#dream land billionaire

[noaboacoa]

Y’all i’m going to do the work of god and write book tok boys and girls x reader send in a request any book or manga character I WILL DO EVERYTHING!! just not things like that are a little to crazy

[capitalism-is-a-psychopathy]

Billionaires destroy more than they create

In a land often championed for its economic opportunity and equality, the American Dream promises that anyone who works hard can rise to prosperity. But for many in today’s middle and lower economic classes, that dream is fading, shadowed by a reality that feels increasingly rigged. At the heart of this issue lies a stark and glaring imbalance: billionaires, a minuscule fraction of the population, wield a staggering concentration of wealth and influence. This is not just an issue of economics but one that touches the foundations of democracy and fairness.

Imagine the economy as a massive machine, built to churn wealth throughout society. In an ideal world, this wealth would cycle effectively, where each part contributes and benefits in turn. But as billionaires amass wealth at unprecedented levels, this machine has come to function more like a funnel, siphoning resources from the broader society and concentrating them at the very top. This dynamic, driven by complex financial structures and tax strategies, isn’t merely an accumulation of personal fortunes but a systematic extraction from the economic potential of others. The capital that could have flowed through wages, education, and public infrastructure is often diverted into private bank accounts and shell companies, rarely benefiting the people who drive and build the economy day by day.

As wealth accumulates at the top, so too does political influence. Billionaires, with vast financial resources, can fund political campaigns, lobbyists, and entire networks of think tanks dedicated to shaping policy. Through these channels, they push for tax policies, regulations, and trade agreements that benefit the ultra-wealthy at the expense of middle- and lower-income families. Politicians, indebted to these donors, increasingly look to billionaire interests rather than to constituents’ needs. This creates a disturbing feedback loop: billionaires influence politics to further policies that reinforce their own wealth and power, leaving the broader populace with dwindling opportunities to influence their own government.

This concentrated power extends far beyond campaign finance and lobbying. With ownership over significant segments of media networks, billionaires control the narratives that millions consume daily. Through these media outlets, they shape public opinion, diverting attention from policies that would challenge wealth accumulation and pushing narratives that frame the ultra-wealthy as essential “job creators” or “innovators” rather than acknowledging their role in widening economic divides. Issues that might threaten their economic stranglehold are often buried, while others, that create division and distract, are amplified.

For the middle and lower classes, this confluence of wealth, media, and political power has a real impact. Stagnant wages, diminishing job security, and rising costs of living aren’t natural outcomes of a complex economy—they’re symptoms of a system shaped to benefit those at the top. Policies that could lift working-class Americans, like raising the minimum wage, universal healthcare, or better labor protections, are often stifled in legislative deadlock, thanks in part to the political influence of the ultra-wealthy who stand to lose from them.

So, as this cycle continues, the gap between billionaires and everyone else widens. The billions accumulated at the top no longer signify mere success but a barrier to mobility for everyone else. The middle and lower classes find themselves carrying the economic burdens, often working harder for less. Meanwhile, billionaires remain insulated, living in a different economic reality, one far removed from the struggles of the average American. This isn’t just an economic imbalance but a distortion of democracy itself, as the machinery of power and influence is pulled further from the reach of ordinary citizens and held more tightly by those whose interests rarely align with theirs.

Without addressing this imbalance, the promise of opportunity, the cornerstone of the American Dream, becomes less attainable with each passing year, not just for the lower and middle classes but for the nation’s future as a whole.

Addressing their manipulation

Billionaires and their advocates often employ a familiar set of narratives to justify their wealth and the structures that enable it. These arguments, framed in terms of the free market, capitalism, or fear of socialism, are not only misleading but often serve to distract from the deeper systemic issues at play. Below is a breakdown of these claims and the counterarguments that expose their flaws:

1. “It’s Just the Free Market at Work”

The myth of the “free market” implies that billionaires achieve their wealth purely through talent, innovation, and competition in a market where everyone has equal opportunity. But in reality, the U.S. economy is far from a genuinely “free” market.

Counterpoints:

• Government Subsidies and Tax Breaks: Many billionaires’ businesses rely heavily on taxpayer-funded subsidies, special tax breaks, and other forms of government assistance. Large corporations frequently lobby for policies that grant them tax advantages, including offshore loopholes and capital gains tax breaks. This creates an environment where they aren’t competing on equal ground but rather with significant state support, distorting the market in their favor.

• Anti-Competitive Practices: Many large corporations, especially in tech and finance, engage in monopolistic behavior, buying out competitors or using aggressive tactics to drive them out of the market. This concentration of power stifles competition, contradicting the notion of a “free” market where anyone can succeed if they work hard.

• Inherited Wealth and Privilege: A significant portion of billionaire wealth is inherited rather than self-made. Generational wealth compounds, giving the ultra-wealthy an enormous head start over those without similar family resources. This challenges the idea that wealth accumulation is simply the product of individual merit or a fair market.

2. “This Is What Capitalism Is Supposed to Look Like”

The argument here suggests that capitalism is an inherently competitive system, where the most successful rise to the top, benefiting everyone through innovation and job creation. This narrative hinges on the idea of “trickle-down economics,” where the wealth of the richest eventually spreads throughout society.

Counterpoints:

• Trickle-Down Economics Doesn’t Work: Decades of evidence show that wealth rarely “trickles down” to the rest of society in any meaningful way. Income inequality has only widened, with wages stagnating for most workers while billionaire wealth has soared. Billionaires tend to reinvest wealth in ways that concentrate their holdings, like in stocks, rather than in ways that benefit the broader economy.

• Wealth Extraction, Not Wealth Creation: Many billionaires achieve and maintain their fortunes through rent-seeking behavior—extracting wealth from existing resources rather than creating new value. Hedge funds, private equity, and real estate empires often profit by cutting costs (like labor) rather than by innovating or producing new goods and services. This dynamic benefits investors but hurts workers and consumers.

• Capitalism Can Take Other Forms: The capitalism practiced in the U.S. today, sometimes called “neoliberal capitalism,” focuses on minimal regulation, tax cuts for the wealthy, and privatization. However, other countries demonstrate that capitalism can function with stronger social safety nets, wealth redistribution policies, and tighter regulations on corporate power. Nordic countries, for example, balance capitalism with robust welfare systems, ensuring a more equitable distribution of wealth and services.

3. “Without Billionaires, There Would Be No Innovation or Job Creation”

A popular myth is that billionaires are essential “job creators” and “innovators” whose wealth ultimately benefits society by funding new businesses and creating employment. This claim positions billionaires as indispensable to economic growth.

Counterpoints:

• Public Funding Fuels Innovation: Many of the biggest technological advances, including the internet, GPS, and medical breakthroughs, were developed with public funding rather than billionaire investments. Government research grants and subsidies often lay the groundwork for major innovations that billionaires later profit from. In other words, society bears much of the financial risk, while billionaires reap the rewards.

• Small Businesses Create Most Jobs: Small businesses, not billionaires or large corporations, are responsible for most job creation in the United States. Big corporations often eliminate jobs through automation, outsourcing, or consolidation. They may employ a large workforce, but they also tend to exploit workers through low wages, precarious employment, and cost-cutting measures.

• Billionaires Accumulate Wealth Through Wealth, Not Innovation: Many billionaires maintain their wealth not by creating jobs or innovating but by using their existing capital to generate more wealth, often through financial instruments that have little to do with actual economic productivity. Stock buybacks, dividends, and passive investments grow their fortunes without necessarily contributing to broader economic prosperity.

4. “Any Alternative Is Socialism or Communism”

When calls arise for higher taxes on the wealthy, stricter regulations, or broader social programs, the response is often to invoke the fear of “socialism” or “communism.” This argument seeks to paint any attempt at wealth redistribution or regulation as a slippery slope toward total government control.

Counterpoints:

• Social Safety Nets and Regulations Are Not Socialism: Social safety nets, progressive taxation, and regulations do not equate to socialism or communism; they’re features of a balanced capitalist system that seeks to prevent extreme inequality and protect public welfare. Countries like Germany, Canada, and Denmark combine regulated capitalism with strong social programs, resulting in healthier economies and greater well-being for citizens without abandoning capitalism.

• Inequality Threatens Capitalism: Growing inequality and economic instability can undermine the foundations of capitalism. A healthy capitalist economy requires a strong middle class with buying power, which excessive wealth concentration undermines. Reforms like progressive taxation, labor protections, and universal healthcare aren’t a rejection of capitalism but rather a means of stabilizing it.

• Historical Success of Mixed Economies: Many of the most successful and prosperous countries practice a mixed economy, where capitalism coexists with social policies that promote equality. The U.S. itself has employed a mixed economy model in the past, particularly after the New Deal, which implemented social safety nets, labor protections, and financial regulations that led to a period of unprecedented growth and prosperity for the middle class.

5. “They Earned It Fair and Square”

Finally, the idea persists that billionaires deserve their wealth because they “earned” it. This argument suggests that any policy aiming to redistribute wealth is fundamentally unfair, penalizing those who worked hard to succeed.

Counterpoints:

• Systemic Advantages and Wealth Hoarding: As previously mentioned, many billionaires begin with advantages—like family wealth or elite educational opportunities—that aren’t available to most people. Additionally, billionaires often employ complex strategies to avoid taxes, lobby for favorable regulations, and capitalize on government subsidies. These factors mean they haven’t earned wealth solely through hard work or merit.

• Billionaires Didn’t Build Alone: No billionaire operates in isolation; they rely on infrastructure, public education, and the work of thousands or millions of employees. A CEO’s wealth is made possible by a web of collective contributions, yet that wealth is rarely shared equitably. While billionaires might be rewarded for their role, their fortune is far from the result of individual effort alone.

In short, these narratives around billionaires often mask a more uncomfortable truth: today’s system is structured in ways that favor the ultra-wealthy at the expense of the broader population. Economic reform, rather than a threat to capitalism, is a necessary step to ensure a more just, equitable society where wealth accumulation doesn’t depend on privilege, influence, or systemic manipulation.

Making a change

Addressing the economic imbalance and the unchecked power of the ultra-wealthy presents a unique challenge, especially given the intense political polarization in the United States. For the middle and lower classes to push back effectively, they will need to build a coalition that transcends party lines and focuses on shared economic interests rather than divisive rhetoric.

1. Build Awareness Through Shared Issues, Not Ideology

The rhetoric around “free markets” and “socialism” often obscures real issues of economic struggle that affect both conservative and progressive working- and middle-class citizens alike. Instead of framing the issue in ideological terms, framing it in terms of tangible, shared grievances can help bridge the divide:

• Focus on Economic Inequality: Income stagnation, unaffordable healthcare, and housing insecurity are felt across the political spectrum. By shifting the narrative from “class warfare” to “economic fairness,” advocates can sidestep partisan language and emphasize the shared experience of economic struggle.

• Highlight the Impact of Corporate Power on Local Communities: Framing issues around how large corporations hurt small, local businesses can resonate strongly with both sides of the political spectrum. This approach often taps into conservative values around community and self-reliance, while also aligning with progressive critiques of corporate overreach.

2. Organize Around Labor Rights and Worker Protections

Historically, unions have been instrumental in improving working conditions and advocating for fair wages, and labor movements transcend political divisions. Many Americans—left, right, and center—share concerns about the erosion of workers’ rights, stagnant wages, and the declining influence of the average worker.

• Expand Union Participation and Labor Movements: Reinvigorating unions and expanding labor protections could give workers a stronger collective voice. New labor movements that focus on economic rights without overtly partisan language could attract support across the political spectrum, particularly when they champion issues like fair wages, workplace safety, and job security.

• Support Worker Cooperatives and Employee-Owned Businesses: Promoting models like worker cooperatives or employee-owned businesses can offer a compelling alternative to the current structure of corporate ownership without resorting to divisive rhetoric. These models prioritize local control and shared economic benefits, appealing to values of self-sufficiency and fairness.

3. Pressure Politicians on Key Economic Policies

A key to bridging the partisan gap is to focus on policies that benefit the broader populace rather than framing them as part of any ideological agenda. The majority of Americans, regardless of political affiliation, support policies like fair taxation, healthcare reform, and increased access to education when framed in terms of fairness and opportunity.

• Promote Tax Reform as “Fairness,” Not Redistribution: Instead of advocating for “redistribution,” proponents can push for tax policies that ensure everyone pays their fair share. Policies like a wealth tax or higher taxes on capital gains can be framed as holding the ultra-wealthy accountable rather than demonizing them, a stance that resonates with people who value fairness and personal responsibility.

• Advocate for Antitrust Legislation: Pushing for stronger antitrust laws to break up monopolies and prevent anti-competitive practices can appeal to both sides. For conservatives, this aligns with the values of market competition; for progressives, it aligns with corporate accountability and consumer protection.

4. Engage in Alternative Media and Independent Journalism

The ultra-wealthy often own or influence major media outlets, which can shape public opinion in ways that protect their interests. For the middle and lower classes to gain a clearer view of economic issues, alternative media sources and independent journalism that aren’t beholden to billionaire interests are crucial.

• Support Independent News Outlets: A growing number of independent news organizations are dedicated to in-depth economic reporting without catering to corporate interests. Supporting these outlets allows individuals to access a range of perspectives that help reveal the true impact of policies on ordinary people.

• Utilize Social Media Responsibly to Build Cross-Party Awareness: Social media, while often a divisive force, can also be used to spread information about economic injustice. When used responsibly to share facts, case studies, and stories of economic hardship, it can cut through the rhetoric and provide people across the political spectrum with a shared understanding of the issues.

5. Prioritize Voting Reform and Campaign Finance Reform

Money in politics is one of the core reasons why economic policies favor the wealthy. Bipartisan support for reducing corporate influence in politics is possible, especially when the focus is on fairness, transparency, and accountability in government.

• Promote Campaign Finance Reform as an Anti-Corruption Effort: Campaign finance reform, which seeks to limit the influence of wealthy donors and corporations on elections, can appeal to conservatives and liberals alike who are frustrated with the influence of money in politics. Instead of framing it as an anti-capitalist measure, framing it as an anti-corruption measure can attract broader support.

• Support Voting Reforms for a More Representative Democracy: Reforms like ranked-choice voting, ending gerrymandering, and preventing voter suppression can help create a political environment that more accurately represents the will of the people rather than special interests. By creating a more representative democracy, policies that reflect the economic needs of the middle and lower classes have a better chance of being enacted.

6. Create Cross-Partisan Grassroots Coalitions Focused on Economic Issues

Many grassroots organizations are focused on economic justice, but they tend to align themselves with one side of the political spectrum, often losing potential support in the process. Building cross-partisan coalitions that emphasize shared economic challenges rather than ideological differences could foster stronger, more united advocacy for middle- and working-class issues.

• Organize Around Issues, Not Parties: Groups like the Poor People’s Campaign, which focuses on poverty and economic justice, have successfully united people across political lines around issues that transcend party loyalty. This approach allows people to focus on their shared struggles, making the movement harder for politicians to ignore.

• Build Community-Level Alliances: Many economic issues are felt acutely at the local level. By focusing on community-level initiatives that address healthcare, affordable housing, and education, people can create practical, on-the-ground solutions that don’t require alignment with national politics. These local successes can serve as models for broader change.

7. Emphasize Civic Education on Economic Policies

Finally, bridging the gap will require education and awareness. Many people accept billionaire-fueled rhetoric because they lack exposure to alternative perspectives. Civic education efforts that focus on teaching economic principles, tax policy, and the influence of corporate power can empower people to understand the real impacts of current policies on their lives.

• Create Accessible Educational Resources: Podcasts, documentaries, workshops, and community discussions can all serve as tools for demystifying economic issues. When people have a clearer understanding of how things like tax policies and wage laws work, they are better equipped to make informed decisions.

• Promote Financial Literacy and Empower Individuals: Financial literacy programs that help individuals understand budgeting, credit, and investments empower people to navigate the economy more effectively. While this doesn’t directly address systemic issues, it gives individuals a greater understanding of the forces shaping their lives and can be a first step toward broader engagement.

By approaching these issues with a focus on shared struggles, fairness, and practical solutions, the middle and lower classes can work together to build a movement that transcends political divides. This movement can challenge the status quo without becoming mired in divisive ideological battles. The real strength of such an effort lies in its ability to unite ordinary people around a common vision for a fairer, more just economic system—one that serves all citizens, not just the wealthiest few.

[moonvis]

I NEED YOU ALIVE

Steve Rogers x F! Avenger! Reader Incl. Sam, Tony, and Bucky x Natasha Summary: Steve can't wait to propose, but when a mission goes south, he's not sure he'll get the chance after all Warnings: Angst to fluff! Some cursing. Some blood and injuries. 2.5k words.

Steve carefully opened the blue velvet box in his hand, revealing a simple yet beautiful engagement ring. Light reflected onto the golden material, a small diamond on top. Steve knew his girl liked it simple, so that was what he got. A warming smile grew on his lips as he imagined the ring perfectly fit on her finger.

Bucky gently nudged at his pal’s side, a smirk present on his face. Steve chuckled as a response, speaking in a low voice, “This is it Buck. I’m proposing tonight after the mission.” It was Y/N and Steve’s two-year anniversary after all, but unfortunately they had to go on a last-minute mission before celebrating.

“M’ happy for you pal. She’s gonna love it.”

Steve had been carrying the ring in his picket ever since he bought it, looking at it every now and then  - even at the risk of Y/N spotting him. Bucky had reminded it of such many times before, “Might put it away before your girl sees it.”

The whole team were gathered inside the jet, but luckily Y/N was sat opposite of the super soldiers, occupied in a conversation with Natasha. Steve let out a happy sigh and closed the box, “You know how it is Buck…”

Bucky did indeed understand; he understood the excitement Steve was feeling, the thought of spending the rest of a lifetime with the love of his life. The former Winter Solider had proposed to Natasha just a few months earlier anyways.  

Bucky patted the blonde’s shoulder, “One more mission, and she’s all yours.”

“Right.” The Captain put the box back in his most secure pocket and got up. Time to get over with the mission. Walking into the middle of the jet, he spoke up, “Okay team. One last recall on the mission plan.”

Y/N gave him her immediate attention, admiring Steve in his Captain America stance. Steve gave her a small smile before he continued talking, “Y/N and Nat will get the files. Buck, Sam and I will go for the hostages, while Tony-” Steve turned to the billionaire, “You work as a shield around the base. This is a last-minute mission, which means we gotta be prepared for anything. Sam will back you up if needed.”

“Dream team,” Y/N commented from beside Natasha, giving her a pound, “Let’s go.”

Tony turned in his seat and prepared the jet for arrival, just outside the Hydra base, “Check your gear everyone! We land in three.”

As the they landed, Steve guided for Y/N to come over, which se gladly did. The Captain put his shield on his back, before caressing his girlfriend’s face, his brows softening as they made eye contact, “Be careful, okay? You know I hate separating from you on missions. So please, don’t take any unnecessary risks. I need you back in one piece.”

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Steve was referring to the upcoming secret proposal, thinking of the ring hidden in his pocket. He needed his future bride to make it back from the mission alive.

“That goes both ways,” Y/N raised a brow and smiled, “But yes, I promise.” With a quick kiss, they bid each other good luck before Y/N jogged off to join Natasha.

“Come on pal, let’s go.” Bucky said form beside the Captain. Steve couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy though, watching his girl disappear out of sight. Shrugging it off, he nodded at Bucky before leading the way.

Y/N and Natasha snuck up to the first entrance where four Hydra agents were guarding the door. Y/N looked over at the redhead mouthing, “Element of surprise?”, gaining a nod in response. On three, Y/N launched forward and kicked one man to the ground, before ducking as another tried to shoot her.

Natasha was already slamming the shooter into a third Hydra agent, while Y/N knocked out the guy beneath her. Finishing off, she shot the fourth and last guy running at Natasha. The girls gave each other a pound before continuing further into the base.

“Y/N look!”

Y/N turned to face Natasha, her eyes following whatever the redhead was pointing at. A staircase, leading up to a glass covered room holding what seemed like computers.

“Just what we were searching for,” Y/N winked and ran towards the stairs, stopping when a pair of Hydra agents suddenly appeared at the top. Y/N was a quick and precise shooter when it came to guns, not arrows, that was Barton’s specialty.

Fast, she brought out her gun and shot both agents in their head before they got the chance to react. Natasha came up beside her, impressed, “Not bad, but save some for me, will you?”

“Then you gotta keep up,” Y/N teased. Natassha rolled her eyes and followed her friend up the stairs. As they reached the computer-room, the coast seemed to be clear, with no booby-traps in sight.

“Awesome. Go do your thing,” Y/N winked at Natasha who entered the room, before she spoke into the comms, “Mission report. We found the computer-room.”

“Good. Get those files and stay on guard,” Steve reported back, “We just found the hostages. Getting them out now.”   

Natasha was skilled when it came to hacking, so downloading the files were like a baby’s work. It was when they thought they were safe to leave the base, things started to heat up.

“We got the files, heading out now!” Natasha spoke into the comms, following Y/N out of the room.

“Copy that.” The Captain sounded satisfied, “And the hostages are brought to safety. Everyone return to the jet.”   

While Tony gave his own report into the comms, the ladies of the team faced a sudden surprise outside the computer-room. Out of nowhere, a gunshot sounded through the hall, followed by the sound of Natasha’s agonizing scream.

She had been hit.

Y/N was quick to react and shot the Hydra agent who had fired and felt a knot in her stomach as she watched her friend fall to the floor. “Nat, shit!” Y/N rushed over and fell to her knees, “Hold still.”

Natasha had been shot through the leg, thick blood flowing out of her wound. Y/N ripped a piece of clothing of her own suit and wrapped it around the redhead’s leg. Bringing a hand up to her comm, her shaking voice spoke up, “Nat’s been hit! We need backup asap!”

“What!?” The frantic voice of Bucky sounded through the comms, “Where are you? I’m coming!”

“We’re just outside the computer room. West part of the base. Please, hurry!” Y/N’s worried voice responded back, before she shifted her attention back to Natasha, “Hold on Nat. Bucky’s coming.”

Natasha was weak, the wound being dangerously deep. The redhead brought out her hand for Y/N to hold, which she instantly accepted. Y/N felt scared, she couldn’t carry Natasha out of there herself, nor would she leave her behind. The last thing she needed was more Hydra agents approaching them in such a vulnerable state.

As if the universe hated them, the voices of more Hydra agents could be heard from downstairs, “They’re up there! Let’s go!”

Shit.

“Guys, hurry! There’s more agents and I can’t deal with them alone with Nat like this!” Y/N yelled into the comms, readying her gun for anything. Right now, protecting Natasha was the only thing she cared about.

“On my way!” Tony said though the comms, his voice stern with a hint of concern.

Steve felt his heart twist and turn, the sickening feeling in his stomach not helping. If he knew his girl correctly, she would do anything in her power to protect Natasha. Even if it meant putting her own life at risk. “Don’t do anything stupid Y/N! We’re on our way!”

“Hold on baby, I’m on my way!” Was Bucky’s words trough the comms. Natasha let out a shaky breath at his voice, clearly getting a bit of relief from it.

As the first Hydra agent made his way up the stairs, Y/N shot him in the head, making him fall into the one coming up right behind him. Y/N got up on her feet and saw at least six more agents running up to get them, “What the fuck?”

“Y/N you need to-” Natasha spoke thought a cough, “Get your ass out of here.”

“Forget it. I’m not leaving you.” Y/N’s voice was stern, so was her stance. As more agents ran towards her, she shot them. One, two and-

Her gun was out of bullets.

In the moment of panic, she took a step back before throwing her gun at the floor. Reaching for her knife, she spoke through the comms again, “My gun’s out, and these bitches keep on coming. Hurry!”

“Fuck, we’re almost there doll!” Steve was panicking. He could run fast alright, but coming from the other side of the base was quite the long way, “Tony!”

“Almost there Cap!”

Taking advantage of Y/N’s moment of distraction, the next Hydra agent tackled her to the floor. She usually managed to take out a guy alone, but as another agent joined in to hold her down, she struggled.

Natasha noticed and couldn’t just lay and watch. The redhead gritted her teeth together and lifted herself slightly off the floor, pointing her gun at one of the agents. Trough her blurred vision, she shot him in the arm. The man screamed in pain and let go of Y/N.

Unfortunately, the Hydra agent realised Natasha was still a threat, even in such a state, and went forward to grab her instead. The man lifted Natasha by the collar and dragged her towards the stairs, pointing his gun at her, “This is what you get little bitch!”

His words grabbed Y/N attention, her eyes widening, “No!”

Everything from there happened so fast. One second she was pushing Natasha out of the way, and the next, she was falling down the stairs with a fresh bullet-wound to her side.

In the moment of tragedy, Iron Man came flying in, catching Y/N only seconds away from having her head slammed on the cold hard ground. Holding her with one hand, he blasted the last remaining agents dead, before finally landing. Tony gently put her down, his mask revealing the distressed features on his face, “My god-”

“Natasha!” The yell and sight of Bucky came in view. He spotted his fiancé at the top of the stairs, not hesitating to get to her side. Right behind came Steve and Sam, having no idea what would meet their eyes.

The exact moment Steve spotted Y/N lying beside Tony, he felt his stomach drop. The Captain rushed to her side, falling onto his knees as dust flew in the air, “Oh my god--”

As Tony put pressure on her wound, Steve brought his hand up to caress her cheek, “Oh my god Y/N, you-”

“M’sorry Stevie…”

“No, don’t you say that!” Steve was panicking, his eyes going up to meet Tony’s, “What do we do?!”

Composing himself, Tony got up from the ground, “She don’t have much time. We need to get her help, asap! I’ll get the jet ready, you bring her.”  

Steve felt his breath quickening at Tony’s words. As he watched Iron Man fly off, Steve shifted his attention back to his girl. Fresh tears streamed down his cheeks as he spoke, “I’m sorry doll, but this is gonna hurt.” Steve, as gently as he could, lifted her up in his arms, shutting out her agonizing scream to concentrate.

“Hold on doll, I’m bringing you home,” Steve promised as he ran the fastest he ever had. He watched as his girl grew heavier in his arms, her eyelids trying to fall shut. “Don’t you dare close your eyes!” Fuck he was worried.

“I’m not losing you today doll, just keep your eyes open, please.” Steve begged as he noticed how quickly his girl faded.

“M’sleepy…” Y/N wasn’t thinking clearly anymore, not feeling much either. She was just happy her last moments would be in the hands of the man she loved.

“No, I can’t let you to that. You need to stay awake, sweetheart. Please.” Steve cried as Y/N’s eyes closed, knowing there was nothing else he could do but run. “No, no, no, Y/N! Stay with me, please!”

As Y/N went completely numb in his hands, the solider screamed out in frustration. The jet was right in front of him, and as soon as he got to lay her body down, he fell to his knees, silent sobs shaking his broad shoulders.

His hand reached into his pocket, fingers tightening around the blue velvet box. She couldn’t die on him, not like this. He still had an important question to ask her.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Just like he had been doing for the last few days, Steve sat by her bedside, listening to the monitor telling him she was still alive.

Steve refused to leave her side. Sam had tried to at least make him take a shower after the mission, but he still wouldn't budge. Steve had to be present the exact moment Y/N woke up.

“Hey, pal,” Bucky entered the room, “How’s she doing?”

Steve let out a sigh, letting his eyes leave Y/N for just a moment to look at his friend, “You know… the same.”

“Hey, I could watch her for a while if you need some rest,” Bucky suggested, but the Captain only shoot his head, “You know she’s gonna be mad when she wake up and realises you didn’t take care of yourself.”

“So be it,” Steve stoke his thumb over the soft skin of her hand, “I just can’t leave her side. I thought she was gone Buck. You saw it! Her heart stopped, twice!” Fresh tears streamed down Steve’s face at the memory playing in his head.

The day on the injury, Y/N’s heart stopped twice if not more, and it scared the hell out of Steve. He had to see the world crumbling down before his eyes, only for the universe to prank him. It made him angry. Oh, how he hated Hydra, for almost taking away his future.

Bucky didn’t comment Steve’s words. It could easily have been Natasha in that situation, but Y/N had saved her without hesitation. He would be forever grateful – he just couldn’t bear the thought of his best friend losing the love of his life instead.

Luckily, Y/N was recovering.

“You look like shit…” A crocked voice came from the room. Steve’s head shot up in surprise, eyes landing on her beautiful ones looking back at him. Bucky smiled and rushed out of the room, going to get a doctor.

“Y/N? Oh my-” Steve gasped, rapid breaths escaping him, “Fuck, Y/N, I thought I lost you.” Steve reached forward and cupped her cheek, not even bothering to hold back the sobs that followed.

“M’sorry…” Y/N let out a shaky breath, still adjusting to the light and pain in her stomach, “And uh- how long was I out for?”

“Five days,” Steve responded, still in disbelief his girl was finally awake, “Thank god you’re okay, doll. I love you so damn much.”

Y/N was a little taken back by the number of days but shook it off as she watched Steve’s broken expression. She tapped at the empty spot beside her, guiding for Steve to lay down. He hesitated for a moment, scared of hurting her, but accepted when she looked at him with pleading eyes.

“How’s Natasha doing?” Y/N asked as she remembered the redhead.

“She’s okay,” Steve sounded a bit hesitant, “Thanks to you I’ve heard.”

“Steve… I’m sorry for being reckless, I just-”

Steve sighed and reassured her, “It’s okay, I’m just glad to have you back alive. We’ve been at this one before; I’d do the same for Bucky and so on.”

Y/N chuckled and rested her head against his shoulder, hearing his rapid heartbeat.

Letting out a shaky breath, Steve turned to face her properly, his eyes softening as he looked at her smile. He reached into his pocket to grab the blue velvet box he had so patiently waited to give her.

“Y/N, this is not how I imagined doing this, but-” Steve brought the box forwards. Y/N’s eyes widened at the sight, her hand coming up to cover her gasping mouth, “Steve…”

Steve opened the box to reveal the beautiful ring, his eyes plastered on her the whole time. Her widening smile and teary eyes made his heart melt, “After almost loosing you, I can’t wait any longer. Please, will you do me the biggest honour of becoming my wife?”

“Oh my gosh! Yes!” Y/N cheered with the little energy she had and let Steve put the perfectly fit ring on her finger, “It’s beautiful Steve!”

Steve let out a soft chuckle, “I know this isn’t an ideal way to propose but-”

“It’s perfect!” Y/N assured him and reached forward to press a kiss on his lips. Though as she moved, a sudden pain overwhelmd her stomach, “Fuck!”

“Shit, are you okay?” Steve went straight into being protective, watching his fiancé shut her eyes in pain. As she didn’t respond, he grew worried, at least, until she started giggling. “Fuck that hurt.”

“You scared me doll,” Steve let out a sigh and reached forward to plant a kiss on top of her head, “You sure know how to pain an old man’s heart.”

Before Y/N got the chance to respond, a doctor came into the room, Bucky following suit, “Sorry for ruining the moment, but we need to check if everything is okay.”

“That’s fine, I know you’ll take care of my fiancé.” Steve kissed the top of her head and left the bed, going to stand beside Bucky.

The brunette punched Steve in the arm, “Now you can finally stop the obsessive ring gazing. I’m happy for you pal.”

“Thanks Buck.” Steve's eyes didn’t leave her figure as he stood there. He watched as she laughed with the doctor, a smile plastered on her face, even though she just woke up from a fay day long coma. She was such a ray of sunshine – she warmed his heart.

Oh, and to believe she would be his for ever.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Mz. Bitch's Masterlist

Started: 2/24/24 Last updated: 2/1/25

Due to inline link limits, please click on the story name to start reading and follow the chapter links. Thanks little darlings! Love y'all!

MARVEL

Bucky Barnes *One shots Sex Pollen My Alpha Got Nothing On You +parts Movie Night Please Come Back Vibranium & Stainless Steel Shy Dream Girl A little help from my friend Angry baby? Throw It in the Dishwasher +parts The Boss +parts I.T. Time to Heal A Very Cutesy, Very Demure Halloween Regrets & Apologies Quite a Workout +parts Overheard Oh Sister Let's Go Down Little Sea Storm I may be a real bad boy...but baby I'm a real good man Zhihn moya Flirty A Bumpy Ride +parts Fire! Lots of Love +parts Things Are Not As They Seem It's Been a Long, Long Time La Muerte Deja Vu Soldat Blood and...Balsam? Slow, Sexy Mornings Moody Bucky Made of Dreams One bed *Series Breaking the Class Ceiling **Finished Bucky Barnes is a middle class clerk. He needs to marry well to take care of himself and his father. Y/N Y/L/N is the heir to a millionaire fortune, who is blunt, no-nonsense, flirtatious, and looking for a partner. Everyone is vying for her hand. Can Bucky ever win? Pretty Pointy Smile **Finished Bucky was born different, and has been judged for it ever since.  His father has had enough and sells him to the circus.  The acceptance and love of his newfound family, and the beautifully fierce ringmaster, help him realize he’s not the monster everyone else made him out to be. Sugar Mama **Finished Bucky is overworked and struggling to get by.  The bills are piling up and he’s consistently in the red with no end in sight.  Y/N is a billionaire’s daughter, entrepreneur and philanthropist having a hard time finding true friends or love.  She has a proposition for him. Marriage of Convenience **Finished Y/N’s father is gone, and he leaves it all to her.  But in 1880s Oregon, she can’t own land without a husband.  Under the threat of it all being taken away by a land hungry Sheriff, what’s a girl to do with no prospects?  Maybe one of the cowboys on the farm can help… The Temptation **Finished Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants.  So why does this fallen angel tempt him so?  You cannot serve two masters.  Will he choose God, or his heart? Norsemen & Anglo-Saxons **Finished Princess Y/N has a secret that her parents are ashamed of.  A conquering Viking chief recognizes the gift she has.  Will they be able to bring peace between warring people, and maybe find love along the way? Stranded **Finished Tossed overboard and lost at sea, Bucky washes up on an uninhabited island.  Injured, lost and scared, with little to no wilderness training, he fights to survive.  But is he really alone? The Fuck Up **Finished Bucky fucked up.  A few times.  Will his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

Naughty Nanny **Finished Bucky had a lovechild from a one night stand.  He barely even remembered it, and was surprised to find a baby on his doorstep 9 months later.  But one look at that little girl and he knew she was his and that he’d die for her.  The only problem was, he knew nothing about babies, and being an Avenger meant he couldn’t just drop everything and be a dad full time.  Then he found the perfect nanny…or so he thought. Run, pretty girl, run **Finished Even with the safeguards put in place after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., the remaining Avengers find themselves on the run after the American government falls into disarray.  The code word is sent, and they’re officially fugitives.  Bucky makes a run for the safe house set up for emergencies like this where the Avengers are told to meet up, but on the way saves the pregnant agent turned payroll specialist that he was partnered with.  Will they make it before she goes into labor?  Or at all?

Pretty P.A. **Finished Y/N has been the personal assistant to the most influential and famous fashion model agency director in the industry for the past 13 years.  They’ve decided to retire, and are leaving the agency in the hands of their protege and former model, Bucky Barnes.  He seems plenty qualified, and Y/N is excited for a chance to work with him.  Change always takes time,  but the new insanely hot boss is distrustful and hesitant towards her.  The Gorgon **Finished The village nearest the mountain by the sea has a generations-old tradition of offering sacrifices to the monster in the mountain to gain favor and keep its wrath away from the people.  Every person starting from the age of 15 has to take a turn in making the journey up the mountain to the mouth of the cave once a year to drop off the gifts…and it’s a journey that some never come back from.  Y/N took her turn when she was 15, and now the rotation has come back to her again.  If the gift isn’t given by the autumn solstice, there’s no telling what harm the creature will wreak onto the people.  With a seemingly insurmountable obstacle in her way, will she make it to save her and her people?  Can a monster have a heart? Dreamboat **Finished Y/N, her brother Steve, and his best friend Bucky all moved out West for a new start after Y/N was almost caught up and hurt in a rival gang fight.  Steve wasn’t in shape to fight in the war, but Bucky was drafted.  While out West, Y/N finds herself in trouble again from the local bar owner.  Steve is suddenly drafted for an experimental division of the army, but leaving Y/N alone isn’t an option.  Bucky comes home needing help, and Steve comes up with a crazy compromise.  Sweet Pumpkin **Finished Bucky is struggling with the dating world and knows that if he ever hopes to have a serious relationship, that he needs to get through his touch deprivation issues.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch people, or them to touch him, but after decades of pain he doesn’t know how to accept physical intimacy from others, or how to give it himself.  He hires Y/N, an intimacy coach and professional cuddler, who comes highly recommended.  Will his heart be able to distinguish between a service given versus real love?

Yes Mama **Finished Bucky Barnes has made quite the name for himself in the underground mob boss world.  But he’s not the boss.  Just the face of the Family. 

A Pirate's Life for Me **Finished Captain Bucky Barnes and his crew on the Armored Star are the most fearsome pirates in the known world.  They’ve given the British fleet a run for their money as they try to free the enslaved and take from the rich, but they could have never guessed how the British empire would retaliate against them.  When a new pirate ship appears and lays waste to all in its path, will Bucky and his crew be ready for the wrath of a woman scorned?

The Witch and The Doctor **Finished Bucky thought he could make a difference, getting a medical license and trying to change people’s minds.  But the 1600s New World is a harsh place with cruel people.  After being accused of witchcraft he makes a run for it, facing the dangers of the woods and the rumored witch that lives within them.

Sugar & Spicy Books **Finished Y/N is an accomplished writer who is newly divorced, and out of fear of the unknown, moves back to her small hometown she swore she’d never come back to.  She comes across her best friend that never left, who helps her out of a tough spot.  Will old feelings arise?  Or is she just too big for such a small place now?

The Professor's Aid **Finished Bucky has one last year left of college.  He has tutoring/teacher’s aid credits he needs to fill to graduate, no matter the subject.  He applies to be the Women’s Studies professor’s TA, thinking maybe he can skate by easily, until he meets the no-nonsense, large and in charge, pretty as sin professor who is hotter than expected.

Marriage Problems **WIP They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Peter Parker *One shots Emotional *Short Series Tasty **Finished Peter just wanted to have one night of fun.  Then that night of fun almost killed him.  Now it won’t stop haunting him.  And he’s loving it. 

