#a lot of things compound on top of each other

[wanderingmind867]

I hate time. Can you believe I turn 19 on the 20th of February? I certainly can't. Time moves too fast. This semester of school ends this week (I only go two days this week), I don't know how much longer I can go after this year. But I don't know if I can handle college/university. I don't know what to do. Plus, my mom died a year or two ago. And ever since I had to face death, I haven't felt very calm or stable whenever I think about time or mortality. It's not fun. I mean, I always get by. But it's still not very fun. And I hate time.

Plus, the weather here is all cloudy and dark. I hate that weather because it can sometimes make these moods worse. Plus, if the weather changes I get headaches. So none of that is helping here either.

[mockerycrow]

Emergency Contact (1/2) (Ghost x GN!Reader)

>> emergency contact concept here << PART TWO HERE!!

Summary: Simon is your roommate, and you haven’t seen each other in months, considering Simon’s job. An unfamiliar number pops up on Simon’s phone, and answering it makes his world turn upside down.

A/N: How you two moved in together is very vaguely inspired this ghost fic right here. please give it a read! If you finish the song above, I highly recommend listening to the entire album while reading. i’m not the happiest with this, but i’m happy enough to post!

[WARNINGS: Blood and injury, traumatic events/trauma brought up, gore, little comfort, medical inaccuracies, tbh ooc simon but it’s ok.]

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since he’s been home, since he’s seen you. That’s how long he’s been stuck on base, or thrown into a foreign country to complete some mission, or to gather some intel, or to kill someone, just somewhere, anywhere but with you.

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since you softly asked him to stay as safe as he can, and to come back alive, and to come back with at least eight fingers. It was a running joke between you two, a way to relieve the terrifying reality of his job; as long as Simon came home alive and with majority of his fingers, he could consider it a job well done. You didn’t know much of his job, of course—only that he’s military, and he’s gone a lot. You already guessed it was a lot of classified stuff, probably down top secret government type of things. That did make you scared, though. You didn’t want the day to come, the day where people in fancy uniforms show up at your doorstep like you’re some widow. The thought of someone informing you of Simon’s death makes your stomach twist.

Eight months is admittedly a long time. Simon.. he missed you, but he’s rather die that verbally admit it, but he sure as hell felt it. He missed the way he could hear you walk through the house, the weight of the floorboards creaking up your feet. Simon missed walking by the bathroom and the air vaguely smelled your shampoo and body wash, a clear indicator you had just taken a shower. Simon missed the way you carelessly have your shoes next to the shoe rack, not even on it, and despite his annoyance of your laziness? He misses it every single time he’s away. He never really realizes the difference of living on base versus being home with you, and he’s comfortable in both environments for completely different reasons. Simon is comfortable with you because you’re safe, you aren’t associated with anyone he has to deal with on a near daily basis. You don’t scan the kitchen to see which household items could be potential bombs in the vicinity like he does. On base, Simon finds comfort in the familiarity of being constantly on alert, the need for a gun to be against his hip—it’s not the best, considering he’s in fight mode majority of the time, but it’s comforting. It’s familiar. It’s.. home, in a way.

You and Simon call at least once every three weeks—it’s not more because you’re both busy, you have your life to tend to while he has to do something like protecting an American Embassy, or sneaking into a compound to retrieve some vital information. You two talk about all kinds of things; you complain about the neighbors for the nth time, or you talk about your job, just something that he hasn’t heard about in a while. Simon.. he’s limited on what he can talk about—what he wants to talk about. It’s a bit difficult, keeping details of his job hidden away from you. He also keeps you hidden away from them; his team. Price vaguely is aware of your existence, but all he knows is your name and your phone number—someone to alert when he eventually would pass away.

It surprised Price when he requested access to his own file to make a change. Simon went for years without anyone in that section, leaving it blank—and then suddenly ‘[Name] [Last Name]’ is written down, along with your phone number. Simon doesn’t want to die somewhere and then you sit at home, dreading the fact that you haven’t received a call from him for over six months. Other than that, no one is aware of your existence and he wants to keep it that way. It keeps you safe, and he doesn’t want the one thing he has going in his life to be taken away from him—not like everything else has been.

No, you and Simon aren’t together. You just are the one constant he cannot allow to die. How you and Simon became close was rather funny, really—before you were roommates, you bumped into each other at the local stores, the bank, even several public spaces like parks and such. You didn’t see him too often and you weren’t aware on why, but you didn’t really wonder why either. By this point, you knew each other for a couple of months. He introduced himself as SR—not Ghost or Simon, but as SR. You didn’t bother to question it because this tall, bulky man seemed like he was trying keep himself as anonymous as possible. Without fail, you always saw him wear dark colored clothing that hid any identifiable markings—tattoos and scars, that kind of thing. He usually has his hood up with a black face mask covering his nose down, but you do know one thing—he has to have bright blonde hair. Why else would his beautiful eyelashes and eyebrows be that bright? It would catch your eye every time you’d see them. Sometimes you would see him with a beanie on and the mask, with his hood down. This wasn’t too often, as it exposed some scarring he has on the back of his neck, as well as his forehead. This also silently lead you to believe he has a tough past of some sort, which is confirmed when you run into him somewhere you never expected to—your therapist’s building. You bumped into him right outside, and you apologized profusely before looking and going silent as you made eye contact.

A silent agreement was made between you two that day, one that you could never put into words. Something in that moment that dragged you two closer together. You had been through some shit in your life, shit that had permanent effect on you, shit that you wanted to work through. It was horribly tiring, but you knew you needed to work through it—so you could live a life you felt was worth living. Simon, was on the other side of the spectrum. He didn’t want this. He never wanted to tell anyone about anything, but Price, Price fucking made him. Simon spends his days and nights plagued with nightmares and memories—he’s woken up in the middle of the night enough times to know that he needs help, but he was so adamant about not talking to anyone about it. But seeing you there? Someone who he hasn’t known for long, someone who had always greeted him with a smile on your face, laughter spilling from your beautiful vocal cords, and someone who doesn’t touch him without permission? It made him so angry and hopeless about this world. Not even you, a stranger who he sees as the best human being he’s known in a while—despite not knowing you for long—could escape from the cruel and sharp jaws of the world. You found out you two accidentally scheduled the same days, so it became an unspoken agreement to wait for the other outside of the building so you can both go in. Even when you weren’t sure when his next appointment would be, you’d be right outside of that building, waiting for him. You would always be right there, and that’s something he quickly learned.

You lost your house to a fire, everything went with the burning embers that raged inside of the 4 walls of your previous home, the structure collapsing in on itself. You had gotten out in time, and you numbly watched the fire roar, the crackling burning it’s memory in your ears. The piercing sound of different sirens were approaching, but all you could do is stand there with your phone in your hand, watching the home you worked so hard for burn to the foundation built years ago. You felt a hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t bother to turn to see who it was. Everything was going so slow, almost like a movie scene in the worst way possible. Your nostrils burned from the smell of burning wood, drywall, and installation. The hand squeezed your shoulder and you slowly looked at who it was—and was him. Simon. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes ever so slightly panicked and it was obvious he was asking you something, but you didn’t hear him. All you could focus on was that he was here. You blinked rapidly as your eyes began to burn from the smoke and from that choked feeling going from your chest to your throat. “I..” You croak ever so slightly. You couldn’t hold it back—you quickly grabbed onto Simon desperately, letting out a heart-wrenching sob because you just lost everything you owned, every memory, every piece of furniture, everything.. but he was here. He was the only thing was wasn’t crumbling away from your grasp, the only constant. Once you clung to him, Simon’s senses were flooded with you. Fuck, your touch burned, just like everyone’s else’s but he liked—no, loved how it felt. Despite the image of a burning house in his wake making dread bubble in his gut, your sobs and touch were the only thing he could focus on. Simon hesitates for only a second before pulling you into his personal space, his arms wrapping around you and weighing heavily on your body. Neither of you spoke, he just let you scream into his chest and sob, your fists gently banging against his chest—the anger, the sadness, everything was too much. Simon knew exactly how you were feeling, so he didn’t mind the twinges of pain your hands produced. Simon was the one who helped you while you chatted with the paramedics and the police. He was the one who helped you find your words when you had none left to share, the smell of the smoke imprinted on your clothes.

Without question, Simon took you to his house. He did not have another bed set up, so he had you sleep in his room while he slept on his couch. He hated the hollow look your eyes held, the way you were delayed with your answers, the ways your hands shook. Your everlasting smile had dissipated into a wobbly frown and he.. Simon couldn’t handle it. He grabbed you some of his clothes and helped you into his bathroom, quietly telling you to take a shower. He’ll take care of your clothes. Simon left you alone, and you showered for a long time. He didn’t count, but it was over an hour and a half. Simon didn’t say anything about you possibly racking up his bill, how could he when you had just lost everything? He wanted to.. to help you, and he wasn’t sure why. Even when he found himself scrubbing your smoke and tar covered clothes in his kitchen sink, he couldn’t find an exact reason why he wanted to help you. Maybe it’s because you made him feel human when he needed to be, maybe you were the one thing that kept him coming back to this town, the one thing that kept him from completely pulling away from the civilian world. You had found him in a corner like a dog, lips curled back and snarling—sharp teeth clashing together, and without a word, you gave him reasons to trust you. Although they may not be.. normal reasons to the regular eye, but they were enough for Simon.

You’re enough for Simon. He scrubbed your clothes until his arms burned, and then some.

That’s when he found out that you too, were also someone who could not stay asleep for long. When Simon awoke with his adrenaline pumping from the muffled sound of vomiting, he had to calm himself down because he’s safe, and you’re safe, most of all. Simon isn’t sure when he began to think that way, but it’s one of the many things he’s decided to not question—which also new for him. Simon is man who demands answers, yet with you? it’s like everything naturally falls into place, which is why he doesn’t complain when your stay at his house—which you swore would only be until you gathered enough money for an apartment—turned from a two week stay, to Simon carrying in an IKEA bed frame to put and assemble in one of his empty rooms. Many sleepless nights came and went, and each and every one you spent them with each other, sitting by a windowsill together, other times spending it in the backyard and looking at the sky. Sometimes you would wake up first, sometimes it would be him. You somehow always knew when he had woken up from a nightmare, his heart pounding in his ears—until your hands grab his and squeeze, to ground him. You burn him, and he welcomes the tickle of your ever-glowing flame. A year into this arrangement, Simon finally shows you his face and he appreciates that you don’t look at him any different. He usually hates the searching eyes, trying to memorize every inch of his face—but he’s greedy when you do it. When your eyes roam over every scar and acne scar, when you point out his messily cut hair and half-assed shaven stubble, he doesnt get angry. Simon doesn’t feel suffocated by your glances. He doesn’t wear his mask at home anymore, not when you’re there.

Then Simon gets the notice about his three month leave ending soon; and he knows that you need to know about his job. Or at least, the bare minimum you need to know. In reality, it’s how much he wants you to know, but he doesn’t want to admit that. He sits you down one morning, a cup of tea in his hand and he had a mug of your favorite morning drink on the other side of the table he had bought a few weeks you started staying here. Simon explains that he has a job in the military, that he can’t tell you much, but it means he’s going to be gone for weeks, even months at a time. You’re at a loss at first, because who is going to have an extremely positive reaction to “by the way, I work an extremely dangerous job and I can’t tell you anything and I’ll be gone for a while.. Oh yeah, you likely won’t know if I die!”? Despite your initial reaction, you grow to be okay with this situation. Or, we’ll, as okay as you can be with it. You also find out that he was here for way longer than he originally is, due to his boss demanding him to take a break—AKA, “go to therapy you dafty”.

For a little over two years, you two fell into a good rhythm. A call every three weeks, him coming home and you becoming the safest space he’s ever had in his life.

Which is why when his personal cell phone begins to vibrate in his pocket during some fuck-all meeting, his eyebrows furrow. The number is unfamiliar, but the area code is not. Simon quietly excuses himself from the extended round table, taking his call outside of the meeting room. Price’s eyes follow his figure as he exits, noticing it’s his personal cell phone in his hand. Simon answers the call and presses his phone against his masked ear, muttering a low, “Hello?”

A high-pitched, soft yet serious voice filters through the speaker, a woman. “Hi, is this Mr. Riley?”

Simon pauses, and so does his heart. “Who’s asking?”

He honestly regrets asking that in the moment—one part of him genuinely wishes he never answered this call, and the other part of him is glad he did. “I’m a nurse from Northern Manchester Community Hospital, you’re written down as [Name]’s emergency contact. They’ve been a victim of a hit and run situation, sir. They’re alive, but they’re in the ICU.” The nausea that suddenly bubbles inside of his guys, the stomach acid mixed with whatever he had eaten previously, threatening to travel up his esophagus, burn every inch and then exit with a horrific sound. Simon’s head began to spin—he’s your emergency contact? A hit and run, you were fucking hit?? By what, a car? A pick-up? A semi? God, Simon has seen the most horrible, gruesome, fucked up shit you would ever see in his entire life, yet he isn’t sure if he can handle the image of you spread out in a hospital bed, with one too many tubes circulating around you. His mind plagues him with intrusive images, ones he never wants to actually see played out. Fuck, his head hurts. It feels like someone is physically shoving a knife into his chest and twisting it, like God is laughing at him and playing with Simon’s pain for his own gain. How could he not think that, especially with everything that has happened to him? His friends, his family? His old CO? The fucking abuse he endured??

It’s like Simon lost his hearing for a moment, because he cannot bare fucking losing you, too. There’s a vague ringing in his ears, almost like there was an explosion and he stood too close. And then suddenly every sound comes rushing back to his eardrums, and everything suddenly everything is so fucking overwhelming. “Mr. Riley?” The nurse calls over the phone, her tone laced with worry. He clears his throat and when he speaks, he sounds wrecked, which he fucking hates. “I.. I’ll come as soon as I can.” Simon hangs up, not giving the nurse a moment to speak. He drops his phone and if he doesn’t sit down, he’s going to fall over like a tree that’s been cut down. Simon lets out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the way his stomach is screaming and twisting as he puts a hand on the wall, and he crouches down. It’s the first time he doesn’t look around to see if anyone is watching his sudden display of emotion. When he’s suddenly rocked with the feeling of home at work, especially with the news that you’re fucking injured—he’s overwhelmed and twisted all over the place. Simon finds himself stumbling back to his barracks.

Price finds his way to him after Simon never returns to the meeting. He knocks on the door, but his knuckles pause before they can knock against the door for the third time as he discovers the door is open—which is very, very, odd. He slowly opens the door while calling for Ghost, and is met with the sight of Simon shoving some of his clothes and belongings into a duffle bag, as well as his military travel documents. “Ghost?” Price questions, who stopped in his doorway to watch Simon lose his mind while packing. Simon doesn’t respond as he practically rips his phone charger out of the wall and stuffs it into the bag, zipping it up. He slings it over his shoulder and he turns around, pausing when he sees Price. Simon’s eyes tell everything he’s feeling—that something’s happened, something bad, and he needs to leave. Price bites his lip and quietly exhales, his fingers rubbing at his chin. “I’ll approve your leave. Just shoot me a text of how long it needs to be, yeah?”

Simon makes sure to note to send Price a thank you of some sort, because within the next two hours, Simon is boarding a plane, heading for Manchester, wearing some black clothing, a jacket, a black face mask, gloves, and his beanie. The entire time, he could not stop thinking about you—and how you could possibly die before he got there to send off his final goodbyes. Is that something he would actually want to do, though? See you in the hospital, knowing it’ll be the last place you’d ever be alive in? Go home, see how you left the house exactly as you left it? A house, but without his home in it? Simon stares out the airplane window blankly, his hands curled into fists, and his nails would be digging into his palms if he didn’t have gloves on.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

The next part for Simon, it’s a blur again. Got off the plane, got his luggage, provided documentation, blah blah blah—he didn’t give a fuck about any of it. His focus was you. He didn’t bother to stop home to drop his stuff off, he took an Uber straight to the hospital from the airport. It was a fairly expensive Uber too, but he could worry about the costs of everything later. It took another half hour to get there.

His heart began to hammer in his chest as the sight of the hospital’s signs began to pop up on the road, the anxiety taking hold in his stomach and his head begins to hurt again. Simon quietly thanks the driver, tips them, and exits the car with a swiftness once they pull up. Simon walks through the main entrance’s sliding doors, going up to the desk. A woman behind the counter hangs up the phone, murmuring a goodbye, and then she looks at Simon with her pretty blue eyes. “How can I help you, sir?” She murmurs sweetly, noting how anxious he is. She can see the sweat on his brow line. Simon clears his throat, his voice rumbling in his chest when he speaks. It takes everything in him to not yell at this innocent woman and get thrown out. “My.. My name is Mr. Riley, I was called ‘cause my friend is here,” Simon manages to push out. “[Name] [Last Name].” The woman turns to her computer and clicks the couple of buttons and types a couple of words and holy fuck, Simon just wants to go to your wing already—“Ah, yes, I see you’re listed as their emergency contact,” The woman grabs a sticky note and writes with a pink pen your room number and elevator floor, handing it to Simon. He barely gets a “thank you” out before he nearly jogs to the nearby elevator. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283—it’s the longest minute long elevator ride in his entire fucking life.

Simon changes face masks whilst facing the wall, and then he finds your room number—and his heart is beating out of his chest. There’s cops standing outside of your room who stop him from entering. Simon’s anger flares up so quickly, he nearly makes a scene until a doctor exits your room. She’s wearing her usual blue scrubs, her coat, and she’s dawning a N95 and some sterile gloves. She’s holding a clipboard. “Mr. Riley?” She questions, holding the clipboard close to her chest. Simon nods without hesitation, and she responds, “I’m sorry, but due to the nature of this case, you’ll have to provide some identification for me and these officers.”

Usually, Simon would hesitate—he gives anyone outside of his team the bare minimum, hell, he only introduced himself as SR until he knew you for a while. This time, he takes out his military ID and shows it to the officers. He ignores their looks of surprise, and ignores the murmurs that come from them. Simon puts his ID away and he holds back the urge to shove them out of the way as he glares down at the doctor on accident. “Come in,” The doctor opens the sliding door and steps into the hospital ICU room with him. Simon follows behind her and he immediately smells the sickening smell only the ICU gives off. There’s a small wall blocking his view from you that he hasn’t past, and he can already hear the machines working. A heart monitor, a ventilator, combined with other machines he doesn’t know too well. The doctor flips through the papers pinned to her clipboard. “They were hit by a vehicle of some sort, the scene suggested they were walking home from the local corner store. [Name] has multiple broken bones and fractures, a punctured lung, a fractured jaw and internal bleeding. They lost a lot of blood at the scene.” Simon doesn’t respond as he slowly walks forward, and he finally lays his eyes on you. It’s.. traumatizing, to say the least. You were never supposed to be in a hospital bed like this, hooked up to machines he can’t even name. He slowly walks over to you, dropping his duffel bag somewhere on the floor. He doesn’t care to look where. Simon barely pays attention to what the doctor is saying—his hands tremble as he stands by your side, his heart thumping harshly in his chest. Fuck.

He drags over one of the chairs next to your bed. Simon takes off one of his gloves slowly, and then he tears the other one off in a frenzy. He feels so unlike himself, so.. different.. human. He reaches over to your hand and his fingers grab your wrist, so gentle as if you’re glass. Simon presses his fingers against your pulse point, counting your heartbeats despite the monitor. The thumping under your skin makes it more.. real. Feeling you, your heartbeat, your warmth and your skin—it’s comforting. Simon clears his throat and fights the urge to vomit once a gain, watching your chest rise and fall, produced by the ventilator.

He moves his hand to intertwine with your fingers and he uses his other hand to feel your pulse. Simon closes his eyes, muttering the beats per minute under his breath.

At least you’re alive—you’re here, you’re alive, and you’re with him. And that’s all he asks for.

tags;; @alwaystired--neversleeping @handsomeunderwear-art @indefenseofkara @kaysav608 @1-is-loneliest-number @rosee-sensuelle @kitty-satan1 @k4marina @rahmown @royalty-purple @bowtruckleninja — if you are not tagged, it’s not allowing me :-)

[narutoandanimearemyheart]

RIVALS TO LOVERS! RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS WITH NEJI HYUGA

The reader and Neji most likely met in the Academy when they were both young. Neji was a prodigy of course and excelled in everything. Especially Taijutsu.

However there was another person in his class that had extremely advanced skills in Taijutsu, his only match. You.

The two of you would often get partnered up during spar sessions in the class, and would often come in very close ties which infuriated Neji to no end.

He did not like this at all. He was determined to be the top of the class, and would train extra hard when he got home to secure that spot. He would not be average, nor beaten by some shinobi from some average background, not at all.

He had an intense dislike for you. How were you able to match him in his ability? You weren’t a Hyuga, nor from any special clan whatsoever. So how were you able to beat him when it wasn’t even in your destiny to beat him?

He definitely often makes scathing remarks towards you during your time at the academy, but most of those remarks stem from his own insecurities and anger of not being strong enough.

Eventually when graduation time came, Neji got assigned to his team, but the rivalry with you was still going strong. He doesn’t face you in the Chunin exams but he wished that he did, maybe for old times sake, or to gain the satisfaction of beating you.

Most likely to gain the satisfaction of beating you, and to heal his wounded pride.

However his viewpoint slowly starts to change after his match with Naruto. He finally found peace and realized that people can change their own destinies, which also leads to try and understand you better.

At first when he starts acting more nicer to you, your like “is this the same Neji that I knew???” Yeah he didn’t leave a good impression on you with his condescending remarks, and arrogant behaviour, but he’s grown out of it.

The two of you start hanging out more often once he’s simmered down in his haughtiness, you often train together, and talk about various different topics.

You both find yourselves getting closer together. The regular sparring sessions always seemed to have a tension that never went unnoticed. It was clearly visible to all that saw you both together, but it wasn’t to the two of you.

Neji of course realizes that he has started to feel different things for you, beyond what close friends would feel. At first he tries to ignore those feelings.

He’s scared to get close to someone like that and doesn’t want to make himself vulnerable, in case they either reject his advances or if something bad happens to them.

He is a very stubborn individual and will push down these new feelings of his, and he won’t acknowledge them, you will probably have to be the one to confess to him, and when you do, he can feel his heart start to soar.

Of course he’ll keep a calm look on his face and simply say that he returns your affections, but inside he will be the happiest he’s ever been, and if you look close you will be able to see a faint pink blush on his pale cheeks.

Moving on towards actually dating. Neji is a very polite and courteous boyfriend. He takes “duties” as a lover very seriously. He always tells you to take care of yourself, and brings you things like flowers as gifts.

He still goes full strength on you during sparring as, that’s just how he is, he respects your strength and thinks that going “easy” on you would be disrespectful towards you.

If you are on a mission with him he’s going to be on watch like a hawk. He knows you can take care of yourself but he cares a lot about you and looks out for you too. If you act reckless during the mission, he’s not going to let you live it down for a few days.

He can be soft when he wants to be, sometimes when visiting the Hyuga compound and spending time with him in his room, you’ll both just sit next to each other and enjoy each others presence. He doesn’t strike me as a very physically affectionate type of person, but he would sometimes hold your hand.

His love language is more so acts of service. He likes to show you how much he cares about you, instead of touching you or telling you that he does.

Whether it’s helping you arrange your things, cooking food for you, bringing extra supplies for you during a mission in case you forgot some, he always remembers the little things.

I can definitely see him letting the words “I love you” slip out during an argument though. When you and Neji argue, he’s very stubborn, so even if he is in the wrong, it will take a while to get him to admit that. He’s a very prideful individual. If you are both stubborn then you might go for days without speaking to each other before one of you two caves in.

Neji hates to see you cry. If you cry then he will immediately soften and apologize, he hates seeing you cry that much. If he is the cause of your tears then he feels much guilt, but if someone else is the cause of your tears then whoever they are better sleep with one eye open.

You two were probably arguing about something that wasn’t too significant but, Neji got rather upset about it and of course he never backs down so it was starting to escalate until he blurted out “Well yeah I’m mad!! I’m mad because I love you!”

It suddenly became very quiet between you two, until he started stammering “W-well, I-I” you chuckled and spoke softly “I love you too Neji” and he felt his heart soar, he has officially stopped working. No wonder people say falling in love drives you crazy, because it was most certainly driving him crazy.

Neji is very protective of you, he loves you to the point that he’s sure he’d sacrifice his life for you. He now believes that destinies can indeed be changed, and he’s sure that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

You most likely feel the same way, after all, even if he has his flaws how can you not fall in love with him? With the way he treats you and stays true to his words and is one of the most honourable people you know.

Neji Hyuga and you are in love with each other no doubt about that, and the two of you will continue to be in love with each other forevermore. While your relationship does have its ups and downs, one thing about it is that your bond is unbreakable and everlasting.

[literaryavenger]

You're Still My Sunshine

Summary: A year later, a lot has changed.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Grief. Fluff. No mentions of Y/N.

Word Count: 750

A/N: This is just a little drabble to continue You Were My Sunshine, hope ya like it.

Masterlist | Part 1

“Doll…” He says quietly while cupping your face with his free hand as he sees you holding back tears. “It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of the people you care about. You taught me that.”

His gentle words, the way he softly strokes your cheek and the way he’s looking at you so lovingly, it’s all too much for you and can’t hold back your tears anymore.

With a broken sob, you bury your face in Bucky’s chest and hug him tightly, clinging to him while he wraps his arms around you and hugs you just as tight, kissing the top of your head before nuzzling his face against your hair.

In this moment, while holding you in his arms, Bucky realizes it’s not like you don’t feel like you belong with the Avengers.

This is just something you feel like you have to go through on your own because you’ve always had to.

And he’ll be damned if he lets you go through it alone ever again.

A year later

“Hi, mom.” You kneel down in front of the grave, placing down the bouquet of blue roses.

You look around the cemetery for a moment, if anything just out of habit to make sure there’s no danger, but you’re alone.

“Happy birthday.” You look back at the grave, cleaning it a little by brushing off the weeds on it.

“Another year, huh?” You say quietly. “A lot happened… And I’m not sure how we got here, but…”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a hand on your shoulder but you don’t bother turning around.

“I’m sorry, baby, it took me a little to find the candle.” Bucky’s voice rings in your ear as he kneels down beside you.

You look at your boyfriend, smiling at him as he lights the candle on the cupcake and passes it to you. 

Like usual, you look at it for a moment before you blow it out and you can’t help the tear that rolls down your cheek, except this time Bucky’s there to promptly wipe it away.

You spend the next few hours there, the both of you talking to the tombstone and to each other while Bucky holds you and wipes your tears away.

When you’re back at the Compound, the team is gathered around the living room watching a movie.

“I still can’t believe Elsa is the only one you allow to know about your special day.” You roll your eyes at Tony’s nickname for Bucky while the team snickers.

“Actually,” You start while you and Bucky sit down on the couch next to Steve. “I… I’m ready to tell you guys.” 

You’re a little hesitant, but for the past year you and Bucky have talked about it a lot, since you started dating you’ve opened up to him in a way he didn’t even know was possible considering you were already the most open person Bucky’s ever met.

And it felt good, you thought to yourself, and you decided last night you were ready to open up to the rest of your family too.

So you tell them everything, every little detail of the things you do, explaining why you do them because they were your mom’s favorite things. They’re understanding, not loving that you went through all that on your own, but they respect your choice and were glad you now allowed Bucky to be there for you. And, with some more grumbling from Tony, they accept that you aren’t ready to have them all there with you yet.

But that doesn’t mean they couldn’t do anything for you…

Another year later

You almost don’t recognize the grave, having to double check the tombstone to make sure it’s the right one.

And it is, only it’s full of flowers, teddy bears, papers and Avengers action figures for some reason. 

You’re as confused as Bucky when the two of you kneel down and you reach for one of the papers and you start chuckling when you see it’s a message from Tony, to you. It’s clear that he wrote it to make you laugh, full of sarcasm and jokes, and Bucky’s glad to see it’s working.

You read all the notes one by one, all from the team to you, between tears and chuckles, and you can’t be more grateful to have found this family.

You almost forget that this year you have big news, the engagement ring sitting on your finger shining with the sunlight.

I have a lot of things to tell you, mama, you think to yourself while absentmindedly stroking your stomach, where you found out just yesterday your very own little ray of sunshine is growing.

Yes, things are definitely getting better.

[hard-core-super-star]

if you're weak, come to me [wandanat]

pairing: top!natasha romanoff x bottom!wanda maximoff

summary: wanda gets injured during a mission and natasha is TOTALLY fine with that (not). they seek each other's comfort in the only way they know how.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> porn with so many feelings and a dash of plot; mentions of dom/sub dynamics; natasha has so many feelings and no way of verbalizing them; wanda's brattiness is implied; fingering {wanda receiving}; flirty banter; begging; teasing; so many kisses; non-fatal injuries; mentions of blood; not mentioned but this takes place somewhere between age of ultron and civil war

wordcount: 3.6k

a/n: so...this week has been a LOT, i have many thoughts but they're all scattered and filled with rage so i'll save them for another time. the U.S election results have left me feeling both incredibly hopeless and numb and to counteract the heaviness of the moment, i decided to finish this fic instead of spiraling or doomscrolling. easier said than done but it's fine. thank you so much to the lovely person who commissioned this, i had a great time writing for this paring. i still don't feel super confident about my characterization of natasha but it's getting there 😅 anyway, enough rambling, i'm sending you guys all my love and support, my askbox is always open <3

* * * * * * *

No one said being an Avenger was easy.

Outside of the long hours, and the possibility of the world ending every other day, there were the unmeasurable amounts of guilt and regret and worry that seemed to plague each and every one of them. They could probably keep a whole building of therapists employed with the amount of trauma they carried.

Everyone at the compound was well aware of their personal situations, but no two felt it as strongly as Natasha and Wanda. There was no denying how well they worked together, how easy their chemistry was, the way they knew exactly what to do to stop each other from spiraling when they needed it most.

Unfortunately, there were moments where their worries clashed together and left them feeling worse than usual.

Moments like today.

Wanda had been chosen to go on a mission without Natasha and the widow had managed to threaten just about everyone she could think of until she was able to go with her girlfriend.

It all would have been fine had the witch not been incredibly annoyed by what she felt to be an overreaction. Even that would have been fine if they hadn't ended up going on the mission while they were still upset with each other.

They weren't mad enough to not worry about each other, but they still chose to go separate ways and focus on getting different things done. Something that would have been fine had Wanda not been ambushed by far too many enemy agents at once.

Steve had been the closest one to the witch and had managed to get there before things turned too sour. Unfortunately, that had been enough to make the Widow spiral. She'd heard her girlfriend request backup in that shaky voice that gave away her fear and she'd been unable to do anything about it.

If Steve had taken any longer to get to Wanda...she didn't want to think about what could have happened. She couldn't think about it.

And yet it was the only thing on her mind on the way home.

The mission had been successful, but she still felt like a failure. Like somehow, despite how inaccurate of an assessment it was, it had all been her fault. If she hadn't allowed her ego to get the better of her, she would have been there. She would have been able to help her girlfriend before she got hurt.

The witch wasn't mortally wounded in any way, but that didn't matter to her.

Wanda, for her part, felt fine. Sure, she was sore and in pain and bleeding, but she was an Avenger, getting hurt came with the territory.

It became obvious to her that her girlfriend didn't feel the same way as her when the redhead decided to ignore her on the way home. The Quinjet was small, and yet the distance between them felt massive.

It wasn't like her to sneak into people's minds without permission, but this was different. This was Natasha, and her concern for her outweighed most of her guilt around using her powers around her.

Maybe it was a bad idea, but she did it anyway, and it allowed her to see the pain her girlfriend was carrying on her shoulders. It pained her to know Natasha was blaming herself. That she didn't believe she was worth all the love the younger woman had for her.

There wasn't an easy solution to that kind of guilt, but Wanda would be dammed if she allowed her girlfriend to continue to suffer in silence.

The second they landed back at the Compound, Natasha made her way to the witch's side. There was an unreadable expression on her face as she looked her lover over and she silently extended her hand out for her.

Wanda wasted no time in accepting her help.

They made their way to their shared room, holding onto each other a little tighter than necessary. Neither of them commented on it, though, they needed the physical contact more than they were willing to admit out loud.

