#How to recruit anyone without asking | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vunblr · 1 month ago

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The Trouble With Saturdays -Puesto-

Pairing: Thunderbolts! Bucky Barnes x Curvy! Female Reader

Tags: Fluff. Slight sprinkle of angst if you squint. Pinning.

Summary: Life at the Thunderbolts Tower is loud, chaotic, and full of questionable moral choices. Bucky’s used to keeping to himself, until one night, after one of those questionable moral choices was made, the guys got him high.

Word Count: About 7.6k.

They didn’t recruit her for the violence.

The Thunderbolts had enough of that. More than enough, actually. Three supersoldiers, a walking quantum anomaly, a man with literal god-tier potential buried beneath trauma, and Yelena, who didn’t need powers to make anyone cry.

No, she was brought in to patch what was left behind.

Civilians mostly. Collateral damage.

The ones caught in the debris cloud of a botched extraction, or buried under the wrong side of a knocked-over building. She’d move between the screams and the smoke, crouch in the rubble with her hands pressed to scorched skin or crushed lungs, and pull people back. Not metaphorically. Literally.

She didn’t stop death, but she slowed it. Called it off. Reversed it in some cases. No one liked to use the word resurrect, not even her, but she knew what it looked like when a rib cage stopped collapsing under its own weight, when air found its way back into lungs that had already forgotten how to breathe.

It didn’t take long for the team to realize she wasn’t there for them.

Mostly.

The first time Bucky came to her, it wasn’t after a mission.

It was late, the tower was in that in-between time when most of the team had gone to bed or passed out somewhere inconvenient. The common room was only lit by the flat screen, where Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth danced around each other in the 1995 Pride and Prejudice adaptation. She had a blanket over her knees and a mug in her hands. The night was ordinary. Unremarkable.

Then she felt him.

She didn’t startle, just looked up to find him standing by the edge of the couch. His eyes weren’t on her, but on the TV, and his arms were folded too tightly across his chest.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said.

“You didn’t.”

A pause. Then, quietly. “Could I… borrow your time?”

She tilted her head, studying him. He wasn’t bruised. No dried blood, no marred tac suit. But his posture was wrong. His left shoulder sat higher than the right, tensed and pulling across his collarbone.

“Is your back?” she asked softly, setting down her mug.

He gave the barest nod. “Shoulder and neck are acting up. Pulls when I use the arm too much. Been pushing it. And that strains my back, too.”

“Sit.”

He obeyed without question, sitting on the rug in front of the couch with a faint wince. She shifted to sit behind him, spreading her legs on each side of his shoulders.

When she laid her hands over the thick knot of muscle at his trapezius, he didn’t flinch but he tensed, just slightly. Then he exhaled. The heat under her palms was sharp and wrong, deep where metal met skin. She let the current of healing rise gently from her hands, coaxing away the ache like drawing poison from a wound. It wasn’t dramatic -there was no holy glow, no divine wind- just a flush of cool relief that sank slowly into his muscles. His eyes closed as he relaxed.

“Sorry to bug you so late,” he murmured after a while.

“You’re not.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d wait it out, but…” He trailed off, shrugged with his good shoulder. “Saw the glow of the tv. Damn, this helps.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m glad.”

He was quiet for a while. Let her work, let himself rest a little. Then, after a long pause-

“You like this series? I think there is a more recent movie.”

“I love it,” she said. “It’s my comfort watch, wouldn’t trade it for any other version.”

He hummed.

She smiled, pressing a little deeper into the heat at his shoulder. He made a sound then -not a groan, not quite- but something close. She felt him soften beneath her palms.

When she finished, he didn’t move right away. Just sat there, with his head bowed.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

He stood up a moment later, with his shoulder visibly lower, freer, and his arm hanging loose again at his side. He looked at her then and nodded, padding back to his room.

----

She got along with all of them eventually. Yelena dragged her into a chaotic kind of sisterhood almost immediately; Alexei insisted on teaching her Russian phrases she didn’t ask for; Bob started helping her when she baked and apologized whenever he accidentally thew something panicked with the blender’s noise; Ava didn’t speak much, but once left a book outside her door with the title underlined in black. John well… he was an asshole, but a tolerable one.

But with Bucky… it was different. There was something in him that calmed her when he was near. She couldn’t tell. He kept a certain distance, like it were policy. She never took it personally. Still, there were moments.

Moments when he stood too close to her while scanning for exits, like he’d throw her over his shoulder if a ceiling caved in.

Moments like the night he sat on the other end of the couch, halfway through Pride and Prejudice, and watched in silence, asking questions with real interest, even when John heckled him for it, something about finally a period older than him.

Like the time he set aside a tupperware for her when she got back late, grunting something about how the “jackals already circled the kitchen.”

Like how he always lurked just close enough when she healed others, as if assessing what it might cost her.

That’s why she asked him.

One night, after a debrief, while everyone else argued over takeout orders and Bob tried to fix the busted kitchen fan by staring at it too hard, she leaned in at the counter beside Bucky and- “Teach me how to shoot.”

“No.” He didn’t even look up.

She raised a brow. “You don’t even want to know why?”

“Don’t care.”

“Bucky-”

“You already help people,” he said, clenching his fingers around the cheap ceramic mug with Yelena’s printed face. “You do enough. Let us manage the other part of the job.”

She didn’t argue. Not out loud. Just stood there, with heat crawling up her neck, unsure if it was from frustration or the way he said it.

----

The next morning, she didn’t bring it up again.

Bucky had said no, flat and final, with a tone like he was trying to crush the idea before it had a chance to grow legs. She wasn’t one to beg, so she thought of an alternative and left him alone.

So there she was, helping Yelena to repot the herbs Alexei kept murdering by accident in the kitchen.

Feet away, Bucky and Alexei sat in the common area. A soccer match was running on the TV. Bucky leaned back, with socked feet up on the coffee table, silent as ever. Alexei was cracking sunflower seeds and muttering something in a mix of Russian and fatherly disappointment.

Then came the voice.

“So! Guess who I’m gonna teach shooting after lunch?” John swaggered over, like he’d invented testosterone. “As a hint,” he added, wagging a finger, “it’s not the guinea pig.”

Bucky’s face soured instantly. His jaw ticked. “The hell does that mean?”

Alexei perked up. “Bob? Oho! I knew the kid would want to jump into heroic deeds instead of making waffles!”

“Nope.” John popped the p with relish. “Our group’s walking panacea.”

Alexei blinked. “Her? Da. Makes sense. She’s not bad with her hands. Has calm eyes, like assassin nun. I approve.”

John grinned like he’d just won a bet at someone else’s expense.

“I’m the only one here who thinks it’s a bad idea?” Bucky asked, frowning. “She doesn’t need to learn that,” he muttered.

“Uh, yeah, she does?” John scoffed, raising his brows like it hurt to explain. “Let’s face it, she’s super cool with the healing mumbo jumbo, but couldn’t reduce-”

“That’s not her role.” Bucky’s voice cut him promptly.

He stood slowly in all his height, his shadow stretching over the rug. “She doesn’t go on heavy missions. She takes care of us. She assists when we’re with civilians. That’s what she does.”

“And what happens,” Walker shot back, closing the gape, “when none of us are there to save her ass, huh? What happens the day it costs her life, or fucks up a mission because we’re too busy babysitting her?”

The room went still. Even the TV dulled down, like it knew something ugly was about to happen.

Bucky’s fists closed. “You’re not teaching her.”

John took a step forward. “Oh yeah? And what- what assembly named you the fucking leader, Bucky?”

No answer.

“I don’t take orders from you. She asked me. She’s a grown-ass woman who wants to learn, so, fuck off.”

Bucky moved.

Quick. Sharp. Enough menace in that single step that John instinctively squared his shoulders. But before anything snapped, Alexei clomped forward, stuffing himself between them in his garish yellow AvengerZ tracksuit like a human foam wall.

“Look, mister soldier,” he sighed, hands up like he was negotiating hostage terms. “He has a point, da? And she did ask. Haven’t you heard about women’s rights and determination?” He wagged a seed-covered finger. “Maybe in your time -and I’m not saying it was wrong- women belong in the kitchen, but-”

Bucky stopped listening.

She’d asked John.

She wanted this.

And clearly, she wasn’t going to let him stop her.

He shut his eyes. Counted to three. Didn’t make it to two.

“She’s not learning from you,” he told Walker, calmly. “If someone’s teaching her, it’s gonna be me.”

“Oh yeah?” John tilted his head, smiling all wolfish teeth. “And why’s that?”

Bucky snapped the case on the remote shut.

“Because I’m the fucking Winter Soldier.”

----

The tracksuit didn’t fit.

Or more specifically, the zipper refused to participate in any fantasy where it might slide up over her chest without protest. She wrestled with it anyway, with stubborn fingers pulling and tugging, trying to wedge the metal teeth up over her sports bra and the too-tight cotton clinging to her skin.

Her breathing had picked up. The top gaped open, exposing the rise of cleavage as she tried to smoosh herself flat enough to force the zipper into cooperation.

A quiet mutter escaped her lips. “Goddamn tits…”

Across the room, the door opened.

Bucky froze just inside the threshold.

There was a second -a full second- where all conscious thought left his brain.

He'd been expecting a shooting lesson.

What he got instead was the kind of image that used to be currency in the field. Back in the war, a photograph like that -wide hips, full breasts straining against cheap blue polyester- could’ve bought a man a whole week of smokes. Maybe two, if she smiled.

She wasn’t smiling now.

She was squishing herself with both arms, muttering curses, oblivious to his presence. He couldn’t move. His brain short-circuited somewhere between don’t stare and holy shit.

She heard the footsteps, finally.

Didn’t look up.

She thought it was John. For some reason she couldn’t picture, he told her they were going to start with rifles.

“Hey there, teach,” she called, still focused on the zipper. “Ready to show me your long gun?”

Silence.

It hit like a brick.

She looked up slowly, dragging her eyes from boots to black pants to the unmistakable slope of a broad chest under a grey Henley. Metal arm. Stubbled jaw. And that face. Oh god. That face.

Not stupid John.

“Bucky,” she breathed. The horror crept up her neck in a heatwave.

He blinked.

She scrambled to yank the zipper up in panic, gave up when it snagged under her chest, then crossed her arms to hide the worst of it, which only shoved her tits higher and made everything worse.

“I- uh- ” she stammered, backing toward the bench like she might vanish into the wall if she just concentrated hard enough.

Bucky’s voice came late. Gravel rough. “You’re not learning from Walker.”

She blinked.

“What?”

He stepped in, closing the door behind him. His jaw clenched once. “I’m teaching you.”

Silence again.

She wanted to die.

He hadn’t even blinked at her joke. No snort. No teasing comeback. Just that serious scowl and the ghost of something unreadable behind his eyes.

“I thought you said-” she started, still not daring to lower her arms.

“I changed my mind.”

Another beat.

Then, under his breath, almost too low to catch: “He’s not careful enough with you.”

Her heart kicked.

He didn’t look away. Just moved to the weapon rack methodically, like nothing had just happened. Like he hadn’t walked in on a living pin-up girl wrestling her zipper, talking about his long gun.

But his ears were red.

She exhaled through her nose and quietly regretted waking up at all that morning.

----

He handed her the rifle like it was made of glass.

“Start with the stance,” he instructed.

She nodded, lifting the long weapon with both hands. It was heavier than it looked, and she nearly tilted forward trying to keep it level. Her elbows wobbled. Feet shuffled on the mat. Then, squinting down the barrel, she bent her knees and leaned forward the way she’d seen in action movies.

Bucky made a noise.

Not a word.

Not a breath.

A noise.

His lips pressed into a line. He looked like someone who’d just bitten into a lemon and was trying to hide it. She was too focused to notice. Which was good. Because from behind, the way she bent into the stance, with her hips back, thick thighs under the stretch of her track pants, spine arched just enough to lift her ass like an offering, was testing his military-grade self-control.

He cleared his throat and walked forward like he wasn’t dying inside.

“Okay- no. You’re compensating too much.”

“What?”

“You’re sticking your ass out,” he said flatly.

She looked at him, half mortified, half amused. “Oh, so that’s your professional assessment, Sergeant Barnes?”

His ears turned red. “I’m just correcting your form.”

“Right.”

“Look,” he muttered, stepping behind her. “Feet shoulder-width. Hips square. Don’t tilt forward like that unless you wanna throw your back out.”

She smirked but followed directions. He reached out, -hesitated- then touched her shoulders very lightly to guide them back. She tensed under his hands. Not from discomfort, but something else. Awareness. Warm and prickly.

“Better,” he said, stepping to her side. His metal hand touched her wrist now. “Elbow up. Relax your grip. You’re not strangling the thing.”

“I didn’t know rifles were so delicate,” she murmured, still hyper-aware of him in her personal space.

He didn’t reply.

Because the sight of her shoulders pulled back, chest forward, arms braced in that stance, it was just too much.

In his head, he was screaming.

Professional. Stay professional. She’s trusting you. She’s trying. You’re a trainer. You’re a sandbag with instructions. Do not look down. Do not-

He looked down.

Her chest, barely contained by the track jacket, rose with each breath. A single drop of sweat slid down between her breasts and disappeared under the zipper that still refused to close fully.

He stepped back.

Farther than necessary.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll get the smaller rifle. That one’s… too much.”

He turned on his heel and walked off, jaw clenched, neck red, pretending he wasn’t about to re-evaluate every decision that led him to this exact moment.

They trained three times a week after that.

She was better than he expected, quick to learn, surprisingly capable once she stopped overthinking every movement. He still didn’t like it. Hated it, actually. But the touch-starved part of him -the one that had been pining for months- thrived under the excuse of proximity. Guiding her hand to the trigger. Adjusting her shoulders. Watching the way her eyes narrowed when she focused, the way she grinned when she nailed a shot. He got to stand close. He got to see her.

And she let him.

It was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

Like every other Saturday, he was chewing through a leg of an aggressively over-roasted chicken, sitting sideways on the kitchen bench with his legs stretched out and one boot hooked on the rung. Bob was mid-scrubbing dishes, with his sleeves rolled up and humming some offbeat tune under his breath.

Then came the death sentence.

“You know, it’s cool Yelena’s taking Y/n out tonight,” Bob said casually, flicking soap off his fingers. “It’s good they get to chill. She deserves it.”

Bucky didn’t look up.

Didn’t blink.

Just kept chewing.

Harder.

The meat turned to ash in his mouth.

Bob, kept going, oblivious. “I think they’re hitting that new place near the pier. The one with the neon sign that looks like a melting martini. Or a fish. Dunno.”

Across the room, something cracked.

The chicken bone, under Bucky’s grip.

“Right,” he said, voice like gravel. “Great.”

John didn’t miss a thing. He leaned back in his chair, with his arms crossed, smirking like a wolf catching scent of blood. “What? Don’t like your girlfriend going out?”

Alexei perked up like a dog hearing a squirrel. “Oh? You sly fox! Had it all covered up! So it wasn’t shooting lessons, eh?” He gave Bucky’s shoulder a hearty slap. “Were other kind of action? Da? Oh, Mister Soldier, you are so cool.”

Bucky threw him a sideways glare sharp enough to skin bark.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said flatly. “And I don’t know what the hell you're talking about.”

Nonchalance didn’t suit him, his jaw was too tight, his voice too frayed. The tension sat around him like a storm cloud in a leather jacket.

John made a wheezing sound and shook his head. “God, you are so emotionally constipated, Bucky. One day you’re gonna blow up and take half the damn tower with you.”

Alexei blinked. “Ima… I am missing something in translation. Constipation and feelings do not go well in same sentence.”

Bucky’s eye twitched. His glare swept across both of them like a loaded weapon.

“I’m going out.”

No further explanation.

He dropped the bone-scarred plate in the sink with a loud clang and left the kitchen without a backward glance.

----

The kitchen fell silent.

“God, it’s painful seeing him like this,” John muttered, rubbing his face. “It’s not even fun anymore.”

“Da. I say, what if we do our Men’s Night here!” Alexei declared, triumphant like he’d cracked the formula for world peace.

“What?” John wrinkled his nose.

“We drink! We bond! We order from that new shawarma place with the 2-for-1 coupons I got as a special gift!”

“They give those to everyone. They hand them out on the street.” Walker muttered.

“They recognized me,” Alexei said, offended.

John gave him a look. “I’m not wasting my Saturday with you losers. Bucky brooding in a corner, Bob vacuuming in sweatpants, and you doing… whatever it is you do on Weekends.”

Alexei stared at him, unimpressed. “Oh, because you sure have a lot going on tonight, American Bachelor. Come on. It will be fun. Do it for Mister Soldier!”

“He doesn’t even like me.”

“Da. But he would. After tonight, eh? Alcohol and food strengthen friendship!”

“You do know we’re supersoldiers, right? We can’t get drunk. Or high, for that matter.”

“Uh-” Bob’s voice floated in meekly from the sink, one squeaky-clean dish still clutched in his hand. “I’m not proud of this, but… I could help you with that.”

Both heads turned toward him.

“See, Ava found… well, a lot of Asgardian ale once. Inside a wall. Don’t ask. She never told anyone.”

Alexei blinked. “Inside a wall?”

“I saw her disappear into the surface and come back with a bottle,” Bob shrugged. “That’s how I know.”

John frowned. “What wall?”

Bob pointed.

Without another word, John walked over and punched straight through it.

Plaster rained down, dust curled into the air, and nestled like a hidden altar, six bottles gleamed behind cracked drywall.

Alexei gasped like he’d just witnessed a birth. “I told you! Men’s Night! It is fate!”

John coughed through the dust. “This is stupid.”

Bob set the dish down. “We’re doing it?”

“We’re doing it,” Alexei grinned. “For Mister Soldier.”

“What if he doesn’t drink?” John asked after a beat, crossing his arms as the dust started to settle.

“Oh, he will,” Alexei declared, solemn and sure. “He is so manly. So cool. Like brooding tiger in small kitchen-”

“God, stop worshipping that asshole,” John groaned. “He’s not in the mood. Might not even show up.”

“Well…”

Two pairs of eyes slowly turned toward Bob.

“What if,” Bob began, twisting his hands, “we give him special muffins?”

“Da!” Alexei clapped. “With sprinkles and that Nutella thing stuffing! You’re such a good boy.”

“No- I… I meant a muffin that could, uh… make him a little merrier,” Bob clarified, dropping his gaze.

“Well Nutella muffins do that,” Alexei reasoned, proud of himself.

John ran a hand down his face. “Oh my god. He’s talking about getting Bucky high. Drugged. Doped.”

There was a pause.

John straightened his back with a pleased smile.

“And I’m so in.”

It was late afternoon when Alexei thudded into the common room, with blind optimism. “Bucky! Tonight we bond. Men’s night. Like real men. With food. And feelings.”

Bucky didn’t even look up from where he sat, sharpening a knife that didn’t really need it. “No.”

Before Alexei could plead, Bob shuffled in, all wide eyes, hands tucked behind his back like he’d rehearsed this exact moment in the mirror. “It’d be nice to chill a little,” he said softly. “Just… hang out. Please?”

Bucky looked up, met the kicked-puppy eyes, and his jaw worked like he was chewing gravel. “I’ll… think about it,” he said finally, voice low. “I’m tired.”

“You told me you don’t get tired,” Alexei pointed out smugly.

Bucky muttered without meeting his eye, “Emotionally tired.”

Silence stretched uncomfortably.

Then Bob, eyes lighting up with now or never, reached behind his back and presented something small and innocent, cupped in his palms. “At least take one of these. Y/n made them earlier. John and Alexei almost emptied the tin.”

He didn’t even get through the sentence before Bucky’s hand reached out and snatched the muffin like it might vanish if he waited.

“She made them?” he repeated, already halfway through the wrapper.

He bit in fast, like someone might try to steal it back. The sponge was warm, soft, sugary- but with something odd underneath. Something behind the sweetness, bitter at the roof of his mouth.

He frowned.

But then he glanced at the supposedly empty tin on the table and got distracted, scowling harder. “Should’ve saved me more,” he muttered, licking a crumb off his thumb.

Bob and Alexei shared a look.

Showtime.

----

It was already dark when she stepped out of her room, one heel on, one still clutched in her hand, the dress tugged halfway down her thighs as she hobbled to the hallway mirror. Short black dress, modest enough by most standards, but the V neckline dipped just enough to remind her why she always paired it with the golden earrings, something to balance the look. She only found one.

“Yelena!” she called out flatly. She didn’t even have to elaborate.

“Maaaybe I borrowed them?” the younger woman called back from her own room, with no hint of guilt.

“Yelena.” She sighed.

“And maaaybe I lost one in the kitchen or somewhere near the couch while dancing. But in my defense, I looked very good with them.”

With another sigh, she slipped on her second heel and made her way toward the common room to check. If she were lucky, Bob might have found it while doing his usual nighttime sweep of crumbs and inexplicably misplaced socks.

But as she turned the corner, '90s music hit her ears, loud, obnoxious, unapologetically nostalgic. High laughter. Male voices, overlapping and hollering. Glasses clinking. A plastic thunk against a tabletop.

She blinked.

What the hell-

The sight made her stop short.

Bucky, John, Alexei, and Bob sat huddled around the coffee table, with a half-collapsed Risk board between beer bottles and empty snack bowls. Bob looked like a benign god of war, deploying his little plastic soldiers across Asia while sipping from a glass of water. John was mid-yell, stabbing a finger at the board. Alexei was roaring with laughter, slapping his thigh so hard the couch creaked.

But it was Bucky who made her forget why she’d come.

He was laughing.

Not a scoff, not a breathy exhale of amusement, but laughing. Open-mouthed, with his body leaning back against the couch like he hadn’t carried the world on his shoulders for years. He made a circle with one hand and penetrated it with his index finger toward John in an unmistakably rude gesture, still chuckling as he stole a red soldier from the board and hid it behind his ale bottle.

She almost tripped.

What the hell were they drinking?

The three supersoldiers were clearly tipsy. No other word for it. Pink-cheeked, all glassy-eyed, loose-limbed. Whatever they’d found had bypassed their enhanced metabolism. She would bet Bob had something to do with it, but couldn’t prove it. But there he was, the only one completely sober, amused, controlling half the world map without a single drink. Still, it was a responsible thing to do, since no one knew what could make the void peek through some crack in his mind.

But it wasn’t Bob’s fault she couldn’t take her eyes off Bucky.

God. He looked�� relaxed. Warm. Happy in a way she hadn’t seen before. It panged her chest in the worst -best- way.

Don’t look at him. You're here for an earring. She focused on Bob. Nice, predictable, unenhanced Bob.

Bucky’s eyes tracked her every move. Every sway of her hips. Every sparkle of skin not covered by the dress. His mouth parted slightly. His back pressed against the back of the couch as if he were bracing himself for a blow.

She stopped at Bob’s side and leaned slightly over the table. “Hey,” she said softly, “you haven’t seen one of my earrings around here, have you? Yelena borrowed them and thinks she left one in the kitchen or something.”

Bob blinked, like waking from a gentle trance. “Uhh- n-no. But I’ll help you look. Maybe it rolled under something?”

John caught Bucky’s expression and elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Dude, that's so uncool."

“What?” Bucky grunted, eyes not moving from her.

“Have some dignity, man. You're practically drooling.”

Bucky didn’t look at him. Just muttered, “I think it’s time to tell that cookie to take a powder and go cut some rugs.”

John stared at him like he’d finally lost it. “I don’t understand half a word you say. What powder? What rugs?”

Alexei slammed his pint down. “I think Mr. Soldier wants to invite her to dance.”

“No. No-no-no.” John’s voice lowered to a sharp hiss as he leaned toward Alexei. “As much as I love to see him crash and burn, I’m not letting him throw himself into the fire before he’ve even boarded the damn boat.”

He turned back to Bucky. “Maybe it’s not the best time, Buck. She’s going out. This is men’s night. You gonna ditch us?”

There was almost hurt there, buried deep under John's usual smugness, but there. Maybe seeing Bucky relaxed, laughing, not shadowed by silence or some kind of grief, had touched something vulnerable in him.

Bucky, still staring across the room, shrugged one shoulder lazily. “Well, yeah. Look at 'er. If someone’s gonna swag with her, it’s gonna be me.”

John reeled back. “What is this? His ‘40s casanova era? And what- don’t say swag. It sounds dirty. And old.”

But Bucky wasn’t listening. He was already shifting, gripping the armrest with one hand, the other adjusting the hem of his shirt. Calculating.

John reached out and gripped his wrist. “Don’t.”

“What?” Bucky finally turned to look at him. “You wanna make love to her too?”

John made a strangled sound. “Okay. Ew. Don’t say it like that. I’m not trying to fuck her, I just-”

“I think Mr. Soldier means… if you are interested in her, or like her. In that manly, old-timey way of speaking,” Alexei chimed in, grinning like a gossiping aunt.

Bucky raised a brow, slowly and deliberately. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business either way.”

And with that, he rose to his full height, adjusted the collar of his shirt, and turned toward her, toward the woman in black, who had just straightened, with her earrings forgotten, because now he was coming.

----

She looked at him like a doe caught in the road, because one thing was the usual Bucky: Serious, broody, dry, grumpy. But this?

This was something else.

This was Bucky Barnes with his hair tousled back in a calculated sweep, like he’d done it a thousand times in mirrors with lipstick on his collar. Like he knew he looked good, knew it with the finger-snap confidence of a man who used to leave dances with someone on his arm every single time.

And he was walking toward her like he owned every inch of the floor he stepped on. Chin up, loose shoulders. A sexy smirk blooming slowly across his face.

“The fellas tell me you’re steppin’ out with Yelena tonight?” he asked, his voice was velvet and low, laced in something that sounded far too close to a purr.

Her lips parted. Her throat forgot how to work.

Behind him, John made a dramatic groan and slapped a hand over his own eyes.

“Uh- yeah,” she managed, dragging her eyes away from the collarbone peeking out of Bucky’s shirt. “She’s taking me to some club I’ve never heard of. Girls’ night. More or less what you’ve got going here, but…”

“But more high-tone?” he cut in, lifting one brow like he already knew the answer.

“A little,” she conceded, suddenly very aware of her bare shoulders and the heat of his gaze. He was looking at her like a man who knew all her tells.

He tipped his head, just slightly. “Well, sweetheart, you show up in a swell little number like that, and those clubs’ll be thick with chiselers tryin’ to make time.”

She blinked. “With what?”

“Chiselers,” he repeated, solemn as a preacher. “Sharp-dressed fellas with quick grins and slick intentions.”

Behind him, John groaned again. “Oh my god, he’s time-traveling. Somebody stop him.”

But Bucky wasn’t done. His voice dropped lower, the charm coming out his lips like it had never left. “Lucky for you, I’m around to keep those lounge lizards in line.”

She blinked. “So… you wanna come with us?” she asked, trying to keep her tone dry, unaffected, casual, though her voice pitched up at the end like it didn’t get the memo.

“More like with you, but yes,” Bucky said, straight-faced and warm-eyed, like he hadn’t just rearranged the atmosphere around them.

