Regina the fanfic queen

Started: 12/10/2024

Last Updated: 29/09/2024

Total chapters (Every single chapter written so far now): 100

MARVEL

Bucky Barnes

Zelena

Helmut Zemo

Perpetual

Tony Stark

Zelena

outrageous

Eddie Brock

Neighbour

Pietro Maximoff

Iolanda's Heart

Lloyd Hansen

Hi everyone! Here is the new story. Would love to hear your opinions on it.

EVE (1730 words) by Reginathefanficqueen Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: The Alienist (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Laszlo Kreizler/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, John Schuyler Moore, Sara Howard, Original Female Character(s) Summary: Five years have passed since the harrowing events in the Alienist universe. Sara Howard has sailed into a new romance and her detective career is flourishing. John Moore, shattered after learning the child he raised was not his own, is now divorced. After a year in Vienna, Laszlo Kreizler and Karen have parted ways, and he has returned to a solitary life in New York. Just as Sara is about to embark on a long-awaited romantic getaway, she receives a phone call. Eve, the woman Laszlo once loved after Karen, is returning to New York to be married. Knowing the wedding will devastate Kreizler, Sara makes a plan: she calls upon his cousin, the notoriously unreliable Rose, to provide emotional support in her absence. It seems the perfect solution, until Sara remembers that entrusting the fragile psyche of Laszlo Kreizler to Rose is perhaps the most perilous gamble of all.

Zemo’s phone buzzed like a trapped hornet on the mahogany desk, its screen casting a sickly blue glow across the dim study. When he saw Elena flash across the display, his heart stuttered—a visceral, almost painful skip—before he snatched it up, his thumb slipping on the answer button. Her name spilled from his lips like a forbidden incantation, too intimate for the stale air of his solitary mansion. “Elena… Why didn’t you come?”

Her voice trembled, thin and frayed. “Professor… Helmut, I’m sorry.”

The sound of his name in her mouth—Helmut, not Professor, not Zemo—sent an electric shiver down his spine. For a dizzying moment, he imagined her lips shaping the syllables, soft and uncertain. The cat, Countess, wound herself around his ankles, her purr a low rumble against the silence.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, already reaching for his coat.

A muffled sob crackled through the line. “Pietro, my brother—!”

The phone rustled violently, and then a new voice sliced through, bright with malice. “Elena’s brother’s coming for you, Professor Weird,” Loki drawled. “If you’re not dead by sunrise, Thor and I’ll swing by to ask about that little kiss ourselves. Chin up.”

“Stop it!” Elena’s shout was distant, frantic. The phone clattered before her breath hitched back into the receiver. “Helmut, I’m coming over. Pietro’s he’s Pietro. Don’t let him in until I get there. And… please. Don’t mention Th—”

“I won’t talk about the boy toys,” Zemo finished flatly.

A beat of stunned silence. Then, softer: “…Thank you.”

The line died. Zemo stared at the darkened screen, his reflection fractured in its black mirror a man teetering on the edge of a cliff he’d carved himself. Countess leapt onto the desk, her green eyes slitted with disdain.

“I can’t stand those two,” Zemo muttered, scooping the cat against his chest. Her fur smelled of cedar and loneliness. “Parasites. Letting her carry their secrets while they hide in the shadows.”

Countess yawned, unimpressed.

“Because they don’t love her more than they love themselves,” he answered his own silence, bitterness coating his tongue. He thought of Thor’s hollow promises, Loki’s smirk in the lecture hall shadows. While they took turns with Elena’s heart like a shared novelty, Zemo lay awake, torturing himself with fantasies of her hair fanned across his pillow, her laughter warming the hollows of his empty mansion.

He set the cat down gently. “She deserves better.”

Countess leapt onto the windowsill, her tail lashing as headlights speared through the rain-smeared glass. Pietro’s truck skidded to a halt below, the engine’s growl vibrating through the floorboards. Zemo’s hands stilled no wine, no flowers, just the cold weight of his keys digging into his palm. He’d be a fool to think charm would disarm a brother’s rage.

Countess yowled, low and warning.

“I know,” Zemo muttered, rolling his sleeves to the elbows. No use looking like a professor now. Let Pietro see the calluses, the faded ink on his knuckles. Let him wonder what kind of man his sister had truly tangled with.

He positioned himself in the armchair facing the door, back straight, hands loose on the armrests. Control the narrative. Control the room. The clock ticked.

Somewhere, Thor and Loki were laughing.

Zemo didn’t laugh. He counted seconds, each one a hammer strike to his ribs. For her, he thought. Always for her.

* * *

The mansion loomed like a jewel against the storm, its sandstone facade glowing under the rain-slicked glare of wrought-iron lanterns. Inside, the air hummed with the quiet efficiency of staff a maid polishing the grand staircase’s mahogany banister, a butler adjusting the emerald drapes in the parlor. Zemo stood in the study, his tailored waistcoat immaculate, a glass of brandy in hand as he stared at the portrait above the fireplace: his grandfather, a man who’d built this estate on steel and secrets.

Pietro’s arrival shattered the calm. The butler opened the door, his expression neutral as Pietro stormed in, Iolanda trailing behind, her eyes cataloging the opulence crystal chandeliers, fresh white orchids in gilded vases, the faint scent of lemon oil and aged leather.

“Where is she?” Pietro demanded, his voice echoing off the marble floors.

Zemo set down his glass. “Elena isn’t here. But if you’d let me explain—”

“Explain what?” Pietro jabbed a finger at him. “You kissed her! She’s a student, you’re—!”

“Almost twice her age,” Zemo said calmly. “And her professor no longer. I resigned today.” He gestured to the velvet sofa. “Sit. Please.”

Iolanda sat, her gaze sharp. Pietro remained standing.

Zemo opened a lacquered box on the desk, revealing a stack of letters tied with silk ribbon. Elena’s handwriting looped across the envelopes. “We’ve been discreet for a year. Meetings here, walks in the gardens. She feared your disapproval of my age, my position. I proposed last month.” He lifted a letter, the paper crisp. “I can’t say yes yet,” he read aloud. “But I can’t say no.”

Pietro’s jaw twitched. “Bullshit.”

The study door flew open. Elena hurried in, her coat damp, hair frizzing at her temples. “Helmut...”

Zemo’s mask slipped—just enough. “Elena.”

She turned to her brother. “It’s true. We’ve been… careful. For you.”

Zemo stepped closer, his voice softening. “I love her, Pietro. Not in shadows, not in corners. Here, in this house, where your sister deserves to be adored openly.” He reached for Elena’s hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “I won’t hide anymore. If you despise me, so be it. But don’t punish her.”

Elena’s breath hitched. Thor had whispered love in the dark. Loki had spun poetry laced with mockery. But Zemo stood before her, offering a stage, not a cage.

She squeezed his hand. “I’m tired of hiding.”

Pietro stared at their joined hands, then at the letters the looping E unmistakable. “You’re sure?”

Elena nodded. “He’s not perfect. But he’s here.”

Pietro stared at their joined hands, his anger warring with brotherly fear. Finally, he scoffed. “I still don’t approve of you. You’ll have to work hard to impress me.”

Zemo inclined his head. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Iolanda crossed her arms. “Then we’ll get to know each other. Properly.” She shot Pietro a warning look. “And you won’t lock Elena in a tower. She’s an adult. They’re dating, not betrothed.”

The loft’s hallway echoed with the slam of Loki’s fist against the wall, the sound cracking through the silence like a gunshot. His chest heaved, tears glinting in his bloodshot eyes as he hissed at Thor, “Do you have any idea what she’s done today?”

Thor stood bare-chested in the doorway of Elena’s bedroom, his skin still flushed, fresh nail marks raking his collarbone. He shut the door softly behind him, jaw clenched. “Keep your voice down. She’s been crying all night. Finally asleep.”

Loki’s gaze dropped to the smudged lipstick on Thor’s neck—crimson streaks, Elena’s shade. His voice turned venomous. “Did you fuck her? Even after what happened?”

Thor grabbed Loki’s arm, dragging him into the kitchen. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on Loki’s trembling hands as he shoved his phone at Thor. “She kissed him back, you idiot! The whole school’s seen it!”

Thor turned his head, refusing to look at the screen. “Stop it, Loki.”

“Stop it?” Loki’s laugh was jagged. “You won’t even look? Pathetic. You’ve been playing house with her while I—”

Thor slammed Loki against the fridge, his hands fisted in his brother’s shirt. “You,” he growled, voice shaking, “were the one who couldn’t handle her loving both of us. You who carved up our lives into days of the week—Mondays for you, Wednesdays for me—like she’s a fucking timeshare!”

Loki’s breath hitched. Thor’s eyes, usually calm as a frozen lake, burned with decades of suppressed rage.

“I gave up everything for you,” Thor snarled. The loft’s kitchen felt like a battleground, the air thick with decades of unspoken rage. Thor loomed over Loki, his voice a raw, trembling growl. “You think this is funny? That I’ve enjoyed any part of this?” His finger jabbed into Loki’s chest, hard enough to bruise. “After every night she spent in your bed, she came to mine and cried. Silently. Like she was afraid to even let the walls hear her.”

Loki’s smirk faltered. “What?”

Thor’s laugh was bitter, cracked at the edges. “You never noticed, did you? Too busy playing the wounded prince.” He stepped closer, eyes blazing. “She’d crawl under my sheets, shaking, and I’d hold her. She never asked me to end it—she didn’t have to. I felt it. Every fucking tear, every hitch in her breath. But I stayed quiet. For you.”

Loki’s face paled. “You’re lying.”

Thor released him, stepping back like the truth itself had scorched him. “You think I wanted this? To share the woman I love? To watch her break?” He dragged a hand over his face, voice crumbling. “I dreamed of marrying her, Loki. Of holding her hand in public, giving her kids, growing old. But you—you needed her more. And now…”

Silence filled the kitchen for fifteen seconds.

Thor’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “And when she started to love you? Do you know how much it hurt, you son of a bitch? Watching her force herself to want you, to need you, just so you wouldn’t—”

“Stop,” Loki choked.

“No. You don’t get to hide now.” Thor slammed his palm against the wall, rattling the shelves. “I became deaf to her pain. Let her suffocate in it. All because you couldn’t handle being alone. And now? Now, she’s breaking for him. And it’s your fault.”

Loki’s knees gave out. He slid to the floor, back pressed against the cabinets, Thor’s words carving into him like knives.

Six months. The memories surged—Elena visiting him in the hospital, her smile brittle as she pretended not to flinch when he screamed. Thor’s hollow eyes as he lied: “She’s okay, Loki. She’s strong.”

But she wasn’t. None of them were.

Thor crouched, his breath hot against Loki’s face. “You want to know why I let this happen? Why I carved up our lives like fucking deli meat?” His voice cracked. “Because I thought… if I gave you pieces of her, you’d stop trying to destroy yourself. But you just destroyed her instead.”

Loki’s hands trembled “I didn’t… I never meant—”

“Meant?” Thor spat. “You don’t mean, Loki. You take. You break. And I—” His voice broke. “I let you. For her. For you.”