The silence between them bordered on awkward, but they didn't even attempt to break it. They needed to have a long conversation and it needed to happen away from prying eyes and ears.

After a tense walk, they managed to make it inside their room, and Natasha instantly set the younger woman down on the bed. "Do you need to change your bandages?"

The mention of the badly wrapped bandages made Wanda chuckle despite herself. She wasn't sure whose idea it was to go on a mission without Dr. Banner who, despite how awkward he could be about it, always did a great job at patching them up when they were hurt. Sure, it wasn't his area of expertise, but he was much better at it than Steve.

"No, I'm okay," she replied, not aware of the effect her words were going to have on her girlfriend.

The Widow let out a loud scoff. "Oh, you're okay? You were stabbed and shot at but you're okay?"

"'Tasha-"

"Don't." Her tone left no room for arguing. "You're hurt, I'm allowed to be pissed off about it."

"I never said you couldn't be upset," Wanda muttered in response. "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm fine."

It was a shitty argument, but it was the best she could do given the circumstance. There was no way to win out over Natasha's stubbornness, so the only thing she could do was hope her words would eventually get through to her. That seeing her so sure that everything was fine would bring her out of the spiral she was stuck in.

The only response the Widow gave was a long sigh, her eyes betraying the true weight of her feelings.

Her hand reached out before she could stop it, and Wanda met her halfway, leaning into her touch with a small smile.

Natasha's fingers trailed across the witch's jawline as her eyes took in every little scrape that painted her delicate features. A part of her knew  she was overreacting. That they're safe and sound and Wanda's injuries will heal in no time.

And yet, it was impossible to stop desperation from building within her. The worries that threatened to swallow her whole if she allowed herself to think about things too much.

"'Tasha." Wanda's voice was barely above a whisper as she tried to get through to her lover one more time. "I'm okay."

"You were hurt."

"I've been through worse."

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they had the opposite effect. If anything, they made Natasha feel more helpless. Like despite all her skills, all her knowledge, all her training, she'll never be able to keep her lover safe.

She'll never be enough.

"Stop that, you're more than enough."

Her eyebrow raised involuntarily in response. "Get out of my mind, little witch."

"Hey! It's not my fault your thoughts are so loud."

Despite the heaviness that still lingered within her, a chuckle managed to escape past her lips. In an instant, she leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Wanda's pouting lips.

It amazed her how soft the witch could be after all the pain and violence she grew up in.

More than that, it amazed her how quickly her mood was able to shift when she was with the younger woman. How easy it was for her fears to disappear when they were together.

A soft smile was written across her features when she pulled away from her lover, her eyes a mirror that reflected the affection that was clear in the witch's eyes.

"Let me fix you up, detka." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but there was no denying the weight behind her words. "I promise I'll be quick."

Wanda couldn't help but shift nervously in response. It wasn't like she didn't trust Natasha, of course she trusted the redhead, but she knew how she could get. How easy it was for her to get caught up seeing monsters instead of shadows.

"I...are you sure? My bandages should be okay for a few hours."

"Not with the way Steve wrapped them," Natasha replied with a hint of humor in her tone.

The humor wasn't enough to mask her worry, and yet Wanda felt herself relaxing a little. If it helped her girlfriend feel better, she had no complaints about allowing her to clean her wounds up a little.

"Okay."

It was a single word that conveyed the trust she held in the redhead.

Wanda shifted back on the bed until she was laying down with her head resting on their pillows. She'd been in this position many times before, but this was different. There was an edge of vulnerability that clung to the air between them, a need for reassurance that neither of them could verbalize.

Natasha moved closer, not quite settling between the witch's legs, simply coming close enough to reach for her shirt. Her hands shook slightly as she lifted her girlfriend's shirt, her eyes taking in every inch of smooth skin that was revealed to her. Her heart ached in her chest as she examined each and every one of the cuts and bruises that littered her torso.

"I promise I'm okay," Wanda whispered, noticing her girlfriend's hesitation.

"I believe you."

Still, her head ducked down until her lips met the skin that had been revealed to her.

The gasp that escaped past the younger woman's lips made her smile. She still didn't feel completely okay but the helplessness that had settled in her chest was slowly easing away.

Her lips traced every inch of battered skin they could reach, her hands pushing the fabric up and over Wanda's head. With her shirt out of the way, she was able to fully look over the  bandages wrapped around her girlfriend's injuries. They didn't look as bad as she had expected them to and she subconciously let out a sigh of relief.

It didn't matter how many times she was reassured that the younger woman was fine, she needed to see it with her own eyes. To realize she wasn't bleeding out, there was no bullet lodged inside her, no sharp knife sticking out of her. She was fine.

She was safe.

And she was already arching her back in the way that made the Widow lose all of her control.

It wasn't about the pleasure, though. They both knew that. It was about comfort.

About being there for each other in the only way that was able cut through their anxieties. Maybe it was wrong to have to rely on the physical to get rid of the mental strain they were always under, but it made sense to them. More than that, it worked.

Because as much as they trusted and loved each other, being vulnerable wasn't something that came easy to them. Especially not after a mission when their fight or flight insticts were still on.

"I'm here," Natasha mumbled, shifting until she was hovering over her girlfriend. "I'm right here, Wands."

The words brought a beautiful smile to the witch's face. "I know...but you're still too far."

Wanda managed to work up enough courage to wrap her arms around Natasha's neck. She tried to keep her grip loose, just in case the Widow wasn't ready for too much physical contact.

"Patience," she replied. "I'm in the middle of something here. I still haven't cleaned you up."

The witch couldn't help but roll her eyes at that. The last thing on her mind right was her injuries. She felt fine. More than that, she felt weirdly needy and she needed her girlfriend's lips in a completely different spot.

She knew complaining probably wouldn't get her very far, but she couldn't help it. Maybe some light playfulness would help Natasha feel better.

"Come on, 'Tasha, that can wait. I need you right now."

The redhead paused for a second, green eyes focused intently on Wanda's face. She thought things over for a second, silently analyzing the situation in front of her. Her girlfriend seemed fine. All that seemed to linger were her wounds but not the pain they had initially brought.

It was irresponsible, she knew that much, but how was she supposed to deny her beautiful lover?

"How are you always so needy?" She replied, her soft smile growing just a tad bit teasing. "Don't tell me I've spoiled you too much."

"Maybe you have." Wanda shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"I beg to differ."

Natasha leaned down to capture the witch's lips again. This time, there was a little less softness to the contact and a little more urgency. And a lot of unrestrained desperation neither of them knew what to do with.

One kiss turned into two which turned into Wanda digging her nails into Natasha's shoulders while her hips bucked involuntarily. The Widow's thigh was too far to provide the witch with any real friction and yet it only made everything feel ten times more intense. An intensity that always seemed to catch up to them when they were together in such a way.

"Nat..." Wanda groaned, head tilting back in both pleasure and desperation.

"I know." Despite the teasing edge to her response, there was nothing but affection in her tone. Nothing but devotion for her lover. "What did I say about patience?"

One of Natasha's hands made its way between their bodies, her fingers tracing a path she knew by memory. The witch didn't seem to be in the mood for much teasing but she couldn't help it. There was something so exciting about turning her girlfriend into a desperate mess.

She knew, on some level, where it came from. That Wanda needed to be taken care of just as badly as she needed to be in control. They were on opposite ends of the same spectrum.

The witch arched her back in an attempt to push her chest further into Natasha's hand, a quiet moan leaving her lips as she teased her hardned nipples. "Stop teasing."

"I've barely started, detka. Don't tell me you already can't handle it?"

"You're so mean."

"You like it."

Wanda didn't have any time to refute that claim because right when she opened her mouth to speak, the redhead decided to finally give in to what her body needed.

"I oh-" The witch's body shuddered as Natasha's hand moved down, slidding into her tight pants and cupping her wet heat. The fabric of her underwear was still in the way, but neither of them cared too much about the obstruction.

Matching moans left their lips as the Widow found the wet spot staining the younger woman's underwear, her fingers moving over the soaked fabric with renowed purpose.

"What was that?" Natasha teased. "Were you going to say something?"

Her girlfriend's tone had Wanda clenching around pure air, her hips bucking involuntarily in search of more friction. "N-no."

"Are you sure? I can stop if you need me to."

"Fuck no. Don't stop...please."

"Good girl."

The praise sent shivers down Wanda's spine and effectively turned all her thoughts to pure mush. It should have been embarrassing how quickly she fell apart for her lover and yet all she could feel was pleasure. And maybe a little pride at how fast she managed to make Natasha give in to what she wanted.

That sort of pride was mutual, though, and it caused desire to thrum in their veins. Desire for what? That wasn't as easy to figure out. Thankfully, they had nothing but time to try.

Natasha quickly grew tired of teasing her girlfriend. Not because she didn't want to keep doing it (she really really did), but because she could tell she needed more. And after the day they'd had, she wasn't sure she'd be able to deny the witch anything.

Her fingers slid inside Wanda's ruined underwear, relishing the loud gasp that escaped the younger woman when she brushed against her clit. The witch was always sensitive, and today was no exception. It made these kinds of moments all the more exciting for her.

"Oh, fuck." Wanda's voice came out more like a whine than anything else. "Please."

"Please what?" She responded, leaning down to trail kisses down the witch's jawline. "Use your words like a good girl."

The only response she could form for a few seconds was another whine. Natasha always knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say, to help her sink down into that fuzzy, submissive headspace she was slowly getting used to. They hadn't done much exploring, too busy with never-ending missions to safely allow the witch to slip, but the safe experimentation they'd done had taught them both more than enough.

Mainly, it taught them how much they both thrive in that type of scenario. How much they depend on each other, on and off the battlefield.

"Don't stop," Wanda begged, feeling her hesitation fade away with every second that went by. "Touch me, fuck me, anything, please."

If Natasha was in a crueler mood, she would have taken her time to tease the younger woman. To play with her until she was a writhing, whimpering mess beneath her.

As fun as that sounded, she wasn't in the mood for that today. She wanted to let go. To help Wanda let go until all that was left was the two of them, locked together, in the sanctuary of their room.

"That's my girl." Her words were accompanied by the movement of her fingers. They slid through Wanda's slick folds before slowly easing in to her cunt. "Fuck, you're soaked for me, detka."

The witch was more than wet enough to take Natasha's fingers but the Widow still took her time, working two fingers inside and diligently watching her lover's face contort with pleasure. The way her walls fluttered around her was intoxicating, drawing the digits in deeper and practically begging her to stay buried inside her.

She moved slowly. Not because she wanted to tease but because she wanted to draw out the sensations. To overwhelm Wanda with the devotion she couldn't properly express most days.

To be fair, it didn't seem like the younger woman minded. They were both broken, albeit in different ways, and they seemed to understand eachother without words. It was the most comforting thing either of them had ever known.

But God, she was so afraid of losing this. Of losing the one good thing she had. The one person who didn't see her as the Black Widow or a S.H.I.E.L.D. product. To Wanda, she was simply 'Tasha and it meant far more to her than anything else.

It wasn't hard for Wanda to realize the change in her girlfriend's thoughts. The sudden change in her breathing, the glosiness that overtook her eyes. She knew exactly what it meant and she knew she had to do something before the redhead started drowning in her thoughts.

So, she did the only thing she could think of right now. Mainly because thinking was getting difficult and it wasn't like she could move around too much with the Widow's fingers buried in her pussy.

Her hands moved to Natasha's face, cuping her cheeks and bringing her closer until their lips met once again. The kiss was a stark contrast to the movements of the redhead's fingers, but neither of them seemed to care.

All they cared about was being together.

Wanda pulled away first, her panting breaths turning into whimpering gasps. The coil in her stomach was about ready to snap, her hips bucking desperately into the readhead's hand. "Nat- I can't, I need-"

"What do you need, detka?" She asked, even though she already knew the answer. She couldn't help it, she loved the way the witch's eyebrows furrowed in frustration when she interrupted her just to tease her.

"Need to cum, please-" Her words turned into a moan when Natasha's thumb found her swollen clit. "Please, can I cum?"

The desperation in her girlfriend's voice made the redhead smile proudly. It was hard to think about her fears when she had the witch like this. Completely and utterly under her spell.

"Of course," she replied, speeding up the thrusts of her fingers in an attempt to bring Wanda even closer to falling apart. "Come on, be a good girl and cum for me."

The witch felt overwhelmed in the best way. All she could think about, all she could feel, was Natasha. Her words, her hands, the pleasure only she was able to bring her. It was all too much yet it felt so good.

Her walls clenched around the Widow's fingers as she lost control of herself, giving in to the pleasure and letting everything else fade away. All it took was a few sharp thrusts of Natasha's fingers before she was moaning her lover's name, her eyes squeezing shut while she rode the waves of pleasure that crashed into her.

The redhead worked her through her orgasm, making sure to slow down a little to avoid overstimulating the younger woman. She leaned down to pepper kisses across each and every inch of Wanda's neck to help ground her a little more.

Neither of them were sure how much time went by before Wanda was able to open her eyes again, but when she finally did, the large, slightly goofy, smile on her face instantly gave away how she was feeling.

Still, Natasha asked anyway.

"You okay?"

"Hmmm, yeah."

The Widow chuckled, her heart practically bursting out of her chest at the sight of Wanda so happy and relaxed. It was a sight that never failed to make her feel better, no matter how shitty her day had been before.

"Good." She placed a few extra kisses across Wanda's face before shifting further down her body. "Because we're not done yet."

Natasha was talking about the remaining injuries she hadn't taken a look at yet but if they got up to other things too...well, she wouldn't complain about that.

[the-bi-space-ace]

Writing Echo & the effects of Skako Minor

Discussions of trauma, CPTSD, and PTSD.

This will be a lot of personal opinion so take it with a grain of salt but I wanted to touch on writing Echo as someone who has CPTSD. Personally, I think after what he experienced on Skako Minor Echo would have CPTSD. The very basic thing you need to know is that PTSD and CPTSD are two different things. Symptoms overlap, they often get lumped together, but there are differences. From what I have learned from therapy and doctors PTSD happens from a single traumatizing event. Something happened, an accident, violence, etc. and it has stuck with you. CPTSD occurs when someone has multiple traumatizing events throughout their life that all compound. So if you grew up in an abusive household, experienced outside violence, and had several life altering events, that would be the perfect breeding ground for CPTSD. It is not one event. CPTSD comes from the fact that it is multiple things on top of each other, all working together to make your PTSD complex in nature since it comes from a web of things instead of one event.

After Skako I think Echo would suffer from CPTSD mainly because he has experienced several traumatizing events over and over again. The explosion, being tortured, being experimented on over and over again, and finding out he has been used as a weapon, along with his injuries sustained in the battle of Anaxes all compile together. This is what I base this off of.

With that in mind I wanted to talk a little bit about some symptoms and how this could translate to Echo as a character.

One can experience shaking (imagine Crosshair early season 3), paranoia, anxiety, and difficulty sleeping. I have seen Echo portrayed often with nightmares, which I think is a great route to go, however I want to offer up other ways you can show his difficulty living with CPTSD. Physical symptoms are one thing and definitely make life more difficult but what about the mental ones?

One challenge can be constantly feeling like the other shoe is going to drop. There can be waves of feeling okay and stable and then other periods of constant vigilance and anxiety. When things are good you could think ‘how much longer until it is all gone? How long do I deserve safety and happiness?’ These fears are often completely unrealistic but your brain cannot determine that in the moment.

I think Echo could struggle with this. I want to imagine that this is part (not all) of the reason he wants to badly to do more and part of why he does not really want to retire. He doesn’t understand safety anymore. He’s still more comfortable in chaos and vigilance. Safety would likely feel unsafe to him. At least, for a while. Truthfully, survivors guilt and his own loyalty and personality are all wrapped up in there too but imagine if there was another layer.

What if he is clinging so desperately to helping because tomorrow he could be swept away again. Or he won’t be able to save anyone. Or somehow Tambor will catch up with him. Or maybe, just maybe, he becomes the algorithm again. He snaps right back into it mid mission. He’s taken over and can’t be saved. He attacks his loved ones. He can’t help it. He could hurt them. What if he hurts them! Safety may frighten him so deeply he can’t even begin to think about it. His brain won’t let him. It won’t let him cling to that thought because it can’t be real it will be danger. It has to be.

It doesn’t have to be rational because CPTSD is not rational. Your brain and body are trying to protect you. It has learned that you are in danger and it is not comfortable with safety anymore. It will protect you even if you are perfectly safe. Even if that means telling you lies.

And none of this makes him weak. He’s confident in his skills, he’s a force to be reckoned with. He’s lethal and loyal and kind hearted and not at all weak. His strength and compassion are things to look up to. I love Echo. He’s dedicated to saving his loved ones, he’s been through so much, and he has never ever given up despite the challenges. I think he is wonderful and such a rich character for storytelling. It certainly isn’t necessary to include this when writing Echo but if you’re looking for other ways for his trauma to manifest this may be an interesting route to explore.

have the best gif of Echo ever as a treat for reading this far

[rahuratna]

In another universe, you and I ...

(But it's crack): PART 1

Summary: A short series in which the highly attractive sorcerers of JJK find themselves in an alternate universe with you (with a twist).

Part 1 includes:

Top Model! Gojo who meets you at a party. In spite of your instant chemistry, he harbours a dark secret ...

Naval Captain! Nanami, who has been hunted for years by his nemesis, the white leviathan who aims to show him his giant member. Will you stand by his side?

Genre: Humour, parody, crack

Warnings: sexual and suggestive content.

(I)

"You need a date."

"Mei Mei, I don't have a single free minute in my schedule at the -"

"Okay, let me rephrase that. You need to get fucked."

The coffee you've just taken a sip of diverts somewhere in the depths of your nasal passages, leaving you sputtering. Dabbing at your mouth with a napkin, you glance around the cafe while Mei Mei stirs her flat white, amused.

"Something wrong?"

"You know I'm not ... good at that kind of thing."

"A mystery, to be sure. You're an eyecatcher, even in that coat."

"What's wrong with my coat?"

"Listen." She leans forward, the crook of her lips conspiratorial. "I'm having a little get together at my new place. Kind of a housewarming. And I'm inviting some people I work with. You should come."

Mei Mei was an avante garde fashion photographer, known for her theatric sets. If she was hinting at what you thought she was, then ...

"You're telling me that you're inviting a ... bunch of models?"

"Some of my associates. So yes, models. And others. Just a relaxed little get together. What do you say?"

"I don't know ... I have to -"

"So you'll be there."

Her sly, red-lipped smile brooks no argument.

******

Tugging at the straps of the shimmering green dress Mei Mei had loaned you for the occasion, you took a breath before pressing the buzzer on the intercom that would give you access to the upscale compound. Mei Mei had pulled some strings to procure an apartment here, arranged by one of her well-connected clients in the fashion industry.

Gaining entry, you traversed the beautifully furnished foyer, with its black and white tiles and vintage lamps. The heels you wore were a lot higher than your usual choice, and you walked with the care of one who expected to twist their ankle at any given second. You hoped nobody noticed.

Mei Mei's get together was a relaxed, but lively affair, the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses audible above the scent of various flowers her guests had brought her. She greeted you at the door and introduced you to a few of her colleagues.

Sipping champagne and appearing to listen intently to the lighting director who seemed to have an odd fixation on nipples under spotlights, the slow dawn of another's observation prickled against your skin.

You turned and surveyed the room, and you saw him. He was not exactly the kind of person you could miss. Tall, eerily beautiful, the ripple of lean muscle evident along the rangy lines of his body, his eyes capture you before anything else does. Blue as the most crystalline mountain lake, as clear, his pale lashes framing their illuminated surface, he is watching you with undisguised intrigue. The snowy hair, artfully disheveled, and the promise of a cheeky smile form a devastatingly handsome collection of features that blend together in a most pleasing fashion.

There was no mistaking it. This was the Gojo Satoru, one of the rising stars of the modeling world, a man who happened to look effortless in each and every one of his lauded photo shoots, many of which had already won awards.

And he was looking right at you.

Mei Mei had noticed his scrutiny of you, and she edged in, her soft introduction delivered with a smirk. She is gone faster than your eye can track, and now he's standing right opposite you, examining you with that laser-lit stare.

Clearing your throat, you swirl the remaining champagne in your glass.

"Gojo Satoru. I saw your cover on last week's Men's Wealth. It was ... really something."

He grins, pearly teeth catching the light of the chandeliers.

"Yeah? Which part of it did you like the most?"

"Which ... oh. The composition of the second photo was quite ..."

"Ahh, that one. Yeah. They just handed me the baby oil and told me to go to town. Didn't know it would be that slippery."

You choke slightly.

"So they don't give you ... more direction than that?"

"Oh no. I guess it's unique to me. I know what works best in my shoots and I get it done."

"Sounds like an interesting work ethic. I bet there aren't many models at your level who can say the same."

"Nah. I know I can be the best. I'm gonna be traveling to the New York Fashion Week tomorrow, and I barely know what's in store. They don't even bother telling me anymore."

His easy admission would sound arrogant from anyone else, but the confident assurance in his voice tells you that this man is simply stating facts. A frisson of something warm filters through you. As if his looks weren't already enough.

"Are you good at everything you put your hand to?"

Oh boy. The champagne had decided to assert its control over your mouth. Gojo doesn't seem to mind. If you're not mistaken, something is kindling in those fractured points of brilliance in his eyes too.

"I guess you could say that. I do have one vice, though. Something pretty incurable."

You lean forward, keen to hear this.

"A vice?"

"Yeah." His voice lowers to a secretive huskiness that turns the conditions in your underwear as humid as the Amazon rainforest.

"I kind of have ... a terrible sweet tooth. Can't get enough. I see something sweet, I want it right away."

He winks and sips from his glass, which you can see contains a cocktail with a fair amount of grenadine. You lick your lips, and his gaze follows the slick movement of your tongue.

"Oh? And what specific kinds of sweets do you like?"

"The classic kind."

He isn't touching you, but with the way his eyes rake over your form, he might as well be.

"I like spun sugar, light as air. The creaminess of a panna cotta. The burst of flavour on my tongue from a berry coulis. Give me some of that, and I'm yours, fair lady."

The upward quirk of his mouth is practically irresistible. It's what keeps you glued to his side for the rest of the night, while he, shockingly, seems to be thoroughly enjoying your company too. At times, you catch Mei Mei watching you both with discreet amusement and satisfaction.

At some point, she approaches and makes sure to thank Gojo for his assistance in obtaining this apartment. You glance over at him in surprise.

"Oh, Mei Mei did talk about that. I didn't know her contact was you."

"Sure was. I live just one floor up, actually. Put a word in with the owners and got her the place, no problem."

"So you own a place here too?"

He slides a hand into the pocket of his designer jeans, the glance he shoots you over his tinted glasses a clear invitation.

"Wanna come up and see the view?"

******

You had no idea how it had come to this. This wasn't you. And yet, here you were, in his apartment, the soft chatter of Mei Mei's party long forgotten in the frantic pace of your lips against his.

You both were barely in the door before his hands were on you, groping, caressing, mapping out every part of you sheathed in that increasingly cumbersome green dress. At the first opportunity, his fingers had stolen their way along the zipper and the material had slid down your legs.

You couldn't remember where your bra had been shed, probably somewhere just outside the bedroom.

He was surprisingly strong for someone with such a lean build. The corded sinew of his arms and back clearly weren't just for show. You found yourself tossed breathlessly onto the soft surface of the bed, as he surveyed you with a hunger that had your hands creeping south between your legs.

Satoru pauses, and suddenly there is a shift in the energy within the room. His face takes on a serious cast and his glance bends floorward. You sit up slightly.

"Satoru? Is everything - "

Eyes flitting briefly up to you, his throat bobs slightly as he swallows.

"Well. I guess this is a first for me. I don't usually do this, but ... I kinda want to see you again. After tonight, I mean."

You breathe out reverently. You certainly hadn't been expecting this level of vulnerability.

"And I want to see you again, too."

"So ... if that's the case then ... you need to see all of me. I can't hide this if we're going beyond a one night thing."

You're paying close attention now, reaching for him. He laces his fingers with yours.

What could this perfect man possibly be insecure about?

He takes a bracing breath before relinquishing your hand, stepping back from the bed and approaching the nightstand. Reaching into his mouth, he fiddles a little before plucking something away and placing it in a small container stored there. Turning back to face you, you see what he has been concealing.

The pearly teeth that had reflected such brilliant perfection in the light of Mei Mei's home were gone. In their place were a series of ill-formed, browning and misshapen stumps, many of them worn down completely. Your eyes snapped up to his, widening slightly.

"Satoru ... how - "

"I told you that I had a sweet tooth. I ... indulged myself as a child and my parents never stopped me. They spoiled me rotten in more ways than one! And now I'm  ... I'm paying the price."

"That's ... but why didn't you - "

"I'm going to have surgery soon to ... permanently fix it. But even if I do, my sweet tooth won't go away! It'll be with me forever. I'm ... "

His shoulders slumped slightly.

"Caramel icing. Berry coulis. Soft serve and rock candy. Even liquorice! Toffee! I can't - "

His voice breaks and you find yourself lunging across the bed towards him, enfolding him in a tight embrace. His breath washes over you, the foul tang of decay now noticeable. You understand how he couldn't keep something like this concealed beyond a one night stand. Your voice, when you speak, is infinitely soft.

"Satoru ... all this time ... were you avoiding proper relationships because you ... "

"I - yes."

His arms come up slowly around you, as if he is unused to the gesture.

"I couldn't even ... make them breakfast if I wanted to. Because then ... we'd have to brush our teeth together and they'd see ... "

"Oh, Satoru."

You press your mouth fervently against his, undeterred, mapping out each stump and broken edge with your tongue. He tastes like old coffee, milk gone sour, the cloying overripe sweetness of a fruit gone bad. But this is irrelevant to you, because you're kissing him.

You break away from him, watching those magnificent features of his freeze in shock.

"Wait ... you still want to - "

"Of course I want to. Come here."

The merry tap of fork and knife and Mei Mei's self-satisfied smile on the floor below would escape the both of you, as wrapped up in each other you had become. You vowed to yourself, running your fingers through his incredibly soft hair, that every morning from now on, you'd stand beside him at the bathroom sink and brush your teeth together.

Satoru missed the New York Fashion Week, but gained something far, far sweeter.

(II)

They call you Ishizu.

It isn't your true name, but it's one you'd accepted when you joined this crew. As the ship's surgeon, armed with your family's repertoire of skills and remedies, you'd managed to earn some credibility in your field. You'd saved more than one sailor's life.

For the brave fishing crews that traversed the Sea of Ruin, the vast stretch of unchartered water between this continent and the next, populated by scores of deadly sea beasts and treacherous archipelagos, the sea was a perilous temptress. Those with the skill and courage, not to mention a healthy dash of insanity, could make a substantial profit within a short time before retiring.

Such was the nature of Nanami Kento, Captain of the Casse Croûte, one of the few living men who had sailed the seven oceanic planes in all three seasons.

The Captain was an enigmatic man, to be sure. He'd come across as cold initially, sticking to such rigid timings and sailing plans that you'd wondered how any of his crew liked him. And heavens, did they adore the man. He had the undying loyalty of every person on board, and whenever you'd asked about it, they'd simply smiled and told you that you'd see with time.

So you waited and observed. Gradually, you began to see the qualities the crew so prized in him. When the cabin boy, Yuuji, almost fell into the jaws of a large sea beast with grey, cross-stitch skin, the Captain had drawn his cleaver and struck such a heavy blow across its nose that the creature immediately lost interest in a fisherman-sized snack.

When Sailor Ino, eager to prove himself, had set forth on an expedition on an unchartered island, only to return covered in large insect bites and a raging fever, the Captain had stayed up with him every night until the fever had broken. You'd never seen such dedication to the welfare of the crew.

There were many other such instances, and slowly, you found yourself gravitating to the quiet, charismatic captain as much as the others did. He was also unmistakeably handsome, with his kind, tired gaze, gleaming blonde hair, tall, muscular frame and clean-cut profile. In spite of his injuries, a missing eye and the damaged hand, he was also a formidable man. You'd be lying if you'd claimed that this dangerously attractive man hadn't intruded on your nighttime musings more than once ...

And on one particular night, while the next watch took their positions at the bell and you sat in the small galley that adjoined your surgery, he'd come in, nursing a steaming coffee, and kept you company. Slowly, he'd opened up to you, speaking of his days as a sailor, before he'd become Captain of the Casse Croûte, and what came after.

Something heavier lay over the conversation, though, something he seemed on the verge of telling you. Eventually, you pried it out of him. As you'd suspected, it was to do with his terrible injuries.

"Have you ever heard of the white leviathan?"

Swirling the coffee in his cup, his single eye glances up at you under dark lashes.

"I ... have heard some tales, yes. He's a legend, according to some."

"A living legend."

Seeing your eyes widen, he nods.

"Made off with a portion of my arm, and I'll never watch the sunrise with this eye again."

You exhale heavily.

"Captain ... I had no idea you'd encountered such a creature. What ... exactly happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"You should ask. After all, as long as I remain in command of this ship, he may yet make another appearance."

"What do you mean?"

"The white leviathan, also known as a Gojoverian Satorunus, is the strongest of its kind to be born in centuries. Normally, they keep to their distant isle, within the Lightning Archipelago, where few venture. He, however, roams the seas in an eternal quest."

"I've heard that legends call him the Meibi Dick. Is there ... a reason for that strange nickname?"

The Captain hisses through his teeth, one hand raising to his eyepatch, as if just the mention of that moniker has sunk a harpoon into his flesh. You hurry to apologise.

"Captain, I'm so - "

"Please. No need. Let me explain. That nickname ... was a direct result of my encounter with him."

"It was?"

"Indeed. It was a gloomy day, I remember. Rain was pelting down. We'd put out the sails, because the sea was quite still.  At that time, we came upon a wreck, out at sea. The ship had washed up on a great reef, and there it hung, a spectre of former glory."

You were now hanging on to Nanami's words like a crow with carrion.

"And the white leviathan had caused this?"

"Indeed, although we didn't know it at the time. I ordered some of our skilled divers to check the wreck for any possible survivors. There were none, but one of the divers came back with something. A large piece of purified ambergris, said to smell and taste as good to leviathans as the sweetest nectar. Its call to them is so strong, that it may even drive them into heat, causing mating events in their population when they come across it. In my folly, I took it on board for its great value."

"And what happened then?"

"That night, the white leviathan, which had destroyed the other ship for the ambergris, came for us. The scent had laid such claim to the beast's mind that its mating mark had bloomed on the skin near its head, which it displayed to us."

"Its mating mark?"

Reaching into his pocket, Nanami drew out a small notebook and charcoal stick. He sketched something on one of the blank pages before passing the book over to you. Your eyes widened as you took in the drawing. It looked like a crude, stylized penis with the testicles sketched in just below.

"Is this ... "

"His frightful member. Indeed. He was attempting to show us his intention in order to lay claim to the ambergris."

"What did you do?"

"I knew we stood no chance against him. Foolishly, I thought to outrun him. It was futile. He boxed us in at every turn, his plaintive, terrible cry echoing across the water to us. Eventually, I ordered for the ambergris to be thrown overboard. It only served as a distraction. The beast consumed it and resumed his chase. Due to how long I'd evaded him, he'd come to associate this ship, and me, the Captain, with the ambergris."

"But Captain, that means ..."

He nods grimly, and you are sorely tempted to reach across the table and take his hand.

"He will hunt this vessel to the ends of the earth. Why do you think I plan every stage of our voyage so carefully? I'm always one step ahead of him, monitoring and studying the tides, the currents, the beast shoals. As long as we stick to the plan, we have the ability to outrun him."

Hope flares in your chest, in spite of your growing fear.

"I have faith in you, Captain. So does this crew. We'll be beside you, if the white leviathan ever makes an appearance."

This time, you do take his hand in your warm, tentative grasp, watching as his eyes drink in your countenance in the dim light of the galley. He squeezes your fingers in return.

**********

The seasons at sea come and go, and its a full seven months and three days before Captain Nanami's perfectly timed schedule is threatened. A storm, the likes of which you've never encountered before, strikes with unpredictable ferocity. The ship is blown completely off course, and although it will take a few days to rectify, Nanami's dire mood is palpable.

If you didn't have full faith in your Captain, you might have considered this an overreaction on his part. But you knew better. You knew that his concern came from long experience.