A flash of heat bloomed up her face. She opened her mouth, fumbled. “Uh- but Yelena…”

Bucky turned, scanning the room like a man surveying a poker table before placing a bet. His gaze landed on Bob, sitting primly with his water glass, a solitary yellow pawn in hand.

“Maybe…” Bucky drawled, one hand finding his hip, the other gesturing vaguely toward Bob without breaking eye contact, “Bob can come too. And we four can go have a little fun. What d’you say?”

Her stomach dipped. What.

This was definitely not the quiet man with a staring problem she secretly admired.

Asking her out? Softly trying to ditch Yelena? Proposing some sort of double date?

Her eyes dropped instinctively to his mouth, then to the Risk party behind him, as if the answer were hidden somewhere between the scattered pieces and unlabelled bottles.

He was too close. That was the problem. He smelled like leather and woodsmoke. His pupils were wide, swallowing up the blue like he'd stepped out of a memory and into a daze. He looked like he wanted to crawl under her dress and make himself useful there.

She narrowed her eyes, dropping her voice. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” said everyone, far too quickly.

Alexei raised his glass like a shield. “Mr. Soldier here only wants to bond a little, eh? Have a nice ni-”

“Bucky, honey,” she said, turning back to him, her voice as gentle as her hand reaching up to fix the front of his shirt, “what did you drink? What did you take?”

“Maybe I wanna take you-,” he started, voice syrup-slow.

She pressed a finger to his lips before the rest of that sentence escaped his mouth. He went quiet instantly, grinning behind her touch like a smug idiot. His eyelashes fluttered. He looked drunk on her.

Fuck.

She spun toward the other two supersoldiers, stalked over, her heels clicking sharply across the floor. She leaned in close enough for Alexei’s eyes to widen and John to shift in his seat.

“Tell me what the hell is going on,” she whispered-hissed. “And don’t give me that ‘Asgardian ale’ crap.”

They both looked, for once, appropriately ashamed.

“Well…” Alexei rubbed the back of his neck.

John offered a shrug that could be described as some level of guilt. “Maybe… we kind of doped him?”

Her jaw dropped. “You what?!”

“Just to loosen him up!” John hissed. “Like- get him to chill a little! Maybe the combination of getting him high and drunk was a bit much, but hey- he’s smiling!”

“Oh my god,” she hissed, looking back at Bucky.

Who, by the way, was currently spinning her missing earring between his fingers like a prize he’d just won in a festival just for her, and winked when she caught him.

He Winked.

She exhaled, slowly, willing down the disappointment. Right. Of course.

He was intoxicated. That was all this was.

That’s why he’d cornered her with those warm, ruined eyes and soft, rakish confidence. It made sense now, so painfully obvious. It could’ve been her, Ava, Yelena, or a delivery person with the wrong timing. A warm body and a curious face.

She crossed the floor toward him, gently curling her hand around his wrist.

“Let’s get you some air,” she said quietly, tugging him away, ignoring how he let her lead him with that boyish smirk still playing at his lips.

She tossed a glare sharp enough to gut a man over her shoulder. The three still seated at the table winced like kids caught stealing candy.

Out on the balcony, the air was cool. Bucky leaned against the sliding glass door, running his hands through his hair, with a lazy grin stretching his mouth.

“Well, I wanted to dance,” he murmured, tilting his head toward her with a little shrug, “but I ain’t complainin’, dollface.”

“Bucky.” She kept her voice even.

“Hm?” he blinked slowly, eyes glossy and confident.

“You’re high.”

He scrunched his nose. “No, I’m not.”

“And drunk,” she added.

“Doll, you know I can’t.” His smile was crooked, defiant and soft.

“But you are,” she insisted. “So I’m going to sit with you a little, then see if I can purge it from your system. Yeah?”

“I’m not feelin’ bad.” He tipped his head back, eyes half-lidded as he looked at the sky. “In fact, I don’t remember feelin’ this good in decades.”

Her chest clenched.

That wasn’t fair. That made it worse. What was it to her if he wasn’t hurting anyone else? If he wasn’t hurting himself?

But he was. He was hurting someone. Her.

This -whatever he was doing- acting like he wanted something more with her, only now, only tonight, only when he was under some substance’s spell.

“Alright then,” she said carefully. “If you feel good… just stay with the guys, hm? I’ll go out with Yelena. Tomorrow you can tell me who won at Risk.”

He shifted visibly. His mouth fell open like he wanted to argue but couldn’t yet find the words. His brows drew together.

“If you don’t wanna go out,” he said slowly, “how ’bout a dance here?” His voice was soft again, tentative, hopeful. “Don’t make me beg, doll.”

Her heart stuttered.

“How about another day?” she said gently, stepping back just enough to put some air between them. “Trust me. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“For not acceptin’ a dance?” he asked. “You think I’m makin’ a fool outta myself?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just-” she began.

“Today’s the sixth of July,” he interrupted her. His tone shifted, serious, deliberate. “This mornin’ Ava ate the last of Walker’s sugar cereal and he pissed in her apple juice's bottle outta spite. We trained after breakfast. I taught you how to shoot a movin’ target with a Beretta, and you gave me three cherry candies you swiped from Yelena’s stash ‘cause you know I like the red ones.”

He took a breath. Didn’t blink.

“We didn’t see each other at lunch,” he continued, “but I know you went out to buy heels ‘cause you don’t own a proper pair and you were nervous ‘bout tonight.”

His gaze softened again. “I ain’t impaired, doll. Just-“ he reached up, combing his fingers through his hair, tousling it further, “uninhibited.”

She froze.

“Maybe I’m sayin’ the first thing that pops in my head. Maybe I’m talkin’ like a radio host from a bygone decade ‘cause I don’t give two shakes about findin’ the modern way to tell you what’s spillin’ out.”

He stepped closer.

“Okay,” she muttered, trying to sound stern, and failing. “One dance. And that’s it. But you’ll have to guide me, because-”

She didn’t get to finish.

Bucky caught her hand like he’d been waiting all night for the excuse, and in one smooth pull, he brought her against him.

His vibranium arm slid around her waist protectively. But it was the other hand -the warm one- that pressed low on the small of her back with possessive pressure. She barely managed not to gasp.

“‘Course I was gonna guide you, sugar,” he murmured, with mischief. He grinned, a flash of something old -young- too self-assured for the Bucky she knew. She pressed her hands on his shoulders, and then he started to move.

There was no music playing on the balcony. Just city sounds. Wind. The buzz of far-off traffic. The flicker of neon on glass.

But he was hearing something. That much was obvious in the way his head tilted, his shoulders rocked, and the cadence of his steps moved like an echo from another decade. The rhythm was slow, nostalgic. Something big-band, maybe, soft horns and a crooner’s voice threading the moment together in his mind.

Through the glass behind him, John, Alexei, and Bob were stacked like dumbasses at the edge of the living room, jockeying for a better view, faces half-lit by the apartment’s glow, whisper-arguing like overgrown kids at a school dance.

She looked away from them. Looked up at Bucky instead.

He was humming now. Not to her. Not even aware he was doing it, maybe. Just lost in whatever old tune was spinning inside his head, something warm, velvet-smooth. He had a ballroom behind his closed eyelids.

“You did this often?” she managed.

“Almost all weekends,” he said, words slurred not by drink, but nostalgia. His palm shifted slightly on her back. “Used to cut a rug like nobody’s business.”

“I bet you did.”

“Won a jitterbug contest in ‘39,” he said seriously, then laughed like he surprised himself remembering that. “Didn’t even plan on enterin’. Some girl pulled me in off the floor and said, ‘You got legs, use ‘em.’”

She swallowed.

He was… different. And not just because of whatever he took.

The natural charm. The half-smirk. The way he looked at her like she was a sure thing, and he was still the kind of man who could offer something worth saying yes to.

She felt her eyes go wet. Damn.

Because tomorrow he’d wake up with a predictable headache and maybe beat the shit out of John just for sport. He’d lecture Bob with that kind exasperation he reserved for people he secretly cared about, barking something about “drugging someone without their consent isn’t quirky, it’s a felony.” And he’d ignore Alexei entirely because you could never win against that man’s stupid arguments about good intentions and “power of friendship.”

But above all, he might not remember any of this.

Or worse, he would. And it wouldn’t mean to him what it meant to her.

That part was the sharp edge. The one she couldn’t dull with a smile or a healing touch.

One thing was secretly pining for him. She could survive that. She has been surviving it. It was almost fun, in its own pathetic way, watching him when he taught her shooting, stealing hours of intimacy disguised as routine. A hand on his arm as she guided him through a breathing exercise. The quick flick of her thumb across his temple to soothe him after a flashback. Getting to touch his skin under the guise of professional concern when she healed him.

That was her safe little corner of yearning. Controlled.

This was something else. This was another tier entirely. Pressed against his chest. Held by him. Stared at like a woman and not a teammate or a responsibility.

And she knew -knew- that it was going to cost her.

Because you didn’t survive someone like Bucky Barnes looking at you like that and walked away unburned.

Their bodies moved slowly, barely more than a sway. His breath warmed her temple, and the weight of his metal hand was solid at her waist. He kept humming that soft tune that probably hadn’t been on any airwaves in eighty years, and for a moment, -God for a moment- she let herself pretend.

That they were somewhere else. Somewhen else.

Her fingers pressed gently on his shoulders.

She didn’t want it to end.

But it had to.

She drew back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were still too bright, pupils wide and swimming in the low light from the tower. His lips parted like he was going to say something devastating again, something pretty and unfiltered, something he’d never say sober.

So she shook her head softly before he could.

“We should go back in,” she said, her voice barely louder than the city breeze.

Bucky’s brow furrowed, confused. “Already?”

She nodded, squeezing his shoulders lightly before stepping back. “One dance. That was the deal.”

He followed her retreat with a small frown, stumbling half a step like he wanted to close the gap again. “I could walk you out. Or tag along. You, me, Yelena, Bob-”

A smile tugged at her mouth, bittersweet and careful. “Not tonight.”

She reached up, brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips.

“C’mon, sit down,” she said gently, nudging him toward the cushioned bench tucked against the balcony railing. He obeyed, blinking slowly, draping his metal arm over the backrest while his flesh hand reached to one of hers as she crouched in front of him.

“Tomorrow,” she murmured, maintaining his gaze, “you’re gonna hate them for what they did. You’re gonna yell at John, probably kick his ass. You’re gonna scold Bob. You’ll try to ignore Alexei, and fail.”

He gave a lopsided smile. “That sounds about right.”

“And, about this…” She hesitated, vaguely motioning her hand between them. “You’ll pretend that it was nothing.”

“That’s not fair to say,” he whispered.

She nodded, swallowing the ache. “No. It’s not. But it’s how this works, right?”

His fingers caressed hers. “You think I’m gonna forget?”

“No,” she murmured. “I think you’re gonna remember. And wish you hadn’t.”

She stood before he could answer, slipping her fingers from his. Her voice was quiet but firm as she added, “Stay out here a little. Cool off. I’ll go find Yelena.”

But his hand caught hers again. Not tightly, just enough to hold her there.

“What if I ask again tomorrow?” he murmured. A too sober question for someone that wasted.

She raised a brow, trying to match his tone with a smirk. “With a massive hangover and the outburst of vengeance in your heart, as Alexei would say?”

“Yeah.” He said it without blinking. He licked his bottom lip, not quite smirking now. “Even then.”

It stunned her for a second. Just a second. She held his gaze, then slipped her hand from his slowly. Didn’t step back yet. Just stood there, close enough for his knees to brush the hem of her dress. Then, with the gentlest smile on her mouth:

“If you ask tomorrow… you’ll find out.”

And then she turned, walked back toward the glass door, ignoring the frantic scramble of limbs as Bob and John tried to act casual, as if they hadn’t been spying through the window like gremlins. Alexei didn’t even pretend to feel guilty.

She didn’t care.

Bucky leant back on the bench once she disappeared, with the city wind tousling his hair, and still feeling the ghost of her touch on his skin.

He smiled. Slow and crooked.

Because it hadn’t been a no, she would’ve said so if it had.

It was a careful maybe. A thread left loose for him to pull, if he wanted to.

Because saying yes tonight would cost her if he didn’t follow through tomorrow.

This way… she stayed unexposed.

Unless he reached. Unless he asked.

Unless he remembered.

And he would.

What a coincidence to find you right here

Qué casualidad fue encontrarte justo acá

Me so high, you so alluring

Yo tan puesto, vos tan apuesta

How sophisticated it was to invite you to flirt

Qué sofisticado fue invitarte a coquetear

Me so slow, you so elegant

Yo tan lento, vos tan regia

You're beautiful, you're beautiful

Sos hermosa, sos hermosa

Taglist: @civilbucky @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan @sophiemass @alagalaska @identity2212

Dividers by: @/enchanthings

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #bucky barnes/reader #thunderbolts!bucky

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whre4wanda · 11 days ago

Text

Do You Want Us

*Mature content ahead*

G!P Natasha X Wanda x Reader, threesome, vouyerism, oral (w, reader receiving), fingering, use of vibrators, slight bondage, teasing, mommy and daddy kink, Dom!Wandanat x Sub!Reader

Summary- You become infatuated with two of your fellow avenger teammates but you can't find it in yourself to confess to them. However, what happens when you accidentally get sprayed by a particular pollen?

Your pov:

Being in the avengers team still felt surreal yet quite odd to you. You were still getting used to everything about being an avenger. It was different compared to being a hydra test subject. Very different. In the beginning, it was a little awkward being part of the team knowing that you weren't fond of one another before you were recruited but after getting to know one another, you ended up liking them quite a lot.

You liked being on the good side. It felt a lot better helping people but what felt much more better, was being able to make your own choices. However sometimes the choices you made, weren't always the best choices. Like the fact that you were currently crushing on Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff. But there was no way those two women would ever bat a single eyelash at you. It just seemed too impossible and that's what you told yourself every single day.

First of all they were in an established relationship. And secondly, they were much older than you which wasn't necessarily a bad thing to you but what would they want with you? Besides that, it didn't feel right to be looking and thinking about them the way you were always thinking about them on a day to day basis.

Long story short, you were nothing compared to the two women. That was a fact. I mean Natasha, well she was The Black Widow while Wanda was The Scarlet Witch for fucks sake.

But as much as you hoped there was a slight possibility, you knew it would never happen. So you had to, needed to get rid of all the unholy thoughts you had about the women. If not for you, at least for your sanity. However you weren't planning on really stopping because indulging in these fantasies wasn't harming anyone. So for now, you'd think about them the way you always did.

Training with Natasha or Wanda was something else though. Those women knew how to get you riled up. Sometimes you believed that they were doing it on purpose but at age five you believed that the tooth fairy existed only to find out that you'd been lied to so you weren't really dwelling onto the fact that the women knew about your crush, even though the thought did send a thrill down your spine.

You wished Natasha and Wanda would think of you the way you thought of them. You wished they would look at you the way you looked at them. You knew that all of this sounded pathetic but you couldn't help what you felt about them. These two women had you wrapped around their fingers without even being aware of it.

"Y/n?" You snapped out of your thoughts to see Wanda looking at you expectantly. She let out a soft chuckle once she realized that you had been zoning out.

"Yes?" You blush as you hear her melodic laugh once again.

"I was just saying that Steve needs us in the conference room." You slowly nod your head and she offers you one of her smiles before walking away.

You huff out and place the smoothie that was in your hand down before licking the droplets off of your finger. You then grab a cloth to clean up the spilled powder from the counter before you placed the cloth back where it belonged. Grabbing your smoothie, you quickly made your way to the conference room where you saw Steve, Natasha and Wanda waiting for you.

"Y/n, take a seat please." Steve says and you sit opposite of Natasha.

"Is something wrong?" You ask and Steve shakes his head.

"No no. I just wanted us to discuss the mission." He replies, easing your worries.

"Y/n, Wanda and Natasha are going to accompany you on the mission to Mexico." Steve explains to you and you slowly nod your head.

"Oh."

"We want to get as much as information as we can about the drug operation that's linked to hydra." You nod your head once again and the two women look at you with an unreadable expressions planted across their faces.

"The mission files are all in here so you can read it through after we're done. The quinjet will also be

departing tomorrow and well that seems to be it." He claps his hands and you grab your file before leaving the conference room.

You sit down onto your bed while slowly going through the mission file, reading through all the information that was written inside. You had to start packing soon, so you placed the file aside before grabbing a small suitcase. You filled it up with all the things that you thought would be necessary for this mission. Thereafter you placed everything in the corner of your spacious bedroom before lying down on the bed and sighing to yourself.

You heard a soft knock on the door and you sat up while discarding your phone onto the bed.

"Come in." The door opened to reveal your best friend, Kate, walking inside your room before flopping down onto your bed.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." You said sarcastically and you were rewarded with a grin from the raven haired girl.

"Heard about your mission with your women crushes ." You rolled your eyes at her comment.

"Okay firstly don't call them that and secondly are you here to just make fun of me or what?" Kate raises her hands up in surrender.

"Finally gonna make a move on them or what?"

"That's not happening." You say while propping yourself up on a few of your pillows.

"Come on dude, seriously how blind can you be? Do you not see the way they look at you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You had no clue, Kate was probably being dramatic or overlooking it. They didn't see you anyhow, just as a fellow team member or maybe a friend, but that was it.

Kate scoffs and you raise an eyebrow at her.

"I have never met someone as clueless as you are." She shakes her head at you and you shrug your shoulders.

"Are we going to keep talking about them or can we change the subject?"

"Where are you guys headed to anyway?"

"Mexico apparently. Steve and Tony located a hydra base linked with some major drug operation so they want us to go check it out."

Kate hums at your statement before she fully lays down onto your bed.

"Well don't get killed." She jokes and you snickered.

"Why would I get killed?"

"Because whenever you're fighting in close proximity with them you tend to lose your focus." She says and you gasp.

"I do not!"

"Uhm yeah you do, and I have so many witnesses. Bucky's seen it, Sam has seen it, even Steve has noticed it. They just never said anything about it."

You place your head in your hands, groaning at the fact that your teammates who you considered friends were aware of your little crush on the two older woman.

"You weren't so good at hiding it anyway so." Kate laughs while poking your shoulder.

You were currently inside the cockpit of the quinjet, flying alongside of one of the Shield agents who was taking you to the destination. The two older women were currently situated at back, talking amongst themselves. You didn't want to make yourself known between the two women, rather opting to sit quietly with the shield agent who paid little to no attention towards you. Which you actually didn't mind at all.

It was quiet for the rest of the journey until you eventually landed to your destination. You pulled your bag out but Natasha stopped you, pulling your duffle bag out and carrying it for you. A faint blushed creeped up your face while you embarrassingly stumbled on your words. Talk about trying to be subtle.

"T-thats not necessary Nat, I can take it for myself." She only smiles while taking Wanda's bag out too, her biceps flexing through the black tank top she had on. Is it getting hot in here?

She placed all the bags into the trunk of the car that was rented by Tony before shutting it. You all got inside, you in the back seat while the two older women were in the from, Natasha driving you all to the motel close to the hydra base. Nothing was exchanged during the car ride to the place.

You didn't have much to say to the women, feeling rather intimidated by the two but also not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of them. Both Wanda and Natasha would occasionally glance at you through the rear view mirror, finding it adorable how you would zone out as you watched the cars pass by.

The car eventually came to a halt and you all stepped out, walking up to your room after being handed the key by the old man at the reception. The room was alright, big enough and comfortable for all three of you.

"I'm going to set up, so I can gather as much information as I can from up here." Natasha says to both you and Wanda and you nod. She disappears to the small balcony situated outside before setting everything up.

"You alright detka? You're a bit quiet today." Wanda says with concern etched all over her face.

"I'm alright." You dismiss her, and she frowns at your behavior. You weren't trying to come off as rude but they made you feel nervous. Too nervous. One glance from either one of the woman and you'd turn into putty. That's just how wrapped you were around their fingers.

You excused yourself to look at a few more details about this base until you decided to sit on the balcony with the two older women.

"Have you spotted anything yet?" You ask as you stand with your back against the rail of the balcony. Both women glanced at you and you missed the way Wanda's eyes shamelessly raked over your body.

"No not yet detka." You only nod slowly, the faintest blush creeping on your cheeks at the term of endearment.

An hour or two went by and it was getting darker. Both women were still situated on the balcony, casually conversating amongst themselves while throwing you not so subtle glances. Everything was fine until you saw suspicious movements happening inside the building.

"Hey, I think I see something." You point out and Natasha is quick to grab her binoculars.

The mission went awful. Apart from almost dying because luck was not on your side, for some odd reason, you felt off and both Natasha and Wanda could tell.

"Malysh are you alright?" She asked with concern etched on her face while her hand pressed on your shoulder. You swallowed as her hand made contact with your skin which caused your face to flush and your entire body to warm up.

You brushed her hand off with just a nod before you all made your way into the room.

"Y/n, we can tell something is wrong. You don't seem alright." Natasha adds and you just shake your head.

"I'm fine. Seriously." You lie which worries the two older woman.

With a final smile at them, you make your way into the bathroom to take a much needed shower. The two women look at one another with a curious gaze before Wanda removes the top of her suit.

"Can't you read her mind Wans?" Natasha asks as she places the gun onto the glass table.

"Well I could, but I promised myself I wouldn't do that anymore."

"But somethings wrong with her. She seems...off" Wanda contemplates what to do but she only dismisses her girlfriend with a shake of her head.

"No, it's not right." Natasha rolls her eyes at her girlfriend before the two undress to clean themselves up.

In the bathroom, the shower doesn't seem to help you at all, especially the uncomfortable pit in your stomach. You try to think of all the possible things that could have happened. You were fighting, some guy managed to wound you and then you were sprayed by some substance.

This particular substance or pollen had something odd about it. It seemed to have raised your libido to a higher level because at the mere touch or sound that was uttered from the two women, you were gone. At the thought of the two older woman, your arousal peeked up sending a rush of wetness down your core which was practically throbbing at the thought of them.

You switched the tap off, groaning at the uncomfortable feeling arising in your stomach. An annoyed sigh escaped your lips and you got out of the shower to wipe yourself off.

"This is fucking stupid." You mumble while drying your hair. How the hell were you supposed to carry on with the mission if this was happening? The only thing you could do was probably reach out to Tony or Bruce, but they made it clear that no one was to contact them on this mission. Absolutely none of you.

The other option was to tell both Wanda and Natasha that you were incredibly horny all of a sudden and that you wanted them to help ease the situation but how dumb did that sound? The thought almost made you laugh. Besides, how would you even begin to explain the issue to them.

And your last option was to push it all the way down and forget the way you felt, even if it killed you. It seemed reasonable enough.

Now sitting down with the two women looking at you and pretending to be fine, seemed to be a harder thing to do. With the way the two women were currently staring at you, you didn't think you'd be able to last long, especially with the way they kept asking whether you were alright and if something was wrong. It's like the sound of their voices triggered something in you that made you exceptionally wet. Embarrassing but true.

And you were honestly making them more concerned. So concerned that Wanda gave up on her "no mind reading" that she decided to take matters into her own hands. That's right, she read your mind. On top of that, your thoughts were loud. Extremely. And dear God if you thought your daily fantasies about the two women were bad before this whole heightened sex drive thing, you were quite mistaken because they were filthy. So filthy, the devil himself wouldn't want to read your mind.

Wanda blinked in surprise, the images you had of both her and Natasha taking control over your body. Or the image of Wanda sitting on top of your face with Natasha's fingers buried deep inside of you was enough to drive the woman into a lustful frenzy.

Natasha, who had been staring at you for quite a while turned her gaze back to her girlfriend. Wanda gave her girlfriend an innocent smile and Natasha knew that something was up with Wanda. She arched her brow in a silent question but when Wanda's magic created a clear picture of your thoughts, it made Natasha's stomach flutter.

Who knew your innocent self would have such fantasies?

"Moya lyubov' are you sure you're okay? You seem flustered." Natasha teases in that sultry time of hers which makes you squirm in your seat.

"Yeah I'm fine, just a little out of it."

"Hmm. Well do you want to watch a movie? Maybe that'll take your mind off of things." Wanda suggests and you open your mouth to try and get out of it but the look on both of their faces has you dying otherwise.

"Okay."

They both smile at you, little do you know that a sinister plan was forming in their mind.

This was not okay. You were certain that you would combust any moment from now. You were currently nestled in between the two women who kept running their hands down the expanse of your thigh in a 'comforting' manner. Your pussy was practically dripping from any touch you were given. You were aching and they could both smell it. It fueled them even more, especially with the movie they picked.

"Why not watch Carol" Wanda had suggested before and you honestly thought they were both joking until you saw Natasha typing the movie on Netflix and searching for it. And seeing Carol and Therese in that one scene did not fix anything. You needed to do something and you needed to do it now.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed." you croak out, which makes both women turn their heads to look at you.

"Why detka? Is something wrong?" Wanda asks, feigning innocence as she lightly caresses your face.

You bite back a whimper at the contact and Wanda can feel all of the heat radiating off of you.

"My my my, you're burning up. Are you okay malysh?" You shook your head and she gives you a mocking pout.

"Whats wrong?"

"It hurts."

"What hurts detka, speak up." Natasha chirps in and the rasp of her voice with the slight command intensifies the ache between your legs.

"Please." You find yourself begging, for what? You don't know yet.

"Awe poor baby, you need to tell us what's wrong so we can help. I'm not a mind reader like Wanda detka."

"I need you both. Please I just-"

"Are you needy?" Wanda teases and a small huff escapes your lips.

"Help me."

"Aks nicely y/n." Natasha says and you swallow, before speaking up.

"Please mommy, please daddy, help me." A groan falls past one of the two women's lips and you can't register who it was because Wanda was pressing a fierce kiss against your lips.

"So obedient." She says as she pulls away from your lips. Natasha is next, her kiss is more rougher than Wanda's, teeth's clashing with one another as she practically pulls you onto her lap.

"Nat, don't get greedy now. We promised to share." Wanda says as she places a kiss on the nape of your neck.

"Come on, we're gonna make you feel so good." Wanda rasps as she moves you out of Natasha's grasp.

You don't register anything, all you can really comprehend is how the women devour you. Somehow, you're placed onto their bed before Wanda is on you again. She kisses you gently, her teeth tugging at your lips before releasing it with a pop. Natasha pulls Wanda away from you, before she smashes her lips against the brunettes. You watch as both of the women make out in front of you, and you swear you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs.

You're so needy, it actually hurts. You let out a pathetic whine when they don't pay attention to you and your hips begin to rock against the bedding, attempting to relieve yourself. Wanda realizes this and she tuts while shaking her head.

"Look what we have here, you can't even wait." The woman says in a mocking tone before she uses her magic to get rid of all your clothes.

You're naked in front of the two women and even though you want to feel vulnerable, you don't because the way the two women were looking at you? They practically looked at you as if you were their prey and they were the predators.

"She's so pretty." Natasha mumbles to Wanda, who hums in return and you blush at their compliment.

"You think you can keep your hands to yourself malysh?" Wanda asks and you nod your head.

"Yes."

"I don't think so." Wanda retorts and she uses her magic to tie your hands up to the headboard. While Wanda is fixated on your hands, Natasha prys your knees apart to expose your dripping cunt.