He stalked to the bedroom, returning with Elena’s leather-bound journal. It hit Loki’s chest with a thud.

“Read it,” Thor said coldly. “She’s in love with him. And if you push her? You’ll lose. Because I won’t let you take her from me again.”

Loki flipped the journal open, Elena’s handwriting blurring as his eyes landed on a recent entry: “Zemo kissed me today. It felt like drowning and breathing for the first time. How do I tell them? How do I choose?”

The pages trembled in Loki’s grip. “She… she can’t—”

“She can.” Thor’s voice was steel. “And if she picks him, I’ll let her. But I won’t hide anymore. I’ll be the man she holds hands with in daylight. And Zemo?” He leaned in, inches from Loki’s face. “He’ll be her secret. Or nothing.”

Loki’s knees buckled. He gripped the counter, nausea rising. “You’d really… let me go?”

Thor’s anger faltered. For a heartbeat, the boy who’d carried Loki home from bars, who’d lied to their parents about his breakdowns, flickered in his eyes. “I won’t fight her. Not again.”

* * *

The apartment reeked of burnt coffee and unwashed dishes, the single flickering bulb in the kitchenette casting jagged shadows across Pietro’s face as he crumpled the napkin bearing Zemo’s address. Outside, rain lashed against the fire escape, its metallic rattle syncing with the furious tap of Pietro’s boot against the linoleum. Iolanda hovered by the stove, her knuckles white around a chipped mug of chamomile tea gone cold, its steam long surrendered to the tension thickening the air.

“Pietro, please,” Iolanda tried again, her voice fraying at the edges. She’d been replaying the video all evening—Elena’s startled gasp as Zemo kissed her, the way his hands had lingered at her waist for half a heartbeat too long before he stepped back, resignation etched into the lines of his face. The caption blazed across every gossip forum: Disgraced Professor Quits After Scandalous Student Romance.

Pietro whirled, the address fluttering from his grip like a wounded moth. “Midlife crisis? Look at him!” He stabbed a finger at Iolanda’s phone screen, frozen on Zemo’s storm-gray eyes—sharp, haunted, and eerily calm for a man whose life had just combusted. “Forty years old, Iolanda. Forty. The comments are full of it—‘Just dumped his fiancée last month!’ And now he’s sniffing around my sister? Teaching freshmen?” Pietro’s voice cracked, raw as the graffiti scrawled on the alleyway dumpsters below their apartment. “He’s not some heartbroken hero. He’s a vulture circling Elena’s naivety, picking scraps off his own mess.”

Iolanda set down the mug with a clatter. “The man resigned, Pietro. Threw away his career. Does that scream ‘predator’ to you?” She stepped closer, her floral perfume cutting through the kitchen’s staleness. “Or someone who’s just as tangled in this mess as she is?”

Pietro’s laugh was a brittle thing. “You think guilt makes him noble? That video’s trending in three countries! Elena’s face is—” He choked, scrubbing a hand over his stubble. “Christ, Iolanda, she’s got Mom’s eyes. Every time she cries, I see—”

The admission hung between them, raw and swollen. Iolanda reached for him, her thumb brushing the scar on his knuckles—a relic from a bar fight he’d picked defending Elena’s honor at sixteen. “Then don’t make her cry tonight,” she whispered. “Call her. Talk.”

Pietro yanked his hand back, the apartment’s lone clock ticking louder with every passing second. “Talk? While that bastard’s out there thinking he can sniff around my sister?” He grabbed his leather jacket, the one Elena had patched last winter with mismatched thread. “I’ll talk with my fists.”

Iolanda blocked the door, her spine pressed against its peeling paint. “And if you’re wrong? If this… whatever it is… is real?” Her voice softened. “You’ll break her heart worse than he ever could.”

For a heartbeat, Pietro wavered. Then his jaw hardened, the stubborn set Elena had inherited flashing across his face. “Better broken than exploited.”

As he reached for the knob, Iolanda snatched her phone, Elena’s contact already ringing. The tinny dial tone sliced through the room.

“Put it down,” Pietro growled.

“Or what?” Iolanda lifted her chin, the defiance that had made him propose in a hurricane of sparklers and bad karaoke blazing in her eyes. “You’ll break my heart too?”

The phone clicked.

“Iolanda?” Elena’s voice, sleep-rough and wary, crackled through the speaker.

Pietro froze, his reflection fracturing in the rain-streaked window—a brother poised between fury and fear, his love as sharp as his fists.

Somewhere across the city, Zemo poured a double bourbon, one of the love letters burning in his trash can.

Zemo sat hunched in the dim glow of his desk lamp, the amber light pooling over Elena’s graded paper like liquid gold. His office smelled of bergamot ink and unspoken regrets. He traced a fingertip over her looping cursive, each word a testament to her sharp mind—a mind that had dissected Kant’s philosophies with more wit than half the tenured faculty. The edges of the pages were soft from his relentless handling, the ink slightly blurred where his thumb had lingered too often on her name. He traced her closing line—“To worship at the altar of reason is to starve the heart”—and wondered when her words had become a mirror. She’s beautiful, sweet, charming, intelligent, and definitely not interested in you, he chided himself, the mantra worn thin from repetition. Her absence gnawed at him. She’d vanished from his lectures weeks ago, though her name still clung to the attendance roster, teetering on the razor’s edge of permissible absences. Clever girl, he thought bitterly. You calculated it all—how to haunt me without ever setting foot here again. Even now, her phantom presence lingered: the ghost of her laughter during debates, the way her pen had tapped her bottom lip in thought, those devastating eyes tracking him with a focus that had made his collar feel too tight.

He leaned back in his creaking leather chair, the Countess—a persnickety Siamese with fur like storm clouds—winding herself around his ankles. Her insistent mew sliced through his brooding. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, scooping the cat into his lap. Her purr vibrated against his chest, a counterpoint to his racing heart. “You win. I’ll send the damned flowers.” The decision, once voiced, felt inevitable. He’d rehearsed this moment in a hundred sleepless nights: the roses, the note, the fragile hope that she might… what? Forgive you? Notice you? He shoved the thought aside. Her address blinked on his screen, pulled from the university database with a few keystrokes. For a man who lectured on ethics, the act should’ve tasted sour. Instead, it felt like his first full breath in weeks.

* * *

Elena jolted awake to the sound of her room's door shuddering under Iolanda’s frenzied knocks. Pietro and she were staying at Elena this week. “Elena! Open up before I break this thing down!” Sunlight stabbed through her blinds as she fumbled for her slippers, Iolanda's urgency slicing through her morning haze. “Swear to God, Iolanda,” she grumbled, yanking the door open, “one day I’m gonna—” The threat died on her lips. Iolanda stood breathless in the hallway, arms buried in a riot of blood-red roses, petals spilling over her sweater like a velvet avalanche.

Elena’s heart stuttered. “I—I can’t.” Her hands trembled as she cradled the roses, their heady perfume wrapping around her. Somewhere down the hall, Pietro’s muffled shout cut through their chaos: “Do you morons know what ‘indoor voices’ means?!”

Iolanda kicked the door shut with her heel, herding Elena toward the bed. “Sit. Breathe. Now read it.” When Elena shook her head, Iolanda plucked the card with a dramatic flourish. “Fine. I’ll do it.” She cleared her throat, pitching her voice low in a mockery of gravitas:

“Dear Ms. Elena,

I’ve been troubled by your abrupt departure from my class, particularly as you were among my most exceptional students. If I’ve wronged you, I beg you to name the transgression. I fear I’ve fractured something precious, though such harm was never my intent. These roses are a poor substitute for your laughter in our hallways—a sound I find myself aching to hear again.

With sincerest regards, Zemo.”

Silence pooled between them. Iolanda’s smirk faded as Elena paled. “Wait. The professor? The one with the…” She mimed a ring on her finger.

“Engaged,” Elena whispered. The word curdled in her throat. She’d memorized the glint of that golden ring during office hours, a beacon warning her to keep her distance. Now the roses in her arms felt like a betrayal. Or a taunt. She surged to her feet, stalks crunching in her grip. “They need to go.”

“Are you insane?” Iolanda blocked her path to the trash, arms spread. “These are Valentino Reds! Do you know what these cost?”

“I don’t care!” Elena’s voice cracked. “He’s got a fiancée, Iolanda! What is this, some—some midlife crisis?” She wrestled past her friend, but Iolanda snatched the bouquet, cradling it like a wounded thing.

“Fine. I’ll keep them.” She vanished into the kitchenette, returning with a chipped vase pilfered from a thrift store. The roses arched gracefully over its rim, their beauty suddenly obscene. “But you’re talking to him. Today.”

Elena sank onto the bed, tears hot on her cheeks. “He’s just… messing with me. Why else would he—?”

Iolanda gathered her in a lavender-scented hug. “Oh, draga mea. Men don’t send three-hundred-dollar roses to mess with you.” Her pause was weighted. “Not unless they’re terrified of what they really want.”

* * *

Zemo’s phone became a torment. He checked it obsessively—between lectures, during department meetings, in the dead hours past midnight when the Countess glared at him from her pillow. Nothing. The silence gnawed at him, sharpening his already jagged edges. Students began avoiding his office hours; his once-lively lectures turned leaden. Even the campus seemed to conspire against him. He took lunatic detours past the art building, hoping for a glimpse of her in the stained-glass glare of the atrium. When he finally spotted her—a flash of chestnut hair through the crowd—his body moved before his mind could protest.

“Elena!” The name tore from him, raw and desperate. She froze, a deer in the crosshairs, then spun toward the exit. He cut her off in three strides, his hand closing gently around her wrist. Up close, she was a vision: cheeks flushed, lips parted in shock, eyes wide and luminous as a winter dawn. The sight punched the air from his lungs. “Please,” he murmured. “Just… talk to me. Did you get the flowers?”

Her wrist tensed under his fingers. “Oh, you mean the roses you meant to send your girlfriend?” Her laugh was brittle. “Sure. Got them. Congrats on the grand gesture.”

A wild hope flared in his chest. Jealousy. She’s jealous. He schooled his face into neutrality. “And if I told you there is no girlfriend? That I ended things weeks ago?”

Elena stilled. “You… what?” The façade crumbled—just for a heartbeat—but it was enough. A spark of the girl who’d challenged him in seminars, who’d blushed when their hands brushed over a shared text.

“Because.” He stepped closer, erasing the space between them. The hallway faded—chatter, footsteps, the hum of fluorescent lights—until only her remained. “Every moment with her became a betrayal. Not of her, but of myself.” His thumb grazed her pulse point, feeling it leap. “Her eyes were the wrong shade of brown. Her hands too big. And when I kissed her…” He bent until his breath warmed her lips. “All I tasted was absence. Your absence."

The kiss was electric, a live wire sparking between them. Elena’s fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer as the world dissolved. Somewhere, a whistle cut through the fog. A chorus of gasps. Zemo didn’t care. Let them gawk. Let them report him. He’d burn every bridge in this godforsaken place if it meant holding her.

“Professor Zemo!” The department head’s roar shattered the moment. A grizzled man in a tweed jacket stormed toward them, face mottled with outrage. “What in God’s name—?”

