making love on economy

Teague watched and listened, no hint of amusement on his face, though his expression rarely changed from one thing to the next. His particular interests, proclivities in the bedroom, and his job were all things he demanded control, organization, and domination over. “You’re asking the wrong questions, wife.” The man’s gaze moved from her face to her fingers delicately moving over the bundles of silky rope. “There’s a hierarchy and I will always be at the top of it. I do not tolerate a challenge. I have little patience for retraining brats.”

This shouldn’t have been news to her as she’d seen just how much of an angel Thea was and how particular her schedule was. In her time as Thea’s nanny it wasn’t impossible that Flossie could have also heard of his pets, though none were ever brought to the Birmingham estate. “When I see someone attractive I do wonder what they would look like tied up, but no, Flossie, I haven’t been planning this out before I proposed. I’m just a man, not a pervert lusting after a nanny.” He’d never caught her with her cute little nose stuck in trashy romance novels, but for a moment, Teague wondered if that was what she was hoping for. Clearing his throat, he took the rope from her hands. “Shall we?” 

Teague was smart, he hadn’t just chosen her for her good looks or because she was excellent with his daughter, she was smarter than she looked. He just hoped he wouldn’t regret the decision and the first step was to find out if this was going to be a vanilla marriage or if the attraction went both ways. As he unravelled the rope and started his design, he was intentional with every tough, knuckles and fingertips moving across the curve of her neck, her sternum, under the perfect slope of her breasts, and the whole time his piercing blue eyes stayed on her face. When he pulled the ropes tighter on her ribs, the corner of his mouth turned up, “Color, wife?”

The flush that painted her cheeks when he corrected her that, no, he hadn’t been thinking about anything so improper before they were wed, was the closest thing Flossie had felt to shame in a while. And what was she ashamed of? That she had lost a bit of footing in this game of cat and mouse that they were playing. That she had shown her hand too quickly, made assumptions about the picture before she had all the puzzle’s pieces in place. The redhead didn’t like being wrong, and a hint of the red hue remained on her cheeks even as she stood still, allowing him to carefully twist the rope across her form. He was calculated. Intentional. Almost reverent. And Flossie felt her eye lids going heavy in response, mouth having fallen slightly open as she slipped slowly into a place of pleasure and submission.

“Green,” she spoke with a sudden gasp as he pulled the cords taut across the shape of her ribs, her own blue eyes lifting to meet with his. She shivered to find that his gaze was already on her, observant as ever. She shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet she felt her heart flutter in her chest.  Flossie swallowed thickly, wetting her lips and glancing down at her body - though she couldn’t appreciate his handiwork from this angle, her breasts prominently on display thanks to the faux corset he’d created with his bare hands. But she could see the ropes that twisted between her breasts, and she could feel the silky texture against her milky white skin. Her eyes found his again, that spitfire confidence still evident in her voice even though it wavered with a hint of lust. “Do I get to see how I look, husband?” That was the first time she’d called him that. And to her surprise, she rather liked how it felt on her lips and tongue.

-

A year and she was still pushing his damn buttons. Teague hit his amusement well, but knew that at some point the clever girl he now called his wife would undoubtedly get better at reading him. Saunter as she did, completely naked, he kept his eyes on hers and those perfect dripping red tendrils. When she’d first been brought to his Buckingham estate the man had thought of how much trouble every redhead he’d ever met was. Flossie had shaped up to be no different, in his book. He didn’t like having things to care about that could be taken from him. Thea was, for now, extremely easy to protect. A fiery young woman who seemed to have taken all the brains in her family, well, he’d been hesitant to let himself even consider being emotionally invested. 

Despite attempting to keep his eyes on her, the part of him that already saw Flossie as his, followed those delicate hands as the brought her wet hair over her shoulder and let it trail droplets down her cleavage and under that perfect curve of her breasts. It was then that he’d decided exactly what he wanted to see her in, a roped corset. First, he took a step closer, blue eyes dark, and a finger pointed at the little turn of her lips. “That smirk and this tongue.” His finger brushed against her flawless pout. “Which do you think will get you into trouble first? I don’t think even you, my clever fox, can manage to keep it together for a whole night.” 

Teague tapped her chin and nodded to the rows of thin, silky rope. “Pick two.” While he watched her make her choices he explained the stoplight system and by the time she turned around his hand was held out for her to place the rope in his broad palm. “I’ll respect your limits, but I expect the same respect in return. I have no tolerance for anyone trying to dominate me.” This shouldn’t have been news to her, Teague was calculated, meticulous, a perfectionist, and controlling. She’d seen it when he worked, with how he treated everyone around him, the rare moments of tenderness had been reserved for Thea and now, if she wanted it, Flossie could have some of that too, within reason.

Flossie, never one to back down from a challenge, attempted to steel herself against the gentle touch of Teague’s hand against her face. But despite her best intentions, she found her lips parting as if by instinct when the pad of this thumb teased across them, eyes fluttering shut only briefly. She cursed herself inwardly, forcing her eyes open again and looking directly into his, a hot blush climbing up her cheeks that she was determined to ignore. How was it possible that he seemed to know so suddenly, so easily just the ways to touch her? Was it intuition, or had he been spying on her, taking note of what she watched to get herself in the mood in the dead of night? Both options somehow infuriated and excited the woman, but before she could make an accusation he was directing her to the ropes, and Flossie found her throat suddenly dry.

She swallowed, studying the ropes carefully, placing her hands behind the small of her back. The action only served to further put her nude body on display - seemingly unaware of just how submissive that action made the brash woman appear. She lifted her head to meet his gaze again, smirk still painted on her lips, though the blush from before also remained. “You don’t like a challenge?” It as all she could do to keep herself from grinning. The woman had found far too much enjoyment in toeing the line with him. And even now, as he hinted at this dominant side, the thought of some erotic punishment for her behavior didn’t dissuade her. If anything, it fueled the flame inside of her that enjoyed being, well, a brat. An ice blue rope was chosen, as was one the color of champagne, dragging her fingers across the textured surfaces as if to indicate her choice. Everything had clearly been thought out, carefully chosen with her body in mind.