"She's so wet." Natasha rubs a finger through your slot before bringing it up for Wanda to examine.

"She's just so desperate for us."

You thrash around and Natasha pins your hips down and gives you a warning glare.

"Already misbehaving huh?" You shook your head and Natasha smirks before she moves off of your body and you immediately miss her warmth.

"Don't worry detka, you just sit there and look pretty while mommy and daddy take care of you." Wanda purrs and you feel like sinking into the mattress with the way the two women were staring down at you.

Natasha moves over to Wanda and you watch the two women make out right in front of you. Fuck, if you weren't needy before, you are now. You try to move your hips, in search of any sort of stimulation but it was no use because Wanda has really secured her binds on you. You whined again, it sounded beyond pathetic but you didn't care. You needed them now.

"Please." You begged making both woman's green eyes turn to look at you.

"Whats wrong?"

"I need you both, please." You beg and they smile at your state. Wanda pecks her lovers lips one more time before she turns her attention to you, her hands moving towards your pussy but Natasha stops her which only frustrated you.

"And who said you'd get to play with her first?" Natasha asks in a teasing tone and Wanda retracted her hand before mumbling a "Sorry"

Natasha gave her lover a smile before she turned to you. Her fingers made their way to your pussy where she slid her digits into your slit. A soft moan escaped your lips and she smirked to herself.

"That feels good huh?" You nodded your head and she hummed, pleased at your answer.

Slowly but surely, Natasha eases two digits inside of you, and they slide in without any restrain. Natasha chuckles at how wet you are, and she scissors her fingers inside of you. A wanton moan escapes your lips again and Wanda moves up to your body, to roam wet kisses along your collarbone. Her own fingers play with your nipples. The painful yet pleasurable stimulation adding to the moment.

"Tell me detka, do you want us?" Wanda asks in your ear while her finger still tugs your nipple.

"Yes, I do."

"Yeah?" You only nod in response once you feel Natasha's fingers start to plunge inside of you.

"Fuck." The fingers slide in and out of your velvety walls at a fast pace. Natasha watches in amazement as your cunt takes two fingers in but you whine which makes her look up at you.

"Not enough." You mumble and she chuckles.

"Do you want daddy to give you three?" You nod your head furiously and Natasha adds another dinge into your pussy and a pornogtaphic like moan leaves your lips as your eyes practically roll to the back of your head.

"Aw sweet thing. You're just a needy baby" Wanda coos as your hips raise to try match Natasha's pace. And when Natasha latches onto your clit with her mouth, your legs shake and tears stream down your face in pleasure.

"Oh she's so responsive." Natasha hums as she sucks on your bundle of nerves, her fingers working in sync with her movements.

"Fuck fuck fuck-" You chant, as your hips raise before being praised down onto the bed.

"You wanna cum for us? Is that what you want?" You nod your head and Wanda chuckles.

"Beg baby. Beg. Let us hear your pretty voice and beg for us."

"Please." You begin and Wanda hums while her hands grope your tits.

"Please need to cum. Wanna cum." Wanda pouts in faux pity but she smiles before nodding.

"Go ahead and cum on Natasha's tongue baby." A wanton moan falls past tour lips as you're taken over by a strong, euphoric orgasm that has you seeing stars.

"Good job, there we go." You can hear Wanda coo as Natasha continues to fuck you, letting you ride your high out.

As you slowly come back from your high, Wanda uses her magic to remove the binds from your body.

"Now, why don't we let Natty here have some more fun with you while I ride your face. How does that sound malysh?" You nod your head and she hums while slipping out of her top and sweatpants. Your mouth waters and your pussy practically gushes out at seeing the woman top less. And once she positions herself over your face? You could swear you were in heaven.

Meanwhile, the redhead had rid herself off her pants and she stroked herself as she looked at the scene in front of her. Wanda on top of your face while your pussy clenched around nothing. You moaned softly once you felt Natasha rub something along your clit.

"Come on detka, let daddy fuck you with her cock while I ride your face. You want that don't you? Yeah stick your tongue out for me." You hummed your agreement while Wanda slowly rode your face.

"That's it. Fuck her Nat." Wanda said as she gazed down at her girlfriend. Natasha slowly slid into you and with how wet you were, she could easily slide inside of your pussy.

"Fucking hell, she's so warm." Wanda hummed as she watched Natasha slide in and out of your soaking pussy. She groaned as she watched her girlfriends cock slide out, glistening in your juices.

Your grabbed onto Wanda's thighs, pressing your tongue further into her pussy.

"Oh fuck." Wanda cried out and you moaned into her pussy as Natasha began to thrust indside of your pussy.

"Shit, you're so fucking tight." Wanda leans forward to press a kiss against Natasha's lips. She moans as she can still tatse the remnants of you on Natasha's tongue.

"Mhm she tastes sweet, I'll have to tatse her myself."

"You'd like that wouldn't you baby?" You can only moan, too focused on eating Wanda out with the feeling of Natasha's cock brushing against your walls.

"Yeah, you love taking Natty's cock don't you?" When Wanda feels you grab her thighs, nails scratching the flesh, she moans as she begins to move back and forth.

Natasha doesn't stop her movements, instead she lifts your legs up to her shoulder while she thrusts her hips inside of you. She continues to fuck you, feeling the way your walls flutter around your her cock.

"You gonna cum? I can feel you clenching around my cock y/n."

"How does she feel Nat?"

"So fucking good."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." The two women continue their paces, using you to get off and you fucking loved it.

"god I'm so close." Wanda whimpers as she plays with her own nipples. She throws her head back and soon enough she's coming on your face and you greedily lick it all up. Wanda rides out her high before she sighs and moves off of your body. With determination, Natasha flips you over onto your stomach which catches you off guard. A muffled gasp escapes your lips as she's inside of you, folli G you up to the brim while Wanda watches with a sly grin.

"So pretty, all fucked out from us." She rasps and you clench around Natasha.

"You wanna cum baby?" You nod your head, hips moving in tandem with Natasha's thrusts.

"Come on then detka, cum for us. Make a mess for me." Natasha grunts before your mouth falls open while your eyes roll back.

"Fuck I'm cumming." Both women watch as your second orgasm hits you and it's enough to drive them even crazier.

"There we go, yeah, you're doing so well." Wanda coos before Natasha pulls out of you. As you come down from your high, Wanda leans down to kiss your lips and you moan softly.

"Are you still needy for us?" She asks and you nod your head, making her grin widen.

"How about you watch Nat fuck me while I eat you out hm?" Another vigorous nod which makes both women smile.

"She's so good for us." The redhead mumbles as Wanda positions her ass in front of Natasha while her face is close to your pussy.

"This pussy looks so good."

"Go ahead Wanda, you've been good. Taste her." Natasha rasps as she slowly inserts herslef inside her girlfriend. A small gasp escapes Wanda's lips as she is filled to the brim and before you know it, Wanda's tongue is inside of your soaked pussy.

"god so good. So fucking good." Wanda moans out in between your pussy.

"mhm." You're lost in the pleasure, so far gone that you don't feel Wanda pulling away to press a vibrator against your clit. Your hips jerk up as Wanda sets the settings of the vibrator higher.

"Oh fuck!" With Wanda's skilled tongue and the vibrator working together, the way both women were looking at you and the obscene sounds you all were making, you're able to reach your third orgasm quicker than ever, the strong feeling practically sending you into another dimension.

As your high settles down, you whimper from the overstimuation of Wanda's tongue and the string vibrations from the toy in her hand. You try to move away but she chuckles as her hand keeps you pinned down onto the bed. Her gaze locks on yours and you want to beg her to stop but nothing comes out of your mouth.

"Oh honey, we're not done here. Are we Nat?" Natasha only shakes her head and you look away as the woman use you. Wanda uses her hand to tilt your chin up so you watch her getting fucked. With a sadistic smile, she reaches for the vibrator again, pressing it against your pussy.

"We're gonna keep fucking you until you lose consciousness and then when we get back to the tower after this mission, we'll just keep fucking you until your pussy is all stretched out from me and Nat's doings."

And the two women kept to their promise. Fucking you on every surface of the room even when the effects of the pollen had died down.

_______________________________________

Hope you enjoyed!

#wandanat #wlw post #black reader #marvel #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #g!p natasha romanoff #wlw ns/fw #natasha x reader #mommy wanda #natasha romanov #wandanat x reader

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marvelseries19 · 2 months ago

Text

RETURN TO YOU

Chapter Four - Castaway

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: You’re finally found. After years lost and alone, a faint signal is enough to bring someone to your island. You're brought home, weak, scared, and unsure if it’s real.

A/N: Finally, the moment you've been waiting for. I'm not entirely sure if this should be the end. I kinda have more ideas to tell, but maybe I'll post those as like one-shots or something. I wanted to thank you guys for letting me know that you liked it. I don't think I've ever had this much engagement on my fics. I really appreciate the love this one has had.

On another note, in the last chapter, I asked if you read this, and by this, I meant these messages, I leave here, not the chapter. So, once more, do you guys read these messages?? Also, as always, any questions, requests, ideas, and feedback are all welcome. Enjoy :)

Warnings: +18, descriptions of injuries and such.

Word count: 4.4k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The low hum of the SHIELD operations room barely registered as Maria Hill leaned over the dim console. The soft, rhythmic blinking on the screen in front of her was steady, consistent — unmistakable. A signal. Faint, primitive, but deliberate. Her fingers flew across the keys as she opened a secure channel.

"Get me Director Fury," she said, her voice low but urgent.

The line crackled before his voice came through, rough and clipped. "What have you got?"

Maria didn’t look away from the screen. "A signal. Old-school. Someone stripped a Quinjet transponder and spliced it into basic field tech. It’s broadcasting on an early SHIELD frequency — nothing sophisticated, but it’s clean. Repeating."

"That’s a long shot," Fury replied.

"Not if it’s her," Maria said, and there was something unshakable in her tone. "And I believe it is."

There was a pause. She could almost hear him weighing it in silence. Her eyes stayed on the blinking pattern, steady as a heartbeat.

"It’s the captain."

Fury’s silence stretched again — longer this time, heavier.

"You always did trust her instincts more than anyone else," he said eventually.

"She earned that trust," Maria murmured. And she remembered — the smoke, the fire, the chaos.

Kandahar.

—

The sky was dust-streaked and orange, gunfire painting the air in bursts. Agents scattered, wounded, shouting. No one had orders. The comms were fried. And then you appeared — ash-streaked, limping, blood on her sleeve, and calm in her eyes.

“We lost comms!” someone had yelled. “Do we pull back?! Where’s the fallback point?!”

Maria remembered how you didn’t hesitate. She remembered the way you moved — forward, always forward — as if gravity bent toward your conviction.

"With me," you said. That was all.

Two words.

And twenty agents followed you without looking back.

Maria hadn’t said it aloud that day — but someone else had. A younger recruit, clutching his rifle and running to keep up: “Captain’s got us.”

The name stuck.

—

Maria exhaled softly, her eyes never leaving the console. "She pulled twenty agents out that night. Half of them wouldn’t be here without her," she said quietly.

"Is she still alive, Hill?" Fury asked.

"She sent that signal," Maria replied. "I know it's her, and that’s all I need to know."

"Take a team," Fury ordered. "Get her back."

Maria was already on her feet. "Already working on it."

She shut the console off, leaving the weak, blinking signal behind — but only for a moment.

She would follow it. All the way to the end.

—

The quinjet dipped below the clouds like a shadow cutting through the sky, its engines whisper-quiet over the dense canopy below. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting streaks of gold and fire across the endless stretch of green.

Maria stood near the loading ramp, arms crossed, eyes scanning the horizon as if she could will the trees to part and reveal a miracle.

She’d barely slept on the flight over, fingers tight around the datapad that showed the narrowing coordinates. Each pass of the satellite brought them closer. Each sweep of the low-band signal narrowed the window.

Still, it felt like a dream.

Three years.

Three years with no trace.

Three years of dead ends, quiet funerals, and trying to help Natasha through a grief Maria shared but didn’t dare speak aloud.

And now this.

A single echo. A half-broken signal from a beacon no one was supposed to remember how to use.

She hadn’t told Natasha. Couldn't. Not yet.

Hope, Maria had learned, was dangerous when it burned too bright. And she wouldn’t be the one to light it unless she was sure. She had seen firsthand what it did to her friend , how it tore her apart each time a lead turned out to be false. Maria needed more than a faint signal to give Natasha false hope.

The quinjet hovered over the narrowed location, nestled between cliffs and jungle, and the team fast-roped down in practiced silence. Maria followed, landing with a solid thud against the uneven earth.

It was still. Too still. But the readings didn’t lie. Someone was here.

She signaled for the group to split. “Fan out. Sweep the perimeter. Eyes sharp. Weapons down unless you see a threat.”

A chorus of affirmatives crackled through comms.

They moved.

Not far away, tucked in the hollow between two rocks and overgrowth, you stirred.

The sound had been faint — a low thrum, like distant thunder.

It came again, closer this time.

You sat up slowly, your body protesting every movement. Your limbs ached. Your head spun. Your skin had taken on the leathery feel of too much sun and too little water. The weakened body you lived in now barely resembled the one that once trained at SHIELD’s academy. The one that flew the quinjet with quiet confidence. The one that could disappear without leaving a trace.

You had survived.

But barely.

You blinked hard, pressing your fingers to your ears.

Voices.

Were those voices?

You crouched low, instinct taking over even as your knees buckled beneath you. The sound of boots brushing leaves. A sharp rustle of brush being moved aside. You bit the inside of your cheek.

It’s nothing. You’ve imagined things before. You’d seen shadows become people. Branches become outstretched hands.

But the voices were growing louder now. Clearer.

“Check the cliffside—Hill’s got east.”

“There’s a trail here—looks like something’s been walking through.”

“Signal strength increasing. It’s close.”

No. No, that was real. That wasn’t just your mind trying to comfort you again. That was real.

Still, your body didn’t move. Not yet.

You sat frozen, heart pounding, as footsteps closed in.

And then—

“Hey!” a voice called. Not a hallucination. Sharp. Solid. Commanding. “I’ve got something—!”

Then another voice. Lower. Familiar. Too familiar.

“Stand down, it’s her—God—” The foliage parted, and there she was.

Maria.

Your mind couldn’t process it all at once. She was wearing tactical black, hair pulled back, eyes scanning like she didn’t dare believe what she was seeing.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything—but nothing came out.

Maria dropped to her knees, her voice thick and trembling. “Hey, hey—it's okay. It's me. I’ve got you.”

You blinked again, too weak to flinch as her hands gently framed your face.

Her breath caught. “Jesus… you’re really here.”

You tried to speak, lips cracked, throat dry. Only a rasp escaped.

Maria shook her head, a soft curse under her breath. She slipped an arm around your shoulders, guiding a canteen to your lips. “Don’t talk. Just drink.”

The water stung going down, but you drank like you hadn’t in days.

Because you hadn't. Rainwater could only last for so long.

Maria kept holding you, one hand steadying the canteen, the other pressed lightly against your back as if reassuring herself that you were solid. Real. Not another ghost.

And then she whispered, almost like she didn’t want anyone else to hear, "I'm so sorry it took this long.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. Not yet. Not when it felt like the moment could vanish if you blinked.

But Maria didn’t rush. She stayed there with you in the dirt, surrounded by jungle, brushing a hand gently through your tangled hair.

“You’re safe now,” she said softly. “We’re taking you home. I’m gonna make sure of that. And I’ll tell her—I’ll tell Natasha.”

You didn’t know if it was the relief or her voice, but that’s when the sob broke free.

And Maria, strong as ever, just held you tighter.

The team moved quickly once they found her.

You were conscious, your body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline as they guided you through the undergrowth. The sight of the quinjet waiting on the shore hit you harder than expected.

Your steps faltered.

The air caught in your throat.

It looked almost exactly like yours—the one that went down in flames, the one that left you stranded and alone. Your chest tightened, breath hitching, muscles locking up as memories flashed behind your eyes. Fire. Smoke. The sound of metal tearing. The impact.

You stopped walking.

“Hey,” Maria’s voice was calm and soft. She stepped in front of you, eyes steady, hand gentle on your shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. We’re taking you home.”

You shook your head weakly, barely audible when you said, “I can’t… I can’t get on that thing. I know it’s stupid, but—”

“It’s not stupid,” Maria cut in, her voice rough with emotion. “After what you’ve been through, it makes perfect sense.”

Your eyes were glassy, full of apology and fear you couldn’t quite name. “I want to go. I just… I can’t.”

Maria glanced at the medic nearby, nodding once.

“We’ll help you sleep through the ride, okay?” she said, already crouching down with her. “No pain. No panic. You’ll wake up at the medical facility. Safe. I promise.”

You gave her the faintest nod, your fingers still gripping Maria’s sleeve like an anchor.

Maria stayed close as the medic prepped the injection, gently brushing damp hair back from your forehead. “You did so good, alright? You held on. We’ve got you now.”

The sedative took hold quickly, easing your breathing as your eyes fluttered shut. Maria caught you carefully as she slumped forward, guiding her into the medic’s arms and onto the stretcher.

And as the engines spun up and the quinjet lifted into the sky, Maria sat beside you, phone already in her hand, staring down at Natasha’s name on the screen.

It was time.

The quinjet hummed around her, steady and familiar. Maria sat strapped in beside the stretcher, her eyes drifting to you every few seconds — as if making sure she was still there, still breathing, still real.

You looked so small.

So fragile.

And it shook Maria more than she wanted to admit. This woman, who once sparred with her until both of them limped off the mat laughing… This woman who had stood beside her through firefights and missions no one else could have survived… Now she lies wrapped in blankets, sedated, ribs visible under her skin, lips cracked from dehydration.

Maria swallowed hard. She stared at the screen for a long second before finally pressing the contact.

The call connected after two rings.

“Maria?” Natasha’s voice came out sharp, tight. Tired. Like she’d been running or not sleeping again. “Is something wrong?”

Maria’s breath caught. “Natasha…”

Something in her tone made Natasha go completely still on the other end.

“We found her,” Maria said softly.

Silence.

“I need you to meet me at the SHIELD medical facility in New York. We’re bringing her in now. She's alive, Nat. She's—she's not in good shape, but she’s alive.”

Natasha didn’t answer at first. Just a breath — hitched, broken — and then, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve got her right here with me.” Maria looked over again, lowering her voice instinctively. “She held on. Three years, and she never gave up.”

There was a long pause. When Natasha spoke again, her voice cracked.

“I’ll be there.”

—

The city blurred past the tinted windows of the SUV, but Natasha barely saw any of it.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Every red light felt like a personal attack. Every second that passed without her at that facility made her heart pound harder in her chest.

You were alive.

Alive.

It didn’t feel real.

She had imagined this moment too many times — always in dreams, in cruel fantasies her mind would conjure when sleep finally took her. But this wasn’t a dream. Maria had called her. Maria had sounded shaken. That never happened.

Alive.

Natasha’s breath caught again, her throat tight with something she couldn’t name — hope, disbelief, fear. She didn’t even realize tears had started to run down her cheeks until they hit her jaw. She didn’t wipe them away.

Three years.

Three years of not knowing. Of waking up and reaching for someone who wasn’t there. Of closing her eyes and hearing your laugh, only for silence to greet her. Of rage. Of grief so heavy it felt like a second skin.

And now… you were back.

But at what cost?

She kept replaying Maria’s voice in her head. Not in good shape. Those four words sliced deeper than anything else. Natasha had seen the aftermath of war. She had seen what being stranded did to a person, physically and mentally.

What if you didn’t remember her? What if the pain of those years had buried the part of you that knew her name? What if the reunion she’d dreamed of — clung to — was nothing like the reality waiting for her?

The driver turned sharply, and Natasha gritted her teeth, leaning forward.

“How much longer?”

“Five minutes, ma’am.”

Not fast enough.

She closed her eyes. Forced herself to breathe. One hand unconsciously reached for the ring still looped through the chain around her neck — your ring — warm now from her skin.

She didn’t know what she’d find when she walked into that facility.

But for the first time in three years… she had something to walk toward.

You.

—

The quinjet touched down with a soft thud on the rooftop pad of the SHIELD medical facility.

Before the engines had fully powered down, the med team was already waiting — gurney prepped, portable monitors ready, gloved hands reaching for the ramp before it even dropped.

Maria stood to the side, out of the way but not detached. Her jaw was clenched, arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if holding herself together. She hadn’t said much since the sedation. Only that she’d call Natasha again once they landed. But she didn’t need to. The call had already been made. Natasha would be here soon. She knew it.

The second the hatch opened, the team surged forward.

You were still unconscious — sedated, peaceful in the worst way. Your skin looked pale under the harsh facility lights, your body far too light as they transferred you to the gurney. The bruises, the cuts, the ribs pressing too close to the surface — it was all too visible now.

Monitors were clipped to your finger, an oxygen mask gently pressed to your face, and soft commands echoing between the medics:

“Get her on fluids, stat.”

“We need a CBC and a full metabolic panel.”

“Chest X-ray, abdominal ultrasound.”

“She’s dehydrated; start with normal saline, keep it slow.”

The medics disappeared down the hall with you, swift and practiced, the sound of their shoes a controlled blur of movement.

Natasha had just stepped into the hallway when she saw them roll the gurney past.

She stopped mid-step.

Time halted.

You.

There. Real.

But not awake. Not smiling. Not whole.

Her hand went to the wall to steady herself. Her breath left her in a sharp, silent exhale. She couldn’t move.

Maria stepped in beside her, watching the hallway where the doors had just swung closed behind the gurney. “She’s stable. Vitals are holding. They’ll take care of her.”

Natasha didn’t speak. Her eyes hadn’t moved from that door.

A nurse came around the corner holding something small and delicate in a gloved hand. She looked between them before gently addressing Natasha.

“She was wearing this,” she said softly, offering the chain.

Natasha reached out slowly, her hand trembling as she took it.

Your ring. Still looped through the chain she gave you three years ago.

She held it tightly in her fist, pressing it to her lips like a prayer.

Maria watched her quietly. “She survived,” she whispered, more to herself than to Natasha. “She actually survived.”

Natasha’s voice cracked when she finally spoke, low and hoarse. “She wasn’t supposed to.”

Down the hallway, machines beeped. Doors swung. A medical team did everything they could to stabilize you — rehydrate, monitor, and evaluate. You didn’t stir, but you were alive.

That was all that mattered.

For now.

It felt like hours.

The sterile hallway never changed, but Natasha hadn't moved from that same spot. She leaned forward in the plastic chair, elbows on her knees, fingers still curled around the chain holding your ring. The weight of it was nothing — and everything.

Maria had stayed close, pacing occasionally, making a few quiet calls, but mostly giving Natasha space. There were no words left to say.

Finally, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors. He looked tired but calm.

“She’s stable. Fluids are working, and her bloodwork came back cleaner than we expected. Malnourished, yes. Exhausted, definitely. But no infection, no internal injuries beyond the obvious bruising, and a few injuries that didn't heal properly, but nothing to worry about. We sedated her gently. She might wake up soon.”

Natasha stood the moment the doctor nodded toward the room. “Can I see her?”

“Yes. Just for a few minutes, and keep it quiet. She’s been through a lot.”

Natasha didn’t answer. She was already moving.

—

The room was dim and quiet, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound. You were there, lying so still under the soft white sheets, a faint oxygen tube at your nose, IVs at your side.

Natasha stopped at the foot of the bed. She wasn’t ready. She’d pictured this moment a hundred different ways over the past three years. None of them came close.

You looked like you and not like you — thinner, paler, yet tanned, your hair longer and tangled in places, and skin marked with sun and wear. But it was you.

Carefully, Natasha stepped closer, lowering herself into the chair beside your bed. She didn’t speak. She just watched. Studied your face. Every part of her wanted to reach out — but she couldn’t bring herself to disturb the fragile stillness.

She opened her hand. The ring glinted dully in the light.

“I never stopped wearing it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Never took it off. Not once.”

Her fingers curled gently around your hand, the one not bound by tape and tubing. You were warm. Not cold. Not gone.

“I should’ve been with you,” she whispered. “I should’ve—”

But she couldn’t finish.

Her breath caught, and for the first time in years, Natasha Romanoff let her shoulders fall and her head bow beside the woman she never stopped loving.

She stayed like that. Until the rhythm of your heart monitor seemed to slow into something steadier. Familiar.

Until maybe — just maybe — she felt your fingers twitch beneath her own.

Natasha’s eyes remained fixed on you, but her mind had drifted. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, nor how many times she had muttered those quiet, broken words — promises, apologies, confessions — to the room, to the air, to you.

The weight of everything she hadn’t said was finally crashing down on her, more than she could have prepared for. The years without you, the months of pretending she could go on without even knowing where you were, the guilt that had gnawed at her every waking moment, the hopelessness she buried deeper each day. It had always felt like she was waiting for something — waiting for the call, the news, anything that would bring you back into her world. She couldn’t breathe without the thought of you, couldn’t focus on anything with your absence hanging like a shadow.

But here you were, lying in front of her, fragile and yet still alive.

Alive.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the ring, the very symbol of everything she’d almost lost forever. The years had worn away at its luster, but it still gleamed, faintly — a promise. She had thought she’d never see you again. She thought she’d have to carry this unfulfilled promise forever.

And yet, here you were.

Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. She wasn’t going to cry. She couldn’t. Not here, not now, when you needed her more than ever.

"I promised you I’d come for you," she whispered, her voice rough. "I promised."

She held the ring in her hand as if it could reach you — as if it could bridge the gap between her pain and your absence. She was scared, more than she cared to admit. Scared of how you might feel when you woke up. Scared of what you might remember. Scared of how fragile this moment was — of how fragile you were.

Her hand moved slowly to the side of your bed. She didn’t want to disturb you, but she couldn’t stop herself. The need to be close to you was overwhelming. The need to feel that connection — that spark of life that had once been so familiar, so undeniable between you.

“I couldn’t live without you,” Natasha whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I won’t let you go again.”

For a moment, she simply sat there, eyes closed, listening to the steady rhythm of your breath. The world outside the room seemed distant and cold — nothing mattered except the space between her and you, the fragile space that had once been filled with shared laughter, quiet mornings, and stolen moments.

The steady beep of the heart monitor seemed to echo in her mind, a reminder that you were here, that you were real, that you were alive. But what was left for the two of you now? Could things be the same after all that had happened? Natasha didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn't—wouldn't— let you slip away again.

The door creaked softly, and Maria stepped in, her expression quiet but understanding. Natasha didn’t look up. She didn’t want anyone else in this moment, but Maria’s presence was a grounding force — a reminder that Natasha hadn’t been completely alone through all of this.

“She’s going to be okay,” Maria said, her voice gentle but firm. “She’s a fighter, Nat.”

Natasha didn’t respond, her eyes never leaving you. She wasn’t ready for anyone’s reassurance. Not yet.

Maria waited for a moment, then sighed softly. “I’ll give you some time. Just… don’t do this alone. Not again.”

But Natasha didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She didn’t know how to explain the ache in her chest, the heaviness that had been there for years. There was no way to put it into words.