A well-founded concern, as it turned out. The white leviathan made an appearance a mere two days after the storm, spotted far to starboard by the lookout, and gaining fast.

Captain Nanami forbade any of the crew joining him in his task of slaying the beast, but this was one occasion where nobody would follow his instructions. You all loved him too well. Come hell or high water, you would all be by his side.

And the leviathan approached, its size alone boggling the mind. The waves slapped and beat against the hull, the slow rise and dip of the deck more and more pronounced as it came closer. Nanami stood on the prow, facing the creature, the large harpoon readied by Yuuji in one hand, his trusty cleaver in the other.

Then, you heard it. The terrible call of the creature, booming across the water to batter at your ears. The grotesquely formed words were difficult to make out, but to your astonishment, they formed distinct speech that you could understand.

"Naaanaaamiiiin, letttsssss .... gooooooo oouutttt."

The Captain gritted his teeth, his own reply loud on the wind.

"Never, you foul creature!"

"Sompppthin .... impooorrtant .... talkkkkk tooooo youuuuuu .... "

"You've been chasing me for years! There's nothing this important! Begone!"

"Iiiiiiii .... havvveeennn'tttt...... saiiiiddd nyythiiing ... "

"I refuse!"

That groaning, awful cry had come closer and closer, forcing you to your knees, hands clasped over your ears. The Captain stood firm, even as the giant, pale form broke the surface of the sea beside the ship, the giant, electric blue eye surveying the vessel with the glee of a long awaited victory.

"Naaaanaaaaminnnnn .... "

And then, you saw it. The mark the Captain had spoken of, the giant member and testicles that appeared as scrawled marks from beneath the skin of the beast. It had not forgotten! And now, as the beast called out again, it dawned upon you in a flash where it's dreaded nickname had come from.

"Naaaanaaaamiiinnnnnn ... maaaaayybbeeeee  ... diiiiiiicckkkkkk?"

You lunged toward the Captain, grabbing at his leg to keep him steady as the deck pitched violently before the amorous leviathan. You saw Nanami looking down at you, that beautifully courageous gaze trained on your water-streaked face. He turned back to the monster.

"I will never accept your dick, you all-ruining, unambitious fish."

You grasped his leg harder, willing all of your strength into his good arm as his body uncoiled and the harpoon flew true through the eye of the storm.

Part 2:

Demon Lord! Geto and Fireman! Kusakabe

[magical-reid]

Ricochet

Pairing: Bucky x Fem! Reader

Slow Burn/ Enemies to Lovers

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: Bucky and the reader's relationship starts off rocky, marked by tension, mistrust, and bickering, especially due to their shared past with Hydra. However, over time, their interactions soften as they begin to understand each other better, with moments of respect, mutual concern, and subtle attraction emerging amid their fiery exchanges.

Reader’s POV

The elevator ride to the top of Avengers Tower was too quiet, too long, and too nerve-wracking. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—I was supposed to be excited, grateful even. Joining the Avengers was a big deal. The deal.

But all I could think about was the man waiting on the other side of the shiny metal doors.

Bucky Barnes.

The Winter Soldier, they used to call him. The Ghost. The most terrifying assassin in history. Now, they called him an Avenger. A hero. A man trying to rebuild his life, just like me.

Except, he hated me.

The elevator dinged, interrupting my downward spiral. I adjusted the strap of my duffel bag, straightened my back, and stepped into the common area.

It was bustling. Clint Barton was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee. Wanda Maximoff was cross-legged on the couch, nose deep in a book. Sam Wilson was half-shouting something about a sparring session.

And then, there he was.

Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, piercing blue eyes narrowed in a look that could melt steel. Bucky Barnes.

Bucky’s POV

I saw her before she even got off the elevator.

The new recruit—great. Another kid with a chip on their shoulder and something to prove. Fury had said she was talented, promising even. But Fury said a lot of things, and I wasn’t buying it.

Especially since she was Hydra-trained.

I crossed my arms tighter, keeping my mouth shut as the others greeted her. My stomach churned as I watched her, trying to read her body language. She stood tall, confident, but there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. Good. She should be nervous.

“You’re the new girl, huh?” Sam said, clapping her on the shoulder like they were old friends.

“Yeah,” she replied, glancing my way for half a second before looking back at Sam. “I guess I am.”

Her voice was steady, but I caught the slight clench of her jaw. She knew who I was, knew what I thought about her being here.

“Welcome to the Tower,” Sam said, oblivious. “What’s your specialty?”

“Close combat,” she said. “And infiltration.”

“Great,” I muttered under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear. Her head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” I said, pushing off the wall. “You’ve got ‘infiltration’ written all over you.”

Reader’s POV

It took every ounce of restraint not to throw my duffel bag at his head. He was testing me, pushing my buttons, and it was working.

“Okay,” Sam said, stepping between us with a strained smile. “Let’s just… ease into this. No need to kill each other yet.”

Yet.

The tension lingered, thick as smoke, as Bucky gave me one last icy look before brushing past me and disappearing down the hall.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

Bucky’s POV

The new girl—Y/N. Fury had mentioned her name in passing—was trouble. I didn’t need Steve’s optimism or Sam’s over-the-top friendliness clouding my judgment. People didn’t just walk away from Hydra clean.

I knew that better than anyone.

She was going to slip up. Eventually, she’d prove me right.

The problem was, part of me almost didn’t want her to.

Two Weeks Later

Reader’s POV

I’d managed to avoid Bucky for the first couple of weeks, which was harder than it should have been considering we lived under the same roof. But there was no avoiding him in the field.

Our first mission as a team had gone sideways fast. Hydra—not that it was surprising—had set up a trap, and now half the team was scattered in the woods outside the compound while Bucky and I were stuck together.

“Stay close,” Bucky barked, his voice sharp enough to cut through the chaos.

“I know how to stay alive,” I snapped back, dodging behind a tree as bullets tore through the air.

“Yeah, but for how long?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I slid my knife from its sheath, took a deep breath, and bolted toward the nearest Hydra soldier. The element of surprise worked in my favor. I took him down quickly and efficiently, just like I’d been trained.

But the second soldier saw me coming.

“Damn it,” I muttered, raising my blade, but before I could strike, a blur of black and silver tackled the guy to the ground.

Bucky.

He stood over the unconscious soldier, shaking his head. “You’re reckless.”

“I’m fine,” I bit out, wiping blood from my cheek.

“For now.”

“Why do you even care?”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him as more soldiers approached.

“Stay behind me,” he growled.

I wanted to argue, but something in his tone made me listen.

Bucky’s POV

She was going to get herself killed.

I didn’t trust her—not even a little—but I didn’t want her blood on my hands. She was brash, stubborn, and reckless, but she wasn’t incompetent. That’s what made it worse.

Because if she wasn’t Hydra anymore, if she really had turned her back on them, she didn’t deserve to die like this.

“Bucky, behind you!”

Her voice snapped me back to reality just in time to block the incoming blow. The Hydra soldier hit hard, but I hit harder. I turned and delivered a swift kick to his chest, sending him flying into a tree.

When I turned back to Y/N, she was watching me, something unreadable in her eyes.

“You okay?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

She nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Good,” I muttered. “Let’s keep moving.”

Later

Reader’s POV

By the time we made it back to the jet, I was running on adrenaline and pure spite. Bucky hadn’t let up the entire mission, barking orders and criticizing every move I made.

But he’d also saved my life. Twice.

“You’re lucky I was there,” he said as the jet doors closed behind us.

I rounded on him, eyes blazing. “You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Clint, sitting in the pilot’s seat, let out a low whistle. “This is gonna be fun.”

Bucky ignored him, his focus entirely on me. “You want to survive out there? Start listening to people who know what they’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing,” I snapped.

“Do you?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to get yourself killed.”

“Better than hiding behind everyone else.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might actually yell. Instead, he turned and stormed toward the back of the jet.

Bucky’s POV

She was infuriating.

She didn’t know when to quit, when to listen, when to shut up. But damn it, she had fire.

I hated that I noticed it. Hated the way my heart skipped when she called me out, the way my mind replayed her voice when I was alone.

I hated the way she looked at me, like she was daring me to prove her wrong.

But most of all, I hated the thought of something happening to her.

Weeks Turn to Months

The missions kept coming, and so did the tension. Every time we worked together, sparks flew—anger, frustration, heat. But somewhere along the line, the edges softened.

It started small: a hesitant “good job” after a successful mission, a shared smirk when Tony made a particularly bad joke.

And then, one night, everything changed.

Reader’s POV

The training room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of fists hitting the punching bag. I’d come down to clear my head, but I wasn’t alone.

Bucky was there, shirtless and focused, his metal arm gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

I froze in the doorway, my heart doing something stupid in my chest.

“Gonna stand there all night?” he asked without looking up.

I scowled, stepping into the room. “Didn’t know you owned the place.”

He smirked, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You here to train or to sulk?”

“Both,” I admitted, grabbing a pair of gloves.

We worked in silence for a while, the air thick with unspoken tension. It wasn’t until I landed a particularly satisfying hit on the bag that he finally spoke

Part 2

[melis-writes]

The Other Woman [Michael Corleone x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 6 – Star-crossed.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 5 / Chapter Masterlist / Fanfic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

"They’re the Corleones. Their name, reputation, image? Yeah, they make that shine at those galas, and they do it well—let me tell you that.” / “This is my gala, my hotel. It belongs to me, and now… so do you.”

Invited to your first, formal social outing with the Corleones, you travel to Las Vegas with the family--meeting Fredo, Deanna and experiencing the luxuries of one of the many resort-casinos the Corleones own. It's at the banquet that you come across unwanted guests, somehow tied to the Corleone family and very much your own that bring a terrifying revelation to you, now questioning how the Corleone family you know could have criminal ties. Under Michael's protection and reassurance, you find that to not be your only surprise for tonight, claimed by your darkest fantasy, Michael's neediness and his demand to have you all to himself tonight behind his family's back for the first time.

[WARNINGS]: Loss of virginity, oral sex, vaginal sex, heavy touching/fondling, cheating/affairs.

[CHAPTER REQUESTS]: Michael getting jealous of Marina / Michael and Marina share an intimate moment gazing into each other's eyes @nomorekerkanymor / Soft Michael putting jewelry on Marina / Michael calling Marina pet names / A man puts moves on Marina before Michael confesses his desires to her and Michael gives Marina a subtle, possessive claiming lecture in his office.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The 6th chapter of The Other Woman is FINALLY here!! 🙂‍↕️😋 After such a long hiatus which was the result of an everchanging, busy life schedule and a lot of writer's block, I promised and I delivered! 44 pages or 18.6k words and the delicious, hot and heavy, scandalous first sex scene to top it all of finally in here to break the ice and that sexual tension I built up between Michael and Marina for so long. 🥵 Beyond thrilled to share this chapter with you guys as things are definitely changing in The Other Woman and going to get even more dramatic and smut filled!

Hired by the Corleone family as a governess, you relocate to the Lake Tahoe family compound, looking forward to your future in Nevada until you meet your employer—Michael Corleone. Your future is then ensnared only in lust and forbidden love for Michael since the beginning, and you find yourself yearning for a married man you can never have. Desire and passion clash with one another as Michael takes you to be his mistress—only having an exclusive sexual relationship with you while his sex life with Kay dies out. Knowing from the beginning you’ll never truly be with Michael and that your place in his life is worlds apart from Kay’s as the other woman, the love you have for him consumes you until it threatens to burn out everything you’ve ever had with Michael.

Lake Tahoe Compound.

Standing just shy of the morning sunlight shining through the bedroom window, Michael Corleone’s eyes are fixated out on the compound as his fingers work to tie a silk, black tie; having changed into his Diupiani grey, silk suit after breakfast with everyone in the courtyard of his and Kay’s estate.

The remainder of this Friday morning will be dedicated to everyone preparing for the gala in Las Vegas tonight until the return to Lake Tahoe on Saturday afternoon.

Michael has no particular feelings about the gala; only that he anticipates nothing but business and the opportunity against his will to see many of his business colleagues get intoxicated and handsy with cocktail waitresses as Michael and Tom run their numbers and strictly remain on topics of work and business.

The gala is nothing but another obligation to Michael, and as one of the most influential men in Nevada, he has very few excuses to make for an absence.

Michael knows he might be more or less inclined to enjoy the evening so long as you and Kay do, but your presence there alone will keep things interesting enough for Michael. Perhaps seeing you—someone not obligated to bore themselves to death with fluffy, wealth-induced talks at galas—but there to enjoy the luxuries the evening has to offer will impact Michael’s perspective.

Nonetheless, the Corleone family—let alone Michael himself—has much to be proud of at the gala, as it’s been hosted in the very casino resort that used to belong to Moe Greene. Used to.

It remains the first casino resort Michael directly invested and sought ownership over and has been under Corleone control for seven years, thriving and flourishing as one of the biggest sources of revenue from hospitality to the Corleone family.

You’ve yet to truly see all the wealth and influence the Corleone family maintains, but it benefits you by giving you peace of mind as you know they aren’t blatant criminals like the mafia families you’ve previously worked for.

Part of Michael’s only true entertainment tonight at the gala may just be watching how your eyes light up when you enter the casino resort. Michael will have impressed you immensely just by that already and without even lifting his finger—something you’ll come to understand Michael Corleone does very often.

Just as you’ll be in Michael’s presence and line of sight at the gala tonight, you’re in his view now. Michael gazes at you from his bedroom window; his curtains pulled back just enough to gaze outside but guard his privacy and hide that his eyes are now fixated only on you.

Michael’s compound bodyguards and some buttonmen gather by the gazebo not far from you, smoking cigarettes over quiet conversation. Tom is over by the docks, teaching his son Frank how to play fetch with their dog, and yet from all the action occurring from his line of view, you’re all that Michael gazes upon.

You’re by the Corleone estate’s front lawn with little Mary, carrying a wicker basket filled with a variety of wilted or crushed flowers—caused by Tom’s dog by accident. You agreed to help Mary collect them to clean up the garden after breakfast, happily tagging along together with a basket almost filled to the brim with old flowers.

“Almost full,” you chuckle, giving the basket a little shake.

“Do you think we could keep them?” Mary peeks at you, smiling innocently at the basket of flowers in your hand. “We don’t have to throw them away, right?”

“No, of course not,” you reply with a smile, extending out the basket to Mary for a better look. “We can still keep them.”

“Hmm,” a frown crosses over Mary’s lips as she looks inside the basket to see the crushed petals mixing in with other wilted flowers.

“We can still make do,” you offer, “have you ever made jewelry with dried flower petals?”

“You can do that?” Mary’s eyes light up with sudden excitement, causing you to laugh.

“If we have all the tools we need, we can both do it together,” you nod at her, “lots to do with these pretty flowers, even if they’re wilted or crushed. See—” you gently scoop up some of the flowers with your hand, rubbing your thumb over the dried out petals. “They’re not so bad. We can even press them between books or make crafts with them—no worries at all.”

“Wow,” Mary giggles, giving a little excited jump. “Okay! I have more—”

Before Mary can continue, you both hear Esther’s voice calling out from the other end of the Corleone estate. “Mary! Your mother would like to see you!”

“Oh!” Mary turns around to the sound of Esther’s voice before glancing back at you.

“Go on,” you beckon, smiling warmly at her. “Gala today, maybe it’s packing time?”

“I think so,” Mary lets out a quiet giggle. “Okay, I’ll be back soon, Miss Marina! We need to keep those flowers safe!”

“I definitely will, you can trust me!” You wave her off, holding the basket close to your chest.

Nodding, Mary happily skips off back towards the other end of the estate, leaving you alone in Michael’s line of vision.

Observing your interaction with his daughter, Michael’s eyes now trail down your body from head to toe; focused on your lavender shirtwaist dress and black Mary-Jane shoes.

He watches as you take a half-crushed red rose from your flower basket and take in the scent of the flower still lingering and strong.

You glance up momentarily to see Tom’s dog sprinting at full speed after Frank—laughter erupting from over by the docs as you run your fingers through the damaged petals of the rose.

The softness of the petals strikes a brief thought eagerly wandering into your mind from last night’s session with yourself as to the thought of Michael’s hands running over your skin instead; treating you as delicately as you treat the petals—admiring you.

You picture Michael gently tilting your chin to face him, tracing the shape of your lips with his finger before caressing your cheek.

Michael’s free hand would run down from your collarbone to your hardened nipple before he’d rub it between his thumb, watching your eyes for a reaction and listening to a soft whimper exhale from you.

Still caressing over your jawline, Michael would lower his hand down to your inner thighs, scouring them and feeling your soft, warm skin against his hand.

You know Michael would much rather have you alone in his office; your one thigh propped up over his shoulder and his fingers toying with your wet slit more than anything else.

Michael hears Kay’s footsteps beginning to approach the bedroom but he doesn’t divert his attention off of you until he hears Kay’s voice speaking to him.

“The children are almost ready to go,” Kay exhales, seemingly out of breath but in a rather cheerful mood.

Michael tightens his tie, nodding and turning around to face his wife. “How do you feel?” He slowly begins to approach her from behind as Kay sets an empty piece of luggage on the corner of their bed.

“Almost exhausted, almost.” Kay lets out a deep breath as Michael embraces her from behind.

“Almost,” Michael repeats.

“Mm,” Kay begins to blush at her husband’s touch, placing her hands over the top of Michael’s on her little baby bump. “But still excited more than anything. How on earth did you convince Connie to come along with us?” She glances over her shoulder back at Michael.

“You’d have a harder time convincing Mama more than Connie now,” Michael replies.

“Oh, true,” Kay lets out a soft laugh as Michael pecks a kiss over her cheek.

“Looking forward to it?” He asks.

“I definitely am,” Kay beams back, “and Marina’s coming along too. It’ll be something new for everyone and especially for her to look forward to.”

“Mhmm,” Michael’s eyes find the window again, noticing you beginning to walk off back to your lodgings and out of his sight.

“And speaking of,” Kay pushes a curtain of her hair behind her ear. “It was really sweet of you to invite Marina to the gala with us.”

Michael doesn’t reply back, only giving the side of Kay’s neck a gentle kiss before pulling away.

“I think she’ll slowly start getting used to them,” Kay continues.

This implies to Michael that Kay expects you to accompany the rest of the family to every social gathering and gala that you can possibly come to going forward, and Michael thinks the exact same thing.

“She might even have fun,” Kay chuckles, beginning to open up her luggage. “That poor girl.”

Michael furrows his brows, not on par with Kay’s comment.

“She’s not helpless,” he comments, moving towards his night table to grab his glass of water. “She simply isn’t used to it.”

“You’re right,” Kay nods, rethinking her words. “And you think so?”

Michael nods back, raising his water glass to his lips. “You can take tonight to get to know her better as well.

“You’re right about that,” Kay turns to face her husband, watching Michael take a long sip of his water. “We’ll see.”

 Stepping back into the estate lodgings you share with Esther, you let out a soft breath and take in the peace and quiet from inside, knowing of course Esther is all too busy running around to get the children ready for the gala before she can come in and get herself ready to go too.

Having always been a proactive packer, you already have all your belongings and everything together in your luggage and start packing from the moment you were told you’d be joining the Corleones at the gala.

You’ve been adding more or taking out things as you need, but now all that’s left is to haul your luggage back outside to let Michael’s men take care of putting it in the trunk of a secure car with the rest of everyone else’s belongings.

Heading upstairs to your bedroom, you grab your suitcase placed in the corner of your room and carefully move it from leaning against the wall; using the handle to avoid the bulky heaviness as you begin to take it out into the hallway.

Just before you leave your bedroom, you take a final glance back and towards your closet door that remains ajar; more than halfway filled now with dresses, blouses, skirts, and undergarments. It wasn’t like that when you first moved into the Lake Tahoe compound and brings a sense of ease and deep appreciation for your living situation now.

Before, you must have owned about ten outfits in total with three pairs of shoes, but the paycheques the Corleone family writes for you have been nothing less than generous, and you’ve gained the financial freedom for the first time in your life to be able to buy yourself something nice without worrying about making ends meet or being racked with guilt for spoiling yourself.

‘Something to get used to,’ you smile to yourself before continuing to head downstairs to the front door. ‘All of this…’

Getting used to things also means getting used to galas and the most lavish social gatherings you know a family as prestigious and influential as the Corleones would get invited to, but you don’t know for sure if you are or aren’t an enthusiast or social butterfly if you’ve never attended one before.

For your sake, you hope that you open up more to these events and learn from them—truly be a part of the Corleone family, coming off inconspicuous as nobody would truly know the real reason why you’d want to accompany them all the time.

“Miss Alighieri,” you hear a familiar, male voice as soon as you step out of your residence’s door with your luggage in hand.

Almost startled and caught off guard, you pinpoint the voice to be one of Michael’s men—peeking up in surprise.

You look up to see Ritchie Nobilio, only remembering his first name not so much through small talk or minor interactions with him yourself but through other men referring to him as such.

You’ve personally seen Ritchie come and go through all parts of the compound as far as your eye can see, and you know he’s responsible for keeping Corleone family employees like you and Esther safe and secure on and around the compound.

“Oh, hi—” You’re surprised to see just how quick but gentle Ritchie snags your luggage out of your hands.

“Don’t trouble yourself with that,” Ritchie flashes you a charming smile. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” you smile back, adjusting your posture.

“No problem,” gripping your luggage, Ritchie begins to head down the porch with you following behind him. “Almost ready to go?”

“I suppose so,” you glance back at your residence’s shut front door.

“First time?” Ritchie looks at you, waiting for you to catch up with him.

You follow Ritchie side by side at an appropriate distance, continuing to head down to the center of the compound with him.

“Ya know,” Ritchie continues, “with fancy galas and all that.”

“First time,” you nod, “have you ever been to one?”

“Me?” Ritchie chuckles, “Sure being security outside and taking a little peek inside sometimes counts. I don’t think it’s my thing. I like what I do—don’t get me wrong—but that’s a little bit too much. There’s a good reason why though.”

“Yeah?” You raise a brow, your curiosity rising. “Why is that?”

“They’re the Corleones,” Ritchie shrugs his shoulder, “their name, reputation, image? Yeah, they make that shine at those galas, and they do it well—let me tell you that.”

As you continue your conversation with Ritchie down to the main estates of the compound, Michael and Kay step out of their estate with Anthony and Mary scuttling by their side.

Michael directs Rocco as to which vehicle will store their luggage, and Kay gently reminds the children to be on their best behavior and use their indoor voices when speaking at the gala and on the way there.

“Keep it secure,” Michael tells Rocco sternly.

“Will do, Don Corleone,” Rocco locks up the back trunk of the Cadillac.

Kay smoothens out her dress, smiling at Michael whose eyes suddenly find you and Ritchie as the two of you begin to approach closer.

Momentarily stunned again, you’re flustered by a powerful urging attraction to Michael and desperately attempt to ignore it and remain polite while listening to what Ritchie has to say.

“If you don’t know how to dance, you’ll learn right quick,” Ritchie lets out a laugh, unaware as to how sternly Michael’s watching the two of you interacting with each other.

“I’m in for a treat then,” you giggle, diverting your attention back to Ritchie.

“You’ll wow them, no worries,” Ritchie gives you a playful wink—only surging a strike of jealousy through Michael.

“Think we’ll head to the airport in half an hour or so?” Kay asks Michael, but neither his gaze nor body language changes.

“Longer,” Michael replies, keeping his eye on you.

“Like this, maybe?” Ritchie spins around with your luggage in hand, showing off a few silly and uncoordinated dance moves that make you burst out in laughter. “Maybe this is all I picked up, but I could do a good waltz maybe!”

“Maybe?” Laughing, you genuinely find Ritchie’s actions before you hilarious.

It’s nice for you to be able to grow comfortable with Michael’s men who are responsible for employee safety and security, seeing them as much more friendly and easygoing than you originally thought.

In the moment, you’re too distracted by Ritchie to glance back at Michael, but he most definitely is not.

“See—like that!” Ritchie gently takes your hand, twirling you around with him.

With the sound of the other vehicles slowly pulling in from outside of the compound and Tom’s children screeching around chasing each other in a game of tag just across, Kay can’t hear nor does she look over in your line of sight with Ritchie like Michael does.

“Longer?” Kay asks Michael, confused.

Michael nods back, staying put but refusing to call out your name or Ritchie’s for the time being; after all, Kay’s standing right next to him.

“I have other matters to attend to before we leave,” Michael continues.

All Michael wants right now is your immediate attention, and he intends to have it one way or another.

“Oh, okay…” Kay blinks, unable to make sense of Michael’s contradiction for the travel time. “What for?”

“Just business, Kay.”

“Yep, yep,” Ritchie grins at you as he begins to pack away your luggage in the next Cadillac. “Now we got all your stuff packed in and you got to see me embarrass myself with my dancing. Pretty solid, isn’t it?”

“Right,” you giggle back, “well, thank you for that.”

“Of course,” Ritchie nods back happily. “I won’t be tagging along this time, but I still hope you, Esther, and the others enjoy yourselves in Las Vegas.”

It’s then that Michael suddenly moves from where he stands with Kay, almost as if he’s going towards his Cadillac but as you look up to the sound of footsteps growing near, your eyes widen to see that it looks like Michael’s moving directly towards you.

Your heart immediately begins to race in your chest—a hot, rosy blush spreading over your cheeks as Michael gets closer to you, but he moves to simply walk by your side instead of approaching you directly.

You gaze back at Michael with uncertainty and expectation as if he’ll speak to you, but you remain reluctant to greet him or say anything—only standing there in a blushing panic.

Michael neither stops to speak with you nor does he completely walk past without a word, but you hear him speak to you in a stern yet calm voice just as he walks by, saying, “See me in my office.”

At a loss for words, you blink and turn around to watch Michael head toward his estate without another word or glance in your direction.

Blushing furiously, you pull a curtain of your hair behind your ear and look around to see everyone preoccupied with packing and speaking with Rocco as to which vehicles will transport who to have witnessed your brief interaction with Michael.

You know you’ll all be heading out soon to the airport and you waste no time walking towards the main estate, believing whatever it is that Michael needs to speak to you about, it must be urgent; perhaps a last-minute talk about what to expect at the gala before you go.

‘Seeing Michael again…’  You obediently follow into the main estate with no hesitation, noting how utterly quiet it’s become except for the grandfather clock in the foyer.

You move towards Michael’s office, only able to hear very faint footsteps coming from inside before it goes completely silent, only reminding you once again just how soundproof it truly is in Michael’s office.

You place your hand over the doorknob of Michael’s office door and gently twist, entering the office quietly and shutting the door behind you right away.

Michael remains across from you in the office, standing in front of his desk by the coffee table—sipping a glass of water.

Michael’s eyes immediately find yours as he lowers his glass of water; expectation rising in his gaze.

“You asked to see me?” Already flustered and embarrassed, you speak out in a soft tone.

Michael says nothing, continuing to stare at you, watching how your rosy cheeks intensify with blush. His eyes flicker to the detailing of your shirtwaist dress over your chest before he meets your eyes again, “have a seat.”

Nodding, you take a seat in the same leather armchair you sat in when you met Michael formally for the first time; all the memories begin to trickle back into your mind again.

You discreetly clench your legs and sit politely, hands clasped on your lap as you watch Michael set his glass of water down on his office table; his Italian silk suit jacket hugging every muscle and shape of his figure with each movement he makes—turning you on more than you want to admit.

“How do you feel?” Michael suddenly asks you, catching you off guard.

You blink, watching as Michael turns to face you—resting both of his hands on the edges of his office table.

You think to yourself the question he just asked must be about how you feel about the gala, not you personally.

Blushing at Michael’s direct gaze and attention over you, you give a small nod. “I’m excited for the gala. A little nervous, but excited and grateful to be attending.”

“Good,” Michael reaches one hand over to the far corner of his office desk—his eyes still over yours—as he reaches for his cigarette pack, taking one cigarette out of it.

You swallow hard, watching Michael’s slim fingers wrap around the cigarette as he pulls it out of the pack. You know you’ve had far too many nights where you’ve fallen asleep after fingering yourself from one orgasm to the next—imagining those same slim fingers pumping in and out of you until your juices flowed down your thighs.

Michael takes his lighter out from his suit’s front breast pocket before speaking further with you. “I trust you find the security at the compound satisfactory.”

“Um, yes.”

Michael raises his cigarette to his lips before pausing, seemingly unimpressed by your answer. “I’m not interviewing you, Marina. I’m only asking.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, watching Michael slip his cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “Right, sorry.”

“You seemed much more carefree outside,” Michael lights his cigarette, staring back at you. “Nobilio is treating you kindly?”

“Oh, yes,” you answer, “yes, he is. It’s nice of him. I think he interacts with Esther and—”

“That’s his job,” Michael takes a long first drag out of his cigarette. “He’s known for that.” Michael blows out the smoke of his cigarette away from you, slowly beginning to walk behind your seat.

You freeze, taking in the scent of Michael’s cologne mixing in with the cigarette smoke as Michael places one hand on the back of your seat—mere inches from your shoulder. “But you can see how I find that highly inappropriate, don’t you?”

“On his behalf?” You ask, quietly.

Michael moves his hand back, coming around to sit in the leather armchair directly across from you. “You think it would be inappropriate on your behalf?” He answers your question with another question. “It’s simply inappropriate. It’s not acceptable.”

‘Is he…?’ Stunned, you can’t quite figure out why Michael feels so strongly about your interaction with Ritchie outside, but you do remember how vocal and even silly both you and Ritchie must have been acting out in the middle of the compound and that it might just have come off the wrong way.

You’re in no position at the moment to assume it might just be jealousy on Michael’s behalf.

You nod at Michael slowly with a frown. “I’m sorry.”

Michael’s gaze softens as he takes his cigarette out of his mouth. “You don’t have to apologize to me, Marina.” He rises from his seat, beginning to approach you directly.

Your breath hitches as you look up at Michael and force yourself to maintain eye contact despite having your face leveled only a few inches away from his crotch.

“I don’t want to repeat myself,” Michael continues, his tone of voice soft and husky but affirmative in how he lectures you. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“I don’t want you near Nobilio. I don’t want you near any of those men like that,” Michael states. “You are my governess, not their friend and you will remain by my side when I ask you to.”

“I…” Blushing furiously and unable to avoid the feverish tension building between the both of you, you nod back almost too willingly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

‘What?’ Your eyes widen at his response, face flushing scarlet as you’re too shocked to even react to his words but Michael wastes no time in dismissing you, already having turned around and making his way over to the office door.

“Get yourself ready for the gala. We’re leaving now.”

It isn’t the first time nor will it be the last time you’ll exit from Michael’s office with a wet patch growing in your panties and a quiver running down your thighs—begging for Michael’s touch.

What that man does to you is beyond anything you can think of and all your rationality flies out the window in his presence alone.

He just had you here in his office moments ago, subtlety lecturing you as if you were his and his only, and all you did was agree readily. Yes, just like that.

You’ve no desire to be close to or interact personally with Ritchie Nobilio again if that’s what Michael wants, and yet you picked up on the sound in the tone of Michael’s voice and that look in his hazel eyes that were filled with a kind of concern and care—not out of worry for your safety but for something else.

‘To be close to him…’

Stunned and getting more and more aroused, you force yourself back into reality; getting ready to leave with the others as you remain quiet amongst the family.

With everything packed and all vehicles secured, lining up near the gates of the compound, you’re seated in the Cadillac with Esther only, seeing Sandra, her kids, and Mama Corleone in another and Tom, Theresa, and their children in another, leaving Michael, Kay, Mary and Anthony in their vehicle—the most protected.

The rest of Michael’s men and bodyguards drive close, following behind and leading ahead as all of the vehicles exit the compound.

You glance out the back windshield of the car, watching as the compound’s gates close shut; Michael’s men immediately secure the perimeters and keep watch until your vehicles drive away from their line of vision.

You have to admit, it helps not to be around Michael’s immediate presence, but you’re still too disenchanted to take anything else in.

All your mind runs through are thoughts of being next to Michael again; his dark eyes burning into you—calling you “good girl”. Did you just imagine that?

It’s not like you can make small talk with Esther now in the car to get Michael off your mind, seeing how Esther’s peacefully dozed off to catch up on her sleep after chasing the children around all morning.

Like a curse and a blessing at the same time, you have more than enough time to let your lewd thoughts of Michael get to you before you reach his commissioned private jet at the airport.

