Emma Frost closed her desk with deliberate grace, the carillon-like sound of diamond against polished wood resonating through her high-rise office. The city sprawled beneath her, a tapestry of lights that shimmered like faint constellations—but none of it could rival her presence. She, the White Queen of the Hellfire Trading Company, a monolith of charisma and authority nestled eighty seven stories above the mundane clamor, ruled over her domain with ice-cold elegance and volcanic allure.
Her nail-tips, each crowned in perfect diamond brilliance, caught the light of her elegant ottoman lamp as she turned to the screen, eyes calculating. On it, a photo of the man known as Mr. Ranger—armored, enigmatic, wounded. Her diamond-tipped fingertip glided from his sturdy jaw up to the intensity of his gaze.
"Why did Magneto let you live?" she murmured, voice a fusion of velvet and steel. "He should have extinguished your flame the moment you revealed that stubborn spark of defiance." Her finger lingered on his eye. "And yet… he didn't. Perhaps I should extend an invitation. The next Hellfire Gala could use a guest of your… caliber."
The screen flickered and closed. Frost stood and walked toward her drink cabinet. Before her, the floor-to-ceiling windows showcased Manhattan's night skyline—dark buildings punctuated by windows of warm glow, the Hudson slipping past like a river of molten silver. She reached for a bottle: D'Amalfi Limoncello Supreme. The golden liqueur poured slow, smooth, evocative of sun-drenched Amalfi cliffs and daring indulgence.
Two glasses filled, and she glided to her velvet settee. She sat like royalty—poised, graceful, her tall form draped in sleek ebony silk that hugged every curve, her alabaster skin glowing in the dim lamplight. Each movement was deliberate, sensual—like poetry in motion.
A hush fell over the room and Emma closed her eyes, savoring the limoncello's sweetness. Then, a distant hum of power. The lamp's light cast a shifting shadow of a presence entering her sanctum. She didn't turn—didn't need to. The shadow spoke of tension, of something dangerous yet familiar.
The man—suit black as a midnight void trimmed in blue luminescence—approached. He never broke stride, never looked to the view. The hum quieted as he neared. She turned, pink lips curved into an inviting yet commanding smile.
"Mr. Ranger." she purred, voice caressing steel. "A woman requires her beauty sleep, does she not?" The words drew out the elegance of a queen addressing a favored guest.
He advanced. With majestic composure, she stretched languidly, the silk sliding against her skin, revealing a glimmer of thigh and décolletage—every bit the image of the immortal Frost: money, power, authority, and an icy beauty that could cut diamond.
"The beauty you see." she said, raising her glass, "does not come without sacrifice." Her words carried a hint of arrogance wrapped in power. She sipped slowly, savoring both the drink and the attention rippling through the man before her.
He raised his glass in silent acknowledgment. The suit's helm disassembled—a fluid exhale of technology—revealing the contours of a battle-weary face. He chugged the limoncello in one, defiant stroke, then refilled.
"You were… remarkably restrained in that meeting," she observed, noting the slight tremor in his fingers.
"Deadpool." he muttered, a single word heavy with layers she and the mutants understood the most.
Emma's smile shifted—a reflective, knowing softening. She placed her glass on the lacquered table and crossed her legs, the silk sliding in a display of poised elegance.
"To being sane." she proposed once more, her eyes locking with his, breath held in the silent dance between predator and pawn.
"To being sane." he echoed, voice dark velvet, carrying the weight of untold scars.
Their glasses clinked.
The two sat in comfortable tension: the White Queen—power incarnate, draped in serenity and sin; the broken, armored Ranger—scarred, silent, wrapped in dangerous quiet. Around them, the city pulsed, oblivious to the quiet peace unfolding above.
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The ambient light of Manhattan painted shifting patterns across the diamond-hard planes of Emma Frost's office. She swirled the D'Amalfi Limoncello Supreme in her crystal glass, the golden liquid catching the light like a captive sun. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, was fixed on Ranger.
"Mr. Ranger." she began, her voice a low, melodious purr that seemed to vibrate in the very air between them, "I must confess, I figured a man of your... directness... would at least favor me with a call before materializing in my personal space. Some girls find such abrupt intrusions rather uncouth, you see." A delicate smile played on her lips, a masterpiece of polite challenge.
Ranger leaned against her antique drink cabinet, the blue luminescence of his powered-down suit a stark contrast to the opulent wood.
He chugged the glass he'd just poured, the gesture almost aggressively casual, then refilled it, and Emma's, without asking. "I figured." he said, his voice a low rumble, "you don't belong to those 'some girls' types. Do you now, Emma?" He slid her glass towards her.
"Besides, you invited me for, in your very own words, a 'softer perspective' and a 'private' conversation. I'm merely taking you up on the offer, perhaps a shade more eagerly than anticipated."
Emma's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. Her fingers, each nail an immaculate diamond point, danced along the rim of her refilled glass before she picked it up.