“You’ve been planning this, haven’t you, Mr. Teague? You’ve wanted this.” She arched her eyebrows at him, look inquisitive and knowing, and her heart began pounding harder in her chest. “Since even before I was...” She paused, hesitating to call herself his wife. “Legally yours?”

Open to: F (fc and muse must be 21+)

Plot: Your muse had agreed to marry one of the wealthiest men in Europe knowing exactly what he was. It’s been weeks since they tied the knot and he’s clearly done waiting for his wife to show him some affection. She’s one of the few that has seen his softer side, one of even less that knows his real name. But is she willing to finally trust him?

There were many facets to Teague, most of which were secrets and more than most were buried in lies. To know the truth about the U.K.’s infamous Kingpin, you had to be let in and he didn’t let anyone in. His life had changed dramatically in the last five years when one of his contracted pets got pregnant and didn’t have an abortion. Though the contract involved a complete financial responsibility on the woman, his attachment to this particular pet resulted in some softening by the time his daughter, Thea Sofia, was born. So, what had been a pristine exterior with no visible connection to the ‘real world’ by outside eyes changed. Thea was Teague’s reason for opening up to something mildly more permanent, but in his world he still couldn’t be bothered to date and when the opportunity rose to take something precious from clients that wronged him, he saw this as another contract. Of course, that ‘something’ just happened to be a someone.

When his cronies brought her to him, he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with the pretty face. He didn’t start a mess, but he knew how to end it. Teague had agreed to keep her under lock and key at his Birmingham estate, where he tasked her with being Thea’s ‘nanny’. He watched her with Thea, initially to make sure his daughter was safe, and slowly realizing she could be a good mother to his daughter. So a new plan was put in place, marry her and solve a problem the Medici way. The thought alone amused him, but he liked the idea of Thea having a mother that wasn’t a waste of space and, sadly for Thea, there wouldn’t be love lost over the change of dynamics. When it came to his own needs, whether the young woman gave in now or later, he didn’t see it as optional but knew that he’d never force himself on someone. There were still his little pets to entertain him if the wife couldn’t. 

He wasn’t surprised she agreed to marry him and have whomever she was connected to cleared of debts that would’ve cost them their lives. Settling back in Birmingham, work calming down from a few days of his absence for the wedding- to which she became one of a handful of people to learn his real name was Tarquin ‘Quin’ Kade Watson, not Tarquin Teague. A truth that, if shared would cost her all of her remaining breath. Teague expected her to try and run off again, but he hadn’t visited any of his pets and saw the situation with her as just another agreement. Feelings never came early with him, he could be in a sexual agreement with a pet for years and never use a word other than ‘fond’ for his ‘feelings’ because he was always focused on fulfilling his sexual needs. His expectations for this marriage seemed to be much the same.

Despite what his wife clearly thought of him as they’d had their first row on their wedding night, he hadn’t brought the ropes, handcuffs, riding crops, or any other toys. He’d wanted to enter into this new contract and uncharted territory as a fair trade off for what she wanted, to meet both their needs. Not having sex, however, wasn’t an option. As the weeks went by, the desire to be fair to her needs had given way. Again, he’d never forced himself on her, but the days had gone by with his buying her gifts and waking up to her in his arms, he couldn’t help but be optimistic that things were turning around. If she wouldn’t show him what she wanted, Teague decided, he would show her his own interests. “Don’t.” He’d told her flatly as his blue eyes studied her movement out of the claw foot tub, stopping her from grabbing her robe or a towel. Teague was already by the door and he casually shut it even though he knew Thea wouldn’t come running back into their room at this hour.

With his phone in his hand, Teague messaged one of security to make sure everyone kept out of their north wing of the estate barring any life threatening emergencies. Then, he put on casual lo-fi that echoed quietly through the master room’s mounted speakers, the sort of music he enjoyed to help him focus, and left his phone on the dresser by the door as he crossed the room to his wife. “You’re going to do as you’re told tonight, no more running. If you fight, you’re only going to make this hard for yourself and I want you to understand that it’s not what I want for you.”

The man moved to the armoire and opened a drawer within. It was lined with various items, all toys that he knew well, but he didn’t spare a glance at his wife to see if she was looking over his shoulder. They’d hardly talked enough for him to know if she was a virgin. The four silky ropes he pulled out of the drawer were new and Teague had specifically chosen them for her. Each braided rope matched one of the colors he’d noticed in her eyes. The bundles of rope were lined up on the bed and he summoned her to stand in front of him with a singled fingered gesture. Teague wasn’t one for letting people disobey him. If she chose to run this time, he’d not only have security carry her back, but he’d punish her with a riding crop so every movement for the next week would remind her to behave and that commanding nature was now written on his face while he watched her, waiting for her to come to him. Despite the palpable tension in the room, his actual thoughts were on the harness he was thinking of designing for her, a heart shaped harness that complimented the angles of her face while allowing him to grab and hold on to her.

The man was already anxious to see his wife in it, but the process alone of binding her was one meant to show care and tenderness. Teague found himself surprisingly anxious about potentially being married to someone who plainly wanted vanilla missionary position sex. He took absolutely no pleasure in a mundane bedroom, but he was also loyal to a fault. It was part of the reason he’d not met with any of his pets since they were married- despite the pent up sexual frustration this caused him. Standing in front of her, three piece suit custom tailored and his hair perfectly placed, the stoic man met her gaze and started the evening with a softer question into what he planned to show her tonight. “Have you heard of Shibari?”

________________

The Carlo family had gotten in over their heads. So what else was new? The wanna be crime syndicate had never exactly been good at their hare-brained attempts to get rich quick. And this time, it seemed, they’d made some powerful enemies. So powerful, in fact, that Flossie had offered herself up as a bargaining chip - the few members of her family that Floss cared for would be ensured their safety. In return, she would work for Teague, working as a nanny. (And thankfully not as a cook or a maid, because the woman didn’t know the first thing about keeping house.)

At least, that had been the arrangement, until something altogether...different was offered to her. ‘Offered’ might have been too strong of a word. She would have been a fool to turn down a life of ostensible luxury, a life with the child she had come to care quite deeply for, a life with more opportunities than she ever could have managed back home, even with her effervescent smile and sharp mind. Not to mention, the clean slate offered to the Carlos - though the pessimist in her was certain they’d find themselves in hot water again. At least she had secured the safety of her aunt and nieces with her current arrangement. (The Carlo patriarchs, she was certain, were far too hard headed to walk away from petty crime no matter what deal she managed to broker on their behalf.)

