#asks fifth avenue

[mermaidsirennikita]

a) of course Starz picked up up Mary and George, as the channel that is basically "historical shows for women who want to see nudity onscreen" (said with respect)

b) of course Starz is doing that Outlander prequel about the dead parents we know die horribly like the one who has a heart attack or some shit after the trauma of seeing his son basically flayed alive instead of adapting, I don't know, a historical romance series in which it's literally period piece content for women who want to see nudity, which doesn't actually have any rape

[ask-david-jacobs]

Have you watched pirates of Penzance before? If so did you like it?

Oh! Yes, I have actually!

There was a production at Medda's, Irving Hall that is, that some of us went to go see. It was... interesting, to say the least. But I did enjoy it, the music was quite catchy.

[oneshotnewbie]

A jogger finds a phone and calls the cops. When they take it and put it into a zip back, they accidentally turn on the phone - revealing a picture of The Captain of the SVU and Reader?

Possible trigger warning: This one-shot includes the mention of blood and kidnapping, the plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

William Jacobs ran across the Brooklyn Bridge at the same time every morning, trying to beat his best time. But today he desperately thought about turning back and skipping today's sports session - the weather was playing into his cards.

Despite all the negative voices in his head, the young man ran from the Brooklyn bridge to the Manhattan Central Park and back. At this early hour there were hardly any passers-by and only occasionally a few cars drove past. As he took his first step off the bridge, he was inspired by the release of happiness hormones and increased his pace.

William loved being able to look out over the East River and let his thoughts and feelings flow freely. His black hair flowed in the wind and was dampened by the drizzle, her ragged breathing evident in the chill of dawn. When he managed halfway of his way, he was panting like never before in his life - the cold air making it harder to force enough air through his lungs. The young man felt the slight sting in his side, but did not hesitate to stop.

It was not until his head moved towards the entrance of the Central Park that he saw something blue and shimmery lying on the ground. Confused, he stopped and cautiously approached the object, peering left and right to locate other people.

Startled, he jumped back and almost stepped into the street when he saw red-brown stains around it, some of them even splattered on the cell phone he had found. William did not even hear the car behind him screeching to a stop next to him and the car door being opened with an aggressive jerk. "Are you crazy? I almost ran you over!"

But the young man did not answer the older women. She looked at the black-haired guy and saw fear and disgust on his face. His shaky fingers pointed to the main reason he stopped, which was why the woman looked confused on the ground and shortly after promptly walked back to her car in shock. "We have to alert the police." he shouted in a shrill, abnormally bright voice. The stranger nodded her head and pulled her cell phone out of the glove compartment of her red car. She quickly tapped on her phone and held it trembling against her ear.

"Emergency call center, how can I help you?" A calm voice asked on the other end of the line, beginning to type on her keyboard to find out the location of the caller. "We found a phone." she spoke anxiously, earning a sigh from the 911 agent. "Mam, you know this is not an emergency, right?"

William looked confused at the device in the old lady's hand, and in his adrenaline rush he did not quite understand why the sigh was being given. So he quickly snatched the cell phone from her and continued the conversation. "Listen. Here is a cell phone lying at the entrance to Central Park, covered in blood splatters. I also recognize an original NYPD cell phone case."

“Which entrance are you at?” the woman's low voice slowly calmed his rapidly beating heart. He took a deep breath while trying not to let his mind sink into a hole of horror scenarios. He looked around, trying to figure out which entrance he really was at. "Fifth Avenue at the Plaza Hotel,"

"Do not touch anything. I will send you a unit."

ᕚ---ᕘ

The gentle rain pattered quietly against Olivia's bedroom windows and made her open her eyes just a crack wide. Her tired gaze glowered out and a hand brushed over her face as she watched the night slowly fade away. Her attention turned to the other side of the bed, her fingers curling into the cold sheets next to her.

Her fiancée was no longer lying next to her and she sighed heavily. She usually woke up before you almost every morning, kissing along your naked spine stroking her hand with pleasure over your sides before she remained on your bare hip, waking you up for another day. Olivia loved waking up next to you since she shared a bed with you and enjoyed every minute of it. But she respected your exercise routine in the early hours of the morning and was in no way offended if she started the day without you.

The brunette tried to close her eyes for another five minutes, but quickly abandoned the idea when her cell phone rang. A little angry, she felt around on the bedside table for the annoying-sounding device and answered the call. "Lieutenant Benson?" she sighed loudly, already pulling the blanket off her body.

The brunette, half asleep, rummaged through her closet for some clothes and ran into the bathroom to get ready. "Central Park, I will be right there." When she ended the conversation, she tried to reach you on your cell phone to take you home, but her attempt came to nothing and she did not think about it any further - you had already put your phone on silent often enough to avoid being distracted.

After quickly downing a cup of coffee to wake herself up, she pulled her coat off the hook and slipped through the door into the day's events. The rain worsened on the way to the crime scene, washing every possible mess back into the sewers. When she got out, Amanda and Fin were already standing at the cordoned off area that had been created to protect the evidence from the rain. "What do we have?"

"A blood-spattered cell phone," the blonde expressed, gratefully accepting an evidence bag from another officer. She carefully placed the found object in it and handed it to her boss. "A cell phone? Why were we called?" the Sergent and the detective shrugged and raised their hands in question. "The caller thought it was a cell phone belonging to one of our colleagues, which is why we were notified because a significant amount of blood was found next to it."

Olivia nodded, looking worriedly at the phone in her hand. You had the same case around your phone, she had given it to you as a small gift. She turned it around so the screen was facing her and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the scratch on it. The brunette had almost caused the same one on your phone when she saved you from a bullet a couple months ago.

She always wanted to have it repaired but you would not let her - it was a memory for you. "Liv, are you okay?" Finn asked worriedly, watching as the color suddenly drained from his best friend's face. She nodded in response, looking back from the evidence to the paving stone. A good amount of blood that was not easy to ignore. "Yeah, it is just.."

The tough woman could not finish the sentence right away. The screen turned on on its own, showing a reminder notification on the display. Underneath you could clearly see two smiling faces smeared with light gray paint as a background image.

She recognized the image immediately. Olivia shot it herself when you were recoloring your bedroom together. Olivia swallowed hard, the phone shaking in her hands as she tried to suppress her rising panic. “It is y/n’s. It is her phone."

[ereardon]

Snowed In || Friday [Jake Seresin x OC]

A Jake Seresin AU miniseries

Summary: When a massive storm shutters every airport in New York, you receive an unexpected call. Jake Seresin, the ex-boyfriend of your college roommate, is stranded at JFK with nowhere to go. Somehow you find yourself hosting Jake for a long weekend in your studio apartment. What happens when you realize that maybe your long-standing hatred for him was covering up something else? 

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x OC [Ella Finnley]

Trope: Forced proximity; enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, references to cheating, eventual smut

Wordcount: 3.2K 

Masterlist here

“And this just in. More than a foot of snow is expected in areas across the Tri-State, with Scarsdale already at seven inches and counting. LaGuardia has shut down their runway, with Newark and John F Kennedy airport soon to follow.” 

You groaned, flicking off the TV and opening the cabinets. They were predicting the worst storm in two decades and somehow all you had in the cupboard was a lifetime supply of ramen noodles and red wine. 

Outside, the snow was falling in soft clumps. You looked out the window which overlooked Fifth Avenue. Very few cars or taxis were on the road, and the people who were outside looked miserable. 

And then the phone rang. You dove for it, expected it to be your mom with yet another tidbit of news that she thought was groundbreaking, as if you didn’t already know that Diet Coke was bad for you, but the male voice on the other end startled you. 

“Ella?” 

You squinted, pulling the phone back and registering the caller ID. Jake Seresin. You groaned. “What could you possibly want, Jake?” 

“Nice to hear from you, too,” he replied and you rolled your eyes. It had been a decade since you last heard from Jake Seresin. He was just as obnoxious as you remembered. 

“Listen, Seresin, if you called just to give me shit, I didn’t need a reminder that you’re a dick. Memory serves well enough. Goodbye.” 

“El, wait!” 

You frowned. “What?” 

His voice softened. “I’m sorry to do this,” he said and you felt your stomach tightening. “But you’re the only person I know in the city.” Jake paused. “I’m stuck at JFK.” 

“Don’t eat the egg sandwich,” you said, recalling a moldy sandwich you had gotten once at the airport on the way to Berlin. “Have a good flight, Jake.” 

“Ella, I’m stranded,” he said and you groaned. “Can I stay with you? Just until the airports open back up.” 

You looked outside. In the two minutes since Jake had called, snow had started to fall faster, coating the streets and sidewalks and innocent pedestrians. 

“I’m sorry,” he said and for perhaps the first time that you had known him in almost fifteen years, Jake Seresin sounded genuine. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t my only option.” 

Jake Seresin. The last time you had seen him, he was standing in the doorway of your college apartment with a bouquet of flowers that Suzannah had grabbed and trampled on in fury. 

“Ella? Are you still there?” 

“Fine,” you said, surprising even yourself. “Fifth and 12th Street. Apartment 4B.” 

“I owe you, El.” 

“Two days, Seresin,” you replied. “Anything more and you get a hotel.” 

“I’ll see you soon.”

***

You had hated Jake Seresin for as long as you could remember. Or at least, since the first time you saw his smug face in a poli sci lecture. He was sitting in the back, drinking a cup of coffee and doodling on a notebook. At the end of class, he had come right up to you and asked if he could copy your notes. When you said no, asking why he hadn’t taken his own notes, he had called you sweetheart and shot his best grin. 

You turned on your heel and walked away. 

Two years later, your roommate Suzannah has been stupid enough to fall for his charm, and you were treated to the unfortunate experience of having to listen to the two of them having sex behind the thin walls of your apartment. More than once you had stumbled into a shirtless Jake in the bathroom, smelling like sex and acidic cologne. Once he had walked in on you naked and instead of hurrying out like a normal person, he had leered. 

You had doubled down on your hatred for him from that moment on. 

When the doorbell buzzed you sighed, peering at the small ring camera before pressing the buzzer. “Come up.” 

The minute between buzzing him in and Jake knocking on the door felt like a century. It always did. There was something so awkward about shuffling around, waiting for the door but not wanting to be too eager to open it when the knock finally came. 

Taking a deep breath, you swung the door open. 

Jake Seresin in the flesh. The same goofy, brilliant grin from a decade before. Sandy blond hair dotted with melting snowflakes, cheeks ruddy and pink from the cold. He wore a light jacket, far too light for the extreme weather, and held a duffle bag in one hand, cowboy boots soggy and wet, dripping on your doormat. 

“Jake.” 

He smiled, leaning in for a hug and you pulled back at the last second so he stumbled over the threshold. Jake righted himself. “Ella. Still hate me, I see.” 

You turned, shaking your head. The sound of the door closing was followed by the plop of Jake’s bag on the ground. “Shoes off,” you called out, and there was a clattering as he kicked off his boots. 

Jake appeared a moment later, his jacket removed, revealing a tight henley shirt and a pair of jeans. He took a look around the studio. It was surprisingly large, for New York standards. Not Sex and the City unrealistic, but nice, with an alcove to the right that held your queen sized bed, a large couch against one wall and a dining area in the center. 

The galley kitchen off the main hallway was large and the bathroom was relatively spacious for a studio. It had just been you for so long that you didn’t think twice about the size. But something about Jake in your space made you realize maybe it wasn’t as spacious as it looked to your smaller frame. He hulked in the hallway. 

“Nice place,” he said. “Been here long?” 

“Four years.” 

He tipped his head. “Always knew you were going to end up in New York, didn’t you?” 

You sighed, plopping down on one end of the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “What are you doing here, Seresin?” 

“I told you, I was stranded at the airport,” Jake replied, stepping forward and taking a seat on the chair opposite of the couch. You grimaced. His outdoor pants were touching your indoor furniture. That was the downside of having guests. If Jake could even be considered a guest. Don’t guests have to be invited? Or wanted. 

“On your way to where? Somewhere without extradition laws?” 

Jake rolled his eyes. “Ten years, Finn. Ten years and you haven’t changed.” 

“Have you?”

The words clung to the air. The elephant in the room. It didn’t matter that it had been nearly a decade since the last time you had seen Jake Seresin. 

His betrayal still stung, even if it had never been directed at you. 

“Ella,” he whispered. Outside, the sky was darkening. Without the constant bumper-to-bumper traffic that was a given on Fifth Ave, the street was uncomfortably dark. There was a dampness that chilled your bones, even from the comfort of being inside. “Please. Can we just put aside the past for the next few days?” He looked older. Small lines at the corners of his eyes. Jake Seresin had a loud, boisterous laugh, you remembered that about him. The way he could liven up a party. The way he could make you feel like you were the only person in the room. 

This time you were. 

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Finn?” he said, bringing back your nickname from college. “Truce?” 

You leaned back against the soft white couch cushion. “Fine.” 

Jake grinned. It was magnetic and you hated him for it. “Well, let’s celebrate then. Got anything to drink?” 

“Been here one minute and you need a drink already?” you asked, standing up. Jake’s eyes roamed over your leggings and sweater as you made your way into the kitchen, emerging a moment later with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Someone never got over their frat days I see.” 

Jake reached out, taking the bottle from your hands and turning it on its side. “You must be doing OK,” he said. “This is a one hundred dollar bottle of wine.” You handed him the wine opener and he undid the top easily, sliding out the cork and laying it on a stack of magazines on the marble coffee table. 

“Anything is better than that Franzia shit you used to love.” 

Jake ignored your comment, instead turning the bottle and reading the label. “I did a wine tour in Lebanon a few years ago. This was one of my favorite vineyards.”

You frowned, holding out a glass and he tipped the neck of the bottle against the thin rim, dribbling it into your glass. “So did I. That’s where I got that bottle.” You pointed to the 2015 Chateau Musar in his hand. 

“What were you doing in Lebanon?” 

“Writing a story,” you replied. “What about you?” 

“Went with a friend,” Jake said. “We met in Portugul and decided fuck it, let’s go to Lebanon.” 

“Still wildly dependable I see.” 

“I have a job, Ella. I’m an adult.” 

You laughed, tugging your knees to your chest. “Oh yeah?” 

Jake nodded, setting the bottle of wine down. You let your eyes roam over his fancy jeans, cashmere socks, shiny watch that you hadn’t noticed before. Maybe he wasn’t lying. Maybe he was doing OK for himself. 

“Fine,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. “You have a job. Slow clap. Who doesn’t?” 

Jake shook his head. “Still bitter,” he replied, tilting his glass to his lips. “Whatever happened to you and Connor Gray?” 

“Oh God,” you muttered. “Fuck no. Do you know what he’s doing now? He’s a fucking DJ in Bushwick.” You mimed gagging. “I’d rather eat my left foot than date some Chelsea-boot-wearing guy who drinks craft beer and tries to serenade me on a hot rooftop in Brooklyn on his shitty guitar.” 

Jake tipped his head back with a laugh. It filled the room. You had almost forgotten how boisterous his laugh could be. 

“What about you?” you asked. “Any poor unsuspecting women?” There was no ring on his finger, no tan line or dent to show that perhaps he was divorced instead. 

“Nope.” Jake put his glass down. “Single.”

“Really? Jake Seresin, single.” 

“It’s hard out there, Finn,” he said, his voice hitting a register you couldn’t quite place. Something between sadness and begging for understanding. 

“You were never without a date to a formal in college. Couldn’t even go out without girls throwing themselves at you.” You shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think the player in you would just shrivel up and die the minute we hit thirty.” 

“I’m still twenty nine,” Jake corrected. “And I don’t know what to tell you, El. It was fun for a while. But then I started to feel kind of gross. Like Leo DiCaprio. A new girl all the time. I couldn’t go to a single wedding without people asking about the girl who I had brought to the last one. But she was long gone.” He paused. “Couldn’t tell you the last time I saw the same girl for more than a month or three dates.”  

You frowned. Jake Seresin, a reformed manwhore? Not possible. 

He shrugged. “There, is that my dues for the night? Told you my dating life so now you owe me shelter from the storm?” 

“For now,” you said, standing up. “Interrogation can resume later. I’m hungry.” 

“Then let’s eat.” Jake looked outside. “It’s pretty shit out.” 

“Agreed.”

“What do you have for food?” 

You winced. “Honestly? I mostly eat out, so not much.” 

Jake stood up, brushing past you so closely you could feel his broad chest press against you for a second on his way toward the kitchen. “I’ll figure something out. You relax.” 

“Relax? With you in my apartment? Fat chance, Seresin.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Going to be a long weekend, isn’t it, Finn?” 

***

Jake somehow managed to make a perfectly edible dinner out of the almost-expired food in your fridge and what was left in the pantry. The two of you sat at the small two-person table you had pressed against one set of windows overlooking Fifth Ave. 

Anyone looking in might think it was a date. Even though Jake had dated Suzannah for almost a year, you two had barely spent any alone time together. That’s how you always tried to keep it with your friends’ significant others. A simple conversation here and there, usually while your friend was showering or getting ready or coming back from the store. 

Never like this. 

After dinner, Jake insisted on cleaning. As if it would make up for the countless times he had left shit in your apartment sink in college. You stood at the window, watching the snow pummel from the sky, coating the street in a thick blanket that it couldn’t shake. There was no one outside walking around. It felt apocalyptic and you cringed knowing that you still had at least a day alone with Jake and nothing to do but be in each other’s presence. 

“It’s dark in here,” Jake said, startling you. You turned as he reached for the overhead light. 

“Stop,” you said and he froze. “Lamps, dumbass. Why do men always want to use ceiling lights? Do you like being bathed in fluorescent light?” You strode over to the dresser along one wall, flicking on a candle warmer lamp and another small lamp on the far side of the room. Warm light spilled out into the room. 

“Does it matter?” Jake asked. 

“Yes.” 

Jake shook his head. “Alright, Finn. I’m all yours. What do you want to do?” 

“You mean other than throw you out in the snow on your ass?” 

Jake stepped closer. “Am I really that bad?” he whispered. 

You looked up. Clear green eyes, perfect almond tanned skin. Hair swept back in a carefree manner. You could tell why Suzannah has lost her fucking mind over him all those years ago. He really was too pretty to be true. “Maybe.” 

Jake looked around. “Well I would say I can get out of your hair for a few hours, but there’s not really many options.” He was right. Minus the alcove where your bed sat, the apartment was a pretty open floor plan. 

“Let’s just watch TV and watch the minutes tick by on the longest day known to mankind.” 

Reluctantly, you settled down onto the couch and flipped on the TV. After scrolling for a solid five minutes, Jake groaned. 

“What, Seresin?” you demanded. 

“Take longer,” he complained. 

“Fine, you do it.” You shoved the remote into his chest, trying to ignore how nice his chest felt beneath his shirt. 

Jake took the clicker and flicked through the apps before settling on a movie. 

“No,” you argued. 

He turned to you with a grin. “It’s a guilty pleasure. Humor me, Finn.” 

You grimaced as Twilight started. Jake laughed his way through the serious parts of the movie, cackling out loud at the spider monkey bit and you found yourself laughing along next to him. God, Carlisle really was hot. So was Charlie. That’s how you knew you were almost thirty. 

By the end of the movie, the two of you had shifted comfortably on the couch. You were no longer three feet apart. Instead, your feet were crossed over each other, almost precariously touching Jake’s where they sat propped up on the coffee table. 

It was the first time in years that you could remember sitting through an entire movie without some guy trying to feel you up or make a movie. 

The credits started to roll and you reached for the remote just as Jake did. You pulled your hand back like it was on fire and he handed it to you. “Sorry,” Jake said softly. His voice had grown huskier in the hour and a half since the movie started. “Your TV. Your remote.” 

“It’s fine,” you said and it was gentle. He smiled. There was something devilish about Jake Seresin’s smile. It was too perfect. You cleared your throat. “I, um, should get to bed

“Me too.” 

You stood up, clicking off the TV. The room felt darker without it, just the soft lamps illuminating small circles of light. “I’m going to shower. I’ll get you some blankets and pillows. The couch should be big enough for you.” 

“Thanks, El.” There was something so genuine about the way he said it that threw you off. Who was this stranger and what had he done with the dickwad from Stanford? “For letting me stay.” 

“See how much you like me after a night of sleeping on that,” you replied, digging in the closet near the hallway for pillows and a comforter, dumping them in Jake’s arms. “Do you, um, need to use the bathroom first?” 

“I’ll go after you.” 

In the shower, you were acutely aware that no more than twenty feet away, Jake Seresin was fiddling around in your apartment. You had spent hundreds and hundreds of hours with him at Stanford, but this was different and you both knew it. When you entered the living room, steam pummeling out of the bathroom door, Jake looked up from where he stood shirtless in the living room. “Oh, God!” you exclaimed, holding one hand up to your face. “What the fuck?” 

“Fuck, fuck, sorry!” Jake grabbed for his t-shirt on the couch, tugging it on. “OK, you’re safe. All clear.” 

“This isn’t Barcelona, Seresin,” you complained, stepping toward the dresser and sliding open a drawer, pulling out a pair of silk pajamas. “Or a rave in someone’s basement.” 

He sat down on the edge of the couch cushion. “Been that long since you’ve seen a shirtless guy, huh, El?” 

You hated that he was right. “Fuck off.” 

Jake chuckled. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.” 

“Maybe that’s why no girl wants to date you for more than a week,” you snapped. “Because you’re a dick.” 

Silence hung in the air, thick like the snow clumping on the streets outside the window. You held your breath, letting your lungs sit there and burn. Jake’s eyes haunted yours. 

You felt bad. Never had you ever expected to feel bad for Jake Seresin. Golden boy. Womanizer. Player extraordinaire. But this was obviously a sore spot and you knew it. 

He looked sad, sitting in your apartment living room in the near-dark, face drawn and quiet. An unease squeezed at your stomach. 

“Jake, I–”

Jake stood, cutting you off. “It’s fine. I’m going to use the bathroom if that’s OK.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

You watched his frame disappear down the hallway, rounding the corner into the subway tiled bathroom. As you sat down in your silk robe at the edge of your bed, the silence in the apartment, usually so comforting as an alternative to the bustle of the city outside, felt stifling. When Jake returned in the dark, flicking off the final light and settling onto the couch, you held your breath, waiting for him to say something. 

But nothing ever came. The two of you laid there, ten feet apart, separated by a wall of silence. 

You had spent ten years who knows how many miles away from Jake Seresin and never given him another thought. Why was it that ten feet now felt like a lap around the equator? 

The chill in the room wasn’t in your head and it wasn’t from the blizzard outside. You and Jake had created frost all on your own. 

Tag list [using my list from The Off-Season since it's my most up-to-date Jake list but if you're not interested in these types of fics just let me know!):

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@teacupsandtopgun @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @blue-aconite @seresinhangmanjake @eminyourjeans @shawnsblue @babyminghao @sadpetalsstuff @angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @wkndwlff @mygyn @oneelleandaneye @averyhotchner @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @rxmtoon @valkyrja-siren-blog @horseshoegirl @abaker74 @clancycucumber230 @theharddeck @redbarn1995 @shanimallina87

@memeorydotcom @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @gretagerwigsmuse @djs8891

@blackcatdhisgf @fangirlvoice @buckysteveloki-me  @eli2447 @bellaireland1981 

[steveslevis]

delicate - chapter two

is it chill that you're in my head?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

chapter contents: not a lot happening in this one, just the two of them being awkward

wc: 3.6k

a/n: hope you guys enjoy!!! sorry it took so long, hopefully ch3 won't take me as long

Everything that comes after your so-called interview at Ralph’s happens in what seems like a matter of seconds. Before you know it, you’re standing on Fifth avenue with Eddie the next day, your two large suitcases, one duffle bag and backpack being the only things you needed to tow across the city. 

Eddie had been the opposite of excited for you, in all honesty. He told you damn near a thousand times over a span of 24 hours that you should just move in with him and Alexander, and that you should try to negotiate with him about still working for him until you can save for your own place. Much to his dismay, you ignored your best friend’s concerns, shaking your head with confidence every time he tried to ask if you would stay. You had a good feeling about this, the voice in the back of your head telling you to go for it, that it would be a good growth opportunity, that you would never heal by spending your time rotting on Eddie’s couch. 

So that’s how you ended up here, walking into one of the most expensive luxury housing buildings in the entire city with your weary best friend in tow. The two of you had made the mile and a half long trek across the city instead of using one of the Harrington family’s chauffeurs – you had insisted to Steve that it wasn’t necessary for the little amount of belongings that you had. 

“Holy shit,” you hear Eddie mumble behind you while you push open the heavy glass door and walk into the lobby. 

The lobby is grand, with white marble floors, sleek black walls, gold accents, and arguably the biggest crystal chandelier you’ve ever seen hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. There’s two gray leather couches sitting in front of a modern fireplace on one side, while a black granite front desk is on the other, with a young, blonde woman standing behind it. 

“Hi there!” The woman calls to you from behind the desk, bearing the fakest smile you’ve ever seen as she eyes you and Eddie up and down, likely judging how out of place the two of you look in such a luxurious area, “can I help you two?”

“Yeah, we’re looking for the Harrington residence,” you say while approaching the desk with an equally fake smile plastered on your face, “are we in the right place?”

The woman, whose name is Carolyn according to her nametag, immediately turns off the fake niceties once you say who you’re looking for. The fake smile falters for a moment and you see her furrow her brow while looking you over once again. She looks down to the desk in front of her for a moment, reaching for an envelope that’s off to the side.

“You must be the new nanny,” she says, and you almost swear you hear a hint of jealousy in her voice as she speaks.