Zemo didn’t blink. He fished a business card from his wallet, scrawling an address on the back. “My resignation. Mail my things here. I'll send you a check for the mail expenses.” He pressed it into the man’s sputtering grip before turning to Elena. Her lips were kiss-swollen, eyes dazed. Mine, something primal in him purred. “I’ll be here at three,” he said, smoothing her hair. “Don’t run because if you do, I won't hesitate to chase.”

She blinked up at him. “You’re… serious?”

He grinned, boyish and unguarded. “Deadly.” As he strode away, the weight of his father’s expectations, the tenure track, the life he’d meticulously built—all of it sloughed off like dead skin. For the first time in decades, he felt alive.

The penthouse dining room was a mausoleum of crystal and steel, the chandelier’s icy light refracting across untouched plates of seared scallops and saffron risotto. Svetlana swirled her pinot noir, the liquid catching the light like spilled ink. “I was just saying,” she drawled, “you finally got hard last night.”

Zemo didn’t look up from his plate. “Because I was thinking about someone else.”

Her manicured nail tapped the stem of her glass. Clink. Clink. Clink. “Who?”

He shrugged.

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-one.”

Svetlana’s laugh was a shard of glass. “Fucking your students now, Zemo? How… pedestrian.”

The fork trembled in his hand. “I like her.”

“This is temporary.” She leaned back, her silk blouse gaping to reveal the hollow of her throat—a place he’d once kissed, now as cold as her voice. “You’re too smart to torch your career for a hot little slut.”

Zemo met her gaze. “I know you’ve been cheating. You don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m ending this because I… feel something. I won’t betray you like you did me.”

Svetlana tossed her napkin onto her plate, risotto congealing into a grotesque sculpture. “If you’d performed your duties, we wouldn’t be here.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Is she sweet enough to get you expelled?”

“Why do you care?”

“Curiosity.” Her smile was a scalpel. “I never took you for a cliché. A midlife crisis? Really? If you wanted to fuck a young girl, you could’ve picked one outside your classroom.”

Zemo’s voice hardened. “And the cheating? The disgust when I touched you?”

“Standard relationship, darling.”

“I pity you, Svetlana. I hope one day you understand love.”

“Love?” She barked a laugh. “You had a crush five minutes ago. Now it’s love?”

“Let’s end this cleanly.”

Svetlana stood, stalking toward him, her stilettos click-click-clicking like a countdown. “My dad wanted your patents, your weird inventions. But I’m done.” She gripped his chin, her breath sour with wine. “I’ll tell him you’re impotent. A queer who couldn’t fuck me.”

Zemo wrenched free. “Goodbye, Svetlana.”

She smirked, adjusting her diamond bracelet. “Thanks for playing the obedient dog.”

* * *

Thor’s loft was a sanctuary of warmth—fairy lights strung haphazardly, the scent of cumin and melted cheese clinging to the air. Loki checked the microwave, popcorn kernels popping like gunfire, while Thor arranged tacos on a chipped platter painted with luchadores.

“I’m cooold!” Elena’s voice carried from the living room, muffled by the fleece blanket burritoed around her.

“Coming, baby!” Thor called, balancing the plate as he lumbered to the couch.

Loki trailed behind, mimicking in a falsetto, “Coming, baby!”

Elena sprawled across the three-seater, her feet in Thor’s lap, toes painted blood-red. Loki settled beside her, and she immediately flopped her head onto his thighs. “Can I—?”

“Since when do you ask?” He rolled his eyes, fingers threading through her hair.

Thor hit play on a low-budget horror film—Zombie Tacos from Mars—and the room filled with synthetic screams. Loki tugged Elena’s earlobe. “You’re twitchy.”

“Am not.”

“Liar.”

A ping cut through the chaos. Elena lunged for her phone, the blanket pooling at her waist.

From: Prof. Zemo Subject: Late Submission

*Miss Van Houten Your assignment remains outstanding. Submit by midnight or face expulsion. Perhaps your boyfriends can assist?

Regards, H.Z.*

Elena bit her lip, laughter bubbling in her throat.

“What’s funny?” Thor mumbled through a mouthful of tortilla.

“Homework reminder.” She kissed Loki’s palm, then turned to Thor. “Taco?”

“Kiss first.”

Loki groaned. “Eat your Thor-tilla, you oaf.”

The schoolyard was a tapestry of autumn decay—crimson leaves clung to rain-damp benches like dried bloodstains, and the air tasted of woodsmoke and impending frost. Iolanda twirled a lock of her honey-blonde hair, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold (or mischief), as Elena glared at her. The two sat under a skeletal maple tree, its gnarled branches clawing at the slate-gray sky. A bitter wind rattled the chain-link fence, carrying the distant laughter of students hurrying to class.

“Don’t you want a boyfriend too?” Iolanda pressed, her breath fogging the air. She drowned in Pietro’s oversized varsity jacket, the sleeves swallowing her petite hands.

Elena’s leather boots scuffed the pavement as she recoiled. “Iolanda! Stop. I’m happy alone. And you swore you’d quit this.” The lie tasted metallic on her tongue.

“But Bucky was nice!”

Elena’s shrug was a practiced act, honed from years of deflecting pity. “He ghosted me. Happy?” She tugged her charcoal turtleneck higher, the wool scratchy against her throat. The bruise beneath it throbbed faintly a memento from Loki’s teeth.

Iolanda’s gaze sharpened. “Shattered heart? Or hiding fun marks?” Her eyes dropped to the purple bloom peeking above Elena’s collar, a mottled stain she’d conveniently forgotten to conceal.

“TV marathon,” Elena snapped, rising. The bench screeched against concrete. “Not everyone’s as… vigorous as you and Pietro.”

“We’re engaged!” Iolanda laughed, flashing her diamond ring a gaudy thing Pietro had bought after too many tequila shots. The stone caught the weak sunlight, scattering prisms over Elena’s scowling face. She checked her rose-gold watch. “You’re late for Professor Weird.”

Elena groaned. “Ugh, him. He stalked me to the restaurant last night. With his girlfriend in tow.”

Iolanda’s nose wrinkled. “A girlfriend? And he still eyes you?”

“Men are pigs,” Elena muttered, stomping toward the lecture hall. Brittle leaves crunched beneath her boots, their corpses scattering like secrets.

* * *

The classroom was empty when Elena arrived. Zemo stood rigidly at his desk, his jaw clenched as she sauntered in. They exchanged stiff pleasantries, both pretending last night’s encounter hadn’t happened.

Zemo’s gaze lingered on her turtleneck. “Dressing for the cold, Ms. Van Houten?”

Elena smirked. “Just a stylish choice.”

Every time he turned his head from the chalkboard to the classroom, Elena, who was doing everything but paying attention to the lesson, would distract him. The man tried to take slow breaths as she reapplied her red lipstick, but he was losing control of his body. Zemo hurriedly sat down at the teacher’s desk while Elena stared at him, her lips pressed together, trying to spread her lipstick. Elena grinned. She could tell she had given him an erection. Zemo wasn’t going to let her get away with it. “Care to share what’s so amusing, Ms. Van Houten?”

She tilted her head. “Ask your girlfriend. She’ll explain why women… entertain themselves.”

Zemo’s knuckles whitened, gritted his teeth as he found himself alone with Elena in the classroom again in his mind. He had walked over to her in a few steps and had grabbed her neck. He was watching her from the bench now, staring with doe eyes at the man standing in front of her. "Let's see what else that mouth can do besides constantly breaking my heart, Miss Elena?" Even in his imagination, the girl would reply, "Not much different than your girlfriend's mouth," and Zemo would say, "I don't care about the rest of the world, Elena," and after embracing her, he would sit her down on the bench and quickly settle into her...

“Professor?” The man was pulled from his thoughts. He cleared his throat, fighting the urge to pin Elena, who had challenged him, over his knee right here and spank her until she went mad with pleasure. “You still haven’t turned in your homework, Miss Elena?”

Elena shrugged. “I have two boyfriends. They keep me pretty busy.” Zemo’s heart clenched as the rest of the class stared at her in shock. He had already lost control. He hoped she was joking, but jealousy was eating away at him. It was quite an accomplishment for Elena to make such a calm man feel all sorts of mixed emotions in the space of an hour.

Zemo shot her a dangerous look as his erection grew even larger. “Then tell your boyfriends that if you don’t turn in your homework, you’re not going to pass my class. I suppose they can leave you alone for a while to do your homework?”

Elena shook her head as if laughing at some secret joke that no one else understood. “Oh, you have no idea, Professor.”

When the lesson was over and the class was dismissed, Elena was the last one left.

Zemo waited for the girl to get ready to leave the classroom and as she approached the door he stopped Elena from his seat. "Miss Elena, do you have a minute?"

The girl grinned. "I always have a minute for you, Professor." She was trying to excite the man and she was succeeding.

"Do you really have two boyfriends?" the man asked. Say no. Please say no.

The girl shook her head. "Two right now. I can always have a third." She fixed her eyes on the still seated man. "I hope you didn't get hurt too much," she said in a voice that pushed Zemo to the edge. She meant his erection. She left the classroom without waiting for an answer.

Zemo didn't know what to feel. He was dying of jealousy. He was dying of desire for Elena. And he was surprised at himself for being excited about the possibility of a third lover. Third. Third is still a number.

As Steve’s lectures about virtue echoed in Bucky’s mind, the man had already backed up the car and had been waiting in front of Elena’s house for minutes. You’re a monster, he muttered to himself while parking. All he could think about was pulling Elena into his arms. His body buzzed with anticipation as he strode quickly toward the house. The thought of wrapping himself around her soft form soon… He reached to knock but, finding the door ajar, slipped quietly inside.

Well, this wasn’t even the last thing he expected to see. Sweet, innocent Elena lay with her head tilted back against the couch, a statue-like blond man atop her—no, not just atop her, but inside her. Elena’s legs were wrapped around his waist. Thor was naked, her dress hiked up to her hips…

Thor gripped Elena’s jaw with one hand, her hair tangled in his other fist as he moved in slow, deep thrusts.

“While I’ve been waiting here for you,” he growled, “not only did you spend all week in Loki’s bed, but now you’re dating old men, Elena?”

She giggled. “But you said I could flirt with older men.”

Thor caught her lower lip between his teeth, groaning. “Only if Loki or I are with you.”

“But I didn’t set up the date! It was Iolanda’s doing.”

Elena let out a shaky breath as Thor hit a sensitive spot. “Thor!”

He whispered sweetly against her lips. “You should’ve told her, ‘No, I already have two lovers.’”

Elena whimpered. “Are you insane?! I can’t tell anyone about you two.”

Loki was one of the “villains” Stephen and Wanda had bargained with to secure their own happy ending. I don’t care how it happens—I want Elena, Loki had declared. “And Thor, he'll truly be my brother. He'll be in my life. He'll love me this time. Those are my terms.”

Neither Wanda nor Stephen wanted to agree, as they were close to their own happy ending. But this new universe had spiraled slightly out of control. Thankfully, only the two of them retained memories of their past lives. So when things went a little sideways—like Thor and Loki sharing Elena—no one came to complain.