Had the two met under different circumstances, Flossie wouldn’t have hesitated to make a pass at Teague. The man was as intelligent as he was handsome, with an unexpected gentleness Floss was one of very few to get to see when he interacted with Thea. But for a year, he had been her boss. And now, though she technically found herself in the role of “wife”, Flossie had been hesitant to truly behave as though they were married. In part, because she feared that physical intimacy between the two might lead to something more - a genuine connection. And anything genuine in his world, Floss had learned, did little more than make you vulnerable. And yet...when she moved to lift her fair frame from the tub as Teague made his interest, the soft yet commanding tone of his voice stirred something in her, an auburn eyebrow arched curiously as she stood naked before her husband for the first time. Every soft and supple detail of her pallid form was on display, from the rosy hue of her nipples to the well kept patch of copper curls styled into the shape of a heart between her thighs. 

“Yes...” she spoke with hesitation, sizing him and the situation up the way she always did. Though her heart was racing, she attempted to act in that same casual, uninterested way she so often did with him. A behavior, she’d found, that seemed to make his blood surge - with anger or arousal, she couldn’t be sure. She wrung out her hair across one shoulder, water rolling down her body, and she swallowed before she spoke, lips curling upward in a small smirk as she posed a question she already knew the answer to. “Have you been hoping I’d tie you up?”

There hadn’t been a day since the destruction of Sokovia that Zemo hadn’t been fleeing, plotting, incarcerated or involved in some sort of illicit scheme or activity.  Restrained within his cell, he’d been forced to halt, to mull over the wrong doings of his past, facing an inevitable future locked within the Raft.

‘The living are not done with you yet.’ was a phrase once spoken to him by the late Wakandan King, but what use was he to the living when he so desperately yearned to reunite with the dead?  What use would he ever be, even after being acquitted of his crimes and released.  Only upon meeting Poppy had the coldness within him relinquished its grip.  She was the human embodiment of warm embers, a gentle soul capable of rekindling his lust for life.  If only he’d allow it.

He placed his hands upon hers, thumbs brushing ever so gently across her soft skin as he pressed his forehead forward to her own.  Poppy had nothing to apologise for, that he knew.  He’d been the one who’d kept his past hidden from her. And though it was a necessary defence, a means of protecting her, little did the tactician know just how close they’d become.   “Oeznik can see to all of that, but we have enough time for breakfast?”  He questioned, hesitantly pulling his face from hers.  His brow furrowed, a desperate attempt to stem the sting burning within his eyes.  It angered him, the emotions welling within him.  He couldn’t make this harder for her, he wouldn’t, and so he lifted himself from his perch.  “Meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready, Draga.”

The Baron pressed his hands upon the edge of the worktop, his knuckles white beneath his skin and palms clammy with a rare strain.  A necessity, he reminded himself.  This had to be.  

“M’lord?”  Came the familiar Sokovian voice.  Oeznik had returned, a brown envelope in hand.  “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but must you part?  You’re different around her, much like your old self.”

“Oeznik, we’ve known each other many years, but that doesn’t excuse your boldness.”  Zemo hissed in reply, instantly regretting his animosity.  He didn’t deserve that.  He heaved out a heavy sigh and turned to his friend, his expression softening.  “You know why.”

The butlers’ lips stiffened to a thin line.  He edged himself nearer and placed the envelope upon the worktop, dismissing himself in the process.  

Zemo lifted the package and was about to throw it in his anger when he noticed something unusual.  The package was heavier than he’d expected.  Only slightly, but it was noticeable. He peeled it open and emptied out the contents.  Not one, but two sets of passports, drivers’ licences, bank cards and the like fell from the envelope.  All the documents required for him and Poppy to make a new start. He laughed, a genuine smile creeping its way onto his lips, and he instantly began making his way back to his room.

Within a mere moment he’d crossed the space and stood before her, his chest heaving.  

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He questioned her sternly, though he couldn’t hide the desperation within his voice. “You want this life, with me?”

Elated with her response, he took her head in his hands and captured her in the warmth and shelter of his kiss, wishing so fervently he’d only kissed her sooner.

‘Meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready, draga.’

How could she ever be ready to say goodbye to him for the last time? Any pull at her heartstrings when she watched him exit the library was quelled by the fact that she would see him again - he came in like clockwork, and the moment she spied him she’d find an excuse to say hello, even if she was busy working in the stacks. But now when they said goodbye, she knew meant it. The realization fell hard into the pit of her stomach, and Poppy slowly sank to the floor after the Baron’s exit. The woman allowing herself a few heavy, unreserved sobs into her open palms. And then, Poppy did what she’d done so often in life - stiffened her upper lip, wiped the wetness from her cheeks, took a deep breath, and steeled herself toward the next step. The next chapter in the story of her life. 

She approached the nightstand where he’d laid out her freshly laundered clothes, the same ones she’d been wearing that day in the library. Those clothes she kept folded, instead slipping into one of the outfits that she was certain Zemo had purchased just for her brief stay - a cotton bra and panties, and a soft, vintage sundress that teased the tops of her thighs, just a hint shorter than what she wore in the library but without any stockings underneath. She was reaching for a cardigan sweater that looked like one she would pick for herself when the door burst open, and suddenly she was spinning into the Baron’s strong arms, his lips pressed snugly to her own, and had he not been holding her so snugly by the waist she was sure her knees would have given out from underneath her weight.

