#but that island is ALWAYS DAYTIME

[moonpaw]

thinking about how the island where luffy was raised is called Dawn Island and how he embarks from it and 2 years later we’re at Wano where people have been waiting for the Dawn for a very long time and Luffy is here to bring it

[childhoodsickness]

Doing some nighttime decorating 🌾

[rafeandonlyrafe]

just add water

words: 5k

warnings: brief illusions to sex but no smut, mermaids (like h2o mermaids), tropical storm/bad weather, really fluffy hehe, australian!reader, lots of kisses omfg these bitches in LOVE!

it's one of the few things rafe does to calm himself down. sandals held in his hand, feet pressing into the cool sand with every step.

rafe looks down the beach, the moonlight reflecting off the water as the waves gently lap against the shore. he squints into the darkness when he sees movement, hoping his relaxing walk isn't going to be interrupted by someone's public intimate moment.

he continues walking, the same stretch of beach he always does, passing by familiar houses of friends and old classmates.

his vision clears as he gets closer, eyes widening when he sees you, knees pulled up to your chest as you stare into the water.

“hey.” rafe says when he's a couple yards away, not wanting to spook. you, but it fails as you gasp and jump up to standing.

“sorry.” rafe holds his hands up, trying to show that he means you no harm. “im just taking a walk on the beach.”

you take a step back, like you're making room for him to walk past, for him to continue to leave footsteps in the sand, but rafe looks closer at you as the moon shines down, light slightly illuminating from the rows of houses with porch lights or bedroom lights left on before bed.

“im rafe.” rafe can't seem to keep walking, his feet planted firmly as his eyes roam over your face. “i don't think we've met before.”

“just moved here.” you explain quickly. “im y/n.”

“you're australian?” it's more of a statement than a question, but you nod, the accent clearly giving you away.

“i was wondering why i haven't seen you before. it's a small island, everyone kinda knows everyone.” 

“yeah.” it's a signal to end the conversation, polite but firm, but again rafe can't help himself, drawn close to you looking out onto the water just as he does.

“would you like me to give you a tour of the island? tomorrow or whenever you're available.”

“that would actually be really nice.” you smile at rafe. you were worried about leaving everything you knew in australia when your parents moved you across the country, and it's perfect luck that you meet someone your very first night in the outer banks willing to show you around.

“here.” rafe pulls his phone out of his pocket. he puts it on do not disturb for his walks, pretending it's not there, not allowing it to distract him, but he needs your phone number, needs to see you again, to see if your eyes are the same enchanting twinkling of the water in the daytime.

you take his phone and put in your name and number before handing it back, hand briefly touching his, feeling warm against your slightly chilled skin, making you realize you probably should have put on more than just shorts and a tank top for relaxing at the shore at night.

“ill text you.” rafe says, giving you one last look over before taking a step back, not turning away yet, keeping his eyes on you, as if you're an apparition thats going to disappear the minute he blinks.

rafe finally turns away to walk home, not looking back. he smiles. he can feel your eyes on him.

--

you sigh as you step into the bath, sinking in as your legs morph into a tail moments after the water makes contact with you. you never realized how much you loved showers until you couldn't take them anymore.

you have a love hate relationship with your abilities. being able to manipulate the shape and volume of water, as well as enhanced breath and super speed swimming, is amazing. but having your bottom half turn into a mermaid tail every time water touches you is a hard accomodation to make when your parents love the ocean.

you wash yourself off quickly, knowing you have to get totally dry before rafe gets here to show you around the island. 

--

two weeks in the outer banks. the time feels like it's flown by. you're surprised how much you don't miss australia. your parents tended to jump around from town to town to surf, so you never developed a close group of friends either.

two weeks spent with rafe, first showing you the popular parts of the island, then his favorite areas, the spots only locals know about, filling you in on all the nicknames that can't be found with a simple google search.

the only place he hasn't shown you yet is anything out on the water. you refuse every time he offers to take you out on his boat, and his sad face breaks your heart.

“wanna go out on the boat today?” rafe asks, just as you're thinking about it, like the idea transferred from your head to his. you hope that's not a new power developing.

“sure.” you finally concede, heart fluttering when rafes face breaks into a wide smile. you are taking things slowly, despite what is clearly forming. “but no swimming.”

you hate having to lie to rafe, pretending like you don't wake up every morning and explore the waters of the outer banks before hiding under a pier to dry off. you told him you were afraid of the water, that you didn't like going in it, merely enjoying looking at it.

rafe is excited to take you out, so much so that wheezie gives him a weird look before shrugging, deciding to herself that crushes make boys do crazy things, because she's never seen her brother act like this, so enthralled.

“here, ill help you.” rafe reaches his hand out as you step into the boat. you don't want to let go as he guides you towards the bench behind the helm, allowing you to sit down as your fingers finally disconnect.

“im gonna show you everything.” rafe undoes the lines quickly before returning to you. “and by the end of your boat tour, you'll realize that the outer banks is so much better than australia.”

rafe places an arm around your back, not caring that he now has to navigate with just one as you giggle and tuck yourself into his side.

the ocean calls to you as rafe shows you different spots, the outer banks feeling so different when looking back at the land.

rafe anchors the boat at a sandbar. you look over the edge, surprised how crystal clear the water is in this area.

“there's a spring in that marshy area over there.” rafe points towards a cluster of grass. “it feeds out into the ocean here. one of the best spots in the obx.”

“it's beautiful.” you say honestly. the sun is warm against your face, tanning your skin and relaxing you, keeping you dry enough to not turn whenever a drop of water splashed over the side of the boat onto your skin.

it's dangerous to be on the boat, but you can't help it with the way rafes eyes light up as he looks at you before ripping his shirt off over his head, catapulting over the side into the water.

“rafe!” you shout as a plume of water splashes up, soaking your arm.

rafe smiles at you as he resurfaces before his expression quickly shifts to a frown when he sees you furiously rubbing a towel against your arm.

“y/n, the water isn't dirty.” rafe didn't realize how deep your fear got. he climbs back onto the boat as you stagger back, face twisting in fear as you look at rafe.

“shit, im sorry.” rafe takes a step towards you, but you back away.

“take me back, please.” you sit down at the front of the boat, making your position clear.

rafe nods, glad the water covering him is hiding the tears that well up in his eyes as he pulls the anchor.

you stay sat far away, towel wrapped around your shoulders to protect you from getting wet as rafe drives back in silence, not speaking until he has the boat tied back to the dock, now completely dry and donning his tshirt again.

“hey.” rafe kneels in front of you. “im really sorry.”

you open your mouth to reply, to tell him it's okay, but rafe continues speaking. 

“you said no swimming. i should have listened. i saw this-” rafe places a glimmering queen helmet conch shell in your lap. “at the sand bar and wanted to get it for you. so you could remember this day.”

rafe stands up, figuring this is the last time he'd see you after his mess up. “so you can remember me.”

you stand up quickly, but make sure to carefully set the shell on the seat next to you. before you can second guess your actions, before that cautious voice in your head can convince you otherwise, you press your lips against rafes, having to rise to your tiptoes to reach.

rafe hesitates for a moment before kissing back, arms wrapping around your waist, tugging you in tight to him.

--

“this is a cute spot.” you snuggle into rafes side, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, showing all of the obx that he's taken, and you're the one who's captured his eye.

“it is.” rafe hums, looking around the diner. it's not his usual place, but rafe wanted somewhere casual to take you, so you didn't have to worry about dressing up or proper etiquette for your first official date.

you order a stack of pancakes as it's around brunch time, rafe ordering a cheeseburger for himself. you smile at the waiter as they walk away before looking to rafe. “im totally gonna steal some of your fries by the way.”

“fries and pancakes?” rafe twists his face up as you giggle.

“potatoes go with everything.” you explain, like it's a commonly known fact.

“what's your favorite food?” rafe asks. he's dying to know everything about you, wanting to sit you down and run through the list of questions in his head, but he knows it's best to take things slow, to allow things to progress naturally despite wanting to ask you about your favorite color, past boyfriends, whether you're a cat or dog person and so so much more.

you're about to answer when a passing waitress stumbles, her tray of waters heading to a crowded table dumping over you, getting your entire side wet.

the waitress goes to apologize, but you're already on your feet, mental timer starting in your head as you rush to the restroom, letting out a sigh of relief when you realize it's just a single stall as you lock the door behind you moments before you fall to the ground as your tail appears.

“y/n?” rafe must have run after you as he jiggles the doorknob.

“im okay!” you call out. “just drying off. give me a minute.”

“are you sure?” you can picture rafe standing outside, ear pressed against the door.

“yeah. ill be out soon.” you try to reach up to the towel dispenser with little luck. “you better not eat all the fries before i get back.”

you're relieved to hear rafes laugh as you finally get the motion sensor to work, rubbing it over your side, letting out a sigh of relief when your tail finally transforms back into two legs.

you stand up, always feeling a bit wobbly at first, but you want to get back to rafe, to your date and most importantly as your stomach rumbles to your pancakes and fries.

“aussie cheesy potatoes.” you say as you slide into your seat. “my favorite food, aussie cheesy potatoes.”

--

i miss you

you send the text to rafe, smiling when his response bubble instantly appears.

i was just about to text you the same thing

you know you're in the honeymoon phase of your relatively new relationship, but you can't help the giggle that escapes from your lips, the way your heart starts to beat faster.

meet you halfway? rafe sends back before an image loads of a dark beach, camera pointing down the shoreline towards your house.

on my way <3

you quickly touch up your makeup in the mirror, deciding to stay in your pajamas since they're just a loose long sleeve shirt and comfortable shorts. you hesitate between putting on a pair of sneakers or sandals, ultimately deciding more coverage is the smarter option.

you are quiet when leaving your house, just in case your parents are awake. you doubt theyd care anyways, they probably haven't noticed how much you've been gone lately. you are an adult after all, but they stopped being protective the minute you were in your teens, letting you surf solo for the first time the day after your thirteenth birthday. 

you walk down the beach, keeping your steps fast as you look for rafe, breaking out into a jog when you finally see his figure emerge from the darkness.

you throw your arms around rafe as he twirls you, tucking his head into your neck, pressing kisses to your delicate skin before pulling back to connect your lips together.

“hey.” rafe smiles at you, lowering you carefully back to the ground.

“hey.” you peck his lips again in another kiss.

“you look beautiful.” rafe says earnestly, the words falling from his mouth. you're beautiful to him during the day too, but there's something about night time that makes you shine, like the moon calls to you.

“not too bad yourself handsome.” you let rafe string your fingers together before beginning to walk, back in the direction of tanneyhill.

you chat about your days as you stroll, mostly with what rafe was occupied with as he helped his dad, spending your first day away from each other since you arrived on the island. safe to say you're both falling fast.

“stay the night with me?” rafe asks when you're standing in front of tanneyhill, the large house frightening imposing.

“i don't know…” you trail off, but the smile on your face tells rafe you clearly want to.

“at least lay with me on the hammock for a while.” rafe tugs on your hand, and you find your feet following him. he lifts the mosquito netting up as you duck under, toeing your shoes off as rafe lays down.

you snuggle in next to him, sighing as you rest your head against his chest, the fabric squeezing the two of you together.

you both enjoy the gentle quiet, the sound of the waves and wind rushing through the leaves the only thing breaking into your peaceful silence, not needing words, just each other. 

sleep takes you both, warmed by your bodies wrapped together.

--

you're not sure what jolts you awake, but you're glad it happens as your eyes snap open, a drop of water hitting your cheek.

“shit…” you mumble, quickly pushing it off your skin as you look up at the gray sky, the events of last night coming back to you as you realize you're still in the hammock next to rafe. you don't want to move, you're the most comfortable you've ever been in your life, but the skies threatening to open and dump it's rain down on you has you scrambling.

“baby?” rafes voice is deep with sleep as you rush to put your shoes on, knowing the dew on the grass is going to turn you as you look towards the house.

“i-i need to pee!” you yell quickly, pushing out of the mosquito netting as you run, the rain beginning to fall. you're aware of every drop as you push some away with your abilities, but ultimately you can't stop nature as a few drops hit your back.

you aim for the glass doors, praying they're left unlocked as you burst inside, eyes widening when you see not just wheezie, who you've come to know pretty well, but the entire rest of the cameron family milling around in the kitchen.

you're seconds away from transforming as you find your voice. “bathroom.” you simply say before rushing into the closest half bath, glad you accepted the full tour from rafe one day when both ward and rose were away from the house.

“shit.” you mutter under your breath as you hear through the door that rafe has come in after you, mentioning something to his family about rain coming before the tropical storm set to hit in the next couple weeks if it doesn't change direction.

you grab the towel, neatly embroidered with their last name as you rub your back, glad it's only a couple drops as you're quickly able to exit the bathroom.

“sorry about that.” you say awkward, clasping your hands in front of you.

“i was wondering when you lovebirds would wake up or if the rain would do that for you.” ward smiles, eyes flicking between you and rafe. you let him lead the amount of affection as he walks and wraps his arm around your shoulders.

“stay with us for breakfast, y/n.” rose says. clearly someone told the couple about you, most likely wheezie tattling on her brother. you just hope she said nice things.

“yeah, id love that.” you say after rafe squeezes your shoulder to let you know it's okay.

--

good morning gorgeous 

you smile at the text, grabbing your phone the second you were awake.

you quickly reply, a string of emojis that only lovesick you would type out.

there's a party this friday. come with me?

you glance at the calendar hanging on your wall. not a typical one filled with appointments or birthdays, but one charting the phases of the moon, letting you know when it's safe to be out at night. you let out a curse when you realize friday night is a full moon.

sorry baby i can't :( parents want me home to call my grandma back in australia

you can come after, yeah?

sorry rafe 

you leave it at that, hating telling him no, but you need to stay inside during the full moon.

you should totally go though! spend some time with your friends

rafe doesn't mention the party again when you meet up later that day.

--

“i got the party changed to saturday.” rafe says, his head sat in your lap as you brush your fingers through his hair.

“what?” you question, raising your eyebrows. you're sat in your bed, the afternoon sun pouring in from the open windows, watching some show on tv neither of you were truly invested in, just background noise as you look into each other's eyes.

“the party this friday. you can go saturday right?”

“yeah.” you nod, smile stretching across your lips. “yeah, i can.” you shouldn't be surprised rafe changed everyone's schedules just to fit yours, the party is at his friend's house after all.

you're excited to finally meet them, you've heard bits and pieces from rafe, but have never gotten to actually see them.

you spend the entire time you're locked in your bedroom on friday night choosing exactly what to wear, curtains drawn tight closed, even blankets thrown over for extra precaution, not allowing any of the full moon to peek inside.

you realize you made the correct decision when saturday night comes and you open the door to rafe, his jaw visibly dropping.

--

“oh my god, i was totally picturing someone different when you were talking about topper.” you whisper to rafe after walking away from his friends to find a quieter spot. you didn't even have to tell rafe that you were starting to get overwhelmed, he seemed to sense it and pulled you away, not caring that kelce was still going on about something.

“what did you picture?” rafe asks, hoping the talking will distract you from all the excitement of the party, finding an empty guest bedroom and sitting down on the bed together.

“i don't know why but dark hair.” you shrug. “and i always pictured glasses.”

rafe laughs as he leans against you, your hand coming to his hair to scratch at his head, the soft movements of your fingers comforting you just as much as rafe.

“thanks for meeting them. and coming here with me.” rafe says earnestly. he's always liked parties of course, going wild and getting drunk or high or whatever he felt like that night, grinding against different girls and ultimately taking one to bed. rafe never put together how all of that was just a distraction, that he wasn't truly happy.

“you make me happy.” rafe says, turning to look at you, eyes still twinkling, reminding him of the ocean, the moon, the most stunning gemstone, and something so uniquely you.

“rafe.” you coo, pressing your lips together. you don't come out of the guest bedroom until the morning after, giggling quietly as you sneak out of toppers house, your hair a mess and clothes askew.

--

“i just realized ive never seen you in a swimsuit before.” rafes eyes look carefully over your body, having just taken off your coverup once your arrived at the spring again, rafe vowing not to jump in again, simply enjoying laying out and tanning on the boat.

you smile at rafe, gesturing for him to get closer.

rafe crawls over the bed area at the front of the boat to hover over you, pressing his lips tightly against yours. your hands feel his muscles, skirting from his chest down to his defined abs.

“you know, there's no one else out here.” you smile up at him as you reach lower.

“naughty girl.” rafe chuckles, glancing around to make sure no boats were within view.

once you're both finished, tired and panting, skin sheened with sweat, rafe finally brings up a question he's been dying to ask.