“I don’t know, Elena,” Thor murmured against her lips. “I don’t think people would judge you if you tell them you have two boyfriends.” He kissed her until she trembled. “After all, you’re a sweet little princess with… high demands.”

A door creaked. Elena tried to sit up, but Thor laughed. “Darling, who’d dare enter this house while I’m here?”

“Thor!”

He chastised her, speeding up his rhythm. “Focus on me, Elena, or I’ll have to remind you where your attention belongs.”

She gasped. “God! Is this not you trying?”

“I haven’t even started.” Thor dragged his teeth along her neck. “I’m furious, Elena. You wore the slutty little dress I bought you, went on a date with another man, and gave him a show. What should your punishment be?”

She giggled. “Oh, great Thor! Please, spare me!”—a nod to mythology—“I had to make this small sacrifice to stop my brother from killing you and your brother!”

Thor pressed his lips together to avoid laughing at her theatrics. “So… all of this was for our sake?”

Elena nodded sweetly.

Thor tapped a finger between her breasts. “And this cleavage?” Another nod.

“The makeup I ruined the moment you walked in?”

Another nod.

Thor nearly lost himself. Gods—was he made solely to pleasure this girl?

“Was the man at least handsome?”

She whispered, “My eyes see no one but you and your brother, Great Thor. I didn’t notice.”

Thor pretended to ponder. “Hmm…”

Elena begged, “Can I finish now?”

“I don’t know. Only good girls get to finish, and you haven’t been very good today.”

“Thor!”

He chuckled. “Fine.” As he gave her what she wanted, he buried his face in her hair. When she began crying out, he pulled back to study her face. “Shh. Don’t tempt me further—you’re already unbearable.”

Elena blinked up at him with teary eyes. “I’m sorry, but Thor… you’re too good!”

“Alright. I’ll help you finish. Keep your eyes on mine, understood?”

She nodded breathlessly.

“Good girl.”

Locked in Thor’s intense gaze, Elena reached her peak. Afterward, both were drenched. Thor carried her to the bedroom, and before sleep claimed her, she felt his lips brush her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

* * *

Bucky gripped the steering wheel, still reeling from what he’d seen. Driving in this state was reckless, but all he could think was get home, confront Pietro, make him pay. That smug bastard had called Elena “innocent”—but Bucky would shatter the illusion. “Your precious girl has two lovers, and she’s fucking them both!” He’d roar it, relish the shock on Pietro’s face, maybe even throw a punch for good measure.

Yet even now, Elena’s breathy moans echoed in his mind, and his traitorous body burned. He wanted to—

A figure materialized in the road. Bucky slammed the brakes, the car skidding sideways. His ears rang. Through the haze, he glimpsed a crimson cloak.

“What the hell—?”

Stephen Strange yanked the door open with a flick of his wrist. “Elena, Elena, Elena,” he sneered, looming over Bucky. “Must you find her in every lifetime? I made her a villain’s plaything here, and still you—” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No matter. You’ll forget her, Barnes.”

Bucky thrashed, but Strange’s palm pressed to his forehead. Ice flooded his veins, and with it—her. Elena’s laugh, her scent, the way she’d once traced his metal arm like it was something precious… Gone.

Strange hesitated, staring at the hollow shell left behind. “Pathetic,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

* * *

Pietro lay sprawled on the bed, watching Iolanda arch above him. Her crimson nails dug into his shoulders as she moved, her laughter sharp and bright. “Pietro,” she sighed, tossing her hair.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he groaned, hands roaming her waist.

Stephen watched, invisible, unseen.

He’d long since mastered the art of silence, of folding himself into the shadows. But here, now—it was agony. Iolanda’s scent (jasmine and iron), the hitch in her breath as Pietro’s thumbs brushed her ribs, the way her pulse fluttered at her throat…

Stephen whisper in his own mind. Mine. The word clawed at his ribs. She should be mine. “Enjoy it while you can Pietro,” he whispered, voice swallowed by the dark. “You’ll be dead soon.”

Iolanda froze.

Not at his words—she couldn’t hear him—but at the sudden chill. At the pressure, like phantom fingers skimming her spine. Her gaze darted to the mirror, searching for nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Pietro murmured, following her stare.

She forced a smirk. “Just thinking… should we try the mirror?”

Stephen’s breath hitched. Yes. Look at me. See me.

But she didn’t. Couldn’t.

As Pietro lifted her, Stephen’s hand ghosted over her arm—a caress only the air felt. “Is this how he touches you?” he breathed. “Does he know your skin hums like a live wire?”

Iolanda shivered, laughing too loud. “Pietro—”

Stephen’s fist clenched. The lamp flickered.

She didn’t notice.

* * *

The morning sun spilled through the kitchen windows, gilding Thor’s broad shoulders as he moved with the practiced ease of a man who’d memorized the rhythm of this dance—the sizzle of butter in the pan, the whisk of eggs in a bowl, the low hum of contentment in his chest. Elena watched him from her throne of polished marble countertop, her bare feet swinging idly against the cabinets. The scent of vanilla and crisping bacon wrapped around her like a lazy embrace, but restlessness prickled under her skin.

“Give me a task,” she demanded, plucking a sprig of thyme from the herb garden wilting by the window. She twirled it between her fingers, the green sharp and herbal against the gold of her nail polish. “Or I’ll wither away from boredom. Turn to dust. A tragic end for your beloved princess.”

Thor turned, spatula in hand, and the world stilled. Light caught in the honeyed strands of his beard, in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he laughed—a sound like distant thunder, warm and resonant. “Beloved,” he echoed, closing the distance between them. His calloused palm cradled her cheek, thumb brushing the apple of her cheekbone. “A princess doesn’t wither. She commands.” He kissed her then, slow and sweet, a counterpoint to the crackle of bacon behind him. “Command me, Elena.”

She nipped his lower lip, a flash of teeth and mischief. “Kneel.”

He obliged without hesitation, his knees meeting the tile as his hands settled on her thighs. The cold marble bit into her skin, a contrast to the heat of his mouth as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee. Elena’s breath hitched.

The front door slammed.

Thor muttered to her, "Here comes your other servant, Your Majesty."

“A date, Elena?” Loki’s voice sliced through the moment, sharp as the obsidian-edged dagger he’d once gifted her (a “joke,” he’d claimed, though his eyes had glinted with something darker). He stood in the doorway, his tailored coat dusted with autumn leaves, his hair windswept into artful disarray. The chill of outside clung to him, a living thing.

Thor rose, unrepentant, and Elena’s pulse stuttered at the sight of them side by side—Thor, sunlight incarnate; Loki, a storm given flesh.

“Snitch,” Elena accused, swatting Thor’s arm.

Thor grabbed the girl's face with both hands and whispered before giving her a heart-wrenching kiss "You didn't think I would hide something like that from my brother?" He turned to Loki "I saw the guy's Tinder profile. He was handsome. And Elena looked beautiful on the date."

Elena squealed "You're a dead man now Thor!"

Thor smiled dangerously "Is that so?"

"Is that so!"

"Loki, she was also wearing the dress I bought. The one that hugged her whole body?"

Elena screamed as Loki hugged the girl sitting on the counter "Put me down, you Frost Giant!"

Loki laughed "You little puny human girl! You shouldn't have said that! I think someone deserves to be treated like a princess."

Elena giggled "No!"

Loki reached to lock the door after carrying Elena into the bedroom, but Thor had followed them "Loki..."

Loki rolled his eyes "Okay, come be his emotional support dog. You're no better than a Golden anyway." He gently tossed her onto the bed.

Elena squirmed excitedly on the bed "Oh, I'm stuck in a bedroom with two Asgardian gods. Oh my God! It's so scary." She said in a fake scared tone that made both men laugh.

Thor raised his eyebrows "Elena, don't make Loki angry anymore."

"What happens?" she challenged. "Will he turn blue?"

Loki shook his head, laughing. “Come here, let me show you!” He grabbed her by the ankle, pulled her down the bed, and lay on top of her. Their faces were so close. He brushed his lips against Elena’s with a slowness that drove her crazy. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying… well…” Elena swallowed. “I acted like a sl*t during the date.”

Loki grinned "Is that so?"

The girl nodded.

“I see Thor didn’t punish you enough?”

Elena faked a look of embarrassment. “He did his best, but it wasn’t very successful.”

Thor protested. “Hey!”

Loki nodded. “I see. Then he needs to be punished too.”

The girl clapped her hands. “Hooray!”

Thor threatened from where he sat above the bed. “Elena, you’re playing with fire.”

"He's right about that," Loki said, grabbing Elena by the wrists. He got off her and pulled her into a sitting position. "Thor, come here and pick up Elena. Hold her still while I take care of her. And you can't touch her, no matter how much she begs."

Elena and Thor said at the same time. "That's not fair!"

Loki kissed her deeply. "Guess who doesn't care?"

Thor picked Elena up and sat on the edge of the bed. Her legs were over Thor's. Elena swallowed hard as Loki knelt in front of her. "Is it too late to apologize?"

"Quite," the man replied in a dangerous voice. He placed Elena's bare legs, who was wearing Thor's shirt, on his shoulders. "Thor, unbutton the shirt, but don't take it off."

Elena was already writhing. When Thor pressed himself against her while he was unbuttoning the buttons, she received a warning from Loki, "Thor cannot touch you Elena, so do not tire yourself."

Afterward, chaos reigned as usual. These moments—when both Thor and Loki found themselves in Elena’s bedroom at the same time—were rare, but whenever they collided, it became a contest of dominance, a performance of control over her. Yet the truth hummed beneath every touch, every whispered command: Elena alone held the reins. They knew it. They’d always known it. But the pretense—the illusion of power—was a game they refused to stop playing.

Loki’s hands were a paradox—ice and wildfire, methodical and merciless. He pinned Elena’s wrists above her head, his lips trailing down her neck with the precision of a man dissecting a prayer. “You want chaos?” he murmured against her pulse. “Then beg for it.”

She arched into him, her laugh fraying into a gasp as his teeth found the delicate hinge of her jaw. “You first.”

Thor’s growl vibrated against her back, his chest a furnace searing through the thin fabric of her shirt. “Enough games, Loki.” His palm slid down her arm, fingers interlacing with hers—a tether, an anchor. “You’ll break her.”

“Break her?” Loki’s laugh was a blade’s edge. He leaned closer, his breath mingling with hers. “She’s already shattered, brother. You just refuse to see the cracks.” It was true. Thor was refusing to see and Loki was always edging her by touching those cracks. She needed it. She needed the both. Elena’s retort died as Loki’s mouth crashed into hers, all hunger and spite. His kiss was a battle—a clash of teeth and tongue, a claim that left her breathless. Thor’s hands tightened on her hips, his groan a rumble of thunder in her ear. “Elska,” he warned, the old endearment rough with restraint.

But restraint was a language Loki refused to speak. His fingers danced down her ribs, skirting the edge of cruelty, as he whispered against her lips, “Tell him, Elena. Tell him how you crave the storm.”

She shuddered, her nails biting into Loki’s shoulders. “I’m not afraid of storms.”

“Liar.” Thor’s voice was a raw scrape of sound as his lips found the curve of her shoulder. “You fear what happens when the lightning strikes.”