You take a deep breath and redirect your attention to gazing out of the car window, watching the scenery of Lake Tahoe rush past you.

One way or another, you’re excited to attend this gala even if all you’re doing is teasing yourself with thoughts of Michael. It’s an excuse for you to be by his side like he wants you to, like a good girl.

~

Just as you expected throughout the car ride to the Corleone family’s private jet at the airport, you’re far from the public eye in the airport and near twice as much security; barely catching more than a glance of him as Michael is the first to board his jet.

Rocco speaks to the pilot just by the entrance to the private jet and Al Neri follows the Corleone family close from behind, ensuring Kay, Mary, and Anthony board safely in front of him.

Michael’s buttonmen begin to load the private jet with everyone’s luggage and belongings from the trunks of the Cadillacs—including yours before you’re even aware of it—as you realize you’re standing next to Esther in silence, distracted by everything and everyone around you at this moment.

Esther gives you a small smile, aware of how pleasantly taken back you are from the scenery of Michael’s private jet alone from your wide eyes dazzling from surprise, let alone at the fact you’ve come to realize Michael owns a private jet.

‘Of course he does.’ You blink, noticing Esther gently nudging you.

“Come on, honey,” Esther gestures to you to line up with her to begin to enter the jet.

Snapping back to reality, you smile and nod back at Esther as you follow in behind her quietly.

‘What does Michael Corleone not have?’ You find yourself wondering yet again as you step into the private jet; a much bigger, more luxurious, and spacious layout than you could have imagined it’d be.

Three flight attendants stand before you, smiling and politely welcoming you and Esther on board, but you can already tell just by the way they look at you and their formal body language that they know you’re new and can expect to see you board more often; it’s almost flattering.

“This way, please,” one of the flight attendants gestures to the right as you notice the two-way split; the left side contains a more private, luxurious side you assume is for Michael and Kay.

Following through the right side, you spot Tom, Theresa, and their children seated in their luxurious reclining seats; a lush burgundy carpet underneath them and throughout the private jet, soft air conditioning blowing throughout and curtains to draw back over each seating section for privacy.

“Wow,” you find yourself murmuring under your breath as your eyes find two seats reserved with Esther and your name over a small embossed card.

Esther chuckles at your reaction, taking her seat next to you. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? I can never quite get used to it all.”

“I’m right there with you,” you blink, shifting comfortably in your seat.

“Personally,” Esther begins, folding her name card in half, “I don’t think Mr. Corleone would have us travel any other way. Only private.”

“Always?” You do the same with your name card, putting it into your purse.

“Without a doubt,” Esther nods, buckling herself in. “Believe me, I don’t think the Corleones believe in straying away from the lap of luxury.”

You glance down at your seatbelt, remembering how to put it on securely from how Tom showed you during your flight to Nevada.

“That’s what it’s all about,” Esther’s eyes meet with yours as you rest your back against your seat.

You give her a warm smile back, letting the words linger in the back of your mind. ‘That’s what all of this is about…’

~~~

The private jet takes off smoothly no sooner than ten minutes later, leaving you with some thoughtful time to relax and take in the peace and quiet; all the world of a difference from being on a public flight.

It’s another twenty minutes before it’s announced that the private jet has reached an altitude of 30,000 feet; the rest of your hour and thirty-minute flight awaiting to pass as a light meal service begins.

“I’m almost excited for you in a way,” Esther giggles, redirecting your attention from the dining carts the flight attendants begin to push through. “The first time truly experiencing the extent of Corleone hospitality is something else, I’ll tell you that.”

“Oh, gosh,” you feel flustered with the swift, luxury service in front of you within minutes, thanking the flight attendant who begins to pour Esther and you a glass of French champagne and set a porcelain platter of a small selection of desserts. 

“Ooh, thank you so much,” Esther gleefully pulls her plate closer.

“Thank you,” your eyes widen at the colorful little macarons placed on your platter next to a piece of pistachio cannoli and a slice of tiramisu.

“The gala is going to be everything,” Esther whispers to you with heavy emphasis, raising her champagne glass. “How about that?”

“I’ll drink to that then,” you laugh with her, clinking your glass with Esther’s.

“Cheers, honey,” Esther takes a small sip of her champagne.

You and Esther make for soft conversation throughout the flight over champagne and sweets; topics ranging from your interest in education, Esther’s childhood, working with children and everything in between as an hour and a half passes by easily.

There’s no rush to eye for your luggage or rise from your seat when the private jet lands, as it’s smooth and gradual without any rush or gate to reach.

Now more than anything, you want to know and experience exactly all that Esther’s been telling you about when it comes to social gatherings, galas, and celebrations with the Corleones, and something tells you Michael intends to prove the fullest extent of his family’s hospitality to you time and time again.

~~~

Any nerves or uneasiness you had about all of what Las Vegas has to offer you for this gala has gradually eased off of you completely, and all you can do is thank Esther for it and all that she’s told you to expect and the reassurance she’s given you to also relax and enjoy yourself at these kinds of events.

You return the smile Esther gives you as both of you begin to exit the private jet; you can’t help but realize just how close the two of you have already gotten and will continue to get.

You like Esther, you enjoy the conversations you have with her even if it’s small talk and you love how her presence is easygoing and carefree.

Esther’s gentle and patient and there’s no doubt in your mind she’s a phenomenal nanny to the Corleones and has been for many years.

You follow Esther and the others to where Michael’s bodyguards stand by and gesture to several parked, black Cadillacs for the final drive to the gala.

As your eyes dart around to the other vehicles, you swear to yourself for a moment there you can make out Michael’s silhouette in the back seat of one of the vehicles, but Kay and the children are nowhere to be seen.

“When it comes to traveling—” Esther speaks up,  getting into one of the assigned vehicles with you, “if Mr. and Mrs. Corleone wish to bring the children along, I’m always there. Wherever the children are, they’re my first priority. You may think the same, but—” Esther shifts in her seat, clicking on her seatbelt as the vehicle doors shut and you get inside with her. “Your situation is a little different?”

“How so?” You ask, a little flustered.

“You’re a teacher, it’s different,” Esther gives your hand a gentle pat. “Mr. and Mrs. Corleone may want to spend more time with you regularly to understand the progress of their children’s education and behavior. They rarely ask me for much about that, but I don’t think that’ll be the case with you. I think Mrs. Corleone will want to spend a lot of time with you in general.”

“Oh, I see,” you nod back, pushing away the gnawing feeling inside of you that you’d much rather prefer merely standing in Michael’s presence all the time instead of spending one-on-one time with Kay.

‘I shouldn’t be thinking like this in the first place.’ You mentally scold yourself.

“Either way,” Esther interrupts your train of thought, “all is fine, isn’t it? Who would give up the opportunity to travel so often like this? I know I would take more of it if I could.”

All this can possibly mean for you is seeing Michael more, being with Michael more, and spending time with him you wouldn’t get as much or as easily on the Lake Tahoe compound like that—especially alone.

It’s only a brief twenty-minute ride from the airport to the gala and already leaves you mesmerized as you can hardly get your eyes off of the passing, dazzling streets of Las Vegas and everything it has to offer.

You’re only momentarily distracted once it comes to your attention that half of the vehicles take a separate route, leaving the rest of you; a reaction which Esther easily picks up on as you notice Sandra, Tom, and Theresa, and Michael and Kay take an alternative route.

“Security measures, you know?”

“Oh, always?” You glance back at Esther.

“Mostly,” she nods back at you. “It’s almost solely reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Corleone. Only their bodyguard knows what routes they’ll be taking.”

‘Interesting…’

Regardless of the alternative route taken, all of the Corleone family vehicles arrive at the guarded, private entrance of the gala only mere seconds apart from one another.

The front of the Tropigala’s grandiose nature stands out before you as you notice how heavily guarded and gated the VIP entrance is, making it more than apparent it’s only an entrance for the Corleone family alone.

The Tropigala itself is unlike any size building you’ve ever seen before back in New York; simply massive and boasts over thirty acres of space with over 130,000 square feet.

The Tropigala is not merely just a four-star resort but boasts a vast casino as a part of its well-known amenities and with the sun setting on the Vegas horizon, the flashing and flickering lights of the casino and resort shine together—coming at a sparkle from every angle.

The twinkling lights reflect back in your eyes as your vehicles come to a slow halt towards the private entrance, and you can just make out Michael’s vehicle at the front—surrounded by more security coming towards it than anyone else.

As your vehicle parks, the doors are opened for you and Esther by a bodyguard who gives you two a small, polite smile but otherwise remains quiet.

You mumble a soft “thank you” as you step out first, followed by Esther as Michael’s men move to take out the luggage from each vehicle’s trunk next.

You hear familiar giggling ahead only to look up and see Mary gazing up in sheer wonder at the size of the Tropigala, holding Kay’s hand.

Anthony cracks a smile, remaining quiet next to his family and your eyes are far too quick to dart up to Michael who stands next to Kay, adjusting his silk tie and speaking with a few bodyguards near him.

Your view of Michael remains to be only from behind for now, but it’s more than enough for you. Once again, you feel a strike of arousal rush through you—pulling you into a haze of distraction.

It isn’t until Michael begins to turn around moments later that you realize he’s asking, “Where is Marina?”

Blushing furiously at the sound of Michael saying your name, you glance back up at him and notice an immediate look of satisfaction settling in his hazel eyes.

“Come here,” he gestures to you to stand by his side.

Doing what you’re told, your eyes peek at Kay who appears distracted with Anthony and Mary; having kneeled down to their height and calmly explaining to them what rules and behaviors she expects at the gala.

Michael gestures to his bodyguard without taking his eyes off of you; the bodyguard immediately takes your side protectively.

“Miss Aligheri,” the bodyguard speaks to you directly. “Per Mr. Corleone’s request, your room has been changed. I am to escort you inside with the others.”

“Oh?” You glance back at Michael for confirmation but see his attention with his other bodyguards. “Oh, alright.” Stunned, you don’t feel the need to ask the how and whys of a room change at this hour.

The bodyguard remains by your side but turns to face the front of the entrance as the doors begin to slowly open.

Once you, Esther, and the others begin to move in, you notice Michael remaining back for just a few moments longer until you move just slightly past him.

“Don’t leave your room until I tell you to.”

Your eyes snap open in surprise as arousal courses through your muscles; you force yourself to avoid Michael’s gaze and only give him a nod back in response.

‘Oh my God.’

Once you sense Michael’s presence moving further toward the entrance of the Tropigala, you quickly look in his direction.

Just as Michael, the children, and Kay are about to be the first ones to enter the Tropigala, you see the look of glee spread over Kay’s face; her eyes fawning at Michael with excitement.

Upon first entrance, Kay leans up towards Michael on the tips of her toes, gently tilts Michael’s face with one hand, and kisses his lips passionately.

In the split second, you witness the deep kiss between Kay and Michael, a deep strike of jealousy rushes through your chest and intensifies through queasiness in the pit of your stomach.

You immediately turn your head away in response, feeling the tips of your ears and the back of your neck prickle with jealousy.

‘Okay…’ Letting out a soft, shaky breath, you continue to follow the bodyguard into the private lobby of the Tropigala as he escorts you and your luggage to your newly assigned suite.

‘Don’t leave the room until I tell you to…’ Dazed and in a mix of confusion and jealousy, you only take a glance behind you to see other bodyguards leading the rest of the family through different turns down the private lobby and other elevators.

“All on the same floor,” you hear Tom say to Theresa as they enter the same elevator with you and another bodyguard, relieving you.

‘It makes sense,’ you think to yourself, returning the polite smile Tom and Theresa give you.

You can’t spot Michael, Kay, or the children around you but with how your emotions have suddenly spiked up and feel jumbled in your chest, it’s for the best you try not to find them right now.

Three grand elevators fit to carry fifteen people comfortably take everyone up into the private suites of the Tropigala and once you all reach the same floor, you can hear soft chatter coming from the others; lost in conversation about the scheduling of events at the gala or some form of entertainment.

“There’ll be more than enough time to get ready,” you hear Sandra say to Theresa. “I’m not stepping foot downstairs until I have both my hair and makeup done—no chance.”

“Right,” Tom chuckles back. “I trust Theresa with it.”

“Room 20M, miss,” the bodyguard speaks out to you, gesturing down another hallway.

Nodding, you follow the bodyguard down an isolated hallway, realizing that the others have gone down the same corridor on the opposite side of the building.

There isn’t so much as another glance or comment towards your path of direction, and it causes you further confusion as you and the bodyguard near the end of the hallway see only one suite door.

“What is this?” You ask, blinking.

The bodyguard pauses for a moment, glancing at you. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he was unaware nobody had given you any specifics on the room aside from the fact it’s been changed last second.

“This is a presidential suite, miss,” the bodyguard answers. “Mr. Corleone had it arranged for you.”

‘Oh.’  Your heart skips a beat in your chest. ‘Of course…he…did.’

“I trust you will find luxurious and ample space,” the bodyguard continues, approaching the suite door and reaching into his suit pocket for the keys.

“Compared to the others?” You ask, watching the bodyguard begin to unlock the door.

“Second to Mr. and Mrs. Corleone’s.”

The bodyguard twists the doorknob and wedges his foot inside the ajar door before turning to hand you the key.

Taking it from his hands, you peek into the suite as the bodyguard keeps the door held wide for you to enter first as he takes your bags in after you.

For the sake of keeping yourself presentable near the bodyguard, you hold in every reaction you have inside of you towards the inside of what appears to be nothing short of a mansion within; much bigger than the entirety of your family home back in New York.

Marble floors lead throughout the suite with silver and gold renaissance-inspired fixtures complete with a full kitchen, three bedrooms down the hallway, and a master bedroom boasting the size of a living room to your right.

As you enter the suite, you notice the master bedroom’s French doors are both wide open, revealing a king-sized bed with a luxurious, baroque pattern duvet and six pillows propped up.

The glistening evening lights from around the Tropigala and the surrounding Las Vegas area twinkle through the balcony, giving a gorgeous view of the vicinity of the resort.

The décor throughout the suite has a vintage flair of the 1930s with fur rugs over the marble floors and a grand fireplace in both the main living space and the master bedroom.

Just as you turn around towards the door to thank your bodyguard for placing your luggage inside, you notice he’s already gone.

You let out a soft sigh of relief, shutting and locking the door behind you.

Feeling a sense of relaxation finally hit you after the trip, you move past your luggage and begin walking towards the kitchen.

On the countertop remains a large gift basket wrapped in clear plastic, revealing a bottle of white wine, champagne, and other various chocolates, sweets, and chocolate-covered fruits with a small letter affixed to the front of the gift basket reading “Marina” in cursive.

Blushing, you gently take the letter off of the gift basket and run your fingers over your handwritten name in the middle, admiring the neat and smooth cursive letters.

Opening the envelope, you take out a small piece of paper tucked inside that reads:

‘I intend to give you what you deserve and what you’ve wanted.

 I imagine the suite is to your liking.

 Welcome to the family, Marina.

-          Michael Corleone.’

As you hold the letter in your hands, re-reading it over again, you let out a soft gasp to hear the click of the door to your suite opening.

Presuming the bodyguard returned and is checking up on you, you move out of the kitchen and clutch the letter in your hands as you look over by the front door.

‘Michael.’

In an instant, your heart begins to thunder in your chest from attraction and arousal surging through you all at once—caught in utter surprise by his presence.

“Good evening, Marina,” Michael approaches, noticing the letter in your hand. “Are you satisfied with everything?”

You’re so flustered in the heat of the moment that you can barely find the words to speak back out to him, stunned and trying to take in the fact that Michael is with you alone in your suite.

‘Does anyone else know of this? Would I even want to tell?’

“It’s incredible,” you finally breathe out. “It’s more than anything I could have ever imagined, but—”

“But?” Michael interrupts, standing only a mere few inches from you with expectation in his eyes as if there’s a right or wrong answer to this.

“What have I done to deserve this?”  You ask, breathless.

“I don’t want you to ask me that question again,” Michael says, rigidly. “Don’t,” he continues, “ask questions to which you know the answers. You’re smarter than that.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply back obediently, taking yourself by surprise by your own response.

Michael appears content with your reaction. “Your parents raised a very intelligent, respectable, and ambitious woman. One would not have to get to know you very well to understand that, but I see the others you were around provided you nothing. You don’t need to deserve anything with me, Marina. You will simply have them.”

Michael’s eyes wander over the gift basket on the kitchen counter before back at you. “Perhaps you’re not quite fully comfortable with the hospitality and luxuries the Corleone family has to offer because you still believe you need to deserve these things. There is no such thing,” he locks eyes with you. “You won’t be deprived of or limited of anything.”

“I see,” you reply back quietly.

“And yet you’ve seen nothing.”

“Nothing?”  You blink back in shock.

“Come with me,” Michael gestures, beginning to make his way toward the master bedroom.

The idea of entering a private bedroom alone with Michael makes your knees quiver from arousal as you trail after him.

‘Just…. Follow. Don’t think, just follow him like he asked you to.’

From the angle that you saw the master bedroom wide open, you noticed nothing but the size of the bed and the spaciousness that awaited you.

Upon entering the room for the first time with Michael, your eyes fall upon the stunning, satin scarlet gown Michael had picked out for you, neatly laid out on the edge of the bed.

“This is…” You gasp, approaching the edge of the bed. “Absolutely beautiful, it’s…” You lean over and run your hands over the soft fabric before standing upright—completely frozen in a spot as you feel Michael’s chest against your back.

“Stay still, darling,” Michael murmurs, breathing against your neck.

‘Oh, God.’ Doing as he says, you squeeze your eyes shut and feel Michael brush a curtain of your hair aside from one side of your neck to the other, clasping a piece of jewelry to your neck.

It carries some weight, and as you open your eyes to see you notice it dangling in between your breasts; glistening diamonds, adorning your neck. You can already picture how you’ll look with the red gown on you after.

Michael clasps the necklace on you perfectly; his hands gentle, smooth, and soft against your hot, glowing skin.

You know by now you’d be nothing but a fool to assume Michael can’t clearly tell just how aroused you are by how warm your skin has gotten in reaction to his touch.

“There,” Michael says, pulling his hands away. “Your earrings are on your vanity table.”

You slowly turn around, not to move towards the vanity table to get the earrings or look at them, but rather to gaze up at Michael.

Both of you look directly into each other's eyes as you mouth out a breathless, “Thank you.”

Michael returns your thanks with a nod, continuing to gaze into your eyes with silence; no words, and no expectations.

His gaze devours yours, speaking more than words, upon each other the way two lovers would admire one another in silence.

“I want to be the first to see you downstairs at the gala when you arrive,” Michael breaks the silence.

You nod back, unable to speak.

“You’re beautiful,” Michael states, watching as your eyes widen from the compliment; your rosy cheeks flushing again with blush. “And I’m certain I won’t be the only one who thinks so tonight.”

‘I…’

Speechless, you watch as Michael takes a step back, beginning to move towards the doors of the master bedroom.

Every muscle in your body aches and craves for Michael more than ever; you wish so badly to yourself that he wouldn’t have to leave so that you two could just spend a moment longer alone, even though he has to.

‘I miss him already but he’s still here.’