*Series The Young Duke **Finished Queen Y/N is running out of time.  At 35 years old she has to marry and make an heir to the throne, but all suitors so far have been unsatisfactory in one way or another.  Duke Peter Parker is the young Duke of Queensland, and his family is on the brink of ruin due to his parents’ failures and famines throughout the years.  He needs to find an advantageous marriage to save his family’s estate, so when an invitation from the Crown comes, he jumps at the opportunity.  Will it be a match?

Steve Rogers *Oneshot Sex Pollen An Evening Stroll

*Series My Queen **Finished Steve Rogers is the newly inherited Duke of Brooklyn, struggling to fix the mistakes of his parents while enduring an overbearing, matchmaking mother.  He has no intention of anything romantic in his future, but will a forced love connection with the Queen change his mind?

Fortuna Major **Finished Steve Rogers came home from World War II shell shocked and overwhelmed by the place he once called home.  After losing his mother he and his injured best friend Bucky decide to find a quieter, slower way of life to heal from the war.  They head out west until they hit Fortuna, California, and get jobs in the lumber industry.  Steve comes across a local lodging for miners and lumber workers, and falls head over heels for the female owner who takes no man’s shit. 

Stucky *Oneshot Three's Company

*Series Emerald Hallow **Finished Steve Rogers wants to move on.  He wants to forget Peggy, and dive into the 21st century.  But this man of the past doesn’t know how to navigate being an Alpha in a modern world of skittish Omegas.  He prides himself on his self control, never wanting to harm or scare them, until something just smells too damn good. And he's not the only one who smells it...

Actors

Sebastian Stan *Series A Patient Man **Finished Sebastian swore to never fall for another co-star again. Until Y/N drops into his life.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Ice Princess"

Ice Princess by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Erik "Killmonger" Stevens x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Murder, Mayhem, Blood, Violence, Action/Adventure, Thriller, All Dat Good Shit. Grown Folks Only.

Summary:

Portia Keith has it all. A rich boyfriend. An impressive sugar baby allowance. Shopping trips around the world on private jets and more. Every day is spent living in the lap of luxury. For a special holiday trip, her boyfriend gifts her with a private yacht cruise on the Aegean Sea to ring in the New Year with friends.

In order to keep the wealthy party-goers safe, private security is hired to protect the good times, and the spoiled diva encounters the gruff ex-Special Ops soldier, Erik Killmonger, who has no time to coddle a spoiled, coolheaded socialite. Chaos erupts when the yacht is hijacked by ruthless modern-day pirates, and Portia has to learn to leave her Ice Princess ways behind in order for Killmonger to get her back on land... alive.

Word count: 22.5K

"I'm so cold I'm dripping icicles

I go and take your man that nigga might miss you

Spent his whole commission on my neck and ear

To stand around me need to have ya winter gear

Pay me coats and benz's and that berg-ice

That's why I do not feel these bitches, frostbite

Grown money, ever since a youngin' made my own money

You broke honey, and they call me

Banks, cause I can loan money

Colder than December, my diamonds on

Anna WintourSo that's fly ice in my life"

Azealia Banks – "Ice Princess"

Erik Killmonger nearly turned down the job.

Floating around some Greek islands in and around the Aegean Sea for a week babysitting some rich bitches was not his dream gig. Some guns for hire might enjoy the laid-back assignment full of sunshine and sparkling azure waters, but he learned enough over the years that working for wealthy pampered civilians was a pain in the ass. They treated security like servant extensions, and he was not interested in an environment like that. He was accustomed to covert jobs that kept his blood pumping and his mind sharp. There were long-term goals that required him to be with a different mix around the Middle East and real action.

But his homeboy Clark wanted to keep the contract with James Quinton, the multi-millionaire from Silicon Valley who pioneered new bleeding-edge technology in computer processing. For about seven years, he had been a celebrated tech wiz, one of the few Black men successfully cashing out of the grind hustle culture. Killmonger kept up with the man's accomplishments and compared them with his own. As a graduate of M.I.T. and a certified genius with MENSA, the secret Wakandan prince would've probably become another James Quinton himself if his life hadn't been disrupted by trauma and loss. The chips fell where they did, and Killmonger bided his time searching for Ulysses Klaue and working as expensive hired security. Clark nagged at him.

"Man, I'm stretched thin. They want discretion and the best. That's you. I know you were supposed to start leave for a week to recuperate from that Lagos job, but there's some sketchy action happening around the Mediterranean, and your Navy SEAL experience is needed… just in case," Clark said on a satellite call.

Killmonger sat in his closet-sized studio that acted as a storage locker for his gear instead of a home. Constantly on the go, and on the grind, he listened to Clark reclining in his Lazy-Boy chair with a glass tumbler of prime whiskey in his hand.

"You'll ring the New Year in a beautiful atmosphere. Relaxed and peaceful. The bonus holiday pay is great. Please, I need this contract fulfilled. This man knows a lot of billionaires and I could use the referrals… new contacts. Plus, you're good-looking," Clark continued.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Killmonger said, sipping on his drink.

"Look over the file I sent you online. It gives details about the yacht you'll be protecting, and also the rest of the clientele."

"That still ain't got nothing to do with my looks," Killmonger grumbled.

"Pretty girls like good-looking men. That's all I'm saying. You might get lucky compared to the other goons I got," Clark said.

Killmonger closed his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. The studio apartment felt cramped and joyless.

"I'll throw in another bonus for the short notice," Clark insisted.

"How many people onboard?"

"It's a private New Year's party, eight guests, and the yacht staff of four. You'll have your own cabin. You'll lead everything with Sherman and Banks working under you. Giving you the best—"

"Just three men?"

Killmonger lifted his laptop from a small table next to his chair. He logged onto his dark web email account and scrolled images of the yacht. Looking at the dimensions and pictures, Killmonger put down his glass.

"I need at least three more men."

"I can pull at least one more for you—"

"Gotta have five total under me to make this work, especially with us going to a new hot spot."

"The Greek government and the Turkish government have been doing extra sea patrols. James Quinton hasn't mentioned going anywhere for the holidays and I urged him to place his social media engagement on pause for the week until they end their holiday. It'll be a vacation for you. In fact, you could just supervise and chill."

Killmonger knocked back the rest of his liquor.

"Okay, I'll do it. Get me five men."

He hung up and checked the files of James Quinton on his own cryptic software. Quinton liked to stunt his wealth. The man posted photos and corny quotes at least ten times a day on all of his social media platforms. It was the ones with his girlfriend that worried Killmonger.

Portia Keith.

Online, she was known as the Ice Princess. Her beauty and personality were so cold that she had a reputation for being a femme fatale with a rich man's wallet. She had been linked to a few celebrities in the past but had moved her pampered ways to men with deeper and consistent pockets. She rarely spoke in public and showed up to haute couture fashion shows all across the globe. Killmonger couldn't figure out exactly what she did to make men clamor for her and pop culture gossip blogs to want to follow her daily jaunts as a sugar baby with James Quinton.

He stared at a few pictures.

Ma definitely had a face card that would never decline. Medium height, a medium copper brown complexion that turned a pretty darker hue in the sun. Body looked all natural and not the cringy build-a-bitch looks women paid top dollar for. Portia had tits and a nice ass that matched her thighs. She liked provocative looks and expensive things. Quinton gave her everything and baby girl wasn't denied anything according to the photos he peeped on her platforms. There was a crew of girlfriends she jaunted around with, and in every picture, Portia was the center of attention. The face of a model on par with Naomi Campbell, and the body of a vixen bent on destroying hearts and dicks. She stayed dripped in diamonds every day from head to toe. Most men couldn't afford her and several tried to keep her until Quinton snatched her up with the bank account that kept her flaunting her beauty and body.

That face, though? Killmonger couldn't stop staring at it. Her eyes were cool dark windows that gave away nothing. The kind of eyes that cut niggas down if they weren't on point. Her round nose was slightly upturned in a natural haughtiness, but her lips were the deadliest weapons in her arsenal. Killmonger's lips parted as he licked his canine slugs that matched the bottom ones made of pure gold. Portia's lips looked like they could make a dick cry if she sucked on it. Her nickname fit the vibe she gave off, and he wondered what Quinton had besides money to keep that sophisticated sugar baby close.

Killmonger checked the gossip sites and scrolled pages and pages of rumors that Portia and Quinton were having issues and possibly on the outs. He guessed the private New Year's trip was Quinton's way of keeping her, especially with the gossipmongers bubbling with sightings of her having lunch with an Italian billionaire.

Killmonger poured himself a fresh drink, then checked flight schedules on Delta Airlines.

Portia Keith pouted all the way to Greece on her boyfriend's private Gulfstream jet. Scrolling her social media feeds while holding her apricot-colored Pomeranian Mimi, she fumed at the gossip page listing her and Quinton on a site that criticized the super-rich for ruining the climate with their wasteful private flights and hoarding of resources. Her bestie Jodie patted her thigh and told her to ignore the haters.

One thing Portia always did was cultivate a scandal-free reputation. She prided herself on being a carefree Black woman leading a luxury movement for other Black women that had them raising their standards against unqualified men. Accused of only promoting hypergamy and a sugar baby lifestyle, she let people talk their shit because it only brought luxury brands her way courting her favors to use and promote their goods for free. Her exquisite face launched products like no other, and the quiet mystique she crafted with razor precision could not tolerate slander with her image. It wasn't her jet. It was Quinton's. Rich people had to protect themselves and taking commercial airlines with the poors was so… gauche. Especially for bad bitches like herself. The income brackets she played in were fifty million and above, and the low bar of fifty million was just being polite. Not bad for a country girl with tidewater roots and access to an excellent finishing school that prepped her for the lifestyle she led.

Portia left Charleston, South Carolina, with a finance degree from Clemson University and never looked back. Landing a job working under the Director of Finance and Operations for Conde Nast, she labored around the folks who ran Vogue Magazine. A chance encounter during New York Fashion Week launched her new career as a pampered princess. The paparazzi snapped a candid shot of her walking near Anna Wintour wearing a layered sable Balenciaga romper. They both wore the same dark Chanel sunglasses, and a fashion mag begged the question, "Who wore it better?" Before his passing, André Leon Talley exalted her style sense and overnight, Portia became the new "It" girl, the mysterious fashionista who was too short to be a model, but too glamorous to be a simple finance department worker.

She jumped on the parasocial relationship with the New York fashion scene and made sure she appeared at big events. Using a lame-ass rapper who liked to rock oversized ice, she taught him how to dress better, and spent his money on a better investment… her. She put him on to better fashion, better food, and better jewelry. It helped broaden his brand and snag a movie role. She bounced from him to a Hollywood Executive who flaunted her at Oscar parties and she kept her mouth shut and her eyes wide open for new marks. Stacking other people's paper and collecting custom diamond jewelry that became her signature trademark was a lofty career in her early twenties. Portia was nearing the end of her roaring twenties and she had to upgrade her prospects to older men with healthy long-term portfolios. Hollywood and celebrity wealth were fleeting, often feast and famine. New prospects were needed and her finance education led her to San Francisco and tech Daddies. The trade-offs were dull, less attractive men, but fatter pockets.

Then Quinton appeared on a Forbes magazine cover.

Dollar signs flashed in her eyes. She called in favors to get invited to a tech gala and projected her icy exterior onto a man who was rich and above average. New money cleaned him up, but her looks, nimble fingers, and optimum sex magic snagged her a baller on the rise. If she drank enough liquor and squinted her eyes just so, he could almost pass as a poor man's skinny Trevante Rhodes. But that squint had to be hard and the liquor extra strong.

She glanced over at Quinton.

He bored her now.

Quinton was thirty, only four years older than her, but he acted like he was fifty, worrying about his declining fortune all the time. He got caught up in some bad cryptocurrency deals and took a hit on some poor stock market advice. The man pretended that everything was okay financially, but Portia could smell the oncoming of poverty one hundred miles away. Yet she still ran his pockets one last time with the trip she wanted for herself and her girls. She had a couple of boyfriend replacements already on deck and planned to jump ship after the New Year. Broke didn't look good on her and she wasn't built for struggle love or struggle pockets. A baddie always had a graceful contingency exit plan. She sighed loud enough for Quinton to notice her restlessness. Her gaze glossed over his hairline, which was beating a hasty retreat to the back of his neck. What had once been a full head of cropped waves had turned into phantom follicles that gave up on him faster than she did. He had aged so quickly in the two years she'd been with him that she could mistake him for his own father nowadays. Pity. Portia thought she'd stay with him for at least a few more years to see if he could stack his paper higher past the eighty million he was worth when she met him. Alas, that was not to be.

Quinton put down the computer tablet he had his nose buried in and clasped her hand. His eyes were already bloodshot from drinking and anxiousness. Things were probably going downhill faster.

"We're about to land, baby. Have patience," he said.

Her girlfriends giggled and drank martinis behind them. Portia ran a diamond-studded finger up his arm. Mimi whined on her lap.

"Will you give me anything special for New Year's Day?" she purred.

Quinton grinned.

"I have a lot planned for you," he winked.

At least he was going out with a bang, she thought. He was spoiling her one last time, unbeknownst to him. A part of her wondered if she should feel pity for milking him dry until he went belly up. It was the nature of the game, and he knew fully that to keep a woman like her, he had to keep his coins up. She kissed his cheek and her stomach dropped. They were descending.

Their landing was swift, and they were all transported to a launch dock where Quinton's brand-new custom yacht waited for them on tranquil turquoise waters. Seeing the ship, Portia couldn't help but get excited and jump about like a kid with her friends as she held Mimi in her personalized pink Fendi doggy purse. Quinton's three male friends ogled the women through their sheer beach cover-ups. Their teeny-weeny bikinis left little to the lascivious imagination. Portia patted her designer cornrows studded with pink diamond hair jewelry that matched Mimi's pink diamond collar. The ends of her jeweled braids extended past her back, and she flung her natural hair around and waited to board the yacht.

A staff member waited on the main deck of the ship with a tray of mixed drinks in a crisp eggshell white maritime uniform of a starched shirt and knee-length shorts. Portia grabbed the first glass and her gaze drifted over to the tall Black man wearing a hot as hell black military uniform holding a colt commando automatic weapon. His glossy locs framed a gruff, bearded face with a scowl on his thick lips.

"Ohmigod, Quinton. Is this really necessary? Mood killer," Portia complained.

She released Mimi to run around and handed her purse to another crew member. Quinton shook the security's hand. Scoping the yacht, Portia saw five more similar men spread behind the first one.

"Killmonger, correct?" Quinton said.

"Correct," Killmonger said.

"Just Killmonger?" Portia asked.

"Just Killmonger," he answered in a rough tone.

Quinton turned to all of his guests as they mingled and admired the surrounding luxury. The five other security team members dispersed to their stations. Only Killmonger remained. Quinton held out his hands to show off his big, shiny toy.

"As I told all of you, we'll be completely protected. I know there have been rumblings of issues in this region, but I hired some serious security. Enjoy yourselves! Wander around for a bit and they will place your luggage in your cabins. Lunch in an hour!" Quinton said.

"Hold up," Killmonger said.

Everyone stopped chatting and froze with their refreshing drinks.

"We need to go over a safety drill," Killmonger said.

Quinton glanced at his watch.

"Now? Can it wait until after lunch?"

"No," Killmonger said.

"Where would you like us to be?" Quinton asked.

"Head to the stern, please," Killmonger said, pointing to the back of the yacht.

The others headed in that direction. Portia sauntered past him in the opposite direction.

"I'm going to settle in," she said, rolling her eyes.

Killmonger snatched up her arm so quickly that it knocked the breath out of her. She didn't know a human could move that fast. He held her close to his chest as his other hand gripped his weapon.

"See, you're the type of woman who makes the job difficult by being a brat," he snapped.

"You can't talk to me like that!" she hissed, trying to jerk her arm away. It was like fighting an immobile mountain.

"I'm here to protect your good time. We practice drills for a reason."

She exhaled hard when she noticed his teeth. Sharp gold canine slugs on his top and bottom teeth.

"I could have my man sue you for assault," she bitched.

"Do it," he said.

Portia blinked fast several times.

"Do you know who James Quinton is? He could ruin you!" she bellowed, squirming in his grip.

"I'm here to make sure you rich people don't get bothered. I'm the best at that and I'd appreciate your cooperation with the safety drill. It'll only take twenty minutes of your precious spoiled time," he barked.

"Portia?"

Her friend Chelsea called for her.

Killmonger released her arm, and Portia looked up into his face. Narrow, heated eyes peered down at her.

"Let's go, princess," he said, swaggering past her and slinging his weapon over his shoulder.

Portia stared at his wide back and clenched her teeth. She threw her martini glass over the side of the yacht in anger and balled up her fists. Prepared to raise hell with Quinton over the manhandling, she huffed under her breath in anger and stomped her Gucci slides when Killmonger glanced back at her and… smiled, flashing those gold slugs.

Portia halted her steps. The fuck was he smiling at?

And why was she getting aroused by it?

She was a piece of work.

Killmonger knew from jump that Portia would be a problem needing an attitude adjustment. He checked her real quick the moment she mouthed off about not following safety rules that had to be enforced in case of an emergency. She gave him a glacial stare during his short introductory speech on how the trip would run among the security team, and he took them down the stairs that led to a sunbathing deck. There was an emergency escape door that led to an eleven meters long military rigid hull inflatable boat under the yacht that could hold three crew and eight passengers. It had an M60 7.62mm machine gun, an MK19 40mm, and an M2 .50 cal. machine gun armament attached to it. The boat could do forty knots with six in-line cylinder diesel engines. It was an extreme weather craft and Killmonger made them all jump inside of it to get a feel of how they would ride it in case of an emergency exit. He pointed out life vests and showed them the scuba gear his men had available to check for underwater threats.

Once Portia realized they were the real deal, she fixed her face to look less bitchy and bothered. Killmonger was concise and professional and he impressed all the guests with his background and training. He spoke to his team to go over work shifts, breaks, and overnight watch duty. Taking the first shift watch on the main deck, he kept his guard up while the yacht started its adventure away from the Greek port and out into the open sea. The captain of the ship introduced himself and his staff after lunch and their first port of call was Athens, and then they would head to Crete. They would spend the rest of their time tooling around on the open sea and shooting off fireworks on New Year's Eve.

The women wasted no time throwing off their bikini covers and rushing over to sunbathe topless on cushy recliners. An annoying little dog ran around barking and finally jumped on Portia's thighs to sleep until it got too hot and it hid under her chair. He didn't mind watching the sea with binoculars and occasionally looking down at tits. They weren't shy about showing them, so he would not pretend he didn't notice. Quinton and his male buddies grabbed a bottle of top-shelf bourbon and headed to the other side of the yacht to smoke cigars on padded deck chairs. They were torn up by dinner, and by then, he was done with his work shift and free to relax and eat a meal in his cabin. A private chef brought him moussaka and white wine for dinner and galaktoboureko for dessert. It filled him up, and he took a quick shower afterward, then rested on his bed.

The party crowd became raucous and rowdy the later it became, and he changed into light linen pants and a cotton shirt to join them and check in with the night shift team. Music blared from speakers on the starboard side and he eased around to observe and also check out the night waters. The yacht had spotlights that surrounded the bottom of the boat, so there was a beautiful glow to the calm aquamarine water. The rest of the ship was lit up too, which concerned Killmonger. Nothing like advertising a luxury yacht filled with rich people. He was correct in requesting five men to work with him. They had various firearms, rocket-propelled grenades, and enough ammo to start a war at sea if needed. He relaxed after talking to the two men on shift. All was well.

He went for a stroll around the upper decks while the civilians headed down to the lower deck to spread out for cocktails on the main deck. A cool breeze blew past and ruffled his locs. He closed his eyes and faced it fully, luxuriating in the sensation.

"Oh… so you can look normal."

Killmonger opened his eyes and found Portia and one of her friends sitting on white barrel chairs with their legs kicked up on an olive green ottoman. She wore a short pumpkin-colored shift dress and her skin looked amazing from being in the sun all day. Playing with the hem of her extra short dress, he admired the elaborate diamond chips that decorated her long fingernails. She stayed adorned, and he appreciated the effort she took to look feminine and soft. Portia's friend looked cute in a short polka-dotted sun dress. Her hair was lifted in a high ponytail of cascading auburn curls that fell down over her slender shoulder.

He took the open seat next to the friend with a short table between them. There was a half-empty glass of red wine and a fresh unopened bottle next to it with a cork opener conveniently placed on top of it if she needed more.

"I can dress down when I'm not working," he said.

She smiled. The wine had relaxed her and she appeared less uptight. Crossing a seductive leg, he glimpsed her sexy thighs. She didn't have any panties on, and her mound was clean-shaven. He glanced away to pretend he saw nothing, but the smirk on her face told him she meant for him to see her pussy.

"Why aren't you two down with the others?" he asked.

"Needed a break. When you're always the life of the party like me, you need a little time off. Plus, they're talking about work and stocks. Tiana and I are not interested."

"That's so snoozefest," Tiana said, her light skin splotchy with sunburn marks.

"Your other friends seem intrigued by it."

"Those heffas?" Portia snorted. "They just want to appear interested to get attention. Carlos is worth half a billion. Ben two billion. Oh, and that loud mouth you hear right now? That's Stieg. He's a Scandinavian trust fund baby worth five billion. My girls are here to party with me, but make no mistake, they're fishing for a big fish of their own to catch up with me. They're bored out of their minds, but…."

Portia rubbed her fingers together to indicate cash. She stood up and walked down the stairs, leaving Killmonger with Tiana. He sat in silence for a moment before standing up to leave.

"You sure you'll be okay up here by yourself?" he asked, glancing over at the balcony.

Tiana looked heavily inebriated.

"I can hold my liquor," Tiana said.

"Alright then, I'll leave you to your bottle and privacy—"

He glanced over the railing and watched Portia saunter to the front of the yacht. For someone who stayed rude to him while he was on shift, her lax behavior at night intrigued him. Showing off her pussy had to be an amusing game to her. Killmonger liked what he saw and slid his wet tongue across a gold fang.

The rest of his rounds were completed, and he gave one of his men a twenty-minute smoke break starboard side once the guests had turned in to sleep. He took over the watch temporarily and cast his glances out toward the tranquility of the sea. Heavy breathing brought forth curiosity, and he strolled down to a lower deck to investigate.

Portia was on her back naked, legs spread wide as Quinton exerted desperate dick strokes inside of her.

"You're so good, baby. Yes, that's it," Portia said with lukewarm enthusiasm.

Her eyes faced the sea, and she offered no effort to reciprocate affections or even movement as her man pounded her. The detachment on her expressionless face bothered Killmonger. Quinton gave her the world and she couldn't be bothered to give some passion? Even if it was a fake? A true pillow princess, Portia laid there with minimal effort to even wiggle her hips. She managed to push her breasts together and jiggle them, but she refused to look at Quinton's face. The man stared at the fat titties and pumped his way to a sad orgasm. When he collapsed on top of Portia, she took her expensive nails and raked them on the back of his neck and cooed phony words of praise. A smug look painted her face.

Killmonger gripped the railing, and a surge of anger sparked inside of him. He wanted to wipe that petty smirk off Portia's face. He knew fully well that her relationship with Quinton was a transactional one based on the rules of patriarchy. Men bought women as commodities and arm candy all the time. Killmonger knew what the game was, and Ma played it like the pro she appeared to be. However, it irked him that Quinton didn't fuck the shit out of her and make Portia earn all of her riches from him.

Quinton rolled off of her on the wide sectional couch and pulled off the condom that sheathed his average-sized dick. He balled it up and tossed it onto the table next to them. Within seconds, he was fast asleep, and Portia rested her head on a throw pillow. Her eyes squinted in surprise when she noticed Killmonger looking down at them. She slid a finger to her pussy lips, teasing Killmonger by opening her legs wider so he could see all the wet pink of her succulent entrance. His lips twisted up and there was a tightening in his pants. She traced a finger in a wide circle around her folds, then licked her fingers, dropping them onto her nipples to tweak the tips. He gripped the front of his pants to adjust his dick, thinking of all the ways he would fold her body if he had the chance to teach her a lesson about teasing a nigga like him. Her writhing body was doing all the things she should've been doing for Quinton if she hadn't been a lazy fuck. Portia dipped her fingers inside of her pussy and pursed her lush lips as she watched his face grow more aroused watching her display of ridiculous seduction right next to her snoring boyfriend. But he couldn't look away. Her fingers spun magic as they played in her slick folds. She flicked her clit and widened her legs for him until she raised her arm up and flipped him off with a moist finger. Portia cackled and clutched at her stomach, delighted at her teasing. She grabbed the shift dress she had on earlier and put it on, leaving Quinton behind by himself on the sectional. Tossing the used condom in the sea with the flick of a diamond nail, her laughter floated up to Killmonger as she headed to her cabin.

"Bitch," he grumbled.

She had him going, toying with him by using her physical blessings against him long enough to tell him to fuck off. Portia wanted to play cat and mouse, thinking he was the silly little mouse. Little did she know she had a vicious panther on her hands.

They docked in Crete at the crack of dawn.

Killmonger had two of his team stay behind to watch the yacht, and the others dressed in civilian clothing to blend in and trail the women who went shopping and out for lunch with the billionaires and Quinton. The blistering heat didn't let up. He wiped the back of his neck and under his chin several times while tracking Quinton. Portia stayed on the yacht to sleep in late. Her man seemed to find his balls again when he wasn't around her. The passive energy disappeared, and he took on a personality with bravado, impressing Tiana, who laughed at his corny jokes. Their lunch break was long and Killmonger took time to smoke a cigar near an open market. He played tourist watching the surrounding activity, checking the time on his watch constantly, and checking in with the yacht.

In his peripheral he caught Quinton slinking out of the high-end restaurant and entering the luxury hotel next to it. Killmonger stayed put hidden behind a marble statue of Athena, keeping his steady gaze on his client. Quinton checked his surroundings before dashing into the hotel. Killmonger entered the hotel and discreetly shielded his body from the other tourists. Moments later, Tiana walked into the lobby and headed toward Quinton. The tech wiz grabbed Tiana's hand and they entered an elevator together. Killmonger grinned and left the hotel.

The pillow princess's man was getting better pussy elsewhere with her bestie. Killmonger shook his head and checked on the people milling around the hotel lobby. He stayed put until the illicit couple came back down the elevator twenty-five minutes later, fixing their rumpled clothes to look presentable again.

"Quick ass," Killmonger mumbled, sticking a piece of gum in his mouth to chase away the taste of cigar on his tongue.

The trip back to the yacht was uneventful an hour later, and Portia's girlfriends carried plenty of gift bags to commemorate their visit. Portia stood on the top deck with a martini glass in her hand wearing an alabaster knit bikini. A giant floppy sun hat shaded her face. She pranced around on her chunky platforms, waiting for her friends to share their bounty with her.

"Fuck," Killmonger uttered, staring up at her.

Her body was insane. The bikini top only covered her nipples, and the bottoms barely shielded her vulva. He licked his lips again, staring at how fat her pussy looked up there. Tiana was nothing compared to Portia, but Killmonger knew that a lot of beautiful women had trash box and men fucked with women who made them feel good. Looks had nothing to do with keeping a man in the long run. Plenty of mid-looking and ugly women had snatched away prizes from bombshells. Perhaps Portia needed a man with good dick to turn her out correctly. There was no way all that body was going to waste because some rich dude couldn't handle her spunk.

Portia caught him checking her out, and she leaned over the railing to eye him back. Killmonger sauntered to his cabin to change back into his serious work clothes. He checked in with the mercs left behind on duty and all reports were good. The ship's captain updated him with a weather report and soon they were back out at sea for the rest of the trip.

Quinton and Portia threw a costume-themed dinner party and everyone wore Mardi Gras masks and sipped champagne before devouring salty caviar, Kobe steak, and lobsters. The yacht staff hustled to please, but Portia became a bitch when things didn't go as smoothly as she wanted. She reamed one female server so badly for stepping on her dog Mimi by accident that the woman slunk away in tears. Quinton said nothing about the bullying and everyone else was too drunk to comment on anything. Portia snapped at two mercs while moving into their next party area for charades and Killmonger had enough of the poor attitude. When Portia went for a restroom break in her cabin, he followed her. She caught him waiting for her in the narrow hall.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Her icy tone and polar stare made him want to flip her around and spank her ass like an insolent child being reprimanded by a fed-up parent.

"You need to check your tone with the staff and my men. These people are working hard—"

"Shut the fuck up, you simpin' bitch," she said.

Portia lifted the Mardi Gras mask onto her forehead and glared at him. Her little cat woman bikini costume showed off every curve, and he became distracted for a second by the veracity of her tone and demeanor. No woman had ever tried to come for him like that, especially one who didn't know him from Adam. Her breath smelled like the expensive French wine she had drank all night, and he considered her drunken state before speaking. He leaned in, and Portia leaned back until she was jammed against her cabin door. Killmonger bared his teeth at her and she acted as if he had snarled like a beast. Her eyes darted toward the stairs that led to the top deck, expecting someone to rescue her.

"Treat people who cater to you with respect. They don't get paid enough to take your verbal abuse," he demanded.

She looked away from his heated glare and gold canines. He caught the subtle tremble in her body, but then she turned her face back to him and smirked.

"Those people are paid well and competed to get this job—"

"You ain't paying 'em," he said.

"My man is. His money is my money—"

"You sure about him being your man?"

Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a tight grimace. Killmonger decided to blow up her spot and teach the brat a lesson. Every bully needed to be humbled in their life. There was no better time than the present for her.

Portia put a hand on her hip and waited for him to run his mouth some more.

"He had a little quickie with your homegirl Tiana at a hotel while everyone was having lunch."

He cocked his head and waited for the explosion and waterworks to begin. Portia stared at him hard, then started cackling.

"Think I'm joking? I followed them there," he said.

Portia snorted and grabbed her stomach to control her laughter. He waited for her to notice that he was serious. She patted his chest with her right hand and he rolled his eyes with impatience.

"The look on your face right now… as if you got me with something!" she heckled.

Portia wiped her almond eyes and touched her chest. Her diamond nails glittered and that cool exterior returned in full effect.

"I sent that bitch there myself," Portia said.

Killmonger's brow wrinkled, and Portia gave him a little twisted lip pout. Then she grinned.

"Aw, I'm sorry boo boo. You really thought this was a gotcha moment. Ever hear of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer? Tiana is a free-loading cunt… yeah, I said cunt like the white girls do. She's not my homegirl, just competition who has been trying to be me from day one. I let that heffa into my inner circle to keep her on a leash. Quinton is going broke and all of this…?"

She waved her hand above her head.

"All of this shit is about to disappear soon, so to teach her a lesson about coming for what I got, I'm letting her have that limp dick brokie. She thinks she's on the come-up sneaking around with him, but I fed her fake bread crumbs to that nigga. Lied, and told her we were having relationship problems, and that I was worried that he wanted someone else. That little worker hoe really thinks she's better than the queen bee. I stayed on the yacht on purpose so she could make her move on him. Now she knows shiny things aren't always diamonds with that weak peen. In her mind, she thinks she has him and his money. The reality is, she's with a broke faker. Checkmate, bitch."

Portia guffawed and pointed to Killmonger's face.

"I respect you for trying to break my heart to humble me, but you can't play a player," she said.

She shoved him out of her way and strutted up the stairs, tooting her ass out so he could see it jiggle as she walked. Stopping halfway, she looked back at him.

"I'll act nicer with the staff just to make you feel better," she said.

Killmonger chuckled and shook his head. Baby girl was cold-blooded. Respect. He eased his big body up the steps and did quick surveillance all around the ship. Portia acted better with the servers, but she was still icy with the other mercs.

The next few days were dull and humid.

Boredom set in with the women, as the men only drank, ate, and slept for hours on end. Killmonger observed how Portia maneuvered around Tiana. Deadly sweet. It was like watching a scorpion slowly poison a frog as it rode the weaker creature's back. The shine of being with Quinton wore off Tiana, and he caught her brushing off the advances of her secret lover when they thought no one else saw them around the yacht. Portia knew everything that went on between them, orchestrating their dismal affair right under the noses of everyone present.

New Year's Eve rolled around and the trip was nearly over. He had to admit that the assignment wasn't as troublesome as he thought it would be. Quinton hired a fireworks crew to meet them on a separate boat at a rendezvous point in the middle of the ocean. Killmonger sent his mercs over to check out the other smaller ship with metal detectors, heat sensor devices, and a thorough inspection of the crew while he scuba-dived under the boat to sweep for explosives and hidden weapons. They inspected the fireworks being used, too. When one of his team helped him out of the water, he pulled off his scuba gear, and Portia watched him undress. Her eyes grew enormous when his scars came into view. The shiny lumpy brown flesh decorated him with a deadly artistic beauty, displaying every life he had taken in his line of work. He walked across the deck, dripping in seawater and muscles. A hunger grew in her aroused eyes to see more under the wetsuit.

"All safe," he said, whisking past her, carrying his air tanks to a rack.

He took his time pulling off the rest of his wetsuit, shaking his thighs, and grabbing his dick through his tight trunks to adjust the weight there.

Quinton walked over, clapping his hands together.

"All good?" Quinton asked.

"You can have your show tonight," Killmonger said.

Portia flounced away, shaking those ass cheeks, and his dick jumped in his trunks. The last few days she'd been a lot more suggestive with her behavior toward him, teasing him with flirty glances, and tugging on her swimwear suggestively in front of him that had Killmonger undressing her in his mind at night. He jerked off on his bed after taking a shower from scuba diving, imagining himself bending her over a railing and spanking her ass, rubbing his dick tip against her while she glanced back at him with those spoiled eyes and luscious, pouty lips. She needed to be punished. Needed to be on her knees and sucking his dick. If she complained about his length choking her, he would slap her and train her to show some respect for the gift of having his length stretch her mouth.

His erection was harder than steel and he kept playing an image of her begging forgiveness for being such a bitch. Killmonger wanted to cum all over her face and mess up that illusion of perfection she had about herself. Knowing what he did about her for nearly a week, he already understood that she would try to break his resolve and manhood down to control him. She needed a strong Daddy to put her right, and the thought of her sucking his balls while she stared at him with insolent eyes sent him over the edge, and ribbons of hot cum shot all over his hand and midsection. His dick was still hard as he beat it again, thinking of her pussy contracting all over his erection. She just had a way about her that made him want to tame her. Break her down. Force her to submit and sit that plump ass on his face.

He rolled over, groaning into his pillow, angry that she had reduced him to playing with himself when he was supposed to be overseeing his men. Cleaning up quickly, he went topside to check on the action above. Quinton and his guests had all retired for late afternoon naps to prepare for the evening's festivities. A fancy seven-course Mediterranean meal was planned for the New Year's celebration and they invited all the mercs to join in the fun with their shifts.

Portia wore her alabaster bikini again with a coral beach wrap skirt. Diamond earrings decorated her ears and a huge blue diamond necklace sat on her neck worth more than Killmonger made in a year legally. She toned down her make-up, going for a natural look, and the switch-up was extraordinary. It softened her face more, and she became even more beautiful.

Killmonger ate his fill of the gourmet food and allowed himself one glass of champagne before changing shifts with another merc. He kept his dark clothes on and strolled alone along the uppermost deck. The ship captain ate from a plate and Erik glanced over at the fireworks ship. He lifted the work binoculars from his chest and stepped back outside to observe the water and sky. No moon. Just stars stretched across the heavens, sparkling the jewels all over Portia.

The fireworks show started at eleven-thirty for a slow countdown to midnight. Killmonger positioned himself on the deck overlooking the stern. Below him, the rich guests gathered with more champagne and small desserts to watch the show. It was spectacular. Fireworks had never impressed him before, but he found himself looking at the sophisticated light show over the sea. Dazzling shapes and styles of explosives brought a magical ambiance all around them. Portia squealed and clapped her hands like a child, often pushing her face against Quinton's shoulder whenever an explosive boomed too loud and scared her. She looked cute while enjoying herself and Killmonger wondered why she couldn't be like that all the time. A certain type of sweetness exuded from her, as if she had put away that mask of cool she always wore, just to be a regular woman having a good time.

A server approached Killmonger with a tray of champagne.

"Why not?" Killmonger said, lifting a glass.

He drank it down and kept his eye on Portia, enjoying the fireworks.

Portia gulped down another glass of champagne and watched a firework turn into a rose in the sky. She clapped and oohed and ahhed to her heart's content. It was a beautiful way to end a relationship. A part of her actually felt a little bad about dumping Quinton after the trip. He would find someone new with a lower income bracket, hopefully, someone who loved him for who he was and not his wallet. The poor schlep was the type of dude who used money to buy his way into the quality of woman he wanted, which was not who he needed. Perhaps if Portia had remained a small-town girl working finance at a bank or small business in her old hometown, Quinton would've been deemed, in her mind, the catch of a lifetime. Alas, that was not the ocean current she rolled in. His ego was big, and he felt entitled to beautiful women simply because he had a dick and some money. Cultivating a personality, hobbies, or real solid friendships was not in his wheelhouse. Trophy girlfriends would never bring him happiness.

The champagne bubbles in her flute tickled her nose. She glanced over at Tiana who looked seasick from too much liquor in her system. Maybe there was some hope for Quinton being with her enemy. Everyone deserved love.

Portia was about to go check on Mimi in her cabin before it hit midnight. She gave the Pomeranian a doggy sedative to keep her from anxiety with all the fireworks noise, and she worried her fur baby would be frightened without checking in with her. The crackle of a spectacularly loud firework drew her attention to the sky again. A chain of enormous fiery lights popped off, and she glanced at her dainty Patek Philippe watch. It wasn't midnight yet for any kind of grand finale. Unless something bigger was about to erupt in the sky after that volley of bright multi-colored lights. She clapped and heard a loud popping sound.

"Did a firework not go off?" she asked.

Her girlfriends shrugged before a gigantic explosion rocked the bow of the ship that was not part of the show. The yacht lurched, and Portia fell to her knees off-balance with her platform heels. Smoke and flames filled her shocked eyes. Everyone nervously headed toward the front to see what the hell happened and more popping sounds commenced from behind them. Tiana fell on top of her with Carlos. Portia's two other friends shrieked and ran, cut down by a hail of bullets through their backs. Portia pushed the limp and bloody woman off of her legs and shoved Carlos away too. The man's eyes looked up at her with a lifeless stare, and Portia screamed. She stayed on her hands and knees to keep low while looking up toward the higher decks. Killmonger had a modified M249 up and shot toward the sea targets. The fireworks ship exploded into a reddish-orange fireball, blazing the night sky with more flames and thick smoke. Parts of that ship flew over onto the deck of the yacht. One of Killmonger's men shot a grenade launcher from his weapon, aiming for some enemy Portia couldn't see on the dark water.