They were doing this. What this was, Poppy couldn’t be sure. But she’d never been a woman to turn away from the unknown. It all happened in what felt like seconds - the car ride to her apartment where she packed a small bag of sentimental and functional items. Clothing, the Baron had explained casually, would be taken care of with visits from the owners of finest couturiers upon their landing. The explanation that she didn’t need a passport because he’d already obtained one for her. The knowing smile in Oeznik’s eyes as he drove them to the tarmac of a private airport Poppy hadn’t even known existed until that very morning. Her head spun, and yet, not for one moment did she reconsider. Every moment with her hand in Zemo’s, with her thigh pressed against his in the backseat of the car, with her eyes on his surprisingly boyish grin only assured her that this was an adventure that wasn’t to be missed.

              her touch is electric ; he knows that she’s more than aware of the power she holds over him . the way her dainty fingers dance along his skin as if it were nothing . as fun as it was allowing her to hold the power , it wouldn’t last very long . he’d get his comeuppance inevitably . have her become a mess beneath him , just as she had yearned for . the hushed moan that escapes her plush lips solidifies it even further for him . no regard for their once simple dynamic ; he fully intended on immersing himself in her just as he did in his daydreams . 

the eagerness in her tone does nothing to put his desires at ease . he has her where he wants her , knows full & well what his words do to her . the pleading look in her doe eyes evoking a smirk to curl the ends of his lips . “ what ? you wanna know that every time i cum , i’m thinking of you ? “ he hums the inquiry . of course , he did . would he release the power he had and admit it ? absolutely not . her lips at the base of his neck evoking a low groan to escape from past his lips . brings a hand to cup her jaw , thumb placed at one side of her cheek while his other slender digits splay against the flesh upon her other cheek . “ you didn’t answer my question , doll . what makes you think i’m going to answer yours ? “ hushed inquiry spills from his lips , a brow raised . hand glides down to the fabric of her panties , gently tugging . “ show me how you touch yourself when you think of me . “

The groan made the arousal within her burn even brighter, stomach tying into knots and heart racing in her chest. When he reaches down to cup either side of her face, Vee looks up at him, eyes wide and full of both lust and nerves. They had never gotten anywhere close to this. And now, he was obviously hard in his boxers, and she was laying there in soaked panties, and he was looking at her like that. She swallowed hard, and suddenly her cheeks were flushed, eyes fluttering shut as she felt him tugging at her panties. She wondered if he could feel how wet they were from the little touch. 

                it was one of those torturous moments where his words were speaking more than his body , and how desperately he wanted his actions to speak for him was blatantly obvious by the growing bulge in his jeans . couldn’t quite decipher what it was that was holding him back , considering vee had given him every greenlight possible . perhaps it was the foreplay that made it better for him . the incessant teasing , the hushed salacious prose . it was the build-up that made the climax infinitely better . to watch her blush whenever he spoke of anything mildly suggestive made it better ; the way her legs crossed with tension , as if vince were oblivious to that move . 

“ yeah ? you don’t mind ? “ he hums the inquiry . watches her slender fingers work at his belt , a smirk curling the ends of his lips . he doesn’t waste much time , his skin aching to be touched by her , shuffling off his jeans and tossing them aside . truly , he loves this moment . working one another up until the tension drowns them both . with a brow quirked , he leans into her a little . “ fairly often , but i don’t think that’ll be the case tonight , “ he chuckles . “ because i fully intend on filling you up . all night long . until it’s dripping down your thighs , “ he whispers , his lips pressing against the soft skin upon the underside of her jaw . “ you’d like that wouldn’t you ? “ mutters against her skin , pulling away for a moment to peer at her . “ do you think about me when you touch yourself ? is it my name you moan when you cum ? “ 

Vee watched Vince pull his jeans off without hesitation, swallowing as the bulge that was slightly obscured in the denim was now even more obvious in his boxers. Her hand returned to tease at the elastic that rested low on his abdomen, dipping a finger beneath and running along the fabric without daring to move lower. She looked back up to Vince and smirked, expecting him to make some lighthearted comment in response to her question, but when he started speaking she froze, lips parted in awe. And when he pressed those perfect lips of his against the curve of her jaw, Vee’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan filling the space between them.

                    he silently catches the way her pupils double in size. the way her thighs seemingly press together the moment the words escape his lips. light laughter parts his lips, shaking his head. an honest attempt at lightening the mood; distraction from the various thoughts cycling in his head. he subtly shifts his weight, his own arousal nearing apparent and he prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that she doesn’t see it. or god forbid, feel it. although, a part of him wouldn’t be too devastated if she had caught on to the way that he wants her. wouldn’t be tore up on the inside if either one of them acted upon their desires.

“nah, wouldn’t necessarily say i have it all planned. that would imply that my wet dreams consist solely of fucking you, and fantasizing about how good you’d look with my dick inside of you, and i’m not about to snitch on myself like that,” he chuckles. fully aware that his words were, as usual, completely out of pocket and telling of his true feelings for vee. the feelings he had tucked aside for god knows how long now. he wonders if she thinks he’s merely teasing. wonders if she knows that there’s truth in the salacious words he speaks. “yeah, never been shy around girls i knew i just wanted to fuck. i’ll get shy around girls who i actually, like, genuinely like and enjoy being around. it’s a completely different dynamic. ‘cause i don’t want them thinking i’m just trying to fuck or anything like that, y’know?” he explains, as cautiously as he can considering the influences he was under. knows that he’s subtly throwing his feelings on the table. hand wraps gently around her dainty wrist, guiding her hand further down his abdomen, stopping right at the start of his belt. subtle. “sorry, doll, can’t help being this hot.”

Her full lower lip was pulled between her teeth as Vince spoke so casually about his wet dreams. And now Vee couldn’t stop thinking about what it might be like to wake up next to him, his cock pressed against her ass, having cum right in his boxers just from grinding against her and fantasizing about the two of them being together. She tried to slow her breathing to not make it so obvious that she was thinking of exactly the scenario Vince had laid out, smiling and giggling a little nervously as she tried to think of something witty to say. But before she could say anything, he was gently holding her hand, the deep shade of her skin in contrast to his more honeyed tone and the shiny buckle of his bet. It was then that Vee let her eyes linger below his hips, a noticeable bulge in his jeans that she was sure she hadn’t noticed before.

                       he has to remind himself to behave while she slips off her shorts. his gaze is fixated upon the delicate fabric of her panties. the way the curvature of her body is basically begging his hands to touch. relax, it’s the only word racing through his mind at the moment. his gaze inevitably meets with her own, where it’s damned supposed to be. “man, do not gas my lanky ass up. to be fair, though, i don’t think i’d ever wanna be super jacked. that shit kinda scares me, for real,” he laughs. the warmth of her touch upon his chest does nothing to alleviate the rushing thoughts. he wonders if she knows what she’s doing to him. wonders if she’s doing this shit on purpose. if she were anybody else apart from his best friend, the last thing they’d be doing right now was engaging in small talk.