“why don't you like the water?”

you place your chin on your hand as you turn to look at rafe, taking a moment to formulate an answer. you hate having to lie to him, but you don't want to reveal your secret yet, for rafe to look at you any differently.

“i used to love to swim, to surf.” you say honestly. “but then something happened… and it's turned me away from it. i don't even like pools.”

rafe doesn't push for more, but his face does turn to a frown, thinking about whatever happened. he's guessing you got caught in a riptide or had a near drowning experience, he would never in a million years guess that you fell into a cave exploring an island after a fight with your parents and swam through a mysterious pool to get out, waking up to surf the next day only to transform into a mermaid.

“im sorry baby.” rafe says honestly. he wishes he could fix whatever happened, to enjoy riding on a jet ski with you, or relaxing on a sandbar.

“it's okay.” you shake your head. “i like being on the boat with you.” you say. “you make me feel comfortable.”

rafe pulls you back into him, not caring if you get an uneven tan line as he kisses you again. he swears you taste like honey with the slightest hint of sea salt.

--

“we got cyclones all the time back in australia.” you tell rafe, looking out your window. the sky looks normal, no sign of a tropical storm that's supposed to be blowing in soon, thankfully it never upgraded to a hurricane.

“do you want me to come over for it anyways?” rafe smiles at you as you finish braiding your hair. “hold you just in case you get scared.”

you laugh as you stand up, dramatically falling onto the bed, placing a fanned hand on your forehead. “oh, save me rafe cameron, save me!”

rafe laughs as well, pulling you against him. your shared laughter always turns into shared kisses. it's been months now that you've been in the outer banks. you swear your accent is even diminishing ever so slightly.

but you don't miss australia. you love your life here. spending nearly every day with rafe, exploring the island and the waterways, trying out different food spots and even letting rafe give you golf lessons, despite your inability to hit the ball straight.

--

you open the door as soon as there's a knock, expecting rafe, but your face falls when you see ward standing there.

“y/n, is rafe here?” he questions, entire body soaking wet from the storm, now covered by your front porch, dripping onto the welcome mat.

“no.” you shake your head. “he should be here any minute though…”

“shit.” wards eyes are wide with worry. “he took the boat out. i was hoping he docked it here.”

“the boat?” your voice rises as your anxiety does as well. “what is he doing on the water in this storm?”

“he likes to go to the spring at the start of storms to watch them roll down the coast, but he's always back before it hits. something must have happened to the boat, i don't know.” you can tell ward is rambling. “maybe he ran out of gas or got caught in something-”

“you have to go out there and save him! the waves-” you don't need to tell ward, you're sure he knows how bad the water is going to get, how violent the storm will make the sea, even in the shallow area rafe is in.

“i can't.” he shakes his head. “i already tried the coastguard but they won't go out until the storm is over.”

“he's your son!” you argue. “you go!”

“i can't.” you can hear the pain in wards voice. “if something happens to me, sarah and wheezie will have no one.”

you know it's not an appropriate reaction, but you're so mad, so worried about rafe being out there in this mess that you slam the door right in wards face.

you walk back through your house, past the empty kitchen and dark dining room to your living room, the glass doors revealing the storm raging outside. you make a decision in that split second, opening the door and barely shutting it behind you before you take off, rain hitting you in the face. you send out a prayer to the moon to allow you to reach the water before you transform. you make it onto the sand before face planting, having to awkwardly pull yourself forward into the water.

the second you're submerged, you take off, using your speed swimming abilities to navigate through the waters and strong tides. you go faster than ever, heading in the direction of the spring and sandbar, desperate to find your boyfriend and make sure he is safe.

you see through the rain at the surface of the water his boat, letting out a sigh of relief when you see he's anchored in his usual spot.

“rafe!” you call once your surface. “rafe!” you shout again, hoping he can hear you over the roar of the wind and rain.

rafe pops up, looking over the edge, wrench in hand, clearly trying to fix whatever is wrong with his boat, a smear of oil on his forehead not washing away with the rain.

“y/n?” rafe shouts. “what the fuck are you doing?”

rafe drops the wrench, rushing closer to the edge as he looks at you. your tail flicks up. there's no hiding it anymore. you don't want to anyways. 

“babe, get out of the water theres-” rafe blinks, his eyes squinting as he realizes its not some strange fish, but in fact covering your legs.

“get in the water rafe im going to swim us back home.” you shout, eyes turning to the sky, looking down the coast. the worst of the storm hasn't hit yet thankfully. with the size of the waves coming, it's sure to capsize his boat.

“baby-” rafe swallows harshly before jumping over the side. he may not understand what's going on, but he trusts you.

you grab onto rafe, keeping his head above the surface as you swim. it's slower getting back pushing him with you, but you go as fast as your tail will allow.

“you're a mermaid.” rafe says simply when you get back to shore, deciding to go to your house instead of tanneyhill, just in case ward is looking out his windows for rafe to return.

“go inside, ill be okay in the water.” you tell rafe, just needing to make that final couple steps onto the sand.

“im not leaving you out here.” rafe simply says, glancing to your tail before back at your face. he scoops you up in his arms, holding you tight to his chest as he carries you onto land, despite how heavy your tail is.

you hold onto rafes shoulders as he brings you inside. he sets you down on the plush rug in the living room as gently as possible.

“the tail doesn't go away until im dry again.” you lift your fin up and down as the rain pounds against the windows.

“ill get some towels.” rafe is ridiculously calm, coming back and patting you down in silence until your legs reappear.

“im sorry for not telling you earlier.” you say with a whisper, hand reaching out to hold rafes, shifting to sit up. “i-i love you rafe, but i understand if you want to break-”

you can't even finish your sentence as rafe leans in, pressing your lips together. “i love you too.”

--

“is that the right part?” you ask rafe, leaning yourself against the ladder as he fixes the engine on the boat, somehow it managed to stay anchored at the sandbar.

“we'll see right now.” rafe cranks the key, letting out a cheer when it turns on.

you smile as he jumps over the side in a dramatic celebration before resurfacing and shaking his wet hair out of his face.

“okay, you gotta show me again.” rafe stands on the sandbar as you swim around him, tail flicking back and forth.

you concentrate on a spot of water, lifting it into the air before popping it like a bubble, sending droplets raining down.

“you're the most amazing person ive ever met.” rafe says. “most amazing mermaid.” you correct him with a giggle and a splash of your tail.

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut

[gallusrostromegalus]

AEIWAM: Wait, if there’s only one “moon”, and Hueco Mundo exists in the same plane of existence as soul society, how is it always night in Hueco Mundo, but day and night pass regularly in soul society?

...Who said there was only ONE moon? :)

Hueco Mundo is on the same PLANE of existence as Soul Society but notably Separate- like how Avatar Kiyoshi separated Kiyoshi island from the main continent, Hueco Mundo was separated from the main matter of Soul Society, but in a scenario that was a lot shittier and and involved a lot more murder and other craptastic behavior.

The "Moon" in Hueco Mundo is a Tulpa as well, and behaves according to how the population of Huceo Mundo believes it should- since most of that population is Hollowfied Animals who rely on the regular lunar cycle for biology, the moon in Hueco Mundo is actually still on it's regular cycle, but it runs backwards- as in, it travels from west to east across the sky, and it's always in the opposite phase of the moon in the living world. When it's a Full Moon in the living world, it's a new moon in Hueco Mundo. When it's a half moon in ht living world, it's also a half moon, but the other half in Hueco Mundo.

Nobody in the universe is quite sure WHY the moon in Hueco Mundo seems to be in an opposite tidal lock with the moon in the Living World, but since the Moon in Soul society has been doing whatever the hell it feels like for at least two thousand years, this probably isn't a bad thing.

The actual reason is that Hueco Mundo's atmosphere is SO heavily charged with Spirit energy that the hollowfied animals can more or less live on air alone. this means a Lizard from Hueco Mundo is packing about a hundred times the spiritual punch as a lizard in Soul Society. The More spiritually powerful animals in Hueco Mundo Memetically counterbalance the handful of Adjuchas and higher-class hollows, but the weaker lizards of Soul Society do not balance out the captain-class individuals in Soul Society. It's in tidal lock with The Actual Moon because that's the one the animals of Hueco Mundo remember. It's backwards, because to lizard logic, the afterlife is an inversion of the living world.

Nobody in or out of the narrative understands Lizard Logic.

There is actually daytime in Hueco Mundo! The Sun and The Sky in the afterlife is ALSO Tulpas and do not need to obey any more physics than anyone generally thinks they do, and the Lizards of Hueco Mudo are VERY SURE it's Hot Time now. The Sun in Soul Society is still behaving normally (approximately), and so is the one in Hueco Mundo- it just looks dark all the time because pretty much all the Sapient Residents of Hueco Mundo believe they have Gone Into That Great Night, and the Fauna of Las Noches cares about the heat more than the light, so The Sun in Hueco Mundo is functionally an Invisible ball of Heat, and the Sky is colored Black for the aesthetic.

TL;DR: There are two moons and an invisible daytime in Hueco Mundo because the lizards think there should be.

[railingsofsorrow]

5 hours apart

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: “I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts.” “I don't want you to miss me. It's tearing me apart.” from this prompt list.

pairing: spencer reid x svu!detective!f!reader

w.c: 3.7K

warnings/content: long distance relationship; crying; sadness; discussions of a case related to kidnapping (brief); migraine; this o.s approaches healthy siblings dynamic and some childhood trauma, be aware; discussions about marriage; spencer does not beat the pipe cleaner allegations.

A/N: decided to do a crossover one shot between criminal minds and law and order: svu (my newest obsession)because I love both shows (and nick amaro has older brother vibes) and it fit pretty well. there's like a few Spanish terms that I used and please consider that I did Spanish in high school and had a few classes afterwards, forgive me if I made some misspellings.

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

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There are two missed calls on your phonescreen when you turn it on. The heavy load of paperwork you needed to finish plus the migraine that did not leave you alone forced you to turn your phone off during the daytime so you could concentrate on working. Amanda and Fin telling you to go home wasn't as effective as your boss ordering the exact same thing upon seeing your tired state. Thankfully, by the time he did that, you had already finished everything and you happily obliged.

The keychain clinking against the doorknob makes you drop your shoulders in relief. You aren't home but it's close enough. It's been a few months since you have stepped into your brother's place, but it's the same as you remember. Grey couch, the spotless kitchen island that you can see as soon as you walk in, the innumerous pictures of your brother and your niece scattered around the walls.

You throw your dark brown blazer on the loveseat across the room and sit on the couch unceremoniously, pressing play on the latest voice message.

“Hey... It's me. I called you before and it went straight to voicemail, I... I forgot to say something.” You snort, hair falling off of your ponytail as you let it loose down your shoulders. Never have you ever seen your boyfriend forget something. “I'm sorry I couldn't make it. I know I promised and I really wanted to go but the case, it was a serious one, they needed me.” The guilt in his voice breaks a part of you inside. “I-I'm sorry I let you down.” There's a beat, some voices in the background that you can't make out who it is because they're too far away. “I love you and I'll make it up to you, okay? Call me when you can, please.” And the message ends.

You only notice you start crying when a sob echoes through the room and the sound comes from you.

You were never mad at him. Deep down, you expected him to cancel on you because of a case, you knew you would if you were needed. Both if you are not the kind of people who let your people hanging, especially if the reason is work. And that's fine, when you started dating Spencer, that was the first thing you understood, as he did.

Being far away from him is what kills you. You manage to work long-distance. He visits you on his (rare) day-offs, you escape for a few days to Virginia. It works. It's how you do. But there are moments in which you just need him close and it's not like you can drive over to his apartment right away. 5 hours apart does that to a couple. It's not unbearable, but it's painful.

You miss him.

So you dial the number you know by heart, sniffling quietly on your bubble of loneliness in the empty apartment.

You don't know where he is, if he's home, if he's in a completely different timezone. You don't care.

It rings twice before his voice fills up the call. “Hi—Hey, angel.” He sounds frantic. You smile thinking he must have been waiting for your call.

“Hey, Spence,” you respond, folding your knees on the couch. “Are you home? I didn't text first to see if it was a good time to talk, sorry.”

“It's always a good time to talk to you.” He says without hesitantion. “I'm on the motel, packing.”

“Oh, so did the case end okay?”

You can feel the relief through his exhale. “Yes, we found the boy on time. He's finally back with his parents. Home.”

Your mouth twitches, “that's good.” And you make sure to add as you always do, “you saved a life today, I'm proud of you.”

His soft awkward chuckle causes a tearful grin out of you. You can practically see him blushing.

“Thank you. It was... It's a good feeling.”

“Are you happy?”

“Not really.”

You brows furrow slightly. “Why? Did something happen?”

“I miss you,” he says. “I am happy that we saved someone today, of course but... You know, the first person I wanted to tell it to was you. I just— I miss you. So much it hurts.”

You close your eyes as the tears slip one by one down your cheeks, you felt their salty taste. Your chest clenching as you stay silent for what feels like several minutes until Spencer's concerned tone breaks the silence.

“Angel?”

“Please don't miss me. It's tearing me apart.” Your request doesn't quite make sense but you don't have time to think it through before you say it. It just what comes out of your heart.

“Please, don't cry.”

You let out a tearful laugh, attempting to dry your tears foolishly.

“I'm always missing you, sweetheart. I'm sorry but that's inevitable.” He adds, sadly.

“It hurts so fucking much.”

Spencer clears his throat and you know he's either refraining from crying himself or trying to mask it.

“I know. I'm sorry.” He pauses. “I wish I was there.”

You shake your head even though he can't see it. “'s not your fault. It's your job, you can't help it.”

"I hate it that you're crying and I'm not there to comfort you."

"I'm fine," you whisper, sniffling. "Don't worry about me. Today was just... A shitty day, really."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You hum, fiddling with the soft fabric of the light green hand-knit throw blanket your brother always left on his couch. "Migraine." It's what you say and all he needs to know to wince in the other side of the line.

"Did you take something for it?" Spencer is aware of your frequent migraines and how much they bother you.

"Yeah, it's okay now." You reply even though there's a little painful pang in the back of your back right now.

"Maybe you should try to sleep a little. Did you know that sleeping seven hours every night impacts on your focus, body weight and immune system? Actually, adults aged from sixteen to sixty years should all get at least seven hours sleep every night, but that's almost never happens because of people's usual hectic work schedules-" He sucks in a breathe upon noticing he's rambling non-stop. You laugh and suddenly the harsh grip on your heart diminishes a little. His voice appeasing the momentary heartache you're going through.

"Says you. Who never sleeps, anyway. And work on caffeine 24/7."

"Hey," his tone has a tinge of amusement but he pretends to be offended. "I sleep."

"You do when I'm there. Cause I force you."

"Oh, you're so cruel to me, angel."

Your lips widen into a smirk. "That I am."

The conversation carries on for a while, until you figure out which time it is where he is and immediately orders him to go to sleep because he has an early flight to catch in the morning. He's reluctant, but he eventually lets it go because you need to sleep too and you will talk in the next day again.

Before he hangs up, he asks, the first time he hesitates in the call. "Uh, does- does your brother hate me?"

Your brain takes a few seconds to grasp what he's implying, until you remember what was supposed to happen this weekend. Spencer would come over to your place in New York to meet your brother.

You bite your lip, straightening your legs out on the ouch. "Yeah, about that..."

"He does, doesn't he? I don't blame him, I did screw up-"

"Wait, baby, that's not it. I... I actually didn't tell him." A pause, you curse under your breath. Now he must thing you didn't want him to come. "Spence?"

"Did I pressure to do something you didn't want? I should have asked you if you wanted meet to meet him, right? I think I kind of invited myself over and-"

"Stop." You cut him off. "No, Spencer. You didn't pressure me into anything. I want you two to meet, of course I do. You're one of the most important people to me, but I really forgot. I'm not making up an excuse."

"Alright, yeah. Okay." He says and you hear a door closing and wood creaking. He must be sitting on the bed.

"I love you." You receive the mental image of the scrunch of his nose and the smile he can't help whenever you drop the L bomb out of nowhere. "And you know he doesn't have to approve anything, right? Nick has no say in who I date or not."

"But he's your brother, he's important to you and I would meet him someday anyway because- I, well." Your body shakes with laughter and the phone almost drops from your hand.

"What, are you proposing now, genius? Through the phone, really?"

"Don't make fun of me." Spencer warns playfully.

You take a few seconds to process that he doesn't deny it. You said it as a joke but he didn't even deny it that he thinks about marrying you. God, your chest could combust.

"You think about it?" You ask, shifting your position to bring your knees to your chest. "Us? Someday?"