She only nodded silently, her gaze never wavering from your sleeping form. And in that silence, Natasha finally let herself hope again. Not just for your safety, but for something more. Something she had almost forgotten how to believe in.

She wasn’t alone anymore. Neither of them was.

—

The first thing you felt was the weight of your own body. The heaviness of skin and bone sinking into the sterile softness of hospital sheets. The dull ache beneath the surface of everything. But more than that, it was the quiet hum of machines, the faint beeping of a heart monitor, and the sterile scent of antiseptic that confirmed it — you weren’t on the island anymore.

You were safe.

That realization alone felt unreal.

Your eyelids fluttered, the light above muted through lashes you struggled to lift. The world came back to you in pieces — sound, then shape, then color. The sharp clarity of a cold IV line in your hand. The warmth of a blanket pulled up to your chest. The dull echo of a familiar voice.

It was the last one that made your heart stutter.

Natasha.

She was sitting beside you. Tired. Still. Her posture held together by force alone, like she hadn’t moved in hours — maybe longer. Her hands were folded in her lap, but her entire body leaned ever so slightly toward you, as if afraid you’d vanish if she didn’t stay close.

You blinked slowly, and her eyes found yours in an instant.

The breath she let out was shaky. You saw it — the moment she shattered just a little more but also held herself together just enough to stay strong for you.

“…hey,” she whispered. Her voice was raw, barely a sound at all. But her eyes were full — of grief, of relief, of everything she hadn’t dared let herself feel until now. “You’re here.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. You tried again — your voice rasped and cracked, dry and weak.

“…Hi,” you whispered.

Tears welled up in her eyes immediately. Natasha leaned forward, slowly, cautiously, her hand brushing your arm like she needed to touch you to believe this was real. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Weeks. Maybe years.

“I didn’t think…” you started, the words struggling to form.

“I know,” she said, voice tight. “Me neither.”

Your eyes darted around, and that’s when you saw it — sitting on the table beside a vase of white flowers, looking oddly solemn in the sterile light — was Red. Your Red. The coconut you once talked to when you were losing hope, when your voice was the only one on that island. Someone had even propped it up with a little folded towel beneath it like a throne.

You stared at it, blinking again, and then let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob.

“Red made it?”

“Maria made sure of it,” Natasha said with a hint of a smile, though her voice was still breaking. “Said she’d have murdered her entire team if they left him behind. Apparently you muttered its name after they sedated you.”

Your throat burned. Everything hurt. But Natasha’s presence eased something inside of you that had been coiled tight for years. She looked at you like she was scared you’d disappear if she blinked. And you looked at her like she was the first warmth you’d felt in forever.

You reached for her hand, slowly, shakily. She took it before your fingers even fully stretched toward her.

“You waited,” you said softly.

“I would’ve waited forever,” Natasha whispered back.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. It was full — of all the words you didn’t need to say, of the pain that was finally beginning to thaw, of the bond between you that had never broken, even after everything.

Even after all this time.

You closed your eyes again, not to sleep — just to rest. Just to breathe. Just to be.

With her hand in yours and Red by your side, for the first time in a long time… you believed everything might be okay.

----

TAGLIST: @womenarehotsstuff @seventeen-x @ctrlaltedits @ciaoooooo111 @unexpected-character @redroomgraduate @natsaffection @cheekysnake @viosblog112 @riyaexee @lilyeyama @idontliketoread2127 @ima-gi--na-tion @sunny-poe @artemisarroxvolkov @hotcocoandonuts @scarletsstarlets @splatashaswife

#marvel #mcu #reader insert #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff x reader angst #natasha romanoff angst #black widow angst #castawayseries

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creamecafe · 5 months ago

Note

Can you write the headcannons where the squid games s2 men react to you flinching during a fight please

How Season 2 Squid Game Men Would React To You Flinching During an Argument

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Pairing: Season 2 Squid Game Men x GN!Reader

Warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, angst

Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting! To anyone who's going through something like this, please know that you're not alone.

National Domestic Violence Hotline is 800-799-7233. They are open 24/7. Youcan also text too. Please talk to someone and get the help you deserve or possibly help someone. No one, doesn't matter big or small, man or woman deserves to be mistreated or feel like they're in danger in a relationship

National Domestic Violence

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Seong Gi-Hun (Player 456)

Stops arguing with you immediately and realizes what you might think of what he was going to do to you

He knew he changed a lot, but he never thought he would change in ways that would make you scared of him

Reassures you and tells you that he would never even think of hitting you even when he's so upset.

Young-il (Player 001)

Is used to people being intimidated by him, but by you is a different story

Never would want you ever to be afraid of him

Talks to you in a now calmer tone and apologies to you

He holds you close and kisses you, saying that he'll never put his hands on you, or even the thought of doing so would go on his mind

If he only knew of who was responsible for that in the past, he'll kill them

Thanos (Player 230) (I love this GIF of him, ok?)

Is confused at first why you flinch

Then it clicks in his head of why you did so

Were you really thinking that he would hurt you? He thought to himself

Has been hit by his mom before so he understands it all so well

Drops his smart ass, wanting to be right all the time persona and tries to make things with you

Kang Dae-Ho (Player 388)

His heart felt like it broke when he sees you flinching

He thinks you must see him as a monster, just like his dad

Steps back away from you and goes to lock himself away in his room

It seems emotionally immature to do so, but he doesn't want to take a chance to hurt you even if it's a accident

When he calms down, he hugs and cries saying he'll never raise his voice again and he's sorry for ever making you feel afraid of him

Lee Myung-Gi (Player 333)

He knows he has made big mistakes before and tries to fix them

But the action he did towards you, will never leave his mind

He never thought he could be seen as an abuser in a relationship or make you afraid of him

Making you angry or a little sad, he could live with that. But afraid?

It takes all he can to apologize to you without crying, because he doesn't want to lose you or even make you feel like he would put his hands on you

Nam Gyu

Dissociates when he realizes

Takes a few steps back to calm you down

Looks down at his and shakes of the many times you probably had in your mind if he really was going to hurt you

He shakily apologizes to you and his voice trembles that he'll never hurt you and if he does, he doesn't deserve you

Hwang Jun-ho

He's been a police officer long enough to know why you would flinch

He has had calls of domestic abuse/violence especially for women

He drops the argument like nothing and apologizes.

Before hugging you, he would ask you permission

Now he is thinking of whoever made you afraid or flinch, that he'll make them pay

Salesman/Recruiter

His expression is like in the GIF above, shocked for a moment and realizes

He reassures and says to just forget about the argument

Tells you that he would never even think of hitting you. And if he ever does or makes you afraid in any way to leave him right away

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Taglist:

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Squid Game Masterlist | Squid Game Men Masterlist | Join my taglist!

#creamecafe #squid game season 2 #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game #squid game 2 spoilers #squid game netflix #squid game fanfic #squid game fanfiction #squid game s2 #squid game salesman #squid game season 2 spoilers #squid game spoilers #squid games #squid game x you #squid game x y/n #squid game x male reader #headcanons #squid game headcanons

693 notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 8 months ago

Text

Lose Yourself

Day 31 → Mind Break 💋 mafia!Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent, guns, and forced dumbification

Kinktober Masterlist

The office is small, dim, smelling faintly of coffee and old paper. A narrow window lets in thin, grey light, cutting across the surface of your supervisor’s desk. He’s sitting there, looking at you with that familiar mix of intensity and mild concern. There’s a file in front of him, thick, overflowing with papers, and he taps it once, twice, like he’s deciding whether or not to speak.

“You know I wouldn’t bring you in for something like this unless it was absolutely necessary,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

You nod, but don’t say anything. You’ve worked for Interpol long enough to know that when he starts like this, something big is coming. Bigger than usual.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he continues, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “This isn’t like the other assignments.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting. He hasn’t even told you what the assignment is yet. The edge in his voice is making you uneasy, though. It’s not like him to drag things out like this.

He sighs, opens the file, pulls out a single photograph, and slides it across the desk toward you.

It’s a man.

Dark hair, sharp features, eyes that seem to stare through the camera lens. He’s sitting at a table in some restaurant, probably expensive judging by the suit he’s wearing, and there’s a woman draped over his arm. But the man doesn’t seem to notice her. His expression is unreadable.

“Charles Leclerc,” your supervisor says, as if the name should mean something to you. It doesn’t.

You glance up at him. “Who is he?”

He hesitates, just for a second, and then says, “The leader of the Rosso Corsa.”

You freeze, the weight of the words sinking in immediately. The Rosso Corsa is infamous. A criminal organization that operates in both Italy and the Côte d'Azur, responsible for everything from arms trafficking to political corruption. They’re untouchable.

Untouchable, because no one can get close enough.

Your supervisor lets the silence linger for a moment before he speaks again. “Interpol’s been trying to infiltrate them for years. We’ve had no success. No one’s gotten close enough, and the few who have …” He trails off, shaking his head. “They didn’t make it out.”

“So why now?” You ask, already knowing you’re not going to like the answer.

“Because we have a lead.” He pulls another piece of paper from the file, but doesn’t show it to you yet. “Leclerc’s been recruiting. Quietly. His organization’s expanding faster than anyone predicted. He’s looking for new people, trusted people.”

You stare at him. “And you want me to-”

“Get close to him,” he finishes. “Infiltrate. Gather information. Help us bring him down.”

The air feels heavier, thicker, and you shift in your seat, trying to make sense of what he’s asking. “How am I supposed to get close to someone like that? He probably has a hundred people screening anyone who tries to-”

“You’ll be playing a role,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “We’ve been building a cover for you for months.”

He hands you a new folder, this one slimmer, but just as important. Inside, there’s a fake ID, a name you’ve never heard before, and a backstory so detailed you’re almost convinced it’s real.

“Giulia Santini,” he says, nodding toward the papers. “You’ve been living in Monaco for years. High-end art dealer. A few shady connections here and there, just enough to make you interesting to Leclerc, but nothing that’ll get you killed if someone digs a little too deep.”

You let out a breath, leafing through the details. “And you’re sure he’ll be interested?”

“His mother’s an art collector,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s not foolproof, but we’ve done the groundwork. We’ve arranged for you to be introduced through one of his contacts in the next week. From there, it’s up to you.”

You blink, trying to process the enormity of what he’s asking. “Up to me? You’re sending me in without backup?”

“You’ll have backup,” he says quickly. “But you know how this works. You’re going to be on your own for most of it. We need to keep the operation quiet. If Leclerc gets even a hint that you’re not who you say you are, it’s over. For you. For all of us.”

He’s not sugarcoating it, and you appreciate that, but it doesn’t make the task ahead of you any easier to swallow. You swallow hard, feeling a weight settle in your chest.

“Why me?” You ask softly.

He looks at you for a long moment before he answers, his voice lowering. “Because you’re the best. You’re smart and you can handle yourself. You’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.”

“But this is different.”

“Yes,” he admits, and his eyes soften just a fraction. “But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You sit there, the folder in your hands, feeling the weight of everything he’s just laid out for you. There’s a part of you that wants to say no, that wants to walk out of this office and leave the impossible task for someone else. But you know you won’t. You’ve never walked away from a challenge before, and you’re not about to start now.

Still, there’s one thing gnawing at you, something you can’t quite shake.

“If I get close to him,” you say slowly, “what’s the plan? What happens then?”

Your supervisor hesitates again, and that makes your stomach twist. “We gather information,” he says finally. “Enough to bring him down. We’re not rushing this. This could take months, maybe longer.”

“And in the meantime?” You press. “What if he gets suspicious?”

He’s silent for a moment, and then he leans forward again, his voice low and steady. “Then you do whatever you have to do to keep your cover intact.”

The meaning behind his words is clear, and it sends a chill down your spine. You’ve done undercover work before, but nothing like this. Nothing this … intimate.

You clear your throat. “And how far am I supposed to go with this?”

“As far as you need to,” he says, his tone hardening. “But you keep your head. You remember why you’re there. This isn’t about you and him. This is about bringing down a dangerous organization.”

You nod, trying to focus on the mission, on the end goal. But it’s hard when you’re staring at the photograph of Charles Leclerc, at the cold, unreadable expression on his face.

Your supervisor stands up, signaling the end of the meeting. “You’ll leave for Monaco in two days. We’ll have everything set up by then.”

You stand too, feeling the weight of the assignment pressing down on your shoulders. But before you can turn to leave, he says one more thing.

“Be careful, Y/N.”

You pause at the door, glancing back at him. “I always am.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches as you walk out of the office, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

You stand in the hallway for a moment, the folder still in your hand, staring at the photograph of Charles Leclerc one last time.

You wonder, not for the first time, if this is the mission that will finally break you.

***

The Grand Hôtel in Monaco is every bit as lavish as you imagined. Opulent chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting warm light over marble floors and deep, velvet chairs that look more like art pieces than furniture. You’ve been here before, but never in this role. Never as Giulia Santini, the art dealer with a knack for finding rare treasures.

You glance around the lobby, your heels clicking softly against the marble as you make your way toward the bar. Your heart is steady, though there’s a subtle tension in your muscles. You’re about to meet Charles Leclerc, one of the most dangerous men in Europe, and you can’t afford to slip, even for a second.

At the bar, you spot Fabien — your contact, someone who’s vouched for you enough to get you this meeting. He’s sipping a glass of wine, leaning casually against the polished counter as if this is any other evening. When he sees you, he nods once, lifting his glass slightly in greeting.

“Giulia,” he says smoothly when you approach, his voice like honey. He leans in to kiss both your cheeks in the European fashion, his cologne strong. “You look stunning. Leclerc will be impressed.”

You smile at him, playing the part effortlessly. “Let’s hope so.”

Fabien gestures to the bartender and orders another glass of wine for you. “He’ll be here soon,” he says quietly, his eyes scanning the crowd. “He’s already asked about you. You’ve made quite an impression, and you haven’t even met him yet.”

You pick up the glass the bartender slides toward you, taking a small sip. The wine is rich, expensive, but it doesn’t do anything to calm the simmering anticipation in your veins. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth, of course,” Fabien replies with a grin. “That you’re the most elusive art dealer in Monaco, and that you specialize in pieces even the richest men in Europe couldn’t get their hands on.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Quite the reputation you’ve given me.”

Fabien shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “It’s not far from the truth.”

You glance at the entrance to the bar, but there’s no sign of Leclerc yet. “And what should I know about him?” You ask, keeping your voice low. “What does he like?”

Fabien’s eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place — is it wariness? Curiosity? He leans in slightly, lowering his voice even more. “He’s intelligent. He’s quiet, but not because he’s shy. He’s watching everything, always calculating. Don’t let the charm fool you. He’s dangerous, but you already know that.”

You nod, your grip on the wine glass tightening just a fraction.

“And,” Fabien adds, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, “he’s not immune to beauty.”

Before you can respond, Fabien straightens suddenly, his eyes locking on something behind you. “He’s here.”

You don’t turn around immediately, though every nerve in your body is telling you to. Instead, you take another sip of wine, steadying yourself, letting the moment stretch out. You feel his presence before you even see him — a subtle shift in the energy around you, the way people in the bar seem to take notice without even realizing it.

Finally, you turn.

Charles Leclerc is standing just a few feet away, speaking briefly with the hostess, who gestures toward the table in the back corner. He nods at her, his expression unreadable, and starts walking in your direction.

He’s taller than you expected, more imposing. His dark hair is perfectly in place, his suit tailored so sharply it looks like it was made just for him — which, of course, it probably was. His eyes, though — they’re exactly like the photograph. Cold, unreadable, scanning the room like he’s memorizing every face, every detail. When they land on you, there’s a flicker of interest, just for a moment, before his expression smooths out again.

Fabien steps forward to greet him, his smile wide and easy. “Charles,” he says, offering his hand. “Good to see you.”

Leclerc shakes his hand, his movements controlled, almost too smooth. “Fabien,” he says, his voice deep, with the hint of an accent that’s hard to place — part French, part something else. His eyes flick briefly to you before returning to Fabien. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Fabien replies. “In fact, I’ve been waiting to introduce you to someone.”

He turns toward you, and for a split second, it’s like the entire room goes quiet. The air between you and Charles seems to shift, though he gives no sign that he’s noticed anything unusual.

“This is Giulia Santini,” Fabien says, his voice warm and confident. “The art dealer I’ve been telling you about.”

You extend your hand, offering a small, professional smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Charles looks at you for just a beat longer than necessary before taking your hand. His grip is firm, but not aggressive, and his skin is warm against yours. “The pleasure is mine,” he says, his voice lower now, meant just for you.

You hold his gaze as long as you dare before letting your hand slip from his. Fabien gestures to the table in the corner, and the three of you make your way over. Charles sits across from you, his eyes flicking between you and Fabien, though most of his attention seems to be on you.

“So,” Charles says once you’ve all settled, leaning back in his chair slightly, “Fabien tells me you’re quite the expert in rare art.”

You smile, playing the role with ease. “I wouldn’t say expert. Just passionate.”

He watches you, his eyes dark and focused. “And what kind of pieces does someone like you find … exciting?”

The question is loaded, and you know it. He’s testing you, seeing how you’ll respond. You take a breath, keeping your expression calm, your voice light.

“It depends,” you say slowly, leaning forward just slightly, enough to draw his attention. “Art is all about perspective, isn’t it? What one person finds valuable, another might overlook entirely.”

Charles’ lips twitch, like he’s suppressing a smile, but it never quite reaches his eyes. “True,” he agrees. “But I imagine you have a talent for finding the pieces that others overlook.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze evenly. “It’s what I do best.”

There’s a pause, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension. Charles taps his fingers lightly against the table, his eyes never leaving yours. Fabien shifts slightly, glancing between the two of you, clearly pleased with how the conversation is going.

“You know,” Charles says after a moment, his voice soft but deliberate, “I’ve been looking for someone like you.”

Your heart skips, but you don’t let it show. You raise an eyebrow, keeping your tone playful. “Is that so?”

He nods, still watching you carefully. “Someone with connections. Someone who can move in circles I can’t always reach.”

“And what circles are those?” You ask, keeping your voice light, though you already know the answer.

He leans forward, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “The kind that deal in things not everyone should know about.”

There it is. The subtle shift from pleasantries to something more dangerous, more real. You feel the tension tighten in your chest, but you smile, pretending you’re completely at ease.

“Well,” you say, letting your voice drop just a fraction, “I’m sure we could work something out. If you’re interested.”

Charles doesn’t respond right away, just watches you, his expression carefully controlled. Finally, he nods. “I am.”

Fabien jumps in then, filling the silence with talk about upcoming events, art auctions, places where you and Charles might cross paths again. But you’re only half-listening. Most of your attention is still on Charles, watching the way his eyes flicker with interest, the subtle shifts in his posture as he listens to Fabien. It’s clear that he’s more focused on you than the conversation, and you need to tread carefully.

Fabien’s words become background noise, blending with the clink of glasses and the low hum of conversation around you. You’re not oblivious to the tension under the surface, though. Every move you make, every word you say, it’s all part of the game. And Charles knows it, too.

Fabien laughs, clapping Charles on the back. “I think Giulia could be quite useful for you, Charles. Her contacts run deep, and she’s good at staying … discreet.”

Charles’ eyes meet yours again, and you hold his gaze, refusing to look away. There’s a challenge in the air, subtle but undeniable. It’s as if he’s trying to peel back your layers, see what lies beneath the surface of the woman sitting in front of him.

“I can be discreet when necessary,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing. “But sometimes, it’s better to make a statement. It depends on what kind of art you’re dealing with.”

Charles’ lips quirk into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and for the first time, you catch a glimpse of the man behind the mask. “I agree,” he says, his voice low. “Some things are worth putting on display for the world to see.”

Your pulse quickens at the double meaning behind his words, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you lean back slightly, crossing your legs under the table and allowing your hand to rest casually on the stem of your wine glass.

“Perhaps we could discuss it more in private,” you suggest, your tone light but deliberate. “I’d love to hear about the kind of pieces you’re interested in.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then, he nods, his smile widening just a fraction. “I think that can be arranged.”

Fabien stands, finishing the last of his wine. “I’ll give you two some space,” he says, with a knowing smile, his tone laced with implication. “Giulia, Charles — enjoy your evening.”

With that, he walks away, leaving the two of you alone at the table. You feel the shift in the atmosphere immediately. The casual conversation is gone, replaced by something far more charged, far more dangerous.

Charles leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his eyes locked on yours. “Tell me, Giulia,” he says, his voice soft but commanding. “How far are you willing to go for a deal?”

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implication. You know this is it — the moment where the line between professional and personal blurs, where the real game begins.

You take a breath, keeping your expression calm, though your mind is racing. You need to keep him hooked, keep him interested, but you can’t give away too much too soon. This is a dance, and you need to make sure you’re leading.

“I’m willing to go as far as I need to,” you reply, your voice steady. “But that depends on what’s being offered.”

Charles watches you for a long moment, and you can feel the weight of his gaze, the way he’s analyzing every word, every movement. Finally, he leans back, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re good,” he says, his voice almost admiring. “I can see why Fabien recommended you.”

You smile, taking a sip of your wine. “I’m very good at what I do.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, still watching you with that same intensity that never seems to waver. He’s waiting for your next move, and you can feel the moment stretching out, charged with unspoken tension.

You lean in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough to draw him in. “So, tell me, Charles,” you say, letting your words linger in the air between you, “what kind of art are you really interested in? What would make it worth your while to work with me?”

His eyes darken, just slightly, as he considers your question. “I’m interested in pieces that are … unique,” he says slowly. “Rare. The kind of art most people don’t even know exists.”

You nod, pretending to think it over, even though you already know exactly where this conversation is going. “I can find you rare pieces,” you say, your voice smooth. “But unique? That’s harder to come by. What makes something unique to you?”

As you speak, you casually slide your hand from the edge of the table to your lap, then slowly, almost imperceptibly, move it under the table toward his leg. You don’t make it obvious. Just a gentle touch at first, your fingertips brushing the fabric of his dress pants as you talk, keeping your expression calm, your voice steady.

Charles doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react — at least, not outwardly. His gaze flicks down to your hand for just a second, barely noticeable, before he meets your eyes again. “Unique,” he repeats, his voice lower now, quieter, “is something no one else can have. Something priceless.”

Your hand moves a little higher, just grazing his knee, but you keep your face composed, the conversation continuing as if nothing has changed. “I can work with priceless,” you say, leaning in a little more, your lips curving into a smile. “But it’ll cost you.”

There’s a flicker of something in Charles’ eyes — amusement, maybe — as he watches you, as though he’s enjoying the game as much as you are. “Everything has a price, Giulia,” he says, his voice smooth, controlled. “What’s yours?”

You pause, letting the question hang in the air for a moment before answering. “That depends on how much you’re willing to offer.”

As you say this, your hand slides up higher, just above his knee now, your touch still light, teasing. You can feel the muscle tensing slightly under your fingers, but Charles doesn’t say anything. He just keeps watching you, his eyes dark, his posture still relaxed, but you can sense the shift in the air between you.

“I can offer you more than you’ve ever had,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you’d have to prove to me that you’re worth it.”

You smile, your fingers moving a little higher, just brushing his thigh now, your touch deliberate but still subtle enough that no one else in the bar would notice. “I don’t think proving myself will be a problem,” you murmur, your voice low and seductive. “I think you already know I’m worth it.”

Charles leans forward slightly, just enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, though his expression remains perfectly controlled. “What I want,” he says, his voice almost a growl now, “is something unforgettable. Can you deliver that?”

Your hand moves up just a bit more, your fingertips grazing the inside of his thigh now, and you feel the way his body responds — just a subtle tension, a slight shift in his breathing. But still, he doesn’t pull away. He’s letting you set the pace, letting you see how far you’re willing to go.

“I think I can deliver whatever you need,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your hand pressing just a little harder now, a little more insistent. “If you’re willing to trust me.”

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you, his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the silence between you is so thick you can almost hear your own heartbeat. You can feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter, and you know that you’ve reached the point where the conversation is about to shift again — from playful to something more serious, more real.

Finally, Charles leans back in his chair, just slightly, but his eyes never leave yours. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “You know that, don’t you?”

You smile, your hand still resting on his thigh. “I don’t mind a little danger.”

There’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes — desire, maybe, or something darker. It’s hard to tell with him. He’s so good at hiding what he’s really feeling, keeping everything just below the surface. But you can see the way his body reacts to your touch, the way his breathing has changed, just slightly.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels electric, charged with anticipation. You can feel the heat of his body under your fingertips, the way his muscles tense slightly as your hand moves just a little higher, pressing against the inside of his thigh now.

Then, suddenly, he stands up.

The movement is so abrupt, so unexpected, that for a split second, you freeze, your hand dropping back to your lap as he pushes his chair back. He doesn’t look at you as he adjusts his jacket, his expression unreadable once again, but there’s a tension in his body now that wasn’t there before.

“We’re leaving,” he says, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You blink, surprised, but you recover quickly, standing up and smoothing your dress, your heart pounding in your chest. You’d expected a reaction, but not this. Not so sudden, so decisive.

“To where?” You ask, though you already know the answer.

Charles glances at you, his eyes dark, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Back to mine,” he says, his voice low. “For the rest of the night.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, and you nod, your mind already racing with what comes next. You’ve got him. You’ve hooked him, and now it’s just a matter of playing the role, of keeping him interested long enough to get what you need.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, already walking toward the exit with long, confident strides. You follow, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor, the sound of the bar fading behind you as you step out into the cool night air.

Outside, a black car waits at the curb, and Charles gestures for you to get in first. You slide into the back seat, feeling the leather cool against your skin, and he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The driver doesn’t say a word as the car pulls away from the curb, and the city lights blur past the windows as you head toward the unknown.

You glance at Charles, who’s sitting next to you now, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body even though he’s not touching you. His expression is calm, but there’s a tension in his jaw, a darkness in his eyes that makes your heart race even faster.

The game is far from over.

***

The car glides through the narrow streets of Monaco, the city lights flickering outside like fireflies in the dark. You try to focus on the blur of neon signs and elegant façades, but your thoughts keep circling back to Charles, who sits beside you in silence, his presence filling the confined space like something dangerous and magnetic.

He hasn’t spoken since you left the bar, and you haven’t dared to break the silence. There's a simmering tension between you, thick and almost suffocating, and though you try to appear calm, the anticipation gnaws at you. You’ve played these games before — seduction, deception — but something about Charles makes it feel different. He’s unpredictable, his control over every moment unnerving.

The car finally pulls to a stop outside a sleek, modern building that towers over the waterfront, all glass and steel reflecting the moonlight. Charles steps out first, and you follow, the cool night air hitting your skin as you walk toward the private entrance. The click of your heels against the pavement echoes in the quiet.

Charles doesn’t say anything as you step inside the elevator with him. The doors slide shut, and the air seems to grow thicker, the silence stretching. You can feel the tension crackling between you, every second charged with something unsaid, something dark and thrilling.

He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. But the way he stands, just inches from you, makes your skin tingle with the anticipation of what’s to come.

When the elevator doors open, you step out into a penthouse that’s every bit as luxurious as you’d expected. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the harbor below, and the minimalist design — all clean lines and muted tones — feels cold, impersonal.