“Yes, that’s me.” you say with a small chuckle to yourself, raising your brow at her when she nearly frowns at your response. 

Her lips fall into a thin line at that, her hand coming up from behind the counter to shove the envelope onto the granite in front of you. 

“Here’s the access card and key to the apartment,” she says to you as you grab the envelope, inside is a glimmering golden card and a silver key that’s attached to a small tag with your name on it, “you have to scan the card in the elevator to get to the top floor, then use the key to open the door. Don’t lose them, or you’ll have to pay for them.” 

She turns back to the computer in front of her without a word as you nod. You turn to Eddie once she does, exchanging a confused look before making your way towards the elevator on the other end of the lobby. You scan the key card and the elevator’s doors automatically close as the circular button with a large “P” at the top of the pad lighting up as it begins its ascent. 

“Jesus, the fucking penthouse?” Eddie scoffs under his breath in disbelief, shifting your duffle bag on his shoulder.

It only takes a minute for the elevator to reach the top floor, the door of the elevator sliding open to reveal a short hallway with only one door at the end. The two of you step out and make your way over to the large front door, you look over to Eddie once you stand in front of it. The look on your face is filled with nervousness and excitement, but mainly nervousness.

“Should I knock?” you question, staring down at your key.

“You have a key for a reason, don’t you?” he quips, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You shoot him a quick glare and sigh, flipping the key in your fingers a few times as you try to compose yourself. Eventually you reach for the door, sliding the key into the lock to open it. The door swings open and you’re met with arguably the nicest apartment – penthouse, rather – that you’ve stepped foot in while living in the city. 

It’s much more cozy and less grandiose than you had expected, a stark contrast from the marble lined, golden and glittering lobby you had just entered from. You step into the living room when you first walk in, a large olive green couch and two matching chairs face a fireplace on the far wall, a comically large TV hanging above it. Everything is clean and definitely luxurious, but also feels lived-in, much more welcoming and warm than the rest of the complex. 

The kitchen is to the left through a wide archway, but you don't have time to explore, as your thoughts are interrupted by Steve bounding into view from the kitchen. There’s a welcoming smile on his face as he steps into the living room, wiping his hands with a kitchen towel before tossing it over his shoulder to free his hands. He’s wearing a pair of slacks and a navy button down. His hair is a little more disheveled than it was last time the two of you met, but still looked perfectly put together somehow. You could tell that he had recently gotten done with work for the day, partially from the fact that he had two buttons undone on his shirt, and partially from the air of remnant stress that he was carrying. 

“Welcome! Please, come on in.” Steve says with a smile as he watches Eddie close the door behind him. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, again. I really appreciate you starting so soon.”

“It’s no problem, I’m glad to help.” you say, shifting the backpack on your shoulders.

Steve extends a hand to Eddie to introduce himself, and Eddie gives him a reserved introduction in return, still hesitant about everything as he scans the penthouse. 

Steve looks between you and Eddie once more, eyeing the four bags between the two of you before asking, “Is this everything you had to bring up, or is there still more downstairs?”

“Yeah, this is it, actually.” you laugh, knowing the amount of belongings you had was quite underwhelming, “that’s why I said we could just make the hike with the bags instead of taking one of your cars.”

“Oh, it would’ve been no problem either way.” he says while shaking his head, reaching for the suitcase that was by your side, “C’mon, I’ll show you to your room.”

Steve guides the two of you to a room off to the right on the first floor, explaining that the people who owned the penthouse before him had used it as a place for their in-laws to stay. He opened the door to the room, letting you and Eddie walk in before him. The bedroom was much nicer than you had expected in all honesty, with a queen-sized bed in the middle adorned in obviously expensive cream-colored linens, a sitting area equipped with a stocked bookshelf (perks of being employed by the CEO of a famous publishing company), and a desk for you to work on school during your time off. There was an en-suite bathroom as well, which looked larger than the entire living room of your previous shared apartment. 

“Wow, this is–this is so amazing.” you gasp, looking over to Steve gratefully. “I wasn’t expecting anything this nice, to be honest.”

“Gotta make sure you’re comfortable so you stick around,” he says with a wink, which instantly sends your stomach into a fit of butterflies. “Go ahead and get settled in, I’m gonna go check on Amelia and the food.”

Before you could thank him, Steve was through the door and back in the nearby kitchen. You could tell why he needed your help, his mind worked at a thousand miles a minute, like he always had something that he needed to be doing.

“You still sure about all this?” Eddie implores, breaking you from your thoughts.

You look over to your best friend to see a face contorted with genuine concern and hesitancy, unsure of if he should leave you here alone or if he should tote you out over his shoulder regardless of your wishes.

“I am one hundred percent sure, Eds.” you assure him with a soft smile, pulling him into a hug. 

Eddie wraps his arms around your shoulders with a sigh, finally giving up his fight on your decisions. He knew you were too stubborn to listen to him and deep down he could tell that Steve meant well, but he was just so unsure. 

“I just want you to be safe.” he says finally, resting his chin atop your head.

“And I will be,” you state confidently, pulling back to look up at him. “This place might be, like, one of the safest places to live in the city. And besides, anywhere is safer than where I was.”

“You mean on my couch?” Eddie says, feigning an insulted look as he speaks. He knew you were talking about living with Luke, but he also knew you didn’t want to talk about him. 

“I appreciate everything you do for me, Eds, but your couch is the second to last place I would like to sleep tonight.” you say with a teasing smile, watching as he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Alright, alright, but don’t come crying to me when sexy Mr. CEO Harrington turns out to be crazy like I said,” he replies, and you shoot him a glare. “What? There’s gotta be something wrong with him, he’s too hot and too perfect on paper to be normal.”

“I think you gotta stop obsessing over my ‘hot’ boss before you get me fired before my first day has even started,” you laugh, shoving his shoulder after using air quotes when saying hot – you didn’t think Steve was hot at all, right?

“Okay, fine I’ll stop tormenting you.” he chuckles, “as long as you promise not to fall in love with him or some shit like that.” 

You immediately laugh out loud at the thought, shaking your head immediately. “That’s not gonna happen, Eds. He’s my employer and I’m only here to take care of his daughter. Besides, I’ll probably barely see him since he’ll be working all the time.” 

Eddie gives you an incredulous look before pulling you in for another quick hug.

“Please, just call me if there’s anything you need and I can be here to get you, okay?” he says and you nod. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom shortly after, saying your goodbyes at the door with one last hug (that Eddie almost doesn’t let go in) before you make your way to the kitchen, where you know Steve is. 

Unsurprisingly, the kitchen is just as nice as the rest of the penthouse that you’ve seen, but is currently in a bit of a state of disarray. Steve is standing next to the stove, and he’s serving what looks to be a pasta dish onto plates on the counter. Amelia is sitting at the long, dark dining table on the other side of the room. She’s zeroed in on two dolls in front of her, mumbling a conversation between the two of them to herself. 

“Food’s done, sweetheart.” Steve called out to his daughter, grabbing a pink plate from the pile, presumably for her. “Why don’t you put your dolls up on the counter while we eat so they don’t get dirty, okay?”

The little girl nods, grabbing her things from the table to put them up, clearly excited for the dinner her dad had prepared, “want butter on my bread, please Daddy.” she requests, a smile on her face when she spots the pink plate atop the counter.

“I’ll get you some once I sit down, love.” he replies, smoothing down his daughter’s hair when she comes to stand next to him.

There was something so sweet and so domestic about the situation unfolding in front of you, a father and daughter busy in their own little worlds, but not too busy to share a kind interaction. 

“Just in time, I was just gonna come see if you guys were hungry.” Steve says, peering over his shoulder to meet your eyes when you take another step into the room. 

“Oh, sure!” you reply, “it’s just me though. I’m sorry to disappoint, but Eddie left just a second ago.”

Steve laughs in response, shaking his head at your words. He quickly serves up some penne alla vodka, extending the plate and some silverware to you once he does. You follow him to the table as he carries his and Amelia’s plates, setting one in front of his excited daughter, who almost immediately digs in. 

“Well, I’m sad your boyfriend couldn’t stay for dinner, but it was very kind of him to help you move over on such short notice and be so understanding of the situation.” Steve says once you both settle at the table. 

You had just taken your first bite of food when Steve started to speak, and the suggestion of Eddie being your boyfriend nearly makes you choke on the pasta. A small laugh escapes your lips as you play off your near-death experience with a cough, shaking your head at the thought. 

“Are you alright?” Steve questions, setting his own fork down as he watches you carefully, making sure you’re not actually choking. 

“Yes! S–sorry, I’m fine!” you stammer quickly, shaking your head, “I just–Sorry, I thought that was funny. Eddie isn’t my boyfriend.” you reply with a nervous smile. 

“Oh?” Steve retorts, raising an eyebrow at you.

“He’s just my best friend, I–I was actually sleeping on him and his boyfriend’s couch for a few days so he just wanted to make sure where I was going to be living was safer than that.” you say, cheeks flushing red at the admission of couch surfing less than 24 hours prior to ending up in this penthouse, of all places. 

“Sleeping on his couch?” he implores, “I thought you said you lived in a small studio in Yorkville?”

“I did, with my ex. That is where I was but we–well, we had a nasty breakup a few weeks back so that’s how I ended up on Eddie’s couch. It all happened so fast that I keep forgetting I don’t live there anymore –” you blurt out, stopping yourself when you realize how much you’re sharing with this man you barely know. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you all this, you’re my boss for God’s sake, I am so sorry, Steve.”

“Hey, no, no, you’re fine!” he replies quickly, shooting you a reassuring smile. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

You give him a small, sad smile in return, choosing to focus your gaze on the food in front of you so you don’t embarrass yourself any more than you already have. 

“I know it probably doesn’t mean a lot coming from me since I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure that you didn’t deserve to be the one left on your best friend’s couch without a place to live.” Steve was rambling now, “and I’m sorry for assuming that Eddie was your boyfriend, I just didn’t think it was possible for someone like you to be single.”

There was an awkward beat of silence after Steve finished his nervous ramble, leaving you with a million thoughts that you couldn’t process in the moment, all being ones that made your stomach flutter. You didn’t really have time to process any of it though, as your thoughts were interrupted by Amelia tugging on her dad’s sleeve.

“Where my butter bread?” she questions, giving her dad a very stern look, clearly impatient from not getting her bread with the meal. 

Steve opens his mouth to retort, but you’re up from the table and grabbing the plate with baguette slices and a pad of butter Steve had forgotten on the counter next to the pot of pasta. You give the little girl a smile, swiping some butter on one of the slices before reaching across the table to hand it to her. She grabs the bread and hastily takes a large bite, giggling to herself in satisfaction. 

“What do you say?” Steve says to her, giving her a knowing look.

“Tank you,” she says to you, mouth full of bread as she grins over at you. 

The once awkward moment quickly resolved after Amelia’s interruption, and dinner went by smoothly after that. You discussed what you would need to do to help Amelia throughout the day and night, and what days Steve would be around to help out. He let you know that you wouldn’t have to cook dinner, as he insisted on sitting down with her almost every evening for the meal and making it on his own. After dinner, you insisted on helping Steve clean up, but he insisted against it, that he would finish up. Instead, you opted to get Amelia ready for bed, getting her showered and cleaned up before reading her one of the dozens of children’s books that she had littered around her bedroom. 

It was around 9 by the time you finished getting her to bed, leaving her room with the bedroom door cracked slightly. Both her and Steve’s bedrooms were upstairs, along with Steve’s office that he used to work from home on occasion. You passed the office, noticing a small light flooding from the doorway as you did. Before you could walk down the stairs, you heard a voice from inside the office call for you. 

Steve was sitting in the dimly lit room, at the large oak desk that sat in the middle of the room. He looked up from his computer when you came in, there was a tired look on his face that changed when he locked eyes with you. Thin rimmed glasses sat on his face that you hadn’t seen before, and he was freshly showered, his hair still drying and the collar of his gray t-shirt was slightly damp. He looked exhausted, but still managed to look extremely attractive and that made you want to crawl into his lap and – no, stop it. Your mind was wandering, it had been too long of a day already. 

“She went down okay?” he questioned, breaking you from your trance. 

“Yeah, she was fine. She made me read Goodnight Moon twice before she fell asleep, she said I read it wrong the first time around.” you say with a laugh. 

“That sounds about right,” he chuckles in reply, shaking his head. There’s a beat of contemplative silence, then Steve looks back up at you, “also, before you head to bed. I just wanted to apologize for earlier, I–I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by asking too many questions or anything, I’m sorry if I did.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re fine. I’ve been asked worse things, don’t worry about it.” you say with an assuring smile, earning one back from him in return that makes your heart skip a beat. “Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve says goodnight in reply and you turn on your heels to walk back downstairs. Exhaustion hits you all at once when you make it to the bedroom that you now call your own, throwing yourself onto the bed with a sigh. 

It’s in that moment that you’re thankful for changing and getting ready for the night before you made your way up to put Amelia to bed, because now you can just cuddle into your new bed with no worries. Well, that is until your mind starts to wander.

All day you had brushed off the thoughts you’d had about Steve, the remarks Eddie had made about Steve, and the remarks Steve had made to you at dinner about being surprised that you were single. There was no reason for you to be overthinking it all, you told yourself. There was no reason for your stomach to flutter at the thought of Steve, your new employer, winking at you jokingly. There was no reason for your mind to wander when you saw him with wet hair and glasses, but you couldn’t help yourself.

What did it all mean? You shouldn’t even be thinking about anyone right now, you just went through a disgusting breakup with an even more disgusting man, you should be thinking about nobody but yourself.

You weren’t sure what any of it meant, and were truthfully terrified to find the real answer.

But that was for another time, as sleep overtook you not long after you set an alarm, mind still running as you drifted into slumber.

taglist: @siriuslysmoking @blackholegladiator @cultish-corner @cris-wants-a-word @nervousmumbling @angelbabyivy @ohheyitsrowan @sweetdazequeen @royalestrellas @20orca00 @taeteddybear @different-spokes @paleidiot @frostandflamesfanfic @tulips2715 @rainbowfruity14 @shinytinywhispers @corrodedcoffincumslut @definitionwanderlust @starsinsidemyeyes @mikeschmidtgf @haruari @shallowparadise @micheledawn1975 @rexorangecouny @hollandweather @redbarn1995

[umlewis]

lewis hamilton talks iconic formula 1 drive down fifth avenue - 2024 (transcript under the cut)

Host: "Seven-time Formula 1 racing champion Lewis Hamilton doing what he does best on Manhattan's Fifth Avenue. Check it out." [clip of Lewis driving on Fifth Avenue] Host: "Hamilton warmed up his car and the fans for Sunday's Miami Grand Prix with a few donuts outside the Empire State Building. The stunt promoted a partnership with Hamilton's Mercedes Formula 1 team and Whatsapp, highlighting the messaging app's rapid growth in the U.S. Gayle sat down exclusively with the global superstar at the event." Gayle King: "Okay. Lewis, you were just on Fifth Avenue. What did that mean to you? What did that feel like for you? It's a big deal for all the people watching, but…" Lewis: "It's a huge, huge deal. I mean, I grew up watching movies-Trading Places and Coming To America-and dreaming of one day coming to New York, and I eventually came and visited this building with my mom wehn I was seventeen. I never looked down and thought, okay, one day I'm gonna drive a Formula 1 car up Fifth Avenue." King: "I know!" Lewis: "So just very, very surreal. And it was great to see also how much the people here in America have embraced our sport. We had a great turnout. The energy was awesome." King: "Yes. Now, I was told that you were told not to do donuts…" Lewis: [laughs] King: "But then they said, but, Gayle, he's a racecar driver. How could he not do a donut?" Lewis: [laughs] "I was told not to do donuts. I'd…" King: [laughs] "And what did you do?" Lewis: "I heard that the mayor had asked us not to do… But it was very short, and if I'd just driven up… Firstly, I don't have very good turning circle in this thing, so you can't do like an easy U-turn, so I had to do donuts. But also that just creates the spectacle and I think that gets people energized." Host: "Now, you can watch Gayle's full behind the scenes interview on Monday, discussing Hamilton's future in and out of the sport." Host #2: "Nice!"

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐞

Synopsis: Steve Rogers was looking forward to Halloween. Not because of the costumes, the tricking and the treating, or Tony’s meticulous party planning—he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his Y/N. But a cozy night in with pumpkin spice lattes and that Halloween Town movie he needed to catch up on was soon abandoned when the mysterious house on Easton Avenue called for his attention.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Civilian!Reader

Genre: SMUT | Fluff | Some scary stuff

Warnings: Unprotected sex, P in the V, oral sex, temperature play, sex toys, kegel balls, blindfolds, bondage, pussy slapping, object insertion, deepthroating, shoe humping, degradation, dacryphilia, sex tapes, mirror sex, breast fucking, orgasm denial, edging, squirting, overstimulation, should I go on? It’s shameful sex, basically.

Word Count: 12K

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, FOLKS! This is my very first time doing a kinktober special, but I really wanted to submit an entry to @jtargaryen18's Halloween Special! So, I hope you all like this. And forgive me, because I just finished it, and didn't triple-check for typos. Enjoy 🧡🎃

All Masterlists | Steve Rogers Masterlist

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 of red surged from within the fifth house on Easton Avenue, sending a chaotic ripple across the entire neighborhood. At least, that’s how you pictured it in your head. That house had a vicious and ominous aura, topped with a polarizing effect that both dared you to come closer and urged you to stay away. 

Something about that house wasn’t right ever since its residents claimed it a week ago. It had been a solid year since you moved to Brooklyn to live with Steve, and as far as you knew, that old and frail house had been vacant for the better half of seven years. Yet now, all so suddenly, someone decided it was the most miraculous idea in the world to step through the broken fence and make do with whatever crumbs the beaten structure had to offer—with little regard or effort at fixing it. 

“What in the name of God are you doing?” 

Lost in the abstract aura of your neighbor’s house, Steve had crept up on you, and you were none the wiser. You whipped your head to the back, hands firmly clutching the binoculars. It was not a sound decision on your behalf because Steve’s majestic blue-green eyes were now tenfold bigger, almost as if they were about to devour you whole.

You shrieked, fingers still gripping the binoculars for reasons unknown. Your startled expression made Steve stiffen and look around.

“Why are you screaming?” he asked, taking the binoculars away from your face. His eyebrows furrowed slightly when he caught the letter “A” engraved on the side. “Did you take these from my mission bag, Y/N?” 

You sheepishly gazed up at him, giving him your best pout. Steve didn’t particularly mind if you rummaged through his things, but the reason you lived on Easton Avenue and not at the Avengers Compound was that he tried to keep you away from his “alter ego,” as you liked to call it. So, snooping through his mission bag might have contradicted the boundaries you had previously set.

“I was birdwatching,” you blurted out without a second thought. 

Steve regarded you skeptically. “Birdwatching,” he repeated, his tone heavy with doubt. 

“Yes. This time of the year brings very colorful birds.” 

He didn’t respond, only subtly arching an eyebrow. Placing the binoculars on the nearby couch, his slender and long fingers pushed the curtain aside—enough for him to peek out the window. And because Steven Grant Rogers was God’s perfect human creation, he didn’t need even a monocle to catch sight of the fifth townhouse down your street. 

“Yeah, you’re right. That ashen plumage does splendidly reflect the beauty of this season.” 

“At least you are a gentleman enough to feign belief,” you remarked, indignantly rolling your eyes. 

Knowing what was going to follow, you picked up the binoculars and headed to your shared bedroom. But Steve was right behind you with the same retort he used when he caught you so much as thinking about that house. “Dove, you need to stop investing so much energy into that house. There’s nothing wrong about it.”

“Everything is wrong about it, Steve!” you defended, picking up his bag from the closet and putting the binoculars back. “It’s creepy and morbid, and I can’t believe anyone would willingly choose to settle in it.” 

“It’s a nice house. I’m sure, with some attention, anyone would want to settle in it.” 

“Well, that’s the thing! Why aren’t the new owners doing anything about it? It’s sitting there like the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. The only missing part is the werewolf.” 

Steve looked somewhat perplexed and unconvinced. His lips parted then closed until he was ready to speak again. “Werewolves don’t exist.” Of course, he’d focus on that part. “And, maybe the owners haven’t had the chance to refurbish the house yet.” 

“That’s a great suggestion, Stevie! Why don’t we go and lend a hand.” 

It was not, in fact, a great suggestion at all. What it was though is a ruse.

You didn’t give him the time to answer, immediately bolting outside the room. You knew you had him in a corner because Steve Rogers might’ve been a master strategist, a renowned captain, and a fearless leader, but you could always uncover the cracks in his façade, and you were certain something about this house didn’t sit right with him either. He just didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“Uhm, maybe you should sit this one out, dove. You’ve never been good with a paintbrush.” 

“Maybe so,” you replied with your back still to him. You didn’t need heightened senses to catch the shy curse that left his mouth. “But I’m good at baking. I can offer the new neighbors some pumpkin pie while you help them with the paint. You’re the artist, after all, baby.” 

Steve caught your wrist before you could open the fridge to “search” for the ingredients for your pie. 

“You mean like right now?” 

“Yes! We may not be able to do much, but maybe enough to not have the trick-and-treaters scurry away at the sight of that house.” 

Releasing your wrist from his grasp, you reached for the fridge. Steve’s veiny hand collided with the metal door, forcing it to close. With his hands on your hips, he spun you around and placed your body against the fridge. 

“Y/N.” The coldness of the fridge’s metal door against your fingertips did little to appease the flames burning in your soul. God damn Steve Rogers and the effect he had on you. “Don’t make me say it.” 

“Say what?” 

“…I hate that house.” 

“The nice house down our street?” 

“The morbid one that looks like Azkaban.” 

“Aha!” You joiced, finger digging into Steve’s chest. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who found that creepy old building ominous.” 

“Of course not. I’ve been pestering Tony for over a week, trying to find out who bought that place and see if they’re a security threat,” Steve admitted. 

You tilted your head to the side, lips pursing in thought. “I mean, I don’t like the house. But is it a security threat?”

Sensing the shift in your voice, Steve’s hand found purchase in your hair, twirling a strand in his index finger. It was a familiar habit he had developed since you’d gotten together. Partly comforting and partly grounding—for both of you. 

“According to Tony, it isn’t. But, you know me. Your safety is always at the forefront of my mind. And I don’t like how that house is so close to us.” 

“Me neither,” you replied, now playing with Steve’s hands. You traced the veins protruding from his skin, marveling at the difference between his large hands and your petite ones. “But with you here, I don’t care about a silly old house.” 

“So, can we forget about your little stakeout missions and go back to planning our private party this evening?” Steve smirked, tugging you closer by your waist. 

“It was one time!” 

“For five days.” 

“Shut up,” you said with feigned indignation. “Or else no private party. I’ll force you to attend Tony’s.” 

Steve’s eyes widened at the mention of Tony’s infamous party. This year, the theme was something along the lines of "Halloween of Doom." And since Steve wasn't a fan of the usual wild parties Tony would throw every chance he got,  he wasn't looking forward to the Halloween shenanigans.

Just as you took his hand in yours and pulled him toward the hall, a sharp tap against your window sounded across the room. Bemused, you turned to Steve. He immediately stepped in front of you, keeping an ear out to identify the source of the sound.

Incessant in its pursuit of attention, the sound boomed louder. Steve motioned for you to stay where you were while he investigated. Five seconds later, he called your name, albeit hesitantly. 

“Y/N,” he said, gaze unwavering ahead. “I think all that birdwatching you did called the attention of an angry bird.”

“Is that an owl?” You hadn’t realized how loud your voice was until the owl in question shrieked behind the glass window. What the hell was an owl doing at your house?

“It looks like it,” Steve answered. 

Neither of you tried to open the window, which agitated the owl. It ruffled its feathers and tapped the glass, clearly demanding entry. You studied the nocturnal creature, which obviously lacked a sense of orientation since you were nowhere near the evening. Something on its leg caught your eye. You gasped, pointing at it. “There’s a rolled-up letter attached to its leg!”

The moment Steve noticed the letter, he rushed to open the window. The owl flew in, forcing you to step a couple of feet back—you were a sane person who didn’t go out of their way to look for owls, let alone ones that appeared in broad daylight.

Steve plucked the letter from its leg and opened it. “It’s an invitation.”

“For what?”

“A Halloween feast,” he said, eyeing the letter suspiciously. “At House 5 on Easton Avenue.” It was the same morbid house you two had been discussing. 

You carefully approached Steve, mindful of the owl on your coffee table. You took the letter in your hands, reading it aloud. 

We’ve Caught Your Unblinking Eye Through the Ashen Veil We Know You Are Curious. We Feel It in Our Veins.

To Uncover the Macabre Truths Shrouded by Our Shadows  Join the Halloween Feast Tonight 

And Embrace a Chilling Night at Doom’s Manor House 5 - Easton Avenue - 9:00 PM

“This is worse than our phones when they display targeted ads because of whatever they heard us talking about,” you exclaimed, hands tightly clutching the piece of paper.

Steve’s eyes widened significantly, pure horror crossing his features. “Our phones do that?” 

"Yeah," you replied with a matter-of-fact tone. You've most likely added one more item to Steve Rogers' “X Things I Hate About the Twenty-First Century” list. "They pick up on our search history too. So, maybe they'll know why that owl still hasn't left yet because it's starting to give me the creeps."

The owl with brown feathers and round yellow eyes hooted, hopping on the table and looking between you and Steve. It definitely did not like you.

“Maybe it wants something?” Steve guessed.

“Like what? Dollar bills or a treat in exchange for its postal services?” you scoffed. The owl wasn’t privy to your cynicism, but you still crept closer to Steve in fear of it deciding to attack you or something. 