"You mean getting married to you? Yes. I do. We haven't discussed it yet, but... Yes, I do think about it."

"Mhm."

"Has it ever... crossed your mind?" He's reluctant, shy to ask even. You find it cute as everything Spencer Reid does. Marriage is something that never really crossed your mind, to be honest. You think is nice when people get married and show their love to their loved ones, but your parents' relationship carved a fear deep within your chest and your entire perception of love had to be relearned through the years they separated. One thing that you learned is that no person and no relationship is the same. It's not because your father broke your trust and destroyed a part of your and your brother's childhood that your future partners will do the same. It is easier said than done, but you're coming around to the idea.

"Not before you." You admit quietly.

"Oh."

“Yeah.” You ponder out loud. “It scares me a bit, that I consider spending the rest of my life by your side. Doesn't it scare you?”

“It does,” he replies. “But the idea is nice to think about.”

You smile, letting out a soft breath. “Yeah, it is nice.”

A male voice calls out for him in his end and you know he has to go. You had already taken up much of his time, anyway.

“They want to go to a bar nearby to celebrate.” Spencer explains to you, not sounding too thrilled about the idea.

You snicker, “go have fun, genius. You deserve it. Try to enjoy it even if this is not your usual idea for fun. I love you.”

“I love you more.” Spencer says and laughs at your groan of protest on the other side.

“We're not going to be one of those couples who never hang up because you love me more or no, I love you more, Spencer.”

“I just like to mess with you.” He admits with an edge of amusement to his tone. And damn you miss the smirk you know he's making right now.

“Yeah, I know. Now go, have fun. And have a safe flight tomorrow, text me when you land?”

“Of course, angel. Try to sleep a bit, you need the rest.”

You smile. “Sure. Bye, Spence.”

“Bye, angel.”

An hour or two goes by since your phone call with your boyfriend and manage to cook some dinner and then throw yourself back on the couch while a random show is played on TV. You end up falling asleep and wake up upon hearing the jiggling keys against the door of your brother's apartment, rubbing your eyes in your disoriented sleepy state. Checking your phone, the screen says 11p.m.

Nick stops midway from his way to the couch, where he was probably about to throw himself at. From his tired eyes and hunched over stance, you are able to tell how exhausted he is. “Why are you always here?” Nick throws himself on the floor instead, his head falling against your knees. The tone he used would make you slap him right behind his ear, if you weren't still with your mind in that phone call and a million miles away from New York. “I thought you rented an apartment. Or is it that you just miss me?”

“I don't miss you.” You mumble, voice muffled by the soft fabric of the blanket covering half of your face. “I see you every day, idiot. How can I miss you.”

Nick raises an arm towards your calf and you immediately kick his hand away before it can get to your feet. He chuckles, fluttering his eyes open for the first time since he got home. He glances up at you, who's glaring at him. His smile falls.

“What's wrong?”

You shrug, pulling your knees up to your chest and turning your head towards the TV. You weren't paying attention since the show started, you had no idea what is going on. “I cooked dinner. Left you a plate on the microwave. Go eat, I bet you didn't have a proper meal. You never do.”

“That's not true—”

“Eating burritos isn't a proper meal, Nick.” You groan as he tries to take another look at your face. “Stop it. I'm fine.”

“Yeah, I don't buy it. What happened?” If there's one thing your brother is, that thing is anxious. Nick is a worrier. And he's completely paranoid about knowing what's going on to find a solution before the time runs out. Even if there is no time to run out. He gently tips your chin up, frowning. “Why have you been cryin’?”

You turn your face away from his reach, sitting up on the couch. You take a moment to form your answer and he's anxiously waiting for it, coffee-brown eyes inspecting your matching ones.

You decide to go simple, but it's also the truth. “'s not a good day, that's all.”

He blinks and then the concern opens some space for understanding in his expression. And just like that, he figures out what's been making you upset. You don't doubt that he really knows, since your brother and you always understand each other with a look.

“D'you wanna talk about it?” His usual sarcastic tone gives place to a softer one. The one he uses in moments where his little sister needs her older brother.

You shrug, letting out a sigh before resting your head against the couch, eyes studying the ceiling. “It's nothing, I just... I miss Virginia, that's all.”

Nick hums, nodding. “You mean you miss the skinny kid from the FBI.”

A laugh bubbles out of you unexpectedly, you playfully shove his shoulder as he offers you an unimpressed look.

“Stop being mean to him.”

“Me?” Nick pulls himself up to the sofa, groaning when his joints complain as he stands up. “'m not being mean to anybody.”

“Okay, grandpa.”

“Hey,” he throws a pillow at you, narrowing his eyes threateningly. “you don't get to be mean to me.” You roll your eyes. There he goes playing the older card that just makes him look exactly like an elderly. “Why don't you take a few days off? I can't remember the last time you did that.” Before you can respond to that, he frowns, turning to you as if he just had thought of something. “Or why doesn't the skinny kid come and visit you? It's not that hard.”

“He was gonna to that this weekend.” His raised eyebrow makes you sigh and shake your head. “He had a case last minute, so he couldn't.”

He pauses, munching on his cheek. You question his thoughtful expression.

“What? No jokes now?”

“It's serious then? You and him.”

You blink at him, puzzled by the question. It wasn't what you expected. “W—yes. Why would you ask that?” He had walked up to the kitchen to grab a bite of whatever you had made him and you followed right behind.

“Nothin’,” he says, turning the microwave on and stepping towards the fridge to grab something to drink. “I just never saw you in a serious relationship.”

You pause.

Okay, you had a few flings in your life, it's not like your love life is messy, it is actually pretty simple. You and the people you've previously have relationships (or situationships) enjoyed having fun. You weren't looking for anything serious and when you were... well, your job got in the way. Until Spencer Reid. He's the unexpected occurrence that showed up during a local case to investigate a series of murders in the city of New York and both of your teams worked together. If someone told you before that you would get attached so quickly to someone and consider driving five hours just because you missed them then you would have laughed in their face.

Your brother might actually have a point. He had never seen you in a serious commitment before, he has, however, had the opportunity to try and scare off some of your partners — the ones he accidentally met, at least.

“I don't need to disclosure every aspect of my love life to you, Nicholas.”

You crossed your arms as the corner of his lips lift in a knowing smile. “Stand down, tiger. I just made an observation, no need to get defensive.”

“I'm not.” You say, shifting on your feet, suddenly self-conscious with the whole conversation. It's difficult to talk about someone so important to you to another someone that's important to you. You've never share much about your personal life and inner struggles with anybody, and that has everything to do with the man you call “father” in the biological sense. But Spencer managed to push through these walls and he didn't demeaned you because of your trauma, neither did he treated you as if you were made out of glass, that you could shatter at any given second. He understood you and you understood him, which is why love has always been within your reach in your relationship. It was only a matter of time.

“He's important to you, isn't he?” The microwave beeped but none of you move.

“Yes.” You utter, playing with the ring on your index finger. “I know we don't— we don't talk about these stuff...”

“We can if you want to—”

“No, it's not— That's not it. I mean. You're my brother and we have a good communication but I never felt the need to formally introduce anyone to you because you're family, Nick. You're my only family,” you finally look at him. “If it ever got to the point, one day, where it was worth it for me to do that, then I would. I just thought that I wasn't made for love, you know?”

You see him rushing to disagree with you and probably say you can't think like this and that is not true, so you intervene before, smiling.

“But I know that that is not true, alright? Porque le quiero y sé que él también.” His eyes soften at your claim and you feel like crying again because you miss Spencer and you wish he's there with you. “So yeah, it is serious. And the reason he was going to come visit me was to meet you properly.”

“What?”

“Yes. That was my reaction too.” A fond smile takes over your mouth. “He insisted he wanted to meet you because he knows how important you are to me.”

“Oh.” He is officially caught off guard and it makes you chuckle. That is a rare image you're seeing in front of you. No one catches Nick Amaro off guard. One point to Spencer, I guess. “Well, now I just have to meet this chico who stole my sister's heart.” He's back to his playful persona, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair, and you flip him off. “Let's see if he is all that you claim he is.”

“He's a good guy, asshole.” He hums, munching on his food. “You'll see,” you say with a small grin while you turn back to the living room to lay back on the couch.

“We'll see.” He mumbles from the kitchen, shaking his head when a thought crosses his mind. He can't believe you fell in love, he still sees you as an annoying toddler who wouldn't let him be at school while he was trying to impress his friends because you were too shy to make your own and would cling to him like a lifeline. In all honesty, Nick has always enjoyed your company, it makes him feel grounded. He cares about your well-being and tries to protect you from every bad thing you have to face, but he knows he can't. Sometimes, you gotta face things on your own. And, sometimes, you don't need your older brother to shield you from pain. It's hard for him to accept that, especially after what you both endured through your lives.

You're all grown up now and he has to stand down his overprotective side because you can handle things, he knows you do. Though he'll be there, in the corner, having your back as always. Because that's what brothers do.

Hopefully, this Spencer Reid will pass the test.

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[translation]

Porque le quiero y sé que él también. = because I love him and I know that he does too

chico = boy, kid

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie @ninkieminjaj ;

[natrogersfics]

Blinding Lights - A Romanogers Oneshot

Artwork by @faith2nyc Read on AO3 Set in the So It Goes... 'verse

Torment.

If Natasha had to choose a word to describe the first few days following her glorious night with Steve, it would be just that – complete and absolute torment.

In her attempt to return to some semblance of normalcy, she jumps at the chance to be consumed by a never-ending barrage of emails and back-to-back meetings, but it is all in vain. The memories are all too novel. She could be neck deep in work, and all it takes is one glance at Steve before she’s immediately inundated with images of him pinning her down onto her desk, the scenes of how he had owned her body in the most delicious of ways flashing in her mind like a filthy highlight reel.

Then there’s the way he shows up at her door every morning. It wasn’t in any way different to how he’s shown up for the last year, but now she’s grown attuned to it. The sound of his voice is something she finds herself looking forward to hearing as she sits at her kitchen island, sipping her cup of coffee. She can’t always make out the words, but she can tell from the light-hearted tone that regardless of which member of his team was keeping vigil at her door that night, that they are always happy to see him. It’s then as the voices fade that she waits with anticipation, listening to the pad of his footsteps until there’s a light rap against the arch of her kitchen. His grin is boyish and lopsided when he sees her, giving her an unspoken confirmation that she’s under his watch now, and that’s enough to put a little spring in her step as she gets ready for the day.

Day. Night. It didn’t matter. Thoughts of Steve lingered with her, sticking to her like the most exquisite of perfumes. It’s why she makes it a point to never think too far ahead. To stay in the moment with whomever she’s meeting with. This week she’s been organizing a fundraiser for the orphanage, and with everything from invitations to menus to review and approve, she couldn’t be more thankful for the distraction.

Come the end of the week, she pats herself on the back for only letting her mind drift to Steve twice during her last meeting. As she exits the conference room with Wanda, Red Guardian’s Head of Marketing, she’s greeted with a nod by Sam, her daytime bodyguard for the day. Steve had informed her yesterday of his impending absence, citing a contract negotiation with a new client. And while there was a part of her that was disappointed that she wouldn’t be seeing him until later on, she also found herself relieved for the brief separation. Steve’s errand was a reminder that not only did he have his own business to run, but also that he, too, had something at stake if she didn’t get this misplaced longing of hers in order.

Sam follows behind her and Wanda as they make it down the hall, and as they’re about to head in separate directions, she places a hand on Wanda’s arm. “Send me videos of Billy and Tommy’s performance this weekend, okay? I can’t wait to see them in their costumes!”

Wanda beams at the mention of her boys. “I’m so excited,” she says, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “I got extra storage for my phone and everything.”

“They’ll do great, I’m sure of it.”

With a final smile, she waves goodbye to Wanda before heading into the awaiting elevator. As the car heads up to her office, she catches the way Sam’s hand reaches up, tapping on his earpiece. With how quiet Sam’s voice is, she can’t quite make out what he says, but a part of her wonders if he’s reporting back to Steve at their HQ. Stop. With a shake of her head, she flushes the thoughts of Steve from her mind just as the elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open. Get it together, Romanoff.

Sam opens the door for her as they reach her office. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Anytime, Miss-” Sam pauses when she arches a brow at him, a sheepish smile breaking out on his face. “Natasha.”

“That’s more like it.”

As she enters her office, she’s immediately greeted by the sight of Loki waiting for her. She and Loki had met when they were just teenagers in boarding school, the two of them bonding over their mutual hate of the cliques that were quick to form on campus and the occasional pack of cigarettes. His company, Mischief Inc., is notorious for organizing the most extravagant bashes in the nation, and the second she had selected her first initiative as CEO, there was only one person in her mind to call.

Loki waves from his seat on the couch. “Hello, darling.”

“So nice of you to wake before the sun goes down,” she says, smiling at the nonchalant shrug he gives in response as he rises to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“You call, I come running,” Loki says as they both settle on the couch. “I’m easy like that.” She rolls her eyes playfully, prompting him to chuckle. “But I have to admit, ever since your assistant sent over your proposal, I’ve been intrigued.”

“So you’ve read it, I take,” she says, ever grateful for Daisy’s efficiency.

“Read it?” Loki says, scoffing. “Darling, the team’s already working on the interiors as we speak.”

Excitement rushes through her. When she had submitted her proposal to the board, she had highlighted the need to bring in fresh clientele to their properties. While her parents had built an empire on selling the luxury experience at their flagship hotels, they hadn’t done the best of jobs at making sure that evolved with the times. Now that she’s at the helm, she’s made it her mission to change that – starting with revamping the rooftop lounge at the Red Guardian Las Vegas, the company’s hotel overlooking the Strip that hasn’t been putting up the numbers it used to. The plan is to install an invitation-only nightclub, to have prospective patrons clamor to partake in the most coveted, if not borderline hedonistic, experience in the City of Sin. Admittedly, it’s a ballsy first initiative to take on, but she believes in her vision, and if there’s one person she knows that can help her bring it to life, it’s Loki.

“This is going to be epic,” she says, unable to keep a smile from breaking out on her lips.

“It’s going to be the talk of the town,” Loki concurs, scooting forward to reach for his tablet. “Though I hope you don’t have any other large commitments coming up. We have our work cut out for us if we’re going to make the grand opening in five weeks.”

Loki’s threat of long hours and endless days is one she welcomes with open arms. In her view, this nightclub opening is an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone – providing her both with a means to further prove herself to the board and a distraction from all her thoughts of Steve. From the thoughts of his hands on her body, roaming all over. Of all the dirty promises he’d whisper in her ear as he took her hard and deep, clearing her mind and relieving her of every burden, making her feel as though her desires weren’t so… ignoble.

And there, she realizes, is another issue she’s been avoiding. While her night with Steve had shown her what she truly craved, the fact of the matter is she’s always been curious. Vanilla had never really done it for her, and while she’s always wanted to venture out, there’s a part of her that’s always been ashamed of it. As if there’s something wrong or inappropriate about positioning herself as the capable and driven face of an esteemed Fortune 500 company during the day, but wanting to be taken, all consumingly, in the bedroom at night. It’s a dichotomy she cannot quite reconcile, nor find a partner she trusts enough to help her do so.

Until last week, that is.

“Earth to Natasha.” Loki waves a hand in front of her, chuckling when she shakes her head to focus. “Did you wander off to a different universe?”

If only. “Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night,” she says. “You were saying?”

There’s a touch of suspicion in Loki’s expression as he regards her. “As I was saying,” Loki says, “if we’re expecting our guests to be high-profile individuals, the security here needs to be airtight.”

“Steve’s team can do it,” she says before she can even think twice about it. “At least, I can talk to him about it. See if they have the bandwidth.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki says, craning his neck as he looks around her office. “And where, may I ask, is your broody shadow lingering today?”

“He’s not here,” she says, taking in the way Loki’s brows lift in surprise. “Work errand.”

“A work errand? That’s oddly vague,” Loki says, smirking. “If I had to guess, the man probably had a long night with a-”

“Steve runs a business just like you and me, Loki,” she interrupts before her friend can go any further. “He has a duty to his team to secure the best deals that he can. But even if that’s not what he’s doing right now” – she shakes her head, swallowing down the unsettling feeling that’s suddenly washed over her at the thought – “what he does in his private life is no one’s business but his.”

It's strange, if not a touch troubling to her, how protective she suddenly feels of him. While she already knew that he laid claim to the most mischievous parts of her, she’s only now realizing that he’s wormed his way into the softest, most delicate aspects, too. How or when that happened, she isn’t really sure.

Across from her, Loki just shrugs. “Even so, you have to admit, the man is easy on the eyes.”