“you for real wanna have this conversation right now?” he chuckles, his eyes rolling playfully. it’s like she’s coaxing him to be as bold as he usually is. in any other circumstance, he never would have hesitated. granted, it’s a little bit more complex here & he’s not sure how to navigate it. it’s almost  as if he were blind to all the damn signs. they’ve both dismissed a portion of their clothes, both dancing around the fact that they’re both eager to touch one another. a shrug pulls at his shoulders, stifling a wide grin. “shit, vee. i don’t know why you got me all shy and shit right now. you know damn well i’m the first to say some out of pocket shit,” he laughs once more, shaking his head. “you know what i’m talkin’ about. like, when i’ve got your legs on my shoulders and you’re begging me to let you cum. that type of shit. damn, got me out here verbally admitting this shit,” he admits, a blush adorning the apples of his cheeks. 

All at once, Vee felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. Had he really just said that? Vince had talked dirty to her before - and Vee could keep up with even the raunchiest of jokes - but it felt entirely different knowing he was talking about her. Her pupils dilated even wider, dark saucers among her carob colored eyes, and a bright smile spread across her chubby cheeks, unable to hide her amusement and slight embarrassment at what he said. Vee was feeling something else too - arousal, stirring deep at her core and suddenly making her feel extremely exposed in those underwear, pressing her generous thighs together idly, engulfing the crotch of her panties with her thighs to make sure that Vince wouldn’t see a wet spot start to form or smell the fragrant gloss pooling between her legs. 

                  sometimes he’s unaware to the fact that she’s been there in his darkest hours. the bad trips, the hangovers, the damn near dying. she’s seen it all, and still manages to see the good in him. it sends him into a downward spiral of wanting to be better to impress her, but loving the feeling of being comfortably numb - even if it’s only temporary. in a perfect world, he’d get clean. however, vince has known nothing about living in a perfect world. everything has always been bordering the edges of chaos & tragedy. she, however, has always been the silver lining in all of it.

he sets his drink on the floor after one final sip. allows himself to melt back into the bed next to her. a brow instinctively quirks as she slips out of the confinements of her denim shorts. his gaze fluttering to the exposed flesh of her thighs, his tongue grazing over the expanse of his lesser lip before forcing his eyes elsewhere. “yeah, no, that’s fine. get comfortable,” he hums. fighting the salacious thoughts that begin to race through his hazy head. shaking his head, as if that were sufficient enough to rid himself of said thoughts. “shit, how can i tell you no to being comfortable when i’m sittin’ here bearing my weak ass chest in some damn basketball shorts? the hell, you know better than to ask for my permission, vee. i mean, in this situation at least,” he teases, chuckling with his words. “there’s definitely certain situations where hearing you ask for my permission would be suitable. that ain’t one of ‘em, though.”

Laughter escaped Vee’s bright red lips as she tugged her shorts down the plush curves of her thighs, kicking them toward her ankles and leaving them at the foot of the bed under the blankets. If Vince glanced down between their bodies, he would see the soft swell of her stomach, partially hidden by a pair of black panties with a lacy elastic band just below her navel, accentuating the curve of her hips and ample softness of her form. Vee allowed herself to lean back, half propped up on a couple of pillows, and she turned her attention from the television to Vince, allowing her eyes to dip down and peek at the “weak” chest exposed while the blanket laid across his hips. 

“Weak? Please.” Vee scoffed and rolled her eyes playfully, resting on one elbow and reaching with her opposite hand to press lightly at his pecs. “Man of steel right here,” she teased, though the compliment wasn’t entirely in jest. Vince was in good shape. He had that lean, effortlessly muscular look, like he didn’t even have to step in a gym and could still be toned. His body was much leaner and lankier than Vee’s, who embraced her curves and softness whole heartedly. A part of her wondered what it might be like to feel his taut body against hers, the way her flesh might give under his touch, his honeyed fingers teasing through her crown of thick curls...

               he’s always been kind of a huge fucking idiot when it came to anything in the romance & relationship department. he’s far from shy in any other situation, but whenever he’d have to face the fact that he genuinely felt something for someone - he’d come to a stall. every word that left his lips felt heavy. like they held even more weight than before. it was, however, slightly easier with vee. she was a friend before anything else, so he never held any fear in his heart about being too much of himself around her. she’s always accepted him as he was, flaws & all. he loved the honesty of their dynamic. she could say whatever she wanted, put herself out there in any way she desired & he loved her all the same, just as she loved him all the same. he was comfortable, for the first time in a long time. 

he takes the can in his hand, hammering down a good deal of the bitter liquid. he hates it, but he’ll drink it. anything for a buzz. he leans his head on her shoulder, the aroma of her perfume comforting him silently. she always smelled so good, it was one of the many things he loved about her. a subtle shrug tugs at his shoulders. “i dunno, whatever. i don’t even know if i have the attention span to, like, actually watch anything,” he admits with airy laughter. doesn’t even know why he gets cross faded the way he does. everything is just a haze, and it does nothing to alleviate his insatiable sex drives. he makes the mental note to keep himself under control, unless she initiates. then all sense of respectfulness and self control will fly completely out of the window. “so, the choice is yours. as it always is, mi reina.”