"Portia! Stay down!" Killmonger called out to her.

She did what he said and hid under Carlos and Tiana again, trying not to lose it as their warm blood dripped all down her legs and pooled at her feet. She swiped some of the cooling blood from her limbs and wiped it all over her throat to make herself look injured and played dead on the deck. Quinton ran toward the side of the yacht, and Portia wanted to follow, but the volley of intense bullets whizzed over her head. She covered her face, hearing loud splashes of water and yelling. The mercs around her scuffled with people who had climbed aboard. A powerful arm lifted her up by her waist.

"You been hit?" Killmonger asked.

"No!"

A merc near Killmonger took a shot between the eyes and dropped in front of her.

"Let's go!" Killmonger yelled, helping a server go with them.

The attackers cut the server down in mid-step and Portia realized with horror that all the guests except for her and Quinton were in a dead bloody heap all across the deck. She only lucked out because two bodies fell on her, shielding her from becoming human Swiss cheese. Another of Killmonger's team ran past them to fight, giving cover. Killmonger led her to the secret emergency door that held the military boat.

"Wait! I have to get Mimi!" she yelped.

"Fuck that dog!" Killmonger yelled.

Portia pushed back on the tears that welled up in her eyes. Her poor baby was locked inside her little travel kennel. She'd die all alone in her crate without her Mommy. The yacht tipped to the side, knocked by another explosive. Killmonger helped her into the emergency boat and made her put on a life vest.

"Wait here," he said.

"Don't leave me!" she shrieked, clutching his free hand with desperate fingers.

"I have to check for other survivors on the yacht's crew."

Her heart thudded in her chest so fast it made her gasp for air. She sat inside the boat and grabbed one of the gray emergency blankets and pulled it around her, hiding down low in the boat in case an armed pirate burst in. Portia was small enough to look like a lumpy seat. The odor of smoke crept down to where she was, and after some time, she worried Killmonger was dead. She wanted to wait another ten minutes for him, and then figure out a way to get the boat out onto the water by herself before the entire yacht sank into the sea.

It became hard to breathe under the blanket. She made a little breathing space for herself where she could still be covered up, but the smoke from the fires above seeped down to where she was. The sounds of shooting had stopped. Silence took over, and she debated about going out to see if the pirates had left. Time kept ticking, and the boat listed. Adrenaline had kept her going. But now the tears flowed.

The emergency door burst open, and Portia held her breath and stayed perfectly still. Mimi's woozy and weak bark yapped for her. She threw off the blanket and Killmonger was there, carrying Mimi's travel kennel and a backpack. He handed Portia the dog and tossed the backpack on the boat. Pressing a few buttons on a side wall of the yacht, a release ramp opened and slid down toward the water. He pushed the boat more, and it slid easily with a quiet splash. The yacht leaned further over and they would have to hurry to avoid being sucked down with it.

Killmonger untied ropes that secured the boat to the off-ramp. His face was full of concentration and determination to get them out of there. He put the safety on his weapon and leaned over to drop it in the boat when a masked man wearing dark clothing similar to Killmonger's uniform charged him, jamming his AK-47 under his throat and choking him.

Killmonger flipped the man over onto his back, punched him once and whipped out a Glock from his waist, and blasted the man's forehead. Blood and brain matter splattered, and Portia was too shocked to scream. Killmonger leaped into the boat and started the quiet motor, guiding them away from the yacht. She watched the burning luxury boat slowly sink as they bounced across the water. The pirate boat that attacked them sat on the other side and she thanked God there was no moon because the flames from both ships burning distracted their attackers from seeing them. Portia closed her eyes and let the cool sea breeze dry the sweat of fear all over her. The further away they were, the safer she felt. Her breathing returned to normal once the yacht and the surrounding madness became a tiny shiny speck on the horizon.

Killmonger checked some guidance apps on his military watch computer and took them toward some uninhabited Greek island chains. After about forty minutes, they hid their getaway boat on a small rocky isle inside an island littoral cave that made Killmonger feel secure staying there until he could contact help. Waves had eroded away an opening in the limestone, creating a sea cave that hid and protected them from the elements. He stuck a small headlamp on his head, giving them the only light source to look around. Killmonger handed her one too, and she placed it around her forehead. He dragged the boat once they hit soft sand. The cavern was dark and warm, like a womb. There were flares and a bulky charged satellite phone on the boat.

"I'll use the phone tomorrow and shoot off a flare for rescue when it's safe. We may have to stay out here a few days," he said.

"A few days? Why that long?" she said.

"That was a coordinated attack. They'll be looking for survivors all night and tomorrow. They knew exactly how many people were on that yacht, and you and I are no longer there. It was a hit… on everyone," he said. "There's also a storm moving in and that will hinder rescue efforts."

"Maybe they'll think we drowned and just go," she reasoned.

"They will sweep for floating bodies. Trust me."

He stopped and looked at her hard. She had opened Mimi's crate and held her frightened dog on her lap.

"Portia… Quinton set this whole thing up. I saw and heard him talking with the hit squad when I grabbed Mimi. He left with them on the attack boat."

Portia shook her head.

"No… that's not true… Quinton's a tech guy. He doesn't know pirates and shit…"

"He's going to disappear like he's dead, too. Collect on all the insurance he had on everyone there and that yacht. You told me he was going broke. He fixed his financial problem by getting money for you, your friends, and his billionaire buddies. The men he hired are going to make sure you and I are dead, so we don't snitch on what really happened."

Portia looked down at Mimi and felt the blood rush to her head like she was going to pass out.

"I can't believe this. He killed all those people to save his ass financially."

Killmonger pulled out a cold bottle of water from the backpack he brought and handed it to her.

"Can we last for three days out here?" she asked.

He nodded and showed her a wide variety of goods stored on the boat.

"There's enough food on her for several days that could last a week if needed. Since there are only two of us, we can eat as much as we want and stretch it out if we have to. We have fresh water… blankets. Toilet paper, sunblock, bug spray. We're good. Just have to keep hidden from the clean-up crew."

Killmonger sounded confident, and Portia inhaled deeply. He saved her life and would protect her on their…

New home. She looked around the boat again. There was plenty of room on one end for them both to stretch out and rest. The weapons attached to the hull could thwart a small army. Portia sipped a little water, gave some to Mimi with a cupped hand, then placed the dog back in her kennel. She prayed her fur baby didn't bark after the sedative wore off completely.

Killmonger made soft pallets of extra blankets for them to sleep on while she turned off her light and stepped out of the boat. She walked back to the water. After rinsing the blood off of her body and shoes, she returned to him, and they both stretched out in opposite directions. She felt him move around on his end. Lifting to see what he was doing, she caught him taking off his uniform. He stripped down to his black boxer briefs and huddled back up under his covers. Portia changed positions and crawled to his end when her body spasmed. She rested against his back, spooning him to capture some of his warmth, hoping the shaking in her limbs would stop. Her body moved with uncontrollable, jerky movements and she felt cold. Killmonger faced her quickly and put his arms around her.

"What's happening to me? My arms and legs keep shaking," she whispered.

"You're going through adrenaline withdrawal. Shit was crazy that you went through, and your body was all keyed up for action. It's trying to get back to equilibrium."

"How do you seem so calm? Shouldn't you be shaking too?"

"I'm used to it. Don't worry. It won't last long."

He opened up his blanket to her, and she eased her face against his wide chest. The keloid scars were smooth and slippery-feeling against her skin. His heartbeat was a steady drumming to her ears. Her shallow breathing eventually evened out to match his, and she could rest calmly next to him. The scent of his skin had a soothing musk odor, some cologne mixed with his own sweat, giving off an intoxicating smell. He adjusted his body to give her more room, and she closed her eyes to sleep.

Waking up hours later, she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with the softest brown eyes. For the entire yacht trip, he always wore a scowl on his face with narrow cruel eyes that held disdain for her. Now… she looked at another man completely. A roar of water drew her attention back toward the opening of the cave. The light pastel colors of dawn greeted them with shades of turquoise and honey yellow bleeding into a blood-orange tapestry. The rising tide rolled in, gently pushing their boat against the sand, rocking their bodies like a mother's hand tending to a cradle. Killmonger had the boat fastened to a stake that he pounded into the sand to keep them from floating out into the sea while they slept.

Sitting up, she admired the view. The clear, tranquil water sparkled as the sun rose higher and the colors in the sky changed into new brighter hues. It took Portia's breath away, bringing tears to her eyes. The rust color of the cave's roof seemed to glow. In the distance, she noticed other island chain formations that probably never had a human walk on them. She wondered if the awe she felt was the same awe that God had when the heavens and the earth were made complete. The scene before her looked like a painting. She spent most of her life drinking, partying all night, burning through rich men's money, and sleeping hungover until noon. When had she ever witnessed a sunrise like the one spread before her sober eyes? What a way to enter a new year.

Porta laid her head back down and noticed that her bikini top had fallen off in her sleep. She was topless in front of him. Throwing an arm over her chest, she glanced around for her knitted top.

"Don't trip," he said with a grin.

He reached above his head and handed her a small container of grape juice. She took it and drank down the sweetness.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She shook her head no, the fruit juice helping revive her blood sugar. Pushing the blanket away from her lower body, she luxuriated in the balmy comfort of the air. Tilting her head back, she noticed an opening at the top of the cave that dropped a beam of early morning light on her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the inside of her lids turn red from the sun bathing her more. A calloused finger stroked down the side of her cheek. Portia's eyes popped back open as Killmonger dragged his index finger against her skin. She lifted a finger and traced one of his keloid scars across his right pec. He was her hero. During the shootout and explosions, he had his eyes on her, making sure she was safe.

Killmonger dropped his head down and kissed her. She could taste toothpaste and fruit juice on his tongue. A static sound interrupted their joining, and he pulled away from her to pick up the satellite phone. He spoke in a rushed tone, giving coordinates and relaying a warning about the attack and Quinton's hand in it. There was a personal locator beacon with a strong GPS tracker he was going to keep on so they could find them. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her hands, letting Killmonger deal with everything. Soon after, he shut the phone off to save the battery. Turning to her, he stretched his arms and sighed.

"It's going to take time to reach us. The storm is sitting over Crete and moving slowly. Rough waves."

"But they are coming?" she asked.

"Yes."

Portia fell onto her back and stared up at the cave roof with relief. People knew where they were and would find them.

"I want to eat now," she said.

Killmonger pulled out MRE packages and small disposable plates. She dumped out a packet of southwest beef with black beans and tortillas. There was a chocolate banana nut muffin and apple slices mixed in a spice sauce, a cheese spread, and peanut butter. Portia made herself a burrito, and the food gave her the calories and energy she needed. Killmonger made them coffee over a small propane stove he put together and joined her with his own meal.

"Not bad," she said, stuffing the muffin in her mouth.

"We can have a white meat chicken salad with crackers and pasta for lunch," he said.

She wolfed down her burrito and wiped her lips. Finishing quickly, she let Mimi out of her cage and fed her from the packs of fancy dog food stored inside the kennel with her. She let the dog run around in the cave's interior to relieve herself. Mimi stayed away from the water and occupied her attention quietly by digging holes all in the back of the cave. Looking around, Portia was happy to see there was nothing inside the small cave with them except sand and the tiny beach made by the water lapping inside gently. Killmonger pulled out a large tan camouflage netting.

"Step out. Grab your top," he said.

Portia stunned herself by noticing she had stayed topless the entire time eating. She tied her titties up and draped her wrap skirt around her neck into a dress. She slipped on her platforms and picked up Mimi. Killmonger covered the boat up with the netting, blending it into the background of tan sand.

"Put the dog in its kennel so we can look around and I can plant this tracker up high," he said.

"She'll bark," she said.

Killmonger rolled his eyes.

"Then carry her," he said.

He pulled on his pants, and she eyed the bulge at his crotch. His flaccid state was bigger than Quinton's erect state. Portia checked herself for thinking sexy thoughts in their dire situation.

Dire?

It wasn't, really. They had all they needed and good people were coming for them. He placed several water bottles, a Glock, the satellite phone, and the beacon locator, inside a small pack and slung it around his shoulders. She followed him out of the cave, stepping on vast rock formations on the side to keep from getting her platforms wet. Climbing up the side of a hill, they made their way through brush and mostly barren land. There weren't very many trees and the ones that existed were small, or dead, and had fallen over. She kicked a few on the ground and they crumbled from contact, drier than the heat cooking their skin. Killmonger was already a shade darker, and it looked good on him. His biceps were beefy and darker brown. Her own dark skin took on a red tinge with her rich color. At a glance, they looked like tourists ambling about looking for t-shirts to buy for back home, not shipwrecked targets for death.

"Ow!"

Portia tripped on some sand and eroding rocks, bumping into Killmonger and almost knocking him over.

"Watch it," he barked.

"Sorry! I wasn't trying to bump into you—"

"Take those ridiculous shoes off so you can walk better—"

"It's too hot."

"No, it's not—"

"Yes, it is—"

They fussed like an old married couple all the way to the highest point of the island. He stuck the tracker in the ground and checked to make sure it was working properly. Gazing out at the sea around them, Killmonger lifted binoculars from his chest and peered out further.

"See anything?"

"No."

"That's a good sign, right?" she asked.

Portia put Mimi down so the dog could sniff around and urinate. Mimi happily sniffed and marked territory. When she padded over too close to a drop, Porta scooped her back up. There didn't seem to be any wildlife at all.

"Do you think there are a lot of snakes on this island?"

"Maybe. I haven't seen much scat or midden left behind," he said, searching the sea with the binoculars.

"What's that?"

"Scat is animal shit, and midden is their refuse… the food they've nibbled on and left behind. I only spotted some anthills and one bird so far. Not much to sustain a lot of snakes."

He glanced over at her.

"Just walk hard. Your vibration will scare them off. Keep that rat dog in sight, though."

"She's a Pomeranian."

"Looks like a rat dressed in a hot ass fur coat."

Portia looked at her baby. Mimi did pant. She grabbed a water bottle from Killmonger's pack and poured some on the dog.

"Whatchu doin'?! That's for drinking," Killmonger scolded.

"She's hot. I don't want her to get sunstroke."

He held his hand outstretched.

"We're surrounded by cool seawater. Dunk her rat ass in that. Stop wasting what we need to survive!"

Portia pouted.

"I wasn't thinking about that. I just wanted to help her."

"Let me do all the thinking then…" he grumbled.

They explored more, trekking around the entire island in under an hour. She dunked Mimi in a pool of water that came up from a natural aquifer of fresh water near the cave entrance. Killmonger grumbled again, so she walked her dog into the seawater and cooled them both off. He shut his mouth when she removed her beach wrap and frolicked with Mimi until a small wave knocked her poor pooch over. She walked out of the water dripping with her diamonds glittering, making her look like a Black Venus rising to the mortal world. He licked his thick lips, and she shuddered at the thought of that mouth on her body. Killmonger was bossy and so easily annoyed by her. However, he was also attracted to her and Portia played into that whenever he gave a tired sigh with her antics spoiling her fur baby. She made a little condo property for Mimi with her dog kennel. Moving it far back in the cave, she gave the dog a bowl of water and dried dog food with space to call her own to keep away from Killmonger. She decorated the front of the crate with pretty rocks and shells she collected and doted on her little one until Mimi fell asleep, farting from all the snack treats Portia gave her to help with the stress of a new environment.

He checked in with the rescue team on the phone and made them lunch. She sensed he felt more relaxed after finding fresh water on the island that they could use if they needed to. They ate in silence together, sitting on the sand and staring at the water. To be stranded on an island with a trained killer wasn't such an awful experience. Underneath the rough exterior was a man who held her hand to help her move around the island, and who also made sure she was hydrated. He pointed out natural formations of some of the island's geography around them and double-checked for snakes as they stepped over fallen trees. She gripped his arm when they moved into questionable areas, and at one point, she slipped her hand into his as he guided her back down toward the cave.

She took a nap on the sand and woke up to a crackling fire. Killmonger had gathered wood and dried brush, making a cozy glow that couldn't be seen from the narrow opening of the cave from the outside. They watched a new sliver of moon rise and a blanket of blue-black sky rest over the island for the night. She grinned and nibbled on chocolate chip cookies, humming and rocking on her backside as she ate. He laughed at her.

"What?" she said

"You look like a little kid on a girl scout campfire trip," he teased.

"Funny, because I used to be a girl scout."

"A girl scout… and you didn't know what scat and midden were?"

"I must've missed that part. I just looked good in the uniform," she said.

He smiled, and the bright, genuine light it brought to his face made him even more handsome. Killmonger was fine, no doubt, but there was something else deep within him that made him even more attractive. She thought of the way he lifted her up with one arm, shooting with the other as he rushed her to safety. His eyes always slid over to hers, even before the attack, when they were floating in tranquility. Portia had teased him sexually, doing things to get a rise out of him. It had started as a dismissive act, letting him see what he would never have in life, and it changed into active taunting, daring him to step up to the challenge so she could smack him down and belittle his audacity to think he was ever on her level.

Sitting in a cave with a peaceful campfire, her gaze on him brought clarity. She had been attracted to him the moment he put her in check on their first meeting. People always did what she wanted, and he had been the first man to push back on her attitude. She picked at him every time he showed up in her face.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said.

"You couldn't afford my thoughts," she said in a playful tone.

He smirked, then added more wood to the fire. Her eyes drifted up to watch the smoke go through the hole in the high roof.

"You think they're done looking for us? Should we even have a fire with the smoke floating… they could see it."

"By now, they should think we're dead. They never saw us leave on the boat and the yacht is at the bottom of the ocean by now, so they can't even check to see about the emergency escape, even if Quinton mentioned it. I won't have this going for long," he said.

"I like it," she said, holding her hands and feet up, warming her fingers and toes.

They didn't need the extra warmth. The cave was already cozy, but it brought comfort to their predicament.

"I'll sleep out here tonight and keep watch," he said. "I'll have to hike around a bit too, to check in other directions from the top."

She looked around for a blanket or pallet on the sand. There was nothing to lie on. Perhaps his soldier ways let him sleep cross-legged and upright. Her eyes became drowsy. Standing and stretching, she stared out at sea, admiring the sizeable chunk of island rock that faced across from their private paradise.

"I thought a storm was coming," she said.

"It is. Can't you feel the temperature drop? The sky is changing too. Won't hit until later tonight, and it won't be as bad out here. The sheer rock of that island over there is shielding us, and the tide doesn't get very high in here. We're good," he said.

She nodded.

"Night," she called.

"Night," he said.

She checked on Mimi, then snuggled inside the boat with the blankets. Killmonger went and grabbed the solar lights that he sat out in the sun all day and brought into the cave, jamming them down in the sand near the boat. He even posted two by Mimi's kennel because Portia told him the dog was nervous about being in the dark. Her mind tried to stay positive. She wondered how bad the storm could be if the hole at the top of the roof flooded with rainwater. Killmonger didn't appear concerned, so she let the thought drop.

After an hour, a soft splash of water forced her to lift and see what the noise was. Mimi hated water, so there were no worries there. Portia spotted Killmonger on the far side of the cave, splashing his naked feet into the liquid heaven.

"Lord," she whispered into her own mouth, watching him.

He was totally nude and moved his body with an assured grace that made him look like Poseidon returning to the sea. She could not stop staring at his taut glutes and powerful thighs. His keloid scars were all over his back, too. Killmonger walked in waist-deep before dunking his head underwater and wetting his locs. He ran a hand over his hair and shook them, stretching his arms out wide, traveling deeper into the sea until she could only see his head. Going under a few times, he moved closer to shore, and she noticed the small bottle of liquid soap in his hand. He washed all over, rubbing his muscles, and cleaning between his toes and elsewhere. Rinsing off, he dropped the bottle of soap on the sand for later and put on his pants without his boxer briefs. He padded back over to the dying fire and stopped when he saw Mimi sitting near his previous seat.

"Getcho ass back in that kennel," he ordered.

Mimi only sat and stared at him.

He sat down next to the pampered pooch and placed Mimi on his lap. Portia giggled and hid under the blankets.

Smoke and flashes of a blazing fire blinded her eyes. The shouts of fear and the odor of fresh blood grounded her back on the yacht. She had moved so slowly. Champagne and the thrill of fireworks put her in a loopy mood and the horror of the attack froze her and probably saved her life. Tiana and Carlos ran and Portia stood there like a statue, her mind trying to fathom what was wrong with the scenario before she was tackled by the running dead and free-falling onto her back.

"No!"

Portia shot up inside the boat, her heart jackhammering in her chest. Her throat clogged with a scream as she relived the attack. Staring at her shaking hands in front of her face, she expected to see blood and brain matter again as another scream ripped from her lips.

"Hey, it's okay… shhh… it's only a nightmare…"

Killmonger jumped into the boat with her and the fading dream had her beating his chest thinking he was an attacker. The lucidity made her claw at his face and he pulled her into his chest, rocking her, cooing soft words into her ear to bring her back to reality and the safety of the cave. Mimi whined behind her and the sound of the dog snapped her to the present. She fell apart then, wailing into Killmonger's chest, her mouth wide open and unable to close as if the terror she endured would crawl out of her throat. Quinton tried to kill her. Her body could've been at the bottom of the sea becoming fish food and no one would know the truth of what he did to her or all of their so-called friends. Portia moaned and jammed a hand against her mouth.

"You're good, Portia. I'm here and we're okay. Just a bad dream…"

She looked up at his face, then wrapped her arms around his neck. He leaned back in the boat, letting her rest on top of him. He stroked her spine and his rough hands on her bare skin brought her back from the brink of totally losing all control of her emotions. She wiped her eyes and covered her face, weeping quietly against him.

"I was waiting for this. Some people take longer to process what happened to them. You tried your best to act like you were okay all day," he whispered.

Her breath shuddered as his soothing voice and hands brought her into a calm state.

"I was so scared," she said.

"I know."

"It was so fast and… I couldn't move…"

"You did well considering all that was happening at one time… even wiped blood on yourself to fool them. That's thinking on your toes, Ma. Most people just scream and holler, then get caught up in the shock. You ran and did what you had to do."

"Thank you for saving me," she whispered.

"That was my job."

His fingers dragged up and down her spine, making her skin feel tingly and warm. She crawled off of him and snuggled into his side, hiding her face in his chest. Portia enjoyed being there. It felt comfortable and safe. He stroked her arms and tried to leave her side to return to his post, but she gripped his arm and pulled him back next to her.

"Don't go," she said.

A soft sprinkle of rain fell on the water. The storm had arrived. The pleasant patter of droplets striking the sea eased her mind and body. Her nightmare faded, easily forgotten, while cozied up against him.

"Try to sleep," he said.

Killmonger rested his head on the makeshift pillow his work jacket made and she stared into his eyes. The solar lights gave her a soft ambiance to look at him with.

"By tomorrow evening, they should be near enough where I can shoot a flare so they can pick us up. Hang on to that thought," he said.

She nodded into his shoulder and released a final shudder that loosened all the tension in her body. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her fingers across the top of his naked chest, feeling the slick contours of his keloids against the pads of her fingertips. Tracing her fingers under his neck, she took a bold step and ran her finger across his full lips. Raising herself higher, Portia kissed him, enjoying the sensation of warm plush fullness outlining her own plump softness. His lips smothered hers as he took over the kissing. She expected a feral roughness with him, but he was buttery soft and so gentle with her mouth. Even his large tongue surprised her with how seductively slow it was exploring the inside of her mouth. Their kisses were languid and so unrushed that she could almost fool herself into thinking that they had been lovers in some other past life together. There was no clumsy fumbling newness as their tongues sought an understanding of their changed physical relationship.

She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, and he smiled. He kissed his own trail down her face and onto her neck where he buried those sharp gold teeth and nibbled on her throat, shooting sparks of pleasure down to her toes and back. Groaning out loud, she delighted in his fingers pinching her nipples through her bikini top. She untied it and freed her breasts. His hand palmed their fullness, and she glanced down at his crotch. His dick tented his pants. She helped unfasten them, releasing his erection. It was a hot, rigid thing in her hand and his head fell back, allowing a deep groan to release from his mouth.

"Stroke that shit," he huffed into her neck while untying the bottom of her bikini himself.

She moved over as he wiggled out of his pants and gasped when she saw his dick and balls together. Her pussy throbbed while looking at the heft and length. Pre-cum pearled at his tip and ran down the sides and she helped slicken that big dick in a hurry, eliciting more guttural moans from him. She liked the pleasurable sounds falling from his lips and squeezed her fingers around the bulbous tip. The hole there opened wider and clear fluid drizzled onto the gap of her thumb and index finger.

"Fuck, baby," he gasped when she twisted and tugged under the ridge.

His fingers found her clit and her pussy wasted no time becoming slick and wet, her folds opening up for him like a blooming rose. He stared between her legs, licked his lips, and flashed those gold slugs. She lost control of the tremors making her body weak for him. Slick sounds met his fingers, and he played with her pussy lips until she was begging for him to do more.

"Play with your pussy. Lemme see you do what you did on the boat when you were teasing me," he huffed.

Her diamond-crusted fingernails made her pussy so pretty for him. She could see his arousal grow in his glassy eyes. She rubbed her clit, then held her folds open. He licked his fingers and stuck them in her mouth. She sucked on them, showing him everything she could do for his dick. He closed his eyes and his lips parted. Panting, he played in her mouth. His big dick twitched and jumped against her thigh, spewing more pre-cum.

"Lemme play in this pussy," he begged.

She opened her legs, and he inserted two fingers inside of her opening, gently testing the limits of what she could take. Portia whimpered when he started tapping on the sides of her walls, flicking his fingers back and forth like a butterfly fluttering away. He knew how to stimulate pussy. Killmonger wasn't rough or jerky with his movements either. He watched her face to read what she could handle from him and kissed her often, slow and steady, binding Portia to him like he was kissing a magic spell into her mouth, conjuring more pleasure from the nerves that woke up all over her writhing body. He fingered her pussy and sucked on her nipples, turning her body into mush that the sea could wash away with the tide.

"Listen to that pussy… fuck… I knew this shit was good… fuck…" he moaned.

"Killmonger," she cried out as his fingers hit spots in her that hadn't been touched in so long.

"You loved showing this pussy to me. So fat in this bikini. Letting me see these pussy lips all the time… teasing me…"

He pulled his fingers out against the clenching she began doing around them. He sucked her juices from his fingers and admired the frothy wetness that glistened all over her puffy folds. Slapping her vulva, he stood up and forced her to her knees.

"Suck this dick," he commanded.

Portia obeyed, jumping to her knees and swallowing his dick head like it was her last meal in life. He pushed his dick in further and her mouth stretched around it. She pressed her hand on his stomach to control the depth, but he slapped her face. The shock of the sting aroused her, and she stared up at him with heated eyes and a throbbing pussy.

"You gon' take this dick how I feed it to you… spoiled bitch. Now suck on it… put those fucking hands away. I want all mouth, Portia."

Portia opened her mouth wider, and he went in deeper. She gagged while trying to suck and slurp, and her eyes watered, but Killmonger slapped the other side of her face, disappointed with her performance.

"I thought you were better than this. You can't handle this dick?"

Her forehead creased with anger. She always gave world-class head. No man had ever complained about her oral skills. She gripped the root of his dick and he slapped her hands away.

"I said all mouth, and I meant all mouth!"

He pushed her back, and the anger that sat on his face excited her. Killmonger wasn't pleased at all. She licked his balls and kissed her way back to his dick again to try better. Taking her time, she licked around the slit and under the head, coating her tongue with all the pre-cum that dripped from him. He dragged his tip across her lips, making them glossy, and nudged the seam of her lips back open.

"Let's see if you can do better," he said.

She adjusted her knees with the blankets and sucked on that dick tip, using her full concentration. Her suction with her lips improved, and she even grazed her teeth gently around him to switch up her performance. He treated her like a little puppet that needed her strings pulled when she didn't suck to his satisfaction. She worked her ass off to get a groan, a moan, or a "Good girl," to drip from his sexy lips. He patted her head and sometimes pulled her braids to force her lips to do better.

"How are you gonna pull that nut outta Daddy when you stay playin' like that? Huh? Is this your best?" he asked.

She popped his dick out of her mouth with a torrent of saliva falling onto her breasts and pouted.

"Not as good as you thought you were. Do better," he said, shoving his dick back in.

Portia wanted to cry. She gave him grade A head, and it still wasn't up to par. All the tricks she had used over the years to get men off failed her. There were moments when she thought she had made a breakthrough, but he grumbled and told her she was not even close to getting him off.

"Look up at me when you suck that dick," he said.

Frustrated, she gazed up at him as he deep-throated her neck. That gorgeous face and big ass lips had her pussy clenching on nothing but air. Her walls felt so swollen and ached for his dick to lay her out. A few tears streaked down her face as her frustration grew.

"That's a good girl. Now take some more of Daddy's dick. Show me you can follow directions," he said.

She wanted to please him so badly. He played with her nipples and breasts as she worked her neck, throating him down as best she could. Her loud gawking echoed throughout the cave.

"Jaws getting tired?" he teased in a mean tone.

He pulled his dick out and glared at her.

"Tell Daddy you're sorry for letting him down with that mouth," he demanded.

The gruff tone ignited the ache in her clit. He threaded the braids in the back of her head with the fingers of his left hand and tilted her head while fisting his dick. He gently yanked on her hair.

"What I say? Tell Daddy you're sorry for that trash sucking," he barked.

"I can do better," she pleaded.

"You had a long time to show me, and it didn't happen."

He grunted and stared at her ripe lips, his right hand working that length like he was ready to burst. Gripping her head with his hand, he bared his slugs.

"Sorry, Daddy—"

"For what?" he gasped, narrowing his eyes as he brought his tip closer to her whimpering mouth.

"—for not sucking your dick right. Please, I can suck your dick so good!"

Portia fondled her left breast and groped between her legs to flick her clit. Begging him for a chance to prove herself was the only goal she had in life. She needed him to cum… couldn't take her next breath until he was satisfied. Killmonger had scorn written all over his expression.

"Daddy, I'm sorry…" she whined.

"Oh fuck, dassit, dassit!" he shouted.

Hot cum shot out in thick ropes all over her cheeks and lips, accompanied by a roar from his throat that enhanced his release. She opened her mouth to catch the last drops of his orgasm and she came all over her own fingers while enjoying the pure ecstasy on his straining face.

"Damn, Portia… oh… baby… shit!"

Another streak of cum shot out, and he aimed it for the other side of her face. His ejaculate dripped down, and she rubbed it onto her chest, showing him how much it meant to have him all over her breasts. He gave a low laugh and stumbled back.

"Whew… damn, girl. I was tryna hold back for so long. Your head game is fucking superb."

She licked her fingers and then stared at him.

"You were playing with me?" she asked.

"Not at first. You're used to simps being satisfied with the bare minimum. I'm a grown-ass man who needs you to show and prove with this dick. It's not for the weak, and you showed the fuck out."

He lifted her up, and she didn't want him to do anything else until she had wiped her face and chest off with a wet wipe. Killmonger hugged and kissed her afterward. They stood in the boat, necking until she couldn't take any more. She climbed him like Santa Claus was bearing gifts and wrapped her legs around him.

"I want you sitting on my mouth," he said between desperate kisses from her lips.

She slid down his body and he situated himself comfortably on the blankets. Portia squatted over his face and planted her pussy on his lips. He let it rest there, feeling the wetness all over before humming and moaning into her flesh.

"Ooh," she moaned, scissoring her clit.

He slapped her fingers away, and she looked down at him. The glow from the lamps made his eyes a liquid brown dream, and he slathered that wide tongue up and down her folds, circling her clit with the tip. He held onto her ass cheeks and she mewled and bit her bottom lip to keep from hollering out his name. Killmonger slapped both of her ass cheeks before sliding his hands under and over her thighs to lock her down on his tongue. He made it stiff, and she lifted herself to let him insert it nice and snug inside of her. Cradling her breasts, Portia went up and down and he fucked her with tongue, lips, and groans that vibrated her folds.

"Killmonger!" she yelled, not caring if pirates, snakes, Mimi, the Coast Guard, or God heard her cries of pleasure.

His tongue was delectable on her pussy and inside of it. The strength of his hands supporting her, his burning gaze rooting her to his lips… everything about him gave her chills. The effort to cum was minimal. Her orgasm shattered her ability to think clearly anymore. She babbled something or other like she was talking in tongues at her old church back in South Carolina. Bucking and yelping made no difference. That man was going to turn her pussy out. She whimpered and fell forward, unable to move any limbs. His laughter at pleasing her bounced all over the cave and she joined him, reveling in the joy that their bodies could share with one another.

Killmonger held Portia carefully in his arms as they kissed.

The taste of the deepest part of her stayed on his tongue and he shared the gift of that with her. She clung to him as if she feared him disappearing into the wet, rainy night. He had to do a patrol and fished around for night vision goggles he found stashed in a sideboard on the boat. Putting on his pants and combat boots, he didn't bother to wear a t-shirt and just tossed on his black jacket. He stuffed the satellite phone into an inside pocket and strapped his Glock around his thigh.

Portia watched him under the blankets, staring up at him with so much lust that it tempted him to forego an island sweep to stay with her. Grabbing an unfinished water bottle, he knelt down next to her and pressed his warm lips against her forehead.

"Keep it hot for me," he said, winking at her.

He wasn't finished with her by a long shot. They only experienced oral sex, each taking turns to taste and learn the other's private parts intimately.

Killmonger trudged out of the cave with Portia's scent on his beard. He placed the night vision goggles on once he was out of her sight. He hiked around, searching the sea even as a light rain came down on him. Without Portia being with him, he could get around fast. He turned on the phone and checked for any missed calls from the Greek Coast Guard. They were operating under extreme weather conditions on their end, despite the mild display on their side. Killmonger was glad that they found a place to hide that shielded them. He hoped the bad weather stayed outside of Crete and didn't follow their rescue unit.

Nothing unusual appeared on the horizon. Confident that they were in the clear, he took a moment to let the soft rain bathe his face. He hiked back to Portia and rinsed himself off before getting back into their boat bed with her naked again. She threw her arms around him like she was his woman, greeting her man after a hard day's work.

Oh, how the tables had turned!

Hiding away turned her into a bubbly, humorous woman who sought beauty all around her. It mesmerized him, watching the glow on her face as the sunrise brought her to tears that morning. She was thankful for the plain food they had to eat, and she didn't complain too much about their situation or bug him about checking the phone more than he did. His leadership and take-charge attitude allowed her to fall back into a space of just living in the present. He liked that version of her and wondered if the ice princess persona would return once they were rescued. Killmonger hoped not.

He sank his tongue back in her eager mouth and they kissed for an hour, stopping to catch their breath and caress each other. Her eyes became dewy for him and she couldn't stop touching him or being hugged up next to him. He made her lay back and played with her clit, dipping his finger inside her pussy just to watch it contract around his fingers, trying to keep them inside.

His dick became a turgid beast and hung heavy between his thighs. There were no condoms available. He had some on the yacht where he thought he might need them if he found a babe to his liking, but the only woman who turned him on was Portia. On the ship, he knew there was no way they would ever hook up. He wanted to fuck the boldness out of her back then, just to wipe that bitch queen attitude off her face. It baffled him at how quickly she wanted to submit to his domination of her body with his. He had suspected she wanted to be dominated, but not that fast.

Killmonger could've busted a nut all over her from the first ten minutes of sucking she did, but he pushed her to the limit to see if she would fight his heckling of her throat game. How he was able to keep control over his release was a miracle. He was ready to blow his load when she spit on his dickhole and cradled his balls in her hand, staring up at him with those formerly insolent cat eyes. Killmonger kept pushing her until she broke and gave him what he wanted. Her apology made him cum so hard. All he could think about was her telling him to shut the fuck up when he told her about herself. That woman got on her knees and sucked the glory out of his dick. Begged to please him. That shit amped him up.

Portia held his dick in her capable hands. They both wanted to fuck.

God!

Nice tits. A dangerous ass. Mouth game beyond ridiculous. How was Quinton not in that woman twenty-four-seven the entire time on that yacht? Portia walked around with that prize pussy, advertised it to the world all week with skimpy swimsuits, and Killmonger regretted not throwing caution to the wind and just stepping to her. Game peeped game. They could fuck and fight afterward. She was most definitely throwing hints he could get it on the yacht, but he stayed professional.

He leaned down and sucked on her neck. She panted, squirming against him, and he fingered her pussy slowly until she squeezed her eyes shut and her mouth fell open in agony.

"Fuck… I wish I could give you what you need, girl," he groaned into her ear.

She touched his scars like they were precious to her.

"You can," she said in a hushed voice.

"Without a condom?" he said.

Her gaze didn't flinch, and she pouted those succulent lips.

"I almost got killed. I'm stranded on an island with a mercenary. A hurricane could blow through here and end us both tonight. I have nothing to lose," she said.

Shit.

Killmonger regarded her face to make sure she was serious.

"I'm checked for STIs every three months," he said.

"Six months for me. I've been with Quinton for a couple of years. We normally use condoms and have unprotected for special occasions only. He's a germaphobe and I'm pretty sure Tiana was his first outside fuck. I'm on the pill, and… well… like I said, tomorrow isn't promised. This entire trip taught me that."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Trust. I want to. Been wanting to."

She grinned and ran her hand over his locs, rolling the end of one between her fingers.

"I have, too. All that teasing was to get your attention."

"You had it the moment you walked on board that yacht. I didn't like you… but I liked your confidence," he said.

He played with the end of one of her braids and fondled a diamond hair jewel.

"Are you like this in private, when you aren't being theatrical with all the spotlights?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Unguarded. Open. Friendly."

"Sometimes. I run with a crowd that I have to have a protective shell with all the time."

"Sad life."

"What about you? You also put on an act. You're not mean all the time," she said.

"I'm direct. There's a difference. My job is life or death in precarious places with dangerous people."

"Have you ever lost an entire team before?"

"No. This was a major hit. Practically overkill. There were about ten men compared to my five, and they were using high-grade explosives. Most pirates want hostages or the ship itself. Those people came there for one thing. Do a wet job and bounce. You and I aren't supposed to be alive, Portia."