With that, she couldn’t argue.

It’s as she’s walking Loki to her door later on after they’ve settled on next steps that her friend turns to her, catching her by the elbow. “Is everything okay, Nat? I make light of it, but don’t think I haven’t noticed how dialed-in you’ve been in the last few days.”

“I’m fine, Loki,” she says, sighing when he stares knowingly at her. “It’s the new job, is all. You know how it is.”

While her explanation is only a half-truth, it didn’t make it any less of a fact. Loki and his sister, Sylvie, had jumped through hoops to prove to their own father that they were worthy of running their own company. If there’s someone who understands the burden of a new seat at the top, it’s him.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Loki laments, his expression softening. “Just don’t work yourself to the ground, all right? Unwind every now and then.” A smirk crosses his lips as he adds, “However you would like to.”

“Get out of here,” she says, the two of them sharing a laugh as she gives his shoulder a playful shove.

Loki leaves with a wink, and as the door to her office clicks shut, she slumps back down on the couch. While she had many siblings, it’s only with Loki that she’s felt that familial bond with. Loki was her first true confidant, and while she wishes she could tell him her current predicament, there’s a part of her that just isn’t ready. And it's not because she feared his judgment. In her heart, she knows that if she ever told Loki how she would prefer to unwind, he would be the last person to shame her. What she needs to grapple with here is herself. Specifically, her lack of acceptance of the part of herself that wants another surreptitious escape with Steve. For him to put her on her hands and knees and pull on her hair as he brings her to her crest. And then after, to do what she wishes he had that night, which was to scoop her into his arms, take her to her bed, and kiss her until they both drifted off.

Her hands come up to her face as she groans, longing for all these things – all these things that just don’t seem to go together. And, more importantly, the very things she can’t have with him.

With a huff, she sits up. Maybe she couldn’t get a grasp on that version of her, but she could focus on the one she actually had a handle on. The version of her that was brought up to run this company, to take care of the people who kept this well-oiled machine running. She reaches for her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she finds the number of her favorite bakery.

By the time she hangs up, she’s scheduled two cakes to be delivered to Wanda’s as a congratulations for her boys. The task isn’t much, but on a day like today, she counts completing it as a win.

By the second week, her yearning begins to taper. She wishes she could say it was because glancing Steve’s way didn’t make warmth spread across her chest any longer, but in reality, she’s convinced it’s only because wanting him has just become part of her personality as much as craving success and liking the color red has. But she has a grip on it enough that she and Steve resume their Wednesday ritual at the gym, and though she has to put in extra effort to remember to breathe every time he touches her to correct her form or demonstrate a new maneuver, she’s glad that the physical exertion wears her down enough to let her drift off once she’s finally made it to bed.

Her imagination, on the other hand, has been a completely different story. It’s as vivid as ever, running amuck, and as Steve accompanies her to her various functions, she sometimes catches herself wondering what it would be like to not only have him be the man looking out for her, but also the man on her arm, supporting her.

Much like she’s doing right now, as he follows close behind her as she enters the double doors of the ballroom of The Empire, Red Guardian’s crown jewel in New York. The fundraiser for the orphanage has barely started, but the room is already brimming with guests, and she need not glance back to know that Steve’s eyes are already surveilling the room, looking for possible threats and taking stock of exit routes.

“Miss Romanoff,” a young albeit tall brunette greets with a smile. “Thank you for joining us. May I take your coat?”

“Please,” she says, shedding the candy red coat she’d thrown on for the evening. “Thank you, Kate.”

Kate smiles at the recognition, handing her a coat check tag before ushering both her and Steve further inside. The ballroom is abuzz with conversation and the voice of a blues singer crooning softly, the air laced with a mix of expensive cologne and the most decadent of hors d'oeuvres. At the center, couples pack the dance floor, covering every inch of it that, if not for the fact that she had done the final review of the details for this event, she would be none the wiser about its existence.

She takes in their swarmed surroundings, turning to Steve with a smile. “Everyone’s here.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and she realizes it’s because he’s fixated on her dress – taking in every detail of the strapless number she had selected for the evening, the white material adorned with red, pink, and yellow petals as it cinches at her waist and falls just a few inches above her knees. When his eyes finally meet hers, she swears his gaze looks darker around the edges, and she has to look away briefly to calm the little flutter she feels in her stomach.

“Yeah,” Steve finally says, “turnout looks excellent.”

“Daisy sent me an update on the donation figures just before we got here. We’ve already topped last year’s haul for the orphanage and the night’s barely begun.”

Steve’s lips quirk up in a smile. “It’s really great what you’re doing for them. That place, those kids… they’re lucky to have you as their advocate.”

“I was lucky to have that place,” she says. “I always go back to the first moment I met Alexei and Melina. That… hopefulness that they’d choose me. And then to find out that they did?” She sighs. “I just hope all of those children get to experience that.”

“With the help of your work, they will,” he says, prompting her to smile. “And for what it’s worth, your parents were always going to choose you, Nat.”

She eyes him skeptically. “You seem oddly sure about that.”

“Believe me,” he says softly, “resisting you is the hardest thing in the world.” An effervescence spreads across her chest at his words, but before she can respond, a waiter stops by their side, offering them both a glass of champagne. She takes one flute off the tray while Steve politely declines, and it’s only when they’re alone once more that he leans forward, his hand finding the small of her back as he whispers in her ear, “Has anyone told you how sexy you look tonight?”

Want races through her veins, hot and heavy, as she takes a sip of her drink. He’s so close to her now that she can smell his aftershave, and she knows that if she turns to look at him, it’ll take nothing short of a miracle to not pull him in. It takes her a second to find her voice, but even when she does, it’s lower than usual. “First I’m hearing of it.”

“This dress…” His hand flexes behind her, his touch light as a cloud as he caresses the fabric. “It’s almost as beautiful as the woman wearing it.”

A shiver runs down her spine. Breathe, she reminds herself, looking out into the distance in an attempt to steady her thrumming pulse. As she does, she catches a glimpse of one of the couples on the dance floor, the woman’s eyes falling shut as the man pulls her even closer to him, leaning his forehead against hers.

“Do you ever wish that were us?” Steve turns slightly at the question, following her line of sight. “Because I do,” she confesses, looking at him now. “All the time.”

His growl is quiet as his eyes find hers, but she hears it just the same. “Natasha…”

“Natasha! There you are.”

She’s not sure whether to be frustrated or relieved by the interruption, but she does not get much time to ponder her answer because the second she turns, she finds Eleanor Bishop, one of Red Guardian’s long-standing board members, approaching.

Steve takes a step back from her, and quickly, she plasters on a smile. “Eleanor, hello.”

“Marvelous event,” Eleanor says, gesturing towards the room.

“Isn’t it?” she says. “We inked a new events partnership with Mischief Inc. recently. They’ve done a phenomenal job.”

“As have you,” Eleanor says, scoffing when she begins to wave off the praise. “I know a Natasha Romanoff event when I see one, so don’t you even. Many people would have gawked at the idea of waiving the rate for the ballroom tonight.”

“Short-term loss for long-term gain,” she says with a shrug. “Any smart business person would’ve done it.”

“Oh, honey,” Eleanor says, all but scoffing. “When everyone’s out to make quick money, that’s just not true.”

“Eleanor, I can assure you that under my watch, Red Guardian will be focused on the long game.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Eleanor says. “I can’t wait to see what you do out in Vegas.”

She’s in the middle of sharing more plans for the upcoming opening when Eleanor abruptly excuses herself, muttering something about keeping her fiancé in check. As they part ways, she continues to move through the room, Steve never more than a few steps behind her as she stops to mingle with the various guests in attendance, charming her way through the conversation until whoever has their checkbook out doesn’t even realize they’re adding another zero.

It’s as she’s just finished listening to yet another venture capitalist opine about their new super yacht that her eyes wander across the room, landing once again on the couples on the dance floor. She zeroes in on the pair whispering sweet nothings to one another as they sway. Taking in the woman’s heated gaze as the man pulls away from her, she can only wonder about their exchange. If he had suggested that they leave, promising to worship her the second they were out of sight. The thought makes her shudder.

“Natasha, are you okay?” She hadn’t realized just how closely Steve had been following her until his question prompts her to spin around and nearly collide with his chest. Concern paints his features, and she takes a step back. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine,” she says, shaking her head as if that will set her right. “Excuse me, I have to run to the ladies’ room.”

When she slips into the bathroom, she checks each stall, and content with the confirmation that she’s alone, she stops in front of the sink, staring at her reflection. “Fuck,” she mutters, flipping the tap on and running her wrists under the stream before letting out a frustrated sigh. One man shouldn’t be able to throw her off-kilter this way, especially not after a single night. She’s Natasha Romanoff. Against the odds, she has proven to a board full of vultures that she, and not her spiteful siblings, is the rightful successor to their father. That she can lead and take charge of the largest real estate portfolio known to man. When it comes to business, she is fearless. She knows what she wants and she isn’t afraid to do what she needs to do to get it. Certainly, she’s more unflappable than this.

Just not, apparently, when it comes to the man she wants – the very man she can’t have.

That fucking dress was going to be the death of him.

That’s the only thing Steve can think about as he follows Natasha out of the ballroom. Her coat is draped over her shoulders again, but it doesn’t matter. He had gotten a good enough look as he watched her chat her way through the room tonight, the damn thing clinging to her body in all the right places that if he hadn’t already studied the building’s blueprint last night, he’d be seriously concerned about his ability to execute his duties.

For the last two weeks, he’s succeeded at keeping a relative distance from her. That is, settling for being close enough to protect her, but not as close as he truly wanted to be. And he gave himself credit for that. When it took every ounce of restraint he had to keep himself from pulling her in every time she so much as glanced his way, that little smile playing on her lips, he counted remaining rooted in place as a win. When every time she sat in a meeting that went on a little too long, her mind drifting off slightly as she tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the glass of the conference table – reminding him of the way those same nails had dug into his scalp as he buried his face between her thighs, making her cry out – he took his ability to bat away the memory as a sign that maybe, just maybe, they could pull off going back to business as usual.

All those minuscule wins of his, erased by one intricately stitched piece of fabric.

As they approach the elevator bank, he’s reminded of the remark he’d made in the ballroom earlier, of how beautiful her dress was – of how beautiful she was. He had meant every word, and while he didn’t regret letting her know just how stunning she looks tonight, he still chastises himself internally for placing himself right on that slippery slope.

“What time does your shift end?” Natasha asks, stopping short of pressing on the elevator’s call button.

He glances briefly at his watch. “Your night guard should already be in the lobby.”

“Guess that means you’re off the clock, then?”

“Technically.”

Natasha chews on her bottom lip. “Have a drink with me?” she asks, and taking in the skeptical look he knows crosses his features, she adds, “We can talk about Vegas.”

Every bone in his body tells him to say no. He’s already faltered once tonight. Surely, adding alcohol to the mix isn’t going to make it any easier for him to prevent himself from doing so again. Instead, he should head home, dive right back into the stack of paperwork he has on his coffee table. Or better yet, head to the gym. Go a few rounds in the ring until he’s expelled every image of her in this dress from his mind and every drop of desire he has for her from his body.

But that would be futile. He knows this for a fact because ever since that night, that’s all he’s been trying to do. But Natasha Romanoff is under his skin, and he hasn’t a clue how to get her out.

He must have stood there silently for too long because before him, Natasha suddenly shakes her head. “You know what? Forget I said anything,” she says. “You must have plans-”

“I don’t,” he interrupts, surprising them both. “I’d love to get a drink with you.”

The smile that breaks out on her face is infectious as she turns to call up the elevator. A few seconds later, the doors ping open, and he follows her inside. “Rendezvous at the top floor, Northeast corner,” he says into his earpiece as the car begins to ascend.

He hears the response within a split second. “Copy that. Heading your way.”

Natasha arches a brow. “James?”

“Clint.”

“I didn’t realize Clint put in nights as well.”

“We do our best not to put him in rotation,” he says, “but with his wife and kids out of town, he said the quiet in his house was driving him crazy.”

They both chuckle at that, and in that moment, it occurs to him that maybe this is what he needs to focus on to ensure he is on his best behavior, to remind himself that there are people like Clint who have a family to support. That there are people whose livelihoods depended on him and on his ability to run this operation just like every other contract they have.

There’s a hum in the air when they arrive at the rooftop, and as the maitre d’ escorts them further into the back, his eyes scan the room. All around, patrons huddle in their own little alcoves, conversing and sipping on top shelf liquor under the dim lighting. They settle at a private table in the back, and as Natasha slides into the booth, he spots Clint stationed by one of the pillars. With a nod at his colleague, he follows behind her.

“Thank you for agreeing to cover Vegas, by the way,” Natasha says once their server sets their drinks down.

“Pretty sure I’m the one who should be thanking you,” he says, reaching for his Scotch. “You’re the one bringing the added business to us.”

“I know you don’t like to be away from your dad for long, is all,” she says, her finger circling the rim of her Vodka soda. “And like you said, Clint has a wife and kids. Sam has a sister and nephews. James…”

“Has a dog,” he fills in for her, nodding when her brows shoot up in surprise. “Roscoe.”

She giggles, the sound making his own lips curl in a smile. “For some reason, in my mind, I always thought he’d be a cat person.”

“Don’t be fooled,” he says. “He may act all aloof, but deep down, he enjoys that Roscoe needs him.”

“Noted,” she says, still grinning. “Regardless, thank you. I know you all give up a lot to protect me.”

There are many reasons why he craves this woman the way his lungs crave air, but it’s this, the kindness and compassion she has for everyone around her, that sits atop of the list. “You’re worth it,” he says softly, watching as she looks down in an attempt to hide the flush that colors her cheeks. “Besides, I’m sure the old man wouldn’t mind having a few days off from me nagging him to hit the gym.”

“You are a hardass at the gym,” she says, chuckling at the withering glare he shoots her way. “Have you ever been to Vegas?”

“Once,” he replies. “The scene over there isn’t really my thing.”

Her eyes light up with intrigue, and she shifts closer to him. “What is your thing, Steve?”

He stills when he feels the slight brush of her thigh against his, but the answer to her question comes to him almost instantly. You. But that’s not an answer you give your client. It’s not even one you give to a friend. So instead, he brings his drink to his lips, taking a sip as he contemplates his response.

“Consistency,” he finally says, “whether that’s with how I execute a job or how I go about my workout plan. Now, some people” – he smirks when she tips her chin up in challenge, her eyes narrowing at him – “find that stringent, but I think it helps me appreciate the outcomes more.”

Natasha’s gaze travels from his face, to his shoulders, and then down to his arms. “Trust me, you’re not the only one that appreciates those.”

“Natasha.” It’s the second time he’s said her name in warning in a matter of hours, but it’s a frivolous one at best, and they both know it.

Guilt races through her features. “I’m sorry,” she says, bringing her head to her hands. “I don’t mean to make your job any harder than it already is.” She sighs. “It’s just the last couple of weeks… They’ve been a struggle for me.”

“Hey,” he says, moving even closer to her, his hand falling to where the hem on her dress falls above her knee. He’s playing with fire now, but he’ll be damned if he lets her think that she’s alone in this affliction. “It’s been hell for me, too.”

“Doesn’t seem that way,” she whispers, and it kills him, how genuine the look in her eyes is as she stares up at him. As if keeping away from her could be anything but agony.

“Looks can be deceiving,” he says, running his thumb across her skin as he leans in. “How can I not be in hell when the mere thought of you…” He shakes his head. “Has me hard every goddamn time, Nat.”

Her glossy lips part at his words, her chest rising as she takes in a breath, and the only thing he can think about is how much he wants to lean down even further to trail kisses down the column of her throat, to nip at her pulse in the way that drives her crazy. His other hand tightens around his glass, so much so that he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his grasp.

Her eyes are brimming with desperation when he leans away, and he doesn’t need a mirror to tell him that his own are, too. “But nothing’s changed, has it?”

It would be so easy to tell her she’s wrong. To pull her in, and once and for all, end this mutual misery they’ve apparently been cohabitating in for the last two weeks. It’s all he wants, and yet, the truth remains. He sighs. “I’m never going to stop needing you to be safe.”

The way his words cause sadness to cloud her eyes is nothing short of devastating. Nevertheless, he finds that he means every word just as much, if not more, than when he first said it at her place that night. Only this time, doing what he has to do – the right thing – has become that much more difficult because he can feel his will dwindling, slowly but surely unraveling at the seams. It’s one thing to want to map every inch of her body, to lose himself in her in some vain attempt to satiate his need to know every bit of her sumptuous frame. That’s the easy part. What isn’t easy is the fact that he’s now certain he wants her mind and soul just as much, too.