Charles walks ahead of you, loosening his tie as he goes. “Drink?” He asks, his voice low, casual, as if the air between you isn’t thick with tension.

You shake your head, your voice catching slightly in your throat. “No, thank you.”

He turns toward you then, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you moves. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, and though you’ve done this before, there’s something different this time — a sense of danger that feels very real.

Charles watches you, his eyes dark, unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun.

You freeze.

He doesn’t point it at you. Not yet. He holds it loosely in his hand, his expression calm, controlled, as if this is just another part of the game.

“You’re afraid of this, aren’t you?” He asks quietly, tilting his head slightly as he watches your reaction.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing. “Should I be?”

Charles’ lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. “Not unless I give you a reason to be.”

He steps closer, and you can’t help the way your body tenses, your gaze flicking to the gun in his hand. You’ve seen weapons before, handled them even, but the way Charles holds it — so casually, so confidently — makes your stomach tighten.

He raises the gun, not toward you, but slowly, deliberately, running the cool metal along your jawline. The touch of the cold barrel against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, and though every instinct in your body is screaming at you to pull away, you don’t. You can’t.

“Do you trust me?” He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, the gun still tracing along your skin, down your neck, over the curve of your shoulder.

You force yourself to meet his gaze, your breath shallow. “I don’t trust anyone.”

Charles smiles, a dark, almost amused smile, as if he expected nothing less. “Smart.”

He steps even closer, and the gun dips lower, grazing the top of your chest now, the cool metal contrasting sharply with the heat building under your skin. He moves slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch of the barrel as it slides over your skin, a slow, deliberate tease.

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. The danger of the moment — the unpredictability of Charles — sends a thrill through you, a heady mix of fear and desire. You’ve never been in a situation like this before, never felt this kind of tension coil so tightly in your chest.

He presses the barrel of the gun against your sternum, just enough for you to feel its weight, and you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him. His eyes darken, watching your every reaction with a predatory intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

“You like this, don’t you?” He asks softly, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

You open your mouth to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. You can’t lie, not when your body is betraying you so completely. The truth is, you don’t know what you feel — fear, excitement, something far more dangerous — but you’re too far gone to stop it now.

Instead of answering, you tilt your head back slightly, exposing more of your neck to him, a silent invitation, a challenge. Charles’ eyes flash with something dark and primal, and for a moment, you think he might actually pull the trigger. But he doesn’t. He’s still in control. Barely.

He moves the gun lower, pressing it against your stomach now, and your breath catches in your throat. Every nerve in your body is on fire, the tension so thick you can barely think. Charles steps even closer, his body almost flush with yours, his breath warm against your ear.

“Do you know what happens when you push someone like me too far?” He whispers, the gun sliding lower, tracing the curve of your waist.

You swallow hard, your body trembling with the weight of his words, the cold metal of the gun still pressing against you in ways you never imagined it could be used.

“Tell me,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling despite yourself.

Charles’ smile widens, a dark, dangerous thing, as he presses the barrel of the gun against your hip now, his other hand finally reaching out to touch you, gripping your waist with a firm, possessive hold.

“I don’t like to be tested,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But I think you already knew that.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to escape as the gun moves even lower, brushing the inside of your thigh now, the sensation sending a wave of heat through your body that leaves you dizzy.

“And yet,” Charles continues, his voice low and rough now, “you keep pushing, don’t you?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer. Your entire body is focused on the slow, deliberate path of the gun as it moves between your legs, the cold metal making your breath hitch, your heart racing so fast you can barely think straight.

Charles pulls back just slightly, just enough to meet your eyes again. There’s something wild in his gaze now, something dangerous and unrestrained, and for the first time, you realize how far you’ve pushed him.

But instead of pulling away, you lean into him, your lips brushing against his jaw, a silent surrender to whatever he has planned next.

He moves the gun away from your body, but the loss of contact only makes the heat between you more intense. Before you can react, Charles grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to look up at him, his grip firm but not painful.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he growls, his voice thick with warning.

And then, without another word, he pulls you against him, his lips crashing into yours with a force that steals your breath away. The kiss is hard, demanding, and you respond with equal intensity, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you pull him closer, desperate for more.

Charles’ hand moves to your hair, tangling in the strands as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a rough, possessive edge. The gun is still in his other hand, but he doesn’t use it, not now. Now it’s just him, the raw power of his touch, the heat of his body pressed against yours.

You’re drowning in the sensation of it, the heady mix of fear and desire overwhelming every sense. Every nerve in your body is on fire, and when Charles finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your lips swollen, your body trembling.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark with a hunger you’ve never seen before. “We’re not done,” he says, his voice rough, almost ragged.

You nod, unable to speak, your heart racing as you try to catch your breath.

Charles lowers the gun to his side, his fingers tracing along your jaw with a surprising gentleness. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because this is just the beginning."

Charles doesn't let go of you immediately. His hand lingers on your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips with deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. His eyes are still dark, dangerous, and that smirk — subtle but sharp — hasn’t left his face.

"Come,” he says, his voice low, commanding, as he steps back, breaking the electric contact between your bodies. His hand catches yours, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, and without another word, he starts to lead you down the hallway, deeper into the penthouse. The gleam of city lights fades behind you as the door to the bedroom opens, revealing a space as sleek and cold as the rest of his world.

Charles doesn’t slow down. His grip tightens just a fraction as he pulls you into the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. You’re aware of the luxurious bed, its sharp angles and cool, satin sheets, but your focus is on him. The way he moves, so sure of himself, so utterly in control, sets your pulse racing again.

Without a word, Charles releases your wrist and steps away, walking over to a small table near the window. The city lights reflect off the polished surface as he picks up the gun again, handling it like it’s nothing more than an extension of himself. He weighs it in his hand, almost thoughtfully, before glancing back at you, his eyes gleaming with that same intensity as before.

“You’ve never had anyone like me, have you?” His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. He turns the gun over in his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of the barrel as if considering his next move.

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “What makes you so sure?”

Charles’ smile is slow, deliberate, as he crosses the room toward you, the gun still in his hand. “Because no one else knows how to make you feel like this,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “No one else can make you want something you should be afraid of.”

He’s right. You’ve felt desire before, but never like this. Never this consuming, this dangerous. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the gun in his hand as he stops in front of you, so close that the heat of his body seems to seep into yours.

Charles raises the gun again, the cold metal pressing against your collarbone. He drags it slowly, down the length of your chest, teasing the edge of your dress, his eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitches, but you don’t flinch. Not this time. Instead, you tilt your head up slightly, meeting his gaze head-on, daring him to keep going.

The corner of his mouth twitches into something darker than a smile. “You like this more than you want to admit.”

His words send a jolt of heat through you, and before you can respond, he moves the gun lower, pressing the barrel lightly against your stomach, the coolness making you shiver. He steps closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Tell me how much you want this.”

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to catch your breath, but the feeling of the gun, the weight of his words, are too much. You manage to speak, your voice barely a whisper. “I-”

Charles doesn’t let you finish. He presses the gun harder against your stomach, just enough for you to feel the cold metal, his lips ghosting over your neck as he murmurs, “Say it.”

Your heart is racing so fast you can barely think. The danger, the thrill, the way he’s completely in control — it’s intoxicating. You know this is a game, but it’s one you’ve already lost. The gun slides lower, grazing your hip now, and it’s enough to tip you over the edge.

“I want it,” you whisper, your voice shaky, your body trembling under the intensity of the moment. “I want you.”

Charles’ grip on the gun tightens slightly as he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice rough, raw. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Without another word, he moves the gun even lower, tracing the inside of your thigh with the barrel, his other hand reaching up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so that you’re completely exposed to him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel the way your body responds, heat pooling low in your stomach, every nerve on fire.

Charles’ fingers tighten in your hair as he presses the gun between your legs, just hard enough to make you gasp, your body arching toward him involuntarily. The cool metal contrasts sharply with the heat building inside you, and the sensation is almost too much to bear.

“Look at you,” he says softly, his voice laced with dark amusement. “I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already falling apart.”

You try to speak, but the words don’t come. Your pulse is racing, your body trembling under his control, and all you can do is hold on, your fingers gripping the edge of the bed behind you as you try to steady yourself. Charles watches you, his expression calm, but there’s a hunger in his eyes that makes your knees weak.

He presses the gun harder against you, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, your body reacting to the dangerous mix of fear and desire that’s consuming you. Charles’ smile widens, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You like being on the edge, don’t you?”

You nod, barely able to think, your body trembling with the weight of his words, the sensation of the gun still pressing against you, teasing, pushing you closer to the brink.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound low and dark. “Good. Because I’m not letting you come until I say so.”

Your eyes widen at his words, but before you can protest, he pulls the gun away, leaving you breathless, aching for more. He steps back, his eyes still locked on yours, his expression calm, controlled, as if he hasn’t just left you on the edge of something you can barely control.

“Take off your dress,” he says, his voice firm, authoritative.

Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Charles watches you, his gaze never wavering as you slowly peel the fabric away, letting it fall to the floor in a soft pool around your feet.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes dark with something that makes your heart skip a beat. Then, without warning, he steps forward again, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you flush against him, the gun still in his hand, though now it’s pressed lightly against your back.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “But I think you’re even more beautiful when you’re scared.”

You shiver at his words, the weight of the gun against your skin, the way his hands hold you so tightly, so possessively. You’ve never felt anything like this before — this combination of fear, desire, and the intoxicating pull of surrender.

Charles’ hand moves to the back of your neck, guiding you toward the bed, and you follow without hesitation, your body completely under his control now. He pushes you down onto the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours as he follows, the gun still in his hand.

You’re trembling, your body on fire with need, with the overwhelming sensation of being at his mercy. And he knows it. He can see it in the way you move, the way your breath hitches every time he touches you.

Charles climbs onto the bed, his knees straddling your hips as he leans down, the gun now resting on your stomach again. He presses it there, hard enough for you to feel its weight, its presence, and you gasp, your body arching toward him, desperate for more.

“Tell me how much you want this,” he whispers, his voice dark and rough. “Tell me how much you need me.”

You’re beyond words now, your mind clouded with desire, with the intoxicating pull of his control. All you can do is nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to steady yourself.

Charles’ smile is dark, satisfied, as he leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s both possessive and demanding. You respond immediately, your hands fisting in the sheets as you kiss him back with equal intensity, your body trembling beneath him.

The gun presses harder against your stomach, and you moan into his mouth, your body on the verge of something overwhelming, something you can’t control.

“Now,” Charles growls, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “Now you can fall.”

Charles doesn’t move. He hovers above you, eyes dark and dangerous, his body tense with control. The weight of the gun on your stomach feels like a tether to reality — cold, hard, and unforgiving. But the heat between you is anything but cold. It’s burning, pulling you deeper into a place you’ve never been before. You’re on the verge of something, teetering dangerously on the edge, and Charles knows it. He can see it in your eyes, in the way your breath stutters in your chest.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, his voice thick with authority. “I want you to tip over the edge for me. Right here.”

You shudder under the intensity of his gaze, his words pulling at something deep within you. Your body is aching, trembling with need, but still, there’s that sliver of control — something keeping you from falling completely, from losing yourself in this dangerous game. It’s a fine line, and Charles knows exactly how to push you over it.

His free hand moves to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around your neck, not tight, but just enough to remind you of his dominance. The cold barrel of the gun still rests on your stomach, a contrast to the heat radiating between your bodies. His touch is everywhere — overwhelming, all-consuming.

“You’ve been holding back,” he says softly, almost a whisper. “I can feel it. But not anymore. I want all of you.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your pulse racing. You’ve never been pushed like this before, never been with someone who can see so clearly through the walls you’ve built. It terrifies you, but at the same time, it excites you in a way you can’t even begin to explain.

Charles leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Let go,” he commands, his voice low, a dark promise. “I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

You tremble beneath him, your body arching instinctively toward his, the need coursing through you like a wildfire. You’re so close, teetering on the edge, and the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s speaking to you, makes it impossible to hold on any longer.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, gripping them tightly as you feel the tension inside you building to an unbearable peak. Charles watches you, his eyes never leaving yours, his hand still resting lightly around your throat, a reminder of his control.

The gun presses harder against your stomach, and it’s enough to send you spiraling. A gasp escapes your lips, and then you’re falling — completely, utterly losing yourself in the moment, in him. The sensation is overwhelming, a wave of heat and electricity that crashes over you, leaving you breathless, trembling, and utterly undone.

Charles’ eyes darken as he watches you, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “There it is,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a dark kind of triumph. “That’s what I wanted.”

You’re still gasping for breath, your body trembling beneath him, your mind spinning. The sensation is so intense, so overwhelming, that it takes you a moment to even remember where you are. But Charles is there, grounding you, his presence inescapable, his control absolute.

Slowly, he lowers the gun from your stomach, setting it aside on the nightstand without a word. His other hand releases your throat, and instead, he reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost tender.

You blink up at him, still trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You feel raw, exposed in a way you’ve never been before, and the vulnerability of the moment hits you like a tidal wave. But Charles doesn’t push. He doesn’t say anything else. He just watches you, his gaze steady and calm, as if he’s waiting for you to process everything that’s just happened.

For a long moment, the room is silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. You feel the weight of his body pressing into yours, the heat between you still simmering, but now there’s something else — a sense of calm, of connection, that lingers in the air.

Finally, Charles moves. He shifts his weight, sliding off you, and then he lies back on the bed, pulling you with him until you’re resting against his chest. You go willingly, your body still humming from the intensity of what just happened, your mind still trying to catch up. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close, and you find yourself resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

The silence between you is comfortable, the tension from earlier now replaced with something softer, more intimate. Charles’ hand moves idly along your back, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself relax into him, your breath slowly evening out.

After a long silence, Charles finally speaks, his voice low and rough. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

You tilt your head slightly, opening your eyes to look up at him. “So are you.”

His lips quirk into a half-smile, and for a moment, the dangerous edge in his expression softens. “I don’t like surprises,” he says, his tone almost teasing. “But I think I could make an exception for you.”

You can’t help but smile, despite everything. There’s something about the way he says it — so calm, so assured — that makes it feel like a promise, like something more than just a passing comment.

Charles’ hand slides up your back, his fingers brushing lightly against the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. He’s still in control, even in this quiet moment, and you can feel it in the way he touches you, the way he speaks to you. It’s intoxicating, in a way that makes you want to stay wrapped up in this moment with him for as long as you can.

He’s quiet again for a while, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns on your skin. The weight of his chest rises and falls beneath you, the steady rhythm lulling you into a strange sense of calm.

Then, just as you’re starting to drift into that comfortable silence, he speaks again. “I have a feeling,” he says softly, almost as if he’s thinking out loud, “this is the start of a beautiful business relationship.”

You blink, caught off guard by the statement. You lift your head slightly to look at him, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Business?”

Charles looks down at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not just talking about business in the traditional sense. “We’re both professionals, aren’t we?” He says, his tone casual, but you can hear the underlying meaning in his words. “I get what I want. And you — well, you seem to enjoy the thrill of this as much as I do.”

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking in. This is more than just a fling, more than just a moment of passion. Charles isn’t someone who does things by half-measures, and you can sense that this — whatever it is between you — is going to be something much more complicated, much more dangerous.

But in this moment, as you lie there with your head resting on his chest, the world outside the penthouse feels a million miles away. You’re still catching your breath, still reeling from everything that’s just happened, and for now, that’s enough.

So you don’t respond. You just close your eyes again, letting the steady rhythm of Charles’ heartbeat guide you, and allow yourself to stay wrapped in the calm before whatever storm comes next.

***

The months blur together in a haze of danger and desire. You’re deeper into Charles’ world than you ever expected to be, and somehow, it’s easier than you thought. He lets you in bit by bit, peeling back the layers of his empire with a subtle but growing trust. His guard drops incrementally, his power over you surging with every stolen kiss, every whispered command in the dark. You’re in his bed more nights than not, wrapped in the silk sheets of his penthouse, and it feels almost natural to exist in this dangerous limbo.

Charles keeps you close — closer than he probably keeps anyone else. He starts to share more with you, letting you into the cracks of his life, though always with a calculated air. You begin sourcing illegal art for him — stolen paintings, ancient artifacts, pieces of history with blood on their provenance. Each exchange is thrilling, a high-stakes game where you’re playing both sides, confident you’re getting what you need.

The deeper you go, the more you convince yourself you’re making real headway. Each deal brings you closer to the heart of his operation. You’re gathering intel for Interpol, keeping one foot in the shadows of your real life, but it’s easy to get lost in the persona you’ve built — the woman Charles thinks you are. The lines blur, and you let them. It’s easier that way.

But you’re still playing a role. Always playing a role.

Tonight is no different. You’re waiting for him in his bedroom, dressed in only a sheer babydoll slip, the soft fabric clinging to your skin, hinting at everything and revealing nothing. The city lights outside the window cast a faint glow over the room, and you can hear the quiet hum of the nightlife below, but up here, in this penthouse, it’s just you and the anticipation of Charles’ arrival.

He’s late, but that’s not unusual. His world operates on its own time, and you’ve grown accustomed to waiting for him. You lie back against the pillows, the cool silk brushing against your skin, a quiet thrill running through you as you imagine how he’ll react when he sees you like this — waiting, vulnerable, and his.

The door creaks open, and you hear his footsteps before you see him. Your pulse quickens, and you sit up slightly, anticipation curling in your chest.

“Charles,” you say softly, your voice a mixture of seduction and warmth, the way you know he likes it. “You kept me waiting.”

But something is wrong.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t smile, doesn’t give you that familiar smirk that tells you the game is about to begin. Instead, he stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his gaze heavy as it sweeps over you, taking in the sight of you in the flimsy lace.

You frown, your confidence wavering slightly. “What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice faltering as you shift under the weight of his stare. You sit up fully now, swinging your legs off the side of the bed, your bare feet brushing the floor as you watch him.

Charles doesn’t move. He just stands there, arms crossed, his eyes locked on yours with a cold intensity that sends a chill down your spine.

“It’s funny,” he says finally, his voice quiet, measured. “I ran into someone today — an old associate of mine. Someone I trust.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your expression calm, forcing yourself not to react, not to show the sudden panic rising in your chest.

“Oh?” You try to sound casual, even playful, but there’s an edge to your voice that you can’t quite mask. “And what did this associate have to say?”

Charles takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. “He mentioned something interesting,” he continues, his voice still unnervingly calm. “He said he saw me at lunch the other day. Thought the woman I was with looked familiar.”

Your stomach drops.

You know what’s coming next, but you keep your expression neutral, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for him to say it.

“He said,” Charles continues, his tone hardening slightly, “that she looked a lot like an Interpol agent he dealt with earlier this year. The one who brought him in for questioning.” He tilts his head, his gaze narrowing. “I told him it must be a coincidence.”

The air in the room feels heavy, oppressive, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm, but your mind is racing. How much does he know? How much has he pieced together?

“And then,” Charles says, taking another step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “I decided to do a little digging of my own.”

Your blood turns to ice. Every instinct is screaming at you to run, to get out, but you’re frozen in place, trapped under the weight of his gaze, under the crushing realization that everything is falling apart.

Charles moves closer, his face now inches from yours, his eyes dark with anger, with betrayal. “Tell me something,” he says quietly, his voice deadly calm. “How long were you planning to play me for a fool?”

You open your mouth to respond, to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat. You’ve been trained for moments like this — moments when everything goes wrong, when the mission is compromised — but nothing could have prepared you for this. For him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you manage to say, your voice trembling slightly, but even as you speak, you know it’s useless. He knows.

Charles’ eyes flash with anger, and he reaches out, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to look up at him. “Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice low, dangerous. “You think I don’t know who you are? You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. “Charles, please-”

“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I trusted you. I let you into my life. Into my bed. And the whole time, you were playing me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, panic rising as you realize there’s no way out of this. No way to salvage what’s left of your cover. You’ve been found out, and now all you can do is brace yourself for what comes next.

“I didn’t-” you start, but Charles cuts you off with a sharp laugh, releasing your chin and stepping back, his expression hard, cold.

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “I’m not an idiot. I know exactly who you are. Interpol agent. Sent to infiltrate my organization. To bring me down.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words crashing down on you. There’s no use denying it anymore. He knows. He’s known for some time, and now, there’s no escaping the consequences.

For a moment, the room is silent, the tension between you thick, suffocating. You can feel your pulse racing, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to think of a way out, but there’s nothing. No way to fix this. No way to undo the damage.

Charles stands there, watching you, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly, a dark smile spreads across his face — a smile that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You thought you could manipulate me,” he says, his voice low, almost amused. “You thought you could use me to get what you wanted. But you made one fatal mistake.”

You swallow, your throat dry. “And what’s that?”

Charles steps forward again, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. “You underestimated me,” he says softly. “You thought I wouldn’t find out. You thought you were smarter than me.”

He pauses, letting the silence hang heavy in the air before he speaks again. “But now, you’re going to pay for that mistake.”

Your breath catches in your throat, fear clawing at your chest as you stare up at him, his words echoing in your mind. You try to say something, to reason with him, but the words won’t come. You’re trapped, caught in a web of your own making, and now, there’s no way out.

Charles leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m going to make you regret everything,” he whispers, his voice dark and dangerous, a promise that sends a chill down your spine.

And as he pulls back, a cold smile still playing on his lips, you know that he means it.

***

The moment Charles steps back, the door opens, and a tall, severe-looking man enters the room without a word. He’s dressed in a stark white coat, the kind physicians wear, and carries a small metal case. Panic rushes through you like ice in your veins. The cold smile on Charles’ face tells you everything you need to know — this has been planned.

“Charles,” you say, your voice tight, trying to suppress the tremor in it. “What is this?”

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He moves with a calm, deliberate grace as he steps away, gesturing toward the man who’s now setting up his equipment on a small table near the bed.

You make a move to stand, but Charles's hand clamps down on your wrist with brutal force, pulling you back down. His grip is like steel, and for the first time, you realize how much stronger he is than you. It’s not just physical — it’s the mental stranglehold he’s had on you all this time. His eyes gleam with a terrifying calm, and you know there’s no talking your way out of this.

“You really thought I wouldn’t have a contingency plan, didn’t you?” His voice is cold, amused. “Do you know what I find most interesting about betrayal?” He leans closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he speaks. “It’s not that you were able to fool me. It’s that you thought you would actually get away with it.”

The physician opens his case, revealing a set of electrodes and wires, cold and clinical against the backdrop of the luxury penthouse. Your pulse quickens as your gaze darts between the two of them. The man doesn’t even look at you — he’s focused entirely on his task, his movements methodical, detached, as though he’s done this a hundred times before.

“Don’t-” you start, your voice breaking as you try to pull your wrist free. But Charles tightens his grip, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of your wrist with just enough pressure to make it hurt.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. “You won’t win this. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

You grit your teeth, trying to summon every ounce of strength you have. You’ve been trained for this — your body conditioned to resist, to fight. You know how to break holds, how to defend yourself. But when you try to twist out of his grip, he’s ready. His free hand snaps up, grabbing you by the throat, and before you can react, he slams you back down onto the bed.

Your vision blurs for a second as your head hits the pillow, and you gasp, struggling against him. But he’s stronger, faster, and he knows exactly how to overpower you. You lash out, kicking at him, but Charles only chuckles darkly, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to keep you pinned.

“I wouldn’t try that again,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “You don’t want to see what happens if you do.”

The physician approaches, his footsteps quiet but deliberate, the faint sound of the electrodes clicking into place sending your heart into a frenzy. You thrash again, but Charles’ grip holds you firmly in place, his body pressing down on yours, keeping you trapped beneath him.

“Let me go!” You snarl, trying to twist away, but it’s no use. Charles’ hand remains locked around your throat, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, a sick mockery of tenderness.

“Fighting won’t help you now,” he says softly, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You had your chance. Now, it’s mine.”

The physician moves in, and before you can react, the cold press of metal touches your skin. The first electrode adheres to your temple, then another at the base of your skull. The sensation is chilling, the wires snaking down toward the machine the physician has set up by the bedside. Your pulse races, fear clawing at your throat as you feel the weight of what’s happening settle over you.

“Stop-” you choke out, your voice cracking as you struggle to push against Charles’ hold. But he just watches you, his eyes cold, emotionless. He’s enjoying this, you realize. The control. The power.

The physician attaches more electrodes, the cold metal sticking to your bare skin. Your chest. Your abdomen. The sensation is invasive, humiliating, and no matter how much you want to fight, you can’t. You’re trapped, helpless under Charles’ grip, and the realization of just how little control you have in this moment sends a wave of terror crashing over you.

Charles’ hand finally releases your throat, but only so he can trail his fingers down your collarbone, watching you with that same eerie calm. “You always had a certain spark,” he says, his voice almost fond, like he’s reminiscing. “I admired that about you. It’s a shame, really. If you hadn’t lied to me, things could’ve been different.”

Your breath hitches as you feel the last electrode being placed on your lower back, the sensation cold and foreign. You don’t know what they’re going to do, but every fiber of your being tells you it’s going to be bad.

Charles leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, his voice a dark whisper. “I’m going to tear you apart and rebuild you,” he says, the words sending a violent shudder through you. “Bit by bit. Until the only thing you can remember is that you belong to me.”

Your stomach turns, and you thrash again, but the electrodes are in place now, the wires humming faintly, connected to a machine that you can’t see from where you’re lying. The physician adjusts something on the device, and the air feels heavier with each passing second, the tension mounting to an unbearable peak.

“You can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice cracking as fear claws at your insides. “You can’t-”

“Oh, I can,” Charles interrupts, his voice sharp, cutting through your panic. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze burning with something dark, something that chills you to the bone. “And I will. I told you — I don’t like being played.”

The physician steps back, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he waits. Charles releases your wrist, finally standing up and looking down at you with an air of satisfaction.

“Let’s begin,” he says.

The physician nods, turning to the machine. There’s a faint click, and then you feel it — a low hum, a strange tingling sensation at the base of your skull where the electrodes are attached. It’s not painful at first, but it’s disorienting. You try to focus, try to push the sensation away, but it only intensifies, spreading through your body like a wave of static.

You clench your teeth, refusing to cry out, but the pressure builds. Your muscles tense, your fingers curling into the sheets as the tingling becomes sharper, more intense. It feels like your mind is being pulled in two directions at once — like something is being torn away from you.

Charles watches, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on you with a cruel, almost clinical detachment. He’s studying you, observing every twitch, every breath, as if he’s enjoying the sight of you unraveling.

The pressure builds, and your vision blurs at the edges. It’s not just physical — it’s mental. The sensation of losing control, of losing yourself. It’s terrifying, and you can feel it slipping, feel the person you’ve built inside yourself starting to fray at the seams.

“I told you,” Charles says quietly, stepping closer once more. “You’ll forget everything except me. Every thought, every memory, every piece of who you are — it’ll all belong to me.”

Your chest tightens, and you gasp, trying to hold on to something — anything — but the machine hums louder, and the electrodes pulse, sending a jolt through your body that makes you cry out in pain. The sound is ripped from your throat before you can stop it, and Charles’ smile widens in satisfaction.