“Take all the time you need,” Michael says, his back facing you. “But I’d rather not wait long.”

~~~

The next twenty minutes pass by like a haze as if you’re in a dream-like state as you begin to get ready for the night at your first gala.

The satin, red gown fits you like a glove; hugging every inch and curve of your body but flattering your skin with the soft, satin fabric.

The dress falls off your shoulders and gives a subtle but sexy peek of cleavage, not to mention drawing much more attention to your collarbones now that there’s a diamond necklace adorning it.

The five-inch black stilettos placed next to the foot of your bed are going to make a ravishing touch to show whenever you take a seat.

You spray a bit of perfume around your collarbones, the back of your neck, writs, and a little over your back as you finish up your look by letting your hair flow freely; slight loose curls finished up with some hair spray and product to hold it in place.

Wearing the matching diamond earrings from Michael, a matching bold, red lipstick, and a small, winged eyeliner with a subtle blended touch of smoky eyeshadow in the corner of your eye with two coats of mascara later, you’re finally ready.

You grab your sequin studded purse and sling it over your shoulder, tucking your suite keys inside before you exit.

Locking the door behind you, you take a peek around the hallway leading to the elevator and can't hear or spot anyone else nearby.

You take the elevator down to the main floor to a private foyer leading into the front banquet hall of the gala.

You can already hear the bustle and cheerful voices of chatter and music coming from the main hall and wonder where you’ll find the Corleones; no doubt at some visibly marked VIP tables.

From the moment you step out of the elevator, you face two sets of spiral staircases that twist around one another and lead up to the suite floors with Michael waiting in between them, gazing directly at you.

It seems Michael was momentarily distracted right up until the elevator doors opened, and a mesmerized look crossed his eyes at the sight of you; his eyes admiring your figure up to the diamonds over your neck and the pout of your lips.

“Miss Alighieri,” Michael greets you as you take a few steps out of the elevator.

“Michael,” you blush, moving forward.

“Come sit down, come sit!” You can faintly hear Kay’s voice coming from the banquet hall, scolding Mary from afar.

Michael ignores his wife’s voice, admiring your beauty before him. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you blush furiously at the second time he’s given you the same compliment in less than an hour.

“Come with me,” Michael gestures to the banquet hall, leading you in alongside him to the main gala area.

Bright lights and several shining chandeliers dangle from high ceilings all above, a live orchestra up front on a gilded stage playing a lively tune with violin and piano while a few couples dance with one another.

Waiters and waitresses buzz to and through each table carrying a tray on each hand, serving champagne and hors d’ouvres.

Hundreds of dollars worth of wine is uncorked and champagne is popped and poured, including a fountain of champagne towards the center of the banquet hall where onlooking guests giddily await their turn for a glass.

As you continue to follow Michael through, you notice the section in which you two walk through is reserved and separated by velvet rope and bodyguards—leading you to the back of the banquet hall which remains quieter but with a perfect view of the entire gala’s events just up ahead.

A mouthwatering scent of smoky meats and stewed vegetables hits you as you see the waiters and waitresses for dinner service begin to move dishes to private tables, leaving a buffet table towards the further sides of the banquet for guests as well.

There’s no lack of options for meals and for the first time in your life, you’re in front of more than three kinds of dishes and refreshments.

The tables at the gala are at an appropriate distance from one another for the sake of navigation and walking space but to reduce eavesdropping and prying eyes, completely reserved and without a single empty seat yet arranged in such an orderly fashion that the banquet hall doesn’t look overcrowded.

Suits and ties, gowns and dresses flow everywhere, mixing into the scents of expensive colognes and perfumes all around.

As you reach the reserved tables for the Corleone family, you notice there’s a total of five grouped around each other and reinforced security inconspicuously making their rounds nearby.

You notice Al Neri and Rocco on opposite sides, watching intently, and assume Michael’s other men must have gone incognito.

“Marina!” Kay’s eyes light up as she peeks up from her seat, sitting next to Connie.

You blush from the sudden attention over you, waving back at Michael but you see Kay’s reaction doesn’t even phase Michael.

“Oh my… Wow,” Kay’s eyes grow wide at the sight of your dress, eyeing you head to toe.

“Hi, Kay,” you smile back.

“Hey, Marina,” Connie gives you a confident smile, sipping her cosmopolitan cocktail. “You look oh so gorgeous, you know that? So beautiful, honey,” she gestures out by extending her hand—all the diamond jewelry and rings over it sparkling underneath the chandelier light, “that red is everything on you.”

“Thank you, ladies,” you beam back, “you all look so gorgeous tonight too.”

“Says you,” Connie winks back as you take a seat at the reserved seat with your name on it, just across from her and Kay.

Your eyes land on Kay’s dress, peeking at the details. Kay wears a midi-length, long-sleeved, lace evergreen dress next to Connie in a stunning, sequined, mermaid gown in a deep marine color.

While Kay keeps her statement piece, and pearl accessories minimal, Connie on the other hand is covered from head to toe in various diamonds—glistening at every angle and despite the flashy look, the only diamonds Kay’s eyes are on are the ones around your own neck.

For a moment, you can see in Kay’s eyes that she’s hyper-focused on your diamond necklace, going from surprise to appearing somewhat mildly glum as you get comfortable in your seat.

Michael takes his seat next to you, keeping both you and Kay by his side as you look over to the table across; Sandra and Mama Corleone smiling and giving you greeting waves.

“Any minute now,” Connie eyes the waitstaff coyly.

“The event hasn’t started yet?” You ask, noticing how distracted Kay becomes while watching her children at the table with the others and Esther remains.

“The evening has hardly started yet, darling, Once we get our menus and refreshments, we can call this a property party,” Connie’s eyes flash to Michael’s momentarily.

“You’ll stay around?” Sandra calls out to you from the other table.

“I believe I will,” you smile back at her politely.

“This is new for you, isn’t it?” Sandra giggle.

“It is—” You begin before Michael cuts you off.

“Marina knows her place,” he states—causing a flare-up of blush over your cheeks.

Sandra nods, the mood of playfulness washing off of her expression from Michael’s response.

“Oh, finally,” Connie scoffs, noticing special waitstaff dressed in full black begin to approach the Corleone family tables who begin to place menus in front of everyone upon the table.

You make split-second eye contact with Michael before you return your attention to the menu with your name embellished on it in front of you, blushing deeply.

The waitstaff serves the French champagne mentioned at the top of the menu in every glass, rotating around the table and as you focus on the sparkling liquid being poured into your cup, you notice you can still feel Michael’s eyes over you.

Your eyes trail down to the menu, beginning to read the listed refreshments first. Alongside the French champagne you begin to drink, there are options of port, sherry, and white Bordeaux.

Appetizers include foie gras cured duck breast and rhubarb, lobster roasted carrots with buttermilk puree, and scallops with charred leek onion broth and pink purslane.

The entrees include Sicilian rabbit finished with a sweet and sour sauce topped with Sicilian sardines, truffle roasted duck, guinea fowl with licorice braised leeks morels and rosemary sous vide lamb.

You can hardly believe your eyes at the numerous options of some of the most luxurious dishes you’ve ever read; half of these kinds of meals you’re completely unfamiliar with but seem like the Corleones eat every single day.

The dessert menu lists a mango cremeux Douglas-fir and yogurt sorbet with white cookie dough, peanut caramelized banana sorbet with banana cake, and dark chocolate with smoked hazelnut praline topped off with salted milk ice cream.

“I’m taking my time with this,” Connie relishes the first sip of her French champagne.

“You’re telling me,” Sandra comments back from her table.

“Everything looks so amazing,” you murmur to yourself, looking around to see how everyone is engrossed in the menu’s contents.

You notice nobody’s eyes are on you and it brings you a small measure of comfort, especially to the Corleone family’s knowledge that you’ve never seen or experienced anything like this before.

This may be completely new to you, but nobody is exactly treating you like you’re a stray dog now adopted and living in the lap of luxury.

It helps alleviate the embarrassment you still slightly feel, especially with all the newfound attention and luxury over you on a daily basis, let alone directly from Michael.

As you glance over to your side, you notice a pause taking a sip from his French champagne as Al Neri approaches him, leaning over to whisper something only audible to Michael in his ear for a mere moment.

Michael neither nods nor reacts, only giving Al Neri an approving look before he begins to rise from his seat.

Despite Michael already getting up, you notice everyone else at the table and the surrounding ones pay no attention to Michael leaving, so you try to do the same.

As Michael walks off with Al Neri towards the midst of the banquet hall, you assume to yourself this is probably the expectation others have placed upon Michael to do nothing but socialize with him and network.

‘How much closer does he want to be with me tonight like this?’

“Long night,” Sandra sighs at her table, almost completely finished with her first glass of French champagne already.

“You don’t have to worry,” Connie says to you as she watches Kay get up from her seat as well to meet with a couple by the champagne fountain gleefully, leaving you alone with Connie and Sandra's company.

“It could have been worse for you,” Connie speaks out to Sandra.

‘I have no idea what that means.’ You stare back at Connie in confusion before noticing the sad look crossing over Sandra’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” Sandra shrugs her shoulders. “I miss it.”

“You miss it?” You speak up, suddenly becoming too curious not to be a part of the conversation now.

“Sonny,” Sandra gives you a longing, melancholy smile.

You’ve heard the name before, more so as Santino whom you know to be Sandra’s late husband.

“You should have told Marina,” Connie sips her champagne smugly.

“It hasn’t been easy, you know,” Sandra shoots Connie a glare before turning to face you, the same sadness returning back to the pool in her eyes. “Sonny would have loved these sorts of things—getting involved in meeting new people.”

“A little too much,” Connie comments.

“Right, I know,” Sandra rolls her eyes. “But anyway, it’s true. Eyes everywhere. I felt like I had to police him to behave.”

“He was the party-going type?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Connie chuckles. “You want to see the partygoing type? Talk about charisma and enthusiasm, just look at my brother.”

Connie gestures behind her towards the champagne fountain where you spot Fredo wearing a two-piece beige suit and bowtie, sunglasses on despite being indoors and beaming proudly next to a blonde bombshell next to him who runs her hands through her flirtatiously with a show-winning grin—dressed in a dainty, mini mauve dress that threatens to spill down her chest.

Fredo and the woman next to him speak with four people who seem wildly interested in whatever they’re saying; Fredo enthusiastically cracks jokes, laughs, and talks wildly with his hands.

“That’s my brother, Fredo,” Connie clarifies. “He’ll want to meet you soon.”

“I look forward to it,” you’re stunned, unable to truly make sense of how different all of the Corleone brothers are from one another.

Never would you have guessed someone like Fredo would be the stern and cunning Michael Corleone’s brother of all things.

“I wonder if you would have liked Sonny,” Sandra looks up at you. “You’re a real pretty girl.”

Connie clears her throat loudly, looking around the banquet hall to spot any waitstaff nearby.

“Washroom,” Sandra turns her head away and mumbles to herself to be excused, getting up from her seat just as more waitstaff begin to approach.

‘What’s that supposed to mean? What?’ Thoroughly confused, you sit patiently and quietly in your seat despite all the awkwardness that just ensues throughout that conversation.

Kay and Michael begin to return to their seats as the waitstaff begins to serve the appetizers, all coming back together.

One of the waitstaff pours you three different glasses of wine, all off of the selections on the menu in front of you in six ounces each as the other waitstaff due to each and every one of you at all the Corleone family tables.

Three porcelain plates are set out in front of everyone with a perfectly small portion of each of the appetizers to try.

Once the waitstaff departs, the conversation starts small and soft at the table, mostly about family plans, the trip here, and the Corleone family estate in New York.

Michael rarely comments or speaks up, but notice how intently he listens and the eye contact he makes with whoever is speaking at the table; conversations far removed from what you know and can relate to, but even as you smile and comment, you feel included in the conversations and your comments valued.

At any given moment when you realize Kay’s eyes are not on you or anyone else speaking, you see how blatantly obvious she makes her admiration towards Michael.

‘I’m no better,’ you remind yourself as you attempt to stifle any feelings of rising jealousy.

“Where’s Fredo, by the way?” Tom asks, turning around in his seat and eyeing around the banquet hall.

Michael appears unamused as Mama Corleone chuckles, “You’re looking for him already?”

“Well,” Tom starts out with a laugh, “I wanted to know because Fredo hasn’t met Marina formally yet.”

“That’s fair,” Kay points out, “but I think he’s been chatting it up with some guests for the past hour now.”

“He’ll come around,” Connie comments. “He always does.”

“We have time until dinner is served,” Michael speaks up.

“Besides,” Connie continues, looking over at you as she begins to rise from her seat. “My brother Fredo and his wife Deanna know all about you.”

“Deanna Dunn, the movie star,” Tom clarifies.

You notice out of the corner of your eye that Sandra makes her way back to her seat, doing so quietly so as not to interrupt the ongoing conversation or draw attention to herself.

“Introductions are in order tonight,” Kay gleefully adds, beginning to get up from her seat as she gestures to you. “Come, Marina! We’ll introduce you to Fredo.”

“Kay,” Michael stares at her; his tone smooth and soft but demanding and disapproving all at once.

An expression of sudden hurt crosses Kay’s eyes as Michael begins to stand up. “Allow me.”

“Okay,” Kay says barely audibly, sitting back down in her seat.

All it takes is a further expectant glance from Michael over to you for you to find yourself standing next to him a moment after, accompanying him to meet Fredo.

Kay gives you an awkward smile before turning her attention back over to the banquet hall to spot Fredo and Deanna.

You follow Michael across the banquet hall with Al Neri cautiously accompanying from behind as Michael leads you towards a young man in his 30s, with receding hairline neatly slicked back and combed dark, chestnut brown hair, a mustache and what you first noticed about him that took you by surprise—aviator sunglasses on inside the banquet hall.

Fredo’s dressed in a toned-down yellow, single-breasted blazer jacket over a silky, black dress shirt with his collar worn open to tuck in a knotted, silk paisley scarf.

Dressed much more vibrant than the rest of his brothers, Fredo’s trousers are a checkered beige with gold and black patterns and a pair of white, leather loafers on his feet.

“Yeah! You wouldn’t believe it!” Fredo laughs, speaking to a guest.

You’re pleasantly surprised to come across a Corleone brother so full of life; Fredo showcasing to you before a formal introduction that he’s a man of extreme charisma.

You can tell Fredo has a charming demeanor and a contagious smile; talking with his hands and using vivid language makes him seem like the life of the party in a refreshing way to you, but is also a huge shock to think about the fact that Fredo is Michael’s biological older brother.

Michael’s not as phased as you or the guests who listen to Fredo’s invigorating story, but the woman wrapped around Fredo’s arm certainly is.

‘That must be Deanna.’ Fredo’s wife curls up to his arm with one hand and the other on her hip; a bold smirk over her face as she reaches her free hand up to ruffle her tousled, voluminous hairdo.

Fredo already appears the very opposite of Michael in your eyes despite you never having spoken a word to him.

It’s then and there that as you and Michael approach closely and come to a standstill Fredo’s eyes fall over the two of you and light up in glee; not just to see his brother but at the sight of you—a new face, accompanying him.

“Miiiikey!” Fredo exclaims, practically throwing his wife off of his arm who scowls back at Fredo momentarily but as soon as she catches your gaze over hers, Deanna gives you a fake, polite smile.

Fredo wraps his arms around Michael to bring him in for a hug. You see Michael hesitate for a brief second due to the awkward nature of the hug, but he pats his brother’s back gently after giving him a short hug and pulling away.

“Fredo,” Michael gestures to you. “This is our new governess, Marina Aligheri.”

“Marina Alighieri!” Fredo repeats your name in an upbeat tone, extending out his hand for you to shake. “Nice to meet ya, I’m Fredo Corleone.”

“Nice to meet you too, Fredo,” you beam, shaking his hand back.

“I run all the entertainment when it comes to our family’s hotels and resorts. The social aspect, ya know.”

Michael still appears unphased, watching your interaction with Fredo as if he’s monitoring how your formal introduction to his brother is going.

“Very nice!”

“I look forward to seeing you around,” Fredo gives you a playful wink.

“Likewise.”

“And here—” Fredo spins around to scoop Deanna’s arm around him once more. “Is my beautiful wife Deanna Dunn Corleone!”

Deanna giggles, tousling her hair again and appearing relieved and flattered that she’s finally getting her round of introductions. “Hi darling, how do you do?”

“Nice to meet you, Deanna,” you shake her hand.

“Deanna’s a movie star,” Fredo chuckles, “in all of the newest pictures you can find in Hollywood. She’s working on a new film with Johnny Fontane, you know?”

“Oh?” Your eyes light in surprise at that name, an actor you’re very familiar with on the big screen.

“I’m assuming you know of him?” Michael glances at you.

“Yes, of course,” you giggle back, “he’s very famous back in New York.”

“First his music and now his movies,” Fredo chuckles, “I betcha didn’t know that Johnny was the godchild of my father.”

“It’s true,” Michael nods in confirmation.

“Johnny comes around a lot to our resorts to perform too, him and all his friends in the music and movie business. Especially now that he and Deanna are shooting a picture together, so you’ll get a chance to meet Johnny for yourself too.”

“That does sound exciting. I would love that.”

“We can make it happen,” Michael states before abruptly changing the conversation. “The table is expecting the two of you to join us.”

“Ah, we know, Mikey.” Fredo brushes Michael off, “We’ll get there, no worries, okay?” He pats Michael’s shoulder reassuringly, “Deanna and I just wanna make a few more rounds to say hello and then we’ll all join you and everyone at the table for dinner.”

Michael locks eyes with Fredo expectantly before leading you onward. “Come, Marina.”

“Where to—” You notice Michael gently leads you by his side further throughout the crowd of the banquet and farther away from the Corleone family dining tables.

“Just follow me,” Michael lowers his voice, giving you the queue to remain quiet and do as he says.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you do as Michael says and walk by his side at the same pace quietly.

You keep your eyes towards the midst of the banquet hall all while avoiding making eye contact with any guests or blatantly looking around.

Inconspicuous and simply passing through, you notice how hyper-focused Michael is looking into the crowd; his eyes darting back and forth until they land somewhere amongst the crowd and harden—firm and lacking any emotion.

Michael’s expression turns ice cold in mere moments, striking anxiety within you as a result.

‘What? What is it that he’s looking at?’ You desperately try to find what Michael’s gaze focuses upon amidst the crowd to no avail.

“Marina,” Michael’s eyes fill with concern as he looks back at you.

“Yes?” You breathe out, feeling your heart beginning to pound in your chest.

‘Something is wrong. Very, very wrong.’ The anxiety and tension from this situation alone make your muscles stiffen with fear.

Michael’s voice is cautious but soft as if to soothe you as he speaks. “Look up right in front of you.”

Just as you turn around to do so, your eyes lock on two Italian men in the corner of the banquet hall holding glasses of champagne and speaking quietly to one another around a decorative fountain.

“Are they familiar?” You feel Michael’s breath over your neck from how protectively close he moves over to you.

Your heart sinks into the bottom of your stomach as you stare at the two men; a rush of deep, twisting anxiety coursing through you as you swallow hard.

‘I know who they are.’

You know who you’re looking at, but unable to put names to faces to these buttonmen, the same buttonmen who worked for the Barzini family; the same men that were sent to kill your brothers for the debt they owed that fateful night.

‘Oh…’

Simple assassins, nothing more. Men are hired to do dirty work, have basic skills, and collect debts. Completely business, nothing personal, but two killers that killed a piece of your family nonetheless enjoying themselves at a Corleone-hosted family event.

”Marina,” Michael says your name again, beckoning you back to reality.

As you face Michael once more, your eyes stink with tears as you blink. Nothing but horror and shock register through you.

‘Does it make sense to have mobsters at an event like this? From that family? Why? How does Michael know of any of this?’ A thousand questions buzz through your mind as you find the answers to them all in Michael’s eyes.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Michael squeezes both of your wrists reassuringly.

“I…” You let out a soft, disoriented breath—feeling dazed from the jumble of emotions suffocating you.

“It’s those men, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer back. “But h-how do you know?”

Michael doesn’t answer you, shifting his attention back to the men, but you insist.

“How do you know, Michael?” You touch his arm, pulling Michael’s attention back to you.

“How could I not know?” Michael stares back at you.

When it comes to you, there’s little to nothing Michael doesn’t already know, and for a man like him to know, he must have run a background search on you and your entire family. Would that include the deaths of your brothers by mobsters? Would anyone be able to hide something like that from Michael Corleone?

“You’re certain, aren’t you?” Michael asks.

“Y-yes,” you answer, your voice shaking. “I remember them too well. That’s them.”

“Stay close to me,” Michael murmurs, wrapping an arm around your back and pulling you to the opposite side of the crowd.

Dazed and confused but electrified by Michael’s warm touch against your skin, the two of you move back to the Corleone family tables.

With such a protective touch over you, any sense of anxiety melts off your body as Michael ensures nobody bumps into you from the crowd or touches you.

Once the Corleone family tables are back in sight, Michael lets go of you as if nothing happened—expecting you to take your seat back at the table.

“Dinner must go on,” Michael tells you, “but after this, you need to talk to me about—”

“What’s there to say?” You breathe out. “They found their way here, didn’t think?”

“You think they’ll leave here alive?” Michael stares back at you. “Go, Marina. Sit down at the table and worry about dinner and nothing else. Do I make myself clear?”

You feel as if you’re in a trance as you make your way back to the tables, trying to focus on the present with everyone around you—having returned without Michael.

The serving of the main course meal gives you time to get yourself together and distract the others through dinner-related conversation, some stories being told about family travels, and the like around you.

You smile, pay attention, and listen, but don’t have much to say as the continuous feeling of anxiety and fear gnaws inside of you, reminding you through every painful moment that your brothers’ killers are attending this very gala.

Despite the rush of emotions over you, there’s a sense of safety with the Corleones you can’t deny. The ongoing conversations feel natural and like you’re at home and a part of them—not to mention the mouthwatering scents of the main dishes being served, fond culinary dishes from the old country.

The aroma of the Sicilian rabbit being served is heavenly, smothered in a sweet and sour sauce next to the savory truffle roasted duck and richly cooked guinea fowl and braised leeks, dashed with a touch of rosemary.

Paired with the white Bordeaux, you’ve now only begun to realize just how hungry you’ve become with these luxurious dishes placed in front of you.

You savor the taste of the delicious, well-cooked meats on your tongue with the creaminess of the braised leeks down to the tenderness of the roasted duck.

Only a few moments after dinner is served does Michael return to the table and take his seat next to you, already engrossed in the conversation his family is having but only returning one-worded, dry replies and paying more attention to Kay speaking more than anyone else.

‘Relax, just relax,’ you tell yourself, focusing on the meal. You can blame nobody but yourself for how you feel, even though Michael’s still given you a sliver of comfort and protection.

You try not to frown or make your emotions obvious over your expression, but you hyperfocus on your meal consistently throughout dinner until you hear Kay’s voice call out your name.

You look up and smile at Kay politely, but it’s far too late to let the distraction and mellowness in your eyes go unnoticed.

“Are you alright, darling?”

“I’m fine,” you muster up an answer, but you can tell Kay won’t simply accept that and leave it as is. “Just feeling really tired and I’m not sure where it’s coming from.”

There’s no world that exists where you can simply tell Kay your anxiety is getting the better of you right here and right now because your brothers’ murderers are here enjoying the gala too and may just now have been placed on a hit list of some kind by Michael.

‘This is all becoming too much.’

“Oh honey, don’t strain yourself too much,” Kay pouts. “Sometimes the exhaustion of the trip hits you later on, I know how it can feel. It’s a lot to handle—all the noise and the flight,” she lets out a soft sigh. “How’s your dinner?”

“It’s incredible to say the last,” you let out a breathy laugh. “I really don’t want to let it go to waste.”

“And you don’t have to,” she replies. “We can have it brought up to your room fresh and warm, but I’m going to feel awful just sitting here and seeing you in discomfort, waiting on an inevitable headache.”

“Right,” you nod weakly, “I may have to excuse myself, I’m sorry.”

“Oh please don’t ever apologize for that!” Kay shakes her head, “it’s completely alright, Marina. The night is still young, and we have an afterparty too. You should rest up and take care of yourself until then. We can have your meal brought up to you and you can have a bit of peace and quiet away from all this noise.”

“Thank you,” you say in relief, slowly beginning to rise out of your seat.

Michael watches you get up from the corner of his eye, having listened to your conversation with Kay but remains unmoved otherwise.

“Of course,” Kay turns around to gesture a waiter to make their way over, pointing at your plates.

‘There’s nothing but death.’ You avoid looking towards the opposite end of the banquet; the faces of the two buttonmen so clearly engraved in the back of your mind.

‘I can’t be here with them. I just can’t.’ Taking a deep breath, you manage to calm yourself down as you get further away from the bustle and excitement of your gala and back up the elevator to your suite.

The further you get, the more at ease you feel and you know if you can just take a bit to yourself alone, you can manage and still make it down for the afterparty but right now you absolutely don’t want to focus on any part of the banquet and let your anxiety escalate.

‘At least Michael knows. At least he cares, or at least I want him to…’

After stepping out of the elevator, you’re quick to get back into your suite and quietly shut the door behind you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a sigh of relief as you take in the silence within the suite, the light scent of vanilla and lavender air freshener wafting around you, and the promise of a comfortable, luxurious suite room to rest in.

‘I’ll relax for a bit, it’s all I need right now.’ Setting down your clutch and slipping off your heels, you let your feet take in the comfort of walking over the faux fur rug before you begin to unclasp your earrings and take off your necklace.

Heading into the bedroom, you carefully set down your jewelry in the very box Michael gave them to you in upon the vanity table, knowing you’ll put them back on when you head back down for the afterparty.

You turn around to gaze at yourself in the full-body mirror diagonally facing your bed, stepping forward towards it and debating whether you should take off your dress as you run your hands over the satiny fabric.

You smile shyly at yourself, admiring the gorgeous, scarlet fabric and how it makes you feel both comfortable and beautiful, and you aren’t even the one to pick it out for yourself.

‘He picked it out for me.’ Blushing yet again over Michael, you move towards the closet and open it, pulling out a spare hanger from a dozen.

You’re careful to slowly strip out of your dress without stepping on it or wrinkling the fabric, hanging it up in plain sight inside the closet.

Only in your white lacy panties without a bra, do you take your nightgown out of your luggage and slip into it—letting the soft fabric wrap around you snug.

Walking barefoot out towards the kitchen, you glance at the refrigerator and wonder if you could find some wine before the rest of your food service gets here; perhaps something less expensive and luxurious but sweeter as you pass the time in your suite.

Just as you approach the refrigerator and reach out your hand to open it, you freeze. The sound of your hotel room being unlocked rings in your ears and you begin to listen intently.

Your heart skips a beat for just a moment as urgent questions rush through your mind; did one of Michael’s men mistake you for being at the party and are just making rounds to check for security? Does someone else have access to your suite that you don’t know about? Surely the room service would knock instead of intrude like this so suddenly?

Unable to react, your eyes land on the door and all you can notice is that whoever is opening the door is doing so quietly and with care without making a scene; almost too careful and eerie, the way an experienced thief would want to enter.

It’s only Michael Corleone.

Your heart flutters from the sudden but more than welcome surprise as a rush of butterflies swarms in your gut. Your blood rushes to your face, causing your cheeks to blush intensely.

As you see Michael walk in, you grip the handle of the fridge tightly in the reaction without opening it, seeing Michael’s eyes directly on you as if he wants to meet you in the kitchen right here and now.

You don’t even know what to say; frozen on the spot from a rush of emotions hitting you all at once—delight, pleasant surprise, is it so wrong to say? Is it wrong to think maybe this is all you could want?

‘Why here? Why now?’

“I didn’t anticipate you’d retire from the evening so soon,” Michael speaks in a low, velvety voice—enough to make you weak in the knees just like that.

Flustered, you attempt to speak back. “Only to catch my breath. I wouldn’t want to miss the rest of it.”

Michael refuses to take his eyes off of you as he slips his dress shoes off by the door. “So you plan on returning for the evening.”

Suddenly you feel naked before Michael’s eyes as he approaches you, already so vulnerable in nothing but your nightgown and panties.

The tips of your ears burn hot with blush as you find yourself all the more flustered, but you can’t tell if Michael’s noticed or paying attention to how you’re dressed since his eyes are locked with yours.

“I want to,” you say, breathily.

“Are you enjoying yourself here?” Michael stands only a few feet away from you in the kitchen now as you let go of the refrigerator’s handle.

“I’ve never experienced anything like this,” you shake your head.

‘Am I overthinking it all?’

“It’s breathtaking, but it’s all so new. I hope you don’t mistake me for being ungrateful to be here.”

“Not at all,” Michael replies dryly, “but I know why you’re here.”

‘What?’ It’s no secret to Michael from how rosy your cheeks are down to your body language reacting out of an arousal you’re desperate to hide.

You’re not so shy alone with him now; each and every muscle in your body desires Michael and is filled with passion.

The only thing that distracts Michael is how you tense up your shoulders from arousal, causing one strap of your nightgown to slip off of your shoulder.

You glance at the strap that threatens to slip off well past your arm, feeling practically naked before Michael and pulsating with warmth over your body from heightening arousal.

The sexual tension between the two of you standing in front of each other in silence builds to an uncontrollable level inside of you, building a delicious throbbing sensation inside of you.

You don’t know whether to beg Michael to take you on your knees here and now over the kitchen counter or feel embarrassed at what just happened beyond your control.

Michael takes a single step forward towards you and raises his hand towards the strap of your nightgown.

You assume for a split second he’ll only move the strap back up to your shoulder, but you feel the fabric of your panties beginning to cling to clit from the wetness pooling over it.

Michael keeps his eyes on you as he pulls the strap of your nightgown further with one little tug, causing it to slip off your chest almost entirely as your breasts spring free.

An inaudible “oh” escapes your lips as Michael moves his hand back down to your wrist, gently grabbing it and speaking to you in a demanding and firm yet soft voice. “Go to the bedroom, Marina.”

The fiery passion that courses through your entire body in a wave of heat is unexplainable—simply foreign to anything you’ve ever felt towards a man and only just on the physical level.

The arousal pent up inside of you tingles in your stomach, spreading up to your chest. Every inch of your body feels hot to the touch, your eyes solely focused on Michael and Michael only.

You feel as if your heart could burst out of your chest in this very moment, pulled to this man like a moth to a flame with an urge to let everything go—risk it all just to have his body pressed up against yours for a single moment.

It’s a gnawing hunger inside of you to crave Michael, seeing nothing but the idea and fantasy of having him all to yourself even if it could be just for one night.

All of you want all of Michael, completely and utterly insatiable. No other person or feeling could come close to taking you away from what you feel you’re about to have with this man.

Picturing Michael’s firm, big hands over your breasts is enough to send you into a state of ecstasy, let alone how he could pleasure you further and make love to you tonight if he wanted to.

The coolness in the suit brushes up against your exposed skin, hardening your nipples further than they already were from arousal.

“Go on,” Michael’s voice is lowered to a whisper as he gestures towards the bedroom.

Like clockwork, you do as Michael says without hesitation—feeling light on your feet as you make your way over to the bedroom.

You sense and hear Michael following behind at a close distance which makes your knees buckle a little as if they could give in from weakness at any moment now.

Each step you take only crinkles and pulls your nightgown down off of your body further, threatening to spill further down your hips.

When you enter the bedroom and move towards the king-sized bed, you hear Michael shut the bedroom door behind the both of you quietly.

You’re only able to take a few more steps closer to the foot of the bed before Michael grabs your wrist again, gently turning you around to face him.

Blushing furiously and dazed in spot, you watch as Michael raises his hand towards your chest, pausing for a moment.

Michael locks eyes with you as he asks, “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, almost pleading for him to.

Michael places his hand over the fabric of your falling nightgown, so close to your breasts; his touch feeling electric and hot to the touch, everything you’ve ever wanted to relish in.

“Michael—”

“Take this off,” Michael beckons to your wrinkled nightgown.

‘He wants me to undress in front of him.’

Nodding shyly, you pull the nightgown down and off of you with ease, letting it slide down your thighs and pool to your feet on the ground.

Michael’s eyes beckon further as he speaks, eyeing your panties. “Strip.”

‘God…’

You slip your fingers into the band of your lace panties, almost trembling with excitement and arousal sparking through you as you pull them down your thighs and off of your ankles.

“Come here,” Michael beckons with his finger, wanting you fully naked up close and all to himself.

As you step towards him, Michael’s quick to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you closer to his body.

The fabric of Michael’s dress shirt rubs against your nipples as he tilts your chin up to face him. “How long have you wanted this?”

Your breath hitches as you attempt to respond, feeling Michael’s hand squeezing your right breast. Your eyes can’t help but watch him do so as Michael rubs your nipple in between his fingers.

“Tell me,” he presses; the look in his eyes a mix of desire and possessiveness.

‘How can I tell him I’ve craved him since I first laid eyes on him?’

Michael already knows well enough. He admires how close you come to telling him the truth, but he wants to pleasure it out of you first.

“You are my governess. I hired you to work for my family,” he speaks, letting both of his hands roam over your breasts gently. “This is my gala, my hotel. It belongs to me, and now… so do you.”

Taking his free hand, Michael traces your bottom lip with his finger slowly. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be mine?”

To belong to Michael Corleone, to be desired in such a way that he possesses you as his… Nothing could excite and thrill you more; than the lure of everything he says.

Here is a man of power and wealth, Michael Corleone. A man who not only likes having control over everything in his life but ensures he does, and for those surrounding him as well. How can you ever be an exception?

“Always,” you answer back—no shame, nothing left to hold back.

You were his before he stepped into this hotel room before you undressed in front of him, and before he touched you.

Like every perfect fantasy you could ever have, it all plays out before you and you refuse to hold back in the heat of the moment.

“You are mine now, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper.

‘I am. I’m yours.’

“Get on the bed for me, sweetheart.”

Nodding shakily out of arousal, you crawl onto the bed on all fours—sitting in the middle of it completely naked.

Shivering, you look up to see Michael approach the bed, beginning to loosen his tie. “I want you on your hands on your knees.”

You do as Michael says, turning over to get your hands on your knees—arching your back, and feeling completely exposed to Michael.

You hear the soft drop of Michael’s tie falling to the floor and his suit jacket being hung over your vanity table’s chair before he kneels on the bed behind you.

“Michael,” you whimper out, feeling him so close to your body.

“Shhhh…” Michael whispers from behind, gripping your hips with both hands.

Your breath hitches as you squeeze your legs together out of arousal; completely naked and exposed for Michael with your ass and pussy in his face as both your hands clutch the duvet.

Michael’s hands are firm and needy but soft, holding onto you with possession as he speaks, “I’ll take good care of you.”

Michael begins to run his hands up and down your lower back slowly, tracing lazy circles.

A shiver goes down your spine as you give a small nod back, squeezing your eyes shut and simply relishing in the moment.

All the more erotic to you as you can’t see what Michael’s doing but Michael’s touch over your supple skin causes a passionate fire to course through you.

Michael’s eyes momentarily flicker down to your pussy as he sees a glistening wetness forming between your lips. Michael begins to move closer, tenderly yet lightly massaging your back.

“I want you to be honest with me, Marina…” Michael slowly pulls his hands back.

“Y-yes?”

Michael unbuckles his belt, tossing it to the floor, and unbuttons his trousers. “Are you a virgin?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly.

A brief silence falls in between the two of you and a sense of nervousness almost hits you off guard as you wonder if this is a good or bad thing on Michael’s behalf, but his next question catches you entirely off guard.

“You still haven’t answered my previous question. How long have you wanted this?” You feel Michael begin to mount you from behind, roaming one hand underneath you and down your chest to squeeze a breast while his other hand spreads your upper inner thigh. “Tell me.”

“I—” You let out a shuddering moan at the sensation of Michael’s thumb beginning to ever so slowly toy over your clit, now parting over your pussy lips and slightly beginning to spread you open.

“Be a good girl and tell me,” Michael leaves a hot, lingering kiss over your right shoulder.

Your legs quiver against Michael’s body as you say, “Forever.”

“Mm…” More than just content by your answer, it confirms everything Michael’s already thought about you.

Michael rubs your ass cheeks, giving them a light slap as he lets his erection spring free from his trousers. “I’m going to be good to you.”

‘Oh God, yes, please. Please…’

Michael suddenly grabs both of your thighs firmly, pinning you down flat on your stomach before gently flipping you on your back to face him.

Pushing away stray strands of your hair away from your face, Michael comes face to face with you, only wearing his half-buttoned, loose white dress shirt—stroking his cock in one hand while his eyes are locked on you.

The sight of seeing how fully erect Michael is before you makes your pussy throb from arousal; none of this is supposed to happen but the two of you have completely given into each other’s lust.

It’s the first time for Michael to feel such a powerful arousal take over him, barely having done anything at all with anybody.

Gazing down at Michael’s tip, you watch as his cock glistens with droplets of precum forming at the tip and beginning to ooze down his cock’s head.

Two veins run down Michael’s thick shaft circumcised and bragging just about eight inches.

Michael watches as you admire his body before you, noticing how the peak of chest hair from his half-unbuttoned shirt stands out to you; how smooth his milky, soft skin looks down to the muscles in his arms tensing from his rolled-up sleeves. Such a close-up of Michael’s toned, slim body…

“Let go and let me,” Michael murmurs, running his hands up and down your thighs.

Painfully aroused more than anything, Michael’s doing nothing but building up your arousal to the brim before he does anything else with you; especially concerned with your comfort and eager to get you as wet as possible first.

“You look incredible, you know that?” Michael begins to slowly spread your thighs open.

You blush furiously, momentarily turning your head away.

“Close your eyes,” he breathes, “and let me feel you.”

Doing as he says, Michael wastes no time in moving down between your thighs and placing your ankles over his shoulders.

Only with ever so slightly open eyes, hazed and dazed from the incoming pleasure do you watch Michael begin to tease and please you.

Michael leaves gentle, wet kisses up from your legs to your upper thighs but the closer he gets to your pussy, the longer he begins to drag out his kisses.

Dangerously close, Michael’s kisses grow heavier before he begins to sloppily suckle over the skin in the crease of your inner thighs.

A shaky moan escapes your lips as Michael truly lowers himself in, parting open your pussy lips with his fingers.

Michael’s slim fingers slick over your wet clit, up and down in tantalizing motions. It takes everything in you not to squirm from the pleasure over Michael’s shoulders, let alone vocalizing just exactly what this man is doing to you.

Michael changes his patterns, beginning to add two fingers to slick and rub in circles as he continues to kiss around your upper thighs.

You can feel your wetness doubling, trickling out of your pussy as you’re unable to take your eyes off of the erotic sight of Michael now grazing his tongue over your inner thighs.

Letting out little breathy moans, you gaze down at Michael with half-open eyes, gyrating your hips over his fingers as he continues to circle your clit painfully slow.

“I’m…” You moan softly, “I’m yours—ooh, I’m yours.”

Michael slowly begins to curl his index finger, snaking it inside of you. You whimper out of reaction, squealing as Michael adds a second finger and dips it in and out of you before momentarily popping them in his mouth to taste your sweetness.

Flustered and embarrassed, your eyes snap shut in response to Michael moving upward—tilting your chin with his free hand as his soft lips crush over yours.

Michael’s kiss grows needy and deep, joining his tongue with yours as you feel your clit almost swollen with arousal at his touch.

Stimulated so much, you feel an orgasm beginning to build from all the teasing and nothing more; rolling your eyes back in pleasure and picturing yourself bouncing over Michael’s cock.

As Michael lets go of tilting your chin, he pumps his cock at the same pace he fingers you in, readying himself for your orgasm knowing he hasn’t even scratched the surface of what he plans to do to you tonight.

Waves of pleasure hit you as filthy moans escape your mouth; melting around Michael’s dominance and giving in to him completely.

Through parted lips, Michael grunts; a look of yearning flickering in his hazel eyes that causes your shyness to spike up as the two of you make eye contact again.

Michael fully spreads your legs around his waist, pressing his hands down on both sides of the bed around you as he moves his head down and plans a sloppy kiss right over your pussy lips.

Wanting to sink into the bed out of shyness, the sight of Michael’s smoldering gaze between your legs is too much for you to handle all at once.

Taking your reactions as a green light, Michael darts his tongue up and down your clit, letting his bottom lip and mouth rest on the entirety of your pussy as he begins to eat you out.

“Oh—my God!” You cry out, watching as Michael slobbers over your pussy and slowly laps up your wetness with his tongue.

The sensation of Michael’s hot mouth over your pussy with his stubble brushing up against your clit is heavenly as he Michael keeps up a quickened pace, grinding his tongue against your clit.

You almost see stars from a delicious orgasm quickly building inside of you as Michael’s face is completely pressed into your sex.

Michael smirks at your juices beginning to trickle down your ass and thighs, pulling back just moments before you can reach an orgasm.

Whimpering out of breath, you watch as Michael kneels back up on the bed against your body.

Michael’s cock twitches against your pussy and your body desperately wants to cry out for him to fuck you; your wetness already beginning to ooze down and coat Michael’s shaft.

Michael’s eyes search yours for an answer, and you give him a shy nod of approval; forcing yourself not to fall apart at his touch.

“You taste so good, you know that? So sweet…” Michael begins to position his cock at your entrance, letting the length of his shaft slide up and down your slit.

“Oh G-God…” Your hips writhe against Michael’s in utter arousal.

“Tell me you want me,” Michael presses his forehead against yours, breathing deeply.

The sensation of Michael beginning to slowly enter you drives every sensitive, weak spot inside of you insane.

“I-I want you. I want you—" Your eyes flutter shut in response as you relax your muscles, desperately wanting every inch of Michael’s cock to fill you.

You feel your insides clench in erotic response to Michael’s perfect, naked body before you—feeling the shaft of his cock press over your soaked mound.

Just the touch of Michael’s tip against your clit alone sends fire crawling through your skin as you begin to wrap your thighs around his waist and bury your face into Michael’s shoulder.

“Good girl.”

You take in the heavenly scent of Michael’s cologne and his clean, supple skin as he keeps you pinned down in the perfect, folded missionary position.

Michael thrusts in ever so slowly and as you begin to feel an inch of him enter you, a slight burning sensation mixes in with a momentary sharp mix of pleasure and pain as you dig your nails into his shoulders.

“Oooh—”

“Baby, that’s not even half of me,” Michael whispers against your skin.

The feelings subside almost instantly with how wet and aroused you are and you feel your clit throbbing against Michael.

“Mm!” You feel all eight inches of Michael thrust inside you; his waistline coming into contact with yours as his cock fills you completely.

Hearing the wetness of your pussy begin to slosh against each thrust from Michael’s cock, you cry out in pleasure and frustration, “M-Michael! Oh!”

Michael’s quick to beckon the orgasm he refused to let you have earlier, feeling how your knees quiver against him as a sensation of numbness from your orgasm growing dangerously threatens to release.

‘In and out… In and out…’

Michael grips your waist with both hands, fucking you at a deep but slow pace to let his cock brush up against your G-spot while keeping a steady rhythm inside of you.

Legs wrapped obediently around Michael, you cry out as you watch Michael’s clock slide in and out of you again with ease.

“P-please, please—” Begging for release, you feel your pussy contracting against Michael’s member, your words half-slurred from the intense sensations racking over your body.

It’s then that Michael slows his thrusts to excruciatingly slow but teasing deeply, tilting his hips into you as he watches you squirm against his cock.

“Cum for me, baby.”

Cumming in an explosive orgasm, you clasp a hand over your mouth to muffle out your screams of delight.

“That’s right….” Michael places his hand over yours, gently prying it off your mouth. “Don’t be shy, I want to hear you. I want to hear how good I make you feel.”

“Y-yes sir—” You feel Michael’s hips quicken his pace, fucking you steadily once again as the moans that spill out of your mouth are louder and louder with each thrust. “O-Oh! Yes!”

Your legs shake against Michael’s shoulder blades; your arousal is only fueled further by hearing Michael’s breathy grunts and groans in between thrusts.

Michael thrusts upwards and steals another moan from you as you roll your hips back at him, desperately begging for each and every thrust.

The scent of sex fills the bedroom as Michael pumps in and out of your pussy, obsessed with just the way you remain obediently sprawled and submissive before him on the bed—taking in all of him.

Michael brings you to loud uncontrollable moans as he builds his orgasm with your next one, watching as your toes curl in response.

A sense of numbness tingles through your knees as your orgasm releases out of you in an instant, making you moan out in complete ecstasy.

Letting your climax unwind, you feel the warmth of your orgasm rack over your body from all sides as you cum over Michael’s cock.

Enthralled by every inch of you, you gaze out of half-open eyes to see Michael’s scouring over yours hungrily, filled with a deep, delicious desire unraveling out of him as his body trembles.

Your cries of pleasure echo throughout the suite room as Michael’s breathing deepens. He jerks his hips inside of you a final time before spilling his seed deep inside your pussy.

Your thighs quiver like jelly as you attempt to catch your breath, clenching your legs around Michael’s waist.

Michael’s once slicked back, neat dark hair now remains a messy, tousled mess sticking to his forehead from sweat; his eyes appearing as dark as onyx from the lighting as his body hovers over yours.

“Mm!” You whimper as Michael begins to slowly pull out of you, leaving you as dazed as ever from pleasure.

“They’re expecting me,” Michael murmurs to you as he reaches for his belt and dress pants.

“Y-yes…” You breathe out.

“And you,” his eyes flicker back to yours for a moment as Michael begins to get dressed before you. “I expect you at the banquet hall, but I won’t hold it against you.”

Licking your lips, you clench at the bedsheets to regain your balance and sit up. “What do you mean…?”

“If you can walk,” Michael gives your thighs a playful smack.

Blushing furiously, you avoid his gaze. “I…”

“You will speak of this to no one,” Michael’s tone suddenly grows stern as he smoothens out his dress shirt, beginning to button it back up. “And pretend each and every time that we’ve never spent this time together.”

“Every time?” You repeat, eyes widening.

“You are mine, aren’t you?” Michael tightens his tie over his collar.

“Yes,” you admit a little too gleefully.

“Then I will have you again and again if you’re willing to have me,” Michael slows down his movements, fixated on your response.

You nod back at him shyly, grabbing at the duvet to cover your dignity.

“I’m going to enjoy our arrangement, Marina.” Michael finishes dressing himself, running his hands through his hair to tame it back neatly. “Only as much as you.”

“W-when…” You stammer, still catching your breath. “When will I see you again? Have you?”

“Have me?” Michael raises a brow, a ghost of a smirk over the corners of his lips. “You already have me, Marina. I will let you know.”

[ynstark]

His Angel - (Part One)

Title: His Angel (Part One)

Characters/Pairings: Post!Endgame!Steve Rogers x Female!Adoptive!Stark!Virgin!Reader

Summary: You confide in Steve that you're a virgin. He's honesty shocked, but maybe he can be you first and hopefully you last.

Reader is in her 20s and Steve is in his mid 30s.

Minors DNI! Please and thank you!

Contents/Warnings: explicit smut, use of the nickname Angel a lot, mentions of death, talks of a toxic father, kissing, vaginal fingering, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, hint of a praise kink, talks of intercourse, talks of sex!toy use, angst, aftercare, Steve has a little bit of an ego, it's tiny, hopefully I listed them all, If I didn't let me know!

Author's Note: Ummm Hi, so I wrote my first fanfic. I've been studying the dark arts for a while and decided to take a crack at it. I don't know the word count, it came out ridiculously long. I just wrote whatever came to my head. Takes place a year after Tony's Memorial. This is a one time thing and won't happen again because I don't think I could write something like this ever again. Edit: Well, I started writing a prequel which takes place right after Tony's Memorial. So 20 likes and I'll drop that, but this is not happening again. Edit, Edit: This is now going to be pt 1 and there will be a pt 2 on top of the prequel. I didn't mean to write a lot of backstory, but it happened. If you squint, Steve is a soft!dom. I didn't grammar check so I apologize for any spelling or grammar errors. Do not repost my work anywhere. Likes and reblogs are welcomed and appreciated. Peace and love, enjoy. 🤍

Tonight was the night, you're going to loose your virginity to Steve Rogers. Everyone was on a mission for the past few days except for you and Steve, which left the whole compound to yourselves. You had confided in Steve one night that you were still a virgin, which came as a total shock to him. You were a fireball with confidence cascading out of you like water. Any man would be lucky to have you, but he also remembered your past and how your own father had treated you, which is why Tony adopted you after the snap.

Tony and your father worked together for years, but Tony knew the truth. You always had to convince him not to intervene for the sack of your mother, but then the snap happened and your mother was one of its victims. Tony had a good case for custody. He wasn't going to leave you in the care of your father and stand by and watch. Natasha also became a mother figure to you. Visiting you when she could and training you, which led to you going on missions. Tony didn't love that, but he knew you enjoyed going on them and you were a good asset to the team. You got to be a big sister to Morgan and Tony got to experience what it was like to have a grown up daughter and a new born at the same time, which he was grateful for before he died.

Tony left a letter for Steve asking him to take care of you. He knew you were a capable woman and that you could take care of yourself, but with him and Natasha gone, he knew you would drown emotionally. At least Tony could leave you in peace knowing you had Steve to lean on. After the memorial, Steve would check in on you. He would call you, visit you at your apartment or you would go to his. He would make sure you went to therapy, asked if you had visited Pepper and Morgan, or that you were taking care of yourself. You two grew close. The compound was finally rebuilt, which you and the rest of the avengers were grateful for. It was nice to be living with each other again. Steve started to call you Angel. He saw how your eyes had a little twinkle in them when he called you that. Bucky and Sam teased him about it. They could tell that Steve was falling for you the more he got to know you. Steve knew this isn't what Tony meant when he asked him to "take care of you", but Steve knew he couldn't ignore what he was feeling. He just didn't want to cross a line if you weren't ready. The problem was, he couldn't tell if you were.

Even though you knew that not all men were bad, especially being close to all the men in the avengers, your own father really set the example that you couldn't trust them, or tell if they had good intentions with you. The conversation with Steve took place one night when Steve decided to cook dinner for the two of you at the compound. Steve asked for your assistance in the kitchen, he really has no idea what he's doing. You sat on the counter giving him pointers and watching him to make sure he didn't burn anything.

"So, you're a virgin?" Steve asked, his curiosity fully peaked as he worked over the stove.

"Yup, unless you count using a dildo, but otherwise, no, I have not had the full experience."

"Never had someone go down on you?" You shake your head no to his question.

"Fingered you?"

"N.O. Rogers."

"Your first kiss?" He was definitely prying now.

"No." You could feel the loneliness set in you again.

"Pretty pathetic huh?" You looked down at your feet. Steve turned towards you, an empathetic look in his eyes, he could sense your mood had shifted.

"Hey, known of that, you're not pathetic. I've only slept with one person, and well, kissed Natasha."

"You kissed Natasha!" You asked surprised at his new confession.

"It was one time and she kissed me! It was so we didn't blow our cover. I'm surprised she never told you about it." Steve went back to stirring the pasta.

"Well she probably didn't want that image tattooed in my brain, it's also more believable that she kissed you." You snickered.

"Ha ha, very funny." he responded, you laughed again, making Steve get a little defensive. "Hey! I have game!"

"Really! I would love to see it in action Rogers."

"Well maybe I can try it out on you." Steve wanted a hole to open up and swallow him whole, he couldn't believe he actually said that out loud to you. Before he had time to retract his statement, you responded with, "Hmm, maybe." Steve paused to look over at you, he could sense no discomfort from you, you were actually serious.

"I'm sorry, did I hear a "maybe" Angel?" Steve stopped what he was doing to give you his full undivided attention. You sat there with that confidence he loved so much radiating off of you. You wanted him to actually try. Steve turned the stove off and slowly approached you. He knew he had to be careful with you. He couldn't just take you right here in the kitchen, even though he'd love to see you fall apart for him on his cock bent over the kitchen counter. "Control yourself Rogers." He thought to himself. Steve didn't want to trigger you. Once he was in front of you, you slightly spread your legs so he could stand in between them. You bit your bottom lip in anticipation and boy did Steve get hard once he saw your bottom lip disappear between your teeth.

"Can I touch you Angel?" He asked gently, you nodded. A tiny please slipped out from your lips. Steve chuckled a little. Guess he had that effect on you. He started with his hands on your thighs working their way up to your hips and then settling them on your bum. He gave it a little squeeze and you jumped at his motion, but not in a scared way, more of a "Please continue. I like what you're doing" way. Your hands travel up to fold behind his neck as Steve pulls you closer, you could feel his erection against you.

"So that's what that feels like." Steve couldn't help but burst out laughing at your statement, throwing his head back. You joined in on his laughter.

"Yes Angel, that is what an erection feels like." He responded still laughing.

"I did that to you?!" Your complete oblivion of a man's reaction to you made Steve want you more.

"Shit I didn't know we were that powerful." You continued, Steve thought, "If this woman only knew what power she has over me."

"Very powerful, if you told me to sacrifice myself, I'd do it in a heartbeat." Steve had the biggest dopey smile on his face as you laughed at his response. Once both of your laughter settled down, the reality set back in. Questions started to swirl in your head. Were you really ready to go through with this and let Steve have unconditionally access to you in the most intimate way possible? Could you get out of your head and let a man shower you in an abundance of love that you had never experienced before? You were brought out of your swirling when Steve got your attention by asking his own question.

"Angel, can I kiss you?" Steve asked, trying not to freak you out, but he could see the tiny panic in your eyes already, he starts to pull back, but you grab his arms.

"I need five minutes, I'll meet you in your room, I just need to get myself together. Can I have five minutes?" you asked quickly.

"You can have all the time in the world." He laughed, "What about dinner?" His eyes wonder over to the unfinished pasta in the pot.

"Screw dinner, you're about to screw me!" You jump off the counter and out of his arms, Steve couldn't help but smile. You're racing out of the kitchen when you turn around to tell him again, "Five minutes, okay?"

"Five minutes Angel, I'll be there." You leave him in the kitchen to clean up the dinner that never happened, racing to your room, and locking the door behind you. You take a few deep breaths. Tonight is the night, you're going to loose your virginity to Steve Rogers. You quickly change into a pair of comfy clothes, deciding to forgo your under garments. What's the point when Steve was going to rip you out of them anyway. You fixed your hair to have some form of sex-appeal. Quickly shaved and moisturized. You looked in the mirror, you did what you could on short notice, if anything you looked cute instead of sexy. Still looking in the mirror, you hyped yourself up. "You got this, Steve would never hurt you." You walked out of your room and headed to Steve's. It's more comfortable for you to go to his room than to let him into yours. You never had a man in your room except for Sam or Bucky when they stole your snacks now and then.

Steve patiently waits for you, sitting on his bed when he hears your tiny knock. Eyes glimmering with adoration when he opens his door and sees you. Even though you changed into a t-shirt and shorts, he still thought you were absolutely beautiful, breathtaking.

He closes the door behind you, he can see your mind whirling, you become timid. He knows this is new territory for you, he has to be, no, wants to be gentle with you. He's going to treat you like a porcelain doll the first time around. Even though you could kill someone just by looking at them, but here you are, choosing to be the most vulnerable and intimate with him.

"We don't have to do this tonight Angel, could just cuddle and watch a movie." He watches as you ponder on the alternative.

"No, I want to try, I trust you Steve." He saw the trust in your eyes, you were ready to give him complete access to you.

Steve nods and approaches you, slowly, putting his hands on your waist. You melt into his touch bringing your own hands against his chest. He kisses your forehead as you breathe out a sigh of relief. He pulls away just enough to cup your chin so you can look up at him.

"At any moment you feel uncomfortable, you tell me to stop, okay?" You nod.

"Words Angel." You look up at him again, giving him a quiet "Okay."

Steve looks into your eyes one more time to make sure you were really okay with this. Once he saw no changes in your mood, he proceeds to lean down.

"Let's try this again, can I kiss you Angel?" You respond with a quiet yes. Steve kisses you softly and gently. You melt into his lips. He pulls you closer against him, moving one hand to cradle the back of your head.

Your hands moved down to the hem of his shirt, giving him the signal you wanted him to take it off. In one swift motion his shirt was off and his hands back on you in an instant. He starts to slowly push you back until you land on his bed. He crawls on top of you, making sure to not apply his entire weight on you and plants a short kiss on your lips.

"Can I take this off?" He asked, slightly tugging at your shirt.

"Yes." You respond as he helps you sit up, slowly peeling off the material from your body. Your nipples instantly pebble once the cool air hits them. Steve's eyes gleam, he then looks back at you, leaning forward and whispers against your lips, "Absolutely beautiful, Angel."

He kisses you again, laying you down his bed once more. All you could do was smile. He comes back up and motions to your shorts, "And these? Can they come off too?" You nod with a smile and respond with a yes. He slowly rolls them down your legs leaving quick kisses on your thigh. Soft whimpers leave your mouth. Your left completely bare to him.

"No panties Angel? And here I thought you were a good girl." Steve smirked down at you. He takes in your bare form, his Angel, his beautiful virgin angel, ready for him to claim. He slowly positioned himself between your legs, hands gripping your thighs as his face comes face to face with your most intimate part. You feel his warm breath against you and you let out a little cry. "No reason to keep quiet Angel, there's no one here to hear you but me, be as loud as you want." Steve didn't mean to drag this out, but he knew he couldn't rush into this. He doesn't want to break the trust you granted him.

"Angel you're dripping, gonna touch you okay? Gonna make you feel good." He waits for your yes, moving one of his hands to your clit, his thumb making small circles on your little bud. "Stevie." You moan out. You felt your heart flutter, no one has ever touched you like this, let alone seen you like this. You prop yourself on your elbows to watch him.

"Think you can take one of my fingers?" He asks, you nod eagerly. He slowly enters his middle finger into your needy hole. His finger was definitely bigger than yours, but not big enough like one of you dildos. It's definitely been a while since you used one. The stretch feels nice. He lets his finger slide in and out of you as your walls flutter around his finger. "Feels so good Stevie." Yours eyes close and more whimpers fell out from your lips.

"That's it Angel, make a mess for me." Steve lets out a little moan himself realizing how tight you actually are. "Fuck you're so tight. Wondering how my cock will fit." You moan loud at his realization. He lets out a little chuckle, "Don't worry Angel, we'll make it fit, maybe I should just stretch you out tonight instead? Hmm?" He already knows your answer.

"That's not funny Steve, you wouldn't dare." There was his strong willed girl. You look at him with determination that you're going to take his cock tonight whether it hurts or not and Steve is happy to oblige. "Don't worry your pretty head. You'll get my cock tonight, but I need to do a proper tasting first." Another string of loud whimpers leave you. Steve slowly removes his finger, he couldn't wait to dive head first into your pussy.

"Ready Angel?" You give him a whinny yes at the anticipation. Finally lowering his mouth to your weeping hole, his tongue making contact to the place his been dying to try. Your head falls back and a song of moans leaves your throat. Steve was grinning like the cheshire cat. He continues his assault, dipping his tongue in you occasionally, which you seem to like a lot. He makes a mental note of that. The foreign feeling of his tongue becomes pure pleasure. Your fingers could never create the feeling of what Steve's tongue was doing to you. He laps at you like it's his final meal. Steve comes up for air making the comment, "Tastes like pure honey, could eat you out forever Angel." He dives back in, applying more pressure and you buck your hips up in excitement. You try to close your thighs, but Steve isn't having it, his grip is impossible to fight. You weave one of your hands into his hair, fingers scratching his scalp, pulling him closer to your core. Steve lets out a moan of satisfaction. He knows you close and ready to finally have your release. A few more licks and your dam breaks. The high and pleasure is unlike anything you have ever felt. Steve keeps his tongue pressed to your clit to help you ride out your orgasm. You come down from your high, clearly out of it, in the best way possible.

"Still with me Angel?" Steve comes up from your pussy.

"Uh Huh" You couldn't say anything else. Your brain was so fuzzy. Steve had given you one of the best orgasms in your entire life. Steve looks at you and sees your face. He knows that look. You're so fucked out, maybe he pushed you too far tonight.

"We can stop tonight Angel, you did so good." Steve responds, ready to cuddle you for the rest of the night.

You think about it, you really do want to be with it when Steve makes you cum on his cock, you know, get the full experience.

"As much as I want you to fuck me, you really wiped me out. That was, really good Steve. Thank you." You breathe out, panting.

"You're welcome Angel. I promise to fuck you properly soon, it's a date." He kisses the inside of your thigh and gets up to get you a glass of water, which you happily accept and a wash cloth to clean you up. He comes back handing you the glass and gets to work on cleaning you. He can tell your sensitive when he hears you whimper from his touch. He tries not to stimulate you to the best of his ability. After he's done, he puts the wash cloth in the laundry basket and comes back to lay down next to you. He watches you as you catch your breath, admiring your fucked out state, knowing he's the one who caused it.

You finish the water, placing the glass on the nightstand and find your way back to him, lying across his chest. Steve engulfs you in his arms and pulls the covers up to encase you in a warm embrace. His fingers lightly drawing patterns across your back, as he places another kiss to your forehead. You and him stay like this for the rest of the night, enjoying the comfortable silence. It takes Steve back to a time where all you two knew was silence amongst each other. Now, he doesn't mind it, especially if it leads to you curdled up in his arms. He's glad that you chose him to be your first and he's definitely going to make sure he's your last. No one touches his Angel, but him.

"Good night, Angel." He whispers into your ear, pulling you closer to him. "Night Stevie." You slowly drift off to a deep and peaceful sleep, knowing that Steve will be right there when you wake up.

Hope you enjoyed! 🤍

[inks-writing-space]

Serotonin~ Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