Loki’s laugh was dark silk. “Let it strike Thor. She is faking it. She has no fear. Look at her, our sweet goddess. ”

What followed was a blur of heat and friction—Loki’s ruthless hands mapping every secret she’d sworn to keep, Thor’s mouth gentling the bruises left in his brother’s wake. The air thickened with the scent of salt and sweat, with the electric charge of words unspoken. When Loki finally pulled back, his pupils blown wide, Elena’s name was a curse on his lips.

“Look at me,” Thor demanded, tilting her face to his. His eyes were a tempest—chaos leashed, but barely. “This isn’t a game. Not for us.”

She knew. She’d always known.

Loki’s fingers tangled in her hair, forcing her gaze to his. “You want us?” His voice cracked, raw and rare. “Then take us. All of us. The scars. The rage. The goddamn mess. Only we can give you that, Elena. You are free to look outside, but you know that at the end of the day, what you are looking for can only be found in our arms.”

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Bucky knew exactly where to find Steve. In fact, he found him as if he had placed him there himself. This was the oldest, most dilapidated, and out-of-the-way pub in Brooklyn. Although Steve claimed he had adapted to the present, he was living in the past. Until he met Regina, Bucky wasn’t any different, really. When Lana entered their lives, Bucky was happy, thinking that Steve would experience the same transformation. He was mistaken.

As he approached Steve, who had his head resting on the bar counter, he asked, "Lana?"

Steve looked up at him, and as Bucky sat on the bar stool next to him, he said, "Have you been crying?"

With his reddened eyes giving it away, Steve stared back at him defiantly. "Are you kidding me?"

After ordering himself a drink, Bucky turned to Steve. "Come on, tell me. What happened this time?"

Steve cupped his head in his hands and started to speak, staring straight ahead.

*   *   *

“Then I told them…” Venom suddenly paused his story to Sonny and perked up. “They’re coming…” He turned to Cher, who was making soft sounds. “No, Cher, they are not having sex..."

Grumbling, he sunk into the chair, his ink seeping into his body. “Eddie’s going to be unbearable.” He mimicked Eddie in a comically altered voice, “Annie got married. I’m a loser. I can’t steal Captain America’s girlfriend. Don’t bother me, Venom.”

Just then, they heard Lana’s voice from the front door, wishing good night to Eddie and Venom jumped up excitedly towards the ceiling. After waiting for the girl to enter her own flat, Eddie rolled his eyes at Venom, who was stuck to the ceiling. “Seriously?”

As Venom slithered, wrapping around Eddie’s body, he hissed, “Tell me!” When he forcibly made Eddie sit on the couch, Lana was in her own flat, heading to the bedroom to take off her clothes. Ignoring the darkness, she quickly shed her outfit, leaving only her underwear. Finally, when she turned on the light, she let out a high-pitched scream. Steve was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling with tearful eyes.

“Steve Rogers! You scared the hell out of me!”

Running her fingers through her hair, she walked over to Steve. She was surprised to see his watery eyes. “Steve, have you been crying?”

“Why do you ask? To tell Natasha?”

Lana rolled her eyes. “So you heard.”

With a tone of voice that always startled Lana as if it was the first time he’d said it, Steve commanded, “Come to me.” Although she wanted to say no, every time she heard that tone, she found herself obeying Steve’s orders, and she hated it.

Slowly, she climbed onto the bed to sit on Steve’s stomach. Finally, when she spread her legs to straddle him, Steve’s hands found her hips. Lana giggled, “I thought you were angry with me.” As she noticed the smell of alcohol coming from him, she tensed up. Lana didn’t feel safe around drunk people, and Steve knew that. Although she trusted him, her anxiety lingered.

Steve replied, “I am.” “I had to listen to you cry every time I touched you in front of the Avengers, and every time after that you’d run off to find Natasha.”

The woman raised her eyebrows, unable to believe Natasha would betray her like that. Pressing herself closer to Steve’s stomach for more information, she shot him a playful look. “Is that why I’ve been crying when you touch me?”

“Natasha implied that.” Steve tightened his grip on her hips.

“I only said that we can’t have a proper argument; every fight somehow ends up in the bedroom, Steve.”

Steve pulled her sharply toward him. “Really?”

Lana lost her balance. As she fell towards Steve, she tried to steady herself by grabbing his chest with both hands to avoid crashing into him. Now, they were very close.

“Where did you hear that?” Lana asked. “Simple, it was a girl-to-girl conversation. I was in a panic. You know I can’t have that kind of talk with my mom. I trusted Natasha, and…”

As Steve sat up in bed, he trapped Lana on his lap. “You shouldn’t have trusted her. She was telling this to Tony. That’s how I heard it.” While stroking Lana’s hair, he said, “And then I lost it.” His voice was desperate. Closing his eyes, feeling her kisses along his jawline, he whispered her name, “Lana…”

Lana stopped. “Steve, I’m sorry. That was just a girl talk that should have stayed between Natasha and me.”

Steve took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a few seconds as if to rest them. “I just…”

Gently cupping his face, Lana asked, “Just what?”

He sighed, “I know you don’t love me the way I love you, Lana. But I also know you’re trying.” Grabbing one of her hands from his cheek and kissing it, he said, “I’m grateful for that. But sometimes, it feels like you’ve already started to love me and are resisting this feeling.”

Lana shifted uncomfortably. “That’s nonsense.”

“Really?” Steve laughed, pinning her between the bed and his body in one swift move. “Didn’t I just drive you wild with pleasure and love in this bed a few days ago, Lana? Didn’t you beg for more? But the moment I stepped out of the house, you rushed to the phone and cried to Natasha. What’s that about, Lana?”

Pushing Steve away from her chest, she said, “Who’s talking here? Is it you or your slightly bruised male ego, Steve? I love you. I love it when you touch me. When have I denied that? What kind of conversation is this?”

Steve pressed his forehead against hers, pleading, “Don’t resist me, Lana. Don’t resist my love.”

Lana felt uneasy. The smell of alcohol was now too close, and it was frustrating enough to think Steve was judging her because of Natasha. Gently nudging him away from his shoulder, she asked, “Can you get off me?”

Steve complied, but he watched her anxiously. Lana hurriedly grabbed a large t-shirt and sweatpants from her wardrobe and put them on. “I’m leaving. If you’re still here when I get back, you can sleep on the couch.”

As Steve got up from the bed, he stumbled for a moment. “Where are you going at this hour?”

“Eddie had a rough day. I want to support him. We’re going to order pizza and watch anime. If you weren’t that drunk, you could join us.”

Steve clicked his tongue. “Are you being a good neighbor, or do you just not want to be around me because I’m drunk?”

“Both.”

Leaving Steve in bed and stepping out of the house, Lana wondered if Eddie would even let her in at this hour since she had made the plans on her own. She wanted to lift Eddie’s spirits a bit after his tough day. In fact, she had already decided on the anime they would watch back when they were at the wedding.

She knocked on the door.

Venom started flailing wildly with his ink body. “Lana!”

Eddie was in the bathtub. He closed his eyes, planning to ignore Venom. He had already had a tough enough evening. He couldn't deal with Venom's obsessive Lana syndrome.

Feeling a slap at the back of his head, he opened his eyes. “Venom…” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“I opened the door for Lana,” Venom said as he slithered into Eddie’s body. Eddie muttered a low curse. As he heard footsteps, he tried to cover his body with the foam in the tub. When Lana peeked her head around the slightly open door, Eddie turned bright red and stammered, “Hi.”

Lana giggled. “Sorry. I knocked on your door and thought you were available when it opened. Either you opened the door and jumped into the tub, or the lock is broken.”

“The second one.”

“If you want, I can take a look later?”

Eddie was surprised. “Do you know anything about repairs?”

Lana shrugged. “You learn a lot when you live alone. There are tons of how-to videos on YouTube.”

For a moment, Eddie forgot the strangeness of the situation and laughed. “You’re full of surprises, Lana.”

Half an hour later, they were sprawled out on Eddie's couch, watching anime, having so much fun that the tough day had temporarily faded from both their minds.

Venom was chuckling quietly as he piled chocolate on top of the pizza slices Eddie had left for him behind the couch. Lana had already become the new Annie. Next up was introducing himself to Lana and removing Captain America from her life by killing him. Okay, killing might be a bit of an exaggeration, but he was leaving the door open for possibilities if necessary.

_____________________

Hello hello! If you like this chapter, check my profile for even more. And don't forget comments are very motivating for writing faster, lol. And you are very welcome if you'd like to warm me up with a cup of coffee *_*

As Violet felt they were approaching her home, she was grateful to be free from this silent and strange journey. She was thinking of wishing goodnight to Pietro, who sat in the driver's seat, before slipping out of the car at a speed that would even put Pietro to shame. After turning the escape plan over in her mind for about a minute, she realized the car had stopped. They were in front of her own house. The car belonged to Pietro. So, she was going home; she was, right?

As the girl reached for the door handle, she said in a voice she hoped sounded normal, “Thanks for dropping me off, Pie.” Her eyes opened when she saw his hand gripping the door handle over her shoulder, but she tried to remain calm as she continued speaking. “Goodnight…”

She could feel Pietro's breath on her hair. “Are you messing with me, Iolanda?” he asked, and his voice brushed against her hair, making the girl shiver involuntarily.

Tabii, işte çevrilen metin:

As Violet felt they were approaching her home, she was grateful to be free from this silent and strange journey. She was thinking of wishing goodnight to Pietro, who sat in the driver's seat, before slipping out of the car at a speed that would even put Pietro to shame. After turning the escape plan over in her mind for about a minute, she realized the car had stopped. They were in front of her own house. The car belonged to Pietro. So, she was going home; she was, right?

As the girl reached for the door handle, she said in a voice she hoped sounded normal, “Thanks for dropping me off, Pie.” Her eyes opened when she saw his hand gripping the door handle over her shoulder, but she tried to remain calm as she continued speaking. “Goodnight…”

She could feel Pietro's breath on her hair. “Are you messing with me, Iolanda?” he asked, and his voice brushed against her hair, making the girl shiver involuntarily.

I’m done for, Violet thought. Pietro only called her Iolanda in very strange moments. He was the one who had stuck that name on her. He had explained that he only wanted to call her Iolanda; it was enough if others called her Violet.

“Pie, I really need to wake up early in the morning. It’s almost midnight…”

Pietro took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s forget you’ve been rubbing against me all night. Let’s even forget that passionate kiss you gave me. Let’s overlook the fact that this was your first kiss. Then what happens?”

“I’m sorry. It’s because of Bucky…”

“You didn’t have to do that,” the boy said, trying to stay calm, but the fact that Violet had only used him to make Bucky jealous was already poisoning his mind like a toxic vine.

Violet finally gathered her courage and turned her body towards Pietro on the other side of the seat. She took a deep breath. “Pie, I’m a terrible person.”

“You kissed me to make Bucky jealous? Is that why you’re saying this?”

“No,” the girl said. “I didn’t kiss you to make Bucky jealous. I didn’t want you to get an unfair slap from such a disgusting person because of me. I didn’t want it, even if it was just a game. Besides, I know that slap was thrown for my sake.”