The waitress brings them a fresh round of drinks, and that seems to be enough for them to leave the subject at that. They spend the next hour talking about anything else – Vegas, the latest documentary he’s been into, her sadness over her favorite bodega closing down. Somewhere along the way, they move onto scrutinizing their fellow patrons, creating stories about them and playfully placing bets on how their nights will end.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t actually bet any money,” he says later on when their drinks are just about done, nodding in the direction of a woman bidding a man goodbye two tables down. “They’re not going home together.”

“Yeah,” she says, looking their way. “Looks like you win.”

“I guess I do,” he says quietly, even when he knows that couldn’t be further from the truth. When he wants her as much he does, not being able to have her feels like the biggest loss there is.

If affirming his need to keep her safe that night at her fundraiser was supposed to do anything, making wanting her any less was apparently not on that list. In the week that follows, Natasha’s schedule grows brutal in a way it’s never been since he’s come to work for her. With the opening of the nightclub and their impending trip to Vegas nearing, she’s all business as she and her friend and business partner, Loki, comb through every detail as thoroughly as they can. Despite that, as he shadows her from one commitment to the next, he finds himself longing for her more than ever.

It frustrates him if only for the fact that it doesn’t make any sense. If she’s not in a meeting, she’s shuffling across town trying to get to the next one, all while taking calls and shooting out emails in between. She barely has time to scarf down the lunch Daisy adamantly insists she eats everyday, much less talk to him. He hasn’t a clue what it is about seeing her this way that makes his mind continue to wonder about things it shouldn’t, but it does just the same.

Every single time she’s gotten her way in a meeting, the second it’s over, he’s wanted nothing more than to push her up against the wall of her office. When she presented the final plans for the Red Room – the name for the nightclub that she and Loki had settled on – he felt his heart just about ready to burst with pride seeing her win over even the most skeptical of board members. Then, at the end of each day, as she sits in the back of the SUV, nearly drifting off in exhaustion as they head back home, it’s only by a feat of strength that he’s kept himself from reaching out to her, from pressing his hands into her tense shoulders and dusting a kiss to her neck.

Hindsight being what it is, he realizes how superbly idiotic it was of him to think that giving into her once was going to miraculously get her out of his system. While she had become the star of his fantasies only shortly after he met her, now that he knows what she tastes like and what it feels like to have her in his arms, those images have only grown more crazed in his mind, more specific. And no matter what he does, what he forces himself to remember is at stake, he cannot, for the life of him, get her out of his head. His entire existence has ostensibly become a practice in resisting her, and for the sake of his sanity, he opts to take it one day at a time instead of wondering about just how long he can continue to withstand it all.

Days before they’re set to leave for Vegas, he follows Natasha into the elevator of her building. It’s two hours later than when they had intended to get back, but given how the last week has gone, he’s hardly going to complain.

“Daisy, I don’t care if he offers to unearth the Strip and carry it to the lobby,” Natasha says into her phone just as he leans back against the rail and the doors slide closed. “We’re keeping the guest list tight, so please tell Mr. Hammer that if he insists on taking every person in his entourage, Tao at the Venetian is very much still open.” With a thank you to her assistant, she hangs up, and in seconds, she toes off her heels, moaning in relief as her feet sink into the plush carpet. “Oh, thank God.”

“Natasha Romanoff without heels on,” he says, a smirk crossing his lips. “Someone alert the press.”

Despite her exhaustion, she manages to chuckle. “Be glad I’m too tired to hit you right now,” she says. “Besides, nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Well,” he says, bending down to pick up her shoes. “If I remember correctly-”

The words die at the tip of his tongue the second he scoops her heels up by their straps, his throat growing dry as he takes in the shining black leather and the thin yet sky-high stilettos – the very same pair she had worn when he had let his desire for her topple his self-control. When he looks up at Natasha, the heat in her eyes is enough to tell him that she, too, is thinking back to that same night, all those weeks ago.

“Didn’t have to take them off then,” she whispers.

As she says that, he’s reminded of the way these heels had dug into the surface of her desk, screeching against the wood as he hiked her legs up and his fingers delved into the hot clutch of her body, making her keen. He swallows at the memory. “No,” he says, his voice sounding strained as he slowly, and almost hesitantly, hands her shoes back to her. “No, you didn’t.”

The elevator dings, signaling their arrival on her floor, and he nearly huffs out a breath of relief as they both exit. As he’s done every night, he walks her to the door of her suite, only this time, as they both linger outside, it’s as though the frame looms large.

Natasha leans against the door, her hand falling to the knob. “Steve…”

The way she says his name, like an invitation back into their lustful bubble, causes his hands to ball at his sides. “Natasha.”

His body aches with want as he stands before her, his hands desperate to curl around her hips and pull her flush to him. He wants nothing more than to kiss her breathless, carry her inside, and spread her out on her sheets, bound and begging – the way he knows she likes. The way he knows they both crave. And with one twist of the knob and a step inside, he could make all of that happen.

But then there would be the aftermath. Unlike that first night, he doesn’t think he has the wherewithal to walk away. Because he knows now that it’s not just sex with her. It never was. When all is said and done and they're both sated, he’ll still want the rest of her, too. And that’s something he knows he can’t have.

It’s with that thought that he lets out a wistful sigh. “You look great in those shoes,” he says, his eyes drifting to where they’re still dangling from her other hand before looking back at her. “And if it’s any consolation, you’ll be wearing them when I get home, too.”

The last thing he sees as he turns to leave is the way her lips part, her green eyes glimmering with unbridled desire. And as he makes his way back down the hall, he finds himself inwardly cursing. He’s not sure who it is that said time makes everything easier, but one thing he knows for certain is that whoever it is, is a bald-faced liar. All these weeks haven’t made resisting Natasha any easier, not one bit. It’s harder. So much harder.

The nerves hit her a few days before the opening. It’s subtle, so much so that if it weren’t for the fact that he’s spent all this time watching her, it probably would be imperceptible. But from his seat across the aisle from her on the Red Guardian jet, he sees it – the faraway look in her eyes as she stares out the window, her fingers mindlessly twirling the charm dangling from her bracelet.

“Thank you,” he says when the attendant comes up to him, setting down the drink he’d requested. As she leaves, he picks up the cup and rises from his seat to make his way across.

Natasha looks up as he approaches, arching a brow in question when he places the drink in front of her. She peers under the lid to check its contents. “It’s tea.”

He settles down on the seat across from her, doing his best to keep from smiling at the way her lower lip juts out in a pout. “It is.”

“If I wanted to drink wet potpourri, I would just take the pouches in the lavatory,” she says, pushing the cup away from her before crossing her arms over her chest. “I’d rather have-”

“Watermelon Sour Patch Kids,” he finishes for her, shaking his head when her face lights up. “I know, but sugar will only make the jitters worse.” A mix of surprise and what he thinks might be embarrassment colors her expression, prompting her to look away. “Hey,” he says softly, scooting forward in his seat. “Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing,” she says, watching the clouds float by the window. Eventually, she looks back at him, sighing when she finds him still waiting patiently. “I don’t know, I guess there’s just a lot riding on this opening, and now that it’s almost here…” She shrugs. “I just really need this to go well.”

"And it will.”

“You don’t know that. Not for certain.”

“Yeah, maybe I don’t have a crystal ball.” He sighs in concession. “But if the last few weeks are anything to go by, what I do know for certain is that you’ve dotted every I and crossed every T that you can,” he says. “Now it’s time to trust your process. Watch it all play out.”

“Logically, I know that…” she says, resting her hands on the table in front of her before smiling. “I suppose patience has just never been my strong suit.”

“Now, even I know better than to answer that when you have a cup of steaming hot liquid within reach.”

“That you gave me, no less.”

“Clearly, I could learn a thing or two from you about decision-making,” he says, causing them both to chuckle. “Seriously, though. Everything will work out, you’ll see.”

“Yeah,” she says, her tone growing wistful as she quietly adds, “I wish they were here, though.”

There are days where she’s so prolific at masking her grief that it’s difficult to remember that that tragic day wasn’t so long ago. But as he looks at her now, the pain in her eyes clear as day, he’s reminded of how fresh the wound still is, and, as his own experience with loss has shown him, how it will continue to be for quite some time.

“I know it could never be the same,” he says, reaching forward to catch the oval charm of her bracelet between his thumb and forefinger – the same one that her mother had handed down to her when she was younger, and the same one she now keeps a picture of her parents in. “But they’ll always be with you, Nat.”

She nods at that, smiling softly and taking the charm into her own hands as he leans back into his seat. “Hey, Steve?” he hears her call out a beat later. He looks at her, eyes questioning. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says. “I know you’re technically working, but-”

“Natasha,” he interrupts. “There’s no place I’d rather be than right here, watching your six.”

There’s a flutter in his chest as she looks down, her hair falling around her face concealing the smile that was already breaking out on her lips.

“Don’t you think this is a tad overkill?” Natasha says as they sit in the back of the SUV enroute to the hotel.

He looks to see her eyes panning from Sam, who’s behind the wheel, and then to Bucky in the passenger’s seat. His lip part to respond, but Bucky beats him to it. “It’s really more for Steve. Wouldn’t want him to get his ass kicked out there.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpans as everyone laughs, glaring at Bucky through the rearview mirror as the man smirks in response. He turns back to Natasha. “And since we’re going into new territory this week, the answer is no, it’s not overkill.”

“I guess you’re right,” she says as she looks forward, her brow suddenly arching in what he thinks might be amusement.

It’s as Bucky mutters a curse that he finally looks out the windshield to see the hotel come into view, a swarm of photographers forming a sea of flashing lights right in the roundabout leading to the front entrance of the hotel.

“Jesus,” Sam says, “I thought the opening wasn’t for another three days!”

“It isn’t,” Natasha says, completely unfazed by the scene as she lets out a little chuckle. “Fellas, may I introduce you to Loki Laufeyson’s penchant for everything grandiose and dramatic.”

He presses his lips into a line. “Sam, circle around back-”

“It’s fine,” Natasha says, placing a hand on his arm.

“Are you sure?” he asks, surprised. In the past, she hasn’t cared for the cameras, much less when she’s just trying to check into her own hotel. “We can get you through, but that’s a circus.”

“Normally, I’d say no,” she admits. “But this is all part of Loki’s media coverage plan for the opening. All press being good press and all that.” And then, cracking a smile, she adds, “Unless, of course, you think I’m too hideous to be photographed right now.”

He scoffs at the notion, turning to Sam. “Stay the course.” At his behest, Sam turns into the roundabout, the cacophony of clicks and rumbled voices growing louder as the car comes to a full stop by the entrance. “Vultures,” he says, more to himself than anyone else as he slips his aviators on. With his hand on the door handle, he looks back at Natasha. “Stay behind me, all right?”

“Lead the way,” she says, and despite the ruckus surrounding them, the smile she gives him is so confident and trusting that he can’t help but crack a smile too, momentarily forgetting his annoyance at the situation.

He exits the car first, nodding at the bellhop that motions towards the trunk and finding himself thankful when he sees that someone had at least thought to cordon off a path to the entrance. With the assurance that there’s a clear lane forward, he turns to reach his hand out to Natasha to help her down. The clicks and flashes intensify the second she steps out and into the view of the photographers, and it’s only when he sees Bucky slot in a few steps behind her that he begins to forge his way inside.

“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Natasha teases the second they clear the lobby.

“Still harder than slipping through the back door.”

She sneaks a glance at Bucky. “Is he always such a Debbie Downer?”

“Oh, he can do that all day,” Bucky says.

He narrows his eyes at them both. “If the two of you-”

“Look who finally decided to show up.”

He turns towards the sound of the interruption to see Loki making his way towards them, the man looking ever dapper in a perfectly tailored suit and slicked back hair. “Took you long enough,” Loki says, pulling Natasha into his arms.

“Well, I would have gotten here sooner, but someone unleashed a jungle on my front lawn,” Natasha says as they pull away, jokingly shooting Loki a withering look before pointing her thumbs at him and Bucky. “You may or may not owe these two an apology.”

“Gentlemen, my apologies for making your jobs harder this afternoon,” Loki says, sounding sincere in spite of his light tone. “All a necessary evil, I’m afraid.” He gives Loki a single nod in acknowledgement, and if the man is at all bothered by the curt response, he does not show it as he turns his attention back to Natasha and points towards the elevator bank. “Shall we? Sylvie received some last minute documents from the contractor. There are a few things I wanted to go over.”

Natasha nods, and as she and Loki huddle over a tablet, their discussion already beginning, he leads the way towards the elevators. He’s about to press on the call button when the doors slide open, revealing a single occupant standing at the center, and quickly, he catalogs the stranger’s appearance – taking in everything from his lanky physique to the ruby red lenses of his spectacles that gleam underneath the fluorescent lighting.

The man takes in the scene before him, a smile suddenly breaking out on his face. “Natasha?”

At the mention of her name, Natasha looks up from the screen. “Matt,” she says, her eyes lighting up in recognition. “What are you doing here?”

He watches as the man – Matt, he reminds himself – steps out of the elevator, and he has to move slightly to the side as Matt comes to stand in front of Natasha, leaning down to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.

“I had a conference that got postponed at the last minute,” Matt says before looking at Loki. “I was about to dive into some new cases until I saw that Loki sent over an invitation for the Red Room’s opening this weekend.”

He watches as a tinge of surprise paints Natasha’s features, but in a flash, she blinks it away as she turns to smile a little too sweetly at Loki, who shrugs nonchalantly in response. “Far be it for me to gatekeep a good time.”

“Well, I’m glad you could make it,” Natasha says as she turns back to Matt. “It’s been a while.”

“So am I, and it really has. It’s so good to see you,” Matt says before eyeing the rest of them. “The added audience notwithstanding.”

His brows furrow at Matt’s comment, and it is only Natasha’s chuckle that prevents a dagger of a glare from completely forming in his eyes. “I like to keep good company,” she says. “Matt, this is Steve Rogers and James Barnes. Their team will be running security for the opening.”

“We also provide round-the-clock security for Ms. Romanoff,” he says, giving the hand Matt stretches out to him a firm shake.

“I see,” Matt says before placing a hand on Natasha’s arm, his voice growing quiet as he adds, “Is everything okay, now? I know for a while there…”

He’s not sure why Matt’s words only stoke his mounting annoyance – the man is showing concern for Natasha, after all. And yet, something about this person being privy to something so personal about her makes him feel as though there’s a steel ball lodged in his chest.

“So far, so good,” Natasha says, shifting to meet his gaze for the briefest of moments as she adds, “helps to know someone’s watching your six.”

His lips threaten to quirk upwards in a smile at her words, and he looks away in an attempt to hide it just as Matt hums in response. “I’m glad things are looking up then,” Matt says before glancing at his watch. “I was actually just headed out to meet a few friends, but is there any chance you two are free for dinner?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Natasha begins. “There’s just-”

“We’ll be there,” Loki pipes in, prompting Natasha’s head to whip to him suddenly.

“We can even have it here in the hotel restaurant,” Matt adds, as if sensing Natasha’s reluctance. “That way, you two can get back to work right after.”

Loki beams. “Then it’s settled, we’ll see you this evening.”

“Great,” Matt says before glancing at Natasha once more. “It was great seeing you, Tash.”

“You too, Matt.”

Quickly, he presses a knuckle down on the call button, prompting the elevator doors to slide open once again. He walks in, situating himself in the corner with his back to the wall. Tash?

Bucky mans the panel, and the second they all filter in and the doors close, Natasha turns to Loki, her green eyes glaring. “What the hell was that about?”

“What was what about?” Loki replies all too nonchalantly.

“You know what,” Natasha insists, crossing her arms over her chest. “We barely have enough time as it is, we certainly shouldn’t be wasting it on some dinner.”

“Oh, relax, will you,” Loki says. “I know we have an endless list of things to double and triple check before the opening, but surely even we have to eat.”

“That’s what room service is for.”

“We might be here for business, darling, but it wouldn’t kill you to live a little.”

The ensuing smirk that finds its way to Loki’s lips causes his shoulders to tense, and he watches as an exasperated look paints Natasha’s face. “Loki-”

“Matty Murdock has always had a thing for you, and you know it,” Loki says before she can finish her protestation, and from where he stands, he has to shift on his feet. “And from what I remember of you two in boarding school-”

“Matt is married, ” Natasha says, and he nearly breathes out a sigh of relief at her words.