He cradled her in his arms. The scent of her hair was sugary sweet, like some exotic fruit and nutmeg. Their ardor cooled with their private thoughts and Killmonger listened to the rush of water lapping onto the cave shore. The wind picked up and howled down from the four-foot hole in the ceiling. He stayed awake and Portia slept deeply, the rise and fall of her chest soothing to him. If she had another nightmare, she'd wake up with him holding her. At two in the morning, he snuck away to patrol again. Heavier storm clouds accumulated in the distance and he expected stronger weather soon. A boom of thunder and spidery streaks of lightning zig-zagged across the sky. He popped the collar on his jacket and used his night vision goggles. A vast emptiness stretched out before him. For all he knew, they were the only people in the entire world. The cell phone had poor reception and the battery life was low. Hell, if no one showed up, they'd have to chance it back on the water. There were paddles and he'd get them to Crete one way or another with his own arm power once all the gas was used. He flipped on the locator beam's distress signal light. Survival was second nature to him. They would make it out.

Killmonger took his time going back to the cave. The darkness, the wind, and the rain comforted his mood.

No more civilian gigs.

He took the job as a favor to Clark, but he missed the offensive action of being in foreign countries. He'd give Clark a piece of his mind when he got back. The men he put together for Killmonger should not have allowed those killers to get that close. He had four men on water detail in all directions, and they allowed a boat to hit them swiftly and deadly. They were all executed, so he doubted they were in on the take. He would've caught on right away that it was a set-up when he first arrived. The attack crew had to have used a submersible to plant the explosives against the hull. It was something he would've done.

A heavier thunderstorm arrived, and he jogged back to the cave.

Portia was still asleep. Mimi was up, digging holes in the back of the cave, too distracted to bark or whine at him for attention. He took off his jacket and boots, climbing back beside Portia for warmth. She had curled into the fetal position under a blanket and looked so vulnerable. The cooler air and rain on his body made him shiver a bit, and he went to make another fire.

By early morning, the storm kicked up and the tide level in the cave increased. It wasn't enough to make them leave because the giant boulders and jagged smaller island formations surrounding the cave kept the larger waves from crashing to shore on them. The gigantic grayish-black clouds made the interior darker, adding to the dreary atmosphere as large raindrops showered their private beach.

Portia ate a cold-weather MRE of scrambled eggs, fruit bars, oatmeal, and a bland trail mix. He made them coffee again and ate his own meal before catching some sleep. With no phone reception and the bad weather making visibility terrible, he could afford to rest for an hour or two. He listened to Portia bathe on the other side of the cave. She hummed with a pleasant voice and spent some time by the fire alone with her dog.

The storm kept them quiet, and they became occupied with other things rather than each other until she found a kit of tiny board games inside a sealed bag. There were checkers, chess, Tic Tac Toe, and a deck of cards. They played speed with the cards and hunkered down to play checkers before lunch. Hunger and lunch skipped them as they got into a serious chess match. Later, they both played with Mimi, letting the dog chase them around the cave until Erik shouted bloody murder and flailed his arms around.

"What is it? What is it?" Porta shrieked, scared out of her wits.

"A spider dropped down on me!"

Portia blinked a few times, then burst out laughing. He swiped at his locs and a quarter-sized furry brown arachnid fell out of his hair and scurried on the sand. Mimi chased after it and they both beat pieces of wood on the ground trying to smash it. The dog gobbled it up and Portia grabbed her stomach from laughing so hard.

"Your big butt was scared of that little thing? I thought a tarantula fell on you!" she cackled.

"It's all the legs that creep me out, and they move real sneaky," he grumbled, embarrassed that he showed a weakness in front of her.

"Poor baby," Portia said, patting his back, "Mimi saved you."

He chased after Portia and lifted her over his shoulder, spanking her backside for teasing him. Another bigger spider dropped from the roof and landed on Portia. She damn near came out of her own skin trying to swipe it out of her hair. Killmonger let her run around like a chicken with its head cut off to teach her a lesson about making fun of him. She walked around with the heebie-jeebies afterward, terrified more spiders would come raining down on them like a horror movie. Rain, thunder, and spiders were forgotten when they crawled back into the boat together for a nap. She traced the shape of his scars with her fingers again, and he rested his chin on her head.

"I know this sounds crazy, but I really like it here with you," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

She nodded against his chest.

"I thought I would go stir crazy, but I'm actually grateful to sit still. Weird, huh? No TV. Internet. People. Just peace. No distractions. No one to impress or look good for. It feels like we're Adam and Eve here."

"No apples or snakes, though," he joked.

"What do you do when you don't work?"

"I sit still. Like this."

"Where?"

"That's classified information."

"Really."

"The less you know about me, the better."

"Is Killmonger even your real name?"

"No."

She never asked for his name. He was glad. She took the hint.

"We'll never see each other again after this," she said.

"No, we won't," he said with finality.

"You make me laugh, and you're a skilled chess player."

"You're not too bad yourself."

Portia sat up and took off her bikini again. Her eyes were loving and drank in his face. She helped him undress, then kissed him all over his face, touching his chin, and giving her lips to him before kissing down his chest, following the trail of hairs below his belly button until she had his dick in her mouth. She bobbed her head, and he said her name softly, praising her for how good she made him feel. Pushing him back, she held his dick upright and aligned it with her opening. He held his breath as she sank down on him. She grunted when she reached the bottom. His dick had her folds stretched all around him tight, creating a snug suction as she went up and down, taking her time. They locked eyes, and the arousal overwhelmed him. He gazed at their connection like he was in a daze and her pussy made his thickness shiny and slick. Portia rode him so well that his back arched and he lifted to press her against his chest as he thrust into her. Up and down she went, caressing her nipples, those expensive, icy-looking fingernails highlighting the hidden treasure that she was beneath all the posturing.

He had looked down on Portia before meeting her, his disdain at her Sugar Baby ways clouding his judgment on who she really was as an individual sans the glitz. Fucking him like that in a hollow cave on a lone island proved to him she was worth pampering and spoiling. If he had the money, he'd spend it on her himself. The pussy taking care of his dick was priceless.

"Turn around," he gasped.

Portia lifted and swung her legs the other way, leaning forward as she wiggled her backside for him. He palmed a fat cheek and her pussy swallowed his dick. She rocked back on him and he was blessed to watch her ass jiggle and his dick stretch her out at the same time. He whimpered in his throat with his entire face scrunched up at the intense pleasure. She rode the tip of his dick, and then placed those diamond nails on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide so he could see her pussy work. He slipped his thumb in her ass, and Portia moaned. She drenched his dick and the gushy sounds harmonized with his groans.

She showed out.

Circling her waist, she twisted her pussy on his dick and he couldn't take it anymore. He slapped her ass and forced her onto her hands and knees. Clapping her cheeks was the goal, and he made Portia call out his name as he gave her what she needed. Her pussy became disrespectful, and he tamed her depths, gripping her waist and deep dicking her nice and slow.

"Killmonger… Killmonger… Killmonger…" she panted.

The need to dominate surged in his loins. Flipping her over, he forced her to take the dick she so richly deserved. The pillow princess vanished and in her place was an erotically in-tune woman with full-body engagement. He threw her legs over his shoulders and cursed at how satisfying her pussy felt all around him. She had to have diamonds on her walls because whatever amount of money rich men spent on her wasn't enough. Her grip on his dick had him moaning and choking up his curse words in his throat. She took him deeper and his glutes clenched tight, helping him pump death strokes into her. The cave was full of squelching and grunts, and he watched their shadows moving on the cave walls from the fire. Her hips wiggled seductively, and he hunched down low to kiss her lips and feel her breasts smashed against his chest. They were beyond fucking at that point, moving into the primal state like they were the first man and woman to ever make love.

Scooting to her side, he held her legs up and stroked her walls from a new angle that knocked the sense out of her. Those pouty lips stayed open and her eyes took on a glazed look as if she couldn't believe what was happening to her. Her breasts bounced with each thrust and she glanced down to watch his dick ruin her. She chewed on her lip when she saw what was happening to her pussy. He snaked his hips and hit another angle within her and she called out to God. He stayed working that spot, stroking it until his body became a stiff plank focused on only one task: making her cum hard on his dick.

She rubbed on her clit, and those pretty nails had his balls moving.

"Baby… I feel it… 'bout to cum…" he gasped.

"You wanna cum in my pretty pussy?"

The wantonness in her voice urged him on.

"Pussy so good… fucking me so good… dick so hard…" he chuffed with abandon

"You want to make a big mess in my pussy?"

Her voice electrified him. It pushed him to give her his best and yet it challenged him like she was internally comparing him to others and he was coming up short. It was arousing, but it irked him too.

"Take it… take Daddy's dick," he grunted.

Her eyes changed, became coquettish, and it threw him off. His skin was on fire and dripped with sweat, and the sound of her voice encouraged him to tame that pussy. She dared him to. Portia's face transformed into a woman who wanted some Daddy dick to control her. Her right hand fondled the nape of his neck and those long nails scraped there with seductive pressure.

"I don't know if I can take all this dick the way you want," she taunted. "So big…"

He groaned, and she latched on to that sign of weakness.

"You're taking it… all this dick," he grunted.

"Are you sure? I'm trying to make it all fit for you," she said, all breathy.

"Oh, fuck!"

What was she doing? Playing coy? She acted like some virgin who had never had dick before. Her tone was ultra-feminine. She tucked the nail of her index finger between her teeth and looked down at his dick stretching those sweet walls. Her eyes were wide with wonder at the sight, and that coquettish energy fed him what he needed. Dominance.

"Nobody fuck you like this?" he grunted.

She shook her head and kept her eyes on his dick, with that finger still in her mouth.

"Fuck my pussy," she said.

She looked at him with sweet, innocent eyes.

"Goddammit!" he cried out. "Spread those pussy lips!"

Portia widened those sticky folds and the sides of her fingers glided along his dick as he gave her all that he had left. She kept her finger in her mouth with her other hand and her beauty pushed him to the brink. He mounted her again in missionary and his sweat fell on her like the rain falling on the water. She kept her legs up, that pussy open, and that damn lone finger between her lips. Her reckless eyes gazed at him and his dick swelled.

"I'm cumming! Oh shiiitttttt, I'm cumminggggg," he yelled.

He shoved his hips forward and Portia pursed her lips. She squirmed and lost the battle to hold on.

"Ohmigod… Killmonger!" she shouted.

Her head fell back and her pussy contracted with strong clenches all along his erection. Their shouts of pleasure intertwined and became one with the back and forth of their bodies squeezing and throbbing together. He caught himself before collapsing on her, pulling out his dick and fisting the last of his cum all over her clit. She was a pool of sweat and satisfaction, and they gasped for air, staring at the cave ceiling. The rain continued to fall.

Portia curled against his chest.

Sleep came fast.

He woke up, and she was gone. So was Mimi.

Killmonger called to them before putting on his clothes and grabbing his pack. It was only early evening, and the rain had stopped. Fat gray clouds still squatted over their island, but the storm's driving power had moved on. He found Portia and Mimi at the peak near the beacon.

"Went for a walk," she said.

He sat down next to them and pet the dog on the head. Mimi licked his hand. Pulling out the binoculars, he checked the sea. A cool breeze ruffled his locs. The wind was still strong, and the water had a few whitecaps.

Wait…

There!

A ship.

Killmonger honed in for the telltale signs of Coast Guard markings. There was a Greek flag waving from the gray and white ship. Greek lettering in big white caps spelled out Hellenic Coast Guard. He watched it approach to make sure it was the real deal before pulling out the flare gun and shooting it. Dark orange smoke shot up high in the sky.

"It's them?" Portia squealed.

"Yep."

She hugged Mimi, and he turned on the emergency cell. The power went out, but he didn't care. He held Portia's hand, and they walked down to the cave. There was nothing to do but push their emergency boat into the water. It had just enough gas left to power them out into the open sea. Killmonger didn't want to wait for them to send a smaller boat. He needed Portia in a safe place fast with Greek government protection.

They sped out on the water, bouncing on the choppy waves. Porta kept looking behind her like she wanted to keep the image of their island in her mind. He gave her his outer shirt to wear on top of her bikini. She curled her legs under her wrap dress.

Killmonger aligned their boat against the large Coast Guard ship and the crew helped Portia up on a side ladder. He tied their boat to the larger one and knotted a rope around Mimi's dog crate so a crew member could help the dog get on board. Finally, he climbed up himself. The captain of the ship greeted them and gave them both blankets and hot coffee. Portia was damn near teary-eyed and she pressed herself against Killmonger, afraid to leave his side.

"Come inside," the captain said when the weather picked up outside.

They followed the man into a busy interior and sat down on cushioned seats that felt good after sitting on the sand and a hard boat bottom. A crew member handed them mugs filled with a thick Greek soup. They ate and Portia asked to use the head. She was led away further into the interior. The weathered-face captain asked him some questions and Killmonger's sixth sense kicked in.

Something was wrong.

There were too many men on the ship not dressed appropriately. Only the captain and a lieutenant had on a proper Greek Coast Guard uniform with their ranks on them. The others had dark clothing without rankings or insignias. The captain gave a weak smile and the perspiration on his forehead didn't go with the cool interior. Killmonger kept his tone normal.

"How soon can we make it back to the mainland?" he asked, thrusting his empty mug out for more hot coffee.

"It will take time. The weather has been tricky. We almost lost your signal," he said.

Killmonger nodded and moved over to a window. He counted the other men outside to get an accurate assessment of what he was up against and thanked his lucky stars that he opted to keep his Glock under his jacket. When he contacted the coast guard for help originally, he kept his identity vague, pretending to be a guest of Quinton. The attack team must've intercepted the Greek Coast Guard for their own nefarious use as a getaway ship. It had become a death trap for him and Portia.

Portia returned, all chipper. Her ice princess personality snapped back like a rubber band. She glanced at him and he pretended things were all good.

"Hey, baby, put Mimi back in her cage. We don't want her running around," Killmonger said.

The forced affection in front of the others surprised her. She walked over to the dog kennel near him and bent down to place Mimi inside it. After she locked the crate, Killmonger slipped an arm around Portia's waist and gently had her sit next to him.

"More soup?" The captain asked.

"No, thank you. When will we get back to Crete? Or is Athens where we're headed?" she asked.

Portia looked at Killmonger, and he sipped on his coffee to keep from answering right away.

"Would you like to rest, Miss Keith?"

The nervous lieutenant sensed the tension that had risen in the galley.

"There's an empty bunk you can sleep in until we reach port," the man said.

His name badge said Makris.

"You should go lay down. I'll check on you later. Take Mimi with you," Killmonger said.

Portia caught on that something was off. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"If there's a door, lock yourself in there," he whispered in her ear.

She kissed his lips and picked up Mimi. Portia showed no fear as she followed Makris. She played it cool and calm, like an iceberg. Good girl, he thought.

Killmonger had fourteen rounds in his Glock. He counted seven false crew members and only two regular ones. The rest of the original crew were dead somewhere on the ship or tossed overboard. He assumed Quinton had escaped on some other watercraft to separate himself from the killers. They wouldn't rush to kill them all until nightfall, with darkness as a cover. Something must've happened to their ship in order for them to risk hijacking a Coast Guard operation.

"She has heart medicine she needs. I forgot to bring it up from the boat we used," Killmonger said. The lie rang true to the men.

"We can have someone go down and get it for you," the captain said.

Vlachos. The captain's name badge gave Killmonger a second to look away from a bulky merc who sized him up.

"It's in a side slot in the back," Killmonger said, following the man out onto the deck again.

The bulky man climbed down the side of the ship and rooted around.

"The back," Killmonger called down.

The man held up his hands.

"Hold on," Killmonger said.

A few more killers came out to watch him as he climbed down. One in the boat. Six up top. Perfect.

"That boat has a lot of tricky compartments," Killmonger said.

A wave buoyed the boat, and they both lost their balance for a second. Killmonger pretended to dig into a slot near the side of the ship and unlatched the boat, letting it float away. He dropped low, pulled out his Glock, and shot the bulky man dead. The man fell over the side with a soft splash. Shots from above popped over his head, but he turned on the motor and glided around the other side. Once he reached the gap he needed, he slammed his hands around the front M60 7.62mm machine gun and blasted at the men. He ripped through four right away. One caught him slipping and clipped Killmonger in his shoulder. It wasn't enough to stop him, but the distraction gave Vlachos and Makris the opportunity to jump the last two killers and wrestle them. Killmonger zipped back toward the ladder again. He hooked the boat and hustled back to the top. Vlachos took a shot in the chest but apprehended one assailant. Makris knocked the gun out of another merc's hand and bashed his head against the deck floor, knocking him out.

Blood pooled and cooled all over the deck with the other dead men.

Portia ran out of seclusion and grabbed him so hard that it knocked the wind out of him.

"Your arm," she said, touching his bleeding wound.

Killmonger shrugged it off.

"We gotta help him," Killmonger said, nodding over to Vlachos.

Vlachos waved them away.

"Bullet passed right through," Vlachos said.

Makris helped the captain back into the galley and tended to both injured men with a first aid kit. They revealed to him the sordid story of how they ran into the armed men on their way to find them, coming across their distressed vessel that had stopped working because an engine fire left them stranded. The hijackers shot their initial crew of eight down to only two when they tried to fight back.

Killmonger was exhausted by the time he tried to rest on a bunk bed. Blood loss tired him out and so did Portia, who fussed over him with tears streaming down her face, thinking she had heard him being killed. She crawled on top of him despite his pain, too frightened to leave his side. He fell asleep to her soft humming and stroking of his locs.

Portia, Makris, and Vlachos arrived in Crete the next morning.

Killmonger had disappeared.

The military boat they escaped with was gone. She relayed the deadly adventure to the press and her photos were blasted worldwide. First came the press tours, then the exclusive paid interviews. A book deal followed along with a movie deal and three-part docuseries. She milked every opportunity to tell her story as the only survivor and was paid handsomely for it.

Returning to New York, she hid out in a penthouse for months, searching all over the internet for any trace of Killmonger. If it had not been for Makris and Vlachos corroborating that the man did indeed exist, she may have convinced herself that he was a figment of her overactive imagination. Two of the killers that survived the Coast Guard ship confessed to being hired by Quinton. A global manhunt seemed never-ending. When billionaires were murdered in cold blood, people cared. She attended memorials to all the victims, making sure she looked fabulous in Thom Browne and Prada fashion with her signature Chanel shades. Portia wasn't close to any of the people she partied with on the yacht, aside from Quinton. However, leaked photos from her private social media account showed merry faces prior to them leaving Athens on the first day of the New Year's trip. It brought comfort to the families, and they invited her to spend weeks in various billionaire enclaves where she spun stories about their rich sons being brave and attempting to save the women. All lies. But it gave the loved ones a sense of closure and peace.

After a year, her life returned to jet-setting and fashion weeks all over again. Her misadventure bolstered her popularity because of the glamorous photos of her being escorted from the Greek Coast Guard ship in her knitted alabaster bikini. For someone experiencing a traumatic event, Portia looked fashionable as fuck.

Media ate up the haunting tale of Quinton living a double life somewhere. Media blasted his life history around the world as the biggest true crime story to come along in years. Many speculated that he had drowned or killed himself because he couldn't be found anywhere. Portia guessed he lived in a country where he couldn't be extradited. The hoopla died down until her book came out. Then there was a buzz about the casting for the movie. Depression set in then.

Portia visited a few therapists, but none could help her cure the anger that sat in her spirit like venom that she couldn't spew out. She wanted Quinton's head on a plate. He needed to pay for what he had done. It didn't matter to her that the people he killed weren't her genuine friends. He ended human lives because of greed. She couldn't get over that he took the bitch route to jumpstart his fortunes. As smart as he was, he couldn't develop or create something new and amazing that made him rich in the first place. An existential dread lived in her gut. Portia couldn't free herself from the lack of justice. Jetting around the world with Mimi in tow didn't heal the pain. New diamonds, furs, and fancy cars lost their luster. Revenge burned in her soul.

She turned toward the dark web to search for Killmonger. Using some of her movie money, she hired the best ex-CIA and former Black Ops agents to help her find her mercenary lover. One former field agent told her the best that could happen was Killmonger would catch wind of her search, but no one could actually contact him. That was good enough.

The Swiss Alps looked like he imagined.

Cold, white, and jagged.

The job called for a remote location and this was as remote as it got. Killmonger rolled the late-model SUV into a long, isolated driveway that hadn't been plowed for a while. He parked when he couldn't drive any further, and dragged a large black duffel bag out of the trunk, along with an arsenal of small weapons in a backpack. The thick powdery snow cushioned and muffled his steps. All the lights were on in the mountain luxury chalet he came to. His target was inside. The cloudless night sky made the snow glittery with the moonlight and security lights surrounding the property.

Cold air made puffy clouds of his breath. His lungs burned from the exertion and altitude. He tapped his wrist computer and all the security cameras shut down within the chalet. The woman inside had a wineglass in her hand and talked on a cell phone, clueless that he was outside approaching with stealth. The lights in the interior winked out, then came back on suddenly. She turned her head and stared out through the large glass windows. Her eyes glossed over the valley below that was filled with snow that would have more dumped by midnight. Flakes had already fallen down on his way up a winding road.

He waited.

The front door opened, and the beauty stepped out in a long white fur coat reminding him of Goldie from the old Black flick, "The Mack". She still rocked expensive diamonds, and Ma carried herself like the ice princess she would always be.

Portia.

He stepped into the light and she grinned, relief creasing her brow and her lush lips spreading into the biggest smile. His heart dropped for a moment. She almost looked like she did back on their island.

"Killmonger," she said.

Her voice made him move toward her. She helped him with the small backpack and he hauled the duffel up the steps and into a cozy, warm interior. A fire burned in the fireplace and Mimi jumped around his legs.

"Hey rat dog," he teased.

He dropped the duffel near the door and lifted the dog. Portia took off her coat, revealing the slinky silver dress with the low-cut front he admired before he came in.

"Bring yourself over here," he said, dropping Mimi to the floor.

She sauntered to him, walking like a runway model, exaggerating her hips as she moved and draped her arms around his neck. He inhaled her lovely scent and memories rushed back of him and her alone… making love. Killmonger kissed her first, and she opened her mouth to envelop all the warmth of his tongue.

Two years.

They hadn't been in contact with each other in two years since he disappeared from her life. He went back to work for Clark and dropped off the radar soon after. The fame of their adventure dazzled his eyes when he went to a movie theater in Morocco and watched a film that was almost true. The actress that played Portia was gorgeous, but she lacked aloofness and sublime sensuality. Their sex scenes were amplified and gratuitous. There were long scenes of them fucking in water that never happened, and also one of them screwing on the Coast Guard ship. Also, untrue. The actor that was supposed to be him wasn't even a close approximation of Killmonger, but women loved him at the box office and the film became a blockbuster. The docuseries blew up, too. Portia became a media star and super-rich by doing nothing except being beautiful and caught up in some greedy foolishness. Some girls had all the luck with pretty privilege. The anomaly was her being a beautiful Black woman with an intriguing action-adventure-romance story. It did not shock him when Hollywood tried to white-wash the film by recasting Portia as a white blonde. That idea dropped, but they did cast a Black biracial British actress to play her. Think pieces blew up around that.

He got word of her searching for him.

It was only a matter of time. He thought of her often as he worked throughout the Middle East and West Africa. His notifications blew up during fashion weeks and he scrolled timelines to see what she had on and found out how her life was going. She dated often, but nothing serious. Her mystique intensified and everyone wanted her at their major events and parties.

He sensed her unhappiness.

Quinton, getting away with murder, rubbed too many white, rich people the wrong way. A Black man double-crossing billionaires and profiting from it... alive somewhere? Unheard of. Portia survived with the sting of betrayal hovering around her.

Killmonger smacked her ass, and she gave him the glass of wine in her hand. He drank it down, and she took it away, resting it on a side table.

The duffle moved.

Mimi growled and barked at the large black canvas bag and Killmonger knelt down, unzipping it. Stuffed inside was Quinton, tied and gagged. Portia picked up the smaller backpack she carried into the chalet for Killmonger. She opened it and he moved his hand around in it.

"Your choice of weapon, Ma," Killmonger said.

Portia lifted a modified Maxim 9 with a built-in silencer.

"What a way to ring in the New Year," she said, kissing him.

She dropped to one knee and peered at her prey.

"Hello, Quinton. Long time no see, baby," she said.

The iciness of her voice chilled Killmonger. Quinton's desperate eyes pleaded for mercy. She would give him none.

Portia zipped the bag up and stuffed the Maxim 9 back into the pack. She grabbed Killmonger's hand and pulled him toward some stairs.

"I'll save him for midnight when the fireworks go off. Right now, I want you," she purred.

Killmonger followed his ice princess. They had some reacquainting to do in the privacy of a luxury bedroom with fresh snow falling outside.

"Happy New Year," he whispered before kissing her all over.

A.N.:

Brought an oldie but goodie back! I first published this on here back on October 11, 2022, a month before "Wakanda Forever" came out. I thought I would expand this into a longer piece and indie publish it with some other stuff I took down from here, but I decided to put it up again because we need fun things to read in these daunting times with Cheeto dust back in office. Enjoy and please reblog!

[dekariosclan]

This may be too vague of a question or too complicated to answer, so please feel free to disregard if you’d like, but how do you think Gale would feel about/act towards/perceive a Tav that is from our world? Like whatever the circumstances that led to it, the Tav that he and the party go on this adventure with is someone who got completely snatched from our universe by the nautiloid?

Thanks as always for the wonderful Gale thoughts & headcanons! (Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go manifest so that I can smooch a certain wizard…)

Ahh Anon, it’s the ultimate dream—to never have to answer another work email because you’ve been transported to a land where AI, social media, and billionaire f*ckwits don’t exist 🥹

Yes, yes, there’s brain tadpoles, world-ending consequences, your likely impending death, etc. etc. All perfectly worth the trade-off in my opinion.

But how would Gale react to this odd individual who keeps referring to bewildering things from their culture like “Texting” and “The Inter Net” and “Move-E’s.” ??? And most shocking of all: they have NO concept of magic?!?

Well! Gale would be MOST intrigued by this person! Here he’d thought githyanki culture was fascinating, but this “Earth” that Tav arrived from makes githyanki culture seem positively mundane.

Of course he would eagerly volunteer to teach Tav magic; it would be absolutely critical that they at least grasp a basic knowledge of it, for their own survival as well as the group’s, and in return he would ask that they tell him everything about their home world. He would have a great many questions, after all.

Anon, I don’t think it’s too farfetched to believe that Gale’s heart would begin to flutter during their very first lesson together, as soon as Tav expressed wonder and awe at Gale’s most basic magic teachings.

And he would be delighted with the patience they showed at answering his questions, as well as the multitude of questions they had for him in return. Such fascinating conversation!

Plus, he’d find it rather endearing to watch them trying to navigate Faerun and their new surroundings. Of course, he’d watch them simply to be sure they weren’t in any danger—not for any other reasons, no, absolutely not!—and he’d make sure he was always available to assist them in any way he could…

And his favourite part of each day would be when Tav would make their way over to him to discuss their latest discovery, and ask him more questions, and look at him with that beautiful, incomparable smile, and…

…

In summary anon, I think Gale might fall faster for a Tav from our world than he would for one from his own.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Velvet Sin & Clandestine Vows - Getting *ahem ahemed* by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party!

Minors DNI/Implied Cheating but not really/Shameless Smut/My First Smut

Summary: Nanami X F!Reader Porn with plot if you squint Nanami at a bougie party? Weird. Nanami getting dragged into a bathroom with a woman who isn't his wife? Even weirder. What’s hotter than luxury, mystery, and terrible decision-making? Spoiler: nothing. Let the chaos (and a closet with better taste than Gojo) ensue. Or Getting Railed by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party! This fic started as a joke & spiraled into a mix of billionaire aesthetics, deadpan sass, & unhinged party vibes. Buckle up—it’s classy, messy, & totally Nanami-approved. 💅 #Rewritten since I hated the first draft. TW: Maybe Cheating

A/N: This is my first time writing smut of any kind so let me know if it hits the spot ( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖) Y’all, I swear, Nanami is loyal as hell, but who doesn’t love a little tension and mystery? If you’re living for the luxury or just here for the smut, drop a comment or a kudos—your chaos feeds mine. Cheers, besties! 🍸

The road twisted like a serpent through a dense forest, the towering pines stretching skyward, their shadows merging into a dark canvas under the fading sun. As Nanami’s Aston Martin DBS Superleggera glided past the last cluster of trees, the view opened into a scene pulled from the pages of an expensive dream.

The estate stood by a tranquil lake , its surface a sheet of liquid sapphire, mirroring the golden hues of the evening. The mansion, impossibly grand, didn’t merely rise—it commanded the horizon, almost otherworldly.

Towering walls of smooth stone enclosed the property, their minimalist design interrupted by intricate wrought-iron gates that whispered exclusivity rather than screamed it. AI-quipped security cameras, seamlessly embedded into the structure, blinking like mechanical sentinels, their presence a silent testament to caution wrapped in discretion. Guards in impeccably tailored suits patrolled the perimeter, some with guns, some with drones, some with androids, some with canines, their demeanor more akin to that of secret service agents than traditional staff.

The driveway stretched before him, a sleek ribbon of obsidian stone that gleamed like polished onyx under strategically placed lighting. The circular courtyard at the end was a gallery of excess : a Koenigsegg Jesko , a Bugatti Chiron , a Maserati Folgore , a Mercedes-Maybach S-Class , a Cadillac Celestiq , and a Rolls-Royce Phantom sat gleaming among other cars, their black, forest green or electric blue flawless exteriors reflecting the golden glow of vintage lampposts.

The lawns rolled outward like an emerald sea, interrupted by marble fountains with sculptures so detailed they seemed to breathe. At the edge of the estate, a private dock cradled a yacht —a floating palace that promised indulgence on the water. Above, the faint hum of helicopter rotors signaled rooftop landings, where multiple sleek, futuristic aircrafts waited in perfect formation.

The mansion itself was a contradiction brought to life. Its towering facade bore sharp lines and elegant curves, an architectural ballet where glass and steel met aged stone and brushed brass, each material woven into a seamless tapestry of power and refinement. High ceilings soared above, the kind that made you feel small without making you feel insignificant. The structure breathed genius—an intellect so vast it had turned ambition into reality.

As Nanami pulled up, the double doors opened before he even stepped out, as though the house had been expecting him. Inside, the ambiance shifted into a warm, inviting opulence. The grand hall shimmered under crystal chandeliers that fractured light into golden rain. Polished marble floors reflected the glow, amplifying the sense of space, while floor-to-ceiling windows turned the lake into a living painting framed by midnight silk drapes.

Walking in, he adjusted his Tateossian 18K gold cufflinks out of habit, the gold gleaming briefly in the chandelier light. The fabric of his Tom Ford silk Charmeuse shirt cooled against his skin as he rolled up his sleeves neatly, a testament to effort without indulgence. His tailored Mohair trousers—his entire outfit, his wife’s suggestion—fit him perfectly, a fact he acknowledged with a silent nod to her exquisite taste.

He knew she had spent more time selecting them than he ever would. She had an eye for these things, a maddening precision that made him trust her implicitly. He'd let her spend a good amount on tonight's party outfit to blend in with his office crowd, even though price tags were the least of his concerns. His wife, however, was a different story. Her taste was so particular that she rarely found anything worth buying at a store. But once she did, if it was casual, it would likely be inexpensive. However, if it was anything work- or party-related, it would undoubtedly carry a hefty price tag

The party coursed through the mansion like a heartbeat. In one ballroom , laughter mingled with the clinking of glasses as soft jazz played from hidden speakers. A smaller, more intimate space pulsed with energy, decked out like a private nightclub , where a few couples swayed to Spanish music under the prismatic glow of lights. Staff moved seamlessly among the crowd; their movements choreographed perfection, while their uniforms—a balance of practicality and haute couture—highlighted the wealth that surrounded them.

Each corner of the estate exuded thought and precision. From the soft, ambient lighting casting shadows on minimalistic art pieces to the way every surface seemed untouched yet lived in, the house wasn’t just a home; it was a living entity—one that whispered of brilliance, extravagance, and untold secrets.

Soon, before he knew it, corporate small talk had already grated on him; he’d barely resisted the urge to check his watch. Conversations about ‘exciting’ fiscal projections felt like sandpaper on his nerves, but years of navigating boardrooms had honed his stoic armor to perfection. He tilted his head just enough to feign interest in a junior analyst’s enthusiastic recounting of how they saved 0.5% on operational costs last quarter.

“Impressive,” he muttered, his voice so flat it was unclear whether he meant it or not. The analyst beamed anyway, oblivious.

His whiskey remained mostly untouched, a mere prop for these tedious rituals. He glanced down at the gold trim of the glass and thought fleetingly about hurling it through one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows—not out of anger, but for something more stimulating than listening to Steve from Compliance recount his golf trip.

“Nanami-san!” Steve called out, loud enough to turn heads. “What’s your handicap? Bet you’re deadly on the green.”

Nanami turned slowly, blinking once as if the words needed extra time to register. “I don’t play golf, Steve,” he replied, deadpan. “I have a job.”

Steve’s laugh was loud and awkward, his ego crumpling in on itself. Nanami allowed himself a flicker of satisfaction before turning back to the entrance, silently daring someone interesting to walk in and save him.

A marketing executive drifted over, a glass of champagne precariously balanced in one hand, their other already extended for a handshake. “Nanami, old sport!” the exec crowed, as though they’d survived war trenches together instead of working in adjacent departments.

“Hardly,” Nanami said, shaking their hand briefly before folding his arms, an unmistakable signal that the conversation was over before it began.

Then the intern appeared like a fly buzzing near a fresh wound, her enthusiasm bordering on suffocation. “Nanami-san, you look great tonight,” she gushed. “Is that Tom Ford? I could tell from a mile away!”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes the moment he saw her making her way towards him from the other corner of the room. Her extremely short gold dress barely covered anything, highly inappropriate for co-worker parties. Where was HR when you needed them?

He regarded her with the kind of cool detachment that made people second-guess speaking to him in the first place. His response was little more than a nod, a gesture so dismissive it might as well have been punctuation. “Yes,” he replied curtly, sipping his whiskey for the first time just to end the interaction. The burn of alcohol was preferable to enduring another comment.

“I’ve never seen you in anything so... relaxed ,” she added, eyes wide as though he’d arrived in a Hawaiian shirt instead of a $25,000 ensemble.

Nanami considered a sarcastic remark— yes, I’m positively unhinged tonight with my gold cufflinks and tailored trousers —but decided against it. “Enjoy the party,” he said instead, his tone as warm as a January morning.

Her persistence, however, was unwavering, her enthusiasm grating on his last nerve. She was the type who delivered coffee he never asked for, lunches he didn’t need, flushed cheeks, and doe-eyed stares he couldn’t unsee. What he had initially dismissed as professional eagerness was now so obviously a crush that even the office ficus had likely noticed. He didn’t mind admirers so long as they kept their distance, but this one was suffocating. Tonight, he had a plan: feed her to his wife .

He let her ramble, tuning her out while his colleagues began their usual background drone: glowing self-praise about the last quarter’s financial performance. Occasionally, Nanami nodded, just enough to seem engaged while maintaining an expression that screamed, I’d rather be anywhere else .

Then a peer from Finance leaned in, his smirk as oily as his hair gel. “You’re quite the magnet tonight, Nanami. What’s your secret?”

“Competence,” Nanami replied, without missing a beat.

The peer’s laugh faltered into a cough as he quickly excused himself. Events like this always managed to sap what little energy he had left after work. First, they stole every waking moment with deadlines and deliverables, then they expected polite socializing in his so-called free time. It was, in his opinion, borderline sadistic. He took another sip of his whiskey, wishing—not for the first time—that he hadn’t shown up. He didn’t much care to mingle, despite appearances. These events were breeding grounds for insincerity, where pleasantries masked ulterior motives. His colleagues jumped him, juniors seeking advice on everything from office politics to investment strategies, while his peers probed for weaknesses under the guise of camaraderie.

Then, previously flanked by armed bodyguards, she walked in.

He felt it before he saw it—the slight shift in the room’s energy, the way conversations seemed to falter for half a second. When his eyes finally found her, it was like everything else dimmed in comparison.

Time didn’t stop—not in some romanticized way, but it slowed just enough to emphasize her entrance. Classy, confident, and untouchable. The sound of her heels on marble cut through the hum of conversation, subtle but commanding. The red rubies on her dress flowed like molten lava, catching the chandeliers’ light with every step. The slit revealed long, toned legs that seemed almost deliberately designed to catch the attention of every person in the room. Her movements were languid but purposeful, as though she were fully aware that the entire party had turned their focus toward her and didn’t mind in the slightest. The siren-like glint in her eyes warned anyone brave enough to approach.

Nanami’s grip tightened imperceptibly on the whiskey glass, his chest rising and falling in a controlled breath. His gaze locked on her instantly, though he couldn’t pinpoint what drew him first—the way her dress hugged her or the quiet authority in her stride. One moment, he was half-listening to his coworkers drone about quotas; the next, he was captivated .

“Who is she?” The intern whispered, her tone laced with poorly concealed jelousy.

Nanami didn’t look away, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and even.

She didn’t need to seek attention—it sought her. Women flocked to her, showering her with warm greetings and effusive compliments. She reciprocated their affection with gracious smiles and her charm disarming even the iciest socialites. The men weren’t as brave, unsure whether to admire her or cower under her gaze—her siren-like aura daring any man to try their luck.

Except for one idiot.

Fucking Gojo.

Nanami’s jaw tightened as his white-haired colleague made a spectacle of himself, wrapping his arms around her from behind like an old friend reunited. Her face scrunched in irritation, a flash of disdain that Nanami couldn’t help but savor. But then she turned, her expression softening as she saw who it was. To his dismay, she hugged him back.

Nanami’s fingers curled harder around the glass of whiskey, the gold trim biting into his palm. Jealousy wasn’t his style— not like he wasn’t already married . But Gojo was a different story. The man had a knack for testing limits, his arrogance as boundless as his charm.

She, on the other hand, was the embodiment of contradictions: sharp yet soft, fun yet untouchable, her elegant demeanor veiling something far more dangerous. As if on cue, her eyes scanned the room lazily, not in search of anyone but allowing people to search for her.

And then their gazes locked. Her lips quirked into a knowing smirk, a silent dare.

Nanami’s breath hitched. Her smile—a challenge, a tease, a warning. His pulse quickened, a subtle betrayal against his otherwise calm exterior.