“You won’t be able to resist for long,” he says, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’ll break. Everyone breaks eventually.”

Tears blur your vision, but you refuse to let them fall. You can’t let him win. You can’t lose yourself to this.

But as the machine pulses again, the pain sharp and searing, you wonder how long you can hold on before everything you are is stripped away, piece by piece, until the only thing left is his will, his command, and the terrible truth that you are no longer yourself.

You are his.

***

You wake to a soft, persistent hum, like the remnants of a dream that’s slipped away. Everything feels hazy, like your thoughts are floating just out of reach. The sheets beneath you are silk, cool against your skin, but there’s a heaviness in your limbs, an unfamiliar ache that lingers in your muscles.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open, squinting against the dim light filtering into the room. You recognize it. Charles’ bedroom. The deep maroon walls, the heavy velvet curtains drawn shut, casting shadows across the space. The soft, muted scent of him lingers in the air — spiced cologne, leather, something dark and intoxicating.

For a moment, there’s a quiet stillness, and then you feel it — a presence, looming near the bed. You turn your head slowly, your gaze catching on the figure sitting in a chair beside you.

Charles.

He’s watching you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. There’s a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips, like he’s been waiting for this moment, for you to wake. His eyes are dark, intense, scanning your face as if searching for something.

“Charles,” you murmur, your voice low and thick, like you haven’t used it in a long time. The sound of his name feels right on your tongue, like it belongs there. You shift slightly, the silk sheets rustling as you try to gather your bearings, but there’s an unfamiliar fog clouding your mind.

Who …

Before you can grasp the thought, Charles moves, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes locking onto yours with a piercing intensity.

“Good,” he says softly, his voice smooth and warm, like honey sliding over your skin. “You’re awake.”

Something in the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, but not from fear. It’s something else, something you can’t quite name but feel deeply. There’s a pull in your chest, a magnetic force drawing you to him, and it feels natural. Like instinct.

You try to speak again, but your mouth is dry, the words sluggish in forming. “I … I don’t …” Your brow furrows as you search for the right words, but nothing comes. There’s a strange emptiness in your mind, like pieces of a puzzle have been scattered, and you can’t find the edges to start putting them back together.

Charles stands, moving closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He sits on the edge of the mattress, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body. His hand reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The touch is tender, but there’s something possessive in it, a silent claim.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your cheek as his eyes search yours. “You don’t need to worry about anything right now.”

You blink up at him, confusion flickering in your chest. “I … I don’t …”

“Shh,” he soothes, his thumb pressing lightly against your lips. “Don’t try to think too much. You’ve been through a lot.”

You look at him, trying to piece together the fragments in your mind, but everything feels disjointed. There are no names, no faces, just the overwhelming presence of him. His gaze holds you in place, grounding you, tethering you to something solid.

He smiles softly, his hand moving from your cheek to your throat, his thumb brushing the pulse point there. The touch sends a wave of warmth through you, and instinctively, you lean into it, into him. It feels safe. He feels like home.

“Do you remember your name?” Charles asks, his voice soft but laced with a dark curiosity, his fingers resting against your neck like he’s waiting for your answer to betray you.

Your lips part, but nothing comes. There’s a void where your name should be, a blank space in your mind that sends a ripple of panic through you. You search for something — anything — but there’s nothing. No name. No history. Only him.

“I …” You swallow hard, trying to force the words, but all you can do is shake your head, a soft tremor running through you. “I don’t know.”

His smile widens, just a fraction, and his thumb presses a little harder against your pulse. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet. “That’s exactly how it should be.”

You look up at him, confusion and fear swirling in your chest, but there’s something else too. Something deeper. A pull. The moment he touches you, your fear dissipates, replaced by something warm, something that blooms under his gaze.

“Why …” Your voice is barely a whisper, the words slow to form. “Why don’t I remember?”

Charles’ eyes darken slightly, his hand trailing down your throat, over your collarbone. “Because you don’t need to,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “The only thing you need to know is that you’re mine. That’s all that matters now.”

His. The word echoes in your mind, settling deep in your chest. It feels right. Familiar. And yet, there’s something at the edges of your consciousness — something you can’t quite grasp. A fleeting thought, a whisper of something else.

But it slips away as quickly as it comes, lost in the warmth of Charles’ hand on your skin.

“Mine,” he repeats softly, his fingers tracing a slow path down your arm. “Say it.”

You hesitate, the word lingering on the tip of your tongue. There’s a part of you that feels like you should resist, like something isn’t right, but it’s drowned out by the overwhelming presence of him. The way he looks at you, the way his touch makes you feel grounded, anchored. Safe.

“Yours,” you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

Charles smiles again, satisfied, his hand moving back up to cup your cheek. “That’s right,” he murmurs. “You belong to me. No one else.”

The declaration settles over you like a heavy, comforting blanket. You don’t know why, but it feels right. The fog in your mind lifts just enough for you to feel that certainty. That pull toward him.

You try to sit up, but your body feels weak, unsteady. Charles immediately moves, slipping an arm behind your back to help you, his touch firm but gentle. You lean into him, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming the last remnants of panic in your mind.

“How long …” You ask, your voice barely more than a murmur.

“How long have you been here?” Charles finishes for you, his hand moving in slow circles against your back. “A few days. You needed time to … adjust.”

You close your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch. There’s still a part of you that feels like you should be asking more questions, but every time you try to think, the fog presses back in, heavy and suffocating. And every time it does, the only thing that makes it bearable is him. His presence. His touch.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask softly, your voice fragile.

Charles’ hand stills against your back, and he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your hair. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll take care of everything. You just need to stay by my side. I’ll tell you what to do when the time comes.”

There’s a faint whisper at the back of your mind — something that feels like resistance, like a question you can’t quite articulate. But before you can grasp it, it’s gone, swallowed by the comforting warmth of Charles’ presence.

You nod slowly, resting your head against his chest. His arms tighten around you, and for the first time since you woke, the fear ebbs away completely, leaving only the quiet certainty that you are his. That you belong here.

Charles pulls back slightly, tilting your chin up so that you’re looking into his eyes. “Say it again,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, the words coming easier this time, settling over you like a binding promise.

Charles’ smile is slow, satisfied. “Good girl.”

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours, and you melt into the kiss, your mind going blank as everything else fades away.

***

Every morning begins the same way: with Charles.

Your eyes flutter open, the soft light filtering through the heavy drapes casting a golden glow over the room. But it isn’t the light that pulls you from sleep. It’s him. It’s always him. The way his arm is draped possessively over your waist, the way his breath fans across your skin as he sleeps soundly beside you. Even in sleep, you can feel the weight of his presence, grounding you, reminding you of your place — at his side, where you belong.

You turn your head slightly, your gaze catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the tousled mess of his hair, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. He looks peaceful like this, in the quiet moments before the day begins. And as you watch him, a warmth blooms in your chest, spreading like wildfire until it consumes every part of you.

He’s all you think about. The first thought that greets you in the morning and the last thought you cling to as sleep takes you at night. Even now, your body instinctively leans into him, seeking his warmth, his touch. You can’t remember a time when it wasn’t like this — when your mind wasn’t consumed by him.

You reach out, fingers lightly tracing the curve of his arm, and your heart swells with an overwhelming sense of devotion. He is everything. Your whole world revolves around him, and the thought of being anywhere else, of being with anyone else, is unfathomable.

Charles stirs beside you, a soft hum escaping his lips as he shifts closer, his arm tightening around you. You feel the heat of his skin against yours, and a shiver runs down your spine. You live for these moments, for the feeling of his body against yours, for the way he looks at you as though you’re the only thing that matters.

“Morning,” his voice is thick with sleep, low and gravelly, sending a thrill through you as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips brushing lightly against your skin.

“Morning,” you murmur back, your voice barely more than a whisper as you press yourself closer to him. You feel the steady beat of his heart against your back, and it calms the whirlwind of thoughts that constantly circle your mind.

He hums in response, his hand sliding down your waist, pulling you tighter against him. “You sleep well?”

“With you? Always.”

There’s a low chuckle from him, the sound vibrating through your skin. “Good girl.”

The words settle over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. You live for his praise, for the way his voice wraps around you, making you feel whole. It’s been this way for what feels like forever. There’s no one else. No other name, no other face that holds any meaning. There’s just Charles.

You tilt your head back, offering more of your neck to him, and he takes the invitation, pressing soft kisses along your skin. It sends a familiar warmth coursing through your veins, spreading like fire. You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you.

“Do you know what I love about you?” Charles’ voice is a soft murmur against your skin, his lips brushing the words into your neck.

You hum softly, your heart racing in anticipation. “What?”

“You’re mine. Completely. Your mind, your body, your heart — every part of you belongs to me.” His hand slides up to your throat, his fingers resting lightly against the pulse point there. “And you love that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, breathless, the word coming out in a soft exhale. It’s not just an answer — it’s the truth. It’s the only truth that matters.

Charles’ grip on your throat tightens just slightly, a reminder of his control, his ownership, and you feel the edges of your mind blur, leaving nothing but him. “Say it,” he demands, his voice low and commanding.

“I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping out with ease, a mantra that’s been etched into your very soul. “Only yours.”

His grip loosens, and his hand moves to cup your cheek, turning your head so that you’re looking into his eyes. They’re dark, filled with a dangerous mix of desire and satisfaction. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, leaning in to capture your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Your entire world narrows to this moment, to the feel of his lips on yours, to the way his hands move over your body with the confidence of someone who knows he owns you completely. There’s no room for anything else — no thoughts, no worries, no memories beyond him.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “You’ve been good lately. Very good.”

The praise sends a rush of warmth through you, your heart swelling with pride. You’ve been good. You’ve done everything he’s asked, without hesitation, without question. Because you don’t need to question anything when it comes to Charles. He knows what’s best for you.

“Do you know what that means?” He asks, his voice dropping lower, a hint of something dangerous in his tone.

You shake your head, anticipation buzzing under your skin. “What does it mean?”

“It means I’m going to reward you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

His words ignite something in you, a fire that burns hotter with each passing second. You live for his approval, for his praise. And the thought of a reward — something only he can give you — sends your heart racing.

Charles shifts, rolling you onto your back, his body hovering over yours as he looks down at you with that dark, possessive gaze. “You want that, don’t you? You want me to take care of you.”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”

His lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile as he leans down, his hand trailing down your body with deliberate slowness. “I love it when you beg,” he murmurs, his fingers dancing over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “It reminds me of how much you need me.”

“I do,” you gasp, your body arching into his touch. “I need you, Charles. I need you.”

He hums in approval, his fingers teasing at the edge of your waistband. “You’re mine,” he whispers again, the words settling into your bones, branding you as his. “And I’m going to make sure you remember that.”

There’s a moment of stillness before everything shifts. Charles’ hands are everywhere, his touch igniting every part of you as he takes his time, drawing out every sound, every gasp, every plea. And you give it to him freely, because there’s no one else you’d rather surrender to. There’s only him.

Hours pass in a blur of heat and sensation, your body responding to his every command, your mind lost in the haze of him. You tip over the edge more times than you can count, each time feeling like a fresh wave of devotion crashing over you, pulling you deeper into him.

By the time the night is over, you’re left trembling, your body spent, your mind a fog of exhaustion and pleasure. But even then, as you lay in his arms, your head resting against his chest, the only thing you can think of is him. His touch, his voice, the way he looks at you like you’re his entire world.

And as sleep pulls you under, the last thing you hear is his voice, a low murmur in the darkness. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

And in your dreams, it’s the same. Charles is there, waiting for you, pulling you into his arms, reminding you of who you are.

His.

Always his.

***

The sun is unforgiving in Monaco, beating down on the yachts that crowd the harbor, their glossy decks gleaming in the light. Philip adjusts his sunglasses, squinting against the glare as he navigates the narrow streets leading toward the marina.

This mission wasn’t supposed to be anything out of the ordinary — routine surveillance, gathering intel on a trafficking ring suspected of operating through the port. But the heat is unbearable, the air thick with the scent of saltwater and sunscreen, making it harder to focus.

He tugs at his collar, feeling the weight of the mission pressing down on him. Monaco always feels claustrophobic, all the wealth and power packed into such a small space. Everywhere he looks, there’s money, status. It’s suffocating.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, reading the latest message from his supervisor.

Stay sharp. Don’t let your guard down.

He rolls his eyes, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. Standard procedure. Philip’s eyes drift to the yachts moored in the harbor, each one more extravagant than the last. His attention lingers on one in particular — a massive, sleek vessel, easily the largest in the marina. The name etched on the side glistens in gold: La Bellezza.

It doesn’t take long for him to recognize it. Charles Leclerc’s yacht. Of course, it had to be Leclerc. The rumors about the man are legendary — how he runs his empire with an iron fist, how he’s untouchable in Monaco, how anyone who crosses him ends up six feet under. It’s why they never found-

Philip shakes his head, pushing the thought away. There’s no use dwelling on the past, on missions gone wrong. Y/N was one of the best agents Interpol had, and when she went dark, they all knew what that meant. There was no coming back from that. Charles Leclerc didn’t make mistakes.

Still, as he watches the yacht, a figure steps onto the deck, catching his attention. At first, he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. The sun is too bright, the distance too far, but there’s something about the way she moves, the silhouette that feels … familiar. He takes a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

And then he sees her.

His heart stutters in his chest.

It can’t be.

Philip freezes, staring at the woman on the deck. She’s laughing, her hair catching in the breeze, and Charles is right beside her, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. She turns, and for a split second, their faces are clear.

It’s you.

It’s Y/N.

His throat tightens. This isn’t possible. Y/N is dead. You’ve been dead for months. They had a memorial service for you, for Christ’s sake. He remembers the grief, the unanswered questions. No body was ever found, but that’s how it goes with someone like Charles. You must’ve been discovered. You must’ve been killed.

And yet … there you are. Alive. Right in front of him.

Philip’s mind races, trying to make sense of it all. He can’t trust his eyes. Maybe it’s someone who just looks like you. Maybe this is some sick coincidence. But everything in him is screaming that this is no mistake.

He takes a step closer, heart hammering in his chest.

“Y/N?” He calls out, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. Then, louder. “Y/N!”

The woman doesn’t even glance his way. No flicker of recognition crosses your face. You’re entirely focused on Charles, your hand resting on his arm, your body pressed close to his.

Philip’s stomach drops.

This doesn’t make sense. If it’s really you, why wouldn’t you respond? Why wouldn’t you … remember?

Before he can call out again, Charles leans down to whisper something in your ear, and you smiles — a soft, genuine smile, one that Philip hasn’t seen in months. It’s a smile he used to know well, back when you were both agents, before everything went wrong.

Philip feels a wave of nausea wash over him. There’s no way you would be here, on Leclerc’s arm, if you knew who you were. If you remembered.

He pulls out his phone, fingers trembling as he dials his supervisor. It rings twice before the familiar voice picks up.

“Philip, what’s going on? You’re supposed to be surveilling the port.”

“I … I just saw Y/N.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end.

“Philip,” the supervisor says slowly, as though speaking to a child. “Y/N is dead. You know that.”

“No,” he insists, his voice urgent. “I’m looking at her right now. She’s on Charles Leclerc’s yacht. I swear, it’s her.”

“Philip,” the supervisor sighs, a heavy, resigned sound. “You’re tired. You’ve been in the field too long. We all grieved Y/N, but you need to accept that she’s gone. No one survives after crossing Leclerc. You know that better than anyone.”

Philip’s hand tightens around the phone, his mind spinning. “But-”

“Enough,” the supervisor cuts him off. “Stay focused on the mission. Do your job. That’s an order.”

The line goes dead, and Philip is left standing there, staring at the yacht, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind refuses to believe it, but what other explanation is there? He knows what he saw. He knows your face, your mannerisms. But if you’re really alive, then …why are you acting like you don’t know him?

As he watches, Charles takes your hand, leading you to the center of the sundeck. From this angle, Philip can see everything. The way you gaze up at him with a look that could only be described as adoration. The way you follow his every movement, like he’s the only thing in your world.

Philip’s stomach turns. This isn’t right.

Then, without warning, you sink to your knees in front of Charles, your eyes fixed on him as though he’s the sun and you’re orbiting him. Philip’s breath catches in his throat, disbelief surging through him.

What the hell are you doing?

Charles leans down, his fingers lazily tugging at the string of your bikini top, his eyes never leaving yours. It’s a calculated display, one meant to assert control, dominance. And you — you just kneel there, completely submissive, completely his.

Philip feels the bile rise in his throat as the knot comes undone, your bikini top slipping off your shoulders. You don’t flinch, don’t hesitate. You just kneel there, bare before him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

For a long moment, Philip can’t breathe. The scene playing out in front of him feels like a punch to the gut. This isn’t the Y/N he knew. The Y/N he knew would never …

But then, maybe you aren’t the same person anymore. Maybe you’ve been broken down, rebuilt into someone else entirely. Someone who belongs to Charles Leclerc.

As Philip watches, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away, he feels a crushing sense of helplessness settle over him. Y/N — if it is you — has been lost to him. To them. To everything you once were. And there’s nothing he can do to bring you back.

Charles pulls you up by the chin, his lips brushing over yours in a possessive kiss that’s all dominance, all control. You lean into him, your eyes half-lidded, completely pliant in his hands.

Philip turns away, his stomach churning. Whatever happened to you, whatever Charles has done — he’s too late.

You’re his now.

And there’s nothing Philip can do about it.

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piroulinewafers · 2 months ago

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Mc x colonel Caleb but they're married and Mc is jealous bc he's been receiving alot of attention from the new cadets. Mc claims him and she has control over him to show them that he belongs to her. She trails him in hickeys that are very obvious. I just can’t get enough of this head canon.

𝐚/𝐧: i actually received two asks regarding caleb and mc/the reader being married. i personally am not sure whether they would get married or not, i feel like they'd be the type to simply want to be together even without labels, if that makes sense. i fell asleep writing this yesterday so the ending may be a little... incoherent.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: caleb x fem! reader 𝐜𝐰: smut. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: open.

it started small.

barely-there things, things caleb didn’t even seem to notice. a few new cadets lingering too long near the hangars after his briefings. a suspicious amount of questions suddenly aimed his way during debriefs— questions that had nothing to do with protocol and everything to do with the way his sleeves rolled up just right, or how sharp his jaw looked when he was serious.

she sat through one too many of those interactions that week.

she didn’t mean to pout— but there was something about the way those wide-eyed cadets hovered around her husband lately that made her fingers twitch and her gaze narrow just slightly. she never said anything, of course. caleb was hers. everyone knew that. ring on her finger, his last name stitched into her head, his dog tags brushing against her collarbone when he held her too close during late nights…

still.

when one of the newer recruits had the audacity to giggle at something caleb said— giggled and clung to his arm like some sort of girltoy— she folded her arms across her chest and refused to look at him for the next day.

caleb noticed immediately, of course. he always did.

later that evening, after the lights had dimmed and the base had quieted, he tugged her into his quarters with that familiar knowing smirk, unbuttoning his collar as he leaned in close.

“you’ve been real quiet, darlin’,” he murmured, voice low and rough with amusement. “somethin’ wrong?”

her eyes flickered up to him, wide and falsely innocent. “nothing,” she said, her voice soft, betraying just the faintest edge of sulkiness.

“oh?” caleb raised a brow, his voice dipping into teasing. “’cause i couldn’t help but notice you glarin’ holes through the back of that poor cadet’s head earlier.”

“i wasn’t glaring,” she mumbled, refusing to look at him.

“no?” he leaned closer, hands braced on either side of her on the wall, a crooked grin playing on his lips. “‘cause if i didn’t know any better, i’d say someone was jealous.”

her cheeks instantly flared, pink blooming from her ears down her throat.

“i’m not jealous,” she muttered, even as her fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer.

“mhmmm,” he hummed, the sound low in his throat. “you sure about that, mrs. xia? could’ve fooled me. the way you’ve been glarin’ at anyone who so much as breaths near me says otherwise.” he let out, his hands sliding up her hips.

“i just don’t like when they act like they have a chance… it’s not fair…”

caleb raised a brow, watching her intently. “what’s not fair? darlin’, no one’s ever had a chance but you.”

her breath hitched and something snapped.

soft hands fisted in the collar of his shirt, dragging him down to kiss her— fierce, possessive. it wasn’t like her, not the way she usually kissed. this was needier. claiming.

she backed him into the hallway wall, lips trailing down to the curve of his neck. “you’re mine,” she murmured, almost surprised at the sound of her own voice. “not theirs. mine.”

caleb’s head fell back, a low groan catching in his throat as she nipped gently at the edge of his jaw.

then again, lower.

“fuck, baby—“ he rasped, half-laughing, half-dazed. “you’re really lettin’ ‘em have it, huh?”

he still had the nerve to tease even now, what an absolute jerk. she didn’t answer— not with words. just another kiss, this one firm and slow, the beginning of a trail that marked him as thoroughly as any uniform ever had.

a soft nip to his skin cut any further comments he had short. then another— a deliberate press of her mouth right at the base of his neck, where the collar of his uniform wouldn’t quite hide it. her kiss turned deeper, open-mouthed and warm, sucking faintly until color bloomed beneath her lips in a flush of dusky red.

caleb hissed softly, eyes fluttering shut as his hand came to rest on her thigh, grip tightening. “darlin’, that’s gonna bruise.”

“good,” she murmured, her breath tickling his skin. she kissed over it again, slower this time, her tongue smoothing over the mark she’d left. “i want them to know you’re mine.”

caleb exhaled roughly, eyes dark when he looked back at her.

“they can look at they want, but i’m the one who gets to touch.”

caleb groaned, his hands gripping her hips and pressing her back against the door, firm but reverent. “fuck, you’re killin’ me. you wanna stake your claim? you better mean it.”

“i do,” she breathed, fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. “colonel.”

his name on her lips like that— soft and hungry, like a prayer— broke something loose in him. caleb leaned in and kissed her, full and deep, one arm wrapped around her waist as he lifted her slightly off the ground. her legs wrapped around him without hesitation, her fingers threading through his hair.

there was nothing hurried about the way he carried her across the room, letting her fall onto their shared bed with a bounce and a soft gasp. he followed, bracing himself above her with that cock, slow-burning grin.

“you gonna keep markin’ me up like that?” he teased, voice a delicious rasp as he peeled his shirt off entirely, revealing the fresh array of hickeys she’d left in her wake— each one a soft bruise of affection and heat.

her lips parts, gaze hungry. “i’m not finished,” she whispered.

“baby,” he growled softly, “everyone fuckin’ knows i’m yours. and everyone knows you’re mine just as much.”

he captured her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his desire and possession into it. he kissed her like a man starved, like she was the only thing that could satiate him as his hands roamed her curves, mapping out the dips and swells he knew by heart.

she squirmed beneath his touch, body aching for more. she could feel the heat building between her legs, a throbbing need that only intensified with every brush of his fingers against her skin. she was jealous and possessive, and she wanted him to know that.

“caleb,” she whimpered, her voice thick with desire. “i need you. i need to feel you. i can’t strand the thought of anyone else touching you like this.” she arched her back against his touch, pressing her breasts against his touch, the hard points of her nipples evident through the thin fabric of her shirt.

caleb chuckled softly, amused by her neediness. “shh, i know baby. i know you need me. i’m not going anywhere.” he rolled his hips against hers, letting her feel his hard cock through his pants. “you’re stuck with me.”

but she was too far gone to be soothed. she pushed at his chest, a little more insistently this time. “no, let me. i wanna be on top.” she sat up this time, pushing him back and straddling his hips, her knees on either side of his waist.

it was such a childish thing to whine about, and though caleb found it endearing, he knew that she was very much serious, despite her clumsy words.

“hm, who am i to deny my wife?” he breathed out, drinking in the sight of her above him. his gaze flickered to her left hand, to a simple silver band that encircled her ring finger. it glinted in the low light, a symbol of their commitment, their bond.

she leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest. she could feel the hard planes of muscle beneath her palms, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. she ground down against him, relishing in the feeling of power and control as she tossed aside her shirt.

her fingers were clumsy in her desperation as she fumbled with the remaining clothing caleb was wearing, tugging at it impatiently until any remaining buttons and straps gave way, revealing the hard planes of his chest. her hands roamed over the skin, tracing the lines of muscles, the scar tissues from the past.

she paused when she reached his doglegs, glinting against his chest. the silver band of his wedding ring remained closed to his heart at all times.

she pushed the tags from his chest, holding them in her palm. the metal was warm against her skin. “mine,” she whispered, before letting them fall against his chest once more.

caleb watched her through hooded eyes, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. he found her attempts at dominance utterly endearing, like a kitten trying to be a lion. he let her push him back against the pillows, his hands coming to rest at her sides as he allowed her to take the lead.

she shimmied out of her pants and underwear, kicking them to the floor as she straddled his hips once more, now bare and exposed. she could feel the heat of his skin against hers, the way his body responded so eagerly to her touch as she ran her hands over his chest, his stomach, mapping every inch of him until she reached the waistband of his pants.

with a little growl of frustration, she tugged at his belt, finally undoing it and shoving his pants down his legs. he lifted his lips to help her, his hard cock springing free, thick and heavy and all hers.

she wrapped her hand around it, stroking him slowly, feeling him twitch and pulse against her palm. caleb’s breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice low and rough. she felt a thrill of power at his reaction, at the way his body responded to her touch. even his body knew he was hers.

she positioned herself above him, feeling the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. she was wet, aching, ready for him. slowly, she sank down, taking him inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside of her.

she started to move, rolling her hips against caleb’s, but her movements were clumsy, unpracticed. she wanted so badly to be in control, to take charge and claim him fully. but her body wasn’t quite listening to her mind’s commands, far too overwhelmed with pleasure and discomfort.

she gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she tried to set a rhythm, but her hips uselessly jerked and stuttered, her movements erratic. she was so close to him, filled to the brim with his hard cock, and yet…

the frustration in her eyes was evident to caleb, the way her brows furrowed as she concentrated so fiercely on her task. he found it adorable, the way she was trying so hard to be dominant, to take charge. but he knew she needed his help and he surely didn’t mind sharing it.

“easy there, baby,” he encouraged. “let me help you.”

he reached up, his large hands gripping her hips as he guided her movements, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he helped her find her rhythm.

“that’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low, encouraging rumble. “ride me just like that. fuck, you feel incredible.”

she let out a soft whimper, her body melting into his touch, into his guidance. she let him take control, let him set the pace as she rocked her hips against his, feeling every thick inch of him, stretching her, filling her in a way that made her toes curl.

he guided her movements, lifting her up and pulling her back down, helping her to bounce on his thick length. the new angle allowed her to take him even deeper, and the sounds he managed to illicit from her were simply perfect.

“caleb,” she gasped, her fingers scrabbling at his chest. “oh god, caleb,” she whimpered, head calling forward against his chest.