"Eager, or merely impatient? Judging from the way you were almost... chummy... with Logan, I surmised you wouldn't darken my doorstep unless you truly had to." She took a delicate sip, her eyes never leaving his, then, in a deliberate echo of his earlier gesture, downed the rest in one surprisingly swift, smooth gulp. "So tell me, what have you truly come for? A softer perspective on the precipice of war? Or is it the 'private conversation' you're craving tonight?"
"Depends entirely on what you're offering, Emma." Ranger moved from the cabinet, taking her empty glass from her unresisting fingers. He refilled it with a steady hand, then his own, and downed his again, his eyes locking with hers over the rim. "I find myself in a state where I could use both. And perhaps." he added, his voice dropping, a hint of something raw beneath the surface, "much more."
"You never seemed the type to be so easily disgruntled, Mr. Ranger. So quick to shed your layers." Emma rose, a vision in ebony silk, and glided closer. She took his now-empty glass, not to refill it, but to bring it to her own lips, her tongue tracing the rim where his had been. Her lipstick left a faint, carnal smear on the crystal. "It looks like our mutual acquaintance, Deadpool, did a rather thorough job. Opening you in places that even the collective might of Krakoa couldn't breach."
He watched her, a ghost of a smirk, a sad one playing on his lips. "He is Deadpool," Ranger conceded, taking the glass back. He poured a generous measure, his gaze unwavering as he matched his lips to the exact spot her lipstick had stained. He drank deeply. Emma Frost's eyes narrowed, just a fraction, a silent acknowledgment of the audacity, the intimacy of the gesture. "It would be a shocker if he couldn't stir things up. He has a way of stripping away the pretense, wouldn't you agree?"
"Indeed." Emma's voice was pure velvet, now laced with a sharper thread of business. She moved with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator, her scent – expensive, intoxicating – filling the small space between them.
"So do tell, Mr. Ranger, if you're so thoroughly 'opened'... where is that chaotic Merc now? Wherever he goes, my investments tend to tank quite spectacularly. He has a unique talent for making quarterly reports bleed red."
"And what do I get if I were to divulge such sensitive, market-moving information, Frost?" Ranger's hand came up, his fingers gently guiding her chin, tilting her face so their eyes were perfectly aligned. The touch was surprisingly light, yet undeniably firm. He was close enough now that he could see the intricate flecks in her ice-blue eyes, the subtle pulse at her throat.
"A softer perspective." Emma purred, her body swaying almost imperceptibly closer, her breath warm against his skin as she spoke directly into his ear, her voice a silken caress, "and a very, very 'private' conversation with yours truly. One where all guards are... encouraged to be down."
"An interesting proposition, no doubt." His thumb brushed her jawline, a spark of friction. Then, he leaned in, his lips brushing the delicate shell of her ear before he gave it a soft, surprising nip. "But I have a policy. I like to take a sample of what's about to come before I fully initiate the transaction. A taste, if you will, of the… private arrangements."
A low chuckle vibrated in Emma's throat. "Mr. Ranger." she breathed, her hand snaking around his waist, her other coming to rest on his chest, right over his heart, "don't think for a moment that just because I am… allowing certain liberties, you have anything resembling absolute control."
With a sudden, fluid shift of leverage that belied her slender frame, she spun him, pressing him back against the plush velvet of the settee, her body settling gracefully onto his chest. Her fingers, cool and tipped with diamond, traced the line of his chin, down his throat. "No matter what happens between these walls, Mr. Ranger, I will be taking that information from you. One way." she leaned down, her lips a breath away from his, "or another."
Ranger's hands found her hips, fingers splaying against the smooth silk, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath. A predatory grin touched his lips.
"Is that a threat, Ms. Frost, or a promise?"
And with a surge of controlled strength, he reversed their positions, her gasp a soft counterpoint to the rustle of silk as he settled above her, caging her elegantly.
"Then let's conduct a thorough systems check, shall we? Let's see who truly has the most control here. And who," his voice dropped to a husky whisper, his eyes devouring hers, "will give first." He lowered his head, his lips hovering milimeters from hers.
"Prepare to lose against a Frost, Mr. Ranger." Emma whispered back, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of challenge and anticipation, her hands coming up to frame his face, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones. "We tend to have a rather chilling effect."
"Losing to you, Emma." he murmured, his breath mingling with hers, "might be the only victory I'm interested in tonight."
And then, he kissed her.
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A semi R-18 chapter coming next chapter. and the next with a bit of info of mutants. And then my favorite character of all of Marvel. When he comes in the chapter even the MC becomes a side character, lol.
And for people who wished this fanfic to be a pure love. I apologizes. It can't be cause Mc met Deadpool and deadpool did 'stuff' to the MC.
But fear not, The end goal is Black Widow and Black Widow alone.
And the pacing is going to be kind of horrible.
PS: Deadpool is sad that his chapter didn't get the traction he wishes it get. So Deadpool is off to a Gym Battle after finishing his Musical.