so deep inside of you, your breath caught in your throat.
“Fuck darlin oh shit you feel so good” Joel moans out as he throbs his cock inside of you. He leans forward, one of his arms snakes under your neck while the other arm wraps over the top of your head, his chest on yours as he reaches up and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. He moves his face down yours to rest his forehead against your forehead. His nose moving down your nose. His soft brown eyes boring into yours as he starts to thrust softly. The two of you looking deeply into each others eyes as he slowly rocks into you. Shallow breaths taken, Joel’s eyes close shut as he thrust in real deep and grinds into you before pulling all the way out. You feel so empty without him as he sits back on his legs. He takes his finger and dips into you before trailing the same finger down to your puckered hole.
“Mm so fucking pretty baby. My pretty baby.” He whispers, looking absolutely captivated by you as he starts to sink his finger into your asshole. Once he gets down to the first knuckle, he wiggles his finger gently inside of your hole. He brings his other hand to your pussy and begins to rub circles around your clit with his thumb as he gently begins to finger your asshole. Joel brings his face down and starts licking wide stripes up your cunt as he continues to finger your ass. The feeling of having him in there while he shoves his tongue inside your pussy and continues to rub your clit has you on an extreme edge. Everything in your body is lit, you feel yourself going higher and higher. Joel must’ve noticed and starts moving faster. It’s all too much, you practically black out, drool running down your chin from being gagged, your eyes rolled back as you scream as loud as you can as you cum hard from his ministrations. Your juices just flow from you as he continues to drink as if he’s been lost in the desert for a year and you’ve gifted him water. Your legs shaking, Joel can feel your legs try to close around his head. He pulls his finger out as he gives your clit a kiss before getting back up. He’s painfully hard but he knows he has to cum inside of you. He already made you his when y’all got married but to get you pregnant? Watch your belly grow round with his child? Now that scratches the deepest itch he has. Everyone would know your his without any doubt then. They would know you are his. Body, mind and soul. He unties the lights and throws them on the ground and pulls your panties out of your mouth. You reach up and kiss him, your tongue darting into his mouth. Breaking the kiss, Joel grabs your hips and flips you on your stomach,
“Come here baby I need to feel this sweet cunt creaming on my cock.”
Your face is smashed into the bed as you feel Joel lift you hips up causing your ass to stick up in the air. Before you can even take a full breath, Joel thrusts his cock inside you knocking the breath right out of you. Your whole body lit ablaze with euphoric pleasure. He gives you no time to adjust before he starts pounding the absolute life out of you. His thick cock head punching up into your guts, kissing your cervix. The way he fills you completely, your pussy stretched around him and all you can do is lay there and take every punishing shove of his cock. Still reeling from your orgasm, it doesn’t take long before your already feeling another orgasm approaching.
“Oh fuck honey, yea that’s it baby goddamn this pussy is good to me. My pretty little wife being such a dirty little whore all for her husband.”
Joel is never shy in the bedroom, always vocal, praising you for how good you feel and how good you make him feel. His moans are starting to turn into deep guttural groans and you know he’s close. Something about making this man, the love of your life, lose all inhibitions all because of you has you rolling to your peak.
“Oh god oh god Joel oh I’m coming! I’m coming!” You manage to scream out as white hot, blinding pleasure encapsulates your whole being.
“Fuck yes honey that’s it! Oh fuck I can feel you squeezing the life outta my cock baby ngh o-oh fuck baby let me make you a mama, please. Please baby. I wanna see those sweet tits grow and your belly grow with my seed. Oh god baby nngh f-fuck!”
“Oh god yes baby! Do it! Cum inside me Joel!”
You barely have the first syllable of his name out of your mouth before his hot cum is shooting out deep inside you, coating your walls.
Next December. . .
You stand next to the Christmas tree in front of the window, looking out on your little piece of land you and Joel built your house on. Feeling absolute peace and serenity, your hand resting on your big belly. Joel was not joking when he said he wanted to make you a mama. It took a few tries but he did it. You’re 8 months pregnant with a sweet baby boy on the way. You’ll never forget when you found out. Couldn’t hold any food down, you seemed to smell everything in high def. You had an little inkling that you were pregnant. But then you took a test and saw those two pink lines. The most joyous feeling washing over you. Of course you took ten more tests just to be 100% sure. That day Joel walked in the side door that leads into the kitchen, you were already jumping into his arms before he could even reach down and take his boots off and accidentally knocked his cowboy hat off his head. The both of you falling into a little fit of giggles as you press your lips into his. Giving him a sweet kiss after sweet kiss before jumping down and grabbing his hands in yours as you led him into the living room where you had a little gift waiting for him.