The intern beside him shifted uncomfortably, clearly feeling the weight of the unspoken connection between the two. Nanami almost pitied her. Almost. Definitely not.

His focus remained on the woman; she approached the bar with the kind of confidence that made the world rearrange itself around her. Even the bartender seemed to straighten his posture, offering her a champagne flute without so much as a question. Her long fingers, adorned with a curious glove-like jewelry piece , brushed the glass as she murmured her thanks, her tone effortlessly polite but laced with disinterest.

He didn’t notice the minutes slipping by; time blurred under the soft hum of chandeliers and the muted conversations he was no longer part of. Her every movement consumed his attention, the sway of her hips in that red silk dress a calculated provocation.

When she slipped through the gilded archway leading toward the bathrooms, his decision was already made.

Keeping his drink down, Nanami barely registered the figure stepping into his path until he heard the familiar sing-song voice that grated worse than nails on glass. “Nanami! Where’s your wife? Haven’t seen her yet tonight,” his rival cooed, wearing his trademark smug grin that Nanami fantasized about erasing.

“Still at work,” Nanami replied smoothly, his tone devoid of emotion but cutting enough to silence further prying. He didn’t slow, leaving behind muttered speculations about his sudden interest in someone other than his wife .

The hallways had the richness of the place amplified. The further he moved from the party, the quieter it became, the noise receding into a distant hum. The mansion’s grandeur became starker in the silence. High ceilings arched above, their ornate crown moldings gilded with gold that caught the soft light of sconces. The black marble floors shimmered under his polished shoes, stretching endlessly toward the private quarters. Staff passed like shadows flitting through the ethereal glow of this labyrinthine estate.

He paused in front of the bathroom door, glossy black with intricate gold fixtures, left slightly ajar as though inviting him in. The faintest sliver of light spilled out against the marble.

Knock. Knock. Two taps. Firm. Purposeful.

The response was immediate. The door cracked open, and before he could utter a word, her hand shot out, grabbing his shirt and yanking him inside with a force that surprised him.

The door closed behind them with a soft thud as he was shoved against it, followed by the decisive click of the lock. Her scent lingered in the air, both grounding and intoxicating, cutting through the bathroom . Then her mouth was on his, hot and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Not even a hello?” He murmured against her lips, his tone low, strained, yet laced with wry humor.

“Hello,” she whispered mockingly, her voice syrupy sweet, before pulling him back down. Her nails grazed the nape of his neck, sending an electric jolt through him.

Oh, she was definitely a siren. He thought as she drew him in with effortless ease, leaving him half-convinced she could drag him into the ocean and he’d thank her for it.

Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, deft yet impatient. When one refused to cooperate, she let out a soft growl, yanking hard enough to send buttons scattering across the tiled floor.

“They’re custom,” Nanami deadpanned, his voice thick with effort. “My wife chose them.”

“No wonder they’re ugly,” she shot back, her smirk as sharp as a blade. “Send me the bill.”

Her sass drew a low chuckle from him, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. She was cutting through his composure so easily, leaving him disarmed in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

In a swift motion, he flipped their positions, pinning her against the full-length mirror. Her front hit the glass with a muted thud, the chill drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. For a moment, he held her there, his gaze sweeping over her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, pupils blown wide with a mix of defiance and desire.

His reflection caught his eye in the mirror—a man undone, his hair disheveled, his usually sharp expression softened by raw hunger. He barely recognized himself, and for some reason, that didn’t bother him.

“Temptress. You’ve already got me obsessed,” his voice dark as he leaned down to press his lips to the curve of her ear.

“Stop talking,” she countered, her tone dripping with impatience. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him groan softly.

He obliged.

The kiss turned feral, finesse abandoned in favor of raw, unfiltered need. His hands roamed, the fabric slipping against her skin like water.

Once she turned in his arms, more of his buttons clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space as she ran her fingers on his chest then abs. The room filled with their gasps and whispered curses, the sterile luxury of the bathroom a backdrop to the pandemonium unfolding. She took off her handpiece, chucking it on the counter just to feel his skin against her fingertips unhindered.

Her scent was everywhere now, filling his lungs, embedding itself in his memory. It was familiar in a way, like déjà vu dancing on the edge of recognition. Unsettling, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.

“Careful,” she murmured against his lips, her voice teasing. “You might just fall for me.”

Nanami pulled back slightly, enough to meet her gaze, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “Highly unlikely,” he replied, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk.

“Your loss,” she quipped, her voice light, but her hands circled around his shoulders, pulling him back toward her.

Whatever this was—whatever dangerous game they were playing—Nanami knew one thing: he didn’t want it to end.

The bathroom’s air carried a subtle mix of sandalwood, bergamot and cedarwood, understated yet lingering—a scent that seemed designed to make every breath feel curated, the kind of understated opulence that whispered money rather than screamed it

Yet for all its grandeur, it wasn't the decor that took center stage. It was the mess unfolding next to the countertop, where passion replaced polish.

Nanami now had her pressed against the large, mirror-backed counter, its polished surface now marred with the aftermath of their urgency—smudged fingerprints, scattered toiletries, and the faint condensation of their mingled heat. The cool marble against her back seemed to amplify the fire between them.

His grip was firm yet restrained, one hand steadying her thigh while the other trailed upward, tracing the daring slit of her dress with deliberate slowness. His fingers paused at the neckline, the silk sliding under his touch like water. His hold spoke of possession, but his eyes, half-lidded and burning, betrayed something deeper—curiosity, defiance, and a hunger he rarely let surface.

She kissed him again, her lips a demand he had no intention of denying. Teeth scraped against his lower lip, the sting pulling a soft groan from him that melted into a low chuckle. His hands roamed with precision, finding her waist, her hips, her breasts—each touch firm, unapologetic, and met with a sharp inhale or muffled moan. Every touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and disarray.

He lifted her with ease onto the countertop in one fluid motion. The chilled mirror behind her elicited a gasp as her dress slid higher at her thighs. Her legs tightened instinctively around him, pulling him closer.

“Not bad,” she teased breathlessly, her voice a mix of amusement and provocation.

Nanami’s lips quirked into a rare smirk as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “I aim to impress.”

Her laugh was soft, intoxicating, and far too knowing. “You’re getting there.”

Her scent enveloped him now—a crisp, briny ocean breeze tinged with something wild and woody, a sharp contrast to the muted, earthy warmth of the bathroom. It was a siren’s scent, designed to disarm, to enthrall, and it worked far too well.

The sounds of their frenzy filled the room, chaotic yet rhythmic. Her nails dragged along his back, leaving faint crescent imprints as if marking her territory.

Then, with a devilish smirk, he dropped to his knees, his large hands splaying across the backs of her thighs.

“On your knees already?” She started, her voice faltering as he pushed the fabric of her dress higher. His lips ghosted over her inner thigh, his breath warm and teasing.

“You talk too much,” he murmured, his tone flat but edged with mischief.

Her laugh turned into a gasp as he tore through the delicate lace of her underwear with his teeth, the sound of ripping fabric punctuated by her sharp intake of breath.

His mouth found her core, hot and demanding; his tongue moved with deliberate precision, drawing broken whispers from her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, long nails digging into his scalp as she arched into him, every nerve alight with sensation.

Each touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and chaos. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as she raised her head, her eyes wide at the sight of him.

When his fingers joined the fray—one, then two, then three—she let out a muffled cry, her hands trembling as they gripped his hair tighter. The rhythm turned torturous, each stroke a ploy to keep her teetering on the edge.

“Quiet,” he murmured against her, though the command was half-hearted at best.

Her laugh, shaky and breathless, cut through the haze. “Make me.”

He obliged, taking off his shirt & shoving it into her mouth to muffle her moans.

The room, a masterpiece of design and decadence, bore silent witness to their undoing. The perfection of its lines, the care in its curation—all of it had melted away, leaving only raw, unbridled chaos in its place.

Her body trembled, hips bucking against his mouth. His tongue and fingers were moving in perfect harmony. Her mewles grew higher in pitch, her body arching further as the tension began to pool in her belly.

Nanami’s grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into her hips to hold her steady as her body trembled beneath him. Her moans, muffled by his discarded shirt, vibrated against his chest as he felt the waves of her release pulse through her. She clawed his scalp, a claim he wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t enjoy.

When she finally collapsed against the mirror, her breath came in uneven bursts, fogging the glass behind her. Her flushed face, her dress still bunched at her waist, chest rising and falling as aftershocks wracked her frame left her looking like Mayhem personified. Still, he didn’t stop, his tongue lapping up every drop of her release like she was the finest wine.

Few moments passed, & Nanami stood, brushing the back of his hand against his lips, catching the faint taste of her. He was the picture of disheveled restraint—his hair tousled, his chest bare, and his trousers hanging low on his hips. The hunger in his eyes, however, was anything but restrained.

His gaze lingered on her as he reached for the straps of her dress. Tugging them down, he exposed her bare chest, the fabric sliding away like water until it pooled uselessly at her waist. Her breasts bounced with the movement, drawing a low growl from him that rumbled deep in his chest.

“Perfect,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he leaned down. His lips closed over one breast, flicking her nipple with his toung, while his hand found the other, his touch alternating between firm and teasing. She gasped, her back arching off the mirror as he bit gently before soothing with his tongue, leaving her gasping & mumbling incoherently, her voice ragged but threaded with laughter—the kind that would have thrown a lesser man off balance. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” She spoke against the fabric in her mouth.

He paused, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “You started it.”

She smirked, sharper than the edge of the counter, biting into her legs. “And I’ll finish it.” She gestured.

Her hands fumbled with his waistband, still trembling but determined. The flicker of impatience in her eyes was oddly endearing, though he’d never admit it. Nanami stepped back slightly, watching as she struggled with his belt, her fingers clumsy but relentless, then the same belt clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space.

When she finally freed his cock, her hand paused holding it, her eyes widening as her lips parted slightly.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teased, his voice dropping into that smooth, sardonic tone.

“Shut up,” she muttered, voice muffled by the shirt.

He bit down lightly on her neck, one hand busy kneading her breast, while the other left faint crescent moons in the flesh of her ass.

Despite her reservations, her hand moved, slow at first, tentative strokes exploring him with a curiosity that bordered on reverence. The low "fuck" that escaped his lips emboldened her, and her fingers became bolder—squeezing at the tip, letting her thumb tease the slit, earning sharp hisses from him.

His control, usually ironclad, wavered, catching himself before her touch unraveled him entirely.

“Enough,” he growled, his hand wrapping around hers as he guided his cock to her.

She braced herself, her legs parted further instinctively as Nanami growled, guiding his cock toward her slick entrance. She mewled softly as he deliberately didn’t push in, instead teasing her, the thick head of his cock gliding against her swollen folds. The wet slide was maddening, the tension building as he refused to give her what she wanted. Her breath coming in shallow bursts as the tension coiled between them like a spring wound too tightly. Her eyes flashed with impatience, and the look of anger made him smirk through his own restraint. Then she hissed something, muffled, her voice low and threaded with irritation.

Nanami’s smirk was infuriating. “Patience.”

That patience didn’t last long. With a sharp thrust, he pushed inside her, his jaw clenching as she clenched around him, her walls tight and pulling him deeper. He moved slowly at first, letting her adjust; the intensity of the moment mirrored in their matched gasps and muffled curses.

Once he was fully sheathed, the restraint snapped. He withdrew almost completely before slamming back in, forcing a loud, uncontrollable moan from her.

His pace turned brutal, his hips slamming against hers with a force that made the marble countertop tremble beneath them. Her cries morphed into curses, each one sharp and biting, and directed at him with a venom that only fueled his hunger.

“You—oh my God—” she let out a muffled gasp, head falling back against the mirror as he drove her higher.

Nanami leaned down, yanking the shirt from her mouth as he captured her lips in a messy, heated kiss. Her teeth immediately bite his lower lip, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. Their tongues clashed, the kiss more battle than affection, each one pushing and pulling, neither willing to yield.

Breaking away to catch his breath, Nanami's thrusts didn’t falter.

“Still talking?” he muttered against her lips.

“Shut up,” she replied, biting him again, the taste of him & herself lingering on her tongue.

His hips slammed against hers, forcing cries from her throat. Her nails raked down his back, desperate, as though she needed them to fuse on a molecular level.

Despite his relentless pace, his lips softened, trailing kisses along her jawline, down her neck, and finally to her breasts. He nipped and sucked at the delicate skin; his attention split between breaking her apart with his cock and worshipping the parts of her he loved most.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room—a brutal rhythm that matched the pounding of her heartbeat. His hands roamed over her body, his nails leaving faint crescent moons in her thighs, her back, wherever he could reach.

Her body arched into him, trembling & walls tightening as another wave of pleasure threatened to overtake her. He knew she was close; his hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit and circling it with a precision that left her gasping.

Her reaction was instant as she came with a sharp, keening cry, muffled when he cupped a hand over her mouth, entire body clenching around him as her nails dug into his shoulders.

“She’s sucking me in... so tight,” he murmured, voice hoarse, as his control finally broke. Movements turning erratic as he buried himself deep, his groan muffled against her neck. His eyes fluttered shut as his own climax surged through him, leaving him breathless and trembling. He barely managed to catch himself before collapsing onto her as the aftershocks rolled through him.

Two forces of chaos colliding. Neither of them moved, just staying for a bit; she rubbed his back as they caught their breaths, the occasional tremor running through her as she adjusted to the lingering sensitivity.

The bathroom was a battlefield of indulgence and chaos. Perfume bottles lay toppled on the black marble counter, the delicate crystal shimmering under the ambient lighting. A faint mist lingered in the air, clouding the oversized mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling, capturing distorted reflections of disheveled hair, flushed skin, and heat that had yet to fully dissipate. The mingling scents of bergamot, cedar, and salt—the sharp tang of the ocean—clung to the air, layered with the undeniable intimacy of their aftermath. Despite the mess around them, the silence between them felt clean, untouched by the outside world.

Soon her fingers were idly tracing patterns on his back, grazing over faint red marks she’d left moments before. When she finally broke the silence, her voice was teasing but warm, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Your technique hasn’t changed.”

Nanami froze, the words cutting through the lingering haze like a cold blade. He pulled back just enough to study her face, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“You heard me,” she replied, her tone deliberate and light as she brushed her fingers along his jaw. Her touch was deceptively soft, almost disarming.

Before he could spiral into overthinking, she laughed—a sound both melodic and cutting, slicing through his composure with surgical precision. “Relax, Mr. Nanami,” she teased, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’m just grateful for the first million you invested in my company when no one else would even hear me out.”

The tension in his shoulders eased as realization dawned, corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “Mrs. L/N,” he said dryly, his voice laced with equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Should I prepare my chequebook again?”

“Always,” she quipped, her smirk softening as she leaned up to kiss him. Her lips brushed against his with a familiarity that belied the game they’d been playing all evening.

“You’re still mine, Kento,” she murmured against his ear—almost biting them, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down his spine.

Straightening himself, hand lingering at her waist, he pulled her closer to hold as the reality of her presence grounded him. When they finally pulled apart, her tone shifted. “Nice house, by the way.”

“Thank you, Mrs. L/N,” he replied, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The simple gesture felt intimate, grounding, a contrast to the disarray they’d left in their wake. He arched a brow, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Though I do have to ask—what was the dress for?”

Her smirk deepened, her silence deliberate.

“Y/N,” he pressed, his voice carrying a mix of affection and exasperation. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“I was informed that you looked miserable out there,” she said simply, shrugging with nonchalance that only made her look more self-assured. “Your coworkers are vultures. I couldn’t just stand by and watch you suffer.”

His exhale was slow, measured, but his forehead dropped against hers, his voice softening. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me plenty,” she countered, her hands sliding over his chest with a teasing confidence. “But I’m not done yet. My company just hit a billion-dollar valuation, which means—"she smirked, her tone mock-serious—"you can finally quit working for those corporate overlords. Effective immediately.”

Nanami blinked, her words settling in slowly. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, she cut him off with a single raised finger.

“And don’t start with the ‘backup plan’ speech,” she added, rolling her eyes in dramatic exasperation. “I’ve secured enough for the next fifteen generations to sit around and squander. You’re free, Ken. ”

He let out a long exhale, relief washing over him like a tide pulling him out to calmer seas. His hands tightened gently at her waist as he pulled her closer, his forehead brushing hers again.

“I can finally retire,” he mused, a rare chuckle breaking the steady timbre of his voice. “What a dream.”

Her grin was wicked and teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll deck you out with butlers, drivers, private pilots—the works.”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” she said, her voice lighter now, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before stepping down. She fixed her dress, the fabric shimmering under the soft lighting as if it had never been touched. After quickly rinsing & drying her hands, she shuffled for something in the drawer below the sink counter, then gestured Nanami to turn around, who obliged and then winced as she sprayed antiseptic healing spray on her nail scratches on his back. Then, putting it back with one hand while she rubbed his shoulder with the other, soon she adorned her handpiece again.

“Now, pack your bags. We’re going on a month-long vacation. We’ve barely seen each other this quarter.” Her tone practical, though the playful glint in her eyes was still sparkling while Nanami, who knelt on one knee to zip up her askew heels with a gentle touch. This was a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor; he radiated a quiet eagerness to serve her, even if she had never asked for it—or even forbade him from kneeling—for anyone, including herself. His care for her was unwavering, as he found joy in these small devotions.

Raising up to his full height, Nanami tilted his head, arching a brow. “When do we leave?”

“An hour.” Her smirk was maddeningly smug, the kind that always made him want to both kiss her and roll his eyes. “Don’t worry about clothes—we’ll buy what we need when we get there.”

His frown deepened slightly, his gaze flicking toward the door. “The house is still full of people.”

She waved a hand dismissively, her confidence unshakable. “The white-haired menace can handle it.”

As if summoned, a sharp knock echoed against the ornate black and gold bathroom door.

“Nanami,” Gojo’s unmistakable voice called out, muffled yet infuriatingly cheerful. “I know you told me not to disturb you, but if you want to leave on time, you should probably come out now.”

Nanami groaned audibly, burying his face in her hair. “I hate that he knows us so well. Or worse, that he was probably hovering outside.”

Her laugh bubbled up, light and unrestrained, as she turned to press a soft kiss to his nose. “Good thing no one will know,” she teased, her tone laced with mischief as she nodded toward the party still raging beyond the door.

“Small mercies,” he muttered. His hand reached down, scooping up her ripped panties. He shoved them into his pocket—a gesture equal parts practical and ridiculous. Housekeeping didn’t need to discover that.

He reached for his ruined shirt & still-ok belt while his cufflinks were probably lost to the similarly colored lines in the bathroom floor’s marble. Sighing, he shrugged the shirt on. With most of the buttons broken, the fabric barely clung to him, but he managed enough to appear vaguely presentable, then did his belt & washed his hands. Before stepping out, he winked at her, his rare smirk making her laugh again as she leaned on the counter, ogling him.

Walking out of the bathroom, Nanami was immediately engulfed by the sheer scale of the mansion. The vaulted ceilings soared above him, an intricate lattice of brass and black lines reminiscent of sharp geometry. Recessed lighting cast a warm, almost ethereal glow over the polished marble floors, their obsidian surface streaked with veins of gold that seemed to shimmer with every step.

Security was seamlessly integrated into the decor—discreet cameras nestled within decorative sconces, motion sensors hidden within the intricate carvings of doorframes, and biometric panels that blended effortlessly with the black lacquered walls.

Gojo leaned casually against the wall near the bathroom door, his smirk as sharp as the lapels on his bespoke electric blue suit. “Well, well,” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “Looks like someone had a productive break.”

Nanami cast him a withering glare, brushing past him without a word.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo called after him, clearly undeterred. “Your secret’s safe with me. Well Mostly .”

Nanami strode into his bedroom, its absurd luxury understated yet undeniable once he unlocked it’s door with his thumb. Warm recessed lighting bathed the space in a golden hue, highlighting the polished marble floors and the California king bed draped in silk sheets that whispered decadence with every subtle fold. The walls were a study in contrasts—one side a sweeping expanse of black glass overlooking the estate, the other adorned with minimalist art deco patterns in gold and dark maroon.

A walk-in closet occupied one corner of the room, its glossy black doors sliding open with a faint hum. Rows of designer suits, pressed shirts, and tailored trousers moved along tracks, neatly organized by color, fabric, and season. It wasn’t just a closet—it was an AI-driven sartorial fortress.

Gojo trailed behind Nanami, Martini glass in hand, his ever-present grin practically glowing under the warm light of the bedroom.

Nanami shrugged off his ruined shirt, revealing faint nail marks trailing down his back.

Gojo’s exaggerated gasp was immediate. “Knew you were freaks,” he declared, grinning like a cat who’d just discovered a fresh bowl of cream.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nanami replied, his tone dry as he waited for the first shirt the AI closet presented.

The automated system whirred softly, its sleek black panels sliding open to reveal a neatly arranged selection of tailored clothing. The closet’s AI chimed in, its voice smooth and masculine: “Good evening, Mr. Nanami. May I suggest the Maurizio Miri blue Sam Arold , double-breasted blazer for optimal sophistication?”

“No, a white shirt will be enough for now. Thank you.” Nanami replied smoothly as the closet handed him the shirt.

Gojo’s eyes lit up. “Hold up, your closet talks?”

Nanami buttoned up the crisp white shirt, the fabric molding to him like it had been made yesterday, which it probably had been. A subtle reminder of how far he—and this house—stood from anything resembling average. “Of course it talks. Everything here does. Wife is particular about it,” he muttered, casually pulling out a certain incriminating piece of fabric from his pocket & tossing it into the hidden incinerator bin while Gojo eyed the AI.

Then Gojo leaned closer to the closet; his curiosity piqued. “Hey, Mr. Closet—do you take orders? I need something that makes me look like a billionaire without actually trying. Extra points if it comes with a holographic logo of the Gojo Clan.” Gojo didn’t have such bad likes; he just enjoyed being a menace.

The AI responded without missing a beat. “My name is Winston, & I’m sorry, sir. My services are exclusive to Mr. Nanami. While I assure you, no attire could enhance perfection.”

Nanami’s lips twitched as he fought back a smirk. “Even the closet knows you’re insufferable.”

“Hey, I like this guy!” Gojo shot back, pointing at the sleek black panel like it was a long-lost friend. “At least he has taste.”

The AI, apparently more than willing to engage, added, “Taste, sir, is precisely what you lack.”

Nanami turned away, struggling to suppress his laughter, as Gojo gawked. “Traitor! I’m officially boycotting this brand,” Gojo declared, though his curiosity kept him glued to the closet. “Btw what brand are you.”

Nanami smacked his arm. “Do you forget my wife invents AIs for a living, among other things?”

Gojo shrugged, “I didn’t know it was one of hers.”

As Nanami folded his sleeves up again, Gojo shot one last look at the closet. “You’re lucky I’m a forgiving man, Mr. Closet-Winston. Once I babysit this house, bet you’ll miss me when I leave.”

“I highly doubt that,” the AI replied, its tone impossibly smooth.

Gojo huffed, muttering something about finding an AI closet with better taste, while Nanami finally allowed a small smirk to surface.

Once out of the closet, Gojo chirped, “Aren’t you going to thank me for organizing this amazing party?”

Nanami took the whisky glass Gojo handed him, savoring a slow sip. “Thank you, Gojo, for organizing this party,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s not like we paid for it or anything.”

“Fair,” Gojo replied, recovering quickly with a shrug. “But I still expect to cash in the favor someday.”

Nanami nodded, flooding his sleeves with practiced precision before striding back toward the party.

Gojo followed on his heels like an overenthusiastic puppy, Martini in hand. Then looking back at the sentinel closet, he mused. “I need one of these. Think the wife will help me place an order?”

“She’s not your wife,” Nanami deadpanned, savouring the whisky burn as he sipped.

Once they had stepped into the grand ballroom, Nanami’s gaze swept over the room. Gojo, meanwhile, leaned in conspiratorially.

“So,” he began, his grin as infuriating as ever, “how was she?”

His gaze immediately found her. She stood along the far wall; an expansive bar carved from obsidian and gold stood like a centerpiece, its surface laden with bottles of rare vintages.

He didn’t falter in his reply, expression flat. “She’s a woman, Gojo. Not a secret.”

Gojo smirked as Nanami ignored the conspiratorial knowing smirks and whispers that seemed to surround him.

His gaze lingered as she laughed warmly, her head tilted slightly, the sound unguarded and genuine. She was speaking to two women he vaguely recognized as the CTO and CFO of her company, their expressions a mix of respect and admiration. For a moment, he simply watched. Despite himself, Nanami felt a rare sense of pride.

Just as he was about to make his way to her, a voice sliced through the moment.

“Nanami-san! There you are!”

The same intern with an unfortunate crush on him had caught sight of him again, waving over one of her equally annoying cohorts, a smug backstabbing bitch of a coworker Nanami didn’t even bother to remember the name of. They approached like vultures, the intern’s over-the-top enthusiasm clashing painfully with the coworker’s grimey smirk.

“Nanami-san!” she chirped, clasping her hands together. “This house is incredible! You must feel so inspired here.”

“I feel inspired to have another drink,” Nanami deadpanned, raising his glass slightly before taking a sip.

The coworker, clearly fishing for gossip, leaned in. “Yeah, no kidding. So, where’s your wife we’ve all heard so much about?” He practically sang the last part, his tone dripping with mockery. “Must be so busy to miss an event like this.”

Listening to this, Gojo moved closer to Nanami’s side like chaos incarnate, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Oh, you haven’t met her yet?” he asked, his grin practically weaponized. “Tsk, tsk, Nanami, keeping secrets from your best friends .”

The coworker scowled at the jab.

The intern blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. Nanami bit back a smirk, swirling his whisky lazily in his glass.

When the intern finally recovered, her tone turned defensive. “Well, he’s never mentioned her to me!”

Nanami’s expression darkened, his patience stretching to its breaking point. One thing he wasn’t—had never been—was unfaithful. And this implication, no matter how cluelessly delivered, crossed a line.

Yet Gojo wasn’t finished. He turned his full attention to the intern, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “You know, he does talk about her all the time. But I guess you two must not hang out much, huh? Just acquaintances, then.”

“Excuse me?” Nanami’s voice was sharp, each syllable cutting.

The intern, oblivious to the shift in tone, pressed on. “You never mentioned you were married—”

“Please,” arching a brow, he interrupted, his expression one of detached amusement. “Do not imply that I’ve hidden my marriage. I’ve been married for years and have never avoided speaking about my wife when asked. If you’re unaware, perhaps that says more about you than it does about me.” Each word measured and sharp. It’s not like he cared to keep his job anymore anyway.

The intern blinked, stunned into silence.

Gojo erupted into laughter, clapping him on the back. “Kento, you’re killing it tonight. Who’s next on the chopping block?”

Without waiting for a response, Nanami brushed past them, his focus already shifting back to her. Gojo, naturally, wasn’t done yet. Turning back with a smirk, he delivered one final dig.

“He talks about her all the time with his friends. Trust me, I’d know since I’m his best friend. I know all his secrets ,” he said lightly. “Guess you’re just colleagues.” Nanami could hear the mockery directed at his coworkers, with a hint of possessiveness over their friendship in Gojo’s voice, along with the intern’s sputtering, behind him.

Once he approached, his hand slid around her waist, the gesture subtle yet unmistakable. It wasn’t a public claim so much as a quiet reassurance, a tether grounding him in the chaos of the room.

She turned to him, her smirk softening into something more intimate as she acknowledged the unspoken exchange.

“Hello,” he murmured, inclining his head with a faint smile toward the women she’d been speaking with. They were better than his coworkers; hence they were hired.

As Gojo approached them behind Nanami, she introduced him smoothly, her tone warm yet commanding. “Ladies, my closest friend, Gojo Satoru.”

Gojo’s professional smirk slipped into place with practiced ease. “A pleasure,” he said simply, his arm resting on Nanami’s shoulder again.

The conversation progressed for a bit before the sound of glass clinking drew their attention.

“Everyone!” Gojo’s voice rang out, cheerful and uncontainable. He was sitting atop the bar, manspreading, grin wide enough to rival the chandelier’s glow. “A toast to the lovely couple!”

Heads turned toward them, though many had already been stealing glances at her all evening while others were glaring daggers at Nanami.

Nanami cleared his throat, voice steady, effortlessly commanding the room. “Thank you all for coming to our housewarming party,” he began, his tone formal but with a warmth that felt uncharacteristic. His hand rested securely on her waist. “For those of you who don’t know, this is Y/N L/N. She’s my wife. She’s the one who bought us this house.”

A ripple of polite claps followed, though Nanami wasn’t finished.

“She hasn’t visited my office because she’s been working tirelessly on her company, Curse Cop, which, as of today, has officially reached a billion-dollar valuation.” He paused, his voice softening as he glanced at her, unguarded admiration flickering across his face. “Please, drink to your heart’s content, because starting tomorrow, I’ll be on vacation with her—and I’ll also be stepping down as Finance Director to spend more time with my wife, as I promised her.”

The room erupted in applause and a few ‘awws’ from mostly female guests, though Nanami barely noticed. His focus remained on her as she looked up at him, her expression a blend of amusement and affection.

From somewhere behind them, he heard whispers, envy poorly concealed.

“How’d he even get with her?” one muttered.

“It makes sense,” another replied begrudgingly. “He’s the kind of man every woman wants.”

But none of it mattered. Nanami leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her lips, as if the room around them didn’t exist.

For him, in that moment, it didn’t.

Soon the evening had progressed—Nanami was comfortably leaning against the bar, whisky in hand, Gojo, still on top of the bar, flanking him as usual, when the intern caught sight of Y/N between them.

She stumbled her way toward her, clearly drunk, with newfound boldness, her barely-there dress doing little to enhance her sense of professionalism. Nanami’s lips twitched as he watched the scene unfold, hiding his amusement behind his glass. He wasn’t much for unnecessary public fights, but he was waiting for this one since she had really become a nuisance for him over the months, hence the reason she was invited today.

“Y/N,” Gojo whispered, sidling closer to her as she inquired about the launch of their latest multiplayer game with the COO of her company. “See that girl over there?”

Pausing, she glanced over, her brow arching slightly as she clocked the intern making a beeline toward her.

“That one’s been after Kento for months,” Gojo murmured, his grin wicked. “Unrequited coffee deliveries, surprise lunches... the works. You’re about to have front-row seats to her grand finale.” He had noticed it all while visiting Nanami’s office, along with Nanami’s look of frustration when she wouldn’t take the hint and leave him alone.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, her expression remaining poised as she turned fully to face the intern. The air around her seemed to shift, her unapproachable aura sharpening to something razor-edged.

The intern, blissfully unaware, extended a hand, her confidence teetering on arrogance. “Hi! I’m Nat. I work closely with Nanami-san in finance. It’s so great to finally meet you.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked briefly to the outstretched hand before returning to the intern’s face, her expression neutral but distinctly unimpressed. “Oh?” she said coolly. “And what are you to him?”

The intern faltered, her hand dropping slightly. “I... like I said, I work with Nanami-san! He’s been so helpful to me in the office. Such a great mentor.”

Turning his head from his vantage point, Nanami’s smirk widened as he took another slow sip of whisky. He had actively avoided helping her since he discovered her hidden agenda.

“Is that so?” Y/N replied, tilting her head slightly. “And what exactly have you learned from him?”

The intern brightened, eager to elaborate. “Oh, just... everything, really! He’s so dedicated and focused. I can see why you married him.”

There was a pause—a beat of silence that stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable. Then Y/N smiled, and it wasn’t kind.

“I see,” she said, her tone dripping with polite venom. “And yet, here you are, at a party in our house, introducing yourself to me like you’re a stranger. How odd for someone who claims to work so ‘closely’ with my husband.”

The intern’s expression wavered, a flicker of panic breaking through her confident facade. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” Y/N interrupted smoothly, her smile widening. “To sound presumptuous? To overstep? Or to assume familiarity where there is none?”

Gojo, now openly laughing, gestured to Nanami, “Remind me never to piss your wife off.”

The intern stammered something unintelligible before finally scoffing & retreating, her confidence crumbling as she melted back into the crowd.

Y/N turned back to the COO, now flanked by CTO and CFO without so much as a backward glance as they dragged her off to introduce a potential investor, the conversation resuming as if nothing had happened.

Turning straight, Nanami finally let his smirk show, raising his glass toward Y/N in a silent toast.

She caught his eye, the faintest curve of her lips betraying her amusement, before she returned her attention to her companions.

“Worth every penny,” Gojo muttered under his breath, clinking his glass against Nanami’s.

“Agreed,” Nanami replied, his tone calm but his eyes glinting with mirth.

A/N: You thought Kento would cheat huh ☜(ˆ▿ˆc) Thanks for diving into this tangled mess of lust & love. If you caught the twist & liked it (or even hated it), drop a comment. I live for your chaos & crave your feedback like Nanami craves his wife. 🖤

Masterlist

[princesssmars]

i love your shiv nsfw fic!!! you're so good at writing them, could you write another shiv roy x female reader smut fic? it's so hard finding them these days

no strings

a shiv roy x reader.

your time studying abroad is nearly over, and you luck out with a job working for a luxury boating service. this summer the billionaire roy family is vacationing, and the youngest daughter gives you an exciting proposal.

wc : 1.391

contains : fluff. semi angst. smut. talks of fxfxm threesome. exhibitionism : tom watches you and shiv go at it. oral and penetrative sex (receiving).

a/n : anon why did i literally have a dream with tom and shiv the night you sent this...and you are so right why is the shiv tag so dead omg i came a year after the show ended thinking i’d be fed 💔 also thanks for saying i’m good every time i write smut i laugh bc i’m a big baby.

when you signed up for a summer job, you sure as hell weren't expecting this.

at least you had the excuse of this not being a very croatian or italian custom. coming here to study was something you did on a whim, and wouldnt be the first time you made a crazy decision just because, you still had flashbacks to the time you skinny dipped with people who you had just met at a bar an hour earlier.

thankfully over the years your exploring ways had toned down to a reasonable amount. after all, you couldnt be a luxury stewardess who was always getting in to trouble. the clients did insane background checks, seriously, one old bastard asked what it was like going to such an average kindergarten.

but for now, it was fine. it paid well, you only had to serve rich pricks for a few days at a time, and it was helping pay off your student loans. plus if you bat your eyes at the right people you got a considerable tip.

your coworker and friend, petra, suggested you do a little more for some extra money, but you shrugged it off with a laugh each time. the last thing you wanted was to have some crazy millionaire getting too attached to you and causing trouble in your normal life.

but your final semester has ended, you’ve made plans to move back home to jersey at the end of the summer, and that only leaves you with a few more jobs until you’re done with this job. you tried, you really really tried to keep your wits about you, but one of the clients is contacting you before the family lands to the boat with an offer.

a threesome. with her and her husband. no strings attached.

the service you worked for normally declined telling you the names of who your team will be working for, even going as far as to lock your phones on the boats to make sure you weren’t posting them during their private time.

but even you, now living halfway across the world, knew about this family. the roys, owners of one of the biggest media conglomerates of the past era. it was hard not to see reports in the morning from atn news, or the insane amount of advertising you’d see about their international mediterranean cruises.

(well, after their recent scandal about sexual misconduct in the fucking senate, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be seeing too many ads anymore.)

you were sure it was the daughter of the family calling you, recognizing her voice over the phone and being confirmed when she met up with you before she got on the boat. she was gorgeous and a little scary, enjoying the scent of her perfume when she slides the nda over to you to sign.

it was exciting, working on the boat and seeing her eyes occasionally trailing your figure. maybe it would’ve been more enticing if every time her husband looked at you he didn’t look like one of those hanging cat posters. shame, he was cute.

you’re cleaning up one of the tables after the family had eaten a crazy short dinner. you’re still reeling after witnessing how dysfunctional these people were when your phone buzzes on your pocket, courtesy of shiv pulling a few strings. the text from her is just her cabin number and a time that’s ten minutes ahead. short and to the point.

when you knock on the door you can hear a conversation on the other side come to halt, fast footsteps coming to the door before yanking it open. you’d seen her earlier in the day but got did shiv look gorgeous, ginger hair framing her face as the soft lighting of the room illuminated her bare shoulders.

she’s smiling at you, all sickly sweet as she leads you into the room before locking the door behind you, telling you to just sit on the bed. the bed is large and soft, and your mind wanders about how these people can have whole hotel rooms on the ocean and still be so unhappy when a throat clearing knocks you out of your thoughts, the husband sitting in a chair across the bed to your left. he gives a little smile and a wave and you do it back.

“this is tom. he’s just gonna watch us for a while, ok?” she checks in with you, crossing her legs as she sits next to you, softly moving your hair behind your shoulder. you nod. “good. tel us if you don’t like something.”

you try to nod again but her palm is on your cheek and bringing your face to hers, soft lips kissing you like she’s starving. her tounge is in your mouth, and when you try to move your body to sit on her lap she’s pushing you back, resting your back on the bed. you can faintly hear the fabric of tom’s clothes as he moves on his seat.

she urges your pants down your legs, barely waiting for you to kick off your shoes before she’s rubbing you through your panties, biting and nipping at the skin of your neck as you left out small moans into the air.

“sure you don’t wanna touch her, tom? she’s so soft, so pretty.” she licks a line up your throat and to your mouth, swallowing your moan in her mouth. her husband doesn’t reply and you don’t dwell on it for long. you’ve heard of exhibitionists before, looks like her husband is one of them.

you bite her bottom lip and revel in the groan you feel in her mouth and chest, your own muffled noise escaping when she stuffs a finger inside you. she’s using her thumb to rub at your clip while she thrusts, pulling away from the kiss to look at your face.

it feels good but it’s not enough, which you make clear when you beg her under your breath to give you more of anything. thankfully she doesn’t seem to be in a teasing mood, not thanking any time to push her second finger inside of you.

“oh, fuck-“ your leg kicks out and you fist the sheets as you focus on the pleasure. it’s clear she’s done this before, skilled in the way she hits your g spot at just the right angle and rubs your clit. her head turns to likely look at her husband, while yours flops on the bedsheets.

you’re so distracted you don’t notice them having a small chat, mind on cloud nine. you do notice when she dips her head to kiss your chest that’s exposed after she unbuttoned your shirt, then dips lower, and lower, and lower-

when you feel her mouth circle your clit in your mouth you let out an airy moan, feeling the ball in the pit of your stomach grow. she eats you out just like she kisses you, sloppier than you expected for someone that’s looks as polished as she does. her hands are squishing the fat of your thighs, and when she shakes her head from side to side in your pussy you cum, trying to soundproof your moans into your arms as the other clutches at her head.

she helps ease you down from your high, placing kisses on your clit and your thighs and even cleaning you up with her mouth as you let out fast shaky breaths. you’re given maybe a few minutes of relaxation before she’s tugging your pants back up, buttoning up your shirt before giving a quick pat to the top of your thigh.