Vee smirked as she watched Vince gulp down half of his hard seltzer, knowing the alcohol was hardly a strong enough proof to do anything for Vince. She’d seen him knock back beer after beer, an entire bottle of tequila. Sometimes it seemed like he was invincible. But Vee could remember a few close calls, times when she was on her knees next to him on the cold bathroom floor making sure he didn’t choke, or when she was screaming at him in a combination of anger and relief when he came to after a particularly rough night. Vince partied hard. Too hard, she knew. And she didn’t want to lose him. He always said he knew his limits. That he wouldn’t let it get too far. But she’d seen him toe the edge enough times to wonder if he really believed that line after all.

                    eyes flutter shut once again as she shuffles out of the room to switch the AC on. the warm feeling of being so blissfully numb washing over him. it helps to have vee around, bringing that colorful light right back into his life. making every high a little better, last a little longer. eyes flutter open when he hears her voice once again, a warm smile curling the ends of his lips. “chill out, gonna make me act up havin’ you call me a slut ‘n shit,” he chuckles. his laughter is airy, very much clear that he’s on a different plane of consciousness in the current moment. he kicks his converse off, watching them fall to the foot of the bed. 

his gaze falls to her, watching as she climbs into bed next to him. she’s beautiful. and maybe it’s because he’s high, but he can’t help but ponder on how her skin would feel pressed against his own. shakes the thought, not trying to fuck up the night with his feelings already. he quirks a brow at her words, stifling a smirk that threatens to grace his lips. “oh, so now you’re trying to slut me out?” he laughs, pulling himself up in the slightest to discard his shirt. carelessly tossing it across the room but carefully enough to not take his small gold chain with it. he plucks the blunt from her fingers then promptly takes a hit from it. “i feel like you’re lying. you make the damn rules. too bad i’ve always been the one to break ‘em.”

Blood rushes to Vee’s round cheeks as Vince playfully threatens to act up. She would like that. She would like that a lot. But her only response was a giggle, and her heart fluttering even harder in her chest. Vee wasn’t as far gone as Vince was - she rarely was. He had a much higher tolerance than she did. But she was happily, comfortably buzzed, and eager to sink further into the warm, fuzzy feelings another hit or two would give her. That warmth was replaced with a searing, burning heat however when she watched Vince peel off his shirt. And she was watching, not just glancing, but actually looking at the lean musculature that covered his abdomen and torso. She spied his tattoos, though she’d stared at them a million times, and plucked the blunt from between his fingers to take another deep inhale. 

sometimes he wonders if his touch has the same impact on her as hers does on him. wonders if every nerve is set ablaze the moment his skin touches her own. maybe it’s wishful thinking, but there’s absolutely no way that the tension between them was all made up in his head. he knows that she feels it too. he brightens at the nickname, remembering all the times they joked about it. he remembers the conversation, and would find himself writing the single letter V on his ring finger whenever he missed her. he wonders if she remembers the conversation ; he’s never never known how to bring that back up.

“i just can’t believe they’re still arguing about it when the office exists. like, y’all have horrible taste in trash tv shows and i can’t believe we’ve been friends this long,” he teases in faux disbelief. his gaze quickly flashes to the hand that’s placed upon his hip. it doesn’t matter how many casual touches that have been transferred through the years, it all seems to have the same lasting effect on him. a smirk creeps upon his lips when he notices the seltzers in her hands. he throws his hands up in defense, shaking his head. “i’m not the one to pass judgement, doll. i’ll drink the last bit of nyquil for that small percentage of alcohol in it,” he jokes. partially. he follows her lead, peering into the rooms before a shrug tugs at his shoulders. he makes his way to the room with the queen bed and the couch, throwing himself into the bed. his face buried into the pillows for a moment before rolling onto his back. his gaze was momentarily fixated on the ceiling before his eyes flutter shut. “damn, did they adjust the AC yet? it’s fucking scorching hot in here,” he huffs, his gaze now upon her. he hasn’t taken into account the amount of liquor in his system before a calloused hand slides his plain white shirt up in the slightest to expose just a bit of flesh to cooler air. “sorry, ‘m not trying to slut myself out right now, i just think the extensive amount of tequila is finally hitting me.”

Vee was looking for her rolling papers when she turned around at Vince’s question, eyes honing in on the bit of his exposed, tan abdomen as if it were some kind of beacon. Her mouth went dry, and then watered, as if she didn’t know what to make of his casual display. It was warm in the room, and Vee needed an excuse to make herself stop staring at the way Vince looked so damn good sprawled out on that queen size bed with his eyes shut and his shirt tugged up. “I’ll check,” she stepped out of the bedroom to the thermostat in the hall and cranked it down until she heard the AC rumble its way on. Vee took a deep breath before she made her way back into the room, bending down to unbuckle her shoes and slip them off. “There you go, slut,” she teased, turning to use the top of the dresser to roll them a joint to share.

                                          college   was   absolutely   bullshit   to   him   ,   only   coasting   through   it   for   the   sake   of   appeasing   his   father.   managed   to   never   actually   use   his   college   degree   and   continue   to   pursue   his   career   with   his   band.   he’s   grateful,   however,   for   the   friends   that   it   made   him.   especially   grateful   seeing   as   though   it   had   brought   vee   into   his   life.   a   breath   of   fresh   air   after   struggling   to   keep   his   head   above   the   water.   she   was   his   biggest   supporter,   even   when   he   decided   to   go   a   complete   different   direction   as   everyone   else   in   their   group.   she   was   sweet,   and   god   only   knows   what   bad   of   a   sweettooth   he’s   had   all   his   life.   sighs   in   contentment   the   moment   her   presences   graces   the   room.   his   gaze   flickers   to   the   rim   of   her   beer,   the   way   her   crimson   red   lipstick   leaves   stains   wherever   he   goes.   never   in   his   life   has   he   ever   wanted   to   be   a   beer   can   so   much   as   he   did   in   this   very   moment.   maybe   it’s   the   deadly   combination   of      alcohol   &   weed   that   leaves   his   willpower   at   the   door,   or   maybe   it’s   that   he’s   finally   succumbed   to   the   fact   that   he   really   fucking   liked   her.   he   wasn’t   in   the   frame   of   mind   to   over   analyze   the   tidal   wave   of   emotions   that   seemingly   washed   over   him   tonight.   he   offers   her   a   smile,   head   shaking   in   the   slightest.   “   vee   ,   i   swear   it’s   like   you   can   read   my   damn   mind.   i   got   real   tired   of   listening   to   those   drunk   bastards   arguing   about   whether   friends   is   funny   or   not.   like,   we’ve   had   this   argument   probably   several   hundred   times   over   the   last   year,   ”   he   chuckles.   his   gaze   settles   upon   her,   eyes   squinting   in   the   slightest.   he   leans   in   a   little   closer   to   her,   his   thumb   dragging   gently   beneath   her   lower   lip.   “   sorry   ,   your   lipstick   was   kinda   smudged.   not   try'na   invade   your   personal   space   or   anything.   ”

Visola - that was her real name, though almost everyone just called her Vee - found her breath hitching when Vince closed the space between them and brushed his thumb against the bottom of her plump lower lip, nearly touching the small, shiny stud of her labret piercing. A chill ran down her spine - not a bad one. No, not even close to a bad one. It was more like electricity than a chill, really. Tingling. Exciting. Thrumming and bright. She tried to smirk but her smile turned wide - it always did. Vee’s smile was a mile wide, especially around Vince, and incredibly infectious. “Thanks, V,” she teased using his first initial. V & V, that’s what they’d called themselves. Once, on a drunken night, they’d even promised they’d get matching V tattoos on their ring fingers. She was sure that the idea was erased by the pounding headache Vince woke up with the next day, but she’d never forgotten their little idea. And occasionally, when she was feeling sentimental, she would doodle little V’s in her notebook. Not that she ever thought they’d go through with it, of course. But it was fun to pretend.