“A confirmation, maybe?” The owl hooted, seemingly agreeing with Steve. You quickly grabbed his arm, giving it a tight squeeze. “Dove, I don’t think it’s taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

As if on the same page, the owl moved away from you both and flew to the outside of the house. You and Steve just stared at the open window, House 5 right there, teasingly close.

Steve was on high alert. His fingers dug into the edges of the wooden window as he fixed his eyes on the mysterious house down Easton Avenue. You’d think that there would be bustling activity considering the owners had only recently moved in, but he never saw anyone walk in or out of that house. He didn’t even recall catching sight of anyone by the window. 

And although the Halloween feast was barely ten minutes away from starting, no one had approached the house yet. 

“Dove,” Steve called, pushing away from the window and adjusting his suit. “I’m gonna head out now. I know that Tony and the others overlooked the invite and didn’t want to interfere, but to be on the safe side—”

He was about to tell you to activate your security system and connect to the emergency line of the Avengers Initiative if he didn’t update you within twenty minutes of entering that house. But his words were stuck on the tip of his tongue when you walked into view.

“Why are you wearing your stealth suit?” you asked, almost glumly. Steve just blinked, looking completely flabbergasted, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I can ask you the same thing.” He pointed at your outfit, his tongue poking out and wetting his lips. “Why do you have a stealth suit on? Where did you even get one?” 

The saccharine surprise in Steve’s tone fueled your heart with desire. You chewed on your lower lip, twirling a strand of your hair to draw Steve’s attention to your ponytail. His breath hitched, his eyes running a marathon across the expanse of your neck. You relished the lust that crossed over his features when you swayed your hips and sauntered to his side. 

“Do you like it?” came your ardent whisper. Steve’s hands circled your hips, fingers burying in the leather of your suit, squeezing your side in affirmation.

You loved Halloween, making it your October resolution to find the best costume. But it was always hard to find one, considering there were so many options to choose from, and you were as decisive as a Gemini. After some time, an Avengers stealth suit popped up during your search, one which sinfully complimented your ass and curves. So you knew, right away, that getting your hands on it was a must if it would drive Steve crazy. 

“Why are you wearing it, dove?” Steve asked once more.

Innocently batting your eyelashes at him, you answered, “Because we’re going to the Halloween feast.” 

“Absolutely not.” And there it was. “I told you, I’m going in to check it. Alone. It’s a mission, Y/N. And you stray away from those.” 

“It’s not an official mission if Tony didn’t approve it.” 

“I’m the Head of the Avengers.” 

“You’re Head Strategist, yes. But we both know that if Tony and Fury don’t give the green light, you can’t treat whatever this is as a mission.” 

You had him there, and you knew it. While Steve Rogers had a knack for defending any argument and finding a way to assert his stance, this time he faltered for an answer, and only managed to say, “You’re still not going.” 

“Don’t you think it’s going to look a tad bit suspicious if you walk into that house alone? And with your suit on?” 

“No,” Steve shrugged. “Besides, that’s why I’m leaving my shield here.” 

“And your common sense.” If his glare was any indication, he didn’t appreciate your commentary. “If I go with you, it would look like we’re genuinely interested in their stupid feast. You can snoop around while I stick to the activities.” 

“That’s too dangerous.” 

“So, why do you assume I’d let you go there on your own?” 

“Because I’m enhanced, Y/N.” 

“And I’m a SHIELD agent for the night, Steve.” 

“And you judge me about my common sense?” 

“Steve,” you stressed, catching his attention. “If that house is not as safe as the Avengers claim, I am not letting you go there by yourself. You can either go against me and leave me here, alone, well aware that our loony neighbors are watching. Or, you take me with you. It’s your call.”

It’s been yours since the beginning, and you’re not the least bit surprised when Steve mumbled something incoherent before he ushered you out of the house. 

The neighboring houses, much like your own, were modestly decorated for the occasion. The Barbers, your neighbors from across the street, had a couple of skeleton bodies strewn across the yard and fake bats hanging from the large tree in their backyard. The Adlers went with carved pumpkins and flickering lanterns, which created a warm, inviting ambiance. Meanwhile, the Hansens had embraced the theme with scattered tombstones and heinous, life-sized witches tending to their boiling cauldrons.

Although the fifth house on Easton Avenue was barren and devoid of even a string light, it stood as the most intimidating and menacing of them all. The sinister atmosphere grew more palpable when you and Steve approached. The wind carried an unsettling chill, and the ancient trees lining the path creaked like ghostly sentinels. It was as if the house was an isle of malevolence adrift in a sea of darkness.

“Why is it the only house with fog surrounding it?” Steve noted. You both stood by a withered fence, the imposing structure casting long, foreboding shadows.

“I don’t know,” you replied, glancing around nervously. “Maybe it’s just a fog machine, but this place is terrifying enough as it is. It doesn’t need any more decorations.”

With a heavy breath, Steve stepped forward, the fog swirling around his boots. You watched in apprehension as the entrance loomed ahead. Steve paused for a moment, turning back to you. His eyes, usually full of determination, now held a flicker of doubt. “I have a bad feeling about this, Y/N.”

The atmosphere turned even more chilling when, suddenly, a low, dissonant hum echoed from the depths of the house, making your hair stand on end. It was as if the very walls themselves held their breath in anticipation.

Without breaking his gaze from the looming house, Steve extended his hand toward you. You clasped onto it, anchoring yourself to this distorted reality. He spared a glance your way, one that was brief in time yet abundant in intensity, and you responded with a nod, your nerves on edge. With a deep breath, Steve raised his clenched fist to knock on the door, but before he could make contact, it swung open on its own.

You both cautiously crossed the threshold, never releasing each other's hands. You were met with a dimly lit room, paintings strewn across its walls, each with a calculating pair of eyes narrowing on you.

"Welcome, Steve Rogers and Y/N Y/L/N," a commanding voice boomed, rattling the portraits on the wall. You jumped in your shoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the source. You were left bewildered, staring at the void that surrounded you. "Welcome to a chilling night at Doom's Manor!"

You didn’t have time to ask questions—you barely had a chance to think before the front door swung shut and the blinds closed, engulfing the sinister house in even more darkness. 

“What the hell?” you cried as an oppressive silence descended. It was like you were sucked into a black hole with only Steve’s touch tethering you to earth. “Steve! Turn on your flashlight.” 

“I don’t have a flashlight, Y/N,” Steve tersely replied. 

“You have a phone, which has a built-in flashlight. Turn it on,” you urged, your voice tinged with desperation. “Then we can discuss why you brought a gun and no flashlight to this place!”

You heard him groan in frustration, palms smacking against the leather of his suit as he fished out his phone. He pressed it, fingers less than graceful when it came to touchscreens. For a moment, you thought he had forgotten how to unlock the device. Until he said, “My battery’s dead.” 

“Our brilliant Head Strategist venturing on a mission without the means to communicate! What kind of expert overlooks that?” you chastised, fishing out your own phone. You tapped it repeatedly, but the screen remained blank. A sinking feeling washed over you as you pressed the side button, yet it refused to light up. “I swear it was charged,” you whispered in disbelief.

“I’m afraid that your phones won’t work here,” the same disorienting voice said. 

Unexpectedly, a blinding white radiance cut through the darkness, forcing both you and Steve to shield your eyes. As the light faded, it started to flicker intermittently, weaving through the walls and mingling with the torchlights.

Despite all the courage you tried to manifest, your voice brokenly whispered, “Steve, is this a bad time to tell you that I was never fond of haunted houses as a kid?” 

The lights were still flickering when Steve ripped his hand from your firm grasp. Your breath hitched, thinking the worst. But he was still there next to you, eyeing the door. “No one is, dove. And I’m not forcing you to like ‘em now.” 

With all the super soldier strength coursing through his veins, Steve lunged at the door, attempting to force it open. It broke your heart to see it stubbornly clenching its hinges no matter how many times Steve flung himself against it.

The mysterious voice tutted, inundating your being with fear. You held your breath, praying that Steve would get you both out of here fast.

“You should learn to treat even inanimate objects kindly, Captain Rogers. Or does all that strength chip away at your humanity?” 

Ignoring the voice, Steve continued his assault on the door. What he didn’t expect was an incorporeal force that lunged at him without warning. The unadulterated strength in its grip sent him hurling through the air until he crashed to the ground with a loud groan. 

“Steve!” you called apprehensively. 

“Should I have warned you not to do that? Thought it was self-explanatory?” the same voice commented. 

You heard your heels clicking against the tiles before you could even think about moving. Steve was rubbing at his temple, eyes forcibly closed after the fall. You were almost by his side when you felt a hand grab your hair and fling you into the air. 

You shrieked, the quiver in your voice igniting Steve’s anger. He raced forward, arms stretched out. But unlike the pale, ghastly form that manhandled you, tangible vines stemmed from the recesses of the house’s tiles and walls, aiming at Steve. 

“Get off him!” you commanded as you kicked your feet and threw a punch. Your forceful gestures vaporized into the thin air, torpid against the vice grip of the spirit before you. You gasped hard when the misty form wrapped itself around your neck—constricting the air around and molding you and the wall as one. 

“Y/N!” Steve grunted, desperately trying to pry himself out of the vines’ steel grip. “Hold on. I-I’ll get it o-off.” 

The morbid atmosphere was getting worse as dark spots clung to your vision’s periphery. The incorporeal assault remained relentless, slamming you once more against the wall. As you forced your eyes to meander, searching for a solution, you focused on antique torches, each with a blue flame in its grasp. 

The same torch hung from the wall you were trapped against. With a growl and a hell lot of hope that Ghostbusters had taught you something useful, you snatched the torch and incinerated the elusive monster. 

One less than graceful descent later, you braced yourself against the floor with a thud. Steve was still struggling against Mother Nature’s prodigal offspring. He’d gotten a dagger out, but the more he cut through the vines, the more they multiplied. 

You staggered your way to him just as the plant lunged at his face. “Don’t even think about it!” you warned, attacking the plant with the iridescent flames. Steve inhaled sharply as the vines, which were wrapped around him, turned into ash. 

“Dove, I don’t know if I should be in awe or fear of what just happened,” Steve admitted as you helped him up. You were too busy inspecting his body for injuries to answer. 

“We need to get out of here,” you said in one breath. “This place isn’t safe.” 

Steve was about to answer when the eerie voice interjected, “Safe is boring.” 

You sneered, wanting so badly to punch whoever was callously commenting. Steve grabbed you tightly and maneuvered his way through the house. Luckily, nothing else attacked you two as you navigated the narrow corridors except for the thick dust and the cobwebs. 

Steve had found a door, which he immediately opened. As he stepped into the room, large and foreboding, a sense of apprehension gripped him. Shadows danced along the walls, playing tricks on his vision, while a musty scent of decay lingered in the air.

You both tried to find a way out, but to your utter horror, the same door you had opened to run into this room disappeared. 

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Steve asked, bewildered. He ran his hands over the wall, fingers tracing the edges of the now-invisible door. “How is that even possible?” 

You shook your head in disbelief. “I don’t know. But the werewolf would have been better.” 

“Well, that could be arranged,” the mysterious voice announced. 

In hindsight, you should’ve thought twice before giving your two cents. But how were you supposed to know that the sentient house didn’t only manipulate nightmares but could also manifest them?

Steve turned toward you, distress visibly carved across his forehead. He reached out for his gun just as a violent wind attacked the isolated room. Your hair flailed, falling victim to the assault. 

You tightened your hold on the torch despite the wind’s ministrations. It was thrashing within the borders of the room, incessantly clawing at you and Steve. The bright azure flames wavered from where they were perched on your torch, despite all your attempts at keeping them tamed. They tumbled down and crashed into the ground. 

The moment the flames met the tiles, they burst into a fit of undiluted anger. The blue orbs separated, each tracing its brittle path and leaving destruction in its wake. The flames circled you and Steve in a dance of tantalizing grace—rising beyond the surface and falling back into the ground’s arms. 

You and Steve were each pushed to one side. You stood there, him with a fully loaded gun and you with an empty torch, silently watching as the translucent flames birthed a werewolf. 

“I don’t think the situation can get any worse,” you pointed out, taking care to not step into the line of fire. Literally. “So, is it too late to ask for a vampire instead? At least we have a stake.” 

Steve looked appalled by the suggestion. “This isn’t the Edmond-Jason debate, Y/N! Both options are worse for wear!” 

The werewolf wasn’t fond of Steve’s vernacular; at least, that’s why you assumed since it decided to lunge at him first. You slumped back just as Steve ducked his head and rolled to the side. The beast was relentless in its movement, clawing and growling at your soldier—canines salivating with excitement, eager to dip into flesh. 

“I know it’s not the time, but it’s Edward and Jacob! And what I meant is that we at least have a stake! A viable weapon against a vampire. What means of defense do we have against a translucent werewolf?!”

“The same thing we have against a translucent vampire,” Steve grunted, firing three consecutive shots at the luminous creature. All three of them pierced his hollow frame, leaving him unscathed. “Nothing!”  

Despite the fear that inundated your body, you still looked for a weapon to fight the beast with. Unfortunately for you, the room was desolate with nothing but mold and fractured walls holding it on their shoulders. Steve was actively trying to retain its attention, steering it clear from your path, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to last any longer. 

“Well, maybe the house can conjure a non-translucent vampire,” you thought aloud. Truthfully, you weren’t really thinking straight, but what other choices did you have at the moment?

Needless to say, Steve disagreed. “Vampires aren’t real!” 

“Well, what do you know?” you shrieked, all modicum of common sense out of the non-existent window. “There is a Spider-Man and an Ant-Man. Who's to say there is not a.. a Bat-Man that’s willing to make this situation a little less complicated!” The wolf finally caught your voice. It growled as if to show its dissatisfaction at having to hear you speak, craning its head and baring its teeth when its silver eyes landed on you. “Mysterious house, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” 

If you could take a wild guess, you’d say the werewolf wasn’t particularly fond of the creepy voice. That, or it was crestfallen at the idea of losing its chew toys. 

Its blue glow intensified, switching from deceitful calm to voracious hunger. Your heart hammered in your chest, assaulting your ribcage as it sensed the looming danger. You tried to step away, but the wolf spied on your meek attempt. It prowled, ferocious and murderous in its pursuit. 

Just as you raised your arms to shield yourself from him, Steve’s body collided with yours. “Y/N!” his scream ricocheted across the walls. 

Was it so vehemently loud? You wondered. Or were your ears easily susceptible to noise? 

As soon as Steve’s arms wrapped around you, you fell gracelessly into the void. The blue of the wolf fused with the paleness of the room, making a torpedo of vivid, interloping colors swirl before your eyes. The fall was like a dwindling spiral—long, endless, and tiring. And then you landed somewhere more stale; much more dark.

“Y/N!” Your name was the first thing you heard and the light that pulled you from darkness’ heavy lull. Hands roamed your body, gentle yet firm, unrelenting despite the groan that escaped your throat. “Y/N, please. I need to know you’re okay. Tell me that you weren’t hurt.” 

You lifted your head, now aware that you were lying on Steve’s chest. The perilous haze only barely dissipated once you opened your eyes. “I’m okay. Are you?” you asked, eyes raking over Steve’s figure to see if he had been hurt in that fight. Besides his frightened and concerned eyes, he looked alright. 

A long breath escaped his pink lips. His large hand cradled your face, magically bringing your pulse back to a languid pace. “As long as you’re alright, I’m fine. But I’ll be better once we get out of here.”

You stood up, holding your hand out to Steve, which he gratefully took. Lacing your fingers together, you carefully examined your surroundings, noting the hollow room you were in. Once again devoid of light, air, and a way out.

“How are we gonna get out?”

“Through that door.” By now, your senses had been attuned to the house’s tricks, so you weren’t jostled by the resounding echoes of the mysterious voice. True to its words, a large blue door materialized at the far end of the hallway. It rattled against its hinges, almost as if something was trying to break free on the other side. “Better hurry up, angel wings. Or else you’ll miss it.”

The voice dissolved softly like snowflakes giving away to the sun. And yet, its resolve bellowed across the room, the walls and ground shattering against its whispers. 

“Maybe the vampires weren’t such a bad idea after all,” Steve remarked. You knew his Captain's brain was on overdrive, actively searching for the best escape route. But you knew it was there, right in front of you. So, mustering up all the courage you had in you, you tugged Steve’s hand and bolted toward the blue door. 

The walls wailed, angered at your choice. They began to move, closing in on you at a menacing speed. Steve pulled you closer, almost molding both your bodies into one. He gained momentum, and your feet were about to give up from the unbridled force of his movements. 

The walls were at a measurable distance, and you couldn’t believe you’d made it unharmed this far. Steve reached out, trying to push the silver loop that would open the door. But you should’ve known better than to trust the mysterious house. Of course, it wasn’t going to make it easy. 

“Of course, I wasn’t going to make it easy,” the voice parrotted the words inside your head. 

“What do you want?” Steve seethed, looking over his shoulders as the walls picked up their pace. 

“O Captain! My Captain! To enter Doom’s lair, you must first answer my question.”

“What question?”

You heard someone clear their throat, and you could’ve sworn the bastard was smirking before it answered,

“Forged by fears and entangled in thoughts, 

Within the breadth of darkness, I reside. 

Devoid of soul, I grasp control,

In my distorted mist, your will subsides.

I am concealed within deceit and unseen with eyes, 

Tell me, soldier, who am I?"

“Son of a bitch!”

“Language, Captain. And that’s not the answer.”

Your feet quivered, bouncing in place. Steve had lost his patience, now alternating between throwing answers and attempting to knock the door down. He was spewing some more worthless answers while you stared at the walls. Barely 10 inches separated you from your ultimate demise, and nothing but a correct answer would save you from this situation. Despite your fears, you took a deep breath, knowing you needed to answer that question. Now.

“Nightmare!” you yelled. Steve had stopped the assault on the door, looking at you with a perplexed gaze. “The answer to the riddle is  a nightmare.”

A weighty silence gripped the helm of the foreboding atmosphere, lingering until the awaited response finally emerged. “That is correct.” 

The locks turned, the door creaking as it offered you the solace you’ve been so desperately seeking. Steve practically pushed you inside, following you soon after. The door closed shut behind you, ushering you into a misty room. The wind picked up once again, and before you, a cloaked figure emerged. Its head was down, edges of the onyx fabric it wore blowing with every single caress of the wind. 

“Welcome,” the figure said in the same gruff and deep voice that you’ve been hearing since you entered the house. “Welcome to a chilling night at Doom’s Manor!”

“Who the hell are you?” you inquired agitatedly just as Steve ordered the figure to lift its cloak. 

The cloaked figure revealed its pallid hands, previously concealed. With a tantalizing motion, the fingers encircled the edge of the hood, slowly lifting it. Your eyes widened, mind barely comprehending what you saw. And before you know it, you and Steve were saying the same thing in the same affronted tone. “Tony?”

“Oh, god. You should’ve seen your faces!” Tony clapped his hands together, the force of his laughs making him bend down and clutch his knees. 

As he did that, the creepy atmosphere eroded, mist evaporating to reveal the large room behind it. Contrary to the other areas within the establishment, the room was full of life and spacious, with neon lights and a large disco ball illuminating it. All of the Avengers were there, and you even spotted Peter Parker in an Iron Man costume tearing Bucky’s ear off with one of his stories. Judging from the number of waiters tending to the even bigger number of guests, you knew what you walked into. 

“Did you seriously rent out a spooky house just so that you can throw a secret party in its basement?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“No,” Tony huffed, seemingly offended by the absurdity of your claim. “I bought it.”

Behind you, Steve was rolling his eyes while you raked your fingers through your loose ponytail. You were never going to understand billionaires and their logic. 

“I thought you were throwing a party at the Compound,” Steve finally spoke. And thank God he did before you ripped Tony a new one for the scare he’d just cost you. You were most certainly going to have him cover your health insurance for the next eon and the one after.

“I was. But then you bailed to play house with your girl—great costume, by the way, Y/N. We should talk to Fury about making you a SHIELD agent. And they say your boyfriend’s ass is America’s ass.”

“Tony!”

“What? Fine, don’t get jealous. You still are America’s ass but in a less sexy and more annoying way.”

“Would you just tell me what the hell was all this?”

“Man, if I knew all it would take me is Wanda’s freaky manipulation magic to get you to curse, I would’ve done that a long time ago.”

Feeling your headache on the verge of expanding, you put your hand on Steve’s arm and interceded, “It’s clear that you're high on mindlessness right now. So, once you’re down from the Tony Stark Clouds of Wonder, we’ll talk about you and your ridiculous behavior.”

“Geez Louise, you’re not dressed as a shield agent, but the female counterpart of Captain Stern over here.”

“At least I’m not one less nose away from looking like Voldemort,” you spat as you trudged toward the party, Steve a step behind you.

Tony scoffed, his voice softer compared to the blaring music. “I’m dressed as the Grim Reaper.”

“Yeah, well, your stick seems to have been lost somewhere up your ass!” 

When you and Steve joined the party, you headed immediately toward the bar. You weaved your way across the dance floor, giving Sonic-dressed Pietro a quick wave and catching the eye of a disinterested Bruce in an Ultron costume. 

Natasha was at the bar, dressed as a ballerina with a pink tutu and a lot of pearly pins in her hair. You shot her a questioning look, which quickly dissolved courtesy of the menacing glare in her eyes. ‘Don’t ask,’ she silently communicated, and you were content with sitting there on a surprisingly comfortable barstool instead of running away from a wolf. 

“I can’t believe Tony did all of this?” Steve voiced out, shoulders hunched and laced with tension. 

Natasha handed him a signature fix she’d just made, passing you your drink of choice. “It’s not just you two. He did it to plenty of people.”

“Like who?”

“Bucky and Sam,” Natasha replied to your question. “They couldn't answer the riddle, so they got stuck outside cursing at one another until Strange had enough of their arguing and portalled them in. They were pretty pissed. Thor made it out, thanks to Loki. He enjoyed it, though. Loki? Not so much. He turned into a snake and tried to bite Tony the moment he got to the other side of the door. Pepper and Happy are next.”

You shook your head at the thought. “She’s going to kill him.”

“Exactly. Which is why he has a surprise for her, under lock and key, somewhere around here.”

Dissatisfied by the piece of information, Steve snatched his drink and faced the other way. “Of course, he’d try to get out something without facing the repercussions.” His attention focused on Tony's exaggerated gestures as he iterated his previous morbid speech to the new guests. 

Your eyes narrowed at Tony, thoughts errant as they dug up a hundred ways you could get back at him. Honestly, a part of you was willing to get Snake Loki to bite him or convince Dr. Strange to send him halfway across the universe. But you wanted to hit him where it hurts. You wanted him to feel the fear he inflicted on you and Steve, even if it was for just a moment. But Tony Stark didn’t fear anything. Well, apart from Starbucks running out of his favorite coffee and Pepper ignoring him. 

“Pepper!” you shouted in glee. Steve and Natasha looked between you and the door, thinking that Pepper had already crossed all the obstacles and made it safely to the party. A crease lined up on their foreheads when they didn't find her there. “Nat, you don’t happen to have a key to that room, do you?"

At the drop of a hat, Natasha caught on to what you were saying. She shook her head but deviously smirked, green eyes flickering to the space behind you. “I don’t. But Wanda’s been regretting helping Stark on this. It shouldn’t be hard to convince her to help you get back at him.”

You jumped from your seat, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The intensity of your excitement and the tug on Steve’s arm made his drink fall and spill on the countertop. It took you a minute to find Wanda, who was sitting in the corner with downcast eyes, nursing a drink. She didn’t hesitate to help you, literally jumping at the chance. 

Moments later, she led you to a room down a few halls and flicked her wrist, materializing a key and unlocking the door. Her 30s-inspired dress swung as her figure retreated. You looked at Steve, took a deep breath, and entered the room. But where you expected to find shopping bags, jewelry, or even a giant Iron Man teddy bear, what you found was something entirely different. 

“Steve,” his name came out as a whisper. “Please don’t tell me I have to explain what I’m seeing. Because I don’t think I can.”

Your gaze was fixed on your surroundings, unable to be torn from anything else. You didn’t see Steve’s unblinking eyes or the tingles that danced across his fingers. It took him a while before he composed himself and answered you. “It’s okay. I already know.”

The room was red, a deep, rich shade of scarlet red. And if you had been careful enough to read the plaque by the room’s door, you would’ve figured it was Tony’s Halloween version of the red room. But what was beneath the mirrored ceiling, which quite frankly made you hyperventilate at the thought of the glass possibly falling on you while sleeping on that astonishingly spacious king-sized bed, was not a welcoming ballet class with metal bars and pink pointe shoes on the side. It was red walls with metal cuffs and chains attached to them and a widespread table with three silk blindfolds, floggers, ropes, and a whole lot of other things that made heat rise to your cheeks. 

“We can’t destroy anything,” you breathed out with a voice that was too airy to be your own. “We can’t even hide anything with that wide selection Tony has. He’s not going to miss a blindfold, and he’ll just ask for another bottle of champagne.” 

Steve didn’t answer, his mind preoccupied with something else. You couldn’t fault him; it was exceedingly hard to look at the room around you. And when you chanced a glance at the corners, you had to bite your lip at the sight of the cameras and lighting. Tony went all out, and to be honest, you didn’t know if this was his “genius-philanthropist” side, who was investing in a sexually healthy relationship with Pepper, or if it was his “billionaire-playboy” side, who decided there’s no shame in indulging in a variety of pleasures and give Pepper the liberty of choice.