“So?”

“I…” Violet lowered her eyes to the hands resting on her lap. “At first, I controlled my mind to calm down. Then I got mad at Bucky for challenging you, and I tried to control myself to be bold, but when I started to kiss you…” It felt like the words wouldn’t come. Violet’s entire face was flushed.

As he heard the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, Pietro wondered, Did Violet actually enjoy kissing him?

“Iolanda…”

The girl couldn’t lift her eyes from the ground, and her voice trembled. It was evident from her tone how embarrassed she was. “I know I didn’t have the right to do that. It happened all of a sudden. It made me so angry that… I lost control. I’m really sorry.”

The boy couldn’t help but laugh. “Iolanda, do you think kissing you is torture for me? Don’t worry, okay? Bucky really crossed the line. I’m glad we set him straight. You didn’t do anything to apologize for. You didn’t force me to kiss you. I kissed you, too.”

“Yes, but…” the girl began to cry. “I’m a terrible friend. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. You’re always doing nice things for me, and I’m forcing you to kiss me…”

The boy laughed again. “Come on, baby, I told you it’s no problem.” He grinned. “I’m actually a bit glad to have gotten your first kiss. But was that really your first kiss? I thought my head was going to explode for a second… I mean, you…” He let out a loud breath. “You’re breathtaking.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “It was my first kiss. Do you think the others noticed?”

“I doubt it! Are you kidding? For a moment, I thought you were going to push me down and climb on top of me and give Tony a show. Though I wouldn’t complain…”

The girl fixed her red, tear-streaked eyes on the boy’s. “Pie, can we make this night a cleansing night?”

Pietro suddenly got an erection and coughed. “What?!”

“What I mean is… It was a pretty strange night. I don’t want to complicate things further, but if I don’t confess something to you now, I’m going to die of guilt.”

“You’re scaring me…”

Actually, he was excited. If she reached over and kissed him again right now, Pietro definitely wouldn’t pull back. The soft but willing kiss of Violet was still very vividly in his mind.

“Um… I don’t know how to say this. But I swear, for the first time in our twenty years of friendship, something like this happened. I don’t want you to see me as a monster after this, but guilt is eating me inside…”

Pietro said, “Wait a second.” He pulled the girl by her waist and ran to the couch in the living room within seconds. Now they were sitting knee-to-knee on the couch in Violet’s living room.

The girl glanced around briefly and turned back. “I…”

“Just say it or I’ll faint.”

He desperately hoped: God! Kiss me!

“Pie… I… for the first time in my life… last night…” Violet hesitated, tightly closing her eyes and further exciting the boy watching her with eager eyes. “I imagined you.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Pietro…”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Also, can you open your eyes? I feel like I’m talking to myself. I didn't like that.”

Violet opened her damp eyes and took a deep breath, looking into Pietro’s eyes, and said all at once, “I imagined you while touching myself!”

“Wait. That was too fast for me. WHAT?!”

Violet squeezed her eyes shut again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even understand what happened. It just… happened.”

Pietro leaned in closer to the girl with desire-darkened eyes. “How did it just happen?! What do you mean…”

The girl swallowed. “I was touching myself, but it didn’t… happen.”

Pietro asked with a voice that sent shivers down the girl’s spine, “What didn’t happen, Iolanda?”

Violet shifted restlessly in her seat. “Pietro! I already feel embarrassed and humiliated enough! Don’t come at me! You understood what didn’t happen, didn’t you? Why are you asking?! It didn’t happen… Then, while trying other things, I suddenly started thinking about you, and…”

He brought his face even closer to hers. “And?”

As Pietro’s warm breath brushed against her lips, the girl pressed her body further into the couch. “Pie, I’m sorry. Really. It was the first and the last time. I swear. I feel so bad. I don’t know what happened to me. I didn’t even realize you were a man before that. Like... You know... In a sexual way. I mean... I have never looked at you in that way before.”

With a teasing giggle that made the girl’s head spin, the boy asked, “So are you aware of that now?”

Violet felt dizzy, but she hadn’t had a single drop to drink all evening. With a dazed expression on her face, she asked, “Huh?” Pietro’s scent, enriched with pine and woody spices, seemed to envelop her entire being. As she looked at the boy who had trapped her between the couch and his body with flushed cheeks from the heat and moist, sparkling eyes, she realized that Pietro was no longer just a boy. My God! Pietro was a man! Not a young, naive boy.

“Are you aware that I’m a man now, Iolanda? That’s what I’m asking.”

“Um… I guess? Could you back off a bit?”

With a grin spreading across his face, Pietro asked, “Why?” He pressed his body against hers to remind her that she was completely in his arms, understanding that he was trying to infiltrate her mind and distract her. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Pie…”

“Answer my question.”

The girl’s breath quickened. “You’re distracting me. Being this close to you feels warm.”

“Good. So you understand what I go through when I’m around you now.”

Violet’s hazy eyes slightly opened. “No…” Her heart tightened as she understood what the boy was implying.

Pietro rubbed his lips against hers. “The last twenty years of my life have been exactly like this.”

Violet couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped her mouth. “Pie…”

“I’m in love with you. Since the first day I saw you. I’m tired of watching you get upset because of stupid bastards who wander around not knowing what they want.” He ordered the girl, who had closed her eyes, “Open your eyes and look into my eyes, Iolanda. I’m in love with you, do you understand?”

As Iolanda opened her eyes, she nodded. Space and time had practically turned into a melting gum. She couldn’t think. The only thing she could perceive was Pietro, who surrounded her entirely, and the evidence of his existence: his voice, his breath, his scent… If someone had told her just a few hours earlier that she would be so affected as a woman by a friend who constantly laughed and acted like a mischievous little boy, she would have laughed it off, but now Pietro was literally hypnotizing her. The pulse between her legs was completely under the control of the man. She felt as if she had completely lost her own control.

“Do you know what your problem is, Iolanda?” Pietro asked, gently tracing a path with his tongue on the girl’s lower lip. Violet squirmed helplessly beneath him and moaned.

“I’ve been by your side for years. After every disappointment, after every bad date, you’ve run into my arms, so I know what your problem is, baby. Do you want to hear it?” While one hand was caressing the girl’s hair, trying to keep her steady beneath him, the other hand was propped under his chin as he watched her face.

With a voice weaker than she had hoped, Iolanda murmured, “Pie…”

“You’re always focused on boys, my beautiful flower garden.” He looked into the girl’s eyes with a gaze that sent shivers down her spine. “But what you need is not a cowardly, immature boy with a boyish spirit who doesn’t know what he wants. You need a man who is truly aware that he is a man, who knows what he wants, and is ready to make you happy. And that man is me. I’ve been waiting for you to notice me all this time.”

Violet blinked to clear her blurry vision caused by the tears in her eyes and murmured in a weak voice, “I’m sorry…”

“I don’t want your apology, little daisy. I needed to wait for you, and I did. That’s it. You weren’t aware; it wasn’t your time yet. No problem. Now it’s your time. I want you to trust me. I want you to know that I am an option for you and to at least let us try. Agreed?”

Violet didn’t even realize she was nodding her head. As she responded to Pietro’s gentle yet deepening kiss, her whole body felt like jelly. She was under the man’s influence. She felt like a satellite orbiting a planet, completely captivated by the pull. If Pietro wanted her to sell her soul to him right now, she would probably do it without even understanding what was happening. What she didn’t know was that Pietro was in the same situation. The only thing he could think about was making Violet feel good. He would do everything to make her forget about the pain that bastard Bucky brought into her life.

When they paused to breathe between kisses, Pietro rested his forehead against the girl’s forehead and whispered eagerly, “Iolanda, show me.”

Violet tried to think. What did he want her to show? As Pietro’s hand glided over her body, wrapping around her neck, the girl trembled like a leaf. She struggled to find her words, but it was in vain. As Pietro brushed his teeth against her neck, she instinctively pushed herself against him and gasped, “Pie!” Trying to stay calm while feeling the man’s teeth and lips on her neck, she thought, Oh my God! There were literal lightning bolts striking in her brain. A whisper filled with sensations she never knew could be so strong danced in her ears as she tried to breathe.

In a husky voice, Pietro pleaded into her ear, “Show me, please. I beg you. Did I make you feel good?”

Violet felt at once like a goddess and a vulnerable girl. It was as if she could rule the oceans if she wanted to, but at the same time, the same ocean was drowning her…

“Please, please, my angel. Show me? What did I do to you, Iolanda? How did I touch you? How did you imagine me?”

Pietro's voice was both pleading and commanding at the same time. Violet thought to herself, I’m going to lose my mind. I’m going to lose my mind from pleasure and love.

A few seconds later, as Pietro begged again, the girl began to touch herself through her underwear, exposed by the slipped hem of her dress. The man pulled back and watched for about a minute as the girl squirmed beneath him, trying to satisfy herself. Then, despite Violet’s protests and moans, he freed her from her underwear in an instant and took control. Now, one hand grasped Violet’s delicate neck while the other explored her soaked femininity with two fingers. The pressure he applied in places Violet could hardly imagine had her reeling in pleasure beneath him. As he watched the girl’s tearful face begging him for more, he felt harder than ever before in his life. “You’re going to kill me, Iolanda,” he groaned against her lips. As he pressed himself against her thigh, he quickened his fingers. Iolanda’s sweet, breathless gasps and cries were dizzying him. “I’m so hard! Do you feel how hard I am? You’re doing this to me, baby. See the power you have over me, Iolanda. You can make me do anything. Everything. Can you imagine how much I love you? Look how you’ve made me your slave. You can’t even fathom what I’d give up for just one second with you.” As he touched her deeper, he asked in a voice filled with desire, “Who do you belong to, baby? Tell me.”

Violet knew there was no turning back after this moment. She knew that the instant she answered that question, nothing would ever be the same again. Her life would be turned upside down, but who had ever said that the bottom of her life would be better than the top? Right?

Breathlessly, she gasped, “I’m yours, Pie.”

She couldn’t believe what had come out of her mouth, but she also couldn’t believe that her best friend, Pietro, had loved her for so long and desired her so deeply. As the world slipped from beneath her feet, she had reached the end. When Pietro looked into her eyes, asking for permission, she nodded. In the following moments, they were in the bedroom, in bed, both completely naked. She held onto the man’s shoulders, trying to adjust to a fullness between her legs that she had never known before. Pietro moaned with delight at how tight she was, trying to be gentle. When the pain gave way to pleasure, Violet felt the man showering her with kisses as he moved inside her, fearing he would lose control before she did. But as the increasing pain revealed the rise of pleasure, she surrendered completely to Pietro's arms. As the sun rose, they belonged to each other, with Pietro whispering to her that he loved her.

Bucky was fighting himself not to look at the group of vampires they had just passed. Actually, it was more accurate to say he was fighting himself not to look at one person in particular. Antonella.

He shivered at the memories of the blood oath ceremonies. The glint in the girl’s eyes...

His thoughts were interrupted by Tony nudging his ribs with his elbow, and he turned his head toward the man. "What is it, Stark?"