Soon you feel your husbands big warm arms wrap around you. His chest against your back as he rests his cheek against your head.
“Whatcha thinking about darlin’?”
“Oh nothing honey just thinking about how lucky I am. How I can’t wait to watch our babies grow and run around and play.”
Joel doesn’t respond but you can feel the smile on his lips before he softly presses a kiss to your temple. The two of you continue to stay in this warm embrace as you look out the window, imaging your future.
A/n: I hope you enjoyed! I made the moodboard and I also made a lil playlist of country songs to get the vibes going. Merry Christmas & happy holidays my sweets! ❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️
#pedrostories#pedrostoriesgift23#pedro pascal#joel miller x reader#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#pedro pascal characters#joel miller fic#fluff#fluff fic#merry christmas#Spotify
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Late December
Content: 1.6k words of part of a day with your six month old baby and husband Levi.
A/n: Here we go! Not quite holiday, not quite proof read hehe.
Your eyes flutter open as you smile after a nice, long sleep. It's early morning on another weekday later in the year, just after the holidays.
You turn to cuddle your husband but find his side of the bed empty. You frown, but not for long, already knowing where he is.
You get up and put on your robe and head to the nursery, pausing at the door and smiling.
Your husband Levi is sitting in the rocking chair, holding your six month old baby boy on his chest, reading him a story while he naps.
Levi stops mid sentence and smiles warmly when he notices you.
"Morning daddy." You smile back and step inside, coming over to stand by the rocker.
He sighs and rests his head on your side as you play with his hair and reach down to pet your babies cheek.
The little one blinks his eyes sleepily and gets excited when he sees you.
Levi chuckles and hands him over.
"Hi baby! Are you hungry?" You coo at him, kissing his face while he makes happy noises.
"Oh no, your not gonna try the solids again are you?" Levi asks nervously.
You laugh. "Levi, he has to start at some point." Six months is the recommended age to start but you can go later. The past week you've just done a couple spoonfuls a day and so far baby hasn't seemed to enjoy it and wants his bottle.
Both you and Levi thought you'd have a hard time with the process, but it's actually Levi who has instead.
"Yes but, how about next month?" He tries to talk you into waiting a bit longer.
Standing up he holds you close as your baby looks up at you both.
You smile and lean on Levis chest as your perfect little family stands in the nursery.
"I'll let you get away with it today, but tomorrow, we try again." You compromise with Levi about the solids.
He lets out a tiny sigh of relief and takes the baby back from you, holding him up.
"Hear that? We talked mommy into it!" He says with a large smile as baby seems to giggle with him.
You all go to the kitchen and Levi gets the bottle out of the fridge while you start a breakfast for you and him.
Levi sits in the chair and feeds his baby boy, who grabs onto the bottle while Levi holds it.
You've talked about not letting him comfort eat, but at this point it's Levi who needs the reassurance.
"Tea, sweetheart?" You ask as you start a pot and Levi nods.
"Yes please." He says while not looking away from the baby in his arms.
You smile and make some steel oats as well and add fresh fruit. A simple and healthy meal.
Levi finishes feeding and burps the baby and puts him in the high chair, grabbing a couple suction toys to stick on to keep him entertained.
He cleans off and puts the rest of the bottle back in the fridge and helps you finish breakfast, getting plates and tea cups.
Levi kisses your cheek and gently grabs onto your side, making you giggle.
He smiles as you pour the tea and he puts the oatmeal and fruit into the bowls and you sit down together.
You kiss your babies cheek and flick the animal toys.
"Owl." You say as you touch it. "Rabbit." You say as he touches a different one.
He pushes and pulls them and babbles happily.
"It's a nice day for a walk later." Levi says as he eats, and you nod.
"Yes, let's go around the neighborhood." Get some fresh air.
You finish eating and clean together, taking turns getting dressed and change the babies diaper before bundling him up in the blue crocheted onesie and quilted blanket his grandmas made him.
Levi gets his stroller and you put him in and start walking.