You were so lost in thought, you were surprised to find Steve examining one of the cameras. He flicked on the lights and turned the camera to your side. Your brain finally registered his actions, and you were sure he didn’t know what he was doing since he barely even knew how to answer a video call. But before you could say anything, Steve beat you to it.

“Why destroy when we can take advantage?”

The camera turned on. You could tell from the twinkle of mischief in Steve’s irises that he caught the stagger in your pulse before you even did. He turned around, his sculpted and perfectly molded back replaced with the sight of his chiseled jaw. You gulped, blood rushing to your ears while shivers rushed down your spine.

You watched as Steve glided across the room, footsteps light and noiseless compared to the harsh speed of your heartbeats and the fray within your every vein. You wanted him. And he knew because with each step he took to get closer to you, you didn’t falter. You stood right where you were, waiting for him to devour you.

His cerulean eyes transformed, ebbing and flowing in a sea of blue and green. Until his waves crashed against your shore, and you met them somewhere in the middle.

“Steve.”

He didn’t reply. He inched closer even though there was no more room for his body to creep to, forcing his knee between your legs and giving you no other choice but to open them. You almost stumbled but quickly understood what he wanted.

It was like a dance. Every time Steve moved closer, you found yourself stepping back until your back hit the door, leaving nothing but locked gazes between you. With a bated breath, you studied Steve’s movements, whimpering as his left arm rose and nestled against your head. His palm was pressed against the cold door, whose color burned with desire. And somehow, Steve absorbed that hunger and set your entire body ablaze with it. Without a single touch.

“I can feel you,” he murmured on top of your lips, his velvety breath claiming rights to a first kiss. Steve leaned his body closer, almost engulfing you whole. His index and middle fingers made contact with your skin, and you swore you could’ve exploded. He traced the distance between your fingers and forearm, leisurely exploring the smooth surface that framed your veins. Involuntarily, your head craned, exposing your neck as he inched closer and closer, cheekily exhaling against your pulse point. “I can smell you,” he almost moaned, or maybe that was you. “You smell so tart, so fresh. So, deliriously scrumptious.”

“Steve,” this time, you did moan, implicitly begging him to touch you. You heard the lock on the door click, but you didn’t dare move your eyes.

In the next few seconds, Steve pulled the key out of the keyhole. You exhaled loudly, head banging against the wooden door when he moved the metal keys against your clothed heat. Sparks ignited in your soul as you began to take the fast lane to heaven, and Steve’s voice didn’t help the ache recede. It only fanned its flames.

“So wet.” He knew it without feeling it for himself. “So inviting.” He moved the key from your center to your navel and then to your sternum. You hadn’t realized how hot your body was until the keys touched your collarbone. It was a clash of hot and cold—an explosion of the senses with Steve’s breath hovering against your shoulders to add the final and delicious touch. With tantalizing grace, the key danced across your throat and chin, lifting your head to meet Steve’s breathless whisper, “So beautiful.”

Your eyes met, and you couldn't tell if his pupils were dilated or if his typically clear blue eyes were merely mirroring your own. He trapped your cheeks in his hold, applying the slightest bit of pressure on them. You couldn’t help but gaze at the camera that recorded the way Steve tapped the key against your lips, almost pushing it in.

Within the next second, his fingers loosened around the key, making it fall into the open space of your suit. You moaned aloud, the sound stretching over a minute when Steve stuffed his index and middle fingers in your mouth while bringing his prominent bulge closer to your heat. “My mistake, little dove.” He thrust forward, his clothed dick deliciously humping against your pussy. You whimpered around his fingers. “Be a pretty little girl, Y/N, and suck on my fingers while I get back that key.”

You nodded your head, vehemently following his order. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked his fingers inside your throat—lost in the simple pleasures Steve Rogers was known to give.

He planted wet, demanding kisses on your neck and just below your ear, not too far from your earlobe but not close enough. His other hand caressed your cheek until it retreated and began to reach for the zipper on your suit. It was at the forefront, making it easy for Steve to find it and lower it down. His hips met yours just as you pushed his fingers away from your throat. You pulled them back in, keeping the rhythm going while your tongue swirled around his fingertips.

Your zipper lowered, slowly and placidly, yet there was nothing peaceful about the way Steve trailed his thumb across your exposed skin. A fire consumed you whole, a sinful moan escaping when he found the key and cupped your pussy, with it still in his hands. You could’ve cried then and there, and frankly, there were tears on the edge of your lashes. In your lustful delirium, you hadn’t noticed your hiked leg on Steve's waist, which was pushing him closer to your body. He massaged your heat, his fingers and the key playing with your clothed folds until he backed away completely to cup your cheeks.

“Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me, dove?” he asked in a sultry voice that made your core weep.

He took his fingers out of your mouth, keeping his eyes on parted lips. You wet your them eagerly, needing him to satiate your thirst. “Yes, Captain.”

Steve smirked, the key long forgotten but the desire ever-present. “When I sit down on the edge of that bed, you’re going to take off your clothes. I want you to keep that sinful bra, these terrible excuse for panties, and those high heels on. Nothing else, alright?”

“Yes, Captain,” you affirmed.

Steve leaned forward, his pink lips above yours. You chased them, greedily wanting a kiss. But the only thing you got was a smirk in return. He took a slight detour, heading toward the camera on the right to make sure it was on, too. His broad shoulders looked even more breathtaking in the softly lit space.

Then, he sat down on the large bed, legs open and inviting. You took it as your cue. Gracefully, you slipped the suit off your skin, sighing in exaggerated relief as the fabric released its hold. You were filled with a sense of accomplishment when Steve shifted in his seat, his throat bobbing. You grabbed at your sides, making sure your thong was at a perfect angle before lowering the rest of your suit down. Steve’s breath was caught in his throat, eyes examining you as you slipped off your shoes to peel the rest of your stealth suit off.

Remembering Tony’s previous remarks about the suit, you turned back, purposely bending over as you grabbed your shoes. You kept your back at the same lowered angle, giving Steve a front-row seat to your round ass, temptingly framed by the thin black thong you had on.

Despite your bubbling anticipation, you took your time. And you were not disappointed by the sight before you. Steve was already cupping his clothed erection, playing with himself because of your actions. You glanced at him, moving one heel in front of the other, but he put up his hand before you could move any closer.

“St—?”

“On your knees,” he ordered. You were surprised by his command but quickly composed yourself, setting yourself on your knees with your hands flat on your thighs obediently. “Crawl to me, little dove. Come and show me how good you can make a man feel.”

It was like you were moving on autopilot. All your brain could muster were thoughts of Steve. On top of you, underneath you, and facing you. Every single image was of him losing control and moaning your name without abandon. So, you crawled like the good girl you want to be—his good girl.

When you got to his side, you touched his ankles, hands skimming across his legs and fingers teasing the area behind his knees. Choked sounds escaped his parted lips, egging you on. Your lips landed on his clothed erection, and you stilled for a beat, then two. You could feel him twitch as a result of your gaze.

Hands on the inside of his thighs, you gave him a gentle squeeze. You puckered your lips and peppered kisses on his clothed erection, going as far as to whimper. There was soon pressure on your head once Steve carded his fingers in your hair. “Y/N,” he murmured. “Don’t tease.”

Your doe eyes met his in a luscious glance, his eyes never leaving yours. Not when you bit down on his belt, not when you untangled it with only your teeth, and certainly not when you helped him out of his suit, yanking down his boxers and sucking on his tip. “Yes, that’s it, dove. That’s it,” he said, head thrown back.

And you took the chance to make him crumble even more. His dick was large, exhilaratingly captivating. You felt dirty at the thought of wanting it inside of you—inside your mouth and your pussy. Hell, you even loved having it between your breasts. You just wanted Steve’s dick so bad, and you were not shying away from mentally admitting that Steve turned you from his little dove to his good little whore whenever his dick was involved.

You hollowed your cheek and took as much of his dick as you could in your mouth. You had been practicing, some nights trying to deepthroat him thrice to get every bit of him in you, tattooing your every essence on his cock. 

Steve moaned, loudly and pornographically, bucking inside your mouth. You accepted him, moving even further down across his shaft, the wet noises only spurring you on. Greedily, you used your hands to grip his base. When your mouth thrust deeper, your hands moved higher, creating a polarizing rhythm that left Steve throwing himself back against the bed. “Good God,” he practically screamed. “Take me. Take all of me in your little mouth and tiny hands, Y/N. Wet my dick with your mouth, baby girl. Make me cum just for you.”

You obliged, taking him even deeper and relishing his moans. Your lips moved lower, tongue circling around his balls before you sucked each of them in. His grip on you tightened, eliciting a slight pain in your head. But you didn't care. “Fucking good girl of mine,” he cried out breathlessly, fingers fisting your hair. “Fucking perfect mouth that’s made to take no one but me. To swallow no man’s cum but mine. To have its walls and roof painted white by my dick and my dick alone.”

Your pussy ached, and you found yourself desperately humping against the floor while you took his balls in your mouth, moaning like a fucking porn star. You were surprised your lustful sounds hadn’t attracted anyone yet, and you quickly realized that the room must’ve been soundproof. The realization made you rub your pussy harsher against the parquet floor, hands now gripping Steve’s thighs for dear life. 

In your peripheral vision, you saw Steve move his shoe-clad feet closer to your core. You whimpered, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. Steve was a gentleman, and while he could be feral in the bedroom, he could never find it in himself to humiliate or degrade. But he knew that when lust took over, you desperately wanted to be his slut. His whore. Nothing but a hole for him to abuse and fill at his leisure.

The first time you asked him to degrade you, he froze. And when he wasn’t comfortable with doing that, you didn’t ask again. But Steve would sometimes do something. A small gesture to appease the both of you. He’d reach out for the drawer and silently look at you with a soundless question: can I use toys? He’d put three fingers in your pussy and wait for you to ask for more before he fisted you.

And tonight, he was giving it to you. The chance to be degraded—to be his perfect little whore. And you took it, crying out loud, practically sobbing at the feel of your wetness coating his shoes. He didn’t move, but you did, swinging your hips back and forth while taking all of his dick in your mouth. You hadn’t noticed how utterly filthy and lewd you looked until you raised your eyes and met your reflection in the ceiling’s mirror. Steve was looking at you too. He watched the way you humped his shoes and took his cock in your mouth. He pushed you against his dick, and you choked. Your breathing became erratic the more you moved against his shoes, tears spilling down your eyes accompanied by the symphony of your satisfied sobs. And that did it for him. He exploded with a scream of your name, cum invading your mouth and taking over your entire senses.

He slowly shifted you back, freeing his shoe from your hold. You were a sight for sore eyes. Thong wet and askew, bra hanging low with pebbled nipples almost peeking out, eyes blown wide with desire. He devoured the painting in front of him, committing your disheveled hair and the cum dripping down the side of your red, swollen lips to memory.

“Captain.” Though he wasn’t too far off in his dreams—because they couldn’t rival this reality—Steve had to admit that he got lost in his thoughts. Your voice called out to him like a devious siren luring him to his demise. “Please. Take me.”

You gasped when his hands were suddenly on your ass, but you barely had the chance to think about it. In the next second, Steve placed you on the mattress with his lips perched above your own. They were like the forbidden fruit: enticing, delectable, and there. Just there, only slightly out of reach. He lightly caressed your lips, each time pulling back before you could reciprocate, repeating the motion until he finally yielded to you.

“Let me taste myself on your lips, little dove,” he breathed in your mouth huskily. “Prove to me I’m only appetizing on your tongue.” You obliged. Your lips captured his own in a violent assault, claiming his tongue as a hostage. Trapped within the walls of your mouth, it explored the edges and the roof, clashing against your own tongue.

You caressed his face, fingers grazing over the beginning of his stubble. A sigh escaped your lips, both from his seductive ministrations and the thought of his stubble against your wet pussy. The image dissolved as soon as his lips left your own. You yelped, finding Steve’s hands entrapping both of yours. “Stevie,” you whimpered, every syllable begging him for his attention. His other hand slithered down your body, gliding across your inner thigh. You thought this was it—he was finally giving you your heart’s desire. But instead of the moan you expected to flee from your throat’s confines, you heard yourself yelping. A sharp and blazing sensation overtook your core, forcing your head back.

“What do you want, dove? You gotta be specific for me, little one?”

“Your hands,” you moaned. It was quickly replaced by a sharp cry when Steve slapped your pussy again. “In me. Inside of me, please,” you begged, gasping when Steve landed another slap across your lower lips. Your clit ached, swollen and inflamed, showing Steve exactly where you needed him.

He slithered his fingers across your pussy lips, moving them up and down. You mewled, alternating between looking at your reflection in the mirror and looking at Steve. His fingers quickly found your entrance, and he put the tip of his fingers in. But the bane of mischief that Steve Rogers was in the bedroom, he took them out of you, replacing them with a harsh slap.

“Not yet,” he practically growled. Leaving you fighting for composure, Steve reached out to the table by his side. The first thing you saw was the handcuffs he diligently wrapped around your hands and secured against the bedframe. The second was the silver silk blindfolds, which he wrapped around your eyes.

You willingly slipped into the darkness, mesmerized by the sea of possibilities before you. Your senses amplified when Steve’s fingers traveled down the expanse of your body. You felt the bed dip, Steve’s bulky frame nestled on top of your stomach. And you melted in a pool of unbridled hunger when he tapped his index finger against your lips with a single command, “Don’t swallow.”

You half expected him to be jerking and ready to unload his load in your mouth. Or maybe he wanted you to take him once more down your throat. But you almost gagged at the feel of the cold liquid inundating your mouth—the taste of the bubbling champagne asserting its dominance.

Steve set the bottle down, leaving you unsure whether he had taken a sip or not. His earlier ministrations resumed, this time hands tugging at your bra. He cupped your breasts, weighing them in his hands. You wanted to moan so badly, but you didn’t want to defy his orders.

He reveled in the way you whimpered, sounds oppressed by the force of his command. He continued playing with your breasts, keeping your left one in his hand and drawing special attention to your right one. He peppered both of them with kisses, using his tongue to circle the area around your nipple and make your pussy clench around nothing but the air that surrounded you.

You bucked against his tongue, hands tugging at the restraints, but they refused to budge. Not that you expected them to. Breathing through your nose, you tried to reach for your impending release. You were no stranger to nipple orgasms, and Steve was trying to draw one out of you—you were sure. A fire built up inside of you, leaving your body temperature rising. You thrust your hips in the air. Sadly, nothing caught their movements.

Steve alternated between both nipples, giving each of them an equal amount of attention. You cried louder, trying to hold the champagne in. You were about to come when Steve pulled away.

A high-pitched whine reflected your displeasure, gaining you a slap to your pussy. “Patience,” Steve ordered, and you reluctantly obliged. Even though you ached to be ravaged by him, whether by his hands, tongue, or dick, you had to admit that you were enraptured by his movements and were always more than eager to lose yourself in his lustful tempest.

You let some fresh air fill your lungs, still breathing through your nose, while Steve adjusted himself on your body. Though blindfolded, your senses were elevated, and you could sense Steve’s body heat creeping closer to yours. True to your suspicion, he loomed over you. One of his hands slithered across your neck, trapping you in a chokehold. You embraced his untamed gestures, craning your head to hopefully meet his face. 

Without so much as a clue, Steve crashed his lips against yours with such fervor it left you reeling. You couldn’t keep the champagne in anymore, feeling Steve steal some of it from your mouth to his, letting the rest fall down across your chin and chest. Steve didn’t kiss you at that moment. He consumed you, engulfed you with his mouth, greedily taking in everything you had to offer. 

You were an instrument, and he was the musician, releasing one string to play with the other. With a loud pop, he let go of your mouth, licking a long stripe down your neck and nibbling at the shell of your ear. “Mine,” he roared, one of his hands moving to your center.

“Yours,” you confirmed, eyes misty with lust and heart lost in the haze of Steve’s ardor. “I’m yours,” you barely managed to whisper before you cut yourself off with a loud yell. Your head hit the pillow, your body forced down by the weight of Steve’s palm on your stomach. You felt something enter your drenched pussy, seething itself to one side. You breathed in deeper now that your mouth had been free of the champagne’s grasp. 

You winced, something else entering the right side of your pussy. Steve played with your clit, easing the discomfort. As the pain ebbed and passion rose, you quickly figured out what had Steve done: he’d put Ben Wa balls inside of you.

“You’re such a perfect little dove, Y/N. Letting me do anything and everything I want to do with you, knowing I’ll make you feel so good. Make you feel so perfect.”

“Yes,” you nodded vehemently, restraints rattling in harmony. “Yes, Captain. You make me feel so good.”

Steve smirked, and you just knew it from when he cupped your breasts and covered them with his mouth. “Just as you make me.”

He pulled your tits apart, and you hopped that meant he was going to fuck you. To fuck the brains out of you and the desire that’s nestled deep within your core. But of course, a super soldier like Steve wouldn’t be done yet. You didn’t know how much time had passed, whether it was an hour or an eon, but time always seemed inconspicuous when Steve was involved.

“Do this one little thing for me, baby doll. And I promise, I will let your pretty princess pussy milk my cock.”

“Anything,” you replied. Steve kissed you then, short but passionate. He pulled back and gave you one more peck before you felt him squeeze your tits once more, this time putting his dick between them. “Oh God. Oh God, Steve!”

“You like taking my cock any way you can, little dove,” he stated matter-of-factly, thrusting himself in the space between your tits and toying with your nipples at the same time. “You like having me as yours. Being the only woman in the world who can take my cock in a dozen different ways. The only woman who I can paint with my cum.”

“Steve,” you mewled loudly and sinfully. His movements, your thoughts, and the added pressure of the Ben Wa balls deep inside of you did so little to appease your heat. You cried and cried, moaning louder than any porn star in existence. And when you felt Steve grunt in pleasure, you gave it to him.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he cursed when you spat at his dick, drool dripping down your lips and mixing with precum. “You’re so shamelessly beautiful like this. My favorite piece of art.”

He thrust faster, lifting one breast and lowering the other to create an earth-shattering friction that left his dick twitching by your mouth. You knew what was coming, and you didn’t care whether Steve would allow your release or not. You opened your mouth, counting down his brisk breaths. He grunted twice, moaned once, and nestled his head in your neck to bite down on your shoulder. He was coming. So, you opened your mouth and took as much as you could while the rest of him mesmerizingly decorated your face and chest.

Steve released your tits, but the pressure in your core only barely subsided. He kissed your forearms, wet lips trailing your hands until he reached your wrists. Finally, after so much waiting, he released your hands and untied the blindfold. You squinted at the invasive light. Steve took this as a chance to kiss your eyelids, thumb caressing the curve of your mouth. “You’ve been so good to me, little dove. I think it’s time to get your reward. Would you lay on your stomach for me?”

You opened your eyes, seeking the warmth of his irises. “Uh-huh,” was all that you said before Steve helped you to the position he wanted. He unclipped your bra and slowly discarded your thong. Your pussy clenched, and he kissed your ass cheek when he noticed. “I’ll give you everything you need and more, my Y/N.”

Steve reached out for a pillow, placing it on your pelvis. “Stevie, please. I can’t wait anymore. Please, baby.”

“Don’t beg, little dove,” Steve told you while moving your hair to the side and positioning himself above you. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m yours. Take all of me.” 

You whimpered, teary eyes looking at him to relieve you of your ache. Steve immediately moved his tip along your folds to collect your essence. Yearning for you as much as you yearned for him, he began to slowly sheath himself inside of you. You cried out at the sheer size of him, hands fisting the sheets beneath you. 

Steve inserted himself slowly, bottoming out with a deep, guttural moan. “Fuck,” you breathed, grinding your hips against his—the friction amplifying his passion and yours. The Ben Wa balls intensified your lust, making you feel full and empty all at once. 

Slowly, he started to move. His thrusts were sharp and deep, reflecting his need for you. But the more you moaned, the more he faltered, digging his dick further inside you. “You feel so good,” he admitted, knowing this position was a favorite of yours. You both had quickly discovered that it made for the best sex—giving Steve a clear route to your g-spot and an earth-shattering orgasm.

“More,” you demanded, seeking out his unbridled hunger. “Please, more!” You wanted to feel him lose control inside of you. You adored feeling him lose control inside of you. Steve obliged, thrusting in and out of you at a maddening pace, deeply embedding himself within your heat. “Fuck, Steve. Fuck!” you cried, his balls hitting your skin, adding to the lewdness of the scene.

“Tell me I can go faster,” Steve almost begged. You tilted your head, finding him with eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration. There was a thin layer of sweat on his face, and you sought his hand to interlace your fingers, finding ways to mold into each other further. “Tell me I can ravage you. Tell me that I can give you all of me, Y/N.”

You squeezed his hand, and he reciprocated your touch. His thrusts were on the precipice of control, as were his actions, this close to tipping over the edge. He had taken your neck hostage in his large veiny hands, thrusting his tongue inside your mouth in tandem with his dick inside your pussy. “Lose control,” you told him. “Lose yourself in me, Captain.”

And lose himself he did. His thrusts became irregular, and it was hard to tell where exactly his hands were on your skin. They were squeezing your breasts, roaming your stomach, tightly pressing against your ass. He was everywhere. You looked up at the ceiling, salivating and burying your face in the mattress at the beautiful portrait you and Steve painted together. You both moaned louder than ever before, the cameras eagerly commemorating your actions. 

“Steve, I’m so close,” you warned him when he kept on repeatedly hitting your g-spot. His response came in the form of short but sweet-sounding kisses planted from your collarbone to your neck. He nibbled on the shell of your ear, licking the skin there and sucking on it.

“Cum, little dove,” he said huskily. “Cream my cock.”

You moved faster against his dick, taking all of him in until you collapsed in on yourself, every part of you stealing Steve’s affection. You clenched hard against his dick, feeling yourself squirt and cream his cock. It didn’t take him seconds before he exploded inside of you, emptying his load for the third time with a scream of your name. He didn’t relent, though. His sporadic movements picked up again. At this point, you were far too lost in the haze of your unabashed engagements to notice. It didn’t take you long to feel another orgasm building up.

You were about to warn Steve when he flipped you over on your back, dick salaciously pounding into your pussy. Determination itched on his brows, and undiluted want lined his irises. He put his hand on your mouth, and you wailed, back arching, pussy squirting (again. How is this even possible?), and your entire surrounding collapsing on itself.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?” you heard a high-pitched scream. Too far gone in the throes of passion, you weren’t aware that Tony had opened the door, leading Pepper inside the room. But oh, Steve did. Judging by the smirk, he had heard them coming in.

“Do I really need to explain to you the birds and the bees, Tony?” he mocked, securing the sheets around you both and hiding you from view. His dick twitched inside of you, making it harder for you to breathe.

Tony looked furious. “What I need to you to explain, you ungrateful ass, is what are you doing in this room?

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Procreating,” he answered. You had to cover your mouth and hide behind him so as not to laugh. You could barely move from all the previous activities, and Steve’s dick inside of you, trapped between your overused pussy and the Ben Wa balls, wasn’t really helping the situation. “What are you doing here? Is that why you made comments about Y/N’s ass? Were you hoping to watch us or something?”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Pepper. No, I swe—”

“Is that your idea of making it up to me? Watching Y/N and Steve go at it. Tony—”

“Absolutely not! Do I look like I have a grandfather kink or something?”

“Then, why are we in this room?”

“Well, I was hoping we could engage in—”

“ENGAGE? With Steve and Y/N??”

“NO. I don’t even know what they’re doing here!”

“What every two consenting adults do,” you added with a raspy voice. Tony’s expression was almost as good as the sex you just had. He was utterly dumbfounded, desperately raking his brain to persuade Pepper that this wasn’t what she thought she was. “Nice costume, Pep. I’m sorry. We were told there was a surprise waiting for us for the emotional trauma caused by your genius playboy.”

“Yeah,” Pepper exhaled. She was dressed in what you assumed was an Asgardian dress, and you felt guilty to have ruined her night. “Well, it was a surprise for all of us. I’m sorry on behalf of the idiot playboy.”

Pepper glared at Tony, heels digging into his shoes. He cursed, his frustrations matching hers. “Pepper,” he begged breathlessly. But she was already gone. “I’m getting you two back for this. I swear.”

“No, Tony. We will not send you a copy of our sex tape,” you teased, purposely raising your voice. You swore Tony’s arc reactor was going to malfunction.

“I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. PEPPER, I SWEAR. SHE’S LYING!!”

And with that, he left, leaving you and Steve hysterically laughing. He kissed you breathlessly, hands holding your face like you were the most precious thing in his life. “Halloween wasn’t that bad.”

“No. I kind of like this house now, too.”

“Me too, dove. I love every place I make happy memories there with you.” And happy memories you continued to make with Tony and Pepper’s squabble long lost in the background.

I'm going to hell for this.

You can also find my work on AO3. 🤍

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 14

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+! Word Count: 9.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Cute and cocky Max, the triumphant return of Cutie the Bat, so much fluff, dancing as foreplay, discussions of sex. Summary: An unexpected invitation yields surprising revelations, and Max has some help in planning a night that neither of you will ever forget. Notes: This week enjoy a colorized photo of Cornelius Vanderbilt II and wife Alice's palatial primary residence at 5th and 57th in Manhattan. Sold in the late 1920s, the mansion was later demolished and the current Bergdorf Goodman's location built in its place. At the end of the chapter I've added in a black and white photo of the house's ballroom, which makes a special appearance in this chapter!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13

The entirety of the journey traveling from Newport to the Vanderbilt’s house on Fifth Avenue is far more tiring than you had anticipated, and when you walk in the front door of the grand mansion — with its palatial fireplace that you have only seen in photos from the Metropolitan Museum of Art — it suddenly makes a lot more sense why people talk about travel being such an undertaking in the past. You are, in point of fact, exhausted. And dirty, which is unexpected. The kicked up dust and dirt from train terminals, unpaved roads, and all manner of other frustrations has your wishing for a bath.