“shh, you’re doing so well, baby,” his voice a low rasp in her ear. “fuck, look at you, stakin’ your claim so well…”

caleb’s hands slid up her back, pulling her into a deep, filthy kiss, his tongue plundering her mouth, swallowing her moans and whimpers. he kissed her like he was starving for her, like she was the only thing that could satisfy him.

the silver band of his wedding ring, hanging around his neck on his dog tags, pressed cooly against her skin as he held her close.

finally, her body tensed, inner walls clenched around caleb as her climax crashed over her. his name spilled past his lips in desperate babbles, a broken sound of ecstasy and devotion, as a wave after wave of pleasure consumed her. caleb followed soon after, with a guttural groan of her name, his hot seed spurting deep inside of her.

they collapsed together in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and heaving chests, caleb’s arms wrapped tightly around her trembling form. he pressed soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, murmuring words of love and praise.

as their breathing slowed, caleb couldn’t resist teasing his wife about her earlier display of jealousy. “you know, for someeoen trying to be all dominant and in control, you sure got real worked up over a little innocent flirtation.” he said with a playful smirk, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

she simply grumbled, nuzzling into his chest with a petulant pout. “it’s not fair. they shouldn’t even be staring at you like that in the first place, not when you belong to me.” she complain, her voice muffled against his skin.

caleb chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath her cheek. “aww, but baby, you know you’re the only one for me. i’m yours, not an always. no one could ever change that,” he reassured, his hand stroking gently up and down her back.

she lifted her head to glare at him, her brown eyes still hazy from their lovemaking. “it doesn’t matter. they don’t need to know that. they just need to know that you’re mine, and i won’t let anyone forget it,” she declared sleepily, though possessiveness clung to her words.

caleb just laugh, pulling her in for a quick kiss. “yes ma’am,” he agreed, a nice of amusement still cooling his tone.

he took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips as he pressed a soft, tender kiss to the simple silver band that encircled her ring finger. the metal was faintly cold, but he didn’t mind at all.

“mine,” he murmured against her fingers, his voice a low, possessive rumble. “my wife, my heart, my everything. i’m shackled to you, permanently.”

completely and utterly hers.

#caleb x reader #love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #caleb x fem reader #caleb x mc #caleb x you #xia yizhou #🍪 reqs #caleb smut #lads smut #cw smut

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 1 year ago

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

From the request here

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: When a movie night has you questioning your bodies worth, Simon catches you in the shower to show you that your body is perfect just the way that it is.

Word Count: 4.3 k

Warnings:

“Look at the jugs on her,” one of the guys says at the busty blonde that has just been introduced for the first time in the film. A few others follow suit, whooping at the gorgeous, petite female main character popping up on screen as the movie really gets going. “That’s a woman you could lose yourself in. Fuck, I wish I could find a girl like her; I’d be a happy man for life. To have that waiting at home for me, I’d never even be tempted to stray.”

This is usually how movie night on base goes: people piling into the rec center ready to watch the latest movie from the personal collection from one of the members, but mostly it just devolves into a testosterone fest of horny boys itching to have something to focus their sexual frustrations on by ogling at the new pretty little thing on screen. Usually it doesn’t bother you, you’re used to being around all that chaos, but tonight just feels different.

Simon isn’t one for this type of gathering, but he comes to keep an on the crowd and be nearer to you and as he watches out of the corner of his eye from his place standing towards the back, he notices how your body language changes as the guys continue to raucously talk about the leading lady and how beautiful she is. It’s almost imperceptible the way you shift in your seat while you pick at the skin of your lower lip with your teeth, your shoulders slumping down as you cross your arms, but he catches it outright. He knows you and he knows this isn’t normal.

Something is bothering you.

The longer you sit there the worse it gets. Their lustful words just cut different tonight; maybe it’s exhaustion from being overworked or perhaps you’re just having an off day, but the longer they hoot and holler over the girl plastered before your eyes, the more you want to crawl out of your skin.

It’s about halfway through the movie when you slowly get up from your seat, trying not to draw attention to yourself by leaving too quickly and exit the rec without looking back. Simon is instantly concerned and wants to rush after you, but one of the newer recruits that seems to be the ringleader in all this turns to him as if to drag him into the depraved fun.

“Whatcha think; gotta admit she’s a fine thing, ain’t she Lieutenant?” he asks, nodding back at the screen. “Come on, even you gotta admit she’s perfect. Couldn’t hope to find anyone better.”

The look that Simon gives the young man through his mask, that stone cold glare that could make even the bravest man shiver, instantly shuts him up and has him facing forward again to join his brothers in arms in their jokes. His brow furrows angrily behind the fabric as he looks over the crowd of boys once more before heading out, leaving quietly like a specter on his way to find where you had gotten to.

Simon checks all the usual places, but you are nowhere to be found: the little area outside the rec where you usually join him for a smoke break, the mess hall, even your barracks are empty. Then he hears movement in the communal bathroom and knows he’s finally found you.

It looks like you’ve been rushing to get done before anyone can catch you. Your hair is damp from the shower and it drips down to leave dark stains onto your t-shirt as you stand staring at yourself in the mirror behind the sink. Simon watches quietly from his obscured place by the door as you look yourself over, scrutinizing each detail from head to toe before you give up with a sigh and a diversion of your eyes, focusing on your toothbrush instead as you pick it up and turn on the faucet. So absorbed in what you are doing, you don’t hear the lock click closed or the pair of heavy boots that cross the length of the room until there is a presence upon you.

“God, you’re so beautiful baby,” you hear that deep, gravelly voice sound from behind you while a bulky arm wraps itself around your waist from behind as Simon presses up against your back. You look back up into the mirror in front of you and are instantly met with a pair of brilliant brown eyes as he slowly removes his balaclava. “Just standin’ there fresh outta the shower and ya look like a fantasy.”

Setting the mask on the sink he joins his other arm around you and leans his face in, the tip of his nose nuzzles into the side of your neck before he presses his lips against your jugular. His lips catch the feeling of your pulse quickening through the vein at his touch. Rough hands begin to splay across your clothed stomach, running across and down to your hips with gentle caresses that make you pause. Your eyes stare into the mirror to take in your combined form as he drapes himself over you, hot lips peppering your skin with no sign of letting up.

You chuckle dismissively, trying to play off his words as a joke. Your head still isn’t in the right place and even though you enjoy the feeling of his touch, disastrous thoughts still circle throughout to cloud your mind so that you second guess even his affections.

“Oh, come off it,” you return as you grab the toothpaste off the countertop. “I do not.”

There is no hesitation in his reply. “I’m serious,” he breathes that husky whisper against your skin as his lips continue down to your shoulder as his fingers pull the t-shirt away from your collar bone to reveal more skin for him to adorn with his mouth.

You roll your eyes in the mirror so that as he looks up briefly he catches the movement. “Yeah, sure,” you again dismiss him. “Whatever you say.”

Before you can even unscrew the cap to the toothpaste, Simon reaches past you to turn off the tap and take your things out of your hands before he rotates you around so that you face him. Your backside presses into the edge of the sink as you rest up against it, mouth scrunched to one side as he gazes back at you with intent. There is a subtle frown on his lips and an anxious look in his copper eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned. “Somethin’ happen? Cause I did see ya leave in a hurry back there.”

You divert your eyes, ashamed of your lack of confidence that has come forward tonight. “I don’t know, it’s nothing,” you shrug, but he isn’t buying any of it.

His large hand rests itself up under your chin, pulling your head back up to look into his face. “I think ya do know,” he says. “Will ya tell me?”

Clearing your throat, you give yourself a moment to figure out how best to proceed. “It’s just,” you say hesitantly, “I guess sometimes I just wish I looked like that, you know? I know I’m usually not this self-conscious, but tonight I guess I just hit a rough patch with my insecurities and something about the shit they were saying just got to me I guess. You see the way the guys talk about girls like in that movie, like she’s the most gorgeous thing in the world. She’s so perfect and… I…”

You gesture with your head down the length of your body to emphasize your point that you are nothing like the actress: your breasts are on the smaller side, your thighs are incredibly thick, and your stomach is not completely flat. Simon follows your hand, looking you up and down before his eyes meet yours again.

“I’m not. I know it’s fucking stupid and I shouldn’t care about all that, it doesn’t really matter, but sometimes it’s just hard to ignore. I’m not the standard when it comes to beauty, but sometimes I just want to feel like I’m the most irresistible person in the room.”

It seems like he wants to say something, you can see his mouth shifting, but instead his gaze drifts down to your lips and he pulls your chin forward to close the distance between your mouths. Instantly he overtakes your mouth with his own, tenderly capturing your lips over and over with a gentle desperation that makes him shudder against you as he moves in closer.

“Who the fuck said ya ain’t perfect?” he asks, his voice breathy against your lips. “Gimme that bastard’s name. You tell me right now so I can go ring their fuckin’ neck. Cause that is a goddamn lie.”

“No one said anything like that, it’s just the way I feel,” you answer honestly. “And you’re only saying that because you like me.”

Immediately Simon pulls you into another long kiss as if he is trying to take those insecure words right out of your mouth before you can say anything else. Breaking the kiss, Simon licks his flushed lips and shakes his head. “Really? Ya don’t think your body can drive someone wild? Then what’s this, hmm?” he asks, grabbing your wrist to pull your hand forward so that he can place the palm over top of the soft bulge growing in his boxers. “See whatcha do to me, sweetheart? Ya think that’s lyin’?”

Your hand rubs over the swell and his hips unconsciously buck slightly against your hand as he hums in approval of your touch. It is instantaneous the way you have him begging for even a simple touch from you; no other has ever held that kind of power over him, not anyone that he would give it to so freely like he does you. The warm pressure from your hand causes the pulsing to intensify as he grows harder and you find your heart beat starting to match its throbbing.

“Ya don’t think I catch the men lookin’ at ya from time to time?” he asks as he leans his head forward until it rests against your own, hands moving up under the hem of your shirt to play with the toasty skin of your abdomen as he talks. “Ya don’t think I see that their eyes glaze over as they linger on your body a bit too long for my fuckin’ likin’? Just cause they won’t say it out loud doesn’t make it any less true that you have something about ya that would drive any man wild.”

His words are like a balm to your mind and the longer he speaks the more you find yourself falling under their spell. Rough fingers are pushing up higher into your shirt, pulling it up over your waist as he runs his palms across the area while his hips press into yours. He’s not forceful or harsh, his advances are only full of adoration in that type of intense devotion that only Simon Riley is capable of when it comes to savoring the best damn thing he has ever had.

“Don’t let what ya heard back there hurt ya,” he says softly. “Yeah, ya don’t look like that bird on the screen, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t an absolute beauty. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen and I ain’t just sayin’ it, baby. But ya don’t just have ta take my word for it. Let me show ya that no one can hold a candle to what ya got.”

Simon pulls you over to one of the empty showers and gets it going, fiddling with the taps to make sure the water is going nice and warm before he turns his undivided attention back to you. Instantly his mouth is back on yours as one by one each piece of your clothing is removed and set aside in tandem with his own until you both stand before the other bare.

“I’ve already showered,” you mutter out between pauses as merely just a statement of fact rather than a reason to deny him.

Simon murmurs his disagreement into your mouth. “Don’t care,” he replies through a break in his kiss, continuing to take off your clothes as he dizzyingly tries to get at your body. “Can’t be havin’ those fuckin’ negative thoughts in that head of yours. Wanna take care of ya, make ya feel like the true beauty ya are.”

More kissing, so much that your lips are burning and raw from the friction. His mouth must be aflame too, but he doesn’t let up; he can’t, he’s captured in the wake of your allure and there is no getting out.

“What if someone comes in?” The last of your questions spills out quick.

He chuckles at your needless worry. “Already locked the door sweetheart.”

Stretching his hand out, he checks the temperature to be sure it’s right before dragging you inside the steamy oasis. The curtain is barely pulled closed before he has you pinned at the back wall, his stocky torso rubbing against your voluptuous naked body as he steals the breath from your lungs, kissing you so thoroughly that there is no distinction between faces anymore.

The change in temperature has your nipples hardening, the blossoms spiking forward at attention, and Simon can feel them poking against his chest the longer he has your mouth locked in that dance of back and forth. The moment he is aware of their presence his mouth is salivating to get at them.

You might think they are not perfect enough, but to him they are exactly what he wants.

Breaking the kiss abruptly, removing his mouth so quickly that a trial of spit still connects your lips a moment, he tilts his head downward. Being on the smaller side, he can fit your breast almost entirely in his mouth and he does, filling the cavity with as much of your tit as he can without choking.

You can hardly remember anymore why the stupid comments had you so upset in the first place when you have a man like Simon who will dote on you like you are royalty. His is the only opinion you have come to care about and it is clear that there is nothing he will ever want more than you.

He moans deep and guttural into your breast as he sucks while letting the end of his tongue flick around the nipple, circling the sensitive tissue until you are writhing against him as he holds you steady to the wall so that he can work. There is another breast after all that requires his attention and he intends to show it the same amount of affection as the other. Switching sides, he gets to work, keeping the first breast warm by cupping it in his hand.

It’s minutes of you quivering and whimpering before he emerges panting with his lips swollen and red, satisfied with his work so far. Giving his lips a break, Simon gently strokes your cheek with his fingers as he gazes into your eyes, swaying your bodies from side to side in easy movements. “Stay with me luv,” he says softly as he watches you take heavy breaths, “I ain’t done just yet.”

Those lips are on the move again to decorate your body, over your sternum and waist, until he has to kneel before you to get any further. He’s on his knees, all 6’4” of him bent to you as he places kisses across your belly while the heated water runs over his dirty blonde hair and down his back, rippling across the muscles in his shoulders as he holds your hips squeezed securely between his broad hands.

“You’re perfect just the way ya are, baby,” he groans against your moist skin, letting his lips linger wherever he puts them. “Just like this: real, curves for fuckin’ days, so much skin I get drunk tryin’ to get at it all. And the best goddamn part is that it’s all mine.”

More kisses he places along all the areas you think unworthy of adoration, but that he finds absolutely exquisite. “Mine, all mine.”

His words devolve into incoherent babble as he nestles his face into your abdomen to leave burning trails of his desire with his lips that even the warm water cannot wash away from your skin. Your body writhes in his double-handed grasp as your head falls back to rest against the wall as every inch of tender flesh prickles with the overstimulating sensation of being doted upon.

Lips keep trailing further downward from your stomach to the mound of your sex, through the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your pussy, before they sink into the bulk of your thick, stocky thighs.

“Ya think I get on my knees for any girl?” he asks from his place at the bottom of the shower as he stares up into your face with half-lidded eyes that darken the more he plays with you. “You’re the only one who can bring me to fuckin’ kneel, baby. You and your gorgeous body. I’m at it’s goddamn mercy.”

Placing his hand on your calf, he nods and you know exactly what he wants: that juicy cunt smothering his features, your bulky thighs crush against his ears. Carefully he helps you to adjust your footing so that he can lift your leg. Propping it up on his own thigh, he sits back on his calves so that his face sits at the same level as your pussy and he leans in, smothering his face right between those dangerously thick pieces of flesh as you widen your stance with his guidance to make it easier. Hardened fingertips dig themselves into your body, forcing you even more firmly against his face until his nose is pressed into your clit and he moves his head back and forth to stimulate it with the tip.

There is little oxygen to be had between the heat from the water and the heat between your legs, but it doesn’t matter. The sound of your soft, breathy gasps and moans as he penetrates your entrance with his tongue is enough to sustain him until he can come up to breathe. Lapping and thrusting, wriggling and applying pressure, if there is even a whisper of a negative thought left in your brain it is overshadowed completely now by the overwhelming euphoria of being devoured to the brink of insanity.

You buck wild and untamed, panting heavily as the warmth in your belly begins gathering quicker than you could have thought, the coil pulling tightly as minute by aching minute Simon draws your body to the edge of its release. He is relentless in his endeavor, putting your needs above anything else- even breathing. That tongue has moved up to your clit now and with weighty presses over the tiny bean you soon are spilling over the edge and he has to hold onto you tight so that you don’t slip and fall.

Simon stays locked to your pussy until the very last second, keeping his movements going even as you try to pry him off from the sensitivity that is almost too much to handle. It isn’t until you finally stop writhing that he emerges from between your legs with a smile that has your stomach doing somersaults as he wipes his mouth clean of your cum.

“Second course,” he growls before you even have a chance to fully come down from your high.

Oh you have got him down bad tonight.

He carefully flips you round to face the wall and uses his feet to make you spread your legs as wide as you can get them. A hefty hand runs itself over the curve of your ass, following the line down all the way to the underside before he grabs it in his hand and gives the meat a firm squeeze.

“Those little boys just don’t know how to handle this much woman; all these fuckin’ curves are too much pleasure for a bastard that don’t know the treasure he’s got. But I know what a fuckin’ feast ya are,” he groans as he aligns your hips and enters you from behind with a forceful grunt that reverberates off the enclosed space of the shower.

You push palms flat against the wall to steady yourself. “They don’t know how ta treat ya right, how ta love a body that just keeps givin’ and givin’. But I don’t have that problem, sweetheart.”

Simon’s devout words are like liquid fire and as his cock stretches you wide, the euphoria of his talk runs through you to make you burn. Your body is his religion and goddamn does he always worship it right. All those cares, all that self-loathing and doubt entirely evaporate from your mind as he pushes your shoulders forward to make you arch your back so that he can pound into your pussy hard and deep from behind, making your plump ass bounce off his pelvis with a recoil that draws his gaze.

“Fuck,” he breathes, so obsessed with the way you look around him that he is trying to ingrain the image in his mind.

His aching exclamation thrills you, making your heart skip a beat as his thrusts continue to rock through you. To be craved in such a way, to be thought of like the woman in the movie, that is what he is giving you now and it is euphoric. His intensity is orgasmic and your body responds in kind as he grabs you to move you closer.

“Don’t concern yourself with the bullshit ideas of some puny little boys when ya got a man who will always make sure you feel like a fuckin’ princess when you’re in his arms,” he says in a whisper at your ear as he pulls you back to leans against his chest. “Cause ya are, sweetheart. Your my fuckin’ goddess of a woman.”

The way he says it makes you ache all over and you can feel it twinge in your clit. “Say it again,” you beg, needing to hear him make those sweet combinations of sounds once more until your body vibrates with pleasure.

His hand comes up to cup around your breast so that he can massage the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing you to mewl at the sensation. “You are so fuckin’ beautiful baby, so goddamn perfect just like this, and I love every last fuckin’ inch of ya. My princess.”

Your cheeks feel like they are glowing and on fire as thrusts after thrust he pounds into you, stretching you and filling you full on all of his passion for your body. You will never be able to make everyone see you for the gorgeous being that you truly are, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Simon is more than enough to keep you feeling like the most beautiful girl in the whole world; you are safe with him.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as his arms that are filled with your waist clamp down tighter to secure you to him so that he can shove his cock even harder into your now dripping core. “Yes, yes,” you whimper out.

“Come for me again,” he practically demands as he watches you falling apart once more. “Come on, pretty girl, one more for me. One more together.”

Your limbs are tingling with each snap of his hips against your ass. It’s close, right there, you can almost feel it again as the coil wounds itself tight once more in the pit of your stomach. You clench down on him, making him falter before recovering and continuing on. A few more pumps of him deep in your core and it is right there at the precipice.

“Let go for me,” he whispers into your ear as you clench once more around him and something about the way he says it sets you off. You come for the second time, the orgasm rocketing through you until you can feel it like fire shooting through your veins as you shake with the intensity of it all.

Quickly he pulls out just in time as he too pops off and comes between your thighs as you clamp them together around his cock. The ejaculate runs down your legs as he milks every last bit out of the tip until his body hangs limp and his head falls down to rest the forehead against your shoulder. Still he holds you close, murmuring soft praises against your neck about how fucking amazing that was and how there is no one else that will ever look more beautiful all flushed and exhausted.

Holding onto you, Simon takes a few steps back forcing you to come along until you are both submerged under the showerhead to let that soothing water run over your bodies until you can both come back down from your high. There are no words yet, none that need to be said out loud, all he needs to do is keep you wrapped in his arms a little longer.

It’s quiet, just the sound of the water rushing filling the silent space for a while, until a noise breaks you both out of the moment. There is a banging on the door from the outside, repeated knocking loudly and clearly; you’ve been in here for too long, but Simon doesn’t seem to be bothered. There is no attempt to leave the steamy oasis yet and soon the sound subsides and you are both left in the silence once again.

“They’ll just have to fuckin’ wait,” he says against the side of your head in a hushed whisper, lips tempting your earlobe. “They can consider it a punishment for making ya upset. Besides, I’m still busy and you’re not goin’ anywhere.”

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nerdygirlramblings · 4 months ago

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someone's in a rut 🤭 and we meet Ren's family (part 1)

a/n: part of this chapter inspired by Broken Beyond Bearing by @lostintransist and by comments from @pyxrin

cw: poorly executed accents, omegaverse biology, heat/rut cycles

Days begin to blur together. A run followed by infiltration and exfil trainings on the moon (what the others called the rubble-strewn field). Or weight training and asset retrieval in the brick, the windowless building in the hangar, before sparring. Grift work, your own term for information retrieval, before the shooting range. Never the same thing two days in a row. On rare occasions, either Soap or Gaz had you along while training recruits. It was the closest thing to working with your old squad.

And each time, just as you find your footing with the advanced field training, Price introduces new elements: time restraints, 'enemy' combatants. You have never felt as lost before, so unsure of your place. The only thing that keeps it from being completely disheartening isn't Gaz's reassurances or Price's praise or Soap's compliments. It's Adam. It's stopping in to requisition a windcheater in your size and hearing how you made it out of the brick faster than Ghost or how Soap struggled for a long time with grift work. It's confirmation from an outside, and thus unbiased, source that your progress is fine. That they won't regret asking for you.

Until Price calls you into his office. All you can think about is how you didn't know about the standardized step size and the trouble it caused on the moon. Or how you went three rounds without finding the needed intel before Price called time. That Soap teasingly pointed out, "Yer thinkin' tae hard," like saying it will make you get out of your own head even though it's all you know how to do. Crowded pubs and loud, dark clubs flash in your memory, each one a failed attempt to manipulate a mark.

You're sure he's going to put you back into the rank and file. Who needs a woman, and an omega at that, who can't master the basic things the task force needs to do. You're terrified and heartbroken before you even get into his office.

The desk seems more imposing than ever, and Price's face, for the first time, is unreadable. Even his scent is locked down, no dying ember smell wafting around. He's smiling, but you've been taking pseudo acting classes from him for more than a fortnight. The smile could easily hide his intentions.

He clears his throat, and you pull your gaze from where you'd been staring at your hands. For the first time since you met the man, Price seems nervous. He reaches up, scratching his beard and running his hand over his scent gland. "Er, we 'ave some leave coming, me an' the others, and I wan'ed ta see if ya'd like to stay here or go home?"

A long moment passes before you respond. "I'm not sure I understand, sir. You take leave tagether, but I'd go home?" The furrow between your brows deepens. Before he can clarify, you ask what's been eating at you. "Is this yer way 'a transferrin' me off the team?" Even you can hear the plea in your voice. Please don't let me go.

"Oh, Ren, no! No. Tha's not what this is," he rushes to say. The blush that creeps up his neck is a surprise. Is he embarrassed?

"'S just, well, we try not to use suppressants unless we're on a mission. Fucks too much wi' the body's natural rhythm, yeah? Throws off anyone on 'em too long." You nod in understanding. If you didn't have such a bad reaction to them - foggy thoughts and slow movements - you'd prefer to be on suppressants all the time. Instead, when your heat hits, you take yourself to medical for a heat-induced isolation. They're horrendous on the system, but it's a short-term problem while you're in the service, though your omega purrs that a pack would remedy that problem.

"So, er, we made the decision years ago to take our leave together when, er, one of the alphas has a rut." He's fully blushing now, and you get it. He's just told you either he or Ghost - he didn't specify, and betas like Gaz and Soap don't have ruts- is going to lose themselves to their base instincts soon.

You're quiet through all these revelations, and he plows ahead, only the faintest hint of ozone in the air to alert you to his distress. "Simon's rut is in another week or so, so we'll take leave from this Wednesday ta the following Friday ta give everyone a cushion on either end for prep and recovery." The room feels warmer, and you know it's because your own internal temperature is spiking, your omega excited about the idea of Simon's knot.

"So, er, ye'll all be gone, sir?" you clarify, forcing your omega to think of other things.

He nods, a hint of smoke in the air. You can smell his distress dissipating, replaced slowly by ease and contentment. "Yes. We 'ave a place on the edge 'a the Lakes. We'll head there and be back after the rut. Adam said yer dad's due with a litter soon?"

The idea that Adam shared that bit of your family with Price puts you on edge until he adds, "Adam suggested ya take leave when we do but go an' see yer family." He rushes to add, "If ya want."

Now it's your turn to be embarrassed. Once again, it's Adam to the rescue. It warms you down to your center that Adam made such a thoughtful recommendation to Price and that Price took it. If you hadn't heard it yourself, you'd think he was takin' the piss.

"Yes, sir," you stammer, lost at what else you could say to this plan. "That would be lovely. I know my family pack will be happy ta have me home."

series masterlist | main masterlist

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed @honestlymassivetrash @thebumbqueen @maliamaiden

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #omegaverse #omegaverse 141 #omegaverse tf 141 #a/b/o #a/b/o 141 #a/b/o tf 141 #john price #johnny mactavish #kyle garrick #simon riley #nerdygirl says #fierce wars and faithful loves

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lehguru · 2 years ago

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THINK YOU NEED SOMEONE YOUNGER + ONE PIECE MEN

they start to realize they might be a little too old for you ft. crocodile, mihawk, smoker, shanks, doflamingo, corazon

info: will do this for other fandoms too i think, angsty on some; not proofread

crocodile never felt insecure, at least when it came to your relationship. after he left impel down and came to look for you, things got a little... weird. he was avoiding you. you knew it wasn't because he didn't want to bring you into his business (he did it more than once), it was something you didn't really understand. before you could even confront him about it, he said out of nowhere one day: "did you... get with anyone while i was away?" he looked at you with a hard stare. "someone... younger?" you almost laughed at his question, but you held yourself back. your arms circled his waist and you rested your chin on his chest. 'i don't know anyone younger that is as attractive as you, sir.' he grinned, holding the back of your head with his hand. "good."

mihawk noticed how you and zoro interacted during his time at the island. he wasn't suspicious that something was happening, he knew you would never cheat on him or break his trust; but... a thought started to spread in his mind like poison. once zoro and perona left, and you two finally managed to carry on with your married life alone, he asked you one day while you drank tea together. "how do you feel about me being... older?" you looked at him with raised eyebrows and 'the only thing that matters to me is you. i fell in love with your personality and the way you treat me, not your age.' he hummed, a deep sound that you know reverberated on his chest. even if it was faint, you could see a soft pink dusting his cheeks.

smoker didn't think about your age gap until he overheard some of the new recruits talking about you two. captain smoker having a younger partner is a little weird isn't it, was what they said. when he was back home and you were resting against his chest, softly playing with the hair on the area, he told you about it. you looked up, your eyes shining, 'old pan makes good food'. the laughter that left his lips was one that he always reserved for you, his most sincere and genuine laugh; he pressed his lips on the top of your head, murmuring praises and love confessions against your hair.

shanks really didn't care about it, not as much as other members of his crew did – with how well they knew their captain, the man would be destroyed if you decided to leave him. 'she might go for a younger guy, when your thing doesn't get up anymore.' they usually voiced their concerns in the form of jokes, so they wouldn't be too harsh on their captain, but it was effective. those comments made him start to realize what you two were – lovers. one day, without telling you, he and the crew left. simply left the island, leaving you behind with only an note written "don't look for me." in a messy manner.

one thing about doflamingo is that he gets whatever he wants whenever he wants. and since the moment he laid eyes on you, you were his. the people that tried to comment on your age gap always "mysteriously" disappeared, even if they were from inside his organization. no one could talk about him and his partner like that. if he ever brought up the topic, it was only to test if you were seeing anyone or wanted someone younger (he knows you don't. he knows everything); your praises towards him and your love always left him pleased – he would give you the same in return.

corazon is frequently insecure about your relationship. he wonders if you really love him, if he's good enough for you, if he's being a good boyfriend, if he missed any important date that he should've remembered – your age gap (made worse by your height gap too) is only another one of those concerns. no matter what you say, he often asks you if you wouldn't want to be with someone younger and with a better family than him. one day, after he asked that for the millionth time, you answered: "we can have a family of our own, rosi. you deserve happiness. you said once i made you happy, so i will stay. the only way you're going to get rid of me is if one of us is gone." he chuckled and smiled widely, as he often did around you and law, hugging you tightly against his body. 'i adore you. with all my heart and soul, i love you.'