                                                               he   couldn’t   lie   to   himself,   he   wasn’t   the   most   excited   for   this   trip.   solely   for   the   reason   he’d   been   caught   in   the   midst   of   what   felt   like   literal   torture.   they’d   all   been   good   friends   for   some   time   now,   and   he   never   imagined   he’d   ever   feel   these   feelings   for   her.   sure,   they’d   spent   nights   together.   most   times   too   obliterated   to   even   get   past   the   gentle   brush   of   hands.   either   way,   it   was   enough   to   set   every   nerve   ablaze.   they’d   all   split   the   costs   of   some   airbnb   on   the   lake,   which   was   nice.   he’d   drank   himself   to   the   point   where   his   nerves   had   inevitably   subsided.   the   additional   joint   alleviating   the   chaos   that   ensued   in   his   head.   they   were   all   sat   in   the   sunroom,   drinking   &   smoking.   it   was   the   usual   shit,   and   vince   could   admit   he’d   grown   bored.   she,   of   course,   sat   by   his   side.   even   in   the   dim   lighting,   she   was   still   so   beautiful   that   it   almost   hurt.   his   head   leaned   back,   turning   to   look   at   her.      “   i’m   gonna   go   grab   another   drink,   you   wanna   come   with   me   ?   ”   he   offers,   a   brow   quirked.   they'd   been   dancing   around   it   all   night.   the   subtle   jokes,   the   way   she’d   prop   her   legs   on   his   lap,   the   look   in   her   eyes   whenever   she’d   peer   over   at   him.   as   if   they   spoke   to   one   another   merely   by   their   subtle   glances.   up   at   his   feet,   and   he   hopes   she   follows.   sauntering   into   the   kitchen,   leaned   up   against   the   island.   hadn’t   even   bothered   with   pulling   another   shitty,   cheap   beer   from   out   of   the   fridge.    /  @valplum​

The gang had been together for a few years now. They’d all met around sophomore year, all graduated around the same time, and were now young adults trying to stake their claim in the “real” world. Vee was a year out of undergrad now, working as a copywriter with hopes of working her way up to an editor position at an online fashion and lifestyle magnate. It didn’t pay much, but it was good experience. At least that’s what she was telling herself when she spent long nights rewriting listacles for the fifteenth time. So this trip, this time away with friends, was supposed to be like a little time capsule, taking them back to their hare-brained college antics. She was going to get drunk, and high, and swim in a lake, and maybe, just maybe, finally kiss Vince right on his stupidily pretty mouth. Maybe.

Poppy’s words, spoken so softly and laced with such vulnerability, toyed with every bit of resolve Zemo had left in him.  He leaned in as she pressed her hand to the side of his face, savouring the warmth of her skin against his.  It was a tender act, one that had been alien to him for some years, as had the use of his first name.  His eyes, once clasped shut, now locked onto her own.  

“Please, don’t cry Draga.”  He spoke tenderly, brushing away a stray tear from her cheek, whilst his free hand homed in on the one she’d placed upon his chest.  His heart grew heavy, and he braced himself to utter the truth.  She deserved no less than that.  “I can’t risk losing you like I did them.  My wife, my son.  I thought I’d kept them safe, but I was wrong. So, so wrong.”  

For two days he’d delved through the rubble and dust, desperately seeking out any sign of his family.  Until the third day, visibly shaken, he’d lowered his bloodied hands to the dust ridden tuft of mousy brown locks visible through the debris.  His tears had come, hot an endless as he so meticulously brushed away the sediment from his son’s face.  The irises of his eyes, once a spirited green, now barren.  It was a site that would haunt him for the rest of his days.  

“You’re safer away from me, please believe that.”  He muttered out, cupping her face within his strong hands as his mind drifted to the discord of the library attack.  They’d known each other for a short space of time, though the thought of losing her and the pain it brought him bared testimony to the love that he felt for her.

Eyebrows furrowed and Poppy’s expression shifted. The sadness that had painted her face remained, but it was no longer for her own disappointment or heartbreak. No, her eyes were welling now solely for Zemo - for everything he’d had, and everything he’d lost.

“Helmut, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…”

Poppy had never lost anyone. She’d never had anyone to begin with. The woman wasn’t close with her parents - her father had passed away when she was a toddler, and her mother was detached, uninterested in what Poppy had to say and even less so in what she had to think. The young woman left home as soon as she could, diving headfirst into academia and finding refuge in books. She hadn’t spoken to her mother since she called to share the news of her undergraduate degree with the cold, unenthused woman on the other end of the line. And with romantic love, the sort she so longed to cultivate with Zemo, Poppy was hardly more experienced. She’d rarely given herself permission to expect much of anything from anyone. Though a couple of serious boyfriends had come and gone from her life, none were someone she could envision spending the rest of her life with. But now, looking into Zemo’s eyes, she found herself unable to stop imagining the life they could build together. Though it felt foreign, absurd even to her ultra practical brain, for some reason when she thought about a future with Zemo she felt…warm. Full. Right. And now she was about to lose it before she’d even truly had it in her hands.

Poppy swallowed, eyelashes brushing the apples of her cheeks as she close her eyes and sniffled, hand still pressed tight to Zemo’s heart. At once, Poppy felt incredibly torn. Zemo had every right to push her away. He’d lost more than she could even imagine. The world had been so cruel to him. But somewhere in that optimistic heart of hers, the lessons from one too many love stories gave her hope. She could never replace what he’d lost. She would never even dream of it. But she could bring him something, she was sure of it, if he would only let her try.