“Not as of six months ago,” Loki volley back, and he catches the way Natasha takes a step back in surprise at the news. “Look, I’m not telling you to start anything back up with the man, but we are in the City of Sin.” There’s a glint in Loki’s eyes as he suggestively adds, “Have some fun with the handsome devil.”

If Natasha responds, he does not hear it through the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He looks up at the glowing numbers above the doors, watching them increase with every floor they pass as he bites on the inside of his cheek. While tight spaces hadn’t been a worry for him before, it’s as though the walls are closing in on him now, his chest feeling as though there’s a weight bearing down on it.

The telltale ping of the elevator snaps him back, and the decision comes to him in a flash, his eyes immediately finding Bucky’s as everyone begins to exit. “You got it from here?”

Bucky blinks at him for a second. “Sure…”

“You’re leaving?”

He looks to find Natasha staring at him, a touch of worry in her expression. “Clint wants to go through the security plans a final time.”

“Oh, okay,” she says just as he hits the button for the lobby. “I’ll see you later then?”

“Might be awhile,” he says, “but Sam will be in for the night shift.”

He doesn’t wait for her response, nor does he see it as the doors close and he turns to lean his forehead against the wall, letting out a long and winded sigh.

“That Ossobuco was the best I’ve ever had,” Loki says as he sets his utensils down on his empty plate. “No wonder the Venetian hates you so much.”

Natasha smirks over her wine glass. It took a lot of convincing and a more than generous compensation package, but her first win in her quest to revamp this hotel was poaching the chef of the Venetian’s Michelin star restaurant away, and if Loki’s comment and the seemingly endless waitlist to get a reservation is any indication, the move’s already paying off in spades. “If they valued their assets enough, they would have paid them what they’re worth.”

“Ever the shark,” Matt says teasingly, smiling at her from across the table.

Next to her, Sharon scoffs. “Are you surprised?”

While she’s known Loki and Matt since her very first day at boarding school, Sharon had become part of their fold when she enrolled a few semesters later. Nevertheless, her spunky, devil-may-care attitude made them fast friends, and while they’ve endeavored to keep in touch, dinners between the four of them have been few and far in between with Sharon running her consulting firm out East. It’s only by a stroke of luck that Sharon’s visit to the country had coincided with the Red Room’s opening.

“I never said it was a bad thing,” Matt says, tipping his glass of bourbon towards her. “Eat or be eaten, right?”

“You know it,” she says, leaning back against her chair as they all share a laugh.

Despite her initial misgivings about this dinner, she’s glad that Loki had all but dragged her to attend. With the Red Room’s impending opening, her nerves have been frayed, and she’s glad for the temporary reprieve the last few hours have brought her as the four of them reminisced about what a handful their quartet had been back in their adolescence. All things considered, it’s nearly a perfect night.

Nearly.

Her eyes wander towards where Steve stands a few feet away, his hands behind his back as he keeps an eye on their surroundings. She didn’t quite know what to make of his abrupt departure this afternoon, or even if there’s anything to make of it. While she had grown accustomed to him accompanying her throughout the day, it’s not as though it’s been written in ink. He, too, had a company to run, and if Clint had something to discuss with him, then that’s something he should be able to attend to without her being overcome with some semblance of dread over his absence.

That’s the reality, and yet there’s a part of her that she can’t quite ignore – the part of her that senses that something’s not quite right. She was glad to see him eventually return, knocking at her door at six on the dot to escort her down to the restaurant. Even so, a silence lingered between them. It’s unusual given that if there’s anything that came easily to them since day one, it’s always been the conversation. And she knows it’s not due to Loki’s added presence, either. Steve’s never been reticent around her friend before, and she doesn’t believe there’s any reason for that to change now.

If nothing else, his sudden lack of words is jarring when just this morning, she thought they had shared a moment on the jet when he had helped alleviate her concerns about the Red Room’s opening and the absence of her parents. What’s shifted since then, she can only guess.

“What’s the deal with you and your bodyguard?”

Sharon’s question interrupts her thoughts, and when she blinks to focus, she sees that her friend has a brow arched at her in question. She steals a glance in front of her to see Matt and Loki engaged in conversation before turning back to Sharon. “Excuse me?”

“The gorgeous dreamboat that follows you around all day,” Sharon clarifies before nodding in Steve’s direction. “You’ve been looking his way ever since we got here.”

“I’ve been looking in that direction because we got intel that the woman seated in the table in front of him is a columnist from La Liste,” she says, reaching for her wine. “Her review could literally make or break this restaurant, so I’ve been trying to gauge her reaction.”

“Are you ever not working?” Sharon quips, to which she only shrugs unapologetically. “So, there’s nothing going on between you and…”

“Steve,” she finishes for her. “And, come on, Sharon, we work together. He’s the head of my security team.”

“And that’s a problem because…”

This time, she’s the one that quirks up a brow. “Do you fraternize with any of your consultants?”

“None of my consultants look like that,” Sharon counters, prompting her to roll her eyes in response. “Do you know anything about him then? Specifically, if he’s seeing anyone?”

“I don’t know,” she says, and she finds herself bothered by the fact that it’s the truth. Sure, they shared a night together a little over a month ago, and while they’ve been sneaking lingering gazes and errant touches in the weeks since, she realizes that she doesn’t actually know what goes on after he leaves. What she does know for certain though, is that the idea of him with someone else feels like a punch to the gut.

“It’s really just work between you two then,” Sharon muses before chuckling. “I have to hand it to you, Romanoff. You’re a better woman than I could ever be. Because if I had someone like that following me around all day?” She shakes her head. “I would get to know him very, very well.”

“Different strokes for different folks and all that,” she mutters, reaching for her drink.

“You wouldn’t mind me getting to know him then, would you?”

Her glass freezes midair at Sharon’s question, and, more saliently, at the suggestive smirk on her friend’s lips. Every cell in her body wants her to tell Sharon the truth – that yes, she does mind. She minds very much. Only, she knows she has absolutely no right to. Steve isn’t something to lay claim over, and even if that were the case, he still wouldn’t be hers. He couldn’t be. And that’s why, despite the unease that settles over her, she plasters on the best smile that she can muster. “Since when do you ask for permission anyway?”

“That’s true,” Sharon says, chuckling as she brings her glass to her lips, downing the rest of its contents in one go.

It’s as they’re saying their goodbyes at the end of their meal that she watches as Sharon makes a beeline for Steve, extending her hand out to him.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met,” Sharon says. “I’m Sharon Carter, Natasha’s friend.”

“Steve Rogers,” he says, smiling politely as he shakes her hand. “I’m-”

“The head of Natasha’s security team,” Sharon says, smiling. “She mentioned.”

If Steve is at all impressed by Sharon’s response, she doesn’t see it as Matt comes up to her, a little grin playing on his lips. “So, I was wondering…”

“I’m pretty sure those exact words got us into a lot of trouble way back when,” she quips, eliciting a laugh from Matt.

“Luckily, things have changed a bit since then.”

“Have they really?”

“Hey, I did say a bit,” Matt says before shaking his head. “Anyway, back to that thing I was wondering about… Any chance you’re still very much into ballet?”

She smiles. “Always.”

“Perfect,” Matt says, his face lighting up, “because there’s a show tomorrow at the Smith Center. Come with me?”

“Oh, Matt,” she says. “I would love to, but-”

“But nothing,” Loki interjects, draping an arm over her shoulders. “She’ll be there.”

She looks incredulously up at Loki. “The opening is literally the night after tomorrow.”

“So Sylvie and I will handle the final run-throughs,” Loki reasons. “If anything comes up, we’ll give you a ring. Hand to God.”

“I don’t know…”

“What if we play it by ear?” Matt suggests. “I know you’re busy, but if by the end of the day tomorrow, you happen to find yourself with some time to spare, the offer will still stand then.” He shrugs. “Give me a call, maybe?”

Even with Loki’s offer to cover the rest of the final arrangements, she doesn’t need to check her calendar to know that her schedule is brimming tomorrow. Nevertheless, the unadulterated sincerity in Matt’s tone makes it difficult for her to outright refuse. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll let you know.”

Matt beams. “Perfect.”

The silence is suffocating as she and Steve stand in the elevator as it ascends onto her floor, and as it bleeds into their walk to her suite, she finally turns to him. “Is everything okay?”

Steve shrugs. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Ever since you left in a hurry this afternoon, you’ve been off,” she notes, catching the way he steals a glance at something over her head. She looks back to see that Sam is already on the other end of the hall, the man dutifully staring forward, presumably to give them some semblance of privacy. With a sigh, she lowers her voice. “You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is.”

A litany of emotions paint his face, and for a moment, she’s hopeful that he’ll finally let her in on whatever it is that’s been bothering him. Instead, she’s disappointed to see him shake his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not,” she says, feeling a little like she’s just been slapped in the face. She turns to continue walking, but sensing his presence still behind her, she looks back at him. “Sam’s down the hall. You can go now.”

She doesn’t bother to check his reaction – if he even has any – as she begins to make her way to her suite. Once inside, she leans back against the door, tipping her head back and closing her eyes.

“Comms check. Confirm eyes on Red. Over.”

“Affirmative,” Steve says. “I have eyes on Red.”

As Clint acknowledges his response, he looks back towards the sea of flashing lights just a few feet away, watching as Natasha smiles for the cameras with one hand poised at her waist. Behind her, the logo of the Red Room glows crimson, providing a stark contrast to the jet-black two-piece number she had selected for the evening.

To say that his breath had gotten caught in his throat when he knocked on her door this evening to escort her to the rooftop would be an understatement. The second she pulled open the door of her suite and he laid eyes on her, for a beat there, it’s as though he had forgotten how to breathe altogether. From the deep V of her sleeveless blazer that showed off her perfect, alabaster skin to the satin dress pants that accentuated her shapely legs, there was no question that her suit was tailor made for her. She had kept her makeup light for the evening too, settling for darkened lashes that somehow made her green eyes look brighter and a light pink gloss on her already luscious lips. He isn’t certain how she managed to look both ethereal and still every bit the powerful CEO that she is, but just the sight of her was almost enough to make him forget the tension that’s built between them since arriving in Vegas.

Only, he can’t, and as he spots Matt making his way up the red carpet towards Natasha, pulling her in for a hug once he reaches her, he remembers why. As Matt and Natasha pose for pictures together, he shifts his weight on his feet, doing his best to prevent a scowl from forming on his face. Truth be told, if there’s tension between him and Natasha now, he knows he had precipitated it. To see her interact with Matt in the lobby when they arrived – that is, to witness the familiarity Matt had with Natasha and her life – was one thing. But once he caught wind of their history as Loki had all but encouraged Natasha to seek Matt out while they were in town, the very idea of Natasha with someone else had caused a hot streak of jealousy to singe its way down his entire being. Misplaced as the emotion was, he knew he needed to get out of there, which is why he had made up some lame excuse about having to meet with Clint.

A walk had done wonders to calm him down. With his emotions in order, he had found the courage to make it back to her floor in time to escort her down for dinner, fully intending to apologize to her for his behavior once he got the chance. But as luck would have it, as they were leaving the restaurant, he heard Matt ask her to the ballet. If she had accepted the invitation happily, he doesn’t know. Before he could hear her reaction, Sharon, her friend, had come up to him to introduce herself.

Not that it mattered. By the time he and Natasha had made it to the elevator, that unsettling feeling had returned to his gut, and though he felt terrible about the hurt look that crossed Natasha’s face at his curt response to her question about what was bothering him, all he could focus on was the idea of her potentially spending more time with Matt. But his premonition hadn’t been wrong, it seemed. By morning, when Daisy had emailed Natasha's agenda for the day, he saw that she had the entire evening blocked out for the ballet.

If there was any saving grace, it was that he wasn’t her night guard. And while he thought that avoiding the sight of Natasha and Matt together would provide him some sort of reprieve, his mind had other ideas. He had thought to sublimate at the gym, but it was to no avail. It didn’t matter how many times he pounded his fists into the sand-filled bag before him, no amount of force could exorcise the images of Matt peeling Natasha out of her dress from his mind.

As he focuses his attention back towards the carpet, he watches as Natasha begins to walk towards the entrance of the Red Room, and he grits his teeth when he sees the hand Matt places on the small of her back. With a sigh, he turns to follow them. He’d lost count of the number of night watches he’d done during his tenure in the Army, but somehow, something tells him that this night would shape out to be the longest of his life.

“What’s Red’s shithead of a brother doing here?”

From his position by the bar, he looks towards where Clint is stationed up on the balcony, his arms resting against the metal rails as he keeps an eye on the teeming crowd from up above.

“Which one?” Bucky asks from somewhere by the dance floor.

Sam scoffs. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” Clint concedes, “but I hope his business acumen is better than his dancing. If not, Red’s really holding this entire family up.”

“He’s here because he can’t resist a photo op and because the board doesn’t want the press to know that there’s a rift amongst the siblings,” Steve says, his tone clipped. “And keep the line clear.”

As a cacophony of apologies fill his ear, he mutes his microphone before huffing out a breath. There’s a part of him that knows that he’s being unfair to the team. His foul mood has nothing to do with their banter – usually, their snarky back-and-forth made working shifts like this fly by – and all to do with the fact that he chose to be in the field today of all days.

The thought is one he finds himself lamenting as he turns his gaze to his left, to where Natasha is sitting on one of the oversized couches, nursing a Martini as she chats with Loki and a group of their friends. Matt sits next to her, one arm draped around the back of the couch, and he doesn’t miss the way the man’s fingers caress Natasha’s bare shoulder every now and then. Much as he’d like to look away, he can’t. Regardless of how much the sight causes his blood to boil, it's his job to watch her. Even so, every single time he catches the gesture, he can’t help but curse his inability to stay put. He could have been the type of business owner that kept to balancing the books and negotiating their contracts, but because he’s physically incapable of remaining within the four walls of his office, he’s left with no choice but to watch another man do the one thing he wishes he could: touch the woman he’s absolutely crazy about.

It's then that reality crashes over him like a ton of bricks. Everything from his fetid mood to the tension that’s found a home seemingly in every muscle in his body since they walked into the hotel lobby a few days ago has nothing to do with Matt Murdoch specifically. And, despite what he’s been trying to convince himself of these past few days, it doesn’t even have anything to do with the history Matt shared with Natasha. The latter was none of his business, and when it came to the former, he barely knows the man outside of what he’s heard about his life in passing during what felt like the longest elevator ride of his life. Surely, what little he does know about him isn’t enough to warrant the hate he feels coursing through him every time he sees him.

But as he watches Matt lean in to whisper something in Natasha’s ear, causing her to laugh, he realizes that what he’s truly envious of are the possibilities Matt has. If Matt wanted to and Natasha was so inclined, he could wine and dine her. Matt could take Natasha’s hand and intertwine their fingers as he guided her through a crowd. The two of them could be out in the open together and no one would bat an eye. With them, being together would have zero consequences – the complete opposite of what it would be like for him and Natasha.

He swallows the sudden tightness that’s formed in his throat, and he peels his eyes away from Natasha for a second as he taps on his earpiece again. “Stepping off,” he says, already turning. “Sam, take my 20.”

“You got it, Cap.”

With Sam’s confirmation, he weaves his way through the crowd and towards the back of the club before slipping into the bathroom. At the sink, he splashes his face, repeating the action once, twice, and then another time in hopes that the frigid water will temper the bitter cocktail of longing and jealousy still burning its way through his entire being. When it doesn’t, he curls his hands around the sink, groaning in frustration and wanting nothing more than to rip it right off the wall.

Natasha isn’t his to covet. He has absolutely no right to feel this way – especially when it was he who had told her that being together would only compromise her safety. And yet, the very idea of her with someone else feels like a blade slicing right through his chest. The risks are crystal clear in his mind, and while he knows he won’t be able to live with himself should they ever play out, it’s as though his heart outright refuses to accept the reality.

He looks up at the mirror before him, studying his reflection, and while his face is hardened by the impasse he finds himself trapped in, somewhere in there he recognizes parts of the man he still is. The man who, regardless of the circumstances, always does the right thing. Who puts the people he cares about first. And while he may be at a crossroads now, what’s clear to him is that he needs to find a way to go back to completely being that man. For that man would never jeopardize the livelihoods of his peers. And, above all, that man would never let anything get in the way of protecting the woman who’s covertly clawed her way into his heart – his feelings be damned.

It's with that newfound determination that he lets go of the sink, shuts the water off, and dries his face. As he exits, he reaches for his earpiece. “On my-”

“Fancy running into you here.”

He looks up to find Sharon standing there, looking elegant in a little black dress and her pin-straight mane falling down her shoulders like a golden curtain. He musters a smile. “Sharon, hi. Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Sharon says, her lips coyly curling upwards. “I was actually hoping you’d be here tonight.”