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bloopy-writes · 1 year ago

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Rules for the Japanese National Team- written by Iwaizumi Hajime, Athletic Trainer

Hinata, Kageyama, Atsumu, and Bokuto are no longer allowed within 50 feet of the kitchen, if you want to eat, you can starve or beg someone else to make food for you.

Bokuto and Kuroo are no longer allowed to be left alone for more than 2 minutes at a time. Also pringles are banned you guys are athletes that shouldn’t be eating this junk anyways.

Whoever locks Oikawa and Ushijima in a closet together can pay for any damages caused

Kageyama is not allowed to play truth or dare-he’s too easily influenced

If you call Yaku short, I’m not helping you recover from the damages caused

Suna is not allowed to blackmail the coach to get out of extra practice it doesn’t end well for anyone

Aran is not allowed to room with Atsumu or Suns in the Olympic village because this poor man has suffered enough

I don’t care how good of an idea it seems, no one is allowed to listen to Houshimi after 2 am

Sakusa is banned from bleaching other peoples rooms no matter how bad they stink- still technically an invasion of privacy

Kuroo is not allowed to try and convince new recruits that they should give him money

Atsumu is not allowed to use his brother as a body double to get out of practice

Ushijima and Kageyama aren’t allowed to give interviews together without a third person present

Bokuto is not allowed to give interviews with other people

Hinata and Kageyama aren’t allowed to teach children because no one actually understands what they’re saying

If you get caught doing something stupid you are not allowed to call Officer Daichi Sawamura to bail you out that is still illegal and he doesn’t even work in Tokyo

Suna and Oikawa are to be kept away from each other at all costs

Atsumu and Oikawa can hang out with each other only if they stop arguing over who’s kageyamas favorite

No secret handshakes allowed

Glitter bombs are only allowed if glitter does not get on Iwaizumi

If anyone asks if Iwaizumi is a babysitter the answer is legally no

The first person to convince the administration that Iwaizumi deserves a raise will get free food for a month

Houshimi and Atsumu are two halves of a whole idiot and are not allowed to plan team bonding activities again

Kidnapping Oikawa does not count as a team bonding activity unless you murder him and bond over trying to hide the body

Iwaizumi Hajime loves his job no matter how much you all make him want to retire

#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #hinata shouyou #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #suna rintarou #hoshiumi kourai #miya atsumu #sakusa kiyoomi #ojiro aran #Japan national team Haikyuu #haikyuu manga #bloopy’s headcanons #haikyuu spoiler

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leehoney0 · 2 years ago

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OK?

Female reader . suggestive . Bimbo in the apocalypse!

Bimbo reader! Having to be dragged away from a store as she stares down a mannequin for a skirt you’ve been eyeing since before the end of the world,rick having to talk you out of it.There was no way you could take down all those walkers that invaded the store.

Bimbo reader! Going on runs with rick to help him out since everyone was so busy,rick knows you only come with him so you can look through peoples abandoned closets and you get some alone time with your favorite dilf!

Bimbo reader! Who is only allowed to wear her bright pink clothes when there at base!,rick would never risk you getting hurt so he makes sure he gives you a yes on your outfit before heading out.

Bimbo reader! Crying as you ruined one of your shirts with walker guts,Rick holding you as you cry into his chest.him having to explain to you that you should of left your good clothes at home.

Bimbo reader! always listening to ricks commands if he feels it’s too dangerous,he send you off to hide until he calls your name to come out from your hiding spot,running into his arms to make sure he’s alright.

Bimbo reader! and Rick having a code word,it being the name of your favorite brand,him and you using it since you came across the wrong guy once and he never wants that to happen again!

Bimbo reader! meeting the new recruits,not noticing how they all seem to be staring at your chest,whispering among themself if you had a boyfriend and who would get a chance with the dumb klutz who’s clothes didn’t wear appropriate clothes for an apocalypse!

Bimbo reader! who makes her cell all pink,choosing one in the corner to have more privacy,lucky you didn’t have to share.ricks rooms was next to yours,although he likes yours better.you always found nice pillows on your runs.

Bimbo reader! giving kisses to everyone she likes,thanking them by a peck on their cheek,Daryl who brings you back something knowing your gonna give him one of your peck.. Rick glaring at the interactions.

Bimbo reader! Glaring at anyone who stares at Rick,not Knowing he wouldn’t give them the light of day as he overheard them gossiping,how it wasn’t right the way you dressed,Rick keeping you close to him that night showing you off proudly!

Bimbo reader! Who Wouldn’t stop crying when they all got separated after the prison getting stuck with Maggie,your cheeks always stained with tears not knowing where Rick was or if he was even alive.

Bimbo reader! Not being able to function without Rick,he was always there to protect you.everyone wondered how you were able to survive this long,reuniting with Rick was the happiest you had ever been.

Bimbo reader! when entering Alexandria had a lot of the guys asking for your time,you had been so busy looking for Rick that you had brushed them off without even knowing what they were asking.staring at your behind of you ran off to find Rick

Bimbo reader! Not really having a job around Alexandria,they tried to find you something to do but you just couldn’t grasp much,so they just made you water the plants and crops since that was the easiest thing around.

Bimbo reader! Not liking any of the clothes they offered when you first arrived begging Rick or Daryl to take you to the nearest abandoned homes or shops go find something more appealing.more PINK

Why can’t I just be a girl without someone telling me it goes back to the patriarchy… IKNOW let me live jeez I know!!!! Anyways enjoy inst the best but havent been writing good these past few times

#bimbo!reader #bimbo reader #rick grimes x female reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes fluff #rick x reader #rick x you #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #twd rick #twd fanfiction #twd fic

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countrycritter · 2 months ago

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Alpha!Reader is deemed as one of the most capable people to be a medic when the regular one is off duty. So when they’re set to be sent on a mission with omega!141, the order is cancelled due to the medic being on medical leave back at the base.

Reader stands by the helicopter and gives their goodbyes and safe travels (while also trying to hide their twitching eye because why are their omegas getting taken away?).

The base is relatively calm. A couple small injuries here and there, people coming in for medication. Two weeks go by and Laswell gives Reader the news that the 141 is on their way back. No severe harm has been done, thankfully.

Unfortunately, a recruit comes in with a broken bone right before the guys arrive on base and they spend over two hours helping that by the time they’re done the omegas are already back and getting cleaned up.

Without even having to seek them out, they find the two sergeants huddled in their room on the bed. Reader’s scent can’t help but fill the room because isn’t that just the cutest thing?

Soap and Gaz, like the thieves they are, are both wearing one of Reader’s hoodies with their name on the back. Reader can’t help but laugh at what they deem as their comfy outfits which only consist of hoodies, boxers, and thick socks.

That’s exactly how Reader ended up with Soap huddled into their side and Gaz lying between their legs with his head and upper torso on their stomach.

It was nice, yes, but Reader’s work still wasn’t over. They tucked the omegas in as softly as possible so they wouldn’t wake up since they knew that they needed sleep after that grueling mission.

Their woodsy scent follows them through the hall, it’s hard to miss. Everyone knows when Reader is approaching, specifically Price. Holing himself up in his office to not be doted on by the alpha he swears he doesn’t need.

Reader walks in and coos gently, asking how the mission was, how he was feeling, etc.

He doesn’t answer instead he (hesitantly at first) nuzzles his face into their neck quietly. Of course Reader is overjoyed to have their third omega in their arms and gently guides him to come to their room. Obviously they can’t just leave their poor omega like that, right?

Once Reader settles him down on the bed by the two sleeping sergeants, they slowly massage his shoulders while scenting him with gentle touches and kisses to the neck, enough to hear a purr rumble in his chest.

After they’re sure he’ll stay settled into the bed, they go out looking for their final omega. Only to find Ghost sitting in his room in the dark, licking his wounds in self pity.

Reader pumps out their scent softly and slowly walks towards him with caution. No one was ever meant to hear the small whimpers coming from the man everyone swore never felt any emotion besides anger. So Reader would never let anyone hear the heartbreaking sounds or see the kisses being peppered on his face as they slowly ease his mask off.

Because at the end of the day, who cares what anyone thinks when they have all of their omegas settled into the nest they made, covered in their scent, and their love.

#cod #cod fanfic #cod mwii #cod x reader #scitterscatter #tf 141 #cod imagine #call of comfort #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod omegaverse

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thoughtfulfiction · 6 months ago

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The P Word

Author’s Note: Two fics in two days?

In 2013, Joe sent a dm to a recruiting analyst for scout.com, asking which camps he should attend because he was flying under the national radar.

Most four star recruits get about 20 college offers. He had 12.

At Ohio State he sat on the bench for three years, only gaining attention as a scout team player who would later have to graduate in three years just so he could transfer and get some playing time elsewhere.

That same scout team player would become the best player in college football and a Heisman trophy winner and the number one pick in the 2020 NFL Draft. A few years after that fateful private message to Dave Burk.

Robin Burrow had been there the entire time. Through every shining moment and the times that seemed rather dark. She drove two hours to do his laundry just to make sure he was physically and mentally healthy when he lived in Columbus, has attended every game since he began playing sports, made him snickers salad when he tore his ACL…and when he tore his scapholunate ligament in his wrist. All in all, she’s been a constant presence in the midst of all of the mayhem. To be frank, there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be than between him and anything that could possibly serve to harm him or cause him any pain, no matter how old he is.

That included protecting him from himself.

The last few months had been filled with joy. After the news of his engagement, the wedding planning process had been smooth. You and Robin along with your mom, had gone to several appointments together and Joe had even added his input in most of the details without you feeling like you had to twist his arm and force him to participate.

You were now in the home stretch of the most important day of your lives. Less than two months from now you’d be saying “I do” to the love of your life. And Robin had taken her role as future mother in-law very seriously. You knew that Joe was a mama’s boy, his brothers much older than him with their own mom, and it was clear to anyone with eyes that he was Robin’s pride and joy. But not in a creepy way that would get them to star in a TLC show. It was just very evident that she was proud of him and his achievements and that she didn’t mess around when it came down to business.

After one of your dress fittings, she pulled you aside. “There’s one quick thing I need to mention to you. You’ll be getting a formal document in the mail in the next few days. Nothing huge, just a formality that Peter and the team drafted up for you to sign. I hate the word prenup but that’s essentially what this is.” She said in a matter of fact way. “We just need to make sure to dot our i’s and cross our t’s if that makes sense. Get the boring stuff out of the way so that we can focus on showering you and Joey with our love on your special day.”

“No that makes complete sense, just send it over and I’ll sign whatever you need me to. Thank you Robin seriously, for everything. You’ve made planning this entire thing a breeze.”

She shakes her head with a genuine smile, giving you a warm hug. “This has been an honor, I’m so happy for the both of you sweetie. I’ll see you in a few days for brunch at your house? The kids are so excited they won’t stop talking about it.”

“Yes absolutely, I can’t wait either it’s been so long since we’ve gotten both families together it’ll be really fun.”

There weren’t many opportunities for your family to interact with Joe’s and vice versa, unless everyone met at a football game but that wasn’t exactly quality family bonding. That felt more like a collective screaming match where the adults pregamed with beer and the kids wore his jersey. Most of them didn’t really know what was going on in the actual game. So you and Joe were going to host both sets of parents, all of your siblings and their kids in order for everyone to really spend time together before the wedding.

A few days later, you were finalizing the menu with the catering company when Joe came home.

“It’s gonna be like Cheaper by the Dozen in here tomorrow,” he notes, grabbing a Body Armour from the fridge. “Are we sure we’re ready for this?”

“We kinda have to be. Should we do smoked salmon or shrimp crostinis?” You held up one of each and let him examine them. He snagged the salmon one first and took a bite then did the same with the shrimp.

“Definitely the salmon. What time is everyone getting here?” The catering people jot down their last notes and head out the door after you and Joe thanked them.

You could tell he was going to need time to mentally prepare in case he got overstimulated. “They’ll be here at 1pm, so you can probably get an early workout in and take a nap afterwards,” walking over to him on the other side of the counter, holding his face in your hands. “I know you get cranky when you’re tired and Uncle Joe needs to be at his best tomorrow because the kids will need a QB for their flag football game.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, sticking out his lips that are begging to be kissed. You happily grant his wish, pressing your lips against his, giving him a quick smooch. He asks for a few more, about to get lost in a full make out session when a stack of papers on the counter catch his eye. Joe pulls back so abruptly that your face smacks against his chest.

“Sorry baby,” he cradles your head, reaching around you to grab the piece of paper that’s on top. You take that as your cue to go after his second apology for nearly giving you a concussion. That chest is a brick wall.

The more he skims the words, the tighter his grip gets on the little sheet and the confused look on his face deepens. “Um…what is this?”

“What is what?” You give him a look that matches his energy.

He holds up the paper. “This. What is this? Where did you get it from?”

You look around the room to make sure you aren’t getting Punk’d. “Wait—are you being serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking,” it wasn’t a question. He’s legitimately starting to look upset. “Who gave this to you?”

“Joe,” you let out a dry chuckle, “your mom did. Said it was a formality and that I should sign it and give it to her so she can hand it off to Peter so your lawyers can process it.” When your fiancé continues to stand there motionless in the middle of the room, that’s when it hits you. “Did—did you not know about this?”

He usually has something to say about everything, so watching him silently shake his head is a little scary. Joe places the first page of the prenuptial agreement on the table with a heavy sigh, visibly trying to compose himself. The man had the patience of a saint, known to have blow ups on the field but that was Football Joe. Off the field Joe was calm and rarely ever let things get to him. You’d probably only heard him yell twice in the entire time you’ve been together. And now he was dead quiet. You didn’t know what to do with that.

“Joe, your mom is just trying to protect you. Get this out of the way so that we can—”

“Please don’t try to defend her right now,” his tone was laced with venom, a seething anger you hadn’t seen before and weren’t too keen on getting familiar with. “I don’t like that this was just drafted, printed and handed to you without my permission. She and Peter shouldn’t have done that. And my mom definitely shouldn’t have ambushed you with this.”

Now he was being dramatic. “Robin didn’t ambush me! She told me a couple days ago and I thought you knew so I didn’t mention it.”

“I would never do that to you,” he says with a pain in his voice that makes your chest clench. “WE, you and I should be talking about this. Not my mom and Peter. Jesus.” He rested his arms on the counter, running his hands through his hair.

You hated seeing him get worked up like this, crossing the room again to place a comforting hand on his back. “Why don’t you talk to her tomorrow, I’m sure she didn’t mean to upset you. She most likely just thought she would do this for you so you didn’t need to worry about it.”

“That’s the thing, this isn’t something she should be doing for me. We’re getting married. You’re going to be my wife. There’s no reason she needs to be handing you documents on my behalf like you’re some fucking stranger. I don’t care how ‘busy’ I am. You come first.” You can feel the tension in his muscles even when he stands up to his normal height. He’s really trying to keep it together, giving you an empty kiss on the cheek before heading into his office to cool off. An hour later you head up to check on him, assuming he has his headphones on and can’t hear you, you find that the door is locked.

Tomorrow’s brunch is going to be very interesting to say the least.

Joe surprised you by being in bed by the time you came upstairs to get ready to go to sleep. You thought for sure he’d be on a run to clear his mind. As soon as you climbed in next to him he put his phone away, wrapping his arms around you and giving your body a squeeze.

Whatever private meeting he had with himself must have done the trick because he was actually letting you be the big spoon for once. His touch was soft and intentional, the previously icy aura was liquified and only warm and cuddly Joe remained. “Are you okay?” You asked him and he nodded without looking at you. He just interlocked your fingers in his before sitting up.

“Switch me.” You knew the little spoon wouldn’t last long. “That’s better,” he sighs kissing your head, feeling at home with your arm draped across his waist.

After a few seconds of silence he mutters, “I’m so sorry this is happening. Are you sure you want to sign up for a lifetime of this?”

You look up to meet Joe’s gaze to see if he’s trying to be funny. “A lifetime of you? I can’t think of anything I would want more. The rest of it is just extra, the good and the bad. As long as I have you I don’t care.”

His shoulders sag once again in relief, “good.” Joe peppers a few kisses on your neck, making his way up to your jaw, taking his sweet time until he got to your lips. A joyous hum leaves his mouth as the kiss grows deeper, each swipe of his tongue against yours makes you feel dizzy…love drunk. Nothing compares to the way that Joe kisses you, sensually careful but hungry at the same time, almost as if this is the last thing he’ll ever get to do. This kiss is different, it’s a promise to always protect you, to never let the outside noise sway what his heart knows is true. He’s found the one person in the world that consistently makes his heart sing and no one—not even his mom—will have the final say. And he was going to make that very clear.

When Joe sluggishly came down the stairs the next day rubbing his eyes after his nap wearing a hoodie and cargo pants, you were just thankful he wasn’t in sweats.

“Hi there Sleeping Beauty, I’ve already gotten a few texts that most of them are about five minutes out.”

“Great,” he grunts, parking himself on the couch, “I’m starving,” he scoots around trying to subtly adjust himself.

Joe stares at you , running his hand down your thigh. “Hungry…for food right?” You give him a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah for food. What did you think I meant?” He laughs as he catches the pillow you launch his way and scoot far enough away that he can’t grab you.

“Don’t. Today really needs to be a stress free day. Can you promise you will be nice and not yell at your mother?” And with that statement he is no longer in the mood.

“I will not yell at my mom,” he crosses his arms over his chest with a scowl only like a youngest child could. “Can’t promise I’ll be nice.”

Before you can negotiate any further the doorbell rings and your first guests arrive. Nieces and nephews come running in, suffocating you with hugs and the youngest one tugging at Joe’s legs demanding to be picked up. Less than 30 minutes later the entire backyard is filled with kids playing tag, drinking juice boxes while the adults enjoyed the appetizer spread.

Joe wasn’t making it blatantly obvious that he was mad but he wasn’t exactly hiding it either. He kept the greeting with his parents short, keeping his distance throughout the afternoon focused on entertaining the kids and playing the perfect host.

“I just realized I never asked,” Codie, one of Joe’s sister in laws speaks up. “Where are you two going for your honeymoon?”

“Bora Bora! I can’t wait,” you respond, topping off her wine glass.

His brother Dan’s ears perk up. “We were thinking about going there for an anniversary trip. Are you guys staying in a resort?”

Joe shakes his head, “I got us an underwater bungalow. The view is supposed to be insane.”

“Yeah I bet,” your dad notes.

“Take lots of pictures,” his dad adds in.

He waits for a second taking a mental note of his mom’s silence throughout the conversation, nudging you to make sure that you’re on the same page. By the time everyone was gone you needed something stronger than wine. Robin and your mom insisted on helping you clean up but you let them know that the caterers were coming back to grab everything. As you bid your family goodbye and thanked them for coming, your mom whispered in your ear, letting you know that the man inside was a keeper. You responded by telling her you intended on keeping him.

Once the door was fully closed you could breathe a sigh of relief…until you heard Robin ask Joe what was going on with him.

Here we go.

Joe didn’t respond. He just went up to his office and came right back down with the prenup in hand. “Care to explain?”

“Oh,” she looked rather unfazed, “Peter and I thought that—”

“And that’s where you went wrong,” Joe interrupts, voice surprisingly even. “You and Peter don’t get to ‘think.’ You don’t get to do whatever you ‘think’ I need. You have to ask me.”

You can tell she’s visibly taken aback at how this has gone. “It was not at all my intention to go behind your back. You’re just very busy and now with wedding planning and everything else, it just made sense to get it put into place so you’d have one less thing to worry about.”

“Mom, I get that. But you crossed the line here. I’m an adult who would’ve liked to have a mature conversation with the person I am going to marry about a topic that is extremely uncomfortable for everyone. It is not your job to play the middle man here. There is no middle man. This is between y/n and I.”

The tension in the air was getting a little too thick for your liking. You stood next to Joe, running your hand down his arm trying to diffuse the situation as much as possible. “Okay I think you’ve made your point. Robin, I am not at all upset with you, this can all be resolved rather—”

“I am upset with you mom. There was no reason to hand over that document without at least giving me a phone call,” Joe counters, starting to stand in front of you a bit like he’s physically shielding you from her.

“Now Joey I don’t think your mom meant any harm,” Joe’s dad speaks up seeing his wife almost in tears. “Why don’t we all just take a breather here.”

You nod in agreement.

“I’m so sorry, to both of you. In hindsight that wasn’t the best way to go about it but like you said this is uncomfortable. I thought keeping it casual would remove some of that awkwardness and I just made it worse. I really am sorry.”

Joe still seemed unmoved but you really didn’t think she needed to apologize this much. He just told her he appreciated the sentiments but that she needs to recognize that’s he’s an adult, telling them goodnight and immediately heading upstairs.

You’re left to walk them out alone, giving them both hugs goodbye. “Honey I’m so sorry,” Robin states again, “I never want you to think that I don’t love you or that I was intentionally going behind Joe’s back. I was just making sure we have all of our bases covered so we aren’t sweating the small stuff on your big day. I hope you can forgive me.”

“You’re totally fine, I understand. And I agree. I think he just got a little freaked out at the reminder that his life is abnormal. He wants things to be simple and sometimes they just aren’t. That probably stressed him out a little. Or a lot.”

It feels good to leave their tense interaction with her smiling. Even though it didn’t reach her eyes like usual, it was still a small step forward.

“How can you not be upset about this?” Joe asks after brushing his teeth.

You focused on what was going on at your sink, taking your time to complete your skincare routine. “Because I see where both of you are coming from. You have every right to be angry at her for doing this behind your back. But at the same time I understand why she feels like she should get a jump on protecting your assets.”

“Protect my assets…” he scoffs, “…from you? What’s mine is going to be yours.” He hands you a towel after you wash your face, having memorized the steps at this point.

“Yeah ok, legally. But your accomplishments and accolades are yours. That’s how you got here and your mom saw all the blood, sweat and tears that went into you being in the position you are today. She may have overstepped a little but you’re still her baby at the end of the day and sometimes it’s hard for them to recognize that they have adult children who are fully capable of making their own decisions.” He grabs the moisturizer off the counter and places it in your hand as you laugh, whispering thank you. “My mom has done the same to me, not to this extent obviously because we’re in completely different tax brackets but—they just want to make sure we’re okay no matter what.”

Joe leans against the counter, deep in thought. Growing up with his dad coaching it was usually just the two of them, she drove him to basketball and football practices and tournaments, took him to school and worked the entire day at school and came home still ready to dedicate all of her time to him if he asked. “I was too harsh wasn’t I?”

“A teeny bit? Maybe? I do thoroughly appreciate you looking out for me though. Going to bat for me against your mom of all people.”

He shrugs, giving you a hug from behind, resting his chin on your head. “She protects me so somebody’s gotta protect you. That’s what I’m signing up for and I promise to always take that job very seriously.” I should put that in my vows, he tells himself. He leans over a little more to press a kiss against your temple.

“Is that a promise?”

“That is a promise,” he holds out a pinky, making you gasp as you turn around.

“Isn’t a pinky shake you and Ja’Marr’s thing?”

Joe looks at you sheepishly, smiling so wide his eyes crinkle. “I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

You lock your pinky in his, kissing the smile off of his face.

That night before he went to sleep, he texted his mom telling her that he loved her. You gave them privacy when she came over the next day, smiling and hugging it out so you assumed everything went well. You hoped to have open communication with your kids even as adults one day, but did not envy the journey that your parents were constantly navigating. This once tiny person you created and had to make sure to teach them everything was now not only getting married and had established their own life but in Joe’s case everything was heightened. She’s been there through her son being the overlooked player who Urban Meyer said threw like a girl to now if he so much as has a paper cut an entire city of people, a whole fanbase is worried and asking for minute by minute updates on his condition. You couldn’t imagine the whirlwind that must be.

So you were going to sign that prenup whether Joe liked it or not.

“We need to decide on bridal party gifts,” Joe suggests a week later. “I was thinking about getting the guys customized golf carts. They could be delivered straight to their houses after the wedding or I could have them dropped off the day we get there and they can drive around the property whenever they need to get somewhere? What sounds better?”

“It sounds like you’ve had this very specific plan and just couldn’t wait to make your big announcement. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

Joe laughs, grabbing his water. “You can give them all Cartier bracelets, have the wedding date engraved on the inside. That’d be pretty cool.”

Cool and expensive. “Don’t do that, I can actually hear what you’re thinking.” Curse him for knowing you so well. “We’re only gonna do this once, might as well do it right. Make it a great experience for everyone we love.”

“Fine. You’re right. But we are not doing an ice sculpture then.” He gives you a blank stare but says nothing, both of you know that it’ll be coming back up sooner rather than later. “There is something else we need to talk about though.”

He rolls his eyes, deciding this is the perfect time to get up and put his plate in the sink, like you can’t just follow him. “We really don’t have to do this.”

“Oh but we do. Joe seriously we’re gonna have to figure this out. It’s important.”

He lets out a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling before putting his eyes back on you. “I’m just uncomfortable with any conversation that plans a breakup. I don’t ever want to breakup.”

“Then let’s not breakup and we won’t even have to worry about any of this. We’ll discuss the details, I’ll sign it and we’ll never talk about it ever again. Deal?”

You place a hand on his cheek and he kisses the inside of your hand before he speaks. “Deal. I can’t wait to marry you. Even got a countdown on my phone.”

“That’s probably the single most adorable thing you’ve ever said.” He pulls his phone out to show you a countdown app with a timer down to the hour the ceremony is supposed to start. A picture from your engagement shoot is set as the background. “I can’t wait either. I love you, so much.”

“I love you more.”

#Joe burrow #Joe burrow x reader #Joe burrow imagine #Joe burrow fic

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