~~~~~~~~~

3.7k words: You are a witch getting invited to a party at the Mikaelson compound. There you dance with a certain hybrid who invites you into his study for later…

Warnings: smut, blowjob, kinda enemies to lovers, dirty talk, eastereggs for my austrian friends, Klaus being a horny bastard and a dom, a little kinky but not a lot, and a tension filled dance…

A/N: AHHH I GOT MOTIVATION AGAIN!!! I used to write on Ao3 but immigrated to Tumblr…I started to write again and I am so happy. Might not be my best one shot be I think it’s alright.

~~~~~~~

Your hand was trembling in fear, or like your mother called it, doing funny things. But that was only natural. To say you weren't nervous would be a lie and a bad one as well. You had been a part of the whole Vampire Drama since the day you arrived in this world and the danger, hiding and lying had taken a toll on you. Not that you would have minded. You were a thrill seeker, and a drama queen on top of that. Someone like that appreciates the thrill and the unknown. Still you didn't know if you were able to make tonight. Not in terms of surviving, you were quite skilled at that, but more on a mental level.

The Mikaelson's were hosting a party and you were invited. You hadn't seen them in a long time, and you would have loved to keep it that way. You didn't like Klaus very much, nor Elijah, nor Kol. The only one you got along with was Rebekah, but it wasn't worth putting up with her brother's just for her company. As a witch you had far better things to do. Ignoring an official invitation by the Originals wasn't one. It would be considered impolite and you couldn't afford having them as your enemy. Not after you had seen what they were able to do to witches like you or even vampires, who were there own kind.

This is why you were now standing infront of your mirror taking in the sight of yourself in the dress you had gotten for your eighteenth birthday. This had been a few years ago but it still fitted like back then. It was sparkling red and where it should be touching the ground red roses were knitted into it, a protection spell by your mother. Two gloves were reaching up to your elbows hugging your skin tightly. You had put your hair up in two thin braids on each side, coming together in the middle, while you had curled the rest of the hair and let it fall down. Your red eye shadow was matching the dress, and with a colorless lipgloss and mascara your look was completed.

You sighed one last time, before you grabbed your purse and headed off to the compound.

You were always shocked by how skilled the Mikaelson's were in hosting balls and parties and other stuff, but you knew they never did anything without a reason, and you knew inviting you wasn't a nice gesture. Still you smiled at Elijah who was welcoming the guests. He smiled back as you offered him your hand, he took it and implied a kiss onto your glove.

"It's good to see you, welcome back," he said. Anyone else would have taken that as a compliment, but you knew better.

"Elijah," you say the smile still plastered on your lips not quite reaching your eye's. Elijah noticed that too and raised an eyebrow but didn't comment at it, turning to other guests.

You knew it would probably be the worst decision to get drunk in a place full of vampires who weren't really found of you, but your nerves were getting the better of you and that's how you found yourself with your third drink in your hand already feeling a little lightheaded.

"Have you become an alcoholic in the time you were gone, or are you trying to drown some lovesickness?," a voice behind you asked and you shooted the rest of your drink before turning around looking into a pair of blue-green eyes.

"Niklaus," you said letting the name roll of your lip, "I doubt the only reason to drink are alcoholism and lovesickness."

He smiled, ignoring your comment, "Oh my dear, when did we go back to the formalities? Just call me Klaus," he said and you sighed realizing how much he enjoyed the banter you too had and always have had.

"Do you need a drink in your hand to answer me or are you just going to stand there with your mouth open for the rest of the night?," he asked and you immediately closed your mouth and swallowed down a sarcastic remark, reminding yourself why it was a bad idea to insult an Original.

"Why am I here Klaus?," you finally managed to press out and he sighed offering you his arm.

"I'd love to show you." You shook your head.

"I won't follow you into a creepy basement or some, just tell me." He smiled a little and accepted your wish surprisingly. "Then dance with me. I'd like to explain it to you without unnecessary listeners."

You considered it for a second, glad he had given you the illusion of a choice before taking his hand and letting him guide you onto the dance floor.

The Emperor Waltz started playing and you had to chuckle, "How ironic,“ you commented, Klaus chuckled.

"I swear this wasn't on purpose." You looked at him as you two started to dance. He had his hand on your waist, but didn't touch it as if he tried to keep a respectful distance. You couldn't say the same for you, your hand was holding on for dear life on his shoulder, while he guided you across the parquet your fingers of the other hand interlinked.

"Our family needs extra protection," Klaus said while twirling you around. You raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze trying not to look down at your feet.

"The Originals. Why would they need extra protection, I thought you all are immortal and having your own witches," your voice was laced with sarcasm and Klaus chuckled his grip on your hand growing a little tighter. He was now also touching your hip.

"I was told you own a Grimoire with special protection spells," you swallowed the music growing intenser. Where had he heard that? And when was this damn dance finally over?

"It's ten minutes long," Klaus said dryly almost as if he had read your thoughts. You looked at him.

"Why would I give you the book leave alone speak the protection spell."

"Because you don't have that much of a choice," he said dryly, the music lowering a little and his mouth went next to your ear, "Or do you really want to test me, little witch?"

You shook your head, "I can give you the Grimoire, I don't want to call you or your family my enemies." Klaus chuckled, "Intelligent witch. Always on the right side, aren't you?"

The music swelled again and you protested as Klaus sped up your movements, "Oh come on what is up with this Austrian dances?," you asked annoyed.

"Aww, for a witch who has seen the monarchy of Austria-Hungary rise and fall you are awfully bad at dancing to their music," Klaus said amused and you shrugged.

"I wasn't in Europe during that time. I assume you were?" Klaus nodded slightly, "I was trying to find the Doppelgänger or what was left of her."

"Katherine wasn't in Bulgaria at that time. I doubt she stayed anywhere for long," you said yelping as he lifted you for a second.

"And if I knew that before I would have left her country and returned to England sooner." You looked away, trying to concentrate on his steps. You did not want to form a connection with him. He chuckled slightly.

"Eyes on me. That's necessary for a waltz."

"I think you are lying," you mumbled but looked back at him.

"You know that you look amazing in that dress, right?," he asked and you nodded confidently. "I like it as well. Thanks for noticing I guess."

You saved yourself of stepping on his feet and Klaus smiled, "I always notice. Why don't you come to my room in a few hours when this party is over, and we discuss the details of you handing me the Grimoire?" You bit your lip but nodded as the dance was slowly coming to an end. You knew you had to go through this sooner or later and you didn't really mind.

„Perfect,“ he said letting you go again, "Oh and sweetheart?“ You turned to him raising an eyebrow, "If you run I‘ll find you.“

~~~

A few hours and drinks later you finally stepped into Klaus‘s office. To your surprise he was alone without Elijah or any other sibling. He smiled at you, obviously relieved that you came.

"Glad you didn’t try to run,“ he said, his voice low as he stood up and approached you walking like a predator mocking it's prey.

You nodded, your heart racing, although you weren't quite sure why, yes you were scared of him, but the alcohol seemed to make it even worse. „Listen I‘ll give you the Grimoire but after that I never want to hear a word from any original ever again," you said quickly so you didn't have to think about how his curls looked especially good today. At your words Klaus raised an eyebrow, "Really? From none of us?“

"Feel offended?"

A smug smile crossed his face, "Well yea, I'll miss a witch who has a lot of power in my life."

You smiled joylessly, "Well you bet that I won't miss the original who tried to suppress me."

"Aw you are so innocent aren't you?," Klaus asked, his voice laced with sarcasm and a shiver ran down your spine. He chuckled, "I watched you the whole night you know, you are such a brave girl attending a party at the home of the Originals. Everyone kept their distance because they are scared you'll break like a glass doll the second they even try to address you. They all buy your good girl act hook, line and sinker, but not me."

Klaus smiled cruelly, "You are neither innocent nor a good person, are you, doll?"

You swallowed, not quite sure what to answer. Klaus's proximity was making you more nervous than it should, but Klaus was waiting for your response and you wanted to give it to him.

"I never said I was," you finally answered, and he chuckled darkly.

"No, because I know you aren't. I can ignore all the lives you took, and all the sacrifices you made. But do you really think you can hide how much your heart rate increases every time I come near you? I wanted you here to talk about the Grimoire, but now I have someone who seems to enjoy my company a lot," he eyed your form up and down taking in every inch of you, "Or am I wrong?"

You swallowed the alcohol clouding your judgement, your body aching and not wanting to lie anymore. You shook your head, "No, you are not," you whispered your voice hoarse and goosebump started to build on your body.

"Look at you," he smiled, "All I have to do is whisper a few pretty words and you melt right in front of me, isn't that cute?"

The worst part was that his words made everything you felt so much worse. It felt like bubbles were building inside of you, like the champagne had started to have his own personality. But it wasn't the alcohol or the drinks in you, it was a real shiver that went over your spine when Klaus talked to you like that. Ugh you hated vampires.

Klaus took a step closer, his chest now almost pressing against yours, his hand was on your hip in an instant and he turned you around. "Listen closely, doll. I do not like witches," his hand wandered to your neck and a jolt went through your body, "You might be hot, but believe me you are not an exception at all. And if you do even so much as to try and hurt my family...," Klaus squeezed your neck a little more.

"Great," you said, your voice a little shaky, but you tried to regain back your usual composure, "And now we should have sex." You did not know why you said this. Maybe because Klaus was so close you could feel his breath against your neck. Or maybe because his hand was applying the perfect amount of pressure around your throat. Or maybe because his threat was super fucking hot.

Klaus chuckled behind you, his lips gracing over the shell of your ear, pressing a soft kiss to it, before he continued tracing his lips over your neck, his hands wandering up the sides of your body.

"If you insist. I never was one to deny a pretty woman an opportunity to release all of her pent up pressure." His hand moved to the zipper on the back of your dress, and pulled it down, slowly and considerate, "Although I like to tease them from time to time," he chuckled as he felt your uneasiness mixed with anticipation. You didn't turn around as the dress fell to the floor, and his fingers opened your bra sliding it off your shoulders.

At this point your body was already trembling and shaking and the fact you were so excited and ready only amused Klaus more. He clicked softly with his tongue. "I haven't even touched you yet and you are already a trembling mess. I am excited about what else I'll be able to get from you."

He turned you around quickly looking you up and down. You decided to take the initiative, at least for the moment, and kissed him. First you had to stand on your tiptoes to reach the Hybrid's face but once he noticed your struggle his hands grabbed your ass and placed you onto his table. His hand grabbed your chin roughly as he broke the kiss, "I am gonna show you exactly what can happen if you decide to behave and work for me," he smirked slightly, "I'd hate to show you the other side."

"Aren't you a softie," you joked and with a growl Klaus had you pressed onto his table. You could feel paper and a few pens beneath you as he lightly slapped you across the face. Not to hurt, but to warn.

You bit your lip not even in the slightest intimidated by his presence anymore, not when the option to be attracted to it was there. You pulled his head down kissing his lips and grinding your hips against him. He pressed them down, preventing you from moving, as he slowly kissed down your neck, stopping to nip and suck on it while he plastered your collarbones with bruising kisses. It hurt, but the pleasure quickly overtook and you had to suppress a moan, remembering that downstairs was a party full of vampires.

Klaus chuckled as his tongue licked over the peak of your breast and swirled around it, "Don't be shy darling," he whispered his voice hoarse, "Let them hear." You moaned as he bit down on your nipple drawing blood from you, and your hands pulled on his hair as he did the same to the other side. He obviously wanted to be in control, but you were having none of that, you quickly pulled his face back up and rolled you two around so you were now straddling him. Having wanted this for so long you were not eager to wait. You quickly disposed of his shirt before unclasping his jeans.

Klaus watched you and chuckled, before he lifted you up without any effort, and sped you both towards the big chair in the corner. He quickly pressed you down to your knees and shook his head almost mockingly as you tried to stand up again. He clicked with his tongue disapprovingly, "Eager little girl, you are lucky I am in a giving mood today, otherwise I'd make you beg for what you want," he chuckled and a shiver ran through your body. He chuckled, "Seems like you'd be a fan of that, wouldn't you?"

The question was rhetoric and you didn't answer. He left out a soft laugh as he saw your dazzled face, his grip in your hair growing stronger pulling you towards his groin, "Do you wish for an instruction handbook, or do you know what to do?," he mocked you his voice growing darker, and his eyes flashed yellow his werewolf side coming out, as you pulled his suit pants down and he kicked them away.

Beneath his boxers you could see his cock getting hard and realized how big he was. You wetted your lips, trying to regain your composure as you steadied yourself on his thighs as you touched him a little through them until you decided to take matters into your own hands and pulled it down.

You slowly licked a path down his length pressing your tongue flat against him, licking up his precum eagerly. You looked up through your lashes meeting his demanding gaze, his grip in your hair got tighter and more demanding. You wanted to tease him a little more but his grip in your hair tightened and you only had time to relax your jaw before he started to fuck your mouth. Klaus growled and moved his hips in sync with your mouth, pushing himself deeper. His cock pushed deep into your throat and you gagged, but that only made him twitch. You looked up at him and noticed him locking eyes with you as he sped up his movements.

Tears escaped your eyes, at the rough and brutal pace he had set. He wanted to pull off, but you knew it only needed a little bit more effort, so you grabbed his balls with your hand, massaging them while you sucked on his cock. You felt him shudder and his cock twitch as he pulled out and released himself, his cum spilling over your body. You looked down at yourself and Klaus growled satisfied. Your face was stained with the mascara and his thumb stroked over your cheekbone, almost tender for a second. He smiled down at you, awaiting your next move.

"You are so pretty, all painted in my cum," he mumbled, patting his lap. You didn't even hesitate a second, taking off your remaining panties before you climbed into his lap. He still wore a shirt and after you relished a little in the fact that you were completely naked, while he was clothed, you pulled his shirt over his head tossing it aside, with a smirk. You bit your lip admiring his biceps, and trailing your fingers down his chest. Klaus groaned approvingly as you started to kiss his neck, determined to leave a Hickey.

He chuckled and pulled away slightly, "It will heal in a second," he reminded you and you rolled your eyes, "I do love to try to make it last, tho," you whispered into his ear and moved slowly against his leg.

He groaned slightly, the sound of your wet pussy sliding against this naked leg obscene, and the fact he was enjoying it so much only made you want him more.

"There is one thing you don't know about me," Klaus whispered back, "I am not really a patient man," he said before he grabbed your hips and pulled you up lowering you on his cock without hesitation, "Now ride me properly, before I show you what happens to teasing little whores."

You slapped him slightly, before you started to grind against him, "Don't call me whore," you hissed and he chuckled gripping your ass helping you to find a pace.

"Oh but why not, love?," he asked innocently, "Do you think every girl just gives themselves to someone like me?"

"I would say probably more than you could count," you said and sped your pace up a little, your thighs were burning, but you were determined to show no weakness, having him like this felt powerful. You wrapped your arms around his throat, "Or am I wrong?," you whispered and he grinned suggestively.

"No, you certainly aren't wrong with your assumption, but it still doesn't change a thing," he said and smacked your ass lightly to get you to grind even faster. You felt tired, but decided to not stop, planting his arms on his shoulders trying to move faster.

"Yes, that's right, fuck yourself on my cock," he groaned as you lifted yourself up and down quicker. One hand stayed up on your waist steading you, the other was wrapped around your throat in an instant cutting off your airwave. You groaned slightly, the adrenaline that the oxygen deprivation sent through you was delicious and made you want to stay in this position forever.

Klaus growled as your pussy tightened around him, "Please," you whispered your limbs burning, not able to keep up the pace. He pressed his hips upwards and took your waist lifting you up and down with no effort, as if you were the lightest thing in the world.

"Cum," he commanded and his demanding tone was everything you needed to be sent over the edge. You fell forward, your forehead hitting his shoulder as your high crashed over you. Klaus chuckled and held onto you stroking your back soothingly, as you came down from your high. He trusted upwards into you a little bit more before he came as well, spilling himself inside you.