“that was fun, huh?”

you laugh, nodding your head since you can’t find the words. you push yourself up on your arms, staring up at the woman above you as she smiles down at you. your eyes drift to her husband who’s still sitting on the armchair, face flushed and taking in quick breaths like he’s the one who just got fucked instead of you.

“yeah, yeah it was fun.”

you collect yourself, fixing up your hair in the mirror on the wall as shiv leads you to the door.

“saw in your file you’re from jersey. maybe we’ll call you sometime once all this shit blows over, yeah?”

this summer couldn’t end fast enough.

[iwanttoswimintheswanepoel]

OG yacht girl

yacht girl vibe

-be the yacht princess traveling through cannes

-get invited by the wealthiest of the elite onto yachts with your friends and earn money

-meet eligible bachelors easily

-be a polarizing magnet for billionaires

-sip strawberry champagne out on the deck

-lounge around 150 million dollar yachts while eating exotic tropical fruits

-have an endless yacht crew jumping to make sure you’re comfortable and not lifting a finger

-always travel to exotic, tropical, travel destinations like the almalfi coast , santorini, sardinia, ibiza, miami, jamaica, rio de janeiro, bali, fiji, thailand, monaco, bora bora, dubai, portofino, hawaii (be mindful to the locals please), aruba, puerto rico, cancun & turks and caicos on somebody else’s expense.

-easily pick up foreign languages abroad and perfectly speak it to the locals

-lounge around the yacht in nothing but a tiny bikini and heels just cause

-always have safe trips. never do anything you don’t want to and have safe travels onboard.

-everything goes your way. if you’re not happy your billionaire friend will do everything in his power to see a smile on your face. but why would you not be happy being young, hot spoiled & rich on a attractive billionaire’s yacht???

-watching you relax on your billionaire friend’s yacht is their personal favorite. however watching you run around the beach sipping an aperol spritz with your peachy cheeks covered in sand is a close second.

-find a healthy mix between eating the mediterranean diet, shellfish, acqua panna, exotic fruits & eating bonilla a la vista patatas fritas, piña coladas and smoking cuban cigars

-have a luxurious romantic dinner every night on the water level extended deck with dimly lit candles just because

-besides your shopping sprees be sure to expect new lingerie, bikinis, investment bags, peonies & macarons to be gifted to you daily while your billionaire friend is out and about just thinking about you.

-have the same larger than life 2000’s party girl vibe as paris hilton

-you choose to go with both attractive and ultra wealthy billionaires because you’re the hottest of the hottest so you can have both

-stay in a top of the line yacht with all the appliances most can only dream of

-the yacht girl lifestyle is never scary you’re never put in danger and can leave whenever you want

-despite how great yachting sounds its just another typical day for you your life is normally so luxurious and fun

-you are easily the sexiest most expensive export out of your country ever summer

-make more in one night of yachting than a small countries GDP

-despite your well travelled expensive summer experience you also make sure to maintain your summer reading and investment’s

-locals are nothing but kind to the foreign pretty girl they see on the beach

-be the evening gem of the yacht club meet

-never girl rot you’re doing hot rich bitch shit everyday

-when you’re yachting life is reminiscent of 2010 frank ocean “super rich kids” vibes of pure luxury and blatant displays of wealth

-be endlessly energetic, flirty and playful

-you make people feel insatiable for your presence

-one sniff of your scent is like a lethal drug

-when you’re not on the yacht or on land you’re traveling by private plane to your next destination

-you’re gifted with the unique ability to find at least one naturally occurring pearl every time you eat oysters

-your voice is downright erotic and gets men to do whatever you want

miranda kerr dating history

-only date billionaires

-have your eye out for the perfect billionaire

-know how to play the game for your perfect billionaire mate

-you just might end up with the CEO of your favorite social media company if you keep up the yachting

-unlike miranda you would never have a baby with a lame

-don’t yacht just for fun and money, yacht because you’re looking for your future husband to make you and your future children live a life of leisure

miranda kerr beauty

-have gorgeous dimples (or dimple lol i only have one) that make rich men weak in the knees

-have doll like apple cheeks that make you look youthful

-look naive and impressionable despite your omnipresent sex appeal

-always have a full voluminous victorias’s secret bombshell blowout

-have a face that could easily make you the highest paid model… or yacht girl

-exude unmatched sex appeal

-have skin so hydrated and dewy from sipping straight from your coconuts

-have a perfect balance between downright wanton sex appeal and neoteny to easily manipulate just about anyone

general sprinkle sprinkle

-you’ve never dated a brookie

-even a brookie would sell his soul to see you on a yacht sunbathing in the south of France

-you don’t have to perform sexual favors (unless desired) on yacht’s, you’re simply invited to a tropical luxurious summer getaway

-be gifted a cartier 18K yellow gold 7 charm ankle bracelet so your favorite billionaire can stake his claim

-other billionaires are crawling to your feet with gifts to invite you to their yacht

-other yacht billionaires get so territorial when they see you dancing on the deck table across the bay

-give the billionaire you choose to yacht with even more status amongst the elite as you’re the most expensive yacht girl

-be paid billions just to enjoy yourself

-not even “queen of yacht girls” miranda kerr could make as much as you do yachting for a night

-you don’t pay for a damn thing. in fact the only thing in your delvaux bag is sun screen and hot sauce

-your billionaire friend can’t focus when he leaves to do business deals knowing you’re lounging in the tiniest tropic of c bikini

-your billionaire is waiting at your beck and call to feed you grapes from the vine while you read just to be near you

-sure you could hang out with the old wrinkled billionaires but the hot & sexy young ones want and pay even more for you

-have the face and body people immediately think of when they hear “billionaire wife”

-be the main source of envy from other yacht girls or girls fucking for free to hop on a low tier yacht

-master social dining etiquette (your fork will always give you away)

-your private flight or emirates first class suite ticket there? paid for. your summer wardrobe? paid for. your living expenses? paid for. your shopping sprees? paid for. none of which are paid for by you. you’re just expected to bring your pretty self to be a muse of sorts.

-have 100 million dollar yachts gifted to you for existing

-after you step foot onto the yacht your billionaire friend calls someone up to change the current printed name to yours (naomi lapaglia inspo)

-you yourself are a status symbol there’s no question a man is rich if you’re on his arm

-have a figurehead on the prow designed after you (lauren sanchez inspo)

-rich men literally spit out their 1945 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Grand Cru when they see you

-be the best seductress there ever was

-no one has more game or knows the game quite as well as you do

-billionaire men don’t mind if you’re manipulating them for your own gain they just want to be near you

-other yacht girls wouldn’t dare to approach your billionaire friend

-wealthy men are more than happy to give you all of their money just for being beautiful

-wealthy men literally feel haunted by your presence it evokes some sort of regency era longing. something for the books

-you are the ultimate prize

-men don’t care about your past as long as you’re not with someone else

-attract a chadlite billionaire that melts in your arms like frei malthus in hilda hurricane

-be gifted diamonds for every innocent kiss you give on the cheek

-unlike miranda kerr you don’t even have to make billionaire’s think you like them they just want the opportunity to be in your presence

-“a pearl necklace for your thoughts?”

summer beauty affirmations

-sex appeal seeps out of your pores you are the epitome of “walking sex”

-people on land watch you walk by as captivated as everyone in town was watching malena walk past

-have a summer essence like pamela anderson running across the beach in baywatch

-have sultry tan lines that give a forbidden fruit vibe when seen

-tan is as deep and as perfect as brooke shields in the blue lagoon

-manifest all of your desired swimwear

-have a rosy gold undertone to your skin that makes you look youthful and healthy

-have the most adorable naturally rosy cheeks

-have endless amounts of hermes oran sandals in every color

-be so stunning and alluring sirens wonder if you’re one of them

-look so exotic but no one can ever pinpoint from where

-look so erotic with fruit juice running down your chest and staining your luscious red lips

-look like you just walked out of a 2000’s summer edition of vogue

-be the beach beauty in passing no one ever forgets

-radiate even more sex appeal than an angel doing a victoria’s secret swimwear photoshoot

-have the ultimate bedroom eyes. one look from you with those pretty eyes is like a siren singing the sailors to their death

-(if desired for a lighter eye color green or blue) your eyes match the color of the sea’s you grace

-your defined cheekbones could cut a bitch but your dimple faced smile melts the iciest hearts

-thick & fluffy brooke shields/ taylor hill esque eyebrows

-look like you have naturally khol lined eyes

-you are forever in your peak. you’re gonna be sexy forever

-you embody the same endless beauty and femininity as ocean waves

-always be seen with an exotic flower in your long flowing locks on the beach

-have perfect pouty sensual red lips like rosie huntington whitley

-get asked what lip tint you’re wearing (you’re not wearing one…)

-manifest a luxury collection of sunglasses

-radiate the same beauty as christy turlington in “postcard from portofino” , vogue 1992

-anything you deem to be a personal imperfection is ceasing to exist

-when people see you they don’t understand how one person can be so sexy, exotic and unbelievably beautiful

-you’re beauty reminds people of a foreign sunset over the sea with rosy pink & orange hues

-have vanta black lashes that are super long and flutter soft and slow like a butterfly’s wings

-skin is naturally clear and rejuvenated look as if you’ve had a biologique recherche facial everyday (or maybe you have…)

-the salty ocean water washes away any skin impurities you have like a hydrafacial

-your glass skin & natural skin sparkles make your skin reminiscent of a porcelain doll’s

-manifest daily spa treatments, have your billionaire friend call the top specialist to the yacht for daily lymphatic drainage & skin treatments

-radiate the same energy as 2000’s euro summer clubbing songs

-your body is always well moisturized from even layers of sunscreen & body oil

-be out of this world gorgeous

-attract seashells, shell charms & jewelry

-maintain a thick fluffy 80’s voluminous blowout

-when people see you they think you’re a victoria’s secret model doing a photoshoot on the beach

-you’re devastatingly gorgeous

-you have a one in 8 billion sort of beauty

-you could easily be Miss Universe from beauty alone

-your pores are nonexistent

-there’s so many colors in your eyes from green, grey to blue with little specs of gold

-have a beauty that looks like you’re aware of ancient beauty secrets

-you become even more stunning with every second that passes

-the sun gives your hair a natural balayage

-hair is shiny like you used the oribe gold lust nourishing oil

-hair so shiny you’re fighting keratin treatment allegations

-your sexy aura reminds people of the song “candy shop” by fifty cent

-have an incredibly ultra feminine sexually dimorphic face

-your face is forever imprinted into men’s minds just from one glance

body affirmations

-have firm supple skin

-your skin is soft like butter cream

-your skin feels like silk

-easily obtain the best tan of your life

-be immune to sun burn

-tan like an early 2000’s Brazilian bombshell

-get a brazilian tan line spray tan

-have natural sparkles on your skin

-all body hair you don’t remove turns blonde and glimmers in the sun (ie: arms, happy trail)

-you’re naturally as hairless as a sphynx cat in your bikini area, underarms & legs

-your skin is immune to sun damage so you can sunbathe all day

-effortlessly maintain a summer body year round from 98-115 pounds year round (whatever you prefer)

-your body looks so healthy and filled out in all the right places

-always maintain a fresh russian mani pedi

manifest your desired summer body products

•sol de janeiro body oil

•vacation inc whipped spf 30

•body shimmer

•la roche posay thermal spray mist

•biologique recherche protection U.V. corps spf 50 sunscreen

-have long toned legs and a flat stomach

-have full round close set perky tear drop shaped boobs that look like they’re barely restrained by your bikini top (desired cup size)

-have a tall thin body

-workout on the extended deck of the yacht. not because you need to but because you want to. it helps that you’re flaunting that lithe sexy body to other billionaires along the way.

-all body imperfections (less than ideal proportions, discoloration, scars, loose skin, acne & scretch marks) are ceasing to exist

-even though you have your summer body all year round with no help needed, you know to maintain your upmost health through diet and exercise for the victorias secret fashion show in the fall

-your plump perky ass looks so enticing in your bikini bottoms

-your 0.7 WHR is mesmerizing but your plump heart shaped ass takes the cake

-your long supermodel legs are like rich men’s kryptonite

-hear “those legs” from drooling men daily

-your legs could easily stop a MAC truck

-tan easily and surprisingly fast

-tan like its UV 11 everyday

-be between 5’7-6’2

-have a thin hourglass body like candice swanepoel

-be fully immune to body odor

-have a natural yasmeen ghauri cat walk

-full hips that move as fluidly as shakira’s

-long swan neck that is immune to neck lines

-90° shoulders

-thin ballerina arms

-pretty size 6 arched feet

-divorced thighs

-small narrow rib cage

-20 inch waist

-all of your body fat is in your perky booty

-your body naturally emits the smell of acqua di parma blu mediterraneo by acqua di parma

-“it should be a crime how microscopic your bikini is”

-wealthy billionaires almost wish you put more clothes on for the sole sake of their own sanity

FAME

-have your desired level of fame for your desired career choice

-be the best dressed at cannes film festival red carpet

-you make so much money from your main job (modeling,acting etc) you only yacht for its eligible bachelors… the extra money is tempting too

-your hair naturally grows about 2 inches everyday just to give lara lieto on the cannes film festival red carpet

-meet your desired celebrities partying on yachts after the cannes film festival

-find out who other celebrity yacht girls are

-have the best paparazzi yachting pics

NSFW YACHTING

(like i said you don’t have to do sexual favors this part is if you feel sexually interested in your billionaire friend if not- you can subconsciously block all of these if you desire to not claim them if so it will not apply to you. if you chose to claim them there is extra protection bennies stay safe ily. again if you don’t want these bennies they simply won’t apply to you)

-have a healthy vagina

-have an optimal vaginal flora

-your PH never gets thrown off

-have optimal vaginal wetness from sipping on coconuts all day

-coochie is wet like you take your okra supplements

-get paid a couple mil more for the occasional “accidental” nip slip

-spending money on you literally makes men horny its like edging all day long

-trips to the dressing room “do you wanna see these clothes on me?” you can look but don’t you touch

-coochie smells & taste like sweet melons

-desired handsome billionaire has desired thoughts about your body

-get paid 20 mil more for allowing your billionaire friend to watch you enjoy your bubble bath with chocolate covered strawberries & Prosecco

-“when i’m with you all i get is wild thoughts”

-on the very rare chance that you do decide to sleep with your billionaire friend they make sure you’re left with a night you’ll never forget

-do your lovemaking on the deck overlooking the ocean under the night sky

-sacral chakra is properly functioning

-BE FULLY IMMUNE TO BEING 🍇D

-BE FULLY IMMUNE TO ATTRACTING PREDATORS

-BE FULLY IMMUNE TO ATTRACTING FAMILY

-RELEASE ANY AND ALL SEXUAL TRAUMA

[romanoffsbish]

Through the Eras

Natasha Romanoff x Fem(Stylist)!Reader

Natasha was a master of disguise, she didn’t need any help in that department, but Fury had a different plan, and she didn’t feel a need to push back when she saw it unfolding. Aka, Natasha is a simp for R, and this is them falling in love over a decades time.

2011-IM2, 2012-OG Avengers, 2014-Winter Soldier, 2016-Civil War, 2018-IW, 2023-EG

All Canon besides EG.

Warnings: Violence, Death, Grief, but like mostly happy/fluffy.

Smut: Bottom!Nat, Oral/Strap(N), Praising.

2002

Natasha was hesitant about being in America, the land where a donut could be bigger than the size of someone's head, and where majority of experiences were rooted in fake niceties. Nothing about the foreign country felt like home to her, not that she knew much about such a feeling, but she knew it was best to get acclimated seeing as how she hadn't been given much of a choice. Either she give her life away to this organization, or she die at their hands.

Upon entering the SHIELD base her green eyes were tracking any and all movements as she trailed behind Agent Barton, the man she swears fealty to for sparing a wretch such as herself from a perceivably deserved death.

The agency is like nothing Natasha had ever seen before, majority of the agents here wore basic black suits with ties like you'd see on an individual working a 9-5, not so much at a government agency full of professional spies and assassins as she knew it to be.

Back in the Red Room the men employed by General Dreykov were almost always sporting full tactical suits like the cowards that they were to keep the little girls in line, and to surround the man for safety purposes. Here though, as Clint escorts her to the man in charge she doesn't see him with a team, no, it's simply a man in a trench coat, wearing an eye patch with a raven haired woman to his right.

"Romanoff.," the odd man with the eye patch nods at her stoically., "Barton here has decided to take a chance on you, don't make us here at Shield regret honoring that choice.," his hand reached for hers, she observed the gesture with hesitation, but eventually she met his attempt.

"Welcome to Shield Agent Romanoff, Hill here will escort you to your quarters, good luck."

—

2011

After nine years Natasha had yet to find the people of New York bearable, but she's learned to make due, and has acclimated very well as a good spy is trained to do, but moreover she had found she began to crave the perceived American dream. Over time she proved her expressed loyalty to the Director, as well as her mission partner turned family, and successfully crawled up ranks until she reached a Level 6.

With climbing ranks came more respect and then with that came new responsibilities. For years now she'd listened to Nick drone on about his determination to build a group of remarkable people to fight the battles that the bulk of your everyday people never could.

"Seriously Fury?," she scoffed while looking over the many files., "This guy is remarkable?"

"Stark is many things: a billionaire, arrogant, even a pompous asshole, but if you can look beyond the overly jelled back hair, and childish antics you'll see he's untouchably intelligent."

"Is that why he's letting himself die then?"

"Listen, Romanoff, I did not assign you this case for you to question my judgment.," he groaned, and ran his hand over his face., "You're here because I need eyes on the inside, and someone who can break him down until he accepts our help, and joins the good fight."

"So I'm your eye candy?," she scoffs, arms now folded across her chest as she glares at him., "Look, it's not ideal, but in part, yes you are."

"I don't appreciate such a deduction, I'm a skilled agent.," he nods., "Yeah, which is why you'll be gathering me intel, and helping the pitiful man who's too weak to help himself."

Natasha continued to glare, but Nick just moved passed it as he's grown used to her pushback over the years., "You're on your own in the field, but Coulson's on standby, and I've assigned Y/L/N to assist you when need be."

"The agency's hairdresser?"

"Now who's deducing?," you snarked from the door as you strolled into the room., "I also do your makeup, pick out your clothing, and keep your mind stimulated when you're bored."

Natasha glared at you for your interruption, but it was in vain, she always found your presence rather pleasant, even if she's only ever been able to experience you in passing thus far.

"I take it the two of you got it from here then?"

After you both nodded at the director he left the room smiling, and Maria smiled back., "Playing matchmaker now, are we Nick?"

—

Natasha's face never wavered when you made decisions for her, she was not one to push back outwardly if she didn't know you well, but you could detect the faux indifference in her eyes.

"Well, you seem to not be down for the bob, or the fringe look.," you called her bluff., "What about if I were to make you bald, super sexy.," she unexpectedly smirked at your teasing.

"Not sure Stark's into the bald type, have you even thought about that?," you grimaced., "Now Natasha, why would I ever care about a mans opinion? I don't usually think of men, let alone their opinions on a clients appearance."

Natasha's stoic expression returned as you spoke of her so professionally, she wanted to frown, but she knew it wasn't right since you were also here for a job. Now she's starting to understand the whole eye candy trope, as she's essentially procured you here as her very own.

"How about we darken your natural shade a little bit, and add extensions?" you held up the desired shade, and the glint in her eyes had you sold, even if all she did was shrug indifferently.

—

Natasha's body stiffened when your hands fell on her hips to turn her., "Something is off.," she frowned., "Gee, thanks Y/L/N.," you smirked, then made a 'aha' noise, spinning her back around before dropping your hold on her.

"Well?"

"Oh, sorry.," you smiled sheepishly., "Tuck the shirt into the pants, it'll be more form fitting."

"That was your big save?," she chuckled while doing exactly what you said, a smile on her face as she silently agreed with your judgment call.

"Don't mock me Romanoff, or I'll make sure to give your nose extra attention with my blush."

Natasha smirked cockily, a snide joke on the tip of her tongue, but instead of speaking, her breath was hitching when you straddled her lap, and nonchalantly began her makeup.

"Uh, Y/L/N.," you hummed, makeup sponge in hand as you prepared to apply her concealer., "Is there a reason you're sat in my lap?"

"There are no other places to sit in this tiny bathroom work space Romanoff, and there's no way I'm standing on my feet for over an hour.," your answer was playfully spoken, but serious.

"An hour?," you stifled a laugh at the sight of her scrunched features., "It's just make up."

"Do I question your fighting process?"

"I guess not.," she softly replied, her mind was a bit too focused on how you were so close she could feel your breaths to really push back, plus, she didn't really mind the proximity.

She became so distracted by you that she failed to hear the way your breath hitched after her arms unconsciously moved from dangling by her uncomfortably to wrapped around you.

"Done.," you swiped the stick over her lips, and stood up, much to Natasha's disappointment.

"How do I look?," she asked, and you turned to her with a playful smile., "Like a million bucks, you can say thank you now like a civilized person, or later after you wow the billionaire."

Natasha smirked, it excited her a bit to hear a tinge of jealousy in your tone, it told her this whole connection wasn't exactly one sided.

"Thank you krasivaya.," she left a soft kiss to your cheek, your knees nearly buckled, and you were praying for your sake she didn't see that., "Natasha, your lips weren't dry yet.," you chose to scold her to take the heat off of your bodies previous betrayal just before catching her off guard as you gripped her chin, and reapplied.

"Good luck."

"Why would I need luck when I apparently look like a million bucks?" she mused., "The money hungry fool will be under my spell in seconds." a playful wink was thrown your way as she left, but you were smart enough to know she was telling the truth, she had the kind of effortless beauty that could be used to topple regimes, and to your misfortune, your sensitive heart.

—

"What's your name lady?," Tony Stark, her op, immediately shouted at her as she entered, and she turned to him with a neutral expression., "Rushman. Natalie Rushman."

You giggled., "James Bond, really? You're such a cliche Romanoff," you could just feel the eye roll she was likely being forced to internalize all the while wondering why she agreed to your unhelpful proposal of wearing ear pieces.

Natasha wanted to smirk at your comment, because she was very much a cliche in this moment, but she had to remain in character as the "hot woman" from legal, and to get in Tony's good graces she agreed to a sparring match with his security guard, Happy Gilmore.

"You ever boxed before?"

"I have, yes."

"Oh boy, is he in for a treat.," you giggle, and Natasha smiled at the sound, and fortunately for her it seemed to fit in the moment anyways.

"What, like the Tae Bo? Booty Boot Camp? Crunch? Something like that?"

"Oh, no the fuck he didn't.," you verbalized aloud what her very expression did, you heard her clear her throat, and frowned, the woman you knew would've given him what for, but you knew she was forced to remain cordial here.

Tony called out to her, causing her to deviate her attention momentarily, and for Happy to believe that this was a teaching moment.

"Rule number one, never take your eye off your opponent."

"Rule number one, don't be a misogynistic douche.," you grumbled, and to your extreme delight you could hear Natasha grunt, and all other parties either shrieking or groaning.

"Atta girl."

Natasha rushed out shortly after the incident, and after dropping off the paperwork in her hand she made her way back to your hotel.

"I took the liberty of ordering room service.," you said as soon as she plopped beside you on the bed in her casual clothes., "I also used the company card to rent Moonraker for you."

Natasha slapped your arm lightly., "You're going to hold this against me for life, huh?"

"Ooh, I'm a for lifer?," she smiled softly at your tease, it was too soon to know really, but her heart fluttered at the idea of a forever with you.

"Who else will do my hair and makeup? Me?" she scoffs playfully. "I'm too high ranked to be expected to do such mundane, easy things."

"For that cruel dig I am eating the bonus chocolate covered strawberry!" you grumbled, she cackled as she swiped it from the tray and was met with your glare. "No, I don't think so."

Instead of chasing her down you laid out like a starfish on the mattress. "I heard the couch is comfortable, I hope you find that true," she gasped at your insinuation, then if only to show off she lifted you effortlessly, laid down beside you, and pressed play. "I'm sorry Y/L/N."

"I won't hold it against you Rushman," you rolled to your side, then faced the screen just the same. "Good, I kinda need you on my side."

——

The following day you were expected to make her look fancy, so you set her up in a red dress, and did a simple makeup look. "Have fun."

"Oh my, did I forget to tell you that you're coming with me," she looked at you innocently, but the glint in her eye screamed of mischief.

Your voice expectedly cracked, "What?"

"Pepper said I could bring a plus one, and Fury said I could bring you, so go get ready toots."

Natasha waited patiently on the edge of your shared bed on her phone, hardly listening as you grumbled from behind the closed bathroom door. "This is so uncool, I didn't bring anything fancy to wear," you peaked your sopping wet head out to pout at her in the hopes that you'd be spared going, but she held up a garment bag while smirking tauntingly, "Hurry up now malysh, we can't be late."

—

Natasha's hand settled over your hip as the two of you entered the venue together, you were in a black suit with a red dress shirt to match her dress, you looked like a couple, and the thought of the possibility made your skin burn, and it had your heart skipping with a doomed hope.

"Oh, who's this beauty?" Tony grasped your hand without asking, pulling it to his lips, and you grimaced as he pressed them to your hand. Natasha saw the disgusted look on your face, and instantly spoke. "This is Zoe Rushman."

"So beauty runs in the family then?" she shook her head, and pulled you even closer to her side. "No, it's a bit premature on the name, but she's my fiancé, and if the laws pass in our favor we'll be tying the knot next Spring."

Tony nodded, then took his leave to God knows where, and to be clear you surely didn't care.

"We're engaged?" Natasha spun you in front of her and leaned into your ear. "Yes, I will not subject you to Tony's flirting if I can avoid it."

"I thought you were meant to entice him."

"Not anymore, I already secured my spot, so really this is mutually beneficial." she mused, and you chuckled. "So I'm your arm candy?"

"Precisely," she kissed the corner of your lips, it felt real, but you reasoned it was for the sake of your story, so you shoved the feelings down.

"Natalie?!" you both turned to see a distraught blonde, you peered up at the small screen she was gawking at, you saw Tony racing in a car, then you saw a man with electricity tentacles also on the track. "Well that can't be good."

Natasha tended to a frantic Pepper, then she escorted you out of the venue. "Take her to the hotel," she instructed a shield agent, and you realized he must've already been on standby.

"Be careful Nat." She smirked. "I always am."

—

After working tirelessly to save Tony's image, she returned to the hotel at ten at night in desperate need of a shower, and some sleep. When she entered your shared space it was dark, and she made quiet work of tending to her needs before slipping in bed besides you.

"You're back.," you slurred, one eye flying open to confirm it was indeed the redhead., "I am."

"Did you get your dinner?"

Natasha smiled appreciatively, "I ate already, Pepper ordered us takeout, but thank you honey, I put it in the fridge for tomorrow."

You hummed, too tired to really respond, and Natasha watched you slowly fall back to sleep with a smile of pure adoration. A gasp left her lips only moments later though, her smile never dissipated, it morphed into a shocked one as you'd unconsciously scooted across the mattress and threw an arm around her waist.

"Good grief, you're going to kill me," she slid her arm underneath your neck, and allowed her other to lay over your body protectively., "And I'd die happy if you did," she whispered before allowing the unfamiliar comfort you brought her to help her fall asleep with ease.

A full nights rest was something incredibly foreign to her, but it consumed her tonight.

——

Natasha just left you downstairs, even with the last event ending in chaos she wanted you at this party with her, but first she had to assist Stark as was her job, "Do you know which watch you'd like to wear tonight Mr. Stark?"

"I'll give them a look," he sighed while fixing his shirt. "I should cancel the party, huh?"

"Probably," she turned to look at him, and brought him over a martini she'd prepared.

"Yeah, because it's uh—," he paused, and she promptly finished his thought, "Ill timed."

"Sends the wrong message."

"Inappropriate," Nat confirms with a sly smirk., "Is that dirty enough for you?"

He sipped it, then immediately deflected back to the watches, and you grimaced at the way she flirted so easily, a little reminder that this was all a ruse, and she wasn't yours to have.

Natasha sat besides him, not because she was interested in the man, but because she wanted to have a closer look at his declining state as collecting intel was part of her overall mission.

"It's hard to get a read on you, where are you from?" Tony asked while she applied some concealer to his marred up face. "Legal."

You snorted, and the redhead heard it, and could picture your eyes rolling right now.

"Can I ask you a question, hypothetically?" Natasha only stared at him, but he went for it anyways. "It's a bit odd, but if this was your last birthday party you were ever gonna have, how would you celebrate it?"

"I'd do whatever I wanted to do, with whoever I wanted to do it with," she followed her answer up with the clicking of her heels, but stopped as he asked a follow up question. "Like Zoe?"

"Precisely," she hoped you could hear the truth in her tone, but if you didn't she'd find a way to make it clear to you after this whole mission.

Before you could wipe away the hopeful smile Natasha was at your side, slipping your near empty glass from your hand to down it all. "Drinking on the job Natalie?" she smirked over your glass, "Have you met my boss?"

Natasha beamed as you giggled, because not only does the sound illicit a warmth within her, but she knew you understood that she meant Director Fury just as much as she did Tony.

With an elegance in her movements the redhead settled your glass down, and brought you onto the dance floor as a slow song played. There was a comfortability that you were shocked to find yourself feeling with her in such a short time frame. Natasha was always an enigma back at Shield headquarters, but now, out in the field she was easier to read.

Just like you she craved exhilaration, you found it out in the wilderness on off days, and in the salon mixing up products to transform people into whatever they wanted to become. Natasha found it on stealthy missions, where she was able to kick peoples asses, and make the world a safer place for all that inhabit it.

There was still an air of mystery to her, which you expect being so new to this undefined dynamic with her. You didn't expect all her walls to drop at once, but the fact that any have dropped tells you that she trusts you enough.

Before you could make an honest move, like kissing her as you dreamed, an actual wall fell.

Natasha quickly pulled your face to her chest, shielding you from the glass, and as soon as Rhodey said to get out, she was pulling you both to another room, and softly cupping your cheeks, "We need to get you out of here."

"I don't break that easily Nata-."

"Natalie!" you grimaced at the shrill voice of the angry blonde, and Nat softly groaned before turning to her cordially, "Miss Potts."

Before she could say much to Nat about her speculations, she was dragged away by Happy, and you were much the same by Natasha.

"I think I'm your bad luck charm," you mused from the passenger seat, and Natasha softly sighed as she parked the car, "No, I actually think you're much to the opposite Y/N."

The both of you entered the hotel, taking turns slipping out of your dresses, and when you sat down on the bed Natasha's eyes widened., "You're hurt?" you shrugged. "Occupational hazard," you turned to face her, heart melting at the show of genuine concern on her face, but the happy faded fast when her eyes hardened.

"No, you're the all around stylist, not an agent."

"I'm more than that," your voice was small, and she immediately regretted her choice of words. "I-I know, but you still had no business being out in the field, and it's my fault you were."

"I'm okay Nat, it's only a scratch, and if it were to have been more I have combat training."

The redhead left the room, and your shoulders deflated, but then she came back with a couple wine coolers, a soft smile and a first aid kit.

"Let's get you all patched up soldier."

—

Natasha frowned as you entered the Stark expo hand in hand, "I don't have a good feeling about this," she groaned, and you squeezed her hand. "Nat, we already committed to this whole fiancés facade, so until we're through with the mission here I'm coming along."

"I could've told Pepper you're sick."

"Who's sick?"

"I thought I had a cold, but turns out it's just allergies," you answered, and held your hand out for her to shake as you'd yet to introduce yourself yet even after seeing each other.

"Zoe right?," you nodded convincingly, "It's lovely to finally meet you, Natalie here speaks of you so fondly, I'm almost kinda jealous."

"Aww, baby, you talk to your boss about me?" Natasha's face tinted a light shade of pink at the painful, exposing moment, and you did all that you could to stifle your teasing laughter. "You're just a total sweetheart," you mused and followed your teasing words with a gentle kiss to the already blushing woman's cheek.

"Well, shall we get seated?" Natasha managed to pull it together enough to brush right passed the moment, and escort Pepper to her seat.

It doesn't take long after the exchange for shit to hit the fan, and after Natasha roughed up Tony's business rival the two of you were in a car with Happy on the way to save the day.

"When we arrive I need you to watch the perimeter, I'm gonna enter the facility and take down the target," Natasha instructs, and you go to glare at her but are shockingly met with her undressing, and then you felt the car swerving.

"Watch the road," you growled at the man in the drivers seat, then you lifted your suit jacket up to shield Natasha as she changed out of the black dress and into her body defining catsuit.

Natasha softly smiled, an intense wave of emotion filled her as you remained respectful, and didn't intentionally ogle her like she's used to, but a secret part of her wished for you to. However, she has no time to dwell on it as the car comes to a stop outside Hammer's base.

"Stay in the car," Nat barked at both of you.

"I'm not staying in the car."

"Dude. You should really listen to her," you mused, but in direct contrast you followed her into the building, and Happy trailed behind.

"Y/N what are you doing?" she asks in a huff while knocking two guys out at once. "You can't be in here, I don't want you getting hurt."

You rush passed her with an eye roll, taking out a man who was fast approaching with a punch to his throat, then another with your lipstick that she now knows is a high voltage taser.

"I was going to retouch my lips with that," she gasps with a lopsided smile directed at you.

"Good thing you didn't you little thief.," you tease back as you both pass the last remaining guy, and she just uses her pepper spray on him.

Natasha is quick to help Tony with the drones, then while they fight she shifts her attention over to you, "You trained with who exactly?"

"Hill."

Natasha nodded, "Makes sense then."

Her arms that were folded over her chest move to around your waist., "Thanks for the help," you hug her back, and she basically melts into you., "Anytime Nat, I'll do your hair, makeup, I'll dress you up, whatever you want, really."

"How about you undress me?” she teased, using a deep sultry tone on you, you shoved her away playfully, and she cackled while following you out of the room. "Y/L/N, come back!"

"Thank God you girls are okay," Happy shouts as the both of you approach unscathed, he himself in a state of disarray, and you scoff. “It's not us you should be worried about."

He glares at you, then shifts his attention to the redhead approaching from behind you. "Hey, Natalie, what you did here was impressive,” he gestures to the pile of bodies with a shy smile.

"Would you be interested in getting dinner?"

Natasha watched as your jaw and fists clenched in unison, and it inspired her to make a move. Her callous hand was gentle as it found yours, she unfurled your fingers, then slipped hers between yours. "No thanks, I'm spoken for."

A wide smile befell your face as she spoke, and in a swift switch of events it was you making a move, your hand dropped hers to grab her by the waist, and as you spun her to face you the other slid behind her neck. "Yeah, she is."

Happy cleared his throat before scurrying off, the tension in the room thick at the glare you sent his way right before you pulled Natasha into you for a heady kiss. A soft hmph left you when she spun you around and into a wall.

Natasha pulled away from you at the sound of another's pained groan, she smirked at the sight of you so flustered; blissfully unaware, and as beautiful as the first time she saw you.

"We should get out of here krasivaya," Nat grabbed your hand again, squeezing it softly to better get your attention. "Lead the way Nat.," you smiled dreamily, she pulled you along, and guided you into the back of an awaiting car.

—

Fury shook your hand, then sent you off with a wink that you failed to understand as you were finally moving to leave Shields headquarters.

"Wait!” Natasha took off after you, and her hand settled on your shoulder. "Would you like to get coffee with me sometime?” you smiled at the redhead as you turned to face her properly, she was uncharacteristically nervous, and that made you feel extra confident. "I just made out with you over many unconscious men, and now you're nervous to talk to me—how adorable."

Natasha's mouth opened, but then it closed as she tried to remember how to formulate actual words. "I-I'm not adorable Y/N/N, you are."

"You're even more adorable now that you've said that," you snickered, then reached out to softly move a stray hair behind her ear. "I'd love to get coffee with you Natasha, feel free to pick me up tomorrow morning before work."

"I don't have your address.," she called out as you already started walking off again, and you didn't even turn around as you shouted., "We both know that's not true Agent Romanoff."

2012

You weren't a super spy yourself, but you didn't need to be to know the loud ding of your locked doors opening was because of a certain beauty.

"Natasha, I can get my own breakfast you know," you set the broom stick against the counter, and met her at the desk in your office. "Yeah, you can, but you shouldn't have to."

You shook your head with a fond smile, then accepted the warm beverage and croissant. "Thank you baby," you murmured over a bite of the buttery goodness, then you approached the pouting redhead as she reached for you.

"Are you excited to open the shop tomorrow detka?" she quickly pulled you into her warm embrace, and you nuzzled into her, knowing that she craved these reassuring affections. "Mostly," you admitted. "I'm kinda nervous."

"Why would you be nervous?"

"What if I open my doors and the sky falls?"

"Y/N, what's really going on, hm?" she softly swayed you, and placed a kiss to your forehead.

"What if I am not good enough to succeed?"

"Detka, now that's just ridiculous," your lover sighs softly as she works to pull you closer.

"You're plenty good enough, there's nobody else I'd ever let touch my hair," she confessed, "Nick knew that by the way, when he played matchmaker, and I went along of course because you were the woman of my dreams, and how else would I have gotten that close."

"Nat," she cut you off with a dizzying kiss, it was so intense that she was able to walk you back into your chair. "I'm dead serious detka."

"You're being honest?" she nodded, and you smiled widely. "I can't believe I was your first."

Natasha smirked, her dimple prominent as she absorbed your words, there were areas of truth to them, yes, you were her first hair stylist, but moreover, you were her first, and only love.

"Up until that mission I'd handled all of my own disguises, and yes, even as a level 6 agent I was able to work my own makeup brushes."

Your belly laughter filled the room, and your lover smiled as soon as it left you, if she were to only be made to hear your joy for the rest of her life she knows she'd die a happy woman.

"Hey, I have an idea," Natasha nudged your shoulder, then her hand gripped yours to pull you up to your feet without any explanation. Natasha settled herself down in one of your leather chairs with a lopsided grin as she met your gaze through the mirror and ran a hand through her unruly maine, "Have a ball."