Tony was grinning. "Is Steve in on this too? Come on, tell me!"

"What?!"

Tony chuckled. "I’m talking about the surprise you planned for your anniversary! Is he in on it too?"

Bucky grumbled, "Have we ever slept together, Stark?"

Tony screamed, "God forbid! I don’t like hairy guys!"

Bucky laughed, "If you were a bit taller, I’d get a wax job for you." He furrowed his brow. "Wait a minute, who are you calling hairy?!"

Tony muttered, "You’re scaring me! Were you secretly into me this whole time? I knew it! And now you’re dragging me into the woods for your dirty schemes! This isn’t an anniversary surprise, is it?!"

Bucky took a deep breath. "God! What dirty scheme, what anniversary?!"

Tony raised his eyebrows and shouted at him in a threatening tone, "Today is Valentina and my anniversary. If you kidnap me on our anniversary and use me for your dirty schemes, Valentina will eat you! Literally eat you!!! Sharp teeth, terrible claws..."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "No one even knows about your anniversary, Stark. This isn’t a joke; we’re going to meet your potential daughter’s potential mother right now!"

Tony protested, "Okay, my past isn’t exactly squeaky clean, but I swear I haven’t slept with any other supernatural creatures besides Valentina! This girl isn’t mine!"

"When we slept together, I hadn’t completed my transformation yet, true."

Antonella, who had stopped walking, groaned, "Parent sex? Ewwww! Gross! Did I have to hear that?"

Tony and Bucky paused and looked at the woman walking toward them.

Tina sat on the old couch in their living room, resting her elbows on her knees and cradling her head in her hands. Her throat was dry. She asked again, “Did Frank sell me out?”

Lip placed his hands on his hips. “At least you didn’t go for cheap. He sold you for a million dollars.”

Tina looked at him with disbelief just as Debbie came downstairs with Peter, who was carrying a small handbag. “We’ve packed your things.”

“This is ridiculous,” Tina protested. “If they come here and can’t find me, they’ll tear this place apart.”

Ian laughed. “When they come here and find Lip and me, they’ll just leave.”

“What if they don’t?”

Rebecca cleared her throat. “Are you kidding? Do you really think Bucky and Steve would let anything happen to the kids? You’ll only stay until they find Frank and hand him over. Don’t exaggerate.”

“Liam can’t sleep without me!”

Steve chuckled. “No offense, but he’s sleeping peacefully with Emma now. You’re not irreplaceable, Tina. The kids are growing up.”

This time, Tina turned to Peter, but the boy didn’t let her speak. “Tina, my dad might not be the easiest guy in the world, but I’m sure he’ll protect you. Besides, where else can you go outside this neighborhood?”

The girl shrugged. The kid was right. It was only until they caught Frank and handed him over, right? How long could that take? She shuddered at the memory of the time her father had vanished for eight months. But arguing further wouldn’t help. She hugged Rebecca and Steve, thanking them for looking after Liam. She warned Lip and Ian a hundred times. Grabbing the small bag, she walked out to the garden with Peter and Debbie following her. They would be getting into the car driven by Happy, sent by Tony. As the man got out to help her with her bag, her eyes caught sight of Bucky's house right next door, to her left. When she locked eyes with the man sitting in his rocking chair on the porch, watching her with narrowed eyes, she quickly turned her gaze down. A chill crawled up her spine.

Not long ago, she had thought Bucky's arms were the safest place in the world. Now, even making eye contact with the man felt like surrendering her soul.

Finally, as she was leaving the neighborhood, she saw Luna, Pietro's daughter, walking toward Bucky's garden fence with a casserole dish in her hands.

“Little Miss Sunshine, I'm not in the mood, just so you know. Take your rainbows and unicorns and get off my lawn.”

Luna was used to the man's grumpiness. With her arms trembling under the weight of the casserole dish she held tightly with both hands, she entered through the open garden gate and climbed the short steps. She stood beside Bucky. “Could you open the door, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. “If I hear you say ‘James’ from those lovely shiny lips, why not?”

Luna blushed to her ears as she looked at the man grinning at her with a self-satisfied expression. God! Honestly, she hated that Bucky Barnes could make her blush like this with just a raise of his eyebrow. But what she hated more was that she kind of liked it.

She loved it when James called her “Lovely Shiny Lips.” But could she admit that? Never! For a moment, she thought about how her father would go crazy if he found out, even if everything was going well and Bucky liked her back.

“My arms are hurting.”

Bucky got up and placed his hand on the doorknob. “My arms are hurting, who?”

The girl conceded. “James.”

Bucky opened the door. “Not so hard, is it, Shiny Lips?”

As Luna reminded herself to touch up her lip gloss, she placed the casserole she had made with Wanda’s recipe in the kitchen of the man who had followed her. When she turned back, the man was leaning against the door, watching her with his arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t have to bring me food.”

“I know, but it was a new recipe I was trying, and I thought—”

“You wanted to poison me, not the others in the house. I get it.”

“No! It’s not like that!”

The man laughed. “No problem.”

The unfortunate event that led Luna to enter James Buchanan Barnes's house had happened just ten days ago.

A boy she liked from school had asked her out and then left his marijuana in her pocket, running away to avoid paying the bill. Left in the middle of the café, not knowing what to do, she was shocked when the police came and searched her. While thinking she would end up in jail because of the weed found in her pocket, she had heard James's voice, who happened to be there: “Just look at that face, do you think she might be using it?” He had come over, gently tilting her chin to show the police. “About to pass out.”

The officers who recognized him immediately greeted him. James was always around when Luna was growing up because he was close friends with her father and aunt Wanda for a long time. She also knew that James was completely unaware of the girl. She had a crush on the Winter Soldier all her childhood. The man wouldn't even see Luna when he came to their house, that was how uninterested he was in the girl's presence.

“I know her father. I’ll handle this,” Bucky had said. “You mentioned there’s been no prior record, right?”

And so, with Bucky's help, Luna had managed to get out of that situation. When Bucky offered to drive her home, she thought he was being polite, but the route turned out to be heading not home but to hell.

“Have you lost your mind? How could you get yourself into trouble with the cops? Your father’s the Escobar of this damn Chicago! Are you carrying weed?”

When Luna started to cry, Bucky finally fell silent, but then the girl told him how she had been fooled by the boy she liked...

Bucky’s expression softened, but he kept his eyes on the road. “Luna,” he said in a gentle voice, “boys your age don’t like good girls. You’re a good girl. And even if they did like you, your father would chop their heads off.”

Luna laughed through her tears, “I thought he liked me,” she said, sniffling.

“You misunderstood,” Bucky cut her off. “When a guy likes a girl, he doesn’t slip drugs into her pocket and leave her for the police.”

“But…”

When Bucky shot her one of his famous, chilling looks, Luna shrank back in her seat. The topic was closed.

Since that day, Luna had been trying to repay her debt to Bucky for not telling her father, while also easing her own conscience. The day after he saved her, she found herself at his door with a cherry pie in hand. As she saw Bucky open the door in nothing but sweatpants, she felt like she had been hit by a spear and regretted her decision, but it was too late now. When she finally forced herself to look up from his well-defined abs to his face, her ears burned. She made a sound of protest when Bucky plunged his finger right into the middle of the pie, but she couldn’t help but be mesmerized as he tried to figure out the flavor by putting his finger in his mouth.

“How did you know I liked cherry?”

Because it's sour and sweet at the same time, just like you. She bit her tongue to keep from speaking.

“Luna?”

“Um... I just wanted to thank you.” She handed him the pie, now with a hole in the middle.

Bucky waved two fingers of his free hand in front of his forehead to salute her, “Alright then.”

As he was about to close the door, Luna stopped him. “And um…”

“What?” Bucky bit the inside of his cheek to hide his amusement. He was trying not to laugh. Who would have thought that a notorious criminal like Pietro and a queen of con artists like Wanda would have such a sweet and innocent relative?

“If I had gotten caught, I would have faced at least forty days of community service.”

“True.”

“But thanks to you, I didn’t get caught.”

“That’s also true.”

“So I thought, if you don’t mind, I could do something for you for forty days? After all, you’re a retired soldier. It would technically be a public service, right? Plus, I’d be showing my gratitude for your help, and I could sleep easy at night knowing my conscience is clear?”

Besides, I can see you every day. The girl kept this thought to herself and tried hard to hide her excitement.

If someone else had asked this, Bucky would have shouted them away from his house until the last breath of air in his lungs was gone, but Luna… Her delicate nature combined with her honesty made him wonder how someone like her could survive in this century. What twenty-two-year-old girl would return to someone as terrifying as Bucky to pay off her debts? She wondered if Pietro knew about how delicate his daughter? The man lived in a world where the weak were prey. How was he supposed to protect Luna?

"Sergeant Barnes?"

Bucky snapped out of his thoughts. "Alright. You’re hired, little one. You’re my slave for the next forty days. And if you call me Sergeant Barnes again, I’ll make you regret being born."

The girl jumped as the door slammed in her face. A slave for forty days? Hey, she had plans to bake some cookies and help Bucky with his shopping list! What had she gotten herself into?

Well, for the past ten days, all she had done was cook and endure the grumpy Bucky. If she could last another month, she’d have repaid her debt to him.

She opened the door and followed the Bucky to his kitchen. "It’s my birthday tonight." Luna placed the tiny invitation card she had drawn herself next to the casserole.

"A little socializing might be nice, James."

Bucky chuckled and, as if he didn’t already know, asked her age. "How old are you now, munchkin?"

“Nadia!”

Upon hearing Pietro's voice, the woman rolled her eyes. In the midst of the hustle and bustle of the nightclub staff preparing for the evening's customers, the last thing Nadia wanted was to run into Pietro today while sitting at an empty table sipping her coffee.

The man who entered looked quite angry as he threw his cigarette to the ground.

Nadia shouted at the man approaching her, “Didn’t I tell you that if you do this again, I’ll shove you back into the hole you crawled out of, Maximoff?”

Pietro grabbed the woman's arm as he leaned toward her face. “Let’s go!”

Nadia defiantly lifted her chin. “Sit down and have a coffee.”

The man hissed through clenched teeth, “Move, or I swear I’ll drag you out of here!”

Knowing Pietro had done this several times before, Nadia reluctantly got to her feet because she didn’t want her authority to be undermined in front of her staff, but she still held her coffee cup. When Pietro swatted her coffee cup with the back of his hand, the unprepared woman dropped it. Nadia's mouth formed an "O" as she walked with the man who was tugging at her, and when they reached the office where she managed the nightclub, she freed her arm from him and opened the door. Once they entered, Pietro locked the door behind them and turned to the woman. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?!”

Nadia sat down at her desk and pulled out an envelope filled with money from the drawer. “You heard the news, and you’ve come to collect your last tribute, right?”

She handed the envelope of money to the man. “I’m grateful for your services, Mr. Maximoff. It’s been a pleasure working together. As you’ve heard, I’m getting married soon. My husband will take over the job of protecting my establishment.”

Pietro took the envelope, threw it to the ground, and in a flash, circled around the table, grabbing Nadia by the waist and sitting her down on the table. Ignoring her attempts to adjust her hiked-up skirt, he placed himself between her legs and laughed, “Did you really think I would stand by while you marry that fur-wearing bastard who just drinks borscht?”