That will have to wait, though, as almost the moment you walk through the door Mrs. Vanderbilt is by your elbow with an envelope. “This arrived for you this morning, dear,” Alice tells you with an impressed smile. “It seems you have been summoned.” The look of confusion on your face must be particularly lustily unintelligent because Alice Vanderbilt’s smile softens into something maternal. “Mrs. William Astor has asked you to tea, I suspect. You must have made quite an impression on her at the Brown’s ball.”

“Oh!” The imposing woman in her fifties had made quite the impression on you, as well, and you carefully open the envelope that Alice has pressed into your hand. It is exactly as Alice predicted, and you look up at the grandfather clock in the hall. “Just a few hours…” you murmur, looking over at Max, Annie and Emmanuel with concern pursing your expression. “It…seems to only be addressed to me?”

“Because the invitation is just for you.” Alice hums, as if the answer is obvious. “Do not be alarmed, most often highly statured ladies like Mrs. Astor prefer their socializing in smaller circles.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “Less gossip that way.”

“I will do my best not to embarrass any of you with poor manners.” It’s an honor, in this time and this place. You know that. But that doesn’t mean you’re not seriously nervous.

“After watching you charm a ballroom, I would never dream of such a thing.” Alice waves away your concern. “Come. You must be exhausted by your journey. I will have some tea and refreshments sent to your rooms.”

While Annie and Emmanuel are shown to separate rooms on opposite ends of the long second-floor hallway, you and Max are let into a green-and-white decorated guest room on the third floor that sports one slightly larger bed. The footman who showed you the way leaves you with a bow and closes the door to give you privacy, leaving you standing with Max in the middle of the luxurious room.

“Swanky.” Max hums as he looks around the room. “I have to admit, there’s something missing in modern decor. It’s just not as…elegant.”

“I like that we have the whole newlyweds thing going for us,” you admit, looking around the room while you lean into his side. “They just assume we want to be close to each other. And they’re right.”

Max smiles smugly. “Of course you want to stay close to me.” He brags, winking at you playfully. “You want my body.”

“If you’re going to be cocky about it, I’m not going to tell you what I’ve been thinking.” Raising one eyebrow at him, you dearly wish you were in comfortable jeans and a sweater so you could just plop down on the mattress and stretch out. The traveling dress you have on definitely won’t permit that.

He eyes you wickedly and bites his lip. “Yeah?” He hums. “You don’t want to tell me that you’ve imagined me under that dress of yours? Tongue at work while you pretend to be prim and proper?”

“I’ve been imagining more than that.” It seems like every step you take with him only spurs you onto the next a little faster. Knowing that his tendency toward caretaking with you isn’t just a show or just to get in your pants means more than you can really say. Max loves you, fully and without ulterior motive. And you love him the same.

“Oh yeah?” He snags your waist, pulling you close and grinning as he pulls the bow around your waist loose. He’s teasing you, but he also knows you must be desperate to get out of your dress.

“Maybe.” Flustered and dreamy-eyed, you put your arms around his neck and let him hold you as close as he wants. “Are you really gonna get me all riled up before I have to go have tea with the Mrs. Astor?”

“Why don’t I relax you before you have tea with the Mrs. Astor?” He poses. “Make you cum while you clean up.”

“A very dirty way of getting clean.” You hum, tipping your head back to silently ask for a kiss. “And maybe…a preview to tonight?”

“My wife is greedy.” Max boasts happily. “Wanting to sleep with a tongue inside her.”

“I was thinking maybe…” You can’t help it, biting your lip to keep the grin blossoming across your face from getting too big. “Of a different part of you…”

“Fingers?” Max lifts a brow at you and grins when you shake your head. “Toe? I’ve never tried that before, to be honest.”

"I'm ready." You tell him, warmth in your cheeks and in your smile. "If you are."

“Are you sure?” Max asks seriously, reaching up and brushing his fingers over your pulse. “I don’t want you to rush because you think I’m impatient.”

"I'm sure." His sweetness is part of the reason, but you know he would deflect if you said so. "I love you, and I want to celebrate that."

“It will be good.” He promises sincerely. “Like you’ve never experienced before.”

“If it’s good then it definitely will be like I’ve never experienced before,” you joke, rolling your eyes in exaggeration to make him laugh. “Honestly love, please don’t feel any pressure. I just…I want to share this with you. That’s all.”

“I’ve felt plenty of pressure.” Max jokes, smirking at his innuendo. “But if you’re ready, the perfect place to make love to my wife for the first time, would be in the bed at the Vanderbilt’s mansion.”

“Time travel bragging right.” Every time he gets so proud to call you his wife it gives you a little shiver and you grin.

“And it’s not like we are breaking into a museum to do it.” He chuckles and turns you around to start unbuttoning the back of your traveling dress. “It will be quite the ‘feather in your cap’ as your grandfather likes to say.”

“And we’re even in the time where people actually wear feathers in their caps.” His nimble fingers are quick to undo the outer layer of your dress, pulling away the top to let you stretch a little more easily in just your corset cover and corset above what seems like miles of petticoats. Without those big sleeves it’s a lot easier to move.

Max snickers. “I’m just grateful we didn’t come to a time where wearing tights was fashionable.” He jokes.

“Why not?” You smirk at him over your shoulder. “You’ve got great legs.”

“Yeah, but it would leave nothing to the imagination, package wise.” He snorts.

“Those big ‘ol pantaloons they wore over the tights would.” It reminds you of a Shakespeare show you saw once, and the idea of Max back in that time scraping out thees and thous makes you giggle. “Maybe I’ll get the hang of this time traveling stuff and we’ll be time tourists. Who knows?”

He hums, knowing that you both can be time travelers in your own time as well, watching history unfold as you both remain ageless.

Max helps you out of your skirt, letting you shed all those extra pounds of beading and embroidery for a little while before you have to put on something suitable for Mrs. Astor. You have very little idea of what Renée packed but you’ll manage, just enjoying the freedom of lighter layers for now. Petticoats and a bustle don’t weigh too much, you’ve been surprised to find.

“Better?” Max loves the sight of you in the undergarments of the time, honestly playing into the time period movies that he had watched when he was younger. Sometimes hoping to get laid, but that one – Pride and Prejudice – that was just a guilty pleasure.

“It’s so hard to move in the full dresses.” Which is why you’re wiggling happily and stretching everywhere now that you have a little freedom. “At least we didn’t come back to the age of six-foot crinolines. You wouldn’t be able to get near me at all.”

“I don’t know what that is, but a crinoline sounds horrible.” He gives you a mock look of horror. “Don’t sent us there.”

“I promise.” He gets the giggle out of you that he was hoping for, and you turn to lean against him because you still have the bustle underneath your petticoats tied in place so you can’t just back up into his arms.

“How come the history books never talk about how dirty traveling is?” Max snorts, knowing that both of you need a bath.

“Because no one wants to read about horse shit and dust everywhere.” You laugh along with him. “I wish I had time for a bath but apparently travel by horse-drawn carriage takes foreeeeever.”

“You want to get clean, baby doll?” Max smirks. “I can clean you up real quick.”

“Speed bath?” You raise one eyebrow at him.

He chuckles. “Perks of moving fast, sweetums.” He had overheard the nickname on the dining car last night and had fallen in love with it, to tease you with, of course.

When you roll your eyes it’s entirely joking, but you cross your arms appraisingly and smirk. “Alright. Go for it.”

“Done, baby doll.” He snaps his fingers as if he were a magician, drawing your eyes away from the trick before he begins to move quickly.

When he wants to be, Max is a whirlwind. Before you know it your petticoats are strewn around the room and your corset seems to disappear in a flash, along with your chemise and stockings, all while you barely feel him touch you. The tornado of movement carries you so easily to the bathroom and within minutes you’re scrubbed clean and dry again.

When he stops moving, it’s obvious that Max has also cleaned up while taking care of your quick wash. Grinning and not even breathless as he eyes you. “Believe me now?”

“Baby,” you smirk, the expression rolling over your features with glee. “I never doubted you. I just wanted to see you show off.”

“Good.” He winks at you and shrugs. “Now you are all clean and can enjoy your visit with Mrs. Astor.”

“Wish me luck?” Walking over to the set of buttons built into the carved wood detailing of the guest room, you press the one marked to connect to you maid and sigh. You are definitely going to need Renee’s help picking out a dress.

“Of course.” Max snaps his fingers again. “I could come with you.” He offers with a coy grin.

“I don’t think the Mrs. Astor would take kindly to a bat in her house.” Though you grin broadly at the idea.

“I would make a fashionable hat accessory.” He huffs, miffed that you might deny him the opportunity.

“If you think you can hold still for an entire tea visit, I’ll take you with me.” It’s sweet of him to want to come with you, though you know it’s also because he’s an incorrigible gossip.

He tuts because he knows you’ve got him there. There’s no way he wouldn’t ruffle his wings or trill at you in his bat form. “She might like bats.” He grumbles.

“She might.” When he pouts you can’t help but kiss him, and your hand on his chest feels the thrilling thud of a single heartbeat as your lips brush his. “And if she does, I’ll bring you next time. If there ever is a next time.”

“Ooookaaaaayyy.” He rolls his eyes, playing up the pouring before he shrugs. “Tea sucks anyway. Kind of like me.” He jokes, waggling his brows. “Get it?”

“Har har har.” The exaggerated laughing noise makes both of you bust out into giggles just before a knock sounds at the door and Renee enters.

“You rang, Ma’am?” She asks politely, stock still in her own immaculate uniform. No doubt she had already cleaned herself up from the trip.

“I was hoping you might have packed a nice tea dress for the trip, Renee.” Standing in your chemise and robe in the middle of the room is more than a touch unconventional, but so are you. “I’ve had an invitation from Mrs. Astor.”

“Ohhhhhh.” Her eyes widen slightly and she nods eagerly. “I have a beautiful teal tea dress that would be perfect.” She insists.

“Well,” you flash both of them a smile, with Renee zipping right past you to the closet where your and Max’s clothes have been stored. “Here goes nothing.”

******

More than an hour later, after all the fuss of redressing, restyling, saying your polite ‘good afternoon’s to the Vanderbilts, and being bundled in and out of a carriage all on your own to take you a mere twenty minute carriage ride from number 1 West 57th Street to 350 Fifth Avenue. The house is even grander than the old photo on the damn Wikipedia page you’d seen ages ago, and you swallow thickly as you walk up to the door and ring the bell. Somehow you’re just certain Mrs. Astor’s butler will be the most intimidating possible version of that career choice.

Instead of the butler answering the door, Mrs. Astor herself is the one that pulls the door open. She had been sent word that you had accepted her invitation and had been looking out for your carriage to arrive. “Mrs. Phillips!” She beams as she opens the door wider and steps back. “I am so pleased you decided to accept my invitation.”

“It was very kind of you to ask me.” Astonished to find the woman herself standing in the front hall of her house, you falter and damn near curtsy as a footman appears to whisk your gloves and reticule away. The small hat perched on your head — not adorned with a particular bat — stays firmly in place.

“When Alice Vanderbilt told me you were going to be in town, I knew I had to have you to tea.” She slides her arm through yours and notices you craning your neck around to look at the interior. “You and Mr. Phillips will be building homes, correct? Let me give you a tour? We have so many modern conveniences.”

“We haven’t decided where to build yet.” Polite conversation seems the way to go, as Mrs. Astor escorts you around the first floor of the fashionable and enormous brownstone they call home. “We may make our home in Newport year round.”

“I would love to have a permanent home.” She admits easily. “Packing up everything I need from one home to another is so tiring at times.”

“But the summers are not always pleasant here, and winters can be isolating in Newport.” She leads you through the hall to a stunning sitting room and it’s really all you can do not to stare the way you did your very first day at your home in Newport. “There must be some advantages for being able to travel where the weather is nicest?”

“Of course there are. I know that I am very fortunate to be able to escape the intolerant weather.” She knows that she is privileged and is thankful for her children’s sake. “I would love a frolicking bath in the gardens. Or a pool, but William says that it’s too much effort.”

“Max doesn’t particularly care for the beach. I think he would probably love a pool instead.” Although, the thought of him indignantly turning into a bat just to be out in the sunshine to see you in a swimsuit almost makes you giggle.

“Then perhaps you will have an indoor pool?” She suggests. “You can swim no matter the weather outside.”

“Perhaps.” She seems delighted for you at the prospect so you smile. “And if we did, you would certainly be welcome to visit.”

“I would be visiting often.” She admits with a grin as she guides you back towards the parlor where the tea is being laid by one of the footmen.

If you had any intention of staying in this time, it would be an immense compliment. But as it is, you have to take the fact as what it is — if you get stuck here, then Lina Astor is a valuable ally to have. “You will be most welcome, pool or otherwise.”

“You are kind. And that is a refreshing thing to find.” She hums, smiling as she settles you both down on the sofa. “Very refreshing indeed.”

“It was an honor to receive your invitation.” It is, and you’re aware of that, but you’re still wondering why she invited you here other than the fact that you’re staying with the Browns. It’s not as though she knows you’re their granddaughter.

“Then I am happy you accepted.” The footman has disappeared, and Mrs. Astor leans forward to pick up the teapot. “It is not often I find other kindred spirits in my circle.”

“I—I’m sorry?” The comment takes you off guard, and you feel a little like a deer in headlights at the moment.

Her smile turns slightly coy and she tilts her head. “I don’t think that I’m mistaken.” She tells you conversationally. “Another time traveling witch?”

The mistake you made was reaching for the teacup that the footman had set beside you before leaving the room at exactly the moment Mrs. Astor said the words ‘time traveling’. Your hand clatters past the cup and saucer, nearly upending the small table beside you as your eyes grow as wide as dinner plates. “E—excuse—” Oh, Max is going to be so mad he isn’t here for this. “How could you possibly—?”

“Know that you aren’t from this time?” She muses and sets down the tea set to tap her brows. “You must have just waxed your brows before you travelled back.” Her eyes are flashing with intrigue. “What year had you left?”

"I—" It automatically makes you hide your hands, like she could somehow know that you had just taken off your nail polish the day before. "Um...2023..." you murmur, feeling very oddly like you've been caught by the Time Travel Police or something equally insane.

“Ohhhhhh.” She smiles excitedly and leans in. “Tell me about it, please?” There’s a plea in her voice that is barely noticeable under the excitement.

You don’t even know where to begin, swallowing hard and realizing that the conversation might not make any sense – in an insane sort of way – without context. "When...when have you, um...traveled to?" This time you manage to get the teacup firmly into your hands, but you're sure they must be shaking violently as you can't tear your eyes off the prim and proper madam of New York society.

“I think you misunderstand.” Lina shakes her head and reasons that it’s not a logical conclusion. “I was born in 1965. This is the time I travelled to.”

"What?" When you almost drop the delicate teacup all over again, you just shove it back onto the table.

“I would never have believed it myself.” She admits easily, continuing to talk. “However, how do you deny yourself in photographs from decades before you were born?” She asks. “I know some might think there a doppelgängers, historical figures that look like other people in different times, but I believe, like me, they are witches who have travelled to their proper times.”

"Does that mean...that once we travel...that we're stuck?" You ask, eyes widening impossibly yet again. "We go back to our proper time and stay there?" The possibility hadn't occurred to you, but it seems alarmingly real to hear her talk about it.

“Perhaps that it the wrong wording.” Mrs. Astor concedes. “Because I could have chosen to go back, but why would I when my soulmate was in this time?”

"I suppose that would account for the decision." The way your mind seems to be scrambled is the only thing that makes perfect sense at the moment, but shaking your head doesn't seem to set any of your thoughts straight at all – except one. "So there is a way to go back, then?"

She frowns slightly, tilting her head. “You mean you didn’t come here on purpose?” She asks softly, trying to understand why you would travel through time if not for a reason.

"It was an accident," you admit, feeling all the more amateurish for it. "I was trying to cast a protection spell and it...sort of imploded around me. Instead of banishing the person from where my soulmate and I were, it brought him here with us."

“Oh my.” Her eyes widen slightly and she knows there must be more to the story. “Hopefully, that person is no longer a bother to you and your soulmate?”

"No." A fact which has brought you no small amount of relief. "No. He certainly is not." This might be the most insane situation out of all of the insane situations you've ever found yourself in, and you lean forward in your seat unconsciously. "So..if you were born in 1965...do you mind if I ask where you were born? I'm endlessly curious now."

She grins and leans in. “California.”

"This is just...absolutely insane." The shake of your head still doesn't align your thoughts, but at least this time when you laugh in disbelief you don't feel foolish for it. "And you just...saw yourself in a history book?"

“Imagine my surprise.” She snorts and shakes her head. “But I just knew that it was me.”

"And I thought my story was crazy," you huff, exhaling like it's the biggest relief of your life.

“Believe me, there’s few who know my story.” Lina laughs, reaching over and covering your hand with your own. “How do you explain a colored rose tattoo on your pelvic bone to a man who has never even thought of a tattoo?”

“Oh my god.” Barely managing not to snort when you burst out into giggles, you cover your mouth and manage to recompose yourself. “That…that would not be easy,” you admit readily. “Although I guess at least it’s somewhere easily hidden.”

“Yes. William has accepted that I am from a different time, but my maid believes it is a strange birthmark.” She snickers.

“That is a remarkably detailed birthmark, Mrs. Astor,” you snicker softly, shaking your head. “Mine is essentially a blob.”

“Just so.” She agrees. “How are you acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Brown, really?”

“I suppose it’s a moot point, to ask you to keep my secrets when you’ve already shared yours. We’re in this together.” And what a fucking weird person to even say that to, you think with an internal huff. “They are my grandparents. But only Mr. Brown knows who I really am.”

“Grandparents…how delightful.” She hums as she picks up your cup of tea and hands it back to you. “I expect that it’s easily possible because of your vampiric bloodline, your mother waited to give birth to you?”

“I should not be surprised that you know so much, I suppose?” It’s astonishing to you, but maybe it shouldn’t be. Doesn’t everyone have friends who keep their secrets? Especially within the magical community. “Yes. She did. She waited quite a while.”

“Your grandmother is the leader of her coven in Newport.” She reminds you. “I am the leader of the coven here. William has actually talked to your grandfather about immortality.”

“Really?” Imagining the Astors in the future makes your head spin a little, but how is it any weirder than you coming back to this time? “If you ever find yourself in 2023, come and visit.”

Picking up her own tea, she adds a sugar cube and stirs it. “Your soulmate is immortal? Or just a lucky human? I wasn’t quite able to tell.”

“Max is immortal.” And you almost laugh to yourself, thinking again how much he would love to be here for this. “My grandfather was his sire…either several years ago or it will be many years in the future. Depending on how you look at it.”

“How fascinating it all is.” She wonders, blowing on her tea and taking a small sip. “What a wonderful connection. I hope that your time here is fruitful?”

“I hope so, too.” You admit, blowing out a sigh of your own. “Of course, if I can never figure out how to get us home, our time here will be permanent.”

“Yes,” at the mention of that, Lina straightens. “That is why I asked you to tea. To get to know you, but also inquire if you are well versed in the spells.” She sets her tea down and stands, moving over to the bookcase. “I have all my own spells here, including the one to bring me to my William’s time.”

“I am not particularly well versed in any spells at all.” The idea of an Astor family grimoire piques your interest as you watch her move amongst the shelves, pulling things out quickly in a very particular order until a hidden panel in the wainscoting pops open. Of fucking course Mrs. Astor has a secret compartment for her grimoire. “My magical education came late in life.”

“The perhaps I might give you a copy?” She asks, knowing that you might not have your own family grimoire. If her own could assist you in creating one, she would be delighted.

"Are you serious?" At least the more modern phrase won't sound too foreign to her as you stare at the petite figure of Lina Astor over your teacup. "I—I mean—that would be so incredibly generous of you."

“I will start writing it out immediately.” She promises as she brings the leather-bound book over to the sofa. “By the time of your grandmother’s ball, it will be in your hands.”

"Then I suppose we're here until at least Samhain." A few weeks in 1885 won't do you any harm, but it makes your smile flicker slightly at the thought of missing your own Samhain ball. It makes you wonder how Allison and Eddie are doing – what they're doing – and if Yayo has even explained what's going on.

“Delightful.” She winks at you, even as she speaks properly. “You and I will have to have tea again then. I will call on you?”

"Any time." In the back of your mind you vaguely recall that the appropriate length of a social call in this time period is something absurd like fifteen minutes, and you figure that period must be up. "We're staying with the Cornelius Vanderbilts until Friday, then returning to Newport."

Nodding, she understands your reasoning and bites her lip. “I will be attending the opera tomorrow night, will you be attending as well?”

"My grandparents were kind enough to let us use their box." An actual box at the opera sounded like a beautiful night to you and Annie had been over the moon to bring Emmanuel to the Academy of Music. "My soulmate has never been to an opera before, so we should be in for a fun night."

“Then I will see you at intermission.” Lina decides with a warm smile. “I have to admit that I am very glad you came to tea. It had been a long time since I have talked about…things.”

"I'm glad I wasn't too nervous to accept." Standing from the sofa, you have just enough time to compose yourself before a footman steps up to the drawing room door. You can see your gloves and reticule lying on the table in the foyer and you know that that's your signal. "Thank you for having me, Mrs. Astor. I look forward to seeing you again."

“Call me Lina.” She demands softly, setting the book down and leaning in to give you a quick hug. “We are sisters after all.”

"I will see you tomorrow night, Lina." You squeeze her back gently before striding from the room and accepting your things from the footman with a smile. Whatever you had expected this visit to be, it was nothing like that at all, and you're all the more glad for it as you get into the carriage.

As soon as the door closes, the bat that had been sitting up on top of the curtain flutters down and lands in your lap, squawking.

"Well, hey Cutie pie. I know you." It's all you can do not to burst out into giggles, but you scoop Bat Max up in both hands and let him snuggle into your chest as the carriage lurches and starts off down the street to take you back to the Vanderbilt's house. "You're never going to believe the visit I just had," you tell him honestly, blowing out a deep sigh.

Max turns his head and practically sticks it down your bodice, thankful that the tea dress is lower cut than your traveling dress. Flapping his wings and squeaking in response to you.

"If you wanted to grope me, you could do it in human form," you snort, giggling at the little bat's antics. "So it turns out..." you cuddle your soulmate's animal form as the carriage bumps and jostles along the road, hand wrapped around his small body to keep him safe against you. "The legendary Mrs. Lina Astor? Is a witch."

Snuggled happily between your breasts, Max trills, hating that he has to pull away, but he can’t transform in your dress. “What?!?” He demands as soon as he is very much in a human form again, eyes bugged out in surprise.

“I swear on every god I can think of,” you promise, holding your hand up like it’s some kind of solemn oath. “But it gets crazier. She’s a fucking time traveler, too!”

“Bullshit.” Max huffs, not thinking you are a liar, but who can that be?

“I swear!” The way you practically double over cackling — or you would have doubled over if not for the corset — tells him how dead serious you are. “She was born in 1965. Saw herself in history books and knew she had to come back.”

“Isn’t that a mind fuck?” Max’s eyes widen. “One of the most historical female figures in America is a time traveler.”

“She’s going to make me a copy of her grimoire,” you murmur, voice full of awe as you lean into your soulmate’s side. “I can’t fucking believe I found another time traveler. And by accident!”

“It seems as if she recognizes something about you.” He worries about that slightly, but with Mrs. Astor as an ally, it would smooth a lot of issues for you should they arise.

“She noticed my eyebrows.” It’s such a stupid detail to you that it’s laughable, but it’s completely on point when you look at it. The fact that you had gone to the salon with Allison just the day before everything happened is what made your appearance stick out to a woman who actually knew what eyebrow waxing was. “She said she’d help me. So I can get us back safely. But…the copy of her grimoire won’t be ready until Samhain. So it looks like we have two more weeks in 1885.”

“I won’t mind that.” Max admits with an easy grin. “Although you might.” He snorts, lifting a brow. “You start your period in two weeks.”

“Pain killers in this time have cocaine and heroine. I am not taking a damn thing.” You’re not surprised at all that your blood drinking soulmate with a superhuman sense of smell already knows your cycle, so you just bypass that face completely. “I will be begging for hot chocolate, though.”

“All the hot chocolate you can drink.” He promises with a smirk. “I think your mother likes my hot chocolate too.”

“She does.” And of course he’s smug about that. He deserves to be. “But you can’t cave and give her the recipe. She used to make me Swiss Miss when I was a kid.”

“Oh no.” He huffs. “This is my secret recipe.” He insists. “You only get that when you’ve been married to me for a hundred years.”

"Real married or pretend married?" You tease, grinning as you snuggle deeper into his side.

“Real.” He snorts. “Have to make sure you’re with me for me and not my hot chocolate.” He teases. “Although, before I forget….do you want to dance tonight?”

"I'd love to." Your hand slips gently into his, fingers threading together, and you squeeze his hand in yours. With your head on his shoulder at the carriage bumps along the road, this is pretty damn close to bliss.

“Good.” Max’s fingers caress your palm. “I hired a little band of musicians to play for us after Alice said I could use the ballroom tonight.”

"You hired a band?" Reeling back to look him in the eye, your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline in surprise. "What's the occasion? Did I not know it was your birthday or something?"