It honestly surprised you how willing she was to be your guinea pig, her appearance really did mean a lot to her, but she seemingly trusted you enough to give you free reign with it.

Her current hair was a little passed shoulder length, and quite frankly overdue for a trim, but what you had in mind went beyond that.

Natasha followed your every instruction, and she did so happily, her sighs of gratitude proof that the way you scratched at her scalp as you washed and conditioned her hair was pleasing.

After you settled her down in the salon chair you practiced your customer service on her, "Ma'am, would you," she cut you off with a hand to the face. "Ma'am? Detka please..."

"Oh, my apologies, Miss picture perfect image of youth, would you care for a refreshment?"

Natasha smirked, "Much better, yes please."

Natasha graciously accepted the can of soda by pulling you in for an appreciative kiss, "Now don't you be letting the customers do that too."

You gasped, "Shit baby, do you think I should take off my 'Please kiss your stylist' apron?" She looked up at you unamused, her eyes were briefly casted down at your apron to ensure you were joking, and when she discovered you were she settled into the chair. "Chop, chop."

A roll of your eyes followed her play on words, you complied of course, but to make it more fun you spun her to face away from the mirror.

After you did the sizable chop you began to add layers to give it more volume, then you used your specialty scissors to give the ends texture. It took you about an hour to get her hair where you wanted, and from the back it looked great.

A long breath still left you when your hands no longer had something to manipulate, you were honestly nervous because it was far shorter than when she had walked in. Natasha had the fortune of being so beautiful that nothing could change that, but an outward opinion on her appearance didn't matter here, only hers did.

"Detka, you're making me nervous," she joked, and after a tense moment of silence she sighed, "I'm going to love it, I already feel tons lighter."

When you still refrained from spinning her around she stood from her seat, leaving you unable to face her reaction as she turned around. You still managed to do it though as you shut your eyes tightly to avoid the potential of a disappointed, and likely frowning Nat.

"It's perfect," she gasped, her hands were gentle as they moved you over a smidge so that she could see better. "Honey, open your eyes, and look at the smoke show that is on display," she shook your body like it was a limp noodle by her grip on your shoulders to emphasize the joy you should feel, and it actually paid off.

"Wow," you were genuinely elated as you opened your eyes, what you envisioned was so beautifully brought to life right before you. You didn't hesitate to run your hand through the much shorter red locks, appreciating the way that her natural wave showed through more prominently at this length. "You're beautiful."

Natasha surged forward, capturing your lips with hers, something she always did when she felt overwhelmed by you complimenting her. There was just something different about the way you said beautiful, your tone was always soft, and your eyes were even softer, as if you were seeing her for more than her physicality.

Which you were...

Just as you moved to deepen the affection, your tongue slowly sliding over hers, you were rudely interrupted by Natasha's obnoxious pager, and corresponding ringing of her cell. When combined that always meant she had to go, because Fury needed her for a mission.

"Absolutely not," she groaned, "What is it?"

"Agent Romanoff, always such a pleasure."

"Nick, I am unavailable, Y/N's opening day is tomorrow, can't you send someone else?"

"Unfortunately not Romanoff, it's connected to your mission in limbo, and if you don't seize the moment now you'll likely miss it entirely."

Natasha hung up on the director, it was her angered way of relenting on her stance, even if it was actually breaking her heart to say it.

"It's okay Natasha, it's just a salon opening."

"No, don't do that," she turned to face you, cupping your cheeks in her calloused hands. "You're so special Y/N/N, and the way you transform looks is amazing, it's life changing."

"Yeah, and the way you save the world is too," you leaned in to kiss her again, and the both of you made sure to savor the fleeting moment.

"I'll be back in time for a celebratory dinner."

"I'll be looking forward to it," you pressed your lips to hers for a chaste kiss. "Give them hell."

Natasha smirked against you, "I always do."

——

The world was a crazy place really, the general populous moves around in a state of blissful ignorance while atrocities happen under their noses. Rumors fly, but without any evidence they act as if the evil only exists in the stories. It's only in moments like now that they are able to get a glimpse through the cracks, and see that fables of other worlds are based in reality. 

Natasha stared up at the gigantic black hole in the sky in a disgusted sort of awe, it was a sight to marvel at—sure, but she wonders more how she got here in a matter of twenty four hours.

Yesterday morning she was being pampered by you, and by that evening she was tied to a chair with men who actually thought they had the upper hand on her, the notorious Black Widow.

Then after a panicked call from Coulson over Clint's well being she was exchanging her idiot Russian henchmen out for a ship full of equally as idiotic American men, with an aloof God in tow who couldn't set their egos aside long enough to see the bigger picture until it had to be blown up in front of their once smug faces.

After fighting her best friend, being chased by the monstrosity that is The Hulk, and losing Coulson, a dear friend of the redheads, she was already beyond exhausted, but rest was nary an option with aliens flying through a portal.

If they didn't pull it together soon the entire state of New York would likely meet the same fate as many other peculiar cities in the past.

Natasha wouldn't be letting that happen though, no matter what she would never let anything happen to you. Which is why she was first to offer finding out how to close the portal, effectively neutralizing the core threat here.

"Natasha, you seem distracted," the captain observed, and Natasha sighed in frustration. "My girlfriend," she paused as the man out of time dropped his shield out of shock. "Go on."

"Today was the day her shop was supposed to open, and I'm fucking terrified that she was in it as the fight broke out," she struggled to hold back her tears, "She didn't answer her phone, and I had no time to check on her." At the odd show of emotions from the reclusive spy Steve realized he needed to offer his support here.

"Listen, you make it to the top as planned, and I promise to go collect," he paused, and she smiled at just the thought of you. "Y/N."

"Please, don't let anything happen to her." he nodded, and with that she was off in the sky, chasing down the alien scum while the super soldier sprinted towards your quaint shop.

The bell rung out, and you jumped onto the intruder's back in an instant, ready to fight, but then you saw the patriotic get up, and knew he was not the enemy in this current predicament.

"Y/N?"

You slowly fell from his back, then rounded the man to face him. "Depends, what's it to you?"

"Natasha sent me after you," he relayed, and you rolled your eyes. "That woman, I swear, it's like she forgets I'm trained for this shit."

"You're an agent?" you shrugged. "Something more in between trained agent and stylist."

"I saw her tough resolve crumbling only a few minutes ago," he admits. "I honestly haven't known her more than a few hours, but she doesn't strike me as the type to break easily."

"She isn't," you whisper, then meet the man with a frown. "Take me to safety I guess."

He escorts you out, and it's when an alien runs by with its razor sharp talons ready to strike that he realizes you were safer indoors. "Uh," he turns you back around, then puts you in your office, using your bookshelf he blocks the window, then from outside your door he moves another shelf full of products in front of it.

"We'll come collect you shortly, Natasha is currently working on closing the blackhole."

"Okay!" you shout back amusedly, then you pull up Scandal on your laptop, and hope Nat forgives you for watching the next episode without her on account of emotional distress.

——

Natasha took the elevator down Stark's ginormous tower, then she ran to your shop without taking a moment to catch her breath after she had successfully closed the portal. Once she arrived she barged through the doors only to groan at her newfound obstacle.

"Are you watching Scandal without me?" she grunted through the blocked door as she heard the familiar start up tune while she was trying to use her remaining strength to move the hefty, fully stocked set of shelves. Once she's successful she barges in with a deep scowl.

"The sky was falling..." you shut your laptop guiltily, then slowly made your away around your desk to pull the dirtied woman into you.

"Yeah, it certainly was," she melted into you, honestly she was too tired to further scold you over something so mundane, especially after she already spent the entire day bickering with egotistical men, then as if it was a cherry atop of a shit sundae, she had to fight ugly aliens.

"Sit down love, I'm gonna clean you up."

"Detka," you hummed while maneuvering around the shop to collect your hair products and first aid kit. "Would you like to meet the team today? We're going to get Shawarma."

"Who's really left to meet?" you teased, and she lowered her voice to imitate the men, "Bruce, the Hulk, and Thor, the God of Thunder."

"I'd love to go with you Nat, thank you," you lightly kissed her split lips. "Just maybe after I rinse your hair and disinfect these cuts."

"Fair enough."

—

Natasha was fatigued beyond recognition, so you had her hop onto your back, she protested softly, but the second her feet left the ground you felt her sigh against your back. "Comfy?"

The redhead nodded, then to further prove your suspicions she yawned, "It's just up the street detka, they're probably already eating."

Natasha rested as best she could on your trek to the family owned restaurant that managed to remain unscathed unlike the neighboring stores surrounding it that laid in ruins. Once you got to the door though she dropped from your back, then like the gentlewoman she was she opened the door for you, and escorted you to the table where she took her rightful seat.

There wasn't another open for you since they weren't expecting a plus one, but that didn't matter much, because to make the message clear to the unknowing men gawking at the both of you, Nat pulled you into her lap and kissed you oh so tenderly. Steve blushed at the unfamiliar sight, Tony smirked, and Clint was expectedly unbothered as he stuffed his face.

Thor too seemed unbothered as he asked for someone to pass him the 'sauce that burns his tongue in ways he enjoys.' Bruce, the reserved one looked a bit taken aback, and almost hurt if you cared to look at him, but he shook off his unfair jealousy, then politely shook your hand.

"Lovely to see you again Zoe."

"Zoe?" Steve looked between the three of you, and you and your lover knowingly chuckled. "Tony, and everyone else I guess, this is Y/N, my girlfriend of a years time, and that's all I will be disclosing, so avert your eyes and eat."

Tony didn't care about her disinterest, he was too busy having an epiphany, and so he gasped obnoxiously loudly, "You two got together because of me? Wow! You're both welcome."

—

"Your little team of superheroes seemed," you paused to mull it over while ripping the sheet back, slipping under the cool fabric, and opening your arms wide for the cuddle fiend that was your girlfriend to crawl right on into.

"Insufferable? Pig headed? Inept besides Clint, and even then I might be being too nice?"

Natasha smiled against your neck as you tried to temper your exhausted cackle. "I was going to say potentially incorrigible, but for the sake of mankind's survival I hope they're not."

"Yeah, me too, because as of right now it's an overload on testosterone, and I think if history has taught us anything, it's that that's usually the greatest indicator for eventual disaster"

You snorted at your lovers tired grumbling, "Yeah, but with you there to lead, it'll be fine."

"I sure hope so," she yawned, "Goodnight Y/N, I love you." Your body tensed, but when you looked into her murky eyes you could see that the exhaustion brought it on, but it was the truth nonetheless. "I love you too Natasha."

A smile wider than the state of Texas spread against your skin, followed by a smattering of tired, soft kisses as she nuzzled further into you., "YA sobirayus' khranit' tebya vechno."

(I'm going to keep you forever.)

"What was that?"

"You're a dead woman walking for watching Scandal without me, you better sleep with one eye open," she nipped your skin teasingly and you slapped her butt warningly. "Mhm, sure..."

As you both slipped away into a state of bliss Natasha couldn't fathom how she got so lucky to have found you, and you pondered learning Russian, because you loved her enough to.

2014

"Natasha, sit still," you commanded, the ability to straighten her hair as she asked of you was almost nonexistent with the way she moved.

"I'm sorry detka, I-I," she paused, her thoughts were jumbled with all the anxiety she's been feeling since her mission with Steve yesterday.

"What is it?" you settled the straightener down, then spun her around to face you, and in the cutest way possible she reached for you then pulled you into her lap so she could bury her face in your chest. "My favorite stress balls."

"Natasha," you warned, but the bite in your tone was nonexistent, and you found yourself laughing lightly along with her. "What? The world is an absolute garbage fire, but when I'm here, with my face in your breasts it's alright."

"I can't stand you," you groaned, and she shifted to look at you with a quirked brow., "Good thing you're sitting down then, huh?"

"Natasha, I swear to God!" her face smushed back into your breasts, but this time she was blowing raspberries, and you were aghast, “You’re a fucking pervert,” she laughed wildly as the words left you in a near shriek.

“I’m a pervert for only you,“ she pecked your lips, a sigh of relief brushing across your face as she feels her anxieties melting away so easily when she’s touching you—you’re her peace.

The sound of her pager going off like crazy ruined the whole vibe, “What now? Was me commandeering an entire ship not enough?”

Natasha’s face fell though as she read the tiny script: ‘Fury’s been compromised—hurry.’

—

The drive to the hospital was fast, you held on to the handle tightly as she swerved between lanes. Even in her frenzied state she settled a hand over your thigh to offer comfort, and in the moment when she had nothing but time to think she curses herself for letting you come.

If someone is after Fury, and they see her in the hospital she’s going to be a follow up target, and by bringing you she’s made you one too.

With your hand in hers you both entered the hospital, Maria and Steve were there to greet you both, and as they brought you to a window you saw the elder man in a state of disarray. Then before any words could be muttered his heart monitor went haywire, then he flatlined.

Natasha cried into your shoulder for all of two seconds before she was pulling it together. Her jaw clenched at the thought of leaving you, but she had no choice, so she kissed the corner of your lips, “I have to go,” Natasha held her hand up when you tried to follow her, “I’m okay,” she tossed Maria the keys, then soon disappeared.

You went to chase your girlfriend down but Maria stopped you, “Come with me, Nat’s not going to stop until she has answers, and you’re not safe if you go home since you came here.”

“Oh,” you nodded, then followed her instead.

—

Natasha entered the facility you were being held at with a deep scowl on her face, it didn’t exactly melt away at the sight of you, but it definitely lessened when you embraced her. Maria’s hold on her was nonexistent now as you took over escorting her to a chair for the doctor. Her subtle wince caused you to let go, and you made quick work of her jacket so you could see what happened, and you gasped.

The doctors rushed you aside, then fixed her up remarkably fast, and once they moved you tried to lean in for a kiss, but Natasha evaded your affection with ease, it was so subtle the way she leaned her forehead to yours, but you still felt the sting of her rejecting affection. It terrified you to think that after everything you have overcome together that she’d retreat now.

“I’m okay detka, I’ve experienced worse,” she tried to play down the wound, her voice wasn’t much above a whisper as she tried to keep the moment specifically between the two of you, but she didn’t succeed because you were on your feet, and slamming a fist into Steve.

“How could you let this happen to her?” You glared at the man, but you could see the guilt on his face ran deeper than her being wounded, “Why do you look so guilty Steve? What is it?”

Natasha glared at the super soldier, she told him that what happened on the escalator was self preservation, and that she’d tell you, but he was about to blurt it out, and humiliate you.

“Natasha kissed me,” he squeaked, blue eyes widening as he saw the murderous redhead jump to her feet, “I-It was only—,” you shook your head, a sign that the man took as your disinterest in his blubbering explanations.

Instead you turned to look at Natasha, who was quick to soften her gaze as your eyes locked, a tense silence befell the room because no one knew what was about to happen. Natasha did though, she knew you were silently assessing, and when you smiled softly at her she relaxed.

“I’m sorry you had to do that my beloved,” you coo, then entered into her good arms embrace, “It must’ve been a hardship for you to kiss a man seeing as how you’re not into them.”

Maria smirked, but then upon seeing Fury’s expression she cleared her throat, and began to debrief the room about Hydra’s infiltration. You sat in Nat’s lap while they discussed the miracle of Fury’s survival, and you hardly paid attention, your eyes transfixed on Nat instead.

Which is why when Fury muttered, “Can't kill you if you're already dead. Besides, I wasn't sure who to trust.” You watched as Natasha’s eyes glazed over, and that had you seeing red.

“She took a bullet trying to avenge you, and you don’t know who you can trust?” You made your way over to the man, and slapped him across the face, and Nat tried to pull you away, “Detka, calm down.” But it was of no use.

“No? Absolutely not,” you brushed her off, then turned to point a finger at everyone present, “You all disgust me with how you treat her. Like Natasha is just an expendable asset, but she isn’t, she has a family to come home to and I’d appreciate it if she came back to us alive.”

The room was silent besides everyone’s varying breaths, yours being the loudest as you were feeling rather irate by the audacity in the room. Natasha took tentative steps, her hand turning you by your shoulder so she could look at you.

“I promise I’ll return to you tonight, and I’ll have Maria here take you back home so you’re comfy. She’ll stay with you until I get there,” you pouted, and she desperately wanted to kiss it away, but she simply refused to until her mouth was cleaned of Steve’s existence.

“What do you want for dinner?” Natasha laughed at your sweet question, “You pick.”

You nodded, then placed a kiss to her cheek before shifting to face the others, “Keep her safe, or I swear to God you will all regret it.”

—

Natasha entered your house in a stagger, her heart was nervous for a whole great deal of things, most importantly being you leaving.

“Welcome home Romanoff, I’ll be going.”

“Thanks Maria,” she squeezed the redhead’s shoulder, then yelled her goodbye to you.

This prompted you to race into the living room to see Natasha stood there in one piece, but her eyes spoke of a separate form of shattering. When she fell to her knees a second later you were right by her with no regard to your knees.

“Natasha, what is it?”

“Please don’t leave me,” she sobbed, “I can’t do this without you, I won’t survive—I won’t!”

“Hey, hey,” you settled on your butt then yanked her trembling form into you, “I’m not going anywhere, where is this coming from?”

“I had to air out all of Shield’s dirty laundry,” she started, her hand shaking as you clasped yours over it and you sent her a reassuring smile, “That included all the darkest parts about my past, once you see it you’ll leave.”

“Natasha, your past doesn’t define you, no one is free of skeletons in their closet, and yours were never yours to bare the reprimand for,” you cupped her cheek, and brought her gaze back to yours, “I know your heart Natasha, and whatever those files say doesn’t change that.”

“Matter of fact, they don’t matter, and I won’t even be reading them,” you announced, and her tears finally spilled over, “Thank you…”

“Don’t thank me Nat, you deserve to tell me whatever you want, when you’re ready, not when the world forces you to.”

“I love you Y/N,” she jolted up and caught your lips in a kiss, her mouth tasted of mint, and you smiled at the thought of her probably having brushed her teeth in some drug store just so she could kiss you when she got home.

“I love you too Natasha, you’re stuck with me.”

She smiled against your lips, “Really?” and when you nodded she smiled even wider.

“Marry me then,” she blurted the hopeful words against your lips, then she pulled back with pinched brows as she awaited an answer.

“Seriously?” she nodded, and watched how your eyes now filed with tears, “Of course.”

Natasha kissed you even harder this time, a symbolic sealing of the deal she reasoned.

“Is that borscht I smell?” you nodded with a breathless sigh to follow, and she smiled in pure adoration, “Might as well marry you now, my pretty little housewife in the making.”

“Do it,” you challenged, and she met that with a bruising kiss to which she instantly deepened, her silent promise that she’d be keeping you here until the ready borscht likely went cold.

2016

Natasha woke up next to you this morning, and for a few moments everything just felt right. Then she was called into work only to be met with a scraggly old man in a suit, who laid out a packet thicker than her arms all in the name of containing the Avengers. Tony's argument felt right, it seemed the only option that kept the team safe, but more importantly all together.

Steve didn't agree though, and in a few short hours he became a wanted man, alongside his old pal Bucky, his new pal Sam, her best friend Clint, a shrinking man she'd never met named Scott, and the rightfully terrified witch, Wanda.

Nothing felt right anymore, and as the lot of them fought against one another she knew it wasn't going to end well. Her plans to marry you this Fall would have to wait as she attacked TChalla, and allowed Steve and Bucky to flee.

In less than an hour she was back at the compound collecting her arsenal of weapons, and ignoring Tony's venomous words only spat to hurt her as she rushed off to be on the run.

This life wasn't new to her, being on the run was second nature for the reformed assassin, but now, at this stage of her life it was cruel. There was no easy way to tell you, the love of her life, that she had to leave, but as she raced up the stairs to your shared bedroom she found you sat on the edge of the bed in a fit of tears.

You knew...

"Malysh." you lunged into her open arms, sending the both of you tumbling into the carpeted floor where she held you very tightly. "It'll be okay, I promise, I'll find my way back."

"Back?," you croaked, head shaking rapidly as you refused to accept this., "I'm coming with."

"Not this time Agent.," you sobbed even harder as she cupped the back of your head while sitting you both back up so she could look into your eyes, even if the sight broke her in two., "Liho, and Tabby need you moya lyubov'."

"I need you," your voice cracked, and the tears she managed to keep at bay began to stain her cheeks at the dire situation at hand., "I know detka, I need you just as much as I do oxygen."

"Please, let me come with," you pleaded, hands clinging to her jacket in desperation, and you pulled her in for an equally as desperate kiss.

"This is going to test us," she panted after she managed to pull away from the liplock, her usual sparkling green eyes were dull as she looked into yours now. "But please, don't tell me that if I leave that you won't be here when I get back, because I promise you I'll be back."

"Be careful," you relent, and lean in to kiss her far more gently now, her hands that were sat on your hips gripped you tighter, she needed to feel you, because there was no telling when she would have an opportunity to do so again.

"I always am," she whispered, a soft smile pulling her at lips as she looked into your eyes. "My love for you is all the inspiration I need to make it back to you in one piece," she pecked your lips, then lifted both of you to stand.

"I love you Natasha Romanoff," she brought your entwined hands up to her lips where she pecked each knuckle until she reached your pitifully bare ring finger, where her soft lips lingered., "And I you, Y/N Romanoff."

The sound of sirens in the distance put a rush on your goodbye. "Until we meet again," you smiled sadly as she hopped onto her bike with two ill prepared duffles. "Until then my love."

2018

"Natasha, where are you going?" she peered over to Steve with a sad smile. "I'll be back, I just need to see someone first," and before anyone could protest she was leaving the room.

She was still on the run, so she had to be cautious about how she went about her route. Ross wouldn't have trouble getting her if she walked right into your establishment, and she would never put you in such a position. So she texted you from a burner phone instead, and that's how you found yourself in a quaint diner.

"Natasha, please tell me you didn't," your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as the now blonde approached you with a mischievous grin. "What, you don't like the new hair?"

"I-I," you were thrown, because of course you did, she could pull anything off, but you also knew her resources were limited, so this was likely a very cheap dye job and it made you sad for all the progress you made keeping her hair healthy over the years. "You're beautiful Nat."

"It'll grow back out my love, and then I'll leave it for only you to handle, I promise."

"So I can go with you on the run this time?"

Natasha shook her head, and pulled you in for a hug that nearly crippled her after so long without your body flush to hers. "I'd never let you do that, you're undeserving of such a life."

"All I want is you Natasha, I don't care." she smiled sadly, "I know, but it doesn't matter, because there's no more being on the run."

"Really?" she nodded with a bright smile. "After we win, I'll be back for good malysh."

"Good, I can't stand another two years Nat."

"You won't have to," she smiled as you leaned into her, and she unexpectedly sobbed as you pressed your lips to hers, "I missed you Y/N."

"I missed you too Natty.," you reached up to wipe away her tears, then pecked her lips once more knowing she had to go, "I'll be waiting."

—

They lost, half of everyone turned to dust, and you weren't answering your fucking phone.

You always answered your phone.

No matter what.

Natasha felt waves of pure panic, the contents of her stomach were emptied on the jet, and even though her limbs ached she ran to you.

She had to get to you, there was nothing else she needed more right now than your love.

The doors of your shop flew open, causing her to cough as clouds of dust swirled at the action.

"No...," She fell to her knees besides the chair, your phone laid shattered on the floor in a pile of dust and various hair clippings with an unsent message: "I don't feel good Natasha."

Natasha didn't feel good either, and she would never again if she had to live without you..

2023

“Hey Nat,” Steve greeted as he stepped into the meeting room to find her quietly sulking over a halved peanut butter sandwich. “You okay?”

“Your friend is fine,” she answered almost too quickly for the words to be true, and the older man sighed with the truth weighing on his mind. “Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”

“If I move on, who does this?”

“Maybe nobody, threats have been almost nonexistent Natasha, the oceans are more clear, the grass is real, and the sky is bluer.”

“If you think there’s a bright side to half of the population being dusted you’re honestly not the righteous man I thought you to be Steve.”

“I’ve become a realist in my old age Nat, you deserve to be happy, Y/N wouldn’t want this.”

“Don’t you ever bring her up to push your agenda Rogers,” she growls through gritted teeth, and the man yields upon seeing her eyes of fury paired with a clenched jaw and fists.

“There’s no moving on without her Steve. I’ll search until I’m old and grey for a way to get her back because she’s worth fighting for.”

Steve sighs, “I understand, I was just trying to help is all, I hate seeing you so down.”

“You can’t help me Steve, it seems no one can.”

Natasha slumped back in her chair, and just as her eyes went to close she got a notification from Friday that someone was at the gate.

“Hello?”

Natasha immediately turned to see that the man she knows as ‘Antman’ was stood outside, which made her jolt up because he was presumed dusted, and upon letting him in she realizes that she was l wrong, someone can help her, she just has to l pay the arrogant billionaire a visit and hope he’s down to help.

—

Tony was reluctant to help, but at the thought of Peter, his prodigy, he was in, and Natasha was elated at the promise of undoing the mess. Having you back in her arms was all she needs, and after a few days it’s looking promising.

Clint returned with a baseball glove, showing the mission would succeed as long as all parties did their part. For the most part that was true, but someone had to pay the ultimate price, and then some cosmic fluke, one that Tony himself predicted, occurred as a past Thanos emerged.

It was a gruesome battle, it seemed like the loss of Steve on Vormir was all for not, but then the fruits of their labors came to light as loads of portals opened and all those dusted emerged.

“Avengers Assemble!” Natasha aired out the war cry, a new wave of adrenaline fueling her aching body as she charged at the enemies with the knowledge that you were back to fight for.

—

Natasha sprinted from the battle field as soon as Thanos's army became nothing but dust, her legs were nearly out of commission, weighing as heavy as her heart did with the losses of the unforeseen battle, but she refused to stop until she had you, this time she knew she would.

All her friends were back, so you would be too.

Five years she'd been deprived of you, and she refused to go another minute, she promised you it wouldn't be two like before, but she never realized in doing so she sealed herself to a far more daunting, and lengthier fate.

Much like before the doors to your shop fly open, but this time you're there to look up at the sound of the familiar ding, and you don't have time to ask questions before the love of your life is sobbing loudly against your chest.

"You're here," you hear the pain in her words, to you it had only been an hour since you last felt her touch, but the sight of her changed look told you that it had to have been longer for her.

"I'm here," she gripped your shirt as you went to move, her inability to let you go actually broke your heart in two. "I'm not going anywhere love, just going to sit us down."

Natasha let you go rather briefly, allowing you to settle into the reclining lounge chair in your office, and she straddled you just as soon as your butt made contact with the plush fabric.

"You weren't waiting," she sobbed, fists now clutching your shirts collar while her hazy eyes met your soft pair. "We lost, so you were gone."

The words were enough for you to understand something magically mysterious took place, and that was good because the redhead wasn't able to elaborate, her body racking with more sobs as she reflects on her forced solitude.

With a gentle hand on the back of her head you guided her face into the crook of you neck, you felt as she took in a sharp, deep breath, and how her lip subsequently quivered right after. Her arms then forced their way between your back and the soft material of the recliner so that she could hold you impossibly closer, in direct response you copied her embracement.

After a half hour her sobs faded into hiccups, but your hand rubbing random shapes over her suit continued, even if she could barely feel it. The motion still brought her comfort, and that's all you could try to do here, there was no relating to her pain, you understood the forced solitude, but you can tell hers was far crueler.

"How long?" You started simple, but she still struggled to answer you, it hurt too much to verbalize her former reality. "F-five years."

"Oh my love," you brought her face out to look in her eyes, hands cupping her cheeks so softly as if she were made of glass. The red rimming of her eyes, and tinting of her nose broke your heart, knowing that she was likely in a state of perpetual disarray while you were gone hurt. "I'm so sorry I wasn't waiting," you kissed away the new tears as they fell. "I'm here now baby."

"I need to feel you, please, show me it's real," she pleaded, her hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt, so you sat forward to help her remove it, then you moved a hand to the front zipper of her suit, "Take it off, please!"

It'd been seven years since Natasha felt you like this, with your skin on hers it felt like a dream, like one she frequently had while on the run, but couldn’t bring herself to with you gone.

Natasha whimpered when she felt you shifting so you could set her on the chair, but she was quick to settle when she realized you were going to undress completely for her, her eyes were trained on you without ever wavering. When you slid your pants off, along with your underwear she was gasping in pure shock.

“Fuck, detka,” you smirked in amusement when catching her eyes curiously staring at the strap, “I told you baby, I’d be waiting for you.”

It clicked, and as it did she was pleading with you to give her all of you with lust burning behind her eyes, pupils darkened to the point that they seemed like a black hole ready to consume you whole, and that had you on her in no time at all, soft lips exploring her bareness.

"My sweet Natasha, you've been through so much," you acknowledge, lips pressing to scars you'd never seen before, and your heart ached. "I'm sorry you were alone for so long, but I'm here, and I'm going to take good care of you."

Natasha's entire body shivered as you ran the hard silicone through her folds, collecting her arousal so that you could enter her with ease.

“I know you want my cock baby, but please, can I taste you first?” she nodded vigorously, her hands quick to push you lower, and you snorted, “Thank you angel,” you took a deep breath in, feeling yourself salivating as you smelled her arousal, “Oh fuck, you smell heavenly, you’re still my sweet girl, right?”

“Mhm,” Natasha hummed softly, need too heavily clouding her mind to answer properly. Then she was too busy moaning as your tongue expertly swirled around her clit before it was prodding at her entrance in a teasing manner.

Mewls of pornographic proportions tumbled passed her lips as you worked her up to the edge, she hadn’t been turned on in actual years, so this was not going to be a long fuck.

You were just too good with that tongue of yours for her to hold back much of anything; her hips were frantic as they fucked her cunt into your mouth to help her get off faster; her walls fluttering around your thick pink muscle, leaving it without much wiggle room but you sure made it move; and those screams of hers were uncontainable as you sent her crashing head first into the most intense orgasm ever.

“Fuck, oh my god, please don’t ever stop!”

“I never plan to,” you murmured against her bundle of nerves causing her body to writhe as the pleasure only further coursed through her.

Natasha was panting like she’d just run a marathon, and quite honestly she’d done just about that to get to you from the intense battle. Regardless of her inability to breathe though she yanked you up and into her for a kiss that was nothing short of messy, and thrilling.

While your tongue explored her pliant mouth you reached down to line yourself up with her needy entrance, “Going to fuck you so good,” you pulled away from her lips to catch sight of her face as you thrusted completely into her.

Natasha didn’t disappoint you either, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she was so overwhelmed by your intrusion that she was choking on the air she’s gasped in, her mouth was agape but she was too dumbed to breathe.

“Breath for me baby,” you pulled out, just to shallowly thrust back in, teasing her back down to earth, “Please, I-I need you inside so bad.”

“I know you do baby,” you smiled down at her, then watched as she involuntarily bit back a moan when you refilled her to the brim, “None of that now, I want to hear how good you feel.”

With your arms now hooked underneath her thighs as your hands reached up to fondle her breasts your thrusts were hitting even deeper. Natasha was cursing lowly in Russian, a sure way to let you know she was going to cum any second now, and you knew just what to do.

Natasha loved the idea of being yours, and she loved it even more when it came with marks.

It was an earth shattering occurrence really, you kept your pace pleasurably slow, as you began to nibble over the skin of her jaw, one of your hands continued tweaking her nipples in dizzying oscillations, as the other ventured down to rub tentative circles against her enlarged clit, “You’re close, aren’t you baby?”

Natasha whimpered with her head thrown back into the pillow, her ability to answer was lost on her as your mouth suctioned against the sensitive expanse of her throat, leaving behind marks she would never dream of covering up.

“Let go baby, drench my cock,” you bit into her pulse point, and Natasha couldn’t refrain from screaming your name in a sequence of praises.

Everything about you made her lose every ounce of composure she’s ever been trained to keep. Your smiles melt her stoney heart, and yours giggles basically annihilated her chance at ever wanting to be an Avenger ever again.

All she wants now is to retire with you, and start a family, because you’re her endgame. Nothing else will ever matter more than you.

While buried deep inside her, here you hover over her with a warm smile, you just recked her but still you manage to lean down to whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she comes down.

“How are you feeling my love?”

Natasha smiled up at you with glistening eyes, “Like I can finally breathe again, I missed you tremendously detka,” her lip wobbled slightly as you whispered against her, “Let’s go home.”

—

Natasha happily took you home on her bike as soon as she calmed down from her high, the trek was short, but meaningful as she felt you clinging to her the entire way home, the tight embrace was healing her tattered soul with every second she was able to experience it.

The two of you shared a sweet kiss as soon as you got off the bike, your lover was reluctant to let up, but she had no choice as you swept her off her feet. Natasha squealed with laughter as she settled into your arms, she admired you fondly, heart fluttering with hope as you carry her over the threshold as if you’d finally wed.

“Welcome home my beloved,” you kissed her lovingly, then let her legs drop softly, while swiftly wrapping your arms around her waist.

“I should be saying that to you,” she whispers, and you can hear the sadness in her tone, so you just pull her even closer, and kiss her deeper. “We both deserved to say it Natty.”

“I love the hair Natty,” you twirled the end of her braid in your hand, admiring the growth and dual tone, while your other ran up and down her back in soothing strokes. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you continued to play with her hair, slowly but surely you unraveled the braid, and admired the way her hair fell around her face, framing it beautifully and making you smile.

“You’re very beautiful,” you smiled wider as she blushed deeply, even in the darkness of your house you could see the red tinge of her cheeks, and how it steadily rose from her neck.

More than a decade of loving one another, and she still felt nervous whenever you spoke so tenderly to her. Treating her like a dainty flower instead of the venomous spider that hides in the petals, the one she herself feels a kinship with. You saw her for more than the world ever would. To you, she was just Natty.

“I was thinking of cutting it, but I made a promise to my favorite person, so I didn’t.”

“Oh Natty, my precious angel,” you pulled her face to yours, nuzzling your noses before you closed the minuscule gap, “You waited for me?”

The truth was right there for you to see, her eyes having returned to their natural green shone through with so much love, it was the purist kind, and you knew she meant it wholly. Nobody else would ever interest the redhead again, not when she has you as the blueprint.

“Of course I did, I’d have waited a lifetime.”

You smirked, “Yeah? I can just picture it now, grey roots, with a rich red that ombre’s to the blonde tips,” she slapped your arm, then played with you, “I’ll never go grey detka.”

“Maybe not with me here to dye your hair,” you teased while escorting your fiancée up to your bedroom so the both of you could shower.

Loud meows reverberated off the walls, and your heart cracked when you saw your not so little babies stretching on the mattress, “Oh my have you two grown,” you dropped to your knees and nuzzled your face with theirs.

Natasha stood in the bathroom doorway with a sad smile, she’d started the water already, and now she’s taken to watching you reacquainting with your felines. “They missed you just as much as I did detka, they meowed at the front door for a whole year before they gave up.”

“You never gave up,” you whispered, overcome with so many emotions as you stroke over a new to you patch of grey fur on Liho’s back.

“I never would’ve detka, you’re my world.”

“Time is so precious,” you choked out before rising to your feet, and meeting Natasha with a wobbling lip and tight embrace, “I don’t want to wait anymore Nat, I want to be your wife, move to Norway and start the rest of our lives.”

“Can Norway become Ohio?”

You quirked a brow, but nodded without any hesitation, “Wherever with you works for me.”

Natasha beamed at your words, “Perfect, we’ll leave tomorrow then, I have a house in our name, and someone special I want you to meet, and after you meet Yelena we’ll get married at the local courthouse with her as our witness.”

“Yelena?!”

“Yeah, I found her when I was on the run,” she smiled while pulling you under the hot stream, “But enough about all that, how about you give me a sneak preview of our wedding night?”

Natasha moaned when you pushed her against the marbled wall, “You’re going to regret that.”

——

13,049 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn 🥰

[paperstarwriters]

Abyssmal

short and sweet fic lol. It's been difficult squeezing time to write in between my classes as of late, but I wanted to write something out for MerMay. Just to try it, since I've never done MerMay before. Hopefully I'll be able to another one next year and onwards and all that <3

anyways I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Mer!Muriel x reader

Warnings: protective Muriel, bittersweet ending

Summary: You want to protect Muriel and his fellow Mer-folk from getting caught in traps set out by wealthy billionaires hoping to be able to present a spectacle at their next dinner.

Muriel wants to protect you from getting murdered by the people with harpoons sent by those same wealthy billionaires. Unfortunately for you Muriel has more of an advantage in keeping you for himself safe.

He's trying to keep you safe.

Masterlists | The Arcana Masterlist

Word count: 2,666

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You dream of water sometimes.

All consuming, all encompassing, filling your lungs, filling your ears, nothing but the muted swirl of bubbles around you as you float in near weightlessness, watching sunbeams pierce the veil that ripples between one shade of blue and another.

Some would call it drowning, but there’s no need for air when you dream.

A bubble escapes your lips. Your lungs burn with the need for air.

So how do you survive?

How are you—

A hand presses against your back, cradling you as you feel the pressure of the water pull past you. It’s worse than wind as it presses through your face at the sudden onset of speed, it’s worse than the biting chill that wind presses against your cheeks, for the water clings, and pulls much harder than air would ever dare to.

Your lungs, all too suddenly begin to burn, the hands around you tightening as if it knows, pushing you forward to all the more sooner let you breech the surface.

And breech you do.

Water sprays around you as you surface, gasping for air, in big heavy gulps, warring with the need to cough out the water that had slipped through your nose. Clinging to a shoulder—who’s you aren’t quite sure—you cough and hack struggling to wipe the water from your face and nose and mouth, trying to see through the fat droplets that cling to your eyelashes and threaten to drop into your eyes blinding you all over again.

You pry an eye open and find yourself immediately blinded by sunlight.

It takes a few blinks to adapt to the brightness, fluttering open and closed as you furiously wipe the water from your eyes. Your eyes flutter open and you catch a bright gleam of blue—light glittering off the water’s surface forcing your eyes back closed. Another attempt at prying them open earns you a glittering eyeful of green, glass shards perhaps, you can’t quite tell, eyes promptly forced back closed before you can get a good look.

Your eyes are still closed, still being scrubbed from the water and sunlight when the arms that held you press you against the ledge of a rocky surface allowing you, to finally feel the cold and rough embrace of land a stark contrast to the hands that once held you. It takes you a moment, coughing water and shivering, as the hand that saves you gives you a rough pat on the back, encouraging as much water as they can from your lungs, encouraging another mouthful of water from out of your stomach.