“Is that right?”

Sharon nods, tilting her head to the side. “Any chance I could interest you in joining me for a drink?”

“Sharon,” he says, chuckling quietly as his gaze falls momentarily to his feet. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m on the clock-”

“Oh, come on,” Sharon says, taking a step forward so that mere inches separate them. “We’re at the hottest new nightclub in Vegas. Surely, even the big strong bodyguard can have a little fun.” Her hand falls to his arm, curling around his bicep as she stands on the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear, “Besides, your boss is pretty preoccupied right now, so I doubt she’ll mind.”

“Sharon-”

“Oh, excuse me.”

The voice is one he could recognize anywhere, and as he and Sharon turn towards the sound, his eyes widen when he finds Natasha standing there, appraising them both.

“Pardon the interruption,” she says, shooting them both the most saccharine of smiles. “I’ll find another bathroom.”

The techno beat pulses throughout the room, but Natasha doesn’t hear it through the sound of her own heart beating in her ears. She doesn’t really have a destination in mind as she pushes through the crowd of sweaty bodies, but what she does know is that she has to keep walking, to put as much distance between herself and the scene she just walked in on.

In all honesty, she doesn’t even know why she got up from her seat to begin with. First it was because the drinks that were being passed around the room were all too sweet and brightly colored for her liking. But as she rose from the couch to make her way to the bar, the sight of Sam standing in the spot a few feet away from her that Steve had previously occupied, stopped her in her tracks.

The irony wasn’t lost on her that in a room packed with people, somehow, she was the one fretting for her bodyguard. Absurd as the notion was, though, she decided to go searching on her own anyway – going as far as to let Sam know that he need not follow her when she saw him begin to move when she did. Unease flickered across Sam’s face at her request, but with one sweet smile and a promise to be back soon, he had let her go, no doubt radioing the rest of their team. Her eyes scanned the expanse of the room, searching the sea of bodies all but plastered together as they moved to the beat. Even the massive counter at the bar was filled with patrons, each of them watching as the bartenders put on a show as they poured their drinks. There was a part of her that knew that the sight should make her happy. Without a doubt, the Red Room’s opening was a success, and yet, all she could focus on was how none of these people around her were Steve.

At some point, she had wound up towards the back of the room, a wave of relief washing over her almost instantly when she passed the hall leading to the restrooms to see Steve’s familiar frame. Only the feeling was fleeting, dissipating almost instantly when she saw Sharon so close to him, whispering in his ear. She hadn’t meant to disrupt their moment, but the words had tumbled out of her mouth before she could bite them back, and it’s only by reflex that she managed to plaster on a smile for them both before excusing herself.

As she works to get away from them now, she supposes she shouldn’t be so surprised to have witnessed Steve and Sharon together. After all, Sharon had given her a heads up, and while she hadn’t even noticed her friend leave the little alcove they’d formed back at the couch, if there’s anything she knows about Sharon Carter, it’s that her determination is nothing but staunch. What she hadn’t anticipated, however, was just how much the sight of someone else’s hands on Steve was going to sting – hurting her more than she could have ever imagined.

She’s aware that it’s that very hurt that’s driving her to stop in front of a server now, but she doesn’t care. When her heart feels as though it’s just been ripped out of her chest, if she’s to survive the rest of the night, she needs to numb the feeling away. With that, she grabs a shot glass off the tray, bringing it to her lips and knocking back the contents in a single gulp. It’s only after the alcohol burns a stripe down her throat, momentarily blocking out the images playing in her head that she finds it in her to cross the room, making it back to where Loki and everyone else are still chatting animatedly.

She stalks up to where Matt is still seated, bending down to huskily whisper in his ear, “Dance with me.”

Matt turns her way, a smile breaking out on his lips as he rises from his seat and takes her hand. From the corner of her eye, she catches the brow Loki arches her way, but she ignores her friend as she allows Matt to guide her towards the dance floor. They settle at the center, and as Matt’s hands find their way to her waist, pulling her back flush to his chest, she begins to sway her hips to the beat.

If the music has lyrics, she doesn’t catch them. But it doesn’t matter. This is the type of music that’s meant to be felt, and it’s with that that she surrenders to the rhythm, raising her arm up to wrap it around Matt’s neck, holding him to her. Underneath the neon red lights that illuminate the dance floor, she allows herself to do everything one’s supposed to do at a nightclub. Bump. Gyrate. Hint at what lies ahead once the night ends. She and Matt grind together, and she can’t help but close her eyes when she feels his hold on her only tighten.

“Imagine what Principal Coulson would say if he saw us now,” Matt whispers in her ear, and she feels him smile against her skin as he nuzzles her neck.

“Probably the same thing he said when he caught us by the fountain,” she muses, her lips curling up into a smirk as she leans further into him and turns to catch his gaze as she adds, “That we’re bound to get arrested for indecency one day.”

Matt chuckles. “Far be it for us not to live up to his expectations.”

Before she can respond, Matt turns her, parking his hands firmly at her waist as he smiles down at her. And then he’s leaning down, but just as his face is mere inches away from hers, her hands suddenly come up, landing on his chest and pushing him away. “I’m sorry, Matt,” she says, her eyes wide. “I can’t do this.”

Confusion colors Matt’s expression as she turns away, and vaguely, she hears him call out to her over the music, but she doesn’t dare look back. Instead, she hastens her steps, the air suddenly too thick around her. It’s as though the presence of the crowd is all too much, and she knows she has to get out. Her eyes search for the glowing sign of the nearest exit, and she’s glad when she finds one close by. She turns the corner, stepping into the hall, only to gasp when she feels a hand on her waist, gripping her firmly and pulling her into a darkened room.

“Did he kiss you?” The question slips out angrier than Steve had intended it to, but with how incandescent he feels, he can’t quite seem to bring himself to care as he backs Natasha up against the door of the storage room, caging her in as he rests his hands on either side of her.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Natasha spits out, her nostrils flaring even as she makes no move to get away. The room is dark, lit only by the light peering in from the hall through the space between the blinds and casting a red tint on the small space. Nevertheless, he sees the ire in her stare as she glares at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t take a swing at you!”

He ignores her remark, gritting his teeth. “Did. He. Kiss. You.”

“What’s it to you?” she says, tipping her chin up in challenge.

Guilt washes over him almost instantly, the fight he had in him suddenly extinguished by her question. Despite the blinding envy rushing through him right now, he knows he has no right to demand answers from her, much less about this. He sighs, his expression softening. “Natasha-”

“Why are you acting like this?” she cuts in.

“How am I acting?”

“Like a jealous ass!” she says, unable to keep her frustration at bay any longer. He looks away, ashamed of how easily she had seen through him. “You’re the one that said we couldn’t be together, remember? That there are too many risks.” When he finally finds the wherewithal to meet her gaze again, he finds himself taken aback to see her expression brimming with mutual guilt. “And I’ve been trying to respect that. But ever since that night, all we’ve been doing is stealing moments where we can, and I go along with it, because you know what? I’d rather have a piece of you than none at all.” Her bottom lip begins to quiver, but she sinks her teeth right into it. “But then out of nowhere, you just push me away-”

“I pushed you away because I couldn’t stand to see you with him!” he finally admits, watching as her eyes widen in surprise. “I watch him with you, watch the way he touches you” – he grits out the last word, his eyes falling shut as the images of her dancing with Matt only moments ago replay in his head like a special kind of torment made just for him – “I see it and it makes me feral because I don’t want anyone else’s hands on you but mine!”

“So what, if you can’t have me, no one can?” she challenges hotly, her brow rising. “You don’t own me, and you definitely don’t get to act like you do just because you want to fuck me!”

“That’s not what I said!”

“Isn’t it, though?” she says. “You can’t tell me that the idea of me with someone else all but sickens you when not half an hour ago, you and Sharon-”

“Sharon? Natasha, nothing happened with her.”

“I saw it,” she says, a scowl forming on her forehead. “I saw her all over you.”

“And if you hadn’t run off, you would have seen me tell her that I wasn’t interested!” he exclaims before scoffing. “God, Natasha, how could I possibly be even remotely interested in someone else when you’ve been on my mind every second of every goddamn day since I met you?” Her lips part at the revelation, and as he looks her right in the eyes, his voice softens. “You’re so far under my skin that I find myself rationalizing all the ways to bend my rules for you, and that scares the shit out of me! Because the rules? They keep me from slipping. And I can’t slip, not with you.” He sighs. “You asked me that night what it’d do to me if something happened to you,” he reminds her. “It’d kill me, Nat. That’s what it’d do. But maybe that doesn’t even matter because resisting you? That might just kill me first.”

“Then stop!” she says, her words almost a plea. She brings her hands up, cupping his face between her hands, and it takes all of him not to melt right into her touch. “Stop resisting me, Steve.” She runs her thumb over his jaw. “You said we couldn’t be together because you’re scared I’ll get hurt, but the only thing hurting me right now is not being with you.”

He shakes his head. “Nat-”

“I miss you,” she says, pulling him closer. “I ache for you. So much.”

“Baby…” His eyes fall shut as he leans his forehead against hers. It’s as though the wind’s been knocked right out of him, taking with it the last vestiges of his will. He knows he should walk away right now, but all he can seem to focus on is how much he’s been aching for her, too. “Fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s leaning down to slant his lips over hers, letting his desire for her consume him whole. He kisses her as though he’s claiming her – allowing himself to pretend, if only for this moment, that she’s his instead of someone he covets – and he can’t help but groan at the intoxicating taste that’s a mix of her cherry lip gloss, tequila, and just her.

When he pulls away, he can’t help but smile as her lips chase his. He leans further away, and she whimpers. “Ssh,” he says, giving her a conciliatory peck before maneuvering them back a step so that her back is against the door once more.

“People will wonder where we are,” she breathes out halfheartedly, watching as he raises an arm to slide the lock shut behind her.

“They’ll wonder where you are,” he corrects. “But don’t worry, we’ll be out soon.” A smirk forms on his lips. “I just need to properly apologize first.”

Her eyes darken. “Do you now?”

His only response is to gently turn her, guiding her until she’s facing the door. “Palms on the door, baby,” he whispers, catching the way her skin prickles at his words as she complies. “Let me show you how sorry I am for acting like a jealous ass.”

She laughs at that, but the sound quickly dies when his hands find her waist, and he hears her breath grow shallow as they begin to move upwards. A shiver wracks her entire body when he presses a kiss just where her ear meets her neck, and the second he cups her breasts, palming her through the material of her top, she moans.

“Is this how you’re going to apologize?” she asks, her voice shaky as she leans her forehead against the frame and his lips brush against the nape of her neck.

He chuckles against her skin before trailing open-mouthed kisses down the column of her spine. “No, Nat,” he says, his hands finding the front of her pants and making quick work of undoing them. A whimper falls from her lips when he pulls the material down to her knees, taking her panties along with it. And as he curls his hands around her hips, she goes pliant under his touch, allowing him to tug her back until she’s almost bent at the waist. With her rear in the air, he kneels behind her, pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks.

“Steve,” she sighs out, craning her head as though she can’t resist looking back at him. “Please-”

Her words dissolve into a moan when he presses his thumbs against her, spreading her open, and he barely contains his growl when he sees how slick she already is between her legs. “This is how I’m going to apologize.”

“Oh, God,” she cries out the second he kisses her throbbing center, his touch like a jolt of electricity through her body as it trembles underneath his ministrations. None of his memories of that night or his fantasies over the past few weeks could compare to having her right now, to losing himself in the decadence of her arousal – she tastes of salt and honey and like the woman he’s been desperate to devour again, and he can’t help but groan as he licks a broad stripe up her sex. He lavishes attention on her clit, and he hears her breathing pick up as he swirls and sucks on the bundle of nerves, his name falling from her lips in quiet little pants as she attempts to keep her voice down. She tries to push her hips back, seeking more contact and whimpering in protest when he holds her firmly in place. Her thighs shake, and coupled with the way her walls are fluttering against his tongue, he can tell that she’s close. He quickens his pace, working over her with deep, firm licks until she shatters with a whine. Even so, he doesn’t relent, pulling her even closer to him until another orgasm bursts over her hot on the heels of the first.

It's when her breathing begins to stabilize that he pulls her panties back up, followed by her slacks. She turns as he rises to his feet, quickly wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Her lips pull up in a dazed smile when they pull away. “I suppose you’re forgiven.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he says, dusting another kiss to her forehead. She looks up at him, her eyes so vulnerable that it pulls at his heart. He cups her face in his hand, running a thumb over the apple of her cheek. “What is it, Nat?”

“Come back to my suite with me.”

This time, he doesn’t even think twice before nodding. He can’t, not anymore.

“Rogers to Comms, come in. I’m with Red. We’re inbound to base. Does anyone copy?”

The response is swift. “This is Wilson, I copy,” he hears Sam say just as Natasha swipes her keycard through the reader and he follows her through the doorway of her suite. “Making my way over.”

“Negative,” he says, closing the door behind him. “I’ll take the night shift.”

Natasha turns to him, the surprise on her face impossible to miss. He’s never done that before, but the implication of his words – of borrowed time for them – sparks something in her eyes that’s akin to hope. In his ear, Sam’s reply comes a beat later. “Copy that. Wilson out.”

He only manages to slip off his earpiece, tucking it into his pants pocket before Natasha closes the distance between them, her mouth hungrily finding his as she presses him against the nearest wall. He pulls her closer, letting out a moan when she nibbles on his bottom lip.

“Want this off,” she says between kisses, her hands balling around the collar of his shirt in emphasis.

A smile finds its way across his lips as he lets go of her, placing his hands up in front of him as if in surrender. Desire flashes brightly in her stare, causing a bolt of heat to tear right through him as she moves her hands down, her fingers quickly working to rid him of his vest and then his shirt. It’s as she pushes his button-up off his shoulders, baring his torso to her, that her eyes rake hungrily over his bare skin. She swipes her tongue over her lips, huffing out a sigh before looking heatedly back up at him. “You’re infuriatingly beautiful, you know that, right?”

“Look who’s talking,” he says with a scoff.

As she brings her eyes back to his chest, he catches the way her hands twitch, her fingers curling into her palms as though it’s taking a great deal of effort to keep them at her sides. “I-” she begins, only to shake her head. “Need you in my bed. Now.”

He pushes off the wall, letting her lead him past the living space of her suite and through the archway of the bedroom. A devious smirk paints its way across her lips the second they’re inside, and she plants a hand on the bare skin of his belly, pushing gently and walking him backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed.

“Sit,” she commands, and even in the darkness of the room, he catches the way her green eyes have all but gone black as he sinks down on the mattress. She struts over to him, the tops of her breasts brushing over his face as she leans in, and like a reflex, he reaches to pull her closer, only for her to step back.

“Nat,” he says, the need to touch her growing only all too consuming.

She wags a finger at him, and as he ticks a brow up at her, he watches in intrigue as she reaches for his belt, undoing the buckle and pulling it out from the loops. She runs her hands through the leather, pulling it taut as if to test its strength. He chuckles quietly. “Didn’t take you for the flogging type.”

“I’m not,” she says, moving to place one knee on either side of him as she sits across his lap. “But never say never.”

She reaches her arms around him, tugging his hands on the mattress, and it’s as she adjusts them behind his back, securing his belt around his wrists, that his lips quirk up. “I thought you liked it when I took control?”

“Oh, I do,” she says, moving off of him again. She takes a step back as she brings a hand to the back of her head, feeling for the pin of her updo. She pulls it loose, and as her hair cascades down her shoulders, she smiles. “But maybe I like it when you lose control for me, too.”

His breath catches in his throat, and he watches as she slides her hands down the front of her blazer, stopping right at the hem. Her fingers find the hook and eye closure, and she makes a show of slowly unclasping it. She undoes one, and then another, working her way upwards until the fabric falls open and sashays down her body, landing behind her with a soft thud and baring her creamy skin to him. From where he’s sitting, he revels in the ravenous look that fills her eyes, feeling himself tenting even more uncomfortably against his pants as he takes in the flat of her belly and the perfect teardrops of her breasts, her rosy nipples tipping upwards as they pebble in the cool air of the room.

She holds his gaze as she moves on to her slacks, unbuttoning it before sliding the zipper down. With a coquettish tilt of her head, she turns around, and then she’s hooking her thumbs into the waistband and causing a groan to rip from the back of his throat as she bends to slip it down her legs along with her panties. He can see the evidence of her arousal shimmering between her thighs, and whether that’s from what he’d done to her up in the Red Room or simply from the show she’s putting on for him now, he doesn’t know. Nor can he bring himself to care as his mouth waters.