“No.” If he was still living, his cheeks would be scorching hot, but he does look a little embarrassed. “Since it’s…since you want to…” he waggles his brows suggestively in an endearing immature way. “I wanted to make it special. A night you wouldn’t forget.” He also wants to show you that you deserve some to put in the effort for you.

"Honey..." Your gasp, you have realized since being with someone who doesn't need to breathe, is so uniquely human. He might be looking slightly embarrassed, but your jaw is on the floor of the carriage and tears have sprung up into your eyes as you stare at him. "You—really?" It's so far outside of the realm of what you could ever have expected that you don't even know what to say. "For...me?"

“Was it dumb?” He had been sure that you would love it. “It’s dumb. I should have asked, right?” He panics and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Dolly, I just wanted to make it special.”

"Max." Tugging on his hand slightly makes him look at you, and you shake your head fiercely even as you reach up with your free hand to touch his cheek. "That is the sweetest, most thoughtful, most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me and if we weren't already engaged I'd been asking you to marry me right here in this carriage." The watery shine in your eyes is nothing less than pure happiness and pride, and you lean forward to kiss him with soft surety. "In fact, I'm prepared to say fuck it and get married right here in 1885, just so I can proudly call you my husband for real."

He stares into your eyes for a moment, the unease fading and he bites his lip. “I just wanted you to feel special.” He admits quietly. “You are special. And I want you to believe it.”

"My whole adult life, no one has ever believed in me or loved me the way you have." It's somehow simultaneously exhilarating and humbling, the magnitude to which Max's love is worn entirely on his sleeve. It's obvious, not just evident, and you never thought that you were worth someone's entire devotion the way Max has given every ounce of himself over to loving you. "I hope I give back even half of what you do. And I'm glad we have literally all the time in the world for me to learn to love you exactly as well as you love me. Because you're special too, sweetheart."

“Of course I am.” He flashes you a smirk that is pure bravado, and more than a little facade, but he won’t argue with you. It would be pointless when you would say you weren’t worth it to him.

"I just never want you to doubt it, that's all." Max deals with his insecurities in very different ways than you do. You know that. So instead of huffing at him or rolling your eyes or anything of that sort, you just smile and kiss the corner of his mouth again.

“I knew I should have gone with you.” Max pouts, but he knows his presence might have derailed the conversation.

"Today will hardly be the last that we hear or see of Lina Astor," you remind him with a grin. "She might even pop up to 2023 to see us sometime."

“That would be pretty fucking cool.” Max muses. “Her husband has certainly made enough money to support them.”

"I don't know if he's ever actually time traveled with her, but it would be pretty fun if they popped into the future to visit." The two of you lean back again in the carriage, resting against each other's sides as it pulls around the corner of the avenue. "Can you imagine throwing a ball in 2023 and having an Astor show up?"

“No one would know who they were.” Max points out. “They could move through the time in complete anonymity.”

"Unless we find the one person who is like...an Astor family historian or something." That person must exist, you're sure of it. But thankfully, you definitely don't know them. Although if you did? That would be an interesting introduction. "You do know that if I get my time traveling down as well as hers, we could do that, too?"

“Has she travelled to other times as well?” He asks, confused as he wonders. Could that explain why the Astors had a golden touch in business?

"Visits are so short here that I didn't really have time to ask," you admit sheepishly. "But I offered for her to come and visit us in our time and she didn't immediately shut me down or anything, so I have to think it's possible. It's magic not like...a wormhole or a tear in the space-time continuum, right? So theoretically a witch who can master it should be able to pick their destination just like Marty McFly plugging a date into the Delorian."

“Do they make it in a broom model?” Max jokes, chuckling at his own humor when you roll your eyes. “It’s funny and you know it.”

“I’m getting a bumper sticker for abuela’s fancy car when we get home,” you inform him, laughing under your breath at your own bad joke. “My Other Ride Is a Broom.”

“You would not put a sticker on that car.” Max is horrified in a decidedly male way about that, his eyes wide and anguished. “My car’s probably been towed off, or stolen.”

“I’m sure Yayo had it picked up. After all— he knows where we are.” The carriage rolls to a stop and you stretch as much as your dress allows. “Home sweet temporary home.”

“What a temporary home it is.” Max snorts, admiring the grandeur of the facade. “I could see having a gothic style architecture if we were here permanently. Play up the spooky vibes.”

“Maybe we should build a house anyway,” you joke with a grin. “Come and go as we like once I figure out how to get us back and forth.”

“Which house in history has an ambiguous past?” Max asks, lifting a brow curiously.

“There’s a lot of them.” Off the top of your head there’s things like Boldt Castle in New York and the Winchester Mystery House. “And I bet Yayo would take care of it for us.”

“Hmmmm.” Max is thoughtful a moment before he shrugs one shoulder. “Perhaps it’s one of ours.” He tells you. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Maybe we’ll get back and Mrs. Taylor will hand us an extra set of keys.” The thought makes you grin, and the carriage jostles just as one is the Vanderbilt’s footmen comes out to open the door and lend you a hand. What seemed unnecessary and dramatic in period films now makes perfect sense. If you didn’t have help getting out of this carriage you’d never be able to find the sidewalk for all the dress you have to wear.

Max managed to turn into a bat before the footman opened the door. That way he will not cause any questions amongst the staff about how he wasn’t with you and then he was. Luckily for stealth, the dips and flounces hide your bat-ified soulmate from sight and you just climb the steps into the house neatly after saying thank you to the footman without anyone being any wiser.

Max smirks a batty little smirk and clings to the folds of your outfit, enjoying being carried into the house with no one the wiser.

******

When Mrs. Vanderbilt also falls in love with an idea, she isn’t one to sit on it. Max asking for the ballroom to dance with his bride sounded like the most thoughtful and romantic thing that she had ever heard of. She had pointed him in the direction of a small orchestra, and had personally gone to the kitchen to have the idea of a dinner for two planned out with the cook with a footman assigned to serve the quiet meal.

There were flowers everywhere. She must have sent Renee out to purchase every flower from every corner within a ten block radius. Bouquets of them set around a small garden table that has been laid out for two, a champagne bucket beside it. The candles and glass lanterns low enough to give the enormous room a romantic, intimate glow. You had been hustled through another bath, a fresh ball gown that had to come from somewhere, although you don’t remember seeing it amongst your purchases even though it is vaguely familiar, and some of Alice’s own jewels around your neck when you are escorted into the room to find Max waiting for you. His own bath done and his tailored tuxedo making him look every inch the dashing, handsome vampire that he is.

“This is a lot more than just dancing…” you gasp, one gloved hand going straight to your heart as you look around. The Vanderbilt’s expansive ballroom looks like it has been taken over by a fairy kingdom with the way it overflows with blossoms, and you look to Max in awe. “It’s stunning, love. You’re… you’ve…” There really aren’t words for the way your heart swells in your chest, and you walk over to him with sure steps to wrap your arms around him. “My soulmate is the sweetest man in the whole world,” you murmur against his chest.

“I didn’t do all this.” Max admits with a shake of his head. “I just mentioned that I wanted it to be special.”

“No?” You pull back from him, incredulous, and look around then down at yourself. “This dress?”

“Well…” he shrugs. “I asked Alice if there is a dress that was suitable for a night of dancing.”

“So I need to write Alice the world’s best thank you note for hosting us. That’s what you’re saying?” Looking at the pair of you together in the nearby mirrored wall paneling, though, your eyes widen in recognition. “I know this dress!” You realize just a second later.

“Really?” Max frowns for a moment and tilts his head. “From where?”

“From the attic.” Your eyes are wide when you look back at him and you practically giggle. “The day that we all dressed up and went to the mansion?” It seems like years and years ago that you were first getting to know the girls in the Newport coven, and the pang of missing them hits deeply. “Allison wore this.”

“How interesting.” He guides you over to the table and pulls out a chair for you to sit down.

"I guess it goes to show that this was supposed to happen?" When he sits down across from you, the two of you exchange a shared, soft smile. "Maybe we shouldn't be surprised anymore? Since life has thrown us so many curveballs already."

“It’s been nothing but adventure since you’ve arrived.” Max admits with a chuckle. “But I’ve enjoyed the ride. How about you?”

"I wouldn't change a single thing." And you really wouldn't. Even the parts filled with uncertainty or fear have brought you closer together, but more than anything he has given you strength and confidence that you never had before. Loving Max has made you a better person, inside and out. "And I'm very excited for every adventure that is still to come."

Smirking proudly, Max takes the bottle of champagne from the bucket and looks at it and then at you. “Sweetheart….do you want me to have this taken away?” He asks softly. “I don’t think Alice knew.”

"If you want to have some, it's okay." He likely won't, having insisted since the day he found out why you don't drink that he will abstain right along with you. But it's also not like this meal will hold much interest for him considering his preferred diet, so you give him the choice.

The bottle goes back in the bucket and he shakes his head. “I’m good.” He knows that you wouldn’t want any, but he always wants to continue to make sure that you know that if you want to have some again, you have that option.

The footman, confused by the turn of phrase, seems to understand that champagne will not be necessary and steps forward to remove the ice bucket and its contents. “I’ll let Alice know that we don’t drink alcohol when I thank her for tonight,” you tell Max. “It’s…all of this is absolutely beautiful.”

“Whatever you want to tell her, baby.” Max from before would offer advice, but he has learned that you just want to explain and not have your feelings or ideas overruled. “Tonight is about you and I want it to be perfect.”

"Tonight is about us." It's about growing closer and about this last, large step forward. You can't be sure if it's taken longer than you thought or far less time than you would have imagined, but having now spent enough nights actually sleeping with Max along with getting to know him, the time for euphemistic sleeping together feels exciting.

He might not feel that way, but he doesn’t argue. Knowing that it’s important for you that he also be included. His soulmate is actually very considerate and he is grateful for that. “Do you want to eat before we dance?” He asks with a grin. “Or work up an appetite?”

"I would hate to interrupt the chef's schedule." According to your abuela, meals in this time are a well-orchestrated dance all in their own right, and you look to the footman for any kind of confirmation or denial of a firm schedule existing. "Might we have time for a turn or two before the meal begins?"

The man smiles at the question, thinking briefly, and almost bows to you with his deep nod. "I will make sure of it, Mrs. Phillips. Please, enjoy yourselves," he says before excusing himself.

The tails of the tuxedo are something that Max believes should still be around in his own time, flicking them out as he stands and glides around the table. “Will you waltz with me, Mrs. Phillips?” He asks, bowing as any gentleman of the time would. Your Yayo had spent time to make sure that Max fit in and did not make any social blunders.

"Mr. Phillips, I would be delighted." You're both up and out of your chairs again, and the leader of the small band that has been hired takes Max's cue to strike up a lively but simple waltz. The man clearly took working up an appetite literally, and you have to smile as Max puts one hand around your waist and draws you in close – a perfect ballroom frame supporting both of you in place before he leads you into the dance.

Like every time Max has danced with you, he is struck by how seamless it is. It’s as if you and he become one at that moment and move in perfect coordinated unison. There’s not a split second’s hesitation, no faltering. Working easily as if you had been partners for a lifetime, which one day will be true.

The swells in the music become dips and turns, the swaying of your frame in Max's keeping you in time and making sure no feet ever get stepped on. The movement is smooth as silk and completely entrancing, although you know that some of your favourite moves are impossible in a gown this large. All that matters is that you and Max stay connected, moving together with fluidity and grace. Sometimes it feels like the happiest you've ever been are these moments dancing with Max, and you wonder if tonight might somehow equal that or make it feel even more magical than it already does.

The mood is already romantic, the music and the dance coupled with the lighting and what both of you know is to come. It’s fairy tale quality and still Max wishes for more. Wanting you to remember tonight forever, looking back at the moment that you truly became his and he became yours. For all his easy flirtations and past liaisons, he wants to continue to romance his soulmate, for everyday to be an opportunity for you to fall more in love with him.

"You're thinking awfully hard about something," you murmur when he pulls you back to his chest after a turn. His expression of concentration is so easy to pick out, and always makes you want to smooth your thumb over his forehead to soothe the creases away.

“Thinking about you.” He admits easily. “How you deserve so much more. How special you are.” He knows you will protest, but he will just have to dance with you more.

"The perfect example of why we're soulmates." Humming softly, you squeeze his shoulder with your off hand and offer him a soft smile. "We think the world of each other and nothing of ourselves." He has masked it with bravado for pretty much his entire life, but when it comes down to it, he has just as many issues with how he perceives himself as you do. "I love you, Max. Completely. You're the most special thing in the world to me, so if I'm as special as you say we're a hell of a team."

The words are the soft, sweet ones that he has craved his entire life and he savors them. Tucking you against his body and closing his eyes. “We are a hell of a team.” He insists. “Now we just need to find out what dancing between the sheets looks like for us.”

He manages to say it quietly enough that it doesn't echo across the ballroom, keeping it for your ears only, and you giggle with soft delight. You're actually excited for this, which isn't something that you were sure you would ever feel again. "I think it'll be very rhythmic," you tease.

He chuckles and nods. “A steady, continuous rhythm.” He promises. Unlike any previous lovers, Max doesn’t get tired. Any changes in the pace would be because he fumbles or he wants to change, not because he’s unable to keep it up.

"Mr. Phillips, I think that counts as scandalous," you hum, fanning yourself with your own hand dramatically and wishing that just this once you actually had one of those fancy hand fans to tease him with.

"You would faint in shock at all the scandalous things that I would do to you, Dolly." Max snorts playfully, sending you a hot look as he dips you low and presses his face into your breasts before slowly dragging you upright again.

“Maybe I would.” Considering there is an entire group of strangers in the room, you demure a little even though you’re shivering with anticipation on the inside. “Perhaps I am terribly proper and ladylike and this is where I’ve belonged all along.”

“I can see that.” He growls, flashing his fangs at you playfully for a split second. “And I am the wicked vampire ready to defile you.”

When you giggle and have to smother a snort, it’s because you’re sure that anyone overhearing this would assume you were really into sexy role playing or at least fantasy foreplay. When the fact is, it’s just who you are. A little silly, a lot romantic, and entirely devoted to making each other happy.

Around the room, your skirts swish and sway as he leads you. Speeding up and then slowing down along with the music. His eyes always on you as he twirls you around the dance floor. Aware that some of the Vanderbilt staff have peeked in, but it doesn't bother him, never minding an audience.

They're peaking in from around the corner screen and through the pocket doors at the end of the room, and you're dimly aware of their presence without ever minding it for a single second. Renee is probably with them, which makes you smile, and you hope she is enjoying the attention of fielding all sorts of questions about Miss Brown's mysterious new friends.

Max spins you again, taking this as seriously as any dance competition. He’s not expecting perfection but it seems that together, you move flawlessly. Making him proud of your abilities and he beams as he pulls you close again.

When the song draws to a close, Max holds you close to his chest instead of going for some dramatic end pose, letting the last strains of music fade away with you held fast to him as your heart beats wildly out of time. After a moment you become dimly aware of a soft clapping and glance over at the band, all of whom are politely applauding your performance. Your cheeks burn hot instantly and you laugh, but curtsy. It must not be often that they get a private show like this.

Max grins, proud of you and his movement shows it as he guides you back to the table for the first course. “My little ballroom dancer.” He coos softly. “So perfect.”

“I’m just following your lead, love,” you remind him softly. There is nothing but pure love in your eyes.

“Nothing I love more than to lead you around the dance floor, and hopefully something more tonight.” He smirks slightly and helps you sit down.

“I think we’ve moved past hope and into certainty.” As you sit down you give his hand a squeeze. You’re ready. Completely ready.

“Never want you to feel like you can’t end things immediately.” Max sits down and he immediately reaches for your hand.

“I know.” And you appreciate it more than you can say. “But I don’t think that will be the case.” If you’re honest, you’ve started to crave the closeness of him, so tonight is exactly what you want.

“I guarantee it won’t.” He winks at you playfully. “But I do want my wife to tell me exactly what she expects of her husband.”

“I promise.” And you will. Just…not where an army of servants can overhear every detail. That conversation is reserved for when you’re actually alone.

He can see the way your eyes flicker to the staff and he hums. “As you wish, Queenie.”

Dinner is gorgeous. An intricate dance all its own, executed with a precision that you really have to admire. Alice’s staff is amazing and the food is to die for. The band plays several more lovely songs for you, and you and Max dance well into the night. When you finally thank them for their time and go upstairs for the evening, you feel like you’re floating on air.

Max marvels at how warm and soft your hand is in his. Waiting for you to start sweating or even get slightly clammy from nerves, but you never do. Just soft sighs of happiness and beguiling smiles as you look over at him. "Tired, sweetheart?"

"Not at all." You've said goodnight to Renee and to Emmanuel's valet already, telling them you don't need help getting ready to sleep tonight, and that leaves just you and Max alone in your room together with a fire to keep you warm. "I do want to go to bed, though."

______

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My Masterlist!

[sycamorelibrary754]

Booked for the Day

Summary: During a visit to the New York Public Library, Yelena experiences an unexpected encounter that leaves a lasting impression.

Pairings: Yelena x Female!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: None?

A/N: Thanks to @yelenasdiary for helping me with a couple of the details. 

Yelena adjusted the collar on her faux fur coat as she walked alongside Steve down Fifth Avenue in midtown Manhattan. Energy filled the bustling city, and the trees were beginning to showcase the beautiful colors of autumn, painting the streets with their vibrant hues.

"Remind me again why I'm here, Rogers?" Yelena asked, her steps slightly lagging behind the super soldier.

"You dozed off during the briefing. It was this or a meeting with Fury," Steve replied, finally coming to a halt.

Yelena tilted her head and raised one eyebrow, a faint smirk on her lips. "I'm not exactly an Avenger," she remarked, her Russian accent giving each word a sharp edge. "What's Fury going to do? Give me a demerit?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Come on," he said, gesturing towards the facade of the New York Public Library. “Notice the Marble Lions atop the two pedestals? They're called Patience and Fortitude," Steve pointed out as they made their way up the steps.

The widow paused and ran her hand over the smooth marble sculpture. "Let me take a wild guess," she said, "You were here on the day the library first opened?"

Steve chuckled. "Oh, come on. I'm not that old."

Yelena shot him a pointed look, prompting him to continue.

"I was here during the Great Depression when Mayor La Guardia gave them the names 'Patience' and 'Fortitude' to symbolize the qualities he believed New Yorkers needed to persevere through those tough times," he admitted.

"Mhmm," the blonde responded as she playfully tapped Steve's cheek. "That's what I thought.”

Stepping through the library's entrance into Astor Hall, Yelena couldn't help but be awed by its magnificence. The meticulously crafted white marble columns and majestic staircases evoked a luxury reminiscent of a bygone era. The pair ascended the stairs and walked through the McGraw Rotunda into the Rose Reading Room. Exquisite arches adorned the space, while the sprawling half-moon windows bathed the room in gentle, natural light. A stunning mural depicting the endless expanse of the morning sky floated across the ceiling. Steve began leisurely perusing the shelves, taking in the titles and carefully searching for his next read. 

What are you looking for?" Yelena asked.

"Hmm," he pondered, pulling his brown leather notebook from his coat pocket. "Bruce mentioned To Kill a Mockingbird, and Clint suggested 1984."

Yelena reached for the notebook. "Are you seriously planning to read all these books?

“Absolutely," declared Steve as he snatched the notebook back. "I want to know what I missed under the ice. Besides, haven't you ever heard of broadening your horizons?” 

“Back again, Steve?” A warm voice behind the pair suddenly said. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Steve said, embracing you with a hug, “Yeah, I've been on a roll lately.”

"I see you've brought a companion with you this time," you remarked, locking eyes with the blonde.

"Yes, this is Yelena, Natasha’s sister. Yelena, this is Y/N. She's the Chief Librarian."

"Nice to meet you," you greeted, offering your hand to Yelena.

"Pleasure's all mine," Yelena responded, grasping your hand. Your soft and delicate touch contrasted her scarred and calloused hands from a lifetime of combat.

"Do you need help finding something?" you inquired.

"Not at the moment, just looking around," Steve replied.

"I'm only here because America's ass is, in fact, an ass," Yelena exclaimed. "Ow!" she yelped as Steve nudged her in the side.

You smirked and suppressed a chuckle. Just then, you noticed a queue forming at the circulation desk – familiar faces from NYU returning to continue their dissertation research in the archival collections.

“Okay, you know where to find me if you need anything, Steve. And Yelena, it was lovely to meet you,” you said as you smiled and walked away. 

Yelena's gaze lingered on you as you returned to the cluster of students. Her eyes, a piercing shade of green, seemed to track your every move as you rejoined the group. 

Hey," Steve said, snapping his fingers in front of the widow's face. "No cursing in front of the Chief Librarian."

“Oh, please,” Yelena retorted. “You would be mad if I cursed before a teddy bear."

"I'm going to take a look around," he began, glancing at the shelves of books. "How about we rendezvous here in an hour?"

"Eye-Eye Captain Swear Jar," Yelena replied, giving the Super Soldier a mock salute.

"I understand now why Nat never wants to take you anywhere,” Steve deadpanned. 

*^~^*

While Cap continued to browse the shelves, Yelena decided to explore the rest of the library. True, the blonde was no bookworm, but the building was too beautiful not to admire. 

The rhythmic click of her shoes reverberated through the hallways, accentuating the pristine white Vermont marble floor. The grandeur of the architecture brought back recollections of the imposing Houses of Parliament and political palaces she had once covertly infiltrated during her time in the Red Room. It had taken a while, but she was gradually becoming accustomed to the freedom she now enjoyed. Moving through the building based on her own merits, she no longer had to skulk around every corner with a gun in hand and a knife strapped to her thigh. Soon, the joyful sounds of children's laughter filled the air and reached her ears.

As she followed the sound, the blonde turned around a corner and poked her head through the double doors into the Children’s Room. It was full of small white bookshelves and desks. A colorful animal mural decorated the walls, adding a cheerful touch to the room. Suddenly, Yelena caught sight of you once again. You were kneeling before two young children—a boy and a girl—pointing to five old stuffed animals in a glass case.

"This is the real Winnie the Pooh?" The little boy asked with wide eyes.

"It is!" you replied with a smile. "Christopher Robin's Daddy gave him Winnie the Pooh for his 1st birthday."

"Cool," the boy said softly, clearly in awe.

"And look, that's Eeyore, Piglet, Kanga, and Tigger," the little girl chimed in, finger-tapping the display case.

"That’s right! You must love Winnie the Pooh," you said, impressed.

"He's our favorite Disney character! I like it when he gets the Honey Pot stuck on his head," she giggled.

"Well, then I have a special book for you two," you said, bringing your hands out from behind your back to reveal a small tome.

"The House at Pooh Corner," the little boy said slowly, sounding out the words.

"Thank you so much!" The little girl exclaimed. 

"You're so welcome," you declared. 

You watched the children race back to their parents, joyfully clutching the book. As you steadied yourself to stand up, a ring-clad hand suddenly appeared.

Without hesitation, you clasped Yelena's hand and pulled yourself upright. "Thank you," you said gratefully.

"Your words to those children were sweet," Yelena remarked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"First grade is when kids take an interest in reading. I try to make it as fun and engaging as possible for them," you shared.

“Looks like it’s working," Yelena remarked, gazing around the Children's Room.

"Is this your first time visiting the Library?" you asked. "Steve's a regular, but I haven't seen you here before."

"Yeah, unfortunately, I don't get much time to read," Yelena replied, nervously playing with her rings.

"Understandable," you nodded. "I guess being an Avenger keeps you pretty busy."

"Oh, I'm no Avenger," Yelena dismissed. "I'm more of a... Freelancer. I show up when I'm needed.”

"Well, I'm happy you showed up today," you said with a smile.

Wow, your eyes were stunning. They sparkled with the most mesmerizing Y/E/C color, and Yelena couldn't help but be captivated by them. 

"Um, excuse me?" a tiny voice suddenly piped up, interrupting her thoughts as Yelena felt a gentle tug on her coat, diverting her attention away from you.

Looking down, she saw a young girl with curious eyes staring back at her. Her golden curls reminded her of her own at that age. The little girl spoke softly, almost mumbling, and stared down at her scuffed shoes, making it difficult for Yelena to catch what she was saying.

"What was that, sweetheart?" Yelena asked gently, crouching down to the little one's eye level.

"I said, are you an Avenger?" the little girl repeated, a hint of shyness in her tone. "You have the same shape on your belt buckle as The Black Widow," she pointed to the unmistakable red hourglass on Yelena's belt.

Yelena's gaze lingered on the intricately crafted belt buckle before she looked back up at the little girl standing before her. She had forgotten she was wearing it. Her fingers instinctively traced the contours of the hourglass symbol. It was a piece she had up-cycled into an accessory, a subtle nod to her journey and a means of reclaiming her narrative.

Yelena paused, struggling to find the right words. "Sort of," she finally managed.

The little girl leaned in, her eyes wide with curiosity. "How many bad guys have you fought?" she asked eagerly.

You quickly interjected, "Oh..."

But Yelena gently placed a hand on your arm. "No, it's okay," she reassured you before returning to the little girl. "I've fought many bad guys," she whispered with a small smile.

Her eyes sparkled. "I want to be just like you when I grow up."

“Oh, my,” Yelena said, taken aback. “Well, if you treat people with kindness and always try to lend a helping hand, then you can be whatever you want.”

The little girl stood there, awestruck, and whispered, “Wow.”

Yelena continued to converse with her until her mother called her from across the room. Yelena stood and looked at you, a grin plastered across your face.

"Now, who's the sweet one?" You remarked.

"Let's just say that when I was her age, I wasn't spending much time in the library," Yelena conveyed as she rose, wearing a solemn expression.