Brown eyes opened and found his gaze again, the tip of her nose painted with a light shade of pink, her lips dry and parted. “I…” her voice betrayed her emotions, cracking and wavering, and she swallowed, tongue darting out to wet her lips as best it could before she started again. “I feel something when I’m with you. Something I’ve only read about in books.” She moved her hand from his thigh and the other from his chest, cradling either side of his face, thumbs brushing at the stubble that lined his jaw. The look on her face was heartbroken, heavy with guilt for longing to convince him to take her when all he wanted to was keep her -and his burgeoning feelings- safe. “But if you don’t want, if you can’t…” It was so unlike the woman to stumble over her words, and a deep blush spread across her cheeks, lower lip trembling as she inhaled deeply to collect her thoughts. “When do you have to leave?” It was clear the woman was trying to keep her chin up for Zemo’s sake, not wanting him to feel bad despite the fact her heart was in pieces. “I could ride with you. Help you pack. Something, Zemo.” And though Poppy realized her words sounded almost desperate, and in a different moment, with a different place, she might have been uncomfortable with the idea of this being the way she last saw the man she’d grown so fond of in the Library. But now, she couldn’t begin to care. She was her knees before him, tears long cried and face flushed with an openly vulnerable sorrow. There was no point in hiding what she so desperately wanted.

The grief continued to ebb and flow like the tide.  The memories once unbearable, now remained a bittersweet reminder of the warmth and love that once weaved him into the world of the living.  The anguish had fuelled his actions for too many years, setting the scene for his cold retribution.  It had twisted his mind into thinking vengeance was the only course of action, and the only way for all the destruction to cease.  Only when he’d met her, Poppy, had he taken rest from it, lulling himself into a rare moment of reconnection with what life could be, however fleeting that moment.

“Papa?  Papa, where are you?”  The voice, so innocent in its entirety, felt as real in his mind now as it had done that day.  It came to him so freely within his slumber.  Those days spent playing joyously out in the summer air with his wife and son.  It was a memory he clung to and held dear, offering a glimpse and a reminder of what once was, and what still should have been had it not been for those tragic events.  

Ever the light sleeper, the low hum from his phone lured him from his slumber.  His fingers drifted lightly up her arm, and his thoughts drifted to how perfectly peaceful she looked beside him.  He placed a gentle kiss upon her shoulder before he eased himself away, careful so as not to wake her.  

The dawn crept in through the windows, igniting the once dimly lit corridors with the freshness of a new day.  Though as much as he craved a fresh start to match, history would always find a way of rearing its ugly face.  

Time to move.  A simple text, but one that had the tactician gathering his belongings and making haste. To hide within plain site was a wise move until caught.  He peered down to the small box he’d placed upon the kitchen table.  With the slightest hesitation, he eased it open and pulled from it an image.  He brushed his fingers gently across their faces and heaved out a heavy sigh.  How could he ever ask that of her?  He’d already risked so much bringing her here, and he knew, as much as it pained him to do so, he could never offer her the safety and normality she deserved.  He had to let her go.

“Poppy.”  He greeted lightly upon entering the bedroom once more.  His gaze loomed towards her as he idly rubbed his clenched jaw.  She was a vision swathed in the welcoming glow of the dawn, and he couldn’t help but note and adore the way in which it warmed the freckles upon her cheeks and kindled the flecks of honey-like strands within her hair.  He took a seat in a nearby armchair, head now delved into his hands.  “I won’t insult you by asking what you know of my past, Draga.”  He began, his expression solemn as he lifted his head once more.  She was an intelligent woman, and he knew she would have done her research, though there was only so much information within the public domain.  “But I know you’ll understand why I have to leave here, leave you…as difficult as that is, I can’t keep you safe whilst you’re with me.”

Before Zemo even sat down, before he lowered his head of slightly grown out locks into those strong hands, before he began to speak, Poppy knew something was very wrong. She’d always been the observant type, but it wouldn’t take someone with especially alert senses to notice the world weary look etched across the Baron’s face. Deep brown eyes studied his body language, and she listened carefully as he spoke, idly bunching the plush fabric of his comforter between her fingers. And then he said it. He had to leave. He had to leave her. And for a moment, she couldn’t even hear what Zemo was saying. She could only see his lips moving and that almost pained look in his eyes, only feel the way her fingers were gripping at the blanket as though it might keep her steady and upright.

It shouldn’t have hurt this much. The two hardly knew each other. They’d spent weeks talking and stealing glances at the library, sure, and one day and night together that made her feel alive in a way that no one and nothing else ever had before. But they weren’t anything, were they? Just two strangers with a bit of chemistry. But no matter how logical she tried to be, no matter how many practical turns of phrase and bits of conventional wisdom were playing on repeat to attempt to salve her breaking heart, tears began to well at those wide, doe eyes. Her throat went dry and she parted her lips to speak but nothing came out, so she closed them again, swallowing as if she had any saliva left in her mouth.

They were so close to something, weren’t they? On the precipice of something incredible, and now he was turning her away. ‘It’s for your own protection,’ she reminded herself. ‘He only wants to keep you safe.’ But she nearly rolled her eyes at her own inner musings. Silence filled the space between them for another moment, until the pounding subsided between Poppy’s ears and she felt the color return to her cheeks, pink and lightly freckled. And then suddenly they flushed further with something else, gaze steeled onto his. Poppy carefully moved to stand from his bed, a little weak on her feet but determined, approaching Zemo and lowering herself onto her knees before him. Whether she was emboldened by frustration, or anger, or plain need, Poppy wasn’t sure, but she was now near eye level with the Baron, both hands on the tops of his thighs, neck craned to tilt her chin up toward him. In another moment, she position would have been subservient. Eager to listen, to follow his command. But the way she was looking at him made her intentions more clear. She was allowing herself to be vulnerable - the same way she had when she’d asked him to massage conditioner into her hair and rub fragrant oil against her skin, the same way she had when she’d asked him to stay. And now, her cards were laid face up on the table again, locking eyes with him there on her knees.