"Aww, is my little witch tired?," he asked with a smile as he looked at you. He turned you around pulling out, his gaze roaming over you hungry. You were completely spend, his cum from earlier still sticky on you, he smiled kissing down your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. You whimpered looking up from under him and he ran his fingers through your hair, suddenly pulling it back. His grip was rough and his eyes golden, as he sank his fangs into your neck.

You groaned and tried to relax as he drew blood from you, but the pleasure and pain were battling and you couldn't help but grab his head, tugging at his hair. You weren't even sure what you were trying to do, if you wanted him to bite harder or let go. Maybe a mixture of both. He chuckled letting go of you, and you looked him in the eyes as you traced the dark veins under his eyes.

He licked up the remaining blood and you couldn't help but shiver under his tongue. "Come on love," he growled into your ear, "Let's get you cleaned up and continue this little game."

[sytoran]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐘 / wandanat x dom!r

being a supersoldier had its perks, surely: like being paired up with the black widow and scarlet witch on a mission, and getting to fuck them on that very mission.

──── ♥ pairing. sub!wandanat x dom!supersoldier!reader

──── ♥ cont. smut (18+), a semblance of a plot verging on shameless smut, cunnilingus, so much cunnilingus oh god, strap-on usage, established wandanat, overstimulation, a lot of it, possessiveness, jealousy, squirting, breeding kink, daddy kink, choking kink

──── ♥ note. reader is said to be buff & masc, no gendered pronouns are used. there is use of a strap-on though ;) word count is 3k lol

masterlist / AO3 / join the taglist

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

being a super soldier had its perks, surely.

chosen by professor erskine in 1943 to be injected with the super soldier serum, gaining an enhanced physique, then using it to save the world countless times? yeah. it was nice. being stuck in ice for seventy years? not that nice.

you know what was nicer, though? 

the women that came along with it.

no, you weren’t objectifying them, in any way or sort. it was just validating, receiving that kind of attention you so craved. it only took something as simple as walking along the street to be approached by an eager woman, body language very telling in what her end goal was.

and who were you to deny them?

nights that ended in your bedroom and clothes ripped to shreds was a common occurrence. despite the, uh, animalistic tendencies of those racy one-night-stands, you were always sure to make her breakfast the next morning. it was almost an apology for their shredded underwear. 

bucky, your loving asshole of a best friend, called that habit of yours ‘whore behaviour’.

you called it the super soldier theory.

as much of a — politely speaking — whore, you could be, no matter how rough or desperate or hot or messy the events of the previous night were, you were damn sure to make it accumulate into an unforgettable, wet dream-inducing, masturbation-worthy one.

and what better to top that off with a pleasant breakfast? you’d known the empty feeling of waking up to a cold bed, so you’d make sure there was still some level of pleasantry and chivalry.

—

well, that fine theory of yours would come into action much sooner than expected.

“fuck,” you groaned into the pillow, as your alarm resounded around the empty apartment of your house. that day was a monday, and you were in no mood to go to the SHIELD compound to begin work.

that could mostly be blamed on the searing pain in your back that was the result of last night’s endeavours, but there was nothing wrong in a little sexual activity, was there? well, by little you meant a lot, but linguistics don’t matter.

in fact, nothing mattered when you were paired up with the scarlet witch and black widow on a new mission.

god bless nick fury.

you were currently huddled in SHIELD’s meeting room for pre-mission administrative bullshit you didn’t give a damn about. sorry, maria. 

the object of your attention was the black widow, in her skin-tight full-body black suit, showing off flattering curves, and the scarlet witch, in a low-cut top that revealed a generous cleavage. you weren’t staring, you really weren’t.

but when natasha moved to brush her lips against wanda’s ear, eyes however darting to you, and the way wanda responded in kind, glancing at you and giving you a little wink…… it was doing things to you.

it was almost as if they were putting on a show for you, in all your super-soldier, openly queer glory. 

you weren’t really taken aback by wanda and natasha's relationship, in all honesty, because the two never seemed to get enough of each other. what you were taken aback by, on the other hand, was their interest in you.

natasha and wanda had an inexplicable attraction towards you, only growing more touchy when they knew you were watching because of the knowledge that your eyes would inevitably find theirs. 

you had tried to ignore at first, the palpable sexual tension between the three of you, that only grew with the passing days, but soon it was all too much to be overlooked.

the day the dam broke, was the day of that very mission.

—

“target spotted,” wanda says in your earpiece, sharp and steady. the lilt of her sokovian accent wasn’t loss on your keen ears, and it made you swoon just a little. 

the mission was a clear-cut one, straightforward and supposedly simple. secure the target, steal the harddrive, export the information, then out. you didn’t really understand why SHIELD needed two of their best agent and two avengers for this, but maybe they just wanted to play it safe.

the destination of the mission was a high-end fancy banquet hall, thus you were all dressed to class.

wanda was dolled up in a velvet green dress, matching her eye-color. it went off her shoulders, exposing the sleek collarbone and accentuating the curve of her breast. the slit of the dress ended dangerously high on her right thigh, showing off bare skin. natasha was wrapped up in a eulalia red satin dress, downright sinful in the way it hugged the curve of her breasts and her hips. the backless dress was a pleasant treat for your eyes.

not to be arrogant, but you think you didn’t look too bad yourself, what with a tailored black suit — the fabric hugged your broad shoulders leading a smaller waist, and was tight-fitting at the arms, showing off the curve of impressive biceps. the collared shirt underneath was unbuttoned low enough to expose a tattoo, that could only be deciphered upon closer examination.

"bald guy, navy blue suit. chatting up a blonde girl on the left side of the pillar with the painting of a ballerina.” 

upon wanda’s jurisdiction, your eyes find the target easily. you also don’t miss the copious amonuts of bodyguards stationed throughout the banquet hall. 

“we have eyes on him,” natasha’s voice in your ear now. “y/n and i will distract him. wanda, you get the hard disc drive, which is conveniently placed in his pocket.” wanda voices her agreement.

suddenly, you feel a hand on the middle of your back, and you almost jump. it’s natasha, and if your eyes ever travelled to her breasts, no they didn’t.

natasha loops her arms around you, hands interlocking behind your neck. she smiles serenely. you gulp at the close proximity between the two of you. 

“what-”

“kiss me.”

before you can lift a finger to react, before you can say that there’s people here, natasha pulls you in for a kiss, and an explosion of fireworks erupt in your stomach.

god, it’s so surreal, the feel of her lips on yours. no, they’re not velvety soft or perfectly unblemished, but the fact that it’s natasha, delicate yet desperate, makes you want to die.

realizing that this might be the only chance you ever have with the black widow, even if it is just a mission, you chase her lips in a flurry. your left hand goes to cup at her waist possesively, just knowing it would rile up the target who was most definitely watching, and your other hand wraps itself around her neck.

natasha lets out an airy sound — you selfishly hope that it was your doing, not just a play for the audience — and she tugs at your collar, pulling herself closer to you. despite being somewhat in the corner of the hall, the quickly-gained attention is a little unsettling.

you move to break apart slowly, before natasha’s fingers find your belt loops and her lips are on yours once again. she moves with a goal in mind, this time, hot breaths and tongue flooding your senses. 

you know that this means something more than a mission, but that thought is buried somewhere far in your depleting conscience. you can only hope that wanda takes longer to retrieve the harddrive.

fighting to return natasha’s renewed fervour, you greedily grab at her breasts, playing with the mounds of flesh as she breathes into your kiss. 

before you know it, natasha is dragging you up the winding stairs, through the crowds of judgemental whispers and wide-eyed stares.

“what about- what about the target,” you ask, helplessly and breathlessly, struggling to find a semblance of order. it’s hard, when natasha’s ass is right in your line of vision. 

you’re shoved into the elevator of the posh building. you’re about to question why on earth the security guards aren’t doing anything, before the redhead is kissing you again.

“shut up and fuck me,” she pants into the kiss, pressing a random floor of the building. you finally oblige, knowing that this was a one-in-a-million chance.

oh, fuck the mission.

you ruck her skirt up, pushing her bare ass against the cold metal of the elevator. natasha squirms in your grasp, and desperately rub your palm against her cunt. she grinds against it like its sweet solace.

“more,” natasha pants into your ear, and you shove a hand up into her panties in the moving elevator, any semblance of respect and public courtesy long gone.

once the elevator door dings open, natasha drags you out, leading you into one of the rooms by your tie. you try to grasp at any part of her you can reach, but she stays cleverly out of reach.

the door slams shut, and suddenly you’re face-to-face with wanda maximoff. 

“what the fuck is happening,” you breathe, feeling natasha take off your suit jacket from behind. “am i- am i dreaming?”

“oh baby, we’re a lot better than whatever dreams you’ve been having, i can assure you,” wanda says casually, red tendrils of magic swirling around her fingers then around your body. you’re knocked into the bed, forced to sit at the edge.

wanda lifts a finger to trace a long, red nail across the purple hickey on your neck from last night. you clench under her languid touch, and wanda hums in visible appreciation at your bulging muscles.

"i could do better than that," she purrs through sharp teeth, grazing over the faded hickey. 

you hiss through kissed teeth, frustrated at being unable to move your limbs. as a super-soldier, it was almost embarrassing to be rendered useless so easily, but thankfully the knowledge that wanda was just about the most powerful being in the universe was consolation. 

“what about the mission?” the question barely leaves your lips before wanda promptly sinks her teeth into your flesh between the neck and your shoulder.

“calm down, sweetheart,” natasha purrs, undoing the buttons of your shirt. “we’ve taken care of it already.” wanda waves the harddrive in front of you, before tossing it to the side. 

you don’t find the heart in you to question her. wanda straddles you, and when she kisses you, you kiss back. natasha’s kiss from earlier meshes into this one, and you can taste them, simultaneously. it drives you mad, almost.

wanda lets out a moan, and you take advantage of her moment of weakness to spin the two of you around. you press wanda into the position you were previously, while you get down in front of her, your face at the same level as her pussy. you grin up at her.

while wanda had pinned you down with her magic, you had pinned her down with the sheer force of your enhanced physique. spreading her legs open, you murmur, “two can play this game. or three, i suppose.”

natasha lets out a humoured bark of laughter. “hm, you two have your fun. i’ll have my turn later.”

wasting little time in getting what you wanted, you helped wanda undo her dress, letting it fall to the floor. ripping off her panties with your teeth, natasha let out an impressed whistle while wanda turned as red as her hair.

you used your thumbs to spread her glistening folds open, allowing you to see just about everything. wanda whined, at being all spread out, your hungry eyes never leaving cunt.

"hurry up," she gasps, jerking when you let out a slow exhale, warm air making her clit throb. 

it’s all good fun at first, wanda teasing you while you lap at her cunt hungrily. she’s playing with your hair, nails scraping at your neck. she reaches her first orgasm embarassingly quickly.

it’s only after another one that wanda realizes, once you’ve latched your mouth onto her divine pussy, you’re not taking it off anytime soon.

“baby,” she asks hesitantly, breaking off into a moan when your tongue finds her stiff clit.

you bury your head deeper, letting out a low hum in response. the vibrations send tingles all up her stimulated cunt, and wanda jerks, clenching around you.

“baby,” wanda pleads, airy and hazy. you let out a guttaral sound from the back of your throat, the pit in your stomach burning as she moans your name. you respond in kind, shoving your tongue in a little deeper. wanda screams your name.

she tasted too good, too sweet, too pretty. wanda’s overstimulated cunt is positively throbbing, uncontrollable gushes of white cream going all over your face. you lap it all up, gripping onto her thighs.

“daddy, stop,” she whimpers, trying to yank your head away. the way that title falls from her lips is divine. but you’re adamant in getting what you want, so you ignore her pleads and go back to devouring her hungry pussy. god, you couldn’t get enough of her taste.

wanda has tears in her eyes, unable to form anything but moans and shrieks as you bring her over the edge again and again. throughout the minutes, you never let down, only picking up your pace with each sweet cry of your name.

there was only one way to abuse your super-soldier stamina, right?

god, she was so wet, her pussy so drenched it goes into her ass, then staining the sheets and soaking through the mattress. you don’t fuckin’ stop, can’t stop, only craving to break her and make her ascend.

it’s only after several more earth-shattering orgasms that natasha roughly yanks you away, having had enough of your fun. your eyes are defiant, flashing, until they lock with natasha’s.

and boy, was that a sight you’d remember.

the normally green eyes of natasha were darkened into a sea of black, pupils so dilated you swore you could see through them, through the lust and the longing. trailing your eyes south, the hand shoved up her panties was now completely soaked — god, had she managed to fit four fingers in there? 

her breathing was ragged, the only semblance of normality being the widow-hardened grip on your jaw. you look up, letting her see just how damp your face is, from completely devouring wanda. 

“it’s my turn, babe,” natasha says through a shaky breath, raising an eyebrow in a challenge. to your surprise, she throws a strap-on at you, bright red. it’s far larger than what you would expect from her.

nonetheless, you smirk, more than happy to oblige. 

but first, you casually carry the passed-out wanda to settle into the left side of the bed. you place a chaste kiss on her forehead, as natasha’s eyes twinkle in amusement.

“don’t try to play the gentleman card, after you fucked her brains out.” natasha comments with a lazy grin. you shake your head, returning that grin in kind. “gotta reputation to uphold,” you quip, letting natasha unbuckle your pants.

your black boxers are damp, to no one’s surprise — wanda’s moans were surely something. natasha trails her hand over it, licking her lips, then lays down on the bed next to wanda, conveniently spreading her legs.

“uphold your reputation then,” natasha laughs, humming in appreciation at your visibly aroused expression.”treat a lady right.”

you put on the strap-on in record timing, not missing the way natasha’s eyes are on your hands as they fly expertly over the harness, fastening it in place with experienced haste. 

“on your hands and knees. face the wall.” you command, and natasha obeys. she uses her hands to spread her ass, teasing you. your eyes darken.

before natasha can let the witty remark slip from the tip of her tongue, you’re easing the silicone cock into her pussy from behind. mounting her like a rabbit in heat, you’re soon rutting into her.

“fuck,” natasha cries, clenching around you, so tight and hot and wet and delicious.

“pretty girl,” you growl mindlessly, letting the cock slide in and out of her hungry pussy. your eyes burn, muscles straining as you use natasha like a little rag doll, all her supposed witty teasing gone by the time you’re done with her.

it was so enticing and entrapping, the way her pussy wraps around your faux cock, how she was pulling away from the overstimulation, yet pulling you in with desperation.

screams and whines of your name bounce of the walls, until you’re heftily sure that the entire banquet hall can still hear her.

after minutes, or hours — no, time was a social construct and irrelevant when it came to mindblowing sex — you finally stopped. even your supersoldier physique was sore, so how on earth natasha and wanda had coped stumped you. 

the room reeked of sex and sweat and cum, as your brain was still catching up on what on earth had actually fuckin’ happened.

and yet, you don’t think you could get enough of them, not even with your head buried in wanda’s pussy for an eternity, or your plastic cock shoved so far up natasha it kissed her womb.

so it didn’t come as a surprise, when the black widow and the scarlet witch woke up in your apartment the next morning, completely naked, the only trace of your presence being the wafting smell of pancakes in the kitchen.

the super soldier theory strikes again.

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @gay4lizzie @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @scarsw1fe @jlsammy23 @gingerninja-93 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @Lovebelt @girllcver @lexscursed26 @godsfavouritelesbiann @bvrxbre @zekespisshair @alcolanic @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33-mrvl @gay4ols3n @knellyc30 @eatkobi @stitch26gp @cqllarbqne @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @wandaromanoff69

wheww this was a ridee. really hope yall enjoyed it :) reblog pretty please? (begging like a bottom? yes i am)

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[arlana-likes-to-write]

Doctor, Doctor

Family is More Than Blood Masterlist

Summary: The tide is pulling you in and you are getting to weak to stop it.

Warnings: bad mental health, implied suicidal thoughts, implied past abuse, therapy, Sam is a good guy, non-sexual nudity.

Relationships: Carol x Reader, Yelena x Natasha x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 3.6k

The pacing was the only thing keeping you grounded. So you paced: 5 steps in one direction, then five steps in the other. Everything around you turned to white noise. Not that there were many people in the Avenger’s compound. The world seemed to be holding on by a thread as fires spread across the globe. The only people that could put out those fires were the Avengers. The team was spread worldwide, and since you weren’t part of the team, you couldn’t know the specifics. You had half the mind to hack into FRIDAY to get updated everyone. With the stress of not knowing how the team was doing, combined with the sleepless nights due to nightmares, you were on edge.

It seemed your mind and body had enough. You were at your wit’s end. Each night, your mind creates horrific scenarios of those you love. Your hands were covered with so much blood. Your mind was having a hard time separating your nightmare and reality.

Usually, you would ignore it, push through, and hope your mind would figure itself out. That was past you, and you were trying to be better. You wanted to enjoy the life you were living with the people in it, but you weren’t sure if you could do it on your own.

But admitting you needed help was a weakness, and a weakness meant death. Honestly, you were proud of yourself. The person you were now was leaps and bounds from who you were in the Red Room. Still, these habits were hard to break. His voice was still engraved in your head. “Hey,” you jumped at the sudden voice and the hand on your shoulder. You put your hands up, ready to fight. “Sorry,” it was Sam. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You seemed lost in your own head.”

“Yeah,” you put your hands down. “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well.” His eyes scanned you over.

“Do you want to get out of the compound?”

“Please,” you said. If you weren’t so desperate for a distraction, you would have hated how weak you sounded. Sam smiled, and you followed him to the garage. The silence was comforting. Sam was special. His presence was calming, like a lifeboat in a raging storm at sea.

As he drove away from the compound past the small nearby town, he turned down a nonpaved road. You raised a questioning eyebrow. “Are you taking me out here to kill me?” The man rolled his eyes.

“Please, like I could kill you,” he teased, sparing you a glance before focusing back on the road. “And if I managed to kill you. Natasha, Yelena, Alexei, Carol, and Melina would be on my ass. Nooo, thank you,” he paused. “I would never know peace.” You rolled your eyes.

Finally, he parked in a small lot. There was only one other car. You followed him out of the car and took a deep breath in. The air was crisp. It felt cleaner somehow. “Ready for a hike?”

“Are you going to be able to keep up?” The man glared at you.

“I don’t know why I try to be nice to you, Black Widows.” You chuckled.

“Come on, Sam,” you smiled. “I’m following your lead.” You followed him to the start of the trail. He filled the silence with stories from his childhood and his family in New Orleans. But most of the walk was spent in silence besides the crunch of the leaves and sticks at your feet. With each step you took, the weight on your shoulder seemed to disappear.

You smiled at the couple who walked past you on their way to the car. Soon enough, you reached the end of the trail and at the top of the mountain. The scenery around you felt otherworldly. The air was crisp and cool. In one direction, you could see the other mountains part of the range surrounded by green trees.

It was mid-afternoon, and the sky was a vast and brilliant blue. Birds were flying at your level. There was a beauty at the top that you forgot existed in this world. “So,” you looked at Sam. “Wanna talk about why you were pacing a hole in the ground?” You smiled and sat down on a rock.

“I don’t know, Sam,” you said. Some days, I feel like I have it together, like there isn’t this crushing weight, but recently, I feel like I can barely hold my head above the water. " You picked up a stone and threw it up and down. The tide keeps trying to drag me under, and I’m afraid. " You let the stone drop back to the ground. I might stop fighting so it can take me out to sea.”

There were so many dark thoughts that echoed inside your mind. On certain days, listening to those thoughts seemed easier than fighting them. “And I know,” you continued before Sam could speak. “That I have so many people on my side that support me and count on me, but I am so fucking tired,” you squeezed your eyes shut. “I just want it all to stop.” You admitted. “I mean, the world will keep spinning, right? Even if I’m no longer in it.”

You heard the man let out a low hiss. You weren’t suicidal, but it seemed easier. “Ours would stop,” Sam finally said. “Our world would stop spinning.” You reopened your eyes to see Sam walking towards the edge. “Have you ever been sky diving?” He looked over his shoulder as you shook your head. “I should take you,” he looked back at the view. “It is the most freeing and adrenaline-pumping thing a person could do. I love it.”

You stood up slowly and walked to stand next to the man. “I’ve been on a roller coaster, does that count?” He slapped you playfully. “Why did you ask me that?”

“In sky diving or even for us Fly Boys on the team, you have to have complete trust in the people that you don’t necessarily see,” you frowned, a little confused. You have to trust the pilot, trust the instructor leading the pilot, and trust the people who packed your gear that they did it correctly. Blind trust is terrifying,” he said and touched your shoulder.

Trust. So much of your trust has been broken. “Do you trust me?” He asked.

“Yes,” you answered. The man smiled.

“Then trust me when I say this,” he took a few deep breaths. “I think you need to see a therapist, and I can find you a good one.”

“No,” you pushed his hand off your shoulder and headed back down the trail.

“Wait, ugh, hold on,” you heard him quicken his pace to catch up to you. “Look, I can’t imagine what that sick bastard put you and your sisters through, but I’ve lost someone because they couldn’t fight the tide. I will not stand by and watch it happen to you,” His confession stopped you and turned around to face him. “An old service buddy of mine,” he answered the question before you asked. “The weight of what happened over there got too much, and he let himself drown.” He took a few steps closer to you. “My mama said every soul that touches us leaves a mark - some as gentle whispers or bold strokes - but their imprints remain even when they’re gone. You’ve shaped our lives by being in it, and there is no going back.” You felt your chest tighten. Sighing, you placed your hands on your hips and looked at the ground.

“I trust you to find me a good one, Samuel,” the man laughed and put his arm around your shoulder.

“If I find you a good one, can I push you out of a plane?”

*

It was to disguise your trip to the city to check on a few Widows who had recently been exposed to the red dust. You felt bad about telling a white lie, so you visited a few of them; one was going to school, and another was starting a business. It made you happy that they were getting out of this life.

Now, you were sitting in Dr. Sabrina Hale’s lobby. Your leg was shaking, and you were gripping your jeans. You felt like you were going to be sick. Anxiety swirled in your stomach. Like Sam, you needed to believe in the blind trust of this stranger. “Hi,” you looked at the doctor. The woman was pite - her black hair was cut shoulder length, and her blue eyes seemed to have a caring presence. “My name is Sabrina. It is nice to meet a friend of Sam’s.” You introduced yourself and shook her hand. “Please come in.” You followed her into the office.

Her office was much bigger than you expected. It had a large window overlooking the city, and her wooden desk was in front of it. Next to it was a couch with a chair. In the corner, there was a small table with chairs covered with coloring pages and art supplies. The most striking detail about her office was how decorated it was. There were plants in every corner and pictures on the wall documenting her travels and her family.

“Sit where you are comfortable,” you sat on the couch. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” she grabbed a travel mug from her desk and sat in the chair beside you.

“I will start off this session by saying that everything you say here is protected by doctor-patient confidentiality,” she said, crossing her left leg over her right.

“And if I don’t say anything?” Sabrina shrugged.

“Then we stare at each other for an hour in silence. Regardless, I still get paid,” you let out a dry laugh and stared out her window. “Sam told me you work with the Avengers, so I can guess whatever is haunting you isn’t pretty,” you scuffed, folded your hands, and rested your forearms on your thighs. “I tell my patients that you get out of therapy based on what you put into it. You need to want to be here. You want to get better.” Sighing, you stared at her.

She had a small smile on her face. Her eyes were so kind; they seemed to stare into your soul. “Do have any siblings? I have an older brother and a younger sister.” She was the middle child, and that made sense. Middle children were known to struggle with a sense of identity. Every piece of decoration showed you a piece of who Sabrina is. They also were known to rebel - her nose ring and sleeve of tattoos gave her away. But you snapped out of that. Sabrina was here to help you. She was not your target.

“Yeah, I have two younger sisters,” you smiled. “We aren’t related by blood.”

“Family is family,” she said. “Blood doesn’t matter.” You nodded and felt better that she had the same viewpoint as you. “Who annoys you the most?”

“Excuse me?” You were shocked by the question. Sabrina laughed.

“Come on. You are the older sister; your younger siblings must annoy you.” You chuckled and leaned back on the couch. She was right. It got on your nerves when Natasha left her pointee shoes lying around. Yelena had the annoying habit of putting her dirty laundry with yours so you would do it. You smiled again.

“They both do things that get on my nerves, but I love them.”

“I love mine too,” she said. “We got these tattoos together.” She turned her arm over to show you the artwork forever marked on her skin. It was like the work of three birds on a branch.

“Did it hurt?” You questioned. “The sleeve, I mean.” She watched as you looked over your sleeve.

“The first one did,” she answered. “After so many, you get numb to the pain.” Her blue eyes were watching you closely. Missing how your body tensed at the comment was not hard for her. “Are you numb to it all? After everything you’ve been through.”

You were unsure how to answer because you weren’t numb. You felt everything. Every hand that hurt you. Every bullet and knife slash that pierced your skin. That was why you wanted it all to stop. You shook your head. “I feel it all,” you whispered. “I wish I was numb to it all.”

“It’s good that you are feeling,” she told you. It means you can still be pulled back. You can be saved. The question is,” You watched her stand up and walk over to the mini-fridge. She grabbed out a small water bottle and walked back to you. “Do you want to be saved?” she asked while handing you the bottle.

She was extending an olive branch, waiting for you to take the first step—blind trust. Like sky diving, you needed to trust that everyone did their job to ensure you would survive. You wanted to be saved because there was so much life you wanted to see. You took the water bottle. Sabrina smiled and sat back down. “Good, the ball is in your court,” she said. “Lead me in whatever direction you want.”

*

“I’m going for a run,” you said while you entered the common area. Yelena watched you grab water from the fridge. “I’ll be back.”

“Do you want a running partner?” Natasha asked, but you quickly shook your head.

“It will be quick,” you smiled. “Figure out what you guys want to do for dinner.” You called out before putting on your headphones and left out the side door. Yelena frowned as you left. Twice a week, you leave the compound and go on a run. You went alone every time, no matter who asked you to join. Natasha walked over to the window, and Yelena got up from the couch to join her.

“She’s hiding something,” Natasha said. Yelena nodded in agreement.

“Do you think she’s cheating on Carol?”

“God no,” Natasha shot that idea down. “I just wish she trusted enough not to have to hide.” There was no way to hide the hurt in Natasha’s voice.

“She’ll come around,” Yelena smiled. “She always does.”

*

“Still hiding away, I see,” you rolled your eyes. You were video chatting with Sabrina for your weekly season. Your back rested on the tree trunk while you sat on the forest floor. There was a thin layer of sweat on your forehead from your run. “Why don’t you trust them with this?”

“I do trust them,” you defended. “I just-” you trailed off. It was one of the annoying things about Sabrina. She was patient - too patient for your fucked up mind. “I don’t want to seem weak.”

“Admitting you need someone to help you through your mind does not make you weak,” she told you. “I think it makes a person very strong.” You sighed and looked past your phone to the wilderness around you. “Trust is a thread that holds relationships together,” you looked back at Sabrina. The doctor was drawing in her sketchbook. It was something she always did during your sessions. You never asked what she was drawing, and she never showed it to you. She put the sketchbook down when she saw that you were looking at her. “When it frays, even those who care the most are left powerless to help. Doubting those who care for you builds walls, not of protection, and in the end, loneliness becomes your only certainty.”

“What are you getting at Hall?” You asked. The doctor was spinning a pencil in her hand.

“You are at a standstill,” she said. “You will not continue to heal unless you trust them with this side of you. But also trust yourself.”

“I do trust myself,” she looked at you like she did not believe you. The only way to survive in this world was to trust yourself.

“To an extent, yes, you had to trust yourself because who else would you trust? But I want you to trust yourself to be vulnerable and to feel weakness. You do not have to be the strong one all the time.”

*

Natasha’s door was open when you knocked on it. Yelena was on her bed while they were sharpening some of their knives. “Are you going to throw one of those at me?”

“Do you deserve to have a knife thrown at you?” Natasha questioned. You shrugged.

“Depends on who you ask,” you smiled and walked into her room. You found some space on her bed and sat down. Yelena handed you a knife and a sharpening tool.

The repetitive action of sharpening a blade was calming. It was nice to spend time with them. “Do you have something on your mind, sestra?” Yelena asked. You smiled and looked over the knife. Flipping it over, you stared at your reflection.

“Sam helped me find a therapist,” you decided to rip off the band-aid. “I’ve been seeing her for a few weeks now.”

“That’s great,” Yelena said. “I’m so proud of you.” You looked down, embarrassed by the praise.

“Why did you wait this long to tell us?” Natasha asked. You sighed and, when you were done, handed the knife to Yelena.

“Million-dollar question, right?” Natasha chuckled. “I guess I didn’t want to seem weak to you guys. Hell, not even Carol knows.” You picked up another knife to begin the process again. “I trust the two of you with my life,” you began. “But I’ve learned that I don’t trust myself to be vulnerable or weak. If I’m not the strong one, then what is my role? What is my purpose.” Natasha took your hand to stop you from sharpening the knife.

“You just have to be our sister,” she said. “That’s all we want.” You smiled.

“Sometimes I wish life was kinder to us,” you admitted. “We were far too young to be subjected to the darkness.”

“We got each other out of it,” Yelena smiled.

“The best thing to come out of the Red Room,” you joked.

*

You stayed awake until Carol returned from space. “Jesus,” she jumped when she opened the door to her room. “You scared the shit out of me.” You giggled and stood up from her bed.

“Sorry,” you smiled and closed the distance. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, consider me surprised,” she said, wrapping one arm around your waist while closing the door with the other. She pulled you flushed to her chest. “Hi baby,” you felt the words rumble from her chest. I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you kissed her cheek. “How was space?”

“Good,” she sighed. “Tiring, but I kicked ass and looked good while doing it.” You shook your head with a laugh.

“You always look good,” she covered her mouth as she yawned. “Come on, my captain, let’s get you to bed.” Carol shook her head.

“Shower with me first, then bed,” she kissed you softly. “I promise to behave.”

That was hard to believe, but you followed her to the bathroom. This type of intimacy and trust was new to you. Showering with someone was never slow and sweet. It was usually against your will, dirty, and fast. Carol taught you differently.

You helped Carol out of her tactical suit and kissed the new bruises that decorated her skin. While the water was warming up, she helped you out of your sleeping clothes. You stood in front of her—naked like the day you were born. It took time for you to be like this with her. The dark thoughts that invaded your mind and the scars that covered your skin made you believe you were undeserving of this soft trust.

You helped Carol out of her tactical suit and kissed the new bruises that decorated her skin. While the water was warming up, she helped you out of your sleeping clothes. You stood in front of her - naked like the day you were born. It took time for you to be like this with her. The dark thoughts that invaded your mind and the scars that covered your skin made you believe you were undeserving of this soft trust.

“Krasivyy (beautiful),” Carol mumbled. The words she knew in Russian were few, but she knew the ones that made you smile.

“No funny business,” you warned, pulling the Avenger into the water. She insisted on washing your hair first. The way her fingers massaged into your scalp made your body feel boneless. Once your hair and body were clean, you returned to the favor.

Carol hummed. “You have magic fingers, baby girl.” You chuckled and kissed her shoulder.

Once the soap washed off Carol’s body, you turned off the water and dried yourself off. You took some of Carol’s clothes to change into and climbed into bed. Instantly, Carol pulled you into her arms. Like with your sisters, you decided to rip the band-aid off. “I’m seeing a therapist,” you said. Sam found me one based in the city.” She put her finger underneath your chin and forced you to look at her.

“Do you like her?” You nodded. You liked Sabrina. She was annoying and got underneath your skin, but she forced you to face the hard parts of your psyche. “Proud of you, baby,” she kissed your forehead and hugged you tighter. Her fingers ran through your hair, bringing you closer and closer to sleep.

Carol was proud of you, as were Natasha and Yelena. It felt good to hear. “I love you,” you mumbled against Carol’s chest. The tide was all-consuming. You felt breathless and weak, but you were working on fighting the waves. You were proud of yourself, too.

[sundrop-writes]

i know it's one of the lesser voted ones, but i'm really excited for trouble is!! your fics are so good. take your time ofc, you're super awesome! <3

thank you so much!!!

I am honestly surprised that Trouble Is is one of the lesser voted ones. I thought it would be popular just on the basis of it being Sex Pollen. And because TMR seems to have a big active fanbase on Tiktok? There are a lot of edits for it? There are a lot of edits for it, with new ones being posted often. That's how I got inspired to get into my own personal TMR renaissance

Thomas is really hot as played by Dylan, and I am surprised that more people wouldn't be excited by the idea of a Sex Pollen fic starring him.