Your brows furrowed as you contemplated her words. ”Everyone's journey is different. What's important is that you’re here now.”

Yelena nodded thoughtfully. "I do whatever I can to help girls reclaim their freedom," she explained, carefully selecting her words to convey the essence of her work in liberating widows, "In more ways than one."

Impressed by her dedication, you responded, "That is amazing, Yelena."

“Sometimes I feel like it’s not enough,” she confessed. “There are always more children who don’t have anyone to protect them, just like me when I was small."

"I understand,” you said, looking around the room. “Not everyone understands that the library represents their freedom. For so many, it is their only safe space,” you sighed. “I wish we could help everyone, but that isn't always possible.”

In a fleeting moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. Soon, the realization of the time broke the trance. "I need to head back to my office for a meeting. Care to walk with me?"

"Sure," she said, running a hand through her short, freshly cut blonde hair. 

As you both strolled through the magnificent building, you eagerly shared captivating details about the library’s 113-year history, collections, artwork, and the exquisite spaces often rented out for weddings and galas. You spoke animatedly, and your enthusiasm for the place was evident in every word. Yelena followed you back into the Rose Reading Room, where you had filled her mind with enough information to dominate a New York Public Library-themed game of Trivial Pursuit.

"Yelena, there you are," Steve called out, holding a small stack of books. "I'm all set. Are you ready to head home?"

The thought of leaving was the last thing Yelena wanted to do as she wrestled with the uncertainty of when she would have the chance to see you again.

“Sure,” Yelena reluctantly replied. 

As you bid farewell to both, you warmly hugged the super soldier, saying, "Happy reading, Steve." Turning to the blonde, you smiled and added, "Yelena, don't be a stranger.”

"I’ll do my best," she promised.

Yelena sighed quietly as you left, but Steve couldn't help but chuckle at the scene.

"What's so funny, stars and stripes?" Yelena asked.

Steve raised his hands in defense. "Nothing at all. I swear."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she said as she walked out the door.

*^~^*

No, Tony. Absolutely not," Pepper said firmly as she walked into the lounge. Tony followed closely behind. The clinking of dishes was in the background as the team enjoyed their dinner.

"Come on," Tony cajoled. "You know there's no better setting for a gala than the compound."

Pepper folded her arms. "Except this isn't one of your 'The Sun Rose Today' parties where you all get drunk and try to lift Thor’s hammer. This gala marks Stark Industries' donation to New York City Public Schools, and I'm not sure the Chancellor of Education needs to see you doing the Macarena in one of your suits.”

"Ok, fine," Tony reluctantly conceded, "But let it be known that the Macarena is a time-honored classic."

Pepper rolled her eyes at Tony's comment before addressing the rest of the team. "Any ideas?"

"The Rainbow Room?" Sam exclaimed.

"Too formal," Pepper replied with a smirk.

"The Algonquin?" Bucky suggested with a shrug.

"Too old," Nat said, shaking her head.

"The Highline?" Kate suggested with a hopeful look.

"Too precarious," Wanda interjected with a concerned tone.

“The New York Public Library,” Yelena said from her seat at the end of the table.

Every gaze suddenly fixated on the blonde, as if she had been invisible until that moment.

“The Library is beautiful. They often rent it out for galas or weddings. I'm sure they'd love to host a Stark Industries event that benefits kids,” she said, glancing over at Tony, “Even if it meant he had to show up.”

"She's right," Steve nodded in agreement. "We were there today, it would be perfect."

"I’ll make some calls. Thank you, Yelena," Pepper said with a smile.

"Don't mention it," the widow remarked.

Yelena picked up her plate and headed towards the sink, with Steve following suit.

As they rinsed their plates, Yelena noticed Steve's smile and asked, "What now?"

"Nothing," he replied with a grin.

*^~^*

Despite her best intentions, Yelena felt overwhelming guilt as two months passed without her fulfilling her promise not to be a stranger. A continuous string of high-stakes missions and an unexpected journey to London with Nat to free a widow had left her with no opportunity to visit the Library. Nonetheless, her thoughts frequently drifted to you while in the field, a sentiment she would never be comfortable admitting. This inner conflict contradicted her rigorous training – maintaining constant vigilance, staying focused, and never letting her guard down. Yet, her sister was quick to notice the change in her demeanor.

Therefore, Natasha was inevitably concerned when Yelena failed to arrive at their designated extraction point on time. She was about to call Maria to ping her tracker when the blonde rounded the corner,  a Harrod’s garment bag thrown over her shoulder.

“Where have you been?” Natasha asked, irritation present in her tone. “We said 0200.”

"I'm here now. Relax, sestra," Yelena replied as she swaggered onto the Quinjet.

"What's in the bag?" Natasha inquired, springing up the ramp after her.

"I had to do some shopping," Yelena responded casually, trying to brush off the question.

"What's in the bag?" her sister persisted, reaching for it.

"Nothing that concerns you," Yelena retorted, stepping back out of reach.

Nat gazed at her with a skeptical expression, a single eyebrow arched in challenge as she uttered, "You think I can’t take that bag from you?"

Yelena locked eyes with Natasha, weighing the option of a physical altercation before letting out an exasperated sigh and handing it over.

“Ah, what have we here?" the redhead mused as she deftly extracted an elegant white dress from the bag, her whistle expressing her admiration. "I take it this isn't for some formal undercover operation?"

Yelena confessed, "It's for Sunday's Stark Industries Gala at the Library. I want to look nice, okay?”

"Ah, I see," Nat murmured, a knowing look in her eyes as she delicately placed the dress back into its garment bag. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain Chief Librarian, would it?"

Yelena feigned innocence. "I have no idea what you're suggesting."

Nat raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on her lips. "Whatever you say, Lena." She deftly punched in a sequence of buttons to power up the Quinjet. "But here's some news for you – Cap mentioned that she's confirmed for Sunday's event."

Yelena nodded, a flicker of excitement dancing in her eyes. "Good to know," she replied calmly, though a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

*^~^*

Yelena hurried across the crowded New York City sidewalk, her eyes fixed on the ornate doors of the New York City Public Library. As the clock struck 7 PM, she reached out and pushed open the heavy oak doors, stepping into the serene interior. This was one occasion for which she was determined to arrive on time. 

The Parahélios Monstand white dress clung to her curves in all the right places, its V-neckline and flowing design accentuating her figure. The thigh slit hinted at the floral tiered skirt peeking out from underneath. Her entire outfit was highlighted by a stunning Valentino Clutch and graceful Fiorellini Gold Glass Heels, giving her a welcomed boost in height.

Adjusting the backs of her Starry Woven red and black earrings, she spotted the team mingling with the New York City Public School Board, but no sign of you. 

Yelena heard a familiar voice behind her. "She'll be here soon.”

The widow turned, only to be met by Steve standing with his hands folded behind his back. His impeccably tailored tuxedo garnished with a white pocket square.

"You know, I can't remember the last time I turned around, and you weren't there," the blonde groaned.

Steve chuckled. "You should be thanking me. Who do you think suggested to Pepper that Y/N attend this soiree?"

"Yeah? Well, let’s wait and see how the night goes before we declare you Cupid," Yelena quipped.

The evening began with a cocktail hour. Guests were treated to champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Then, everyone journeyed into the Rose Reading Room, setting the stage for the night’s festivities.

The Renaissance-style oak tables were now adorned with rich green tablecloths, each impeccably set with votive candles and white anemones. Overhead, twinkling lights recreated a breathtaking starry night on the ceiling, casting a mesmerizing green glow throughout the room.

The blonde reached the head table, where the rest of the team was already gathered, and found her designated seat. As she perused the evening's menu, you suddenly appeared.

"Yelena!" you exclaimed. "It's so good to see you. And look, we're seated across from each other. What are the odds?"

Yelena glanced down to the end of the table where Cap was sitting, and he responded with a smooth thumbs-up, causing her to roll her eyes. You looked beautiful in an elegant Navy floor-length short-sleeved evening dress. The textured floral rosettes and scintillating sequin accents immediately caught the blonde’s attention. 

“Yes, it is truly a coincidence,” Yelena said as she sat down. “It's good to see you, too. I’m so sorry I haven't been able to revisit the library. Working with this group of misfits…” 

“Oh, please,” you replied, waving her off. There is no need to apologize. I’m just happy that you’re here tonight.” 

“I am, too,” Yelena said, silently thanking the evening lighting for concealing the growing blush on her cheeks. 

Dinner was a delightful early fall vegetable salad and succulent braised short ribs. The gala's aura provided the perfect backdrop for a captivating conversation between you and Yelena. As you both immersed yourselves in the discussion, the blonde remained oblivious to the subtle glances exchanged by the rest of the team. Meanwhile, Natasha discreetly snapped a photo to share with Melina and Alexi.

As the speeches wrapped up, Tony and Pepper took the stage, presenting a check to the Chancellor of Education. Soon after, you and Yelena mingled with other guests in Astor Hall, where delectable desserts and lively music awaited.

Amidst the festivities, you spotted the New York Public Library President motioning for you to join him. Yelena's expression fell as she realized you would be pulled into work-related conversations and networking.

"I'll catch up with you later, Yelena—duty calls for me this time," you said with a playful smirk.

"No problem, see you later," Yelena replied with a casual wave.

"She's cool," Kate Bishop whispered. "Think you'll ask her out?"

"Think you'll notice that you're wearing two different earrings, Kate Bishop?" Yelena deadpanned.

"Dammit," Kate muttered under her breath.

Yelena laughed and strolled off, leaving Kate flustered.

*^~^*

Yelena wasn't usually one to hit the dance floor, but the elegant vibe, refreshing drinks, and company made her let loose. After begrudgingly joining Kate Bishop in the Bunny Hop, she finally sank into a chair, letting her blonde hair fall loose and kicking off her heels to give her feet a much-needed break.

Looks like you had quite a night," you teased.

Yelena shrugged. "You'd be surprised. This is nothing compared to a typical Stark Gala."

"Is that so?" you asked, arching an eyebrow. "I'll have to get the inside scoop from Steve."

"Mrs. Stark mentioned that you were the one who suggested holding the gala here. Thank you for thinking of us. It makes a difference for us to have all of you here."

"The library is incredible. It was the least I could do," Yelena replied with a gentle smile. 

A warm feeling tugged at your heartstrings and reflected in your eyes. After a long, contemplative pause, you gazed deeply into her eyes, and finally, with a sense of urgency, you uttered, “Come with me.”

Yelena's expression turned perplexed as she slipped back on her heels and followed you out of Astor Hall. The distant sounds of the party grew quiet as you ascended the stairs to the third floor and made your way down the hall of supervised reading rooms. Finally, you stopped in front of Room 319—The Pforzheimer Collection.

Yelena whispered, "Are we even allowed to be up here right now?"

"I am," you said with a sly smile. There's something I want to show you," you said as you pushed open the intricate mahogany door.

"This room is a sanctuary for English romanticism," you explained, delicately retrieving a first edition from the shelf. “I want to read you something from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.”

Placing the book on a pedestal, you began to turn its pages with reverence, searching for a particular passage. As you did this, Yelena observed you closely, captivated by your presence. Your enchanting Y/E/C eyes scanned the words on the page, just as they had done countless times before.

Your eyes lit up as you found the passage you were looking for and read aloud: "I am no bird, and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will."

After carefully absorbing every word, Yelena finally found her voice and spoke sincerely, "That was beautiful."

You nodded. “It’s the moment Jane finally realizes years of being treated like a thing, an object without feeling. Here and now, she declares her independence and fierceness of character.”

"Ah, that sounds familiar," Yelena remarked with a wistful smile, her gaze shifting downwards to the intricately patterned floor beneath her feet.

“It reminds me of you, Yelena," you explained, gently closing the book. Writers have poured their hearts out for centuries, trying to capture the essence of courage. But you? You embody courage in every step you take. You fought for your freedom, and now you do the same for others. That is beautiful.”

With her eyes locked on yours, Yelena leaned in gradually. Before you knew it, your lips met gently, like a delicate touch of a bird's wings gliding through the air. Your hands went to her hips as the blonde's arms wrapped around your shoulders. The kiss was unhurried, intense, and filled with intention.

You paused to catch your breath as you pulled away. "I think we should head back to the gala," you giggled—a warm flush creeping over your cheeks.

“In a minute,” Yelena smirked, caressing your cheek as your lips met again. 

*^~^*

Three months later 

Follow me this way," Yelena called, her voice carrying through the soft, falling snow as she led three young girls up the New York Public Library steps—a path she had taken with many newly freed widows over the last three months. Behind them, the iconic statues of Patience and Fortitude stood guard, adorned with festive holiday wreaths.

With practiced ease, Yelena guided the girls through the door. Just as she had on her first visit with Steve, they gazed in awe at the grandeur of the white marble columns and staircases of Astor Hall.

You greet Yelena with a gentle kiss as they enter the Rose Reading Room. After introductions, you do your best to make your guests feel comfortable.

"We'll be happy to show you around whenever you're ready," you assured the girls.

“Why are we here?" One of them asked curiously. 

“You’re free to make your own choices now,” Yelena reminded them proudly. “And the library represents your freedom.“

Come on," you said warmly as you gently took Yelena's hand in yours. "We'll show you.”

[ginnysgraffiti]

basketball player timothée.

TIMOTHÉE x yn.

new york.

your new home.

the wheels of the suitcase clattered on the sidewalk as you watched the taxis whizzing by, the drivers accompanying the guide with a few curses or slangs, the girls bouncing with twenty different bags of clothing and some tourists looking at the map from the wrong side.

you could breathe the new york air deeply.

a few groups of black break-dancers altered one choreography after another, their steps large, loose and flexible while the crowd filmed them cheering.

the hotel was still far away, but going on foot offered a coming and going of full and busy life that you enjoyed.

the blue glass skyscrapers were tall, dizzying, and you felt extremely small and helpless.

you passed a few more newsstands and a luxury shop along the avenue when shouts of encouragement and the screeching of sneakers caught your attention.

a group of boys were immersed in a lively game of basketball, their shoe soles burning on the playing field every time they ran.

a tall guy with a grey loose and wet sweat t-shirt and some blue shorts intrigued you.

his sweat-soaked brown curls fell across his forehead, glistening in the harsh sunlight.

his movements were impressively quick and his reflexes were excellent. his team had the lead and you were lucky enough to see him score four baskets in a row.

then everyone stopped, complimenting each other with pats on the back or friends-like hand gestures that you couldn't imitate.

the players sat down panting and out of breath, some had already drunk the entire bottle and some were wringing a wet cloth over their foreheads.

then, the intriguing guy spotted you behind the green chain-link fence of the playground, a smirk swinging on his lips.

you felt a knot in your stomach tighter than the towels tortured to wet their forehead.

he then got up, walking towards you and getting out of the playground.

"tourist?" the boy asked with nonchalant.

"yeah...actually, i was planning on moving here." you managed.

"cool. enjoyed the match?"

"yes, i...you were very good."

"training, that's all."

you were about to make up an excuse to say goodbye when he offered his hand for you to shake.

"timothée, timmy for friends."

"it sounds pretty french."

"i'm half french, but the pronunciation is up to you."

a small wink reached you.

you could tell your knees were pretty jelly.

"well...i don't want to bother you but...do you happen to know how to get to the fifth avenue? my hotel should be nearby."

"of course i do, and it's no bother, really. just give me a minute, don't move."

you watched him run back to get his package and phone, but the next moment you were already walking together, barely touching each other's arms.

anxiety was eating you alive and gastric juices burned inside your intestines. you wanted to thank timmy for his availability but the throat was sealed.

fifth avenue wasn't that far away, but with that tangle of alleys and crazy taxi drivers you were grateful to have a guide.

you looked at the hotel address and noticed that it was right in front of you. it was much nicer than the photo in the online booking, and the thought of fresh sheets tickled your back.

"well...i don't live far from here. if you need directions I'm always here." his laughter interrupted your thoughts.

"yes, thanks..."

he quickly offered you his number, maybe he even surprised you looking at his lower lip.

you would definitely have called him, but not for directions...

[lithepetal]

Second Chance Chapter 18

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: Aurora and Bucky navigate the pitfalls of their trauma.

Warnings: joint therapy session, mother-daughter moment

Series Masterlist

“You will bring her back?”

Tony followed the two women out of the Compound, to where the unmarked vehicle was parked. Her mother’s chauffeur opened the back passenger door, letting in Aurora. They were going to Fifth Avenue to do last-minute Christmas shopping.

Aphrodite waved dismissively. “Yes, Tony, you don’t have to worry.”

“Aurora, honey, if she tries to kidnap you, call me.”

His poor choice of words notwithstanding, Aurora smiled. “I will, Dad.”

“Mortals are… strangely possessive creatures,” her mother noted, sliding into the backseat with Aurora. “I suppose given their short lifespans, it makes sense. Your father means well, I’ll give him that.”

Little by little, Aurora pieced things together, like why her mother waited almost twenty years to return—to Aphrodite, the time probably passed in the blink of an eye. And why not Tony Stark? He was a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. If any mortal man could woo the goddess of love, it’d be him. He was this millennia’s Adonis.

“Will I live longer than…” Aurora’s brow wrinkled. Humans? She still considered herself one.

“Oh, yes.”

Aurora slumped against the seat and gazed out the window at the snow-covered landscape. She didn’t press for details; the anxiety of imagining how many people would come and go in her lifetime already started to take root. “Why did you leave? Is it like Percy Jackson, or Hercules? Half-mortal children stay with the mortal parent?”

“Would you be disappointed if I said ‘yes’?” her mother asked. “It is simply the way things are. Mythology does get some things correct.”

Realizing the dismal turn of the conversation, Aurora, single-mindedly determined to enjoy the rest of their outing, altered course. “Do I really have powers?”

“Need I remind you of the impossible feats you’ve accomplished? Remember what I said: once you believe in yourself, they will emerge.”

With that, Christmas came and went, as did Aphrodite, whose lingering presence eventually faded. The seasonal bleakness returned. By the second week, Aurora could no longer ignore the impact Bucky’s absence had on her, cementing her own worst thoughts about herself.

~ * ~

The morning before New Year’s Eve, Aurora awoke to a text message from her therapist. Rescheduled for an hour earlier, Bucky’s usual time, she assumed that meant he cancelled. At breakfast, she expressed her concern to Natasha.

“You’re a demigoddess, babushka, and the daughter of a billionaire,” Natasha intoned. “You could have anyone. Why are you so hung up on Barnes?”

“I love him.” And for the daughter of Aphrodite, it was a simple enough explanation that gave even Black Widow pause.

Bundled in layers of fleece and a woolen jacket, Aurora crossed the grounds. Entering the building, she didn’t bother knocking before walking inside her therapist’s office. She stopped suddenly upon seeing Bucky. “Oh, sorry, I—”

“Aurora, you’re right on time,” Dr. Stahl greeted. “Please, have a seat.” So, this is why her appointment was rescheduled, and by the dour expression on Bucky’s face, he didn’t know it was going to be a joint session, either. Begrudgingly, she shut the door and plopped down in the chair next to his. “I want to preface this by saying I am not a relationship counselor, but this comes at the behest of your loved ones who want to see the two of you happy. Now, what happened?”

“He ran.”

“I was just taking a page outta your playbook.”

Aurora narrowed her eyes. “That was different. I was trying to protect you.”

“So am I!” Bucky shot back.

“You know, it isn’t a good sign that we’re already seeing a counselor.”

Bucky couldn’t help the grin that tugged on his lips; her sass on full display for him to witness first-hand.

“Why don’t we begin there?” Dr. Stahl suggested. “Aurora, you told me that you avoided Bucky for an entire week—”

“He’s been avoiding me for two!” Aurora exclaimed.

“Let me finish,” Dr. Stahl said calmly. “You claim you wanted to protect Bucky, but, Aurora, the Winter Soldier didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, he comforted you after Rumlow’s assault. What did you want to protect Bucky from—himself, or the truth? You do know that what Rumlow did to you wasn’t your fault, right?”

Discomfort squeezed her stomach and chest, pooling tears in her eyes. She didn’t want to discuss it in front of Bucky, even though she knew Dr. Stahl was right. “We aren’t here to talk about him.”

“It’s been two years, Aurora. Will you say his name?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? You give him power over you by not saying his name.”

“Quoting Hermione Granger, now?” Scoffing, Aurora got up and stomped toward the door.

“Doll, wait…”

Aurora closed her eyes, knuckles turning white by the force of her grip on the doorknob. His husky-soft timbre smoothed over the jagged pangs in her heart. Bucky gently pried her hand from the doorknob, rubbing his thumb over knuckles. Pacified by the gesture, she looked up at him.

“Rumlow can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him. You’re…” he nearly choked on the words, realization dawning on him, dispersing all fear to the contrary, “safe.” While Aurora’s deepest fear was Rumlow, Bucky’s was himself. “I will keep you safe.”

“Y-You can’t make that promise, Bucky.” Shaking her head, Aurora slipped her hand free and walked out.

[sirenmoth]

Can we get a new york-puerto rican reader that speaks mostly english but when pissed off or irritated they speak spanish.

Hopefully it’s ok, did as much research as i could, i’m more versed in mexican spanish so i hope the spanish here is ok

!Can be romantic or platonic!

Puerto Rican!Reader from New York who speaks mostly english with a slight new yorker/puerto rican accent

Puerto Rican!Reader who speaks fondly of the borough their from, happily telling the boys about it and everything they love from it, bringing back trinkets and gifts from their family trips.

Puerto Rican!Reader who has to explain to four very confused men what the Puerto Rican Day Parade is,

“It’s a day where we celebrate our heritage, and it takes place down Fifth Avenue from 44th Street to 86th Street.”

“So it’s just…walking?”

“What? No! it’s a celebration of what makes our heritage important”

cue to you explaining the whole event to them, complete with pictures and diagrams.

Soap and Puerto Rican!Reader share culture holidays, Soap loves hearing of Puerto Rico (if you have family there), and what the holidays are like, Festival de Máscaras is probably his favourite, claims Ghost would be perfect for it.

Puerto Rican!Reader shares their countries coffee culture with Ghost, often spending time in his office away from prying eyes, Reader with a cup of coffee while Ghost drinks his tea.

Kyle loves hearing and learning about Puerto Rico’s music and dance culture, and asks them to teach him and if they can take him to New York one day. Puerto Rican!Reader is more than happy to teach him.

Puerto Rican!Reader who is used to weird things, their from New York, weird stuff is nothing new,

“What was that thing?”

“A giant rat? i thought it was obvious”

“Why are you so calm?!”

Price talks about his fishing trips while Puerto Rican!Reader listens, cooking a traditional dish one’s of the boys asked for, giving little pieces of advice they’ve learned from their culture

The boys finding out Puerto Rican!Reader yells in their native language when pissed was an accident, soap and gaz were roughhousing and they bumped into Reader,

“Mamabicho!”

“uh…what?”

“Cómo es posible que ustedes dos, idiotas bastardos, hayan durado tanto tiempo cuando ni siquiera tienen una célula cerebral?”

“i-ok?”

“I think that was an insult”

After that if they hear a single word in your native tongue, the men immediately know they messed up.

Puerto Rican!Reader who slips in terms of endearment just to watch the boys try and grapple at what they said

They could be minding their business until they hear Puerto Rican!Reader yell in their native language, all bets are off and their all pointing fingers are each other

translations

Mamabicho - basically means dick sucker

Cómo es posible que ustedes dos, idiotas bastardos, hayan durado tanto tiempo cuando ni siquiera tienen una célula cerebral - how did you two bastardised idiots last this long when you don’t even have a brain cell?

Festival de Máscaras - Festival of the Masks from Hatillo, a town located on the north coast of Puerto Rico

[ereardon]

Snowed In sneak peak [a Jake Seresin one shot]

Summary: When a massive storm shutters every airport in New York, you receive an unexpected call. Jake Seresin, the ex-boyfriend of your college roommate, is stranded at JFK with nowhere to go. Somehow you find yourself hosting Jake for a long weekend in your studio apartment. What happens when you realize that maybe your hatred for him was covering up something else?

Edit: See part 1 here

Outside, the snow was falling in soft clumps. You looked out the window which overlooked Fifth Avenue. Very few cars or taxis were on the road, and the people who were outside looked miserable. 

And then the phone rang. You dove for it, expected it to be your mom with yet another tidbit of news that she thought was groundbreaking, as if you didn’t already know that Diet Coke was bad for you, but the male voice on the other end startled you. 

“Ella?” 

You squinted, pulling the phone back and registering the caller ID. Jake Seresin. You groaned. “What could you possibly want, Jake?” 

“Nice to hear from you, too,” he replied and you rolled your eyes. It had been a decade since you last heard from Jake Seresin. He was just as obnoxious as you remembered. 

“Listen, Seresin, if you called just to give me shit, I didn’t need a reminder that you’re a dick. Memory serves well enough. Goodbye.” 

“El, wait!” 

You frowned. “What?” 

His voice softened. “I’m sorry to do this,” he said and you felt your stomach tightening. “But you’re the only person I know in the city.” Jake paused. “I’m stuck at JFK.” 

“Don’t eat the egg sandwich,” you said, recalling a moldy sandwich you had gotten once at the airport on the way to Berlin. “Have a good flight, Jake.” 

“Ella, I’m stranded,” he said and you groaned. “Can I stay with you? Just until the airports open back up.” 

You looked outside. In the two minutes since Jake had called, snow had started to fall faster, coating the streets and sidewalks and innocent pedestrians. 

“I’m sorry,” he said and for perhaps the first time that you had known him in almost fifteen years, Jake Seresin sounded genuine. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t my only option.” 