People still have their holiday decorations out, and the moving reindeer catches the babies eye the most.
You wave to neighbors and stop to chat with some as kids play on lawns riding bikes and playing tag.
"Oh he's getting so big!" Another husband and wife smile and wave at him as you stop in front of their house.
"He sure is a cutie!" The wife gushes, respecting the distance and not touching him.
"Thank you!" You smile.
You talk a few more minutes while their young children play around and wave to you and Levi.
"How olds the baby now?" The little girl asks, coming up, but not to close.
"Six months now." You tell them.
"Mr Ackerman, come throw the ball with me!" The boy calls to Levi, making all the adults chuckle.
"Okay, but just a couple times!" Levi smiles and runs over out of harms way with the young boy.
"And to think, last year he was afraid of Levi." The wife says, laughing.
It's true, for some reason, some of the neighborhood kids found Levi scary.
But somehow, once finding out he was going to be a dad, whether that made him open up to the idea more of other kids, or they figured if he was going to have a baby he wasn't all bad, he'd become one of the favorite adults on the block.
The husband joins in as the males play and you talk with the wife and daughter a few more minutes.
You hear your baby squeal happily and look to realize snowflakes are landing all around him.
"Oh!" You laugh, as none of you but him had noticed it was beginning to flurry lightly.
"Levi, we should be going!" You call to him, sorry to cut his time short.
"Coming!" He says, handing back the ball before walking up to you.
You say your goodbyes and walk back a little faster, before the weather changes anymore.
The babies hands flail as the flurries melt away before he can do anything, making you and Levi smile.
Once back inside Levi puts the stroller away then helps you get him back into his tiny pajamas and hang his onesie and blanket up to dry from the damp snow.
Baby goes into his crib to take a mid morning nap, the first of a couple. You try to keep him on some sort of schedule most of the time.
You both also change back into something warm, not planning on going anywhere else today.
You're tempted to go back into the nursery to check on the baby but Levi holds your hand and shakes his head.
"He's fine, come on." Baby likes his sleep and will be out a couple of hours.
You let him lead you to the couch where you snuggle against him and watch as the snow comes down a little harder than before.
Levi plays with your hair gently as you both relax.
"Mom wants to drive down to see us soon. She's got presents, she says." He tells you.
"Mine too. Let's have them over next weekend." You know they're presents for the baby, as if he needs anymore. But you love that they both spoil him, and you.
Levi kisses your temple and sighs happily. "I'd like that."
Your moms get along great, sometimes you find they hang out together. Levis mom teaches yours to crochet, while yours teaches his how to quilt. Now they always have something for you. Not to mention all the toys.
But with a growing baby you need updated clothes and toys all the time, so don't mind at all.
They already sent some things, including an automatic swing they swear was free shipping and on sale. You took pictures and made a three way call to thank them. They were already talking about an activity center now that he sits up on his own.
Levi hugs you tight, interrupting your thoughts.
"Thank you love. For being my wife, and making me a father. I love you." He swears he'll never be able to repay you.
You nuzzle his neck, hugging back. "Even when I try to give him solids?" You joke about the babies diet and Levi chuckles, holding you closer.
"I love you too sweetheart. You're everything to me, to us. You have our hearts" You feel his arms tighten around you. You both know he'll never let go.
You both fall asleep for a while in each others arms, waking with the babies schedule, heading back to the nursery to find your little one just getting up as well.
You pick him up and hold him upright in your arms.
"Hello my nugget. You hungry?" He starts in with the happy noises that you take as a yes.
"But no solids." Levi whispers as he walks behind you to the kitchen.
You laugh and turn to him as you get to the kitchen and pull out the bottle.
"I already promised." You remind him, making him settle down.
"Jeez, I can't even imagine what you'll be like when he starts walking." You say playfully. Truthfully, you'll probably be a nevous wreck then too.
"First he has to crawl." Levi won't let you get too far ahead of yourself.
"Yes love." You say, sitting down to feed the baby and continue your afternoon routine.
As Levi hovers close by, and your little boy looks up at you both, you know that many milestones, including crawling, are just around the corner.
#aot#attack on titan#levi#levi ackerman#captain levi#captain levi ackerman#dad!levi#dad levi#levi x reader#levi ackerman x reader#captain levi x reader#levi fluff#levi ackerman fluff#levi x reader fluff
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