It takes a while, but your eyes finally flutter open once more, even if the water stings as it slips past your eyelashes, even if you have to furiously blink to get it out of your eyes, you still manage to open them.

And in the shadows of the cavern you find yourself in, his green eyes glow familiarly bright.

Dark hair floats around him, almost looking like dark tendrils reaching out from around him, but his eyes, bright green cut through the shadows, unblinking even as water sloshes over them.

He watches you in silence, as if staring at something new and unknown, despite the number of times you’ve met before. At the very least he no longer bears his sharp jagged teeth.

You offer him your hand and watch as he pulls away for a moment, frightened like a small animal, as if the body hidden below the water’s surface wasn’t massive. As if it didn’t surround you with it’s size. Still he waits until you dip your hand beneath it’s surface and wait for him to approach, before his hand entwines with yours, and he pulls himself, to the surface’s edge.

He needs no help up, capable of hauling his upper body to the stony surface with one thick arm alone, resting his chest on the stony edge as he peers up at you still holding your hand. He seems relaxed, holding himself up by that water’s edge, though then again, perhaps his tail helps with the support.

He runs his fingers over your hands in careful curious little strokes, rubbing at your short nails with the pads of his fingers, half scales and half flesh. His own nails are more akin to talons, ones he carefully holds away from your skin.

He touches you as if he’s never held you before, as if he’s worried that you might run away, and yet, as soon as you reciprocate, as soon as you trace your fingers along a familiar pattern along his hand, you find him squeezing your hand and pressing his cheek against the softness of your palm, a small smile growing on his lips.

You wonder if it’s his name. If it’s how you can say Muriel in his absence of words and speech.

Though mer-folk are capable of speech, as seen by their ability to trade and argue against overfishing in their oceans Muriel remains silent, the pale streak around the skin of his neck the likely source of his agony. Though you converse easily with words carved into dirt, it doesn’t stop you from lamenting his injury. You don’t know what had hurt him there, some stray piece of plastic, the webbing of a net, or some malicious human behaviour you cannot tell, but you resent it all the same.

It’s why you keep returning here after all. Why you keep meeting.

“Thank you.” Your words are soft, hoarse as you cough up another lungful of water. Muriel watches in quiet horror as you do. He reaches up, as if hoping to do something to aid you, but hesitates a look of confusion crossing his face before he pulls back returning his hold to entwine with yours and squeeze acting as a form of comfort in lieu of a hug. You squeeze in turn offering him a small smile, and another “thank you” as your sputtering finally draws to a close.

Once more the silence returns, and though you squeeze his hand to offer reassurance, and he squeezes yours in turn, the silence is heavy with unspoken words. The faint crash of waves against the stoney ledge and the cavern’s walls echoes, the sound of birds and trees and wind is audible from the opening above, but the absence of words and the weight of his stare on you still breed a wealth of discomfort.

He squeezes your hand.

He knows what you want to say.

You still say it. Of course you do.

“I have to go back.” And his eyes narrow, levelling a bitter glare your way. “Muriel, please. It’s not safe for you down there.” He gestures sharply at you and you bite the urge to roll your eyes. “I know, I know, it’s not safe for anyone, but someone has to dismantle it, and it’s better that a human gets trapped than a mer.”

He pushes himself further up to the surface, shaking his head furiously hands gesturing wildly, before he pauses and presses a sharp nail into the dirt.

’They want to hurt you too.’ He scribbles out.

“They will hurt me regardless,” you retort. He begins to write but you interrupt him before he can. “Muriel. I know how you feel about that cage. I promise I’ll be fine okay?” His eyes flicker up to you almost pleading for a moment as his hand furiously tries to scribble out more words. “Really Muriel. I saw the logo, I saw the chains around your wrist, I know that—”

“No.” He grabs you with his free hand. Pulling you close as if you wouldn’t be able to hear the rough gravel of his voice otherwise. As if you did not turn your whole attention to the low rumble of his voice. “No. You don’t. You don’t know.” He pulls you closer, holds you tightly, and yet you don’t find yourself worried at the threat of pain. You trust him too much perhaps, too used to him saving you from troubles. To used to returning the favour. “They hurt humans too. They’ll hurt you. I don’t want to lose you.”

It’s only when your hand dips into water where you expected stone that you yank yourself backwards, surprised at how far he had pulled you away, too entranced by the intensity of his eyes how he looked like he was almost going to cry, and the way he pulled you close as if offering a hug.

You want to hug him. You’re tempted to dip back into the water if only to offer him that hug, but he holds you back now, pressing you away where he once held you close.

“It’s dangerous,” he insists, voice somehow both smooth and strained. Strained with emotion. Smooth as if well-used. You’re tempted to reach forth and touch his neck, trace your fingers over that scar. Perhaps it’s old. Perhaps it had long since healed.

Perhaps—

“Stop.” The strain grows stronger, his hold on you firmer as one hand pulls away to catch your stray wrist, fingers following temptation before your mind could stop them, before you were even aware of what you were really doing. Yet, even aware of it now, you can’t find it in you to want to stop.

You just want to hug him. To hold him. Can he not see that?

Maybe it was underhanded, but maybe it could convince him. A hug, or perhaps even a kiss. An appeal to his heart, an appeal to the friendship you’ve built over so many—

Your stomach growls, the sound of it echoing through the cavern, like the growl of some beast. A growl that was somehow only scary to the tension resting on Muriel’s shoulders as they finally sag and a soft smile is sent your way. With gentle care, Muriel sets you back firmly upon dry land as he retreats into the water. He waves to you, making an eating motion, as if he couldn’t just tell you that he was going to get you food. With a sharp turn and a flash his tail, Muriel dives into the cold water below, leaving you watch his figure fade into the blue-green waters as he swims deeper and deeper away from you.

And once again, you find yourself alone in the familiar shadow of the cavern. It’s not all too bad of a place to linger. There is an opening above that lets in sunlight and moonlight, and Muriel had brought you the softest pillow and blanket you had ever used—after they had been dried out of course—but there is very little to do all on your own without Muriel to keep you company.

Not that you intend to stay here too long, but it would at the very least help measure the time. If you had a ball perhaps, you could measure how many times you could bounce and catch a ball to see how long it took Muriel to leave and return. If you had a ball you could figure more accurately how long until he was a reasonable distance from the cave.

Instead you measure by your heartbeat. It’s erratic now, anxious in the face of what you were about to do, and the possible time limit you had to get all your gear. You wouldn’t be able to get your abandoned wetsuit on in time, but you could probably grab your goggles, and your flippers maybe. Oxygen was no go, with canisters empty and unusable but you wouldn’t need to go that deep anyways—not compared to the depth of the cavern at least. You knew what mechanism you needed to trigger, just a simple pin you needed to pull. In and out, a simple task.

You dove beneath the water’s surface.

And Muriel watched you dive.

Again, he watches you swim

He understood why you were doing it, he knew full well your intentions—you had argued them to him time and time and time again, but it still pained him to watch, to see you try to sneak around him, to see you fail to recognize the danger posed to you.

You’re dealing with cruel humans. Humans who would not hesitate to hurt and maim anyone who got in their way, anyone who stopped them from collecting the mer-folk they sought to harvest.

He can’t exactly blame you for trying though. Maybe he could have been more explicit in his warning, maybe he could have told you, used his voice for once in his life.

But would you even listen to him then?

He still recalls the phantom sensations of your hands reaching for him, holding him, cradling him as if he were something soft and reverent—something worthy of reverence. You traced your fingers over his scales with the most gentle touch, uncaring that they may cut your softer skin. And the way you leaned in as if you wanted more. A hug a kiss, whatever, the mere thought alone filled him with that wretchedly dark sense of greed.

But… he could be greedy now, couldn’t he?

His teeth and tongue itch, longing to taste the very thing he’s wanted since he’s met you—since you told him your name. Precious, precious thing to have. A valuable gift he will never forget. For so long he’s longed to feel the sound of it his mouth, to feel the ridges of the syllables and the hollows of the vowels. He wants to engrave the very shape of it on his tongue.

He wants to sing you your name.

He knows what it will do to you, he knows what will happen.

But your recklessness makes his greed seem noble in comparison, and none of his other songs seem to last long enough.

He’s just trying to keep you safe. To keep you from getting killed by those divers that you still don’t know about, wielding harpoons, and the same symbols that litter those cages. He sings to keep you safe, he sings to keep you alive.

He sings to bring you back to him.

He sings your name, and the melody—the praise the words of fond affection sung in a tongue you’d never understand—all come almost second nature to him. Like breathing.

A pang of pain strikes his chest. He breathes easy as you suffocate. But only for a little while. Only to keep you safe. To keep you from dying; from being captured, tortured and killed.

He watches as your body falls slack in the water, as your feet and arms drop to a halt and begin to float as you no longer exert effort to keep them close to you. When you turn it is slow and lazy as if you have no regard for the breath burning in your lungs, before you slowly begin to kick your feet and swim his way. Your lips part, and a small smile graces your lips as your very breath escapes you a swirling bubble of silver, but Muriel is quicker than you underwater, and he’s in front of you before you can dare breathe.

He presses his lips against yours.

He fills your lungs with his breath, shares the oxygen his gills pull from the water around you, and he carries you back up to the surface where you can breathe and he will not speak.

And again you will forget that you’ve tried this.

And again he gets to pull you back into his arms.

Maybe this time you’ll linger longer. Maybe this time he’ll let himself sing to you more, stopping you before you even begin to try.

Maybe this time he can make his offer. For you to become something that can explore and wander the water you love so dearly. For you to stay where it’s safe.

For you to stay with him.

Ah, the greed of a siren. He doesn’t want to ever let you go.

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 1

Book summaries below:

Under the Whispering Door by T.J. Klune

Welcome to Charon's Crossing. The tea is hot, the scones are fresh, and the dead are just passing through.

When a reaper comes to collect Wallace from his own funeral, Wallace begins to suspect he might be dead.

And when Hugo, the owner of a peculiar tea shop, promises to help him cross over, Wallace decides he’s definitely dead.

But even in death he’s not ready to abandon the life he barely lived, so when Wallace is given one week to cross over, he sets about living a lifetime in seven days.

Hilarious, haunting, and kind, Under the Whispering Door is an uplifting story about a life spent at the office and a death spent building a home.

Fantasy, romance, cozy fantasy, contemporary, humor, adult

Yours for the Taking by Gabrielle Korn

The year is 2050. Ava and her girlfriend live in what's left of Brooklyn, and though they love each other, it's hard to find happiness while the effects of climate change rapidly eclipse their world. Soon, it won't be safe outside at all. The only people guaranteed survival are the ones whose applications are accepted to The Inside Project, a series of weather-safe, city-sized structures around the world.

Jacqueline Millender is a reclusive billionaire/women’s rights advocate, and thanks to a generous donation, she’s just become the director of the Inside being built on the bones of Manhattan. Her ideas are unorthodox, yet alluring—she's built a whole brand around rethinking the very concept of empowerment.

Shelby, a business major from a working-class family, is drawn to Jacqueline’s promises of power and impact. When she lands her dream job as Jacqueline’s personal assistant, she's instantly swept up into the glamourous world of corporatized feminism. Also drawn into Jacqueline's orbit is Olympia, who is finishing up medical school when Jacqueline recruits her to run the health department Inside. The more Olympia learns about the project, though, the more she realizes there's something much larger at play. As Ava, Olympia, and Shelby start to notice the cracks in Jacqueline's system, Jacqueline tightens her grip, becoming increasingly unhinged and dangerous in what she is willing to do—and who she is willing to sacrifice—to keep her dream alive.

At once a mesmerizing story of queer love, betrayal, and chosen family, and an unflinching indictment of cis, corporate feminism, Yours for the Taking holds a mirror to our own world, in all its beauty and horror.

Science fiction, dystopia, climate fiction, adult

[pumpacti0n]

Reading the room

"A prevailing sentiment is that now is not the time to criticize Biden because SCOTUS & the Heritage Foundation have declared war on the left & Project 2025 - the White male Christian Evangelist mission - which was, in part, tested on a few African regimes in exchange for "aid" - is finally coming home to roost, so "vote blue no matter who!"

We should seemingly ignore every lie, every 2000 lb. bomb, every weapon shipment, and the literal piles of dead & obliterated bodies we've seen every day for the past nine months because if we criticize Biden or point out the Dem party's complicity in genocide, it will complicate what we must defend against in November.

Nevermind the illegal settlements and land grabs in the West Bank, the torture and abuse of Palestinian hostages, nevermind the under-counted death toll, the expanding war, the disdain for international law, the ceasefire ploys to continue the genocide, the lies direct from the president's mouth, nevermind the added funds that Biden and democratic mayors across the country are giving to militarize the police and build Cop Cities because November is just around the corner.

Now is not the time to point out what Dr. King, Assata Shakur, Malcolm X, Kwame Ture and so many of our revered elders have told us about "liberals", or to bring up Fannie Lou Hamer's "Nobody is free until everybody is free", or to point out that Biden is opposed to expanding the court, or that the Dem Party elite endorsed candidates to run against Black progressives that called for a ceasefire, or that actual climate defenders have abandoned Biden, or that he has "green-lit" more oil drilling than his right-wing predecessor...

The prevailing sentiment is that we should forgo any leverage we may have as voters, that this is no time to demand more from our handlers, we should let them kill or exploit as many Palestinians, Congolese, Haitians, South & Central Americans and Asians as they want because we got an election coming up in November and if we don't ignore what these same blue folks are doing in our names outside of the country and vote blue, the red ones are gonna take away our rights at home.

Now is not the time to educate voters on the Dem Party's center right policies or to point out how a coalition of progressive 3rd party candidates could carve a path for citizens to actually achieve the policies they dream of and break the corporate hegemony, or to point out how a mass social movement, already underway, could be mobilized to force the power out of the hands of those who hold it over our heads, pointing to what we should fear from the other side, while making zero concessions to our demands.

Now is not the time to make demands or correlations between the fight against the gender binary & the readily accepted political party binary. Now is not the time to educate, push, or think, now is the time to fear!

Now is not the time to point out that Black Americans comprise 25% of the world's prison population and that the policies that imprisoned them were drawn up by Biden and imposed by Clinton. Now is not the time to bring up the Clinton's involvement in Haiti, or Obama's war crimes in the Middle East. Now is not the time to bring up the Middle East or America's imperial agenda readily endorsed by both parties or to acknowledge it as part of white supremacist ideology.

Now is not the time to learn any lessons from the "mask-off" moment that would align anti-Zionism with antisemitism, or to question the US military's role as the world's largest fossil fuel consumer, or to question what game the Biden administration is playing with Israeli billionaires to facilitate greater mineral extraction in the Congo. Now is not the time to think globally or to connect the dots between what its imposed on the global majority for our so-called comforts at home.

Now is not the time to understand what LandBack means in relation to climate, colonialism, genocide or to make any amends, right any wrongs, redirect our agendas, beat down corporate or foreign lobbies...No, no, no! Now is the time to fear.

Now is not the time to hear how you sound, to point out how you got got, to remind you that you could actually transform society if you decided to hold a meeting tonight, to call your friends and family, to organize, create think tanks, food banks, community policing organizations* that force out the men in blue (the silent partners in your ..."no matter who" slogans).

Now is not the time to point out that the bloodbath you're avoiding is already overflowing with blood, that your self-centered focus is exactly what the bloodthirsty expect from you so that they can carry on with business as usual, or that you've allowed fear to diminish your concerns to the point of voting for business as usual."

[source]

[mrs-avenger3000]

Oh Bite Me 🙄 pt3

Pair: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

High school AU

Word count: 3420

Summary: As the youngest Stark, sister to the billionaire, playboy, philanthropist himself, Tony Stark Y/n… she has her father's brains and her mother's compassion. Her brain is what landed her in close quarters with Wanda Maximoff, an emo teen who’s struggling to keep her grades up after the loss of her brother. The two of them soon come to realise that being just friends isn’t something they want to do, but can they push their pride aside and admit they feel for each other?

Please do not copy my work or repost with the intent to take ownership of my work :) Feedback is as always welcome as are re-blogs, comments and likes

✨✨✨✨✨

Her smooth hands slid slowly up your body. You leaned into her touch. Her soft lips placed hot kisses across your stomach. You but your lip your core was now throbbing with anticipation as she kissed your lower stomach moving to your thighs. She bit down harshly on your thigh causing you to jerk up a small cry leaving your lips.

“Careful now, someone might just hear you.” She taunted her eyes sparkling with mirth. You glared at her.

“Shut up you-”

Your words died on your tongue as she pressed her thumb onto your clit through your soaked panties. She was looking you straight in the eyes daring you to deny her. And her touch.

You bit your lip not saying anything. She chucked.

“That desperate for me are you? You usually have such an opinion.” She smirked. Your hands gripped the sheets tighter. She leant up placing a burning kiss to your lips. Her tongue invaded your mouth, she tasted so sweet. Like honey. You groaned as she gripped your hair pulling your head back. She bit down on your bottom lip causing a whimper to fall from your lips.

“Oh baby, you look so pretty right now.” She whispers nibbling on your earlobe.

“Please.” You whisper a burning need ripping through your body. Her hand enclosed around your throat and she smirked.

“Wanda!” You gasped as she slipped her fingers into you. You moaned softly.

-/-

Your eyes snapped open and you sat upright your heart was pounding in your chest, your breaths coming out in quick pants. Your mind was reeling, your body was still sensitive from such an intrepid dream. You sighed bringing your hand to your lips still feeling Wanda’s scorching kiss.

What the hell.

“Why did I just-” you stopped and glanced at the clock.

06:05 am

You sighed deciding to get up. Walking to the shower you turned on the water. You loved your shower time. The feeling of the water as it rained down above you. The jets were your favourite part. The pressure managed your body removing any kinks from your sleep. The water was on its hottest temperature the condensation steaming the room. The glass walls were hard to see through and you washed your hair stopping to draw little hearts on the door.

You closed your eyes letting the heat warm your body. Your mind wandered back to the dream. The way Wanda’s hands felt roaming your skin, they way her lips felt as they lowered down your stomach and the way her lips felt on your neck. Your stomach tightened desire pooling into you.

She was captivating in your dream. The burning desire in her eyes, the smirk on her lips. She was stunning. Both in dreamland and in real life.

You quickly finished you’re shower banishing Wanda from your mind. You were going to go the simple route and avoid her until the embarrassment of your dream left you and you locked it away in your mind never to be thought of again.

You dressed and styled your hair into a plait that started at the side of your head and fell over your left shoulder.

Pulling out your phone you sent a quick text to Yelena and Kate asking if they wanted to go to the café before school. Both agreed and you went off to pick them up.

You pulled up outside the café and Kate and Yelena rushed to be out first and in the line. “Stop shoving!” Yelena snapped her Russian accent thick with annoyance. Kate scowled shoving her again.

“Stop shoving.” She mocked feigning Yelena’s accented. You chuckled at the two of them rolling your eyes at their childishness.

“Sweethearts calm down, we’ll all get a turn.” You cooed mockingly. Yelena sneered at you.

“This annoyance is on you.” She points towards Kate. Kate scowled crossing her arms over her chest.

You got to the counter and smiled at the cashier. She was about your age, she had white blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and light pink lips. “Hi what can I get you?” She smiled brightly. The intensity of her smile made heat crawl up your neck.

“Hi- um can I get a large skinny vanilla latte please.” You say with a smile.

“Of course, anything else?”

You pondered the sweet treats section and decided to get something. “And an apple turnover please.” You say. She nodded and you waited for her to collect your items.

“That’ll be $6.99, please.” She said.

You nodded and paid. You, Yelena and Kate walked to a booth and the three of you sat down. “So how are the sessions with Wanda going?” Yelena asked. You sighed. “She giving you trouble?!” Yelena said quickly a fierce protectiveness burning in her eyes. You smiled shaking your head.

“No, she’s actually been very engaged, she’s improving!” You say with a grin. Yelena glanced over at Kate a knowing look in her eyes.

“Well that’s good then, I suppose I don’t have to beat her up.”

You laughed. “Beat who up?” You heard a voice say. Her voice.

You turned and your breath caught in your chest. “Wanda. Hi.” You breathed. She looked down at you her eyes burning your skin as she trailed her eyes down your form.

“Sleep well? You look a little… tired?” She says concern creasing her brow. Your cheeks flushed the dream you had of Wanda came bursting back into your mind. You lowered your gaze taking a sip of your coffee.

“Uh, actually, I didn’t get much sleep.” You admit, her lips quirked up.

“Hmm.” Was all she said.

You eyed her suspiciously but she walked to sit down next to cait. “So what are you guys doing here?” She asked her eyes still on me.

“Just came to chill before school, no specific reason.” Kate says beaming.

You nod not able to look into Wanda’s eyes. The dream was burning through your making you feel all kinds of warm. Wanda was smirking like she knew why you were so flushed.

“Well, it was nice seeing you here, Y/N I’ll see you at your place for our session. Tony’s back today, did you know?” She asked. You looked up and nodded. Your brother had texted you this morning letting you know he’d be back, with gifts.

“Yeah, he tell you about the party he’s hosting at the tower?” You say.

She nodded. “Yeah you going?” She asked standing up, leaning against the side of the booth.

“Yeah I have to. Yelena and Kate are going too, I think Nat will be there. I know Steve will be.” You say. She nods.

“Well then, I’ll look forward to seeing you there…” she says here eyes boring into mine. “All of you.” She says offering a grin to the rest of the crowd. Yelena and Kate smiled back. Wanda walked past you her scent wrapping around you, the sweet scent of her perfume. It was refreshing, cool, exotic and it made your heart beat faster.

This infatuation was dangerous.

The way her eyes lit you on fire, the way her smile made your heart beat quickly, the way her lips curved when she’d deliver a snarky comment.

You swallowed rubbing a hand over your face. “Shall we get going?” Kate says checking the time. You nodded.

The three of you walked back towards the car. Something caught your attention and you looked over. Wanda was leaning against her car a girl had her hand on the car next to Wanda’s head. Wanda was leaning into her, judging from the smirk on her face she knew this girl and they were… friendly. Wanda placed a hand on the girls waist, her other hand twirling a strand of her dark hair.

You looked away anger building in your chest. The was she was smiling at the girl, the way she was touching her made you angry beyond reason. You opened the car door and clenched your jaw. You glanced back over one last time before getting in the car. You slammed the door and angrily started the car.

Without a word you left the café your mood was sour. An indescribable feeling has taken up your stomach every time you think of Wanda your stomach tightens.

“Hey are you okay? You’ve been quite all morning.” Kate asked linking her arm through yours. You looked up at her and smiled.

“I’m good, just tired today.” You say. It wasn’t a lie. You were tired but you were also annoyed at Wanda. Not for any valid reason. She was allowed to be with whoever she wants to be. You guys weren’t a thing nor would you ever be.

So why did her hands on another girl make your stomach tighten almost painfully?

Soon enough school had ended. Usually this time of day would excite you, but the thought of seeing Wanda after today made your body fill with anxiety.

Getting home you at least had a distraction. Tony was sitting at the kitchen island eating from a box. You grinned running up to him. He opened his arms and you through your arms around him. “How was your trip?!” You asked with a grin. He smiled down at you.

“It was great. I got some very needed me time.”

“Us time.” Pepper called out causing Tony to smirk.

“Why of course dear.” He smirked.

You hugged Pepper and she squeezed you tightly. “Have fun without us?” She grinned.

“Oh yeah! I had so many wild parties, you’re lucky you didn’t get here till the afternoon. It was a wreck this morning.” You joke. She chucked at you.

“You’re funny.” Tony declared with an eye roll.

“Well I’m going to freshen up. I’ll be back down in a few.” He nodded.

You rushed upstairs and hopped in the shower. You threw on an oversized hoodie and some shorts and pinned back your wet hair. Grabbing your notes you walked back downstairs, surprised to see Wanda at the table talking to your brother. The rush of emotions you felt whilst looking at her was overwhelming. You haven’t seen her since the café. You avoided her in school and had managed to escape her gaze in class.

You announced your presence by dropping your bag next to the sofa. The room turned to look at you and you nodded politely. “Wanda’s here because I have to tutor her.” You say to Tony. He nods.

“I know. She said. We were just discussing the party tonight, you’re still coming right?” He asked. You shrug.

“I don’t know.”

“You said you were this morning? Change your mind so soon?” She teased. You cast her an icy gaze and she frowned.

“Yep.” Was all you said as you settled down throwing your notes on the table.

“What’s your issue?” She asked.

“Let’s get started.” Was all you said. She slowly approached her shoes clicking off the tiles. She sat down next to you not as close as she usually did. You noticed the absence of her proximity immediately.

You knew you were being mean and you had absolutely no reason to be. You were being stupid. “Did I do something?” She asked in a whisper. You looked at her anger glistening in your gaze.

“No.”

“You’re mad.” She states.

“How’s your girlfriend?” You asked calmly. She frowned.

“Girlfriend? What?”

“This morning against your car, very classy by the way. You two seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.” You say, trying to remove all emotion from your tone. Wanda’s eyes widened. She then frowned.

“That- why are you bothered, jealous?” She asked her eyes sparkling. You scoffed.

“As if.”

“You sure, you sound pretty jealous.” She says shifting so you were closer. Your eyes darted over to the kitchen where Tony was. He was working with his back to you. Wanda leaned forward her breath fanning against your ear. “Which part made you jealous? When I did this?” She asked reaching up her fingers skimmed your neck causing your heart to pound and body erupt in goosebumps, heat sizzled where she touched. Her eyes were teasing but there was an intensity in them. She wrapped her fingers around a lock of your hair as she did with the girl this morning. “Or this?” She breathed her other hand falling to your hip squeezing it. “Or maybe when she did this,” she said her voice just above a whisper, she leaned in her nose skimming the skin of your neck. You had stopped breathing. She was so close to you. Close enough that if you just lent forward the tiniest bit your lips would be touching. She was toying with you and she was enjoying it.

Well. Two can play at that game.

You lifted your head your hand coming to cup the back of her neck. Your fingers slid into Wanda’s hair and you tugged her head back slightly. Your lips hovered over hers. She was breathing heavily, her eyes widen in shock as you came so close your lips brushed hers as you spoke. “Don’t flatter yourself Maximoff, your ego is big enough.” You smirk.

“You know what else is big?” She smirked.

“Your imagination by the sounds of it. Me? Jealous? Funny.” You say pulling back and casting her a cold look. She only stared at you. Her tongue darted out as she licked her lips.

“Cute.”

“You going to be able to focus or do you need to cool down.” You teased running a finger down her neck. She shoved your hand away and scowled. You didn’t miss the way she clenched her thighs and fists at your touch.

✨✨✨✨

Your dress clung to you in all the right places. The black satin material felt like a second skin it was so tight. You loved how sexy the dress made you feel, how tall the heels made you look, how big your breasts looked in the dress. You loved everything about this outfit from the shoes to the diamond earrings you were wearing. You clasped a gold heart necklaces around your neck and sprayed some perfume on yourself. You dabbed it behind your ears, and on your wrists.

Looking in the mirror you grinned. Your hair was curled and you had light make up on, your favourite was the winged eyeliner, the contrast made you look sharp, fierce.

You grabbed your phone and your bag and headed out.

Pepper, Tony, Steve and Nat were all in the living room when you made your entrance. Tony’s face simmered with disapproval. Steve smiled. “You look lovely Y/N.” He said and you smiled.

“Why mince words Cap, she looks sexy.” Nat smirked. You winked and did a twirl to which she responded with a low whistle before you both started laughing.

“I do not like this.” Tony muttered. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah well I don’t like you.” You replied feigning to pick dirt from your nails. He stalked over to you and you quickly rushed away hiding behind Natasha. “Leave my hair alone.” You say pointing a long finger at him. He only smirked in response.

Once that was over the five of you headed to the limo.

“How’s the tutoring with Wanda going?” Pepper asked as you all got situated in the back of the limo. Tony was handing out glasses of champagne and you took one gleefully.

Your eyes fell back on pepper. She was wearing a beautiful navy spaghetti strap dress that fitted her body well extenuating her feminine curves. “It’s going.”

“Why so glum?” Steve asked.

“I forget sometimes that not everyone understands things the way we do,” you say casting a glance to your brother. “She’s a good student, I just feel like I should be making it easier for her.”

“If you don’t fail you’re not learning.” Pepper smiled.

“I know but sometimes I feel like I’m pushing her too hard. She doesn’t need to excel only pass.” You say contemplating your teaching methods.

“Is she struggling with it?” Nat asked. You shrug.

“Some parts, but she’s truly great when she understands it. You should see how proud she gets when she gets the answers right. She gets that cute little proud smile and it’s all she talks about after.” You say smiling at the find memory.

Natasha tilted her head to the side and smirked a glint in her eyes. “I see. Well if she doesn’t complain and isn’t struggling to bad I don’t see why you should dumb it down for her. Just give her time to understand and things will go smoothly.” Nat said and you nodded.

The party, unlike the one you threw was extravagant. Elegant ice sculptures were dotted around the room, tables filled with party favours, ballooned arches delicate designs were strewn around the room and it was rammed. Your eyes widened in awe as you took in the room. Tony led your group to the rest of the Avengers. Clint and Bruce were engaged in conversation with Bucky as they all sat around a glass table. When you guys approached they all stood welcoming you all. You grinned as Bucky hugged you. “You look delicious, doll.” He whispered and you blushed stepping away.

“Thank you.” You say. You felt arms slip around your waist and you turned swiftly to see Yelena. You smiled.

“Hey gorgeous.” She placed a kiss on your cheek.

“Hey- I have to-”

Your eyes wondered behind her and saw Wanda. Your heart fluttered into a quickened pace. She was wearing a tight red dress, almost as bright as her magic. Her eyes had a Smokey eye effect and eyeliner to make her seem that much more fierce. Her look was completed with heels and her usual smirk. You started to walk over to her when you saw the girl from the café. She appeared and wrapped her arms around Wanda’s neck. She pulled her into a deep kiss. Wanda responded quickly. Her hands gripping the girls waist.

You felt as if the breath had been knocked out of you. You felt like… like you wanted to beat that girl into the ground for putting her lips on Wanda. But the rational side of your brain prevented that. Wanda wasn’t yours.

Yelena placed her hand on your shoulder. You turned and she was giving you a knowing look. “That what I was going to tell you.” She said apologetically. You wiped your face of any emotion and shrugged.

“She can so whatever or whoever she likes.” You say with a mask of indifference on your face. She squeezed your shoulder and you smiled.

You held your head high and went back over to the others. You stood in front of Bucky. “Room to sit?” You say with a smirk. He gestured to his lap.

“Seats all yours.” He said jokingly. You smiled and say down. You threw your one leg over the other so you were cross legged on his lap. He stiffened in shock. You grabbed his beer from his hand and took a sip.

“You don’t mind do you?” You ask and he coughs clearing his throat.

“Not at all, Doll.” You grinned at him.

“Brill.” You say as you brig the bottle up to your lips. You took a swig never breaking eye contact with him. He swallowed nervously.

You heard a voice clear.

You turned your face looked at the noise. “Maximoff.”

“Stark.” She said her eyes boring holes into you.

“Enjoying the party?” She says. You lean forward so she gets a delicious view of your cleavage and grab a bottle from the ice bucket on the table.

“I’m definitely enjoying the company.” You say raising a brow.

She looked between you and Bucky. Her eyes were hiring with annoyance. The red wisps were present in her heated gaze. “Can we talk? Privately?”

You stand and walk towards her a feline smirk on your lips. You reach her and then turn to Bucky. “No, I’m going to dance. Care to join me?” You say to Bucky. He smirks and stands up. Wanda goes to reach for you but you quickly evade her. You lean into her ear. “She seems like a good kisser, you should go join your date.” You say venomously. Her eyes widened.

“You saw?”

“I’m not blind.”

With that Bucky’s had wrapped around your waist and the two of you left to dance. Leaving Wanda staring at the two of you in a quiet rage.

✨✨✨✨

Tag list

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[redfurrycat]

🤠🪅👨🐓Sugar Daddy Fic Recs🐓👨🪅🤠

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: Chase_acow, Ginnydear, Hangmanbradshaw, LulaluzHazel, Mackwinnon, Renai_chan, Thegeckbros.

I'm a babygirl in a daddy's world > Daddy Klnk

leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream by ginnydear {E}

“Getting old,” she replies, humming again. “I guess that means you’re entering a new era of hook-ups though.” “What on earth are you talking about?” Bradley asks, turning down the television. “Come on Bradley, you know you’re gonna find some hot twenty-something who wants you to fu-” “Okay!” Bradley says, laughing a bit as Natasha sputters and laughs too. “I get it. You don’t have to continue.” “Don’t be such a prude,” Natasha says primly. “I was going to say ‘fund their grad school dreams’ before you so rudely cut me off.”

The Only Exception by mackwinnon {E}

Organized crime AU. Escort Jake meets Bradley in a club while he's with another client. Bradley's instantly intrigued and makes Jake an offer he can't refuse. It's just business. Until it isn't.

nothing’s good until it hurts by thegeckbros {E}  

there's money for the taking (and the happiness we all deserve)

“So, what, one of the richest dudes in New York wants to be your sugar daddy?” “Kinda?” Jake sits back up, straightening up and turning his body towards Javy. “He doesn’t want like sex or anything. He just needs someone to pretend to date so his uncle and PR team get off his back about his reputation.” Or a sugar daddy au in which jake is a struggling law student, bradley's a billionaire, and they weave a tangled web

you do it all your life and you never get through it

The silver lining, if there is one to be had, about watching his dad die in front of him is that the worst thing to ever happen to Bradley is over before his life has really begun. Every shitty breakup or spectacular fuckup, every broken bone or missed flight. None of it will ever come close to even touching the worst day of Bradley’s life. And then, 15 years after the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, it all happens again. Or scenes from bradley's life, before and after jake

We're Crashing Like Waves by Renai_chan {M}

Jake is a movie star looking to get some surfing lessons and Bradley is a surfer living a quiet life in Hawaii. Like the land and the sea, they come together on the edges of O‘ahu.

Sugar Daddy Bradshaw by chase_acow {E}

Cutting to the Chase

“I’ll agree to pay for one semester if you make me look good and let me touch your ass. I suppose I’ll have to live with the disappointment of no blowjob,” Bradshaw sighed, his shoulders slumping as he adopted a hangdog expression, for exactly five seconds before he grinned again. “But think about it. I can’t be your sugar daddy if you don’t give me the sugar.” “You’d be interested in something long term?” Jake asked doubtfully, wondering if he’d somehow been involved in a terrible accident and this was all a hallucination from his desperate brain low on oxygen. “Based on what I’ve seen so far, you might be sweet enough to pay through to your doctorate,” Bradshaw said with a shrug of his shoulders as if he didn’t care one way or another about throwing a hundred thousand dollars at someone he just met.

Party Favor

Bradley needed him to go to New York on a business trip, but first Jake had to have a suit that wouldn’t make the people they were meeting laugh. So Jake spent a very uncomfortable afternoon at the tailor playing a life-sized Ken doll while Bradley and the old man with too many straight pins talked about him like he wasn’t there. The suits he ended up with each cost more than his car. The bruises he ended up with when Bradley pulled him into the changing room and lifted him up to wrap his legs around his waist had faded by the time Jake got on the private plane for the trip. Earning his membership to the mile high club was kinda cool, too.

Ride 'Em Cowboy

Bradley had some work to finish, but he joined Jake in time to start the football game. As the Longhorns ran out on the field, Jake found himself sitting pretty in Bradley’s lap. His skin felt a hundred times more sensitive after staying naked and having Bradley prime him for so long. The mustache at the nape of his neck made him shiver. “Do you think you can come once for each quarter?” Bradley asked, hands on Jake’s knees to situate them to his liking. He licked his palm and then took Jake in hand, “I think you can do it.” * “Your team’s winning, baby. What do you have to cry about?” Bradley teased after they’d watched more of the game. One hand pet across Jake’s belly while the other twisted Jake’s head around so he could lick at Jake’s tears. “Is it too much?”

Know Better

“You can come, but I am not fucking you in my mom’s home,” Jake said, leaning into his stern voice. He’d learned enough about how to wrangle the older man in the last couple of months to know he had to start out solid and then stick to his guns. “And we don’t have time to fool around now. So repack, and you’d better pick at least one shirt that isn’t going to blind everyone with the print.” Bradley smirked, and Jake should have known better.

that little farm where every wish comes true by hangmanbradshaw {E}

Jake's only wish that holiday season was simple- to keep his family christmas tree farm. He never expected that wish would be granted via a man with deep pockets, an amused smile, and commitment issues a mile wide. He never expected to like him. He definitely never expected to love him. Hell, he never expected Bradley Bradshaw. Or Hallmark Christmas Movie but make it sugar (daddy) and spice and everything nice.

Serendipity by LulaluzHazel {E}

During his second year at university, Bradley found himself with no room or a place to live. Venting to his co-worker, a handsome customer overheard his problems and offered him a sweet deal: to stay at his flat in exchange for looking out for his cat. But why did his new landlord have to be a naval aviator of all things? Couldn't he just be a regular rich kid?

[oliver-stumbles]

this is an ode

to the American man

with his small beer gut

and his farmer's tan

with a permanent scowl

and a 19 in his van

who works a full day

as best as he can

he knows all the capitols

and states from school

when it comes to WWII

he's no man's fool

he knows every president

and constitutional rule

says the pledge, says grace

says "dude" and "cool"

but he doesn't understand

what "land back" means

and when he hears Español

he feels unease

doesn't get all the fuss

about the climate and the bees

and doesn't have his degree

but he believes

that a human soul

begins at conception

(despite no understanding

of female reproduction)

that billionaires have earned

all their wealth generation

through fair means alone

and not exploitation

of people and systems

and voter manipulation

and that sex reassignment

is just body mutilation

that with enough hard work

you can achieve anything

but also that some things

just weren't meant to be

and that history and politics

are just hobbies

and it doesn't really matter

what happens overseas

knows what a nazi is

but not what a nazi isn't

doesn't understand "woke"

but knows he doesn't want to be it

doesn't know what it's like

to be denied self-fulfillment

just wants to buy his picket fence

and have 2.5 children

so a toast to the man

who needs no introduction

who will point and laugh

during his country's deconstruction

thinks his American dream

will survive the devastation

and that he'll finally feel free

in his American nation