Jake Seresin. The last time you had seen him, he was standing in the doorway of your college apartment with a bouquet of flowers that Suzannah had grabbed and trampled on in fury. 

“Ella? Are you still there?” 

“Fine,” you said, surprising even yourself. “Fifth and 12th Street. Apartment 4B.” 

“I owe you, El.” 

“Two days, Seresin,” you replied. “Anything more and you get a hotel.” 

“I’ll see you soon.”

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin]

Miles and the jewellery cat (black y/n)

BEWARE THE WORDS IN RED. PLEASE AVOID THEM IF UNCONFORTABLE WITH NSFW PLEASE WARRANT THIS INTO CONSIDERATION BEFORE READING THANK YOU LOVELIES

-MR. BLACK-LUPIN

There's a perfectly cut hole in the roof Ganke, this was a pro” a voice cuts him off. 

“Thank you for the compliment spidy” Miles turns and is met with Cat, or Y/N L/N. 

“Ganke, Imma call you back” Miles turned off his intercom as he walked towards.”Wai-” but Ganke could only stare at the red mike. 

Miles directed his attention to y/n who had secured her jewellery pouch to her waist. 

“Y/N?” he came closer till there was only a foot between them. “What are you doing here mami”

“They had a specific thing i was looking for, i decided to drop in and grab it before someone else did” y/n was a variant of catwoman. She pouted her lips as she glanced at another gem on display. 

“Come one papi, can i go” Miles’ heart fluttered in his chest as y/n said papi.

“I gotta turn you in Miami” y/n’s shoulders slumped before popping back up.

“That’s sad, Spidy, but you’re gonna have to catch me first” and with that y/n had somehow reached the ceiling through the perfect hole. 

“Game on Kitty” Miles whispered under his breath before going after her. 

On fifth avenue, y/n had perched on the lancer building which was the tallest on the block. Y/n turned to check if Miles was behind her. 

“Where is he?” She looked over the building. “Did he stop?” she felt a warm breath on her cheek. 

“Of course not, if you ask me to follow you I’d do it in a heartbeat” y/n blushed but she didn’t turn to face him, she didn’t respond. Miles chuckled and flipped her, earning a shriek. “And for a second i thought cat got your tongue, careful now don’t want to wake the neighbours” 

“Let's go” y/n said, a small frown on her face. She was gonna have to break out of prison, fortunately her afro (which was surprisingly well hidden in her mask) held lock picking tools and with a little luck she could bullshit the cops that they’d be racist if they told her to cut it down. She’d be out in no time.

“Go where?” Miles asked bewildered. 

“The Police Station?”Y/n didn’t know if he was joking or if he swung his brain cells as he chased after her. “Obviously”

“Mami i’m not taking you” Y/n finally looked the boy in his eyes, those sweet eyes that held her attention longer than they should have. “I don’t plan on taking you in unless you want to turn yourself in,”

“But the jew-” Y/N patted her side and couldn’t feel the pouch. “Huh?” 

Miles just chuckled at her. “I was a little late for a reason” She was supposed to be mad at him but he laughed. 

“Miles,”

“Yeah Mami”

“Can you take me home” 

“I was just about to,” He wraps his arm around her waist and she feels her heart race. Even with the suit on she could still feel the tingles on her skin.  She puts her head on his chest and feels his heart, it’s almost as wild as hers. 

Could he feel the same way

It’s probably because he’s swinging, yeah. Right?

They landed on the fire escape of her apartment building. She removes herself from him and goes over to her window. 

“Try not to steal anything on your way to bed” Miles jokes and she can’t help but smile at him. She never can. He always makes her smile. No matter the situation. 

“Miles…”

“Yeah Mami” 

“Can you stay?” she mentally curses herself. “I’d appreciate the company”

“Awww, you’d miss me huh” Miles smirks, “I’ll be right back mami,” Miles falls off the building and swings off. 

He’s not coming back

Y/n changes into her pjs which are just a pair of shorts which barely covers her ass and a cute tank top. She turns off the lights in the other room but when she enters her bedroom she sees Miles in different clothes, a shirt and shorts. 

“Damn” he whistles. “You are beautiful”  Y/n blushes. She never really got compliments a lot because of her size. Miles came closer, “What? No one’s ever told you, that’s you are beautiful,” Miles glances out the window rubbing the back of neck. “You probably weren't listening"

“I-i can change” I point at my closet. 

Miles looks back at y/n. “No no don’t I like it, you’re comfortable in it and honestly I like the view” y/n’s heart was racing. Breathe.

Y/n sat on the bed as Miles sat on the sil of the window. 

“Don’t tell me you’re sleeping there” Miles furrowed his brow. 

“Of course not,” he gestures to a sleeping bag on the floor.

“Come one Miles”

 Miles shakes his head. “I’m a guest in your house, the bed goes to you and the sil is a little to thin for sleeping and you wanted company not a roommate so obviously not the couch-”

“Miles”

“Yeah Mami”

“Shut up and bring your black ass up on this bed”

“Mam-”

“Now”

Miles popped onto the bed right beside you, you turned away from him and snuggled into him, spooning him. He held you and then you fell asleep. Although you faintly heard him say something with a beautiful attached to it. 

~Miles often did this that you soon stopped asking, he’d spend most of his nights with you and your feelings for him only grew. It was three months after the jewellery heist went wrong. Miles found out about the fake sack of jewels she had on her that day, all she could do was laugh. It was on the morning after~

***

“I nearly gave a sack of rocks to the commissioner, aka my father…”  y/n was bawling her eyes out. “If i hadn’t dropped it accidentally on my way there… you y/n are extraordinary. Where are the actual jewels?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know” y/n wiped a tear from her eye. “Don’t worry I gave some of them back, but that was because of my affection for you.”  Y/n uncrossed her legs as she stretched them out on the bed, she fell back on the bed before propping herself on her elbows. 

“Affection?”

“Mhmm,”

***

Y/n noticed that Miles wasn’t himself today though, he seemed distant. Right now he was sitting on her spinny chair. Doing something she never thought she’d ever do. She goes over to him and straddles him. Immediately he snaps out of his funk, “Y/n what are you doing?” Miles tried to sound calm but his heart was racing.

“Miles, something’s up with you, your being weirder than usual”

“What do you mean, nothi-”

“Don’t lie to me boy, I can read you like a book and something’s up” Miles sighs and stays silent for a second. 

“Y/n” he whispers. He looks you up and down as though framing this image of you in his head for all eternity.

“Miles” 

“I like you” 

“What of course you do, how else would you be able to stand m-?”

“No Y/n, I like you as in I want to hold you, but not like i always do, i want to hold you like a lover, I want to kiss your soft lips every single minute of the goddamned day. I want to wake up everyday knowing that one day, I can go down on my knees and ask you to marry me. I like you in a way that if I’m not careful around you I might tell you I love you instead, I like you way more than a friend. But,”

But what?

“But I have no clue if you feel the same way or if you just want us to be more than friends, just friends,” he shakes his head. “You do shit like this that makes we want to say fuck it and kiss you and hold you till sunrise, then take you out”

“You-” you don’t let him finish, you kiss him hard. You run your hands through his hair as you kiss him with all of you. You kiss him like he’s the oxygen you need to survive. You look him in his eyes, “Oh Miles, i love you too, I love you so much it scares me” He’s shocked at first but then he palms your cheek and deepens the kiss, he moves from your lips down to your neck probably leaving multiple hickeys. 

NSFW COMES IN HERE His hands reach under your shirt and start pinching and squeezing your nipples sending electric shocks down your spine.  He felt so goddamn good against me "Miles…" you moan. Miles moves down to your neck and collar bone. "Mami, we don't want your mom Investigating now do we," he rolls his hips grinding back.  "Miles…please," Miles chuckles.  "You'll have to be more specific," "I- fuck, I want you," "How?"  "Headfirst between my thighs" Miles chuckles.. “Whatever you say,” NSFW ENDS HERE

After that day, Miles and you started dating. Ganke still holds you for the robbery heist. Miles takes you dates everywhere. You also took him on a date, mostly when he wasn't expecting it. It was adorable, one time you bought him ice cream for your ice- cream date and you flirted with him the entire time. It was only when you were three blocks away did he notice. By then your ice creams were nearly out. 

“Shit we forgot to pay” Miles starts to turn when you stop him in his tracks. 

“Calm down Miles I paid” Miles turns to look at you surprised, “It’s my treat today” I continue. 

“Mami” he rolls his head back and whines.

“Yeah Papi” Miles’ head snaps right back and he looks away blushing. He always blushes when you call him papi. 

“I’m supposed to be paying, not you.'' I chuckle. 

“We both pay, I’m not gonna have you buying everything nu uh, I make my own money although at a restaurant we will either split the bill or play rock paper scissors” Papi- Miles sighs and gives up.

He pecks my forehead and leans in. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice huh” He jokes. “I got an independent woman on my hands”

I chuckle, “Yeah you do”

You chuckle at the memory, he still blushes when you call him papi. Two strong arms wrap around your waist. A peck is placed at the back of your neck. 

“Miles” 

“Y/N”

“You almost scared you know” I turned to face him and put my hands on his chest. “A little more practice should do you good”

“Quiet as a cat” he whispers a smile on his face

“Sneaky as a spider”

[riotwritesthings]

Who Guards the Bodyguard

T, 3k - No-Powers AU, Humor, bodyguard!Bucky

One college bar, one bodyguard, one sleazeball who can't take no for an answer. Shaken, not stirred.

Hey remember when I took birthday prompts, like… 9 months ago? Good times. Anyways guess what I finally finished.

The prompt was some combination of “You’re my new bodyguard and you’re cute” / “Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second” / “I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having” So I really just mashed all of those together and ended up with this lol. I hope you enjoy it @clarajanedesperaux!

~

This job is supposed to be easy.

All Bucky has to do is keep an eye on a billionaire’s spoiled, wild son and make sure the kid doesn’t end up kidnapped or otherwise killed. Easy.

And yet, it has not been easy, most notably because Tony Stark can’t know that Bucky is guarding him. Howard had been very insistent about his son’s ability and determination to ditch his previous bodyguards, and half of the stories were honestly impressive if true. So Bucky has a very strict set of guidelines to follow that most days make him feel more like a stalker than anything else.

He gets a ping whenever Tony leaves the Stark family’s Fifth Avenue mansion, and satellite tracking makes it quick work to follow him anywhere in the city. Bucky’s not exactly sure how Stark has GPS-tagged his son, but he’s not paid to ask questions.

He’s paid to put his experience in black ops and undercover work to good use and not be seen while he’s following a twenty-year-old around the city making sure no one kills the kid.

Totally normal, super easy.

Yeah right, Bucky thinks to himself in bemusement as he watches Tony over the rim of his beer.

This is the third bar the Stark heir has been to tonight, and Bucky really must be getting old because all he wants is to go home.

He’d kind of like to tell Tony to go home too, and not just because it would mean Bucky could go back to his apartment to hang out with his cat. It’s because he knows what Tony is doing, he knows the rotating cast of friends that meet Tony at one bar just to abandon him at another. He knows how damn lonely that is.

He might be watching from a distance, but Bucky is pretty damn good at what he does and he can tell there’s a lot more to Tony than the kid lets on. He’s got a bigger heart than he likes to show and hidden scars, he deserves better than fake friends and a father who won’t even give him a chance.

But that’s none of Bucky’s business.

Two more bars later, Bucky is feeling a lot less generous towards his charge. This place is too damn crowded, and loud, and Bucky has to keep moving around to keep Tony in his sight. And for what, just to watch him half-heartedly flirt with some asshole in a trucker hat, of all things? The kid could at least have the decency to have some taste.

Bucky forces down some more unsavory thoughts about trucker-hat-douche as he slides onto another seat at the bar and waves for a refill on his beer. He pointedly ignores it when the guy on the next stool spins to face him, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on Tony near the pool table across the bar. Even if he wasn’t working right now, he is in no mood and he does his best to convey that with the side of his face.

The asshole doesn’t take the hint though, and Bucky can feel the weight of his sleazy smirk as he asks, “Well hello, you come here often?”

“Nope,” Bucky says shortly, which is conveniently both true, and will hopefully cut off any further conversation.

"That makes sense,” the man says with a nod and a widening smirk, continuing to ignore all of Bucky’s not-so-subtle hints, “I would remember seeing you before.”

He probably thinks it sounds flattering, but he just comes across as gross. Bucky takes his eyes off his charge just long enough to glance over at the man next to him, taking in his flushed, sweaty face. The asshole is definitely drunk, probably completely hammered, and Bucky doesn’t want to deal with this.

He fixes his eyes forward again, hoping the guy will at least take one of his hints if he just keeps throwing them in the asshole’s face.

“C’mon, I’ve seen you moving all around the bar,“ the man says, because of course he can’t just give up. ”It’s obvious you’re looking for something, only to wind up next to me,“ he continues in what he probably thinks is an alluring tone, ”there’s no reason to play hard to get now.”

"‘M not playing anythin’,” Bucky snaps, cutting his gaze to the side just long enough to give the man a sharp glare, "and I’m not interested."

The asshole on the next stool just laughs, and Bucky can smell the vodka on his breath as he leans closer. “Don’t be like that,” he says with another slimey laugh, “you don’t even know me yet, and I’m very interesting.”

Bucky lets himself outright scoff at that, because he very seriously doubts that this bar-regular who can’t take no for an answer has any sort of hobby that Bucky would find interesting. He can see it from the corner of his eye when the asshole scowls, when his fingers curl tighter around his drink, and Bucky sighs internally.

“What, you think you’re too good to even give me the fucking time of day?” The guy demands, abandoning his attempt at a sultry tone in favor of a snarl. It sounds more natural for him, honestly.

There are a lot of ways Bucky could answer that.

He could point out that technically at this point it would be ‘time of night.’ Or he could get brutally honest and say that while he doesn’t usually think very highly of himself at all these days, he does still think he can do better than this random bar asshole. Maybe not a whole lot better, but better.

Instead of saying anything at all though, Bucky reluctantly tears his eyes away from the Stark heir across the small bar. He turns to finally face the man next to him and fixes him with a dry, expectant stare, quirking an eyebrow and letting the man fill in how ‘interesting’ Bucky thinks he is for himself.

The asshole’s face starts to twist with rage, but he smooths it out again with what looks like a fair amount of effort before saying, “Well, how about you let me buy you a drink and give me sixty seconds to change your mind.”

“No,” Bucky says shortly and starts to turn away. But then the man starts to reach for him, like he’s going to grab Bucky’s shoulder to stop him, and Bucky goes tense all over.

Part of him, a big part, wants to break this asshole’s wrist and be done with it, but that would draw way too much attention. He doesn’t trust himself to grab the man’s hand without breaking something, and he can’t even risk punching the jerk when his entire job relies on Tony never noticing him.

So Bucky has to settle for moving out of the asshole’s reach, shifting half off of his stool to accomplish it, and glaring harder as he snaps, "Do not touch me."

If the man was less drunk, and less of a dick, there’s no doubt that Bucky’s best death glare would be enough to chase him off. But he is a drunk asshole, so instead of running he grits his teeth and narrows his eyes.

“Listen, asshole,” the guy starts and Bucky does outright laugh at that, sharp and mocking.

He’s not surprised that the man’s face flushes an angrier shade of red, but Bucky really couldn’t help himself. The asshole continues to sputter for a second before sliding ungracefully off his stool and pulling himself up to his full height, wobbling slightly in the process.

“I don’t appreciate you- fuckin’- talking down to me,” the asshole spits furiously, but Bucky isn’t listening to him anymore.

With a sigh, Bucky slides the rest of the way off of his own stool and he can only hope that Tony is still distracted with the trucker-hat-douche because this is definitely about to become a scene. At least it’s somewhat gratifying to watch the drunk stumble back half a step when Bucky pulls himself up to his full height and squares his shoulders, but it doesn’t look like the man plans on backing down.

“Last chance to walk away,” Bucky warns because he has had it with tonight. At this point he will be perfectly happy to get kicked out of this shitty bar and fuck this job.

The asshole has his mouth open to respond, but then his eyes go wide as Bucky feels someone winding their arms around his and plastering themself tightly to his side. Bucky feels his own face twitch in shock when he jerks his gaze to the side and realizes that it’s Tony clinging to him.

Tony, who Bucky is supposed to be keeping an eye on, and who is not supposed to even be aware of Bucky’s existence. Tony, who is smiling up at him like Bucky isn’t a complete stranger to him, like he knows Bucky.

“There you are, hot stuff,” Tony says, his tone as familiar as his grin, and Bucky has a terrible feeling about the future of his employment. “I was starting to think you were standing me up,” Tony continues, fluttering those long eyelashes up at him.

The eyelashes that Bucky has tried so hard not to notice, but he’s sure as hell noticing them now.

Even caught off guard, and maybe a little distracted, Bucky isn’t a complete moron. He knows what Tony is doing, so he quickly pulls it together and works up a smile of his own.

“Wouldn’t’ve been so hard t’ spot you if you’d picked a less crowded place,” Bucky finds himself saying, because he can’t not complain about this dive bar now that he’s been given the chance.

Tony throws his head back with a laugh, and Bucky does not let himself get caught up in the sound of it. Not even a little.

“I * knew* you would hate it,” Tony says gleefully and the light in his eyes isn’t just teasing, it’s knowing.

Like Tony actually chose this bar just to annoy him, and Bucky is officially in so over his head.

He is also reluctantly charmed, and Bucky can’t fight down a tiny grin of his own even as he shakes his head and says, “You-”

“Hey,” the asshole interrupts, apparently not happy with being completely ignored.

He’s glaring at both of them now, and Bucky automatically shifts so he’s a little more between the drunk and the person he’s supposed to be secretly bodyguarding. He can at least still do half of his job. Tony grins at him like he knows exactly what Bucky is thinking, and hell, he probably does. Just like it’s probably no accident that Tony is wrapped around his good arm, making it much less likely that he’ll throw a punch.

Nothing would really surprise Bucky at this point, Tony is so damn smart and apparently Bucky has been underestimating him, too. And apparently, Tony has been watching him back, and Bucky has no idea what to do with that.

When the asshole makes another impatient sound Tony finally deigns to look over at him, barely tearing his gaze away from Bucky long enough to flit his eyes over the man from head to foot.

“Bye,” Tony says, his tone artfully dismissive, and then goes right back to grinning up at Bucky like the other man doesn’t exist.

To Tony’s credit, his cold, superior tone has the asshole automatically taking a step backward, even as he sputters, "Dude, wh- what the fuck-"

“What part are you not getting?” Tony asks, one sharp eyebrow crawling up his forehead as he slowly turns to face the asshole again, like he’s still unconvinced that the man is worth the effort. ”He was looking for someone, now he’s found me,“ Tony continues as he smoothly fits himself under Bucky’s arm, ”no part of this has anything to do with you, so you can go ahead and leave now."

Bucky can’t quite bite down his laugh when the drunk man sputters dumbly again, and the tiny grin that Tony flashes up at him has Bucky’s heartbeat doing truly concerning things in his chest. But he’s not thinking about that, just like he’s not thinking about the way his arm has automatically fallen around Tony’s shoulders, the way Tony fits perfectly against his side.

“L-Listen here, you little-” the asshole stutters and then trails off, his face going scarlet as he seems to notice all of the people staring at them.

"Little what?" Tony asks coldly, the look on his face just daring the asshole to come up with something that Tony hasn’t been called before. Bucky is equal parts impressed, enraged at his employer all over again, and trying his best not to be completely smitten.

The asshole’s face is nearly purple as his eyes dart from side to side, taking note of the increasing number of people watching them with open interest and amusement.

“Fuck this,” he grumbles and finally starts to back away, deciding to save what little face he has left in front of this crowd of college douchebags. He apparently has to try and get the last word though, because as he turns he shoots Bucky a final glare he loudly mutters “I could do better anyways.”

“Doubt it!” Tony calls after him gleefully, and the on-looking crowd laughs. Then he turns his bright grin up at Bucky, and oh, fuck.

Bucky is so fucking fucked.

“Do you want to get out of here, now?” Tony asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” Bucky groans instantly and emphatically, all thoughts of his imminent unemployment momentarily forgotten in the force of his relief over getting to leave.

Being caught by Tony is the least of the rules he’s broken, but he can worry about that later, or maybe never. It’s not like anyone needs to know that he’s been slowly but surely failing the first rule of bodyguarding over months of catching glimpses of the real Tony. Except Tony might know, because he’s been watching Bucky back.

And Tony is still grinning smugly as he starts to drag Bucky out of the bar with his arm still looped comfortably around Bucky’s waist, staying plastered to his side. Bucky has no idea if it’s necessary or not, he can’t tear his eyes away from Tony to see if the asshole is still hanging around.

He does spare the most fleeting thought for the trucker hat douche that Tony was flirting with before, but that’s only to think that at least this mess is getting Tony away from that asshole. Tony deserves so much better, of that Bucky is sure, he’s had way too much time to think about it while watching Tony flirt with every type of douchebag.

Once they’re out in the cool night air Bucky drags in his first deep breath in what feels like hours, relishing in the slightly less disgusting smells of the city. At least there’s less old-vomit smell.

When Tony snickers Bucky looks over at him again, honestly not sure what to make of the teasing, knowing smile on Tony’s face.

”So, where to now?“ Tony asks innocently, like he’s not still actively throwing Bucky’s life into chaos.

”Off to look for a new job, probably,“ Bucky grumbles, but he can’t actually force any annoyance into his voice. It’s not like he actually likes this job, after all, but…

He’ll probably never see Tony again, once he’s fired, and that thought sends a sharp pang through his chest that Bucky is trying not to think about too hard. Tony is still staring up at him as they start to aimlessly wander down the sidewalk, apparently trusting Bucky not to run them into any street signs, and Bucky is trying not to think about that either.

”Why?“ Tony asks, sounding genuinely confused, and then he pouts as he adds, ”I can go back to pretending not to notice you, is that more fun? Little weird, big-time stalker vibes, but I can work with that.“

Bucky huffs out a laugh, then raises an eyebrow as he asks, ”“S that what you’re into? That why you haven’ ditched me yet, like all th’ others?”

“Give yourself some credit,” Tony says, patting his side, “I did try at first, but you’re hard to shake. Plus, you’re much cuter than the rest of them were.”

Bucky tears his eyes away from Tony’s teasing, flirty grin, looking back down the dark street and trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. ”Maybe I’m jus’ sick of bein’ dragged to college bars,“ he says after a pause that’s probably tellingly long.

”Okay,“ Tony says agreeably, and when Bucky looks over at him in surprise, he finds Tony grinning up at him with an almost hopeful look in his eyes as he asks, ”How do you feel about burgers?“

Bucky finds himself trailing to a stop, still staring at Tony, who stopped right along with him and is now watching with a nervous little smile, like maybe he thinks the ‘better’ that he deserves is somehow Bucky.

For a second all Bucky can do is stare, his mouth gone completely dry. He has to lick his lips, watching Tony’s clever gaze track the motion, before he can croak out, “Seems like I’m gonna be fired for a different reason.”

Tony laughs, delighted, and starts leading him down the street again as he asks, ”What are you talking about? What better place to guard me from than up close and personal?“

Bucky is pretty sure that the elder Stark would not agree with that statement, but like hell is he going to be the one to point that out. He knows this is probably a terrible idea, and he’s definitely going to get fired for this sooner or later, but with any luck, it won’t be the last time he sees Tony.

”So, burgers?“ Bucky asks as he tightens his arm a little more around Tony’s shoulders, and when Tony smiles wider Bucky finally lets himself acknowledge the way it makes his heart flip over itself in his chest.

[catdotjpeg]

Around 100 Jewish American and allied activists were arrested in New York City Wednesday after they blocked President Joe Biden's motorcade route to protest U.S. complicity in Israel's genocidal war against the Palestinian people and to demand an immediate Gaza cease-fire. The group Jewish Voice for Peace (JVP) led the Upper East Side demonstration, during which activists sat down in the intersection of Fifth Avenue and 82nd Street, where the president was attending a nearby fundraiser. "As Jewish New Yorkers we want to make crystal clear that President Biden is not welcome in our city while he continues to fund and arm the Israeli government's genocide of Palestinians in Gaza," said JVP's Jay Saper.

JVP activist Maya Edery noted that this is Biden's first visit to New York since the October 7 Hamas-led attacks on Israel. "Instead of answering to the majority of his base that is calling for a cease-fire, he is meeting with corporate donors behind closed doors," Edery said. Biden's staunch support for Israel—which includes asking for an additional $14.3 billion in U.S. military aid atop the nearly $4 billion the country already receives from Washington and repeatedly bypassing Congress to expedite armed assistance to the key ally—has prompted many activists to call him "Genocide Joe." The president has also come under fire for casting doubt on the number of Palestinians killed and wounded by Israeli forces.

As JVP noted:

The Israeli military has killed over 27,000 Palestinians in Gaza, over 11,000 of whom were children, in four months of bombing and military assault. Gaza has been made uninhabitable by design, with Israeli airstrikes destroying 70% of infrastructure, including hospitals, universities, and the electricity and water grids. Nearly 2 million people have been forced to flee their homes; 1.9 million are sheltering in the southern city of Rafah, where the Israeli military has lately launched airstrikes.

"Biden says that he is funding and arming Israel for Jewish safety. We're here to call his bluff," said JVP's Eve Feldberg. "The president is advancing the U.S.' own military interests."

-- From "100 Jewish Cease-Fire Supporters Arrested Blocking Biden's NYC Motorcade Route" by Brett Wilkins for Common Dreams, 7 Feb 2024