Nadia pushed him away from her chest. “He doesn’t just drink borscht and wear fur. He’s also mafia in his spare time.”

Pietro threw his head back and laughed. “What am I, Nadia? Do you think I sell pineapples and kiwis in my free time?”

“You don’t understand…”

He grabbed both of her hands that were pushing against his chest and pinned them behind her back. Now their chests were touching. “I don’t need to understand anything, darling,” he said, leaning toward Nadia's lips. “Before you even sign that contract, I’ll turn that guy into a pasta strainer with my gun. Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure of it. Did you hear me?”

“Pietro…”

“Shut up!”

Nadia flinched at the man’s shouting. She didn’t want to anger him further, knowing he would do what he said, and then her fiancé—who was the son of the Russian mafia—would kill Pietro.

“I’m leaving the city for a week… You’re leaving a wedding invitation at my door when I return! Are you trying to drive me crazy, Nadia? Huh? Speak!”

“But you just told me to shut up! Make up your mind!”

“What happened? Tell me!”

Nadia tried to look brave, but she was already trembling under the lightning flashing in Pietro's eyes. “I want to get married, okay? Dimitri is handsome and single. That’s all.”

Pietro clenched his teeth. After taking a deep breath, he pulled back a little and leaned in closer to the woman, tilting his head slightly to look into her eyes, whispering, “I’ll tear this place apart, Nadia! I’ll destroy it so thoroughly that there won’t even be a handful of ash left to blow away in the wind! Then I’ll take you and descend to the seven layers of hell. I will do it, you know that, right? God is my witness that I will!”

Nadia swallowed discreetly and smiled. “Darling, I appreciate your passion, but you don’t think my fiancé is just sitting around doing nothing, do you?”

With a smile that made her heart leap, Pietro replied, “By the time I’m done with him, he won’t even remember what is his name.” He leaned in closer. “Now, you either talk, or I swear on my daughter, I’ll shoot one of your employees every five minutes until you tell me what’s going on.”

Nadia shouted in panic, “Have you lost your mind?”

“I TOLD YOU TO TALK!” Pietro shouted so loudly that her heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t shout at me!”

“THEN TEST MY PATIENCE!”

Pietro had actually come to find out what was going on. Nadia was the aunt of the Gallagher kids. She was Monica’s stepsister. It could be said that she mothered the children more than their own mother did. At the very least, she sent them money whenever she could and never left the kids alone by running away at odd hours.

Last week, while Frank was playing poker with the Russian mafia, they had wanted him to sign a paper saying he sold Valentina into prostitution after losing. But Frank replied, “Are you idiots? Slavery doesn’t count on paper in this country. Just show me as a million-dollar debtor, and if I don’t bring the money, you can sue me. Since I don’t have that much money, I’ll definitely bring my daughter.”

When Dimitri came to work and recounted what had happened, Nadia was initially shocked, but this wasn’t Frank’s first offense. He had sold Monica multiple times for drugs before. Dimitri and Nadia were good friends, so they had come up with a plan. Dimitri, whose father constantly pressured him to get married, had said he would marry Nadia in exchange for the debt, claiming the money would count as part of the dowry. His father, hearing that his son was getting married, didn’t care about anything else. To be honest, all Nadia could think about was rescuing Valentina. The last thing on her mind at that she needed to talk about this to Pietro. They had hoped to resolve the situation quietly within a few weeks. Dimitri would say he loved someone else and would break off the engagement. Since he would be the one ending the engagement, they wouldn’t ask for the dowry back, meaning Frank’s debt wouldn’t be an issue. However, they hadn’t anticipated that the Russian mafia would go door-to-door leaving invitations.

Pietro nearly lost his mind when he saw the invitation yesterday morning. When he went to Steve’s bar and learned the man was booked for the wedding, he was almost certain he would celebrate his daughter’s birthday one last time because he was going to go and shoot Dimitri. Meanwhile, he had done his research to find out what he was up against and had learned about the situation from one of Dimitri’s bodyguards.

“I’m still waiting, Nadia! The first five minutes are almost up!”

“Pietro…”

“Tell me!”

Finally unable to hold back any longer, the woman had to spill everything because she knew Pietro would go and shoot the man. She feared that someone else would come and shoot him in turn. She thought of poor Luna. If anything happened to the girl, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself. When she finished explaining everything, Pietro said, “I’m still going to shoot that bastard. He calls himself a friend, but is his solution to propose to you in your worst moment?”

Freeing her hands, Nadia grabbed the man’s arm. “Have you lost your mind? What about Luna?”

Pietro shrugged. “If something happens to me, Wanda will take care of her.”

“Oh my God!” Nadia pushed him away from her chest again. “Get out of here. I need to go have dinner with my fiancé.”

The man laughed, pulling his gun from his belt and placing it on the table. “You know, Luna turned twenty-two today.”

“I know. She called me. I’ll be going to her birthday party tonight.”

Pietro grinned. “I like how well you girls get along.”

“She thinks we’re just friends. She doesn’t know about... this weird thing between us, and it’s going to stay that way,” Nadia said.

“No, it won’t,” Pietro replied. “Don’t interrupt me. As I was saying, Luna’s twenty-two now, and she thinks I don’t know, but she has a boyfriend. Tomorrow, she might stand in front of me and say she’s getting married. Before I give my blessing, I’ll beat the hell out of her boyfriend just to test his resilience, and then I’ll let them marry.”

“You’re not beating anyone up, you crazy bastard. Wait. Do you know who Luna’s boyfriend is?”

Pietro narrowed his eyes. “She told you, didn’t she? I wasn’t sure, but you just confirmed it.”

The woman cursed under her breath. "I can’t believe I’m falling for this." But in reality, she was just trying to figure out whether Pietro actually knew who Luna's boyfriend was. It seemed like he didn’t. She relaxed.

Pietro gently grasped her chin and turned her gaze toward him. "Focus on me."

"My fian—"

“If you mention that bastard as your fiancé one more time, things are going to get really bad. Really, really bad, Nadia.”

Nadia swallowed hard.

“Where were we? Oh, right. Luna will be leaving soon, and I’ll be home alone. I don’t like living alone.”

“Then get a dog.”

He smiled at her, brushing his lips against hers. “Nadia, I love how you test my patience, especially when I’m already settled between your legs and could make you beg...”

Nadia cursed as the pulse between her legs quickened. "Damn it."

“I’m going to free you from Frank, Monica, and those Gallagher kids you didn’t even give birth to.”

“Hey! I love those kids.”

“I’m not saying you can’t love them, but from now on, you’re not going to get engaged to opportunistic friends just to save their asses because their dad is a piece of shit.”

“I’d do the same for Luna, and you know it.”

Pietro cupped her cheeks with both hands, forcing her to tilt her head up slightly. She tried to stay calm as she met his kiss.

When Pietro pulled back, he said, "That would never be necessary, and you know it. If anyone even thought about putting Luna on the gambling table, I’d tear them apart at the molecular level," he said, "because I'm a good father. So there’s no reason why you shouldn’t make dozens of babies with me."

Before the woman could groan in protest, he pulled out his phone and shoved it into her hand. "Call Dimitri and tell him to shove his solution where the sun doesn’t shine. We’ll protect Valentina. And next time you’re in trouble, you’ll come to me first because you’re going to be my wife."

Nadia shrieked, "WHAT?!"

“You wanted to get married, right? Dimitri was single and handsome? I’m fulfilling your wish,” Pietro said, gesturing to himself from head to toe with both hands. “But with someone much better. Not only am I single and handsome, but when I touch you, I pull your soul right out of your body, and after giving you what you need, I put it back again. You can't deny that!”

Nadia stood frozen, staring at him with her mouth agape.

Pietro pointed at the phone, “Call, Nadia. Please.”

She opened her mouth to speak but stopped. Then she tried again, “If you think you just proposed to me, you're wrong. We’ll keep this secret thing going between us, at least until you learn to stop acting like a caveman.”

“Will you call, please?”

The woman shrugged as if to say, "Whatever," and started dialing the number from memory.

“Are you kidding me? You memorized the guy’s number too?!”

“Calm down, Pietro. The guy’s a friend,” she said, holding the phone to her ear.

"What’s my number?"

Nadia waved him off, "Shut up."

The phone was answered. Nadia briefly explained the situation and hung up, handing the phone back to Pietro.

"What’s my number?"

Nadia groaned, "Oh my God! You’re forty years old! Stop acting like a jealous teenager!"

"You can’t blame me. I’ve been living as your secret lover for years!"

"Oh, please!"

"You either bring me here or take me to your place! You always screw me behind closed doors, away from prying eyes, and you buy me nice gifts! I’m your secret lover, no doubt!"

"How much more dramatic can you get? You buy me gifts too!"

"But I never wanted to hide you from the world!"

Nadia laughed, trying to provoke him, "I’m embarrassed by your mustache. That’s why I hid you from the world. It definitely wasn’t to protect the kids from the complications of our relationship."

"Complicated?!" Okay, Pietro was getting riled up. When he started kissing the woman sitting at the table roughly, Nadia gave in all too quickly. As Pietro’s hand slid between her legs, his lips traveled from her neck to her ear. "Tell me my number."

Nadia wanted to get angry, to shout, to scream, but for God’s sake! Pietro knew exactly where to touch, and she melted under his touch. She moaned with pleasure, "Are you serious?"

"More serious than ever."

When she finally recited his number, Pietro gave her what she wanted. Nadia was left sprawled across the table, breathless, clutching her chest. "God!"

Pietro leaned down and kissed her, "See you at the party tonight. And after the party, I’ll help you erase that guy’s number from your memory, babe."

*   *   *

The door pounded like it was about to be broken down. Lip set Liam down from his lap and went to answer it. Two men, each towering over two meters, asked where Valentina was. Lip froze. They shoved him aside and entered, and Lip rushed after them into the living room in a panic. Seeing that Liam wasn’t in the room, he felt slightly relieved. The men scanned the house and said Valentina had to come with them to pay off Frank’s debt. Lip raised his hands as if surrendering. "I’ll tell her the moment she gets home!" He was trying to get rid of them.

Satisfied by the expression on his face, the men left the house. As soon as they did, Lip saw Liam sitting in the crawl space under the stairs, holding his phone. "Liam? Were you scared? Come here."

Liam hugged his brother tightly. "I wasn’t scared at all," he said. "Iron Man is coming."

"Yeah, sure." Lip knew that his brother's imagination was a priceless gift in this grim life, but moments like this made him feel a bit sorry for the kid.

Hearing robotic sounds, Lip turned his head back. "Holy shit!"

Tony took off his sunglasses and set his helmet down on the coffee table. Before doing so, he wiped off a sticky piece of slime with the back of his hand, making sure it didn’t get on the helmet. "Since Liam sent an SOS to the urgent friendship hotline, there better be a damn planetary collision going on or something," he said, sitting down on the couch. "Mind grabbing me a cold drink?"

Lip paused for a second, eyebrows raised in disbelief, then said, "Sure," and headed to the fridge.