Anyway - the content of the votes don't really matter to me, because all the fics are finished in my drafts and will be posted at some point. And because you're excited about it, I have decided that I'm gonna post a little preview of the fic just for you <3

Trouble Is... - FANFIC PREVIEW

Thomas (TMR) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: sex pollen - which means dubious consent (but in the full fic it's implied that the characters have pre-existing feelings for each other, therefore they want to have sex with each other very badly, the sex pollen just distracts them from the existing dangers of their world); WCKD drugging the characters with sex pollen for nefarious purposes; chemically induced arousal (to an extreme); there is no explicit sex in this section just mentions of sexual arousal and sexual attraction between the characters; implications of scent kink (from Thomas toward the reader; I think that's it for this section? It's not mentioned here, but Thomas and the reader are being trapped/held in a room against their will (which they are distracted from by the sex pollen chemicals in their systems).

...

All that I know is I just can’t say ‘no’ to you - funny how things never change.

All that I wanted was just to get over you.

Trouble is - I can’t find a way. You’re part of me.

Trouble is - you’re part of me.

...

“Chemical compound LI69 has been distributed.”

“How long until the subjects feel the effects?” 

“Effects will be immediate. Symptoms should be noticeable in ten to twenty minutes. Desired outcome will be inevitable within twenty four hours.” 

“Good. Keep bi-hourly notes. I want a full report.” 

...

He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before, but he could even smell you in the air. Your natural smell was something so prominent in the air - shamefully, something he knew so damn well, something he had memorized and treasured close when his memories had still been so few and his head had still been so empty. Hugging you those first few times, he had tucked his nose into your hair and greedily whiffed deep breaths of your scent, absolutely loving how you were sweet, soapy - even if you were slightly sweaty from a long day of work, your natural scent was so damn perfect for him. 

It was a smell that he loved so dearly - on top of everything else that he loved about you. 

This time that wonderful scene that he knew as you had something else underlying with it - something needy and pungent that he wouldn’t quite know yet was arousal. But it was bringing back that feeling of anxious insanity that he had been boiling with earlier that day. The feeling that made him practically crawl out of his own skin, feeling like he needed to get to you. 

Here, now, being in this room with you - he still didn’t feel close enough. He still didn’t feel as though that anxious thing inside of him, calling out for you had been answered. Not yet. 

He had the urge to reach out and pull you close, hold you in his arms again, but he had a feeling that he would squeeze you tight and not want to let go - and then he would lose focus on getting you out of this room and to a safe place. And that just wouldn’t do. 

“Thomas - your shirt…” You whispered the words on the edge of your breath, as though you were breaking some terrible secret by speaking it aloud. 

He had almost forgotten that he had stripped off his shirt in such a haste - and the fabric was now clutched tightly in his shaking fist. Unconsciously, he was directing all of his energy to that point, furiously focusing on his grip to help himself resist the urge to reach out and grab you. 

He hadn’t yet noticed the way you were looking at him. Your eyes hungrily raking over his bare torso, scanning over every inch of him from the muscles that bulged in his biceps while he moved to the veins protruding in his forearms to the trail of delicious dark hair that disappeared down into his pants. He thought nothing of taking off his shirt in front of you, because it was something he had done plenty of times before while working in the gardens with you (as a leader in the Glade, you had rotated jobs a lot, going wherever a spare hand was needed) - and you certainly hadn’t looked at him with anything resembling hunger in your eyes back then. 

At least, he thought you hadn’t. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled out, worried that he had made you uncomfortable by stripping so casually in front of you. “I just find it really warm in here - do you find it hot?” 

He moved on, hating that nagging heat, almost as if it was crawling under his skin - something so much different from the warm sun of the Glade. This was a heat bubbling inside of him, pin-pricking all over his skin from the inside out. He wondered if this was what a fever felt like. Was he getting sick? Was he going to get you sick?

He felt another thick bead of sweat roll down his face and he used his balled up shirt to wipe it off. 

“I guess?” You huffed out, seeming irritated. “Maybe.” 

You squirmed on the spot and let out a pained sound, something that had Thomas on high alert once again. 

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked, purposefully locking his knees to keep himself from jumping toward you. 

If he was getting sick, then invading your personal space wouldn’t be a good idea. In fact - he made it a point to take a step back, keeping his eyes locked on you, keeping a protective watch over you while his back became flush with the metal of the door. It was a pleasantly cooling sensation for a moment before the fever inside of him overpowered it - reminding him just how boiling hot he was.  “It hurts.” You told him, your voice dissolving into a pained whine - shamefully, the sound rocked Thomas, and flooded him with something that could have only been described as arousal.

Fuck.

[klausysworld]

Hiii, love your work 🥰

I was wondering if you could write one where reader cuts himself and tries to hide it from Klaus, but after a bad night she does it again and the next day she puts on a sweatshirt to hide it, and while she's with Klaus he grabs that part of her arm and she shows pain, Klaus asks her what's wrong and she says that he grabbed her unexpectedly or grabbed her very hard but he's not convinced, the next day the same thing happens again and this time he comes back to ask what's wrong, but this time he insists that she tell him the truth, and she doesn't want to, so he lifts her sweatshirt and sees the cuts and then I leave it to your imagination.

it's okay if you don't feel comfortable writing this 💖

Trigger warning-Self Harm (please don’t read if you think it might upset you)

Don’t Suffer In Silence

Y/n had done well at keeping her marks hidden. Living in a house of Vampires and Hybrids didn’t make it easy which made her feel worse and more anxious but she still managed.

Dealing with the supernatural pressure and losing lives every other day was far too much on Y/n. She had struggled with self harm before the Mikaelsons anyway but with all the added drama she was spiralling fast.

Once again one of the vampires she had befriended became a casualty of everything going on between all the factions. Y/n had state back at the compound with Hope only to be told by a pissed off Marcel and then told to ‘get over it and stop being dramatic’.

Y/n still wasn’t used to the amount of death that surrounded her, not the way everyone else acted like it was normal.

Y/n had come to New Orleans when she received a call from her best friend Hayley. They had helped each other after Hayley got kicked out and Y/n had run away. Since then they both had each others back no matter what. Hayley had known that Y/n would hurt herself in the past but she had no idea that it was still something she went to as a source of relief. It had been years to Hayley’s knowledge so she wasn’t really paying any attention to the possibility.

But if Y/n was honest, she never really stopped in the first place. She never actually wanted to stop, she always had a little blade hidden somewhere ‘just in case’. She was always waiting for something awful to happen so she could feel like she had a valid reason to harm herself.

Y/n had thought things were taking a turn for the better when she and Klaus got closer. She still remembered the first time he kissed her, it was like a moment of peace for her heart and mind.

His touch was always so soft with her and she was grateful for that. They weren’t ‘together’ per say. They never actually confirmed their relationship, they just supported eachother when the other needed it. But Y/n didn’t think Klaus could help her with this. She assumed he would think it was pathetic or just give her that pitiful look.

Y/n always wore her long sleeved tops and if she didn’t then she’d have a jumper or jacket on, no matter what the weather. Of course all the vampires didn’t notice the heat much anyway so thankfully nobody questioned her choices. Everyone was to busy to anyway so even if they did notice, it wasn’t exactly a top priority.

Part of her was glad that she and Klaus weren’t in a confirmed relationship, it meant he didn’t get to see her scarred skin. It meant he never had the chance to touch her unless it was a brush of his hand or the occasional arm around her as a sign of protection. Every now and then he’d put his hand on hers when they sat beside eachother or something had happened that he caused and he would hold her hand gently as an apologetic gesture.

So she didn’t have much to worry about when it came to anyone finding out or caring much if they did.

It wasn’t like she didn’t get a lot of spare time. So she took advantage of her time alone, scavenged for her hidden blade and used it the only way she knew how.

Guilt flooded her after, but it was worth the few minutes of relief she felt before.

She locked herself in her room for the rest of the night, grateful that all the rooms had their own bathrooms.

She laid sprawled out in her bed in just a t-shirt, red wrists faced up as the cool air that flowed in from the window brushed over her skin. It was one of those rare times she fell asleep on her back and woke up in the same spot.

A harsh knocking at her door forced her eyes open and brain to kick start running.

“What?” She called out with a groan and Hayley’s voice rang straight back at her

“Can you stay here and look after Hope? I need to get to the bayou asap and everyone else is out at the moment.” She yelled back

“Yeah I’ll go to her room right away” she agreed while begrudgingly grabbing a cardigan.

Klaus and Elijah returned a few hours later to find Y/n facing the task of feeding a young Hope and having food flung across the floors.

Elijah let out a chuckle and went up to his reading room while Klaus approached the pair and helped settle his daughter.

Y/n assumed Klaus wouldn’t want her hovering over their heads and so went to go upstairs but his hand grabbed onto her wrist to stop her. She winced instantly and yanked her arm away from him making him frown

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he stood up from his seat and looked down at her forehead

“Nothing, you just grabbed me harder than I was ready for” she mumbled quietly before going to keep walking but he grabbed her wrist again just gentler. She bit down on her tongue and looked back at him. He looked at her for a moment before sitting down and tugging her with him

“Stay for a bit?” He started “Hopes games often require at least three people” he smiled and she mirrored his expression

“Yeah, of course” she agreed and lifted Hope onto her lap as Klaus’s arm slipped round her waist and his eyes dropped to the sleeve which threatened to show her skin but didn’t quite.

Klaus payed much closer attention to her actions and responses. She was quick to tug her sleeve down every few moments, even when they weren’t sliding up. When Hope would touch her arms or pull on her clothes then Y/n was looking more and more anxious and uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure what had happened, perhaps she had bruised herself and was embarrassed. Then he worried that one of the mikaelsons enemies had grabbed her too harshly and she hadn’t wanted to tell anyone. So he decided to let it go.

Until she continued to show signs of pain and discomfort for the several following days.

She was making pancakes for herself and Hope when he knocked her arm again, she inhaled deeply and he furrowed his brows as she moved her sleeve round a bit.

He watched as she put the first pancake on the plate and poured more of the batter onto the pan. He went to hold the base of her wrist to help her flip it better but she dropped the pan as soon as he got a grip she was pulling away and dropping the pan down with a loud clatter, he quickly turned the stove off to look at her

“Love, you need to tell me what’s going on” he murmured whilst trying to pull her hand toward him but she wouldn’t allow it

“Nothing, it’s fine” she muttered

“Well clearly something’s wrong” he mumbled, this time he pulled her arm with force making her stumble forward to him. Her eyes widened as he grabbed the end of her sleeve and went to tug it up

“Klaus stop it!” She yelled and smacked his hand with her spare one but he had already seen. His face fell slightly, confused flashing across him before his gaze softened and his eyes flicked to hers. She stared back at him horrified, her chest rose and fell rapidly and she hurriedly shoved past him.

“Y/n” he called softly as he followed her closely. She locked both her bedroom and bathroom door as she sat on the floor beside the bathtub. She breathed rapidly as she squeezed her hands together tightly and tried to think but before she had a chance to her door was swiftly broken in and Klaus was down on his knees before her. “Sweetheart” he murmured as he moved his arms under hers and lifted her as he stood once again.

She didn’t bother struggling as he brought her to his room and sat her down on his bed, his hands stroking the back of her hair. “I’m just going to get Elijah to look after Hope for a moment okay? I’ll be right back” he whispered with a kiss to her forehead

“Klaus it’s fine” she utter but he shook his head

“Just wait right here” he told her before speeding round the mansion.

She sighed heavily and ran her hands through her hair, once, twice, three times and then over and over until she was just pulling at it harshly.

Klaus quickly grabbed her hands hand rubbed the backs of them with his thumbs as he eased them away from her poor hair. Her face was bright red as she hiccuped on her cries in an attempt to silence them. He sat down on the bed and pulled her onto his lap

“It’s okay” he whispered softly “it’s okay” he repeated as he gently removed her jumper, leaving her in a t-shirt and showing him her arms. She couldn’t see his face when his eyes flicked to each and every line on her skin, some faded, some rather fresh and most in between. The pads of his fingers ever so lightly touched one or two of the raised lines, his lips pressed to the side of her head as she let out a sniff in response.

Y/n refused to look at him or herself, her face was turned to the side to stare at the art filled wall. She trailed her eyes over the different paintings while trying to ignore the feeling of his skin on hers. Her eyes shut when she felt something soft touch on of the cuts on her wrist, something warm and a tiny bit wet. The feeling came again and again, her eyes looked to find the source on the tingle against her flesh.

A tear fell down she face as she watched Klaus swap between her left and right forearms to kiss the newer marks on her skin.

He leaned back to look at her face once he was finished, seeing the shame and the guilt shine within her glossy eyes. His hand stroked the hair away from her face as his lips pressed to hers gently, he stroked the back of her neck and the top of her back as he kisses her softly. She pulled back as more tears dropped from her lashes but he wouldn’t let her turn away.

“Do you have any idea how much you mean to me sweetheart?” He whispered as he brushed his warm hands over her face. “You can always come to me my love” he murmured “don’t suffer in silence”

She sniffed as she leaned forward to press her forehead against his chest making him wrap his arms around her mid section and pepper kisses to the top of her head

“You’re going to sleep in my bed tonight okay?” He whispered

“It’s the morning” she mumbled back “you have to go settle a deal with the witches and-“

“Do you want me to stay? I can stay home today and be with you and Hope” he offered but she shook her head

“I don’t want you to worry and stay here just because I’ll do some stupid” she told him and his frown deeper and he hugged her tighter

“I can’t help but worry Y/n. Not that what’s happening is stupid but because you’re hurt. I never want anyone to hurt you, not even yourself and I will worry whether you like it or not but I’d rather be able to help you so that I don’t have to and so that you don’t feel you should turn to this” he explained gently

“I can’t help it” she whispered and he nodded

“You don’t want to stop” he uttered and she nodded subtly. He rest his chin on top her head as he thought for a moment, his hands gently rubbing her back.

“I’ve tried to” she sniffed “but I just can’t”

“It’s okay” he told her. “We’ll find a way okay? For now, whenever you want or need to hurt yourself, you call me okay? I’ll find a way to help you no matter where I am, what I’m doing.” He promised and her brows pulled together

“Why would you do that?” She asked weakly and he smiled slightly, not that she could see his face.

“Because I love you and I care too much to let you live in pain” he told her softly. “One day, I’ll kiss every inch of you whether it’s scarred or not” he whispered and took a deep breath as she held onto him a little tighter.

She stayed quiet, in his arms, not sure of what to tell him. But he didn’t need to hear her say anything, he just wanted her to know he was there.

Eventually they went back downstairs, she put her jumper back on so the other didn’t see but Klaus kept her by it on him at all times, made sure she ate and then they went back up to his room so she could lay down with him spooning her to keep her warm and safe.

Y/n wasn’t sure what would happen tomorrow or the days after that but she hoped Klaus would keep to his word and be there if she should need him.

(One could hope for a reaction like this😐🫤)

[justkending]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Bonus Chapter)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader (Enemies to Lovers) (Fake Marriage Trope)

Word Count: 3700+

A/N: I got some motivation for a bonus chapter and a lot of you guys reached out asking about some. So here is a cute little side story with the two! I hope you guys enjoy it while I take my time getting through all my other WIP!🥰

______________

Bucky’s POV: 

The mission yesterday was brutal for the team—so much so that Tony vogued for us and ensured we’d have the next two days without any form of work to interrupt our much-needed break. That meant we were off-duty, unless a world-ending turn of events came up, for the next 48 hours—starting the morning after we got home from said brutal mission. 

My first stop as soon as I got up and around was Y/N’s room. She had left the field yesterday more beat up than any of us after she was cornered and her backup had fled. Something I was royally pissed about, but it was some lower agent she was paired with to train. I offered, considering the kid was known for being squeamish, and it was originally meant to be a low-level operation. But apparently, someone with a gentler and friendlier disposition was preferred for the agent's training lesson. But of course, the tides turned, and Y/N was left on her own fighting off a dozen armed men, yet unsurprisingly, she came out on top. 

Although she claimed the various cuts, bruises, and pulled muscles in her quad were manageable, I knew she would be horribly sore today and, therefore, grumpy—understandably so. 

I thought I’d get a head start on helping her, considering things have grown between us since our first date two months ago. 

We hadn’t made it official, and we were taking it slow since there was so much to learn about each other after years of distancing ourselves from one another. 

We’ve had as many dates as time allowed since then, and the team has caught on, but again, we’re taking it slow. So slow, in fact that we kept to our respective rooms for personal space outside of movie nights, considering we lived together for almost a month and technically still do live together, even if across from the hall. We saw each other all the time, and we thought it best that we hold on to that piece of individuality at the start of our relationship so as not to rush anything. 

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find any chance I could to come hang out with her in her room and spend time with her as often as I could. I meant it back at the house when I said I envied my teammates for getting to experience a version of her that actually like you as a person. The change in pace has been eye-opening, and I’ve become somewhat addicted to the time I spend with her now. 

“One second!” I heard from the other side of the door after I knocked, and the tone alone showed me she was not happy. 

“I brought you some breakfast and pain meds, Y/N/N,” I said into the barrier. Seconds later, the door unlocked, and a battered Y/N looked up at me miserably. “Hey, sweetheart.” I couldn’t help the pout in my lip seeing my girl beat up. 

There was bruising under her eye, a butterfly stitch on her cheekbone, and a few bruises visible on her legs where she was wearing one of the biggest t-shirts she owned as a nightgown. 

“How bad does it look? I’ve been inching out of bed for the last 10 minutes because of how stiff I feel, and I haven’t made it to the bathroom to look,” she cringed as she rubbed the uninjured side of her face in exhaustion.

“You make black eyes look hot,” I answer, leaning to kiss the top of her head as I sneaked past her into the apartment and move to the kitchenette on the side. 

We all have a fully functioning studio apartment at the compound, but since we share the main spaces of the living room and kitchen, our personal ones are much smaller and more so for convenience than anything else. 

“Appreciate that, but also, I’d rather put on a sexy dress to look hot than get punched by a 250 lbs man with a mean right hook,” she sighed, shuffling to follow after me and sit at the end of her bed as she watched me plate a breakfast burrito and a fruit parfait. 

“Sexy dress or not, you exceed the threshold in the looking hot category no matter what.” I’m lucky enough to get a soft chuckle from her as she pulls a blanket from her bed and wraps it around her body, snuggling close to it with a few grunts and moans of pain. “Outside of that, I’m going to hunt down that twirp from yesterday and give him a nice talking-to about leaving your partner in the dust.” I look up and point to her with a spoon before stabbing it into the yogurt and bringing it to her. 

“Honestly, if I hadn’t seen worse, I would have run the other direction, too,” she wiggled an arm free to grab the cup and thanked me before continuing. “For it being one of their first onsite missions, seeing a dozen armed bodyguards, and not one of them being under 200 lbs running full force at you? I’d be surprised if he didn’t shit his pants on the way out.”

I laughed at the image since Y/N and I had seen far worse, and what she was describing was just another Tuesday to us. 

“Regardless, you don’t leave your teammates to fend for themselves. Especially in that scenario. He could have at least grabbed you and ran the other way,” I mumbled, grabbing my burrito from the counter and moving to sit with her on the bed. 

“Grabbed me and run?” she scoffed, swirling the fruit and granola together. “You’re a funny man, Barnes.” 

“You know what I mean,” I shoulder bump her lightly, and she sighs, digging into the breakfast. “Meds the Doc prescribed you are on the counter. You need to take them with food 2x a day to keep the pain at bay.”

“It’s fine. The pain is manag-”

“If you say manageable, I’m going to make you walk from this side of the room to your bathroom and prove you’re fine. Meaning, no cringing, limping, or grunts in the process.”

She stared at me in a challenging manner. That much had not changed in our relationship whatsoever. I just didn’t get death glares with them anymore.

“I can walk to my bathroom just fine,” she rolls her eyes, staying stationary and distracting herself with breakfast. 

“Sure you can,” I nodded, taking a bite of my own and keeping my eyes solely on her. 

I could tell she was growing squirmish under my gaze. The uncomfortability matched with uncertainty in her claim. I mean, come on. She gave it away that she wasn’t fine when she said it took her 10 minutes to ease out of bed. 

“Stop staring at me,” she grumbled, lazily eating to drag out her inevitable defeat. 

I hummed, standing and moving to grab some hot sauce in her cabinet. “Oh, by the way, the team’s doing a day of pool Olympics tomorrow. Sam’s asked for a rematch in chicken.”

“As long as I get a rematch in categories.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to be participating in the games much,” I scrunched my nose at her with a grin before taking a giant bite.

“By tomorrow, I’ll be back to new,” she groaned and stood up too fast, stilling herself, seeing she’d overdone it. But not wanting to get caught, she played it off as stretching and taking her time. “I have an above-average healing rate, after all.” 

“Maybe, but not nearly as fast as I’d prefer,” I placed the meal back on my plate and wiped my hands off on a towel before coming to her side to help her take some weight off her bad leg.

“As you’d prefer? Please do elaborate on what you’d prefer, Sarge?” The cockiness in her voice made me look down at her and grin at her orneryness. 

“You know I’d prefer you wrapped up in bubble wrap and in a magic forcefield the rest of your life that keeps you out of harm's way. I’ve never liked seeing you hurt or in pain. But unfortunately, due to realism and already trying to do that with Steve, I know it's not attainable,” I answered, both hands on her shoulders. Now, let me take this.” I quickly grabbed the parfait and placed it on the counter before offering my arm. 

“I can walk to the bathroom on my own.”

“Standing showed me otherwise.”

“Are you going to hold my hand while I pee too?” 

“If you asked me, I 100% would. But knowing you, you’re a little too stubborn for that,” I winked as she walked with more weight on me than she’d care to confess. 

“Just a little,” she grunts when she loses her footing, and I catch her. 

“Hm, about that help…”

“Shut it,” she mumbles and shuts the door behind her as she gets ready for the day.

_______________

“Where’s Y/N at?” Wanda asked, meeting me in the hall and following after me. 

“Med bay. I made her go get a check-up with Banner since she’s hellbent on playing in the water games tomorrow,” I answered once she was by my side, my stride slowing so she could catch up. 

“Do you think she’ll actually listen to anything he says if he doesn’t give her the all-clear?” she asked with a laugh. 

“Doubtful, but I can be hopeful.”

“Things are going well for you two then, huh?” I could hear the grin in her voice before I looked down at her. “Crazy to think, considering just a few months ago, I wouldn’t hold it against her to have your head on a plaque hanging in her room just because you looked at her wrong.”

“Crazy the things a little communication can do,” I winked and threw an arm around her shoulders before squeezing her into my side. “That and patience. Lots and lots of patience.” 

“You do have a surprising amount of that stuff in ya, big guy,” she patted my chest as we turned to the hall where Y/N was. 

“Ow, son of a bitch!” sounded from the corner of Banner’s office, and we shared a look. “Obviously, that isn’t going to feel good, injured or not, Bruce!” 

“May need to save his ass,” Wanda whispered, and we hurried our steps to the space. 

Inside, Bruce was laughing as he logged in her symptoms and any other notes doctors take in these instances. 

“Just proving to you that playing any high-impact sports, which are almost any of the ones that include the team, isn’t going to help the healing process,” he told her as she rubbed her thigh with the heel of her hand. 

“Sam told me he doesn’t plan on holding back,” Wanda cut in just as I saw Y/N rearing up to retort something to the scientist. “Something about revenge for the last time we held a water Olympics.” 

“Empty threats,” Y/N sighed, turning to me. I was still getting used to the fact that I caused her body to ease tension rather than create it now. “Banner gave me the all clear,” she says to me in a very convincing way... If I wasn’t a trained spy. 

“I did not,” Bruce was quick to turn and shake his head.

“Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t even know what a vastus lateralis is!” she pointed and thought about hopping off the medical table she was on but realized the fast movement would only prove Banner’s point. 

“Um, I very much do know what the vastus lateralis is, considering I just told you you strained yours, and it needs to heal fully before you take on any high-mobility actions. You’re the one who asked if it was a witch incantation,” Bruce pointed a pen at her and moved back to his floating screens. 

“Can confirm it is not a witch incantation,” Wanda spoke up, moving to Y/N’s side by the medical equipment table and started playing with the tools. 

“Who’s side are you on?” she furrowed her eyes at the redhead, and I moved to lean on the table next to her, my thigh touching her knees hanging over the edge of the stainless steel. “I really think he’s exaggerating. I can walk on it and everything just fine.” 

Her eyes are leveled with mine while she’s sat higher up, and she gives me pathetic puppy dog eyes like it’ll sway me. And it almost does, but I cup her face in between my hands and squeeze so that her lips are pursed. 

“Nice try. Not going to work on me, doll,” I grin and kiss her nose before turning back to Banner. “How long are we talking about being fully healed? I don’t know how much more gaslighting I can take about her pain level.” I get a swift smack to my shoulder, but it barely stings. I grab her uninjured leg and squeeze her kneecap as she leans on my shoulder for support. 

“With her enhanced healing, I’d give it about three to five days before it’s healed enough for training or anything else. For any other normal person, it would be about a six-week process. Count yourself lucky,” Banner answers, only looking back for a second. 

“Still bullshit,” she grumbles and fidgets with the sleeve of my t-shirt. “So are you saying I have to be a bystander for tomorrow’s games?” 

“And quite possibly be benched for the coming week. Meaning no more missions until you’re given the all clear,” Banner turns around at his last statement. 

“Wait, what?!” 

“You heard me. You just don’t like what you heard,” he smirks. 

“I don’t quite like you right now, Bruce…” she says lowly, collapsing her head on my shoulder and groaning. 

“Don’t worry,” I turn and offer a hand for her to get down, which she stares at and reluctantly hops down. “I’ll make sure to kick Sam’s ass for you tomorrow in place of you. You know it’d be more than an honor for me.” 

“I fear he may kill him,” Wanda adds, walking to the other side of Y/N. 

“Compared to what I was planning, it would be a mercy.” 

____________

Y/N’s POV

To say I was pissed about the current circumstances would be putting it lightly. I hate being benched, and like anyone, I hate being injured. 

Call it past trauma I may never fully grow out of, but being the weak link made me anxious and antsy. It was like being the runt in a litter of pigs. It can’t fend for itself and tends to meet the slaughterhouse sooner than its friends. 

All that to say, I didn’t take help well while in this state either. But for some odd reason, Bucky’s aid wasn’t unwelcomed. 

Did I give him a hard time? Hard not to. Did he laugh it off and match my energy? 1000%, and I couldn’t be more thankful. It’s made this a touch more bearable, knowing he doesn’t pity me or see me as a weakling but just wants to help get me back to my best. 

And 3-5 days is doable, considering the alternative was over a month…

“Did you take your meds?” Bucky asked, letting himself into my room after a long day. Thankfully, we had another day of resting and for me, it looked like a week of resting. 

“Taken and pumping through my veins,” I give him a thumbs up as I lazily scroll through the streaming services as we set up for a lowkey movie night. “Are these the loopy kinds?” 

“Most opiates are, unfortunately,” he chuckles, placing the take-out bags he had grabbed downstairs on the coffee table. “What time did you take them?

He pulls out his phone and goes to the notes app. I know he has been making detailed notes on my meds, pain levels, doctor’s visits, and any other ailments I complain about. It’s really sweet, and surprisingly, I don’t find it overbearing like I thought I would. It’s nice having someone look out for you in a genuine way. 

“About ten minutes ago, so 6:30,” I pat the seat beside me. “Come on. I need your decisiveness on what movie we should watch tonight.”

He laughed while typing the details into his phone before putting it on the table, sitting next to me, opening the bags, and creating a nice little family buffet of Thai food in front of us. 

I watched him as I had become fond of these last few months. When I see him do the things he does for others and me, I internally punch myself for letting hatred keep me from such a man this long. 

“Question,” I asked, and he hummed, handing me a carton of low mein and grilled chicken. He stabbed two chopsticks into the food, and turned back for his own before leaning back and relaxing finally. “If things were different. If you never had to enlist for the war… What would have done for yourself?” 

“You mean like…”

“What job field would you have gone into?”

He nods his head as he considers the question and takes a large bite of pad thai. 

“I’m not sure… I don’t think I’ve ever really considered it. Especially since war has always been a thing, and given the era I was born into, I had just accepted I was going to be thrown into the military at some point.” 

“Well, that’s sad,” I crinkled my nose and the ache from my black eye had dulled thanks to my faster healing. “You didn’t consider any other paths?” 

“I mean, not realistic ones. I probably would have gone into business of some kind. Sales, maybe?” he said more as a question and poked around at his food. “I doubt anything that would have brought me true joy.” 

“Ok, then. What about now? If things were different, and you had complete freedom to live a normal life, like Beau Hunt,” I nudged him, and he laughed, leaning closer to me on the couch. “What career would you choose?” 

He thought about it, looking down at his food and then at the wall ahead of him. 

“If you’re asking me about today? As in this very moment?” 

“I am.”

“I’d say a chef.” 

I paused, not 100% prepared for that answer, but also not shocked by it. I didn’t reply instantly and felt him turn his gaze to me. 

“Didn’t expect that?” he asks. 

“Just imagining it,” I grinned, digging back into my cardboard carton as I pictured the dreamboat of a man next to me in an episode of The Bear. “I like it.” 

“Think I can get a Michelin-star type of restaurant going?” he hummed, a grin evident in his voice. 

“I don’t think that would be your scene. I could see you in a cool, locally owned, and homey restaurant. A staple piece in Brooklyn where everyone would come from all over to have the best comfort food the city would offer,” I smile at him, scooting down in my seat so I can rest my head on his shoulder.  

His head rested on top of mine after a quick kiss to the top of it. I treasured learning he actually loved showing affection in public, especially in the sweet and wholesome ways he went about it. 

“I can see that much more than what I said,” he laughed, and his body vibrated with the sound. “What about you? Different career choice, what would you choose?” 

“Hmm,” I snuggled more into him as I ate, and the screen on my TV went to screensaver mode. “I think something in social work. Given the things I’ve seen in the world, I’d be able to help kids in dangerous situations and homes get out of it.” He hums and chuckles some, making me look up at him. “What’s so funny about that?” 

“Not funny, just,” he chuckles again and looks at me from the side. “Of course, you’d want to go into the world and make a difference in it while I hole myself up in one spot and do background work for a living. In other words, the less I have to deal with people up front, the better, and the more people you can confront, the better.” 

“You’re a social person,” I laughed, sticking my chopsticks into his container for a taste. “I mean, you’re a better people person than you think.” 

“I have to build that relationship with people before I can become a ‘people person’. On the other hand, you can walk up to a stranger on the street and insert yourself into their life without hesitation.” 

“Maybe. But I also understand not wanting to do those things just cause it’s not your scene. I think our fake imaginary jobs are perfect for us.” 

“I was always envious that I wasn’t one of those people you approached and welcomed in,” he says, but not with annoyance and hurt, just stating a fact. 

“I was an asshole who allowed her backstory to control the present life she had made for herself. I wasn't too proud of that version of myself.”

Bucky turned his body to me, and I sat up. 

“As upset as I was about not getting the friendly treatment you gave to others, I’m happy to say I get to experience it now compared to never at all.” 

I stared into the blue eyes I knew would be my downfall as soon as I saw him for the first time. 

“Who knew force proximity would have this outcome?” 

“Not Nat or Tony. Oh, by the way, did I tell you Tony was in on the deal, too? Gave it three days and lost all his money before he even had a chance.” 

“Serves him right, betting on people’s downfall,” I nuzzled back into the couch as Bucky got comfortable again. “Speaking of… Wanna make a bet on how many games I can make Sam lose without even participating in the games?” 

“I will never not bet to see Sam lose. But I think I can beat you out on that deal, considering I will be in the games.”

“You’d like to think, wouldn’t you?” 

“Is that a challenge?” 

“A challenge would mean I have to have competition. That won’t be the case tomorrow,” I leaned forward, grabbing the remote from him and placing a soft kiss on his lips. 

“You’re much appreciated PDA isn’t going to make me take it any easier on you.” 

“No, no, no. We wouldn’t want that.”  

He laughed and leaned in for another kiss. The TV in front of us forgotten.

Marvel Tags:

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Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series: (TAGS CLOSED)

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