She’s about to step out of her heels when she pauses, stealing a glance back at him. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she says, smirking. “You like when I keep these on, don’t you?”

“I do,” he tries to reply coolly, but his voice betrays him. She saunters back to him, her hips swaying with her every step before she moves to straddle him. As she does, he feels the warmth of her sex against him, and with a growl, he strains against his belt. “Natasha.”

“You said you weren’t going to touch me again,” she coos, desire crackling hotly in her eyes even as her mouth forms into a petulant pout. Her hands find his shoulders, and she dusts a kiss to his jaw. “Luckily, I didn’t make the same promise when it comes to you.”

“I think we both know I didn’t make good on that.”

“Maybe not, but you did make me wait,” she counters, flattening her palms against his chest. “God, Steve, do you have any idea how much I’ve been needing this?” She shakes her head, leaning in closer. “Ever since that night, I’ve been dying to feel you again…” Her lips begin to follow the trail of her hands, staining his skin with the remnants of her gloss as they graze each of his pecs and then every plane of his sculpted abs. “To touch every inch of you.” Her hands slide even lower, brushing past the light patch of hair below his navel, and he lets out a grunt when she cups the outline of his erection through his pants. “I mean, it’s only fair, isn’t it?” she muses, looking up at him from underneath the fan of her lashes as she undoes the button, “seeing as there isn’t a part of me you haven’t touched.”

A grunt – loud and feral – slips from his lips. “Nat,” he says, her name sounding both like a warning and a plea all at once. But then she slides a hand past the waistband of his boxers, and he throws his head back. “Fuck, fuck.”

“You know, I tried,” she says as she curls her fingers around the base of him, causing his hips to arch off the mattress as she squeezes. With her other hand, she hooks his chin between her thumb and forefinger, pulling his head back so she can slant her lips over his. “I tried to be… good.” She begins to stroke him, his breath picking up with every languid slide of her hand up and down his length. “I tried to play by your rules. Keep you out of my mind.” She pulls away from him, sighing. “But I remember everything.”

“What… what do you remember?” he manages to sputter out between heavy breaths.

“I remember how you touched me,” she purrs, making him hiss as her thumb runs over the head of him, gathering the wetness that’s formed before shuttling her hand back down. “I remember how you felt inside of me…” His entire body grows rigid at wantonness that fills her tone as she says that, and another curse falls unbidden from his lips. “The way you filled me and stretched me… ruining me for everyone else.”

“Jesus, Nat,” he swears, feeling the sweat beginning to form on his brow as he pants. “I-”

She cuts him off with another bruising kiss. “I remember what you taste like, too,” she says, making him whimper. “I want to taste you again.” She cups his cheek with her other hand, tracing his bottom lip. “Do you want that, baby?”

“Yes,” he says, not caring one bit that he’s begging now. “God, yes. Please, Nat. Please.”

With a final kiss to his lips, she lets him go, sinking down to her knees right between the spread of his legs. She makes quick work of pulling his pants and boxers down his knees, her tongue coming out to wet her lips as his length, thick and flushed, springs free.

“Oh, fuck,” he cries out the second she wraps her lips tightly around him. When he strains against the belt again, she digs her nails into the skin of his thighs, imploring him to stay still. She looks up at him, and the unabashed lust in her eyes as her mouth moves fastidiously over his shaft is without a doubt the biggest turn-on of his life, sending a fresh wave of desire right through him. His lips lift in a dazed, intoxicated smile. “So fucking gorgeous.”

His words only spurn her on. She pushes at his knees, and he parts them wider, surrendering to her and the delicious pleasure building at the base of his spine as she takes him deeper. But then she lets a hand roam lower, and he cries out, her name falling brokenly from his lips once again when she cups his sack, gently kneading it in her grasp.

It’s when she hallows her cheeks, sucking him harder, that he feels his quads begin to tighten, the beginning embers of his impending orgasm already sparking. And while he’s spent many a night wondering what it would be like to have her mouth on him like this, there’s something he wants more right now.

“Nat, sweetheart.” The weariness laced with the desperation in his tone causes her to ease off of him, and when she shoots him a worried look, he shakes his head. “Please, just- Need to be inside of you.” In a second, she’s rising to her feet, and despite the desire roaring in his veins as she pulls his boxers and pants the rest of the way down, he finds the wherewithal to call out to her again, nodding towards his pants. “Wallet.”

Her teeth bother her bottom lip for the briefest of moments before she cups his face. “I’m covered,” she heaves out. “And I’ve been tested.”

“So have I,” he says, eyes finding hers. “There’s no one else but you, Nat.”

She groans at that, the look in her eyes rapacious. “Then I want you bare,” she says as she makes a move to straddle him again.

“Wait,” he says, managing a lazy smile when she whines his name in protest. “Turn around.”

For a second, she stares at him, uncertain. But her confusion fades quickly, and he catches the way her skin prickles with gooseflesh, her breath hitching with excitement as his request dawns on her. She swivels around, her back to him, and when she positions herself over him, he swears he feels his blood run thick when she reaches for his length and rubs the head of him over her folds. She leans back as they both moan, taunting him as her scarlet tresses fan across his chest. He wants to grip her hair firmly in his hands, tug her back, and kiss her neck. He knows she knows it – and that she wants it just as much, too.

“So wet,” Steve all but growls into the skin of her shoulder as she continues to tease him. “Is this all for me, Nat?”

“Only for you,” she says, letting out a mewl when she finally sinks down on him. He moans loudly, feeling as though flames are licking across his skin as she takes him in, inch by inch. Behind him, his hands clench into fists in an effort to keep himself grounded. He’s been longing to feel her again for weeks, and now that he’s enveloped in her warmth, not a single barrier separating them, he feels as though he’s slowly being driven mad with desire. It’s only by sheer will that he resists the urge to buck up into her, allowing her to control how much of him to take. She whimpers his name when he finally bottoms out, one hand shooting up to wrap around his neck, holding him to her. “It’s so deep this way.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, kissing her neck, her cheek – any part of her that he can reach. “You’re perfect.”

He feels her shiver against him, and they both gasp as she begins to move her hips. Everything from the way her walls grip him to how his name falls from her lips as though it’s a benediction feels like nothing short of a fever dream. But it’s real. He can feel it, real and raw and oh so right as she rides him, and he savors each rise and fall of her body over his length.

“Tell me again,” she says, leaning back against his shoulder and pulling his head to the side. “Tell me there’s no one else.”

“There’s no one else,” he promises, and she looks so beautiful like this, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes wild that he can’t help but kiss her. “I want you, Nat. Just you.”

The needy moan she lets out against the lock of their lips causes a tremor to roll over him. He wants so badly to touch her, to grab her hips tightly, to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands. But he knows her, knows that for as much as she loves bequeathing control to him that sometimes, she needs to be able to lead, too. So he lets her, electing instead to bask in the view of her gorgeous figure moving up and down on him, her hands trailing up her own body, rolling a nipple between her fingers as she chases her own pleasure.

Soon enough, her hips are moving faster against him. Even so, she whines in discontent. She’s close, he can feel it in the way her walls clench around him and by how much louder her moans are growing, but he knows this isn’t enough.

“Untie me, baby,” he says. “Untie me so I can fuck you the way you need me to.”

She barely has time to react.

The second she frees him from his restraints, he springs up, wrapping his arms around her and maneuvering them until her back is on the mattress. He hikes her legs up on his shoulders, holding her down with his body. “This won’t last long.”

Her lips part to agree, to tell him how close she is already, but the words diffuse into a moan when his arms find her thighs, holding her in place as he enters her in one deliriously delicious thrust. She’s exquisitely pinned in this position, unable to do anything but wrap her arms around him, her nails scratching down his back as he pulls out nearly all the way before snapping his hips forward, burying himself deep into her. The pace he sets toes the line between pain and pleasure, but she welcomes it, luxuriating in being able to feel him in every part of her body, right down to her bones, as he drives into her hard, fast, and rough. Come tomorrow, she knows she’ll have bruises where he’s holding her, but she couldn't care less, only growing wetter at the idea of having some semblance of a keepsake to remember this moment by once it’s over.

“Steve,” she calls out at a particularly delectable push of his hips. He kisses her so hard and deep and consuming that she has to pull away, her lungs burning for air. “Oh, just like that.”

“Close, baby,” he warns, and she feels the way his thrusts grow erratic above her.

“Me too,” she whimpers as he reaches between them, down to where they’re joined. His hand brushes against her bundle of nerves, and she shrieks as he continues to drive into her, taking her body and claiming it with the hard and rough fucking that she’s been craving for weeks. She can see in the way his forehead is creased, a bead of sweat dripping from his temple, that he’s holding on for her – denying himself for her – and though she didn’t think it’s possible to want him any more than she already does, with every fiber of her being, she does. His thumb begins to rub tight circles around her clit, and as white spots start to flicker across her vision, she reaches for him. “Come on me,” she breathes out, pulling his face so close to hers that she can feel his breath across her skin. “Want to feel you all over me.”

She hears him groan just as the heat pooling low in her belly unfurls, causing her eyes to fall shut. Her stomach tightens, and as her orgasm bursts over her, curling her toes, everything around her blurs, save for the sensation of white-hot pleasure pulsing throughout her every cell.

Her body is still trembling when she feels Steve suddenly pull out of her, and as she forces her eyes open, she finds him kneeling between her legs, the muscles of his forearm flexing as his hand furiously strokes his length. Then he grits out her name, his hips bucking, and she gasps when she feels the warmth of his release against her belly, making the blood thrum in her veins all over again despite how boneless she already feels.

Steve collapses down next to her, and when she turns her head to him, her pride swells just a little at how thoroughly wrecked he looks. He peels an eye open once he gets his breathing in some order, reaching out to touch her face. “Are you okay?”

“Mm…” She doesn’t look away from him as she trails one hand down her stomach, rubbing her fingers across the warmth still strewn on her skin before bringing it up to her mouth. A curse falls from his lips, and she smiles as she licks her fingers clean. “Never better.”

It's later on when they’ve managed to clean up and make it under the sheets that he pulls her to him. Below them, Sin City is still alive and buzzing, the glow from the Strip casting her room in a neon hue. She rests her head on his chest, and as his hand begins to run up and down her arm absentmindedly, she revels in the quiet and the comfort of being wrapped up in his warmth.

“Do you think this’ll ever fade?” she asks, looking up at him.

“Wanting you this way?” he clarifies, to which she nods. “I don’t see how.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

He stares up at the ceiling, silent. Eventually, he sighs. “I don’t know.”

Earlier that night…

“Your Old Fashioned, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Thank you, Brad,” Loki says, leaning back into his seat on the balcony as the server leaves and he takes a sip of his cocktail. Before him, the sea of bodies is still grinding to the beat, showing zero signs of slowing down any time soon. It’s nearly midnight already, and he can’t help but smile into his drink. In the morning, the success of this opening will be strewn across the publications, and it’s with glee that he’ll clip every single headline into his next presentation for the quarterly Odinson Holdings earnings call. How’s that for a measly subsidiary.

His reverie is broken by the feel of a weight on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Natasha. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Had to get some air,” she says over the pulsing music, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Steve lingering a few steps away.

“Everything all right, darling?”

“Everything’s fine,” she says. As he studies her appearance, he notes the way the color on her lips has begun to fade, and while her hair isn’t a mess, the slicked back updo she’s had on certainly isn’t as pristine as when she first arrived. Even so, he says nothing of it as she shrugs. “I might have had a little too much to drink tonight, though. Do you mind if I take off?”

“Not at all,” he says, setting his drink down on the table before rising from his seat to wrap his arms tightly around her. “This night is a certified success. Congratulations.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” she says, squeezing him back just as tight.

“Oh, you could have,” he says. “You just wouldn’t have had as much fun.” He punctuates his words with a smile, making her giggle before he turns to Steve. “You’ll make sure she gets back to her suite?”

Steve nods. “Of course.”

He bids Natasha goodbye with a kiss on her cheek, and as she and Steve make their way down the stairs of the balcony and onto the main floor of the club, he picks up his drink again before walking towards the railing, looking out into the vast expanse of the room. He watches as they both make their way towards the exit, Steve slightly in front of Natasha as he guides her through the throng of people.

“You know something.”

The statement prompts him to glance to his left to see that Sylvie’s joined him, her hands curled around the railing as she, too, watches Steve and Natasha leave. He doesn’t respond, electing instead to take another sip of his drink as he looks back out onto the floor.

“This little class reunion of yours… it isn’t the happenstance she thinks it is, is it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, merely earning a snort from Sylvie.

“You’re not going to tell her that you know?” she asks, a touch of amusement in her tone. “It’s unlike you two to keep secrets from each other.”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, a smirk crossing his lips. “She’ll tell me when she’s ready.”

[gigamuffin]

[The Villains] [Landlubbers] [Media links]

You may recognize the name Kaptein Sabeltann in some of my posts and may have wondered "Hey who is that totally sick and awesome pirate?" Well here's a (mostly objective and unbiased) introduction to our main crew!

Kaptein Sabeltann (Captain Sabertooth) himself is the most feared and revered pirate of the seven seas and the self-proclaimed king of the sea. He is known for his love of gold and the ability to literally smell it + the catchphrase of the show "Hiv o' Hoi". He is a stubborn, decisive pirate who expects everything to follow his way. There is a rumour that Kaptein Sabeltann has sailed the seven seas for a hundred years, but this is often dismissed as scared landlubber tales.

Kaptein Sabeltann sails onboard Den sorte dame (the dark lady) with his crew: Langemann, Pelle, Pysa, Benjamin, Skalken and a young cabin boy Pinky. They reside in a port called Abra Havn, hidden away on an island surrounded by fog and through a narrow passageway only Langemann knows how to get Den sorte dame through. This place is called “Det usynlige land" (the invisible land)

Den sorte dame (the dark lady). Fun fact her skull actually opens and closes it's mouth, and if you don't think that's cool you're not real. They sail her around for the show at night and in the daytime, she is free to ride in the park itself!

Let's talk about Kaptein Sabeltann's first mate and right-hand man: Langemann (Longfinger) (pictured on the left). He is Kaptein Sabeltann's most trusted man and helps keep the crew and sometimes the captain himself in check. He is the only other person with free access to Kaptein Sabeltann's castle. Langemann is known as "Sabeltann's shadow" because "Where Langemann is Kaptein Sabeltann is close by."

Langemann is very serious about his job and makes sure the usually incompetent crew actually does their duty. But off duty, he knows how to joke, flirt, sing and just be an average guy, which is something he uses to his advantage to spy on landlubbers (one of his main jobs is to fool them for information on treasures). Langemann is Pinky's father figure, and behaves very much like dad in general.

And this is Pinky (Tiny, pretend his english name isn’t real), he's technically our main protagonist and has the overarching plot of the show. Pinky was found on a shipwreck as a baby by Kaptein Sabeltann and his crew (but mostly by Langemann). He grew up in Abra Havn amongst pirates and dreamed of becoming the world's youngest pirate, which is something Kaptein Sabeltann scoffs at. Kaptein Sabeltann only sees Pinky as "the kid that Langemann picked up in that shipwreck" and doesn't take his wishes to become a "real pirate" seriously at all. Langemann on the other hand does try to encourage him to become a pirate someday. He is currently 11 years old in canon. After he realizes he doesn't want to be a pirate anymore he dreams of finding his biological dad, Morgan, instead. This is his overarching plot of the show.

Langemann used to be close friends with Pinky's biological dad Morgan and raises Pinky assuming Morgan is dead. Pinky lives at Langemann's house and often follows him around when he's in Abra Havn. Pinky looks up to both Langemann and Kaptein Sabeltann a lot growing up. Pinky is valued for his ability to read but other than that he is just a cabin boy in Kaptein Sabeltann's eyes.

Now we can move on to the other crew members.

Pelle and Pysa (Wally and Wimp) are twin brothers and huge mama's boys. They can't read, write or count, which is often the butt of some joke. Pelle (Wally) sees himself as the "older brother" of the two, despite being only a few minutes older. He is often very bossy and mean to his brother Pysa. Pysa (Wimp) as his name implies is more of a coward. Other than that they are very similar. They are the stereotypical stooges, comedic reliefs, and love food, especially their mother's cooking. They are always bickering and even have a whole song dedicated to just that.

This is Benjamin (no yeah he's Benjamin in english too we're blessed), he is lazy first and foremost, and boisterous. He usually tricks Pelle and Pysa into doing his job for him. Despite doing very little he often brags about being one of Kaptein Sabeltann's most famous and talented crew members. He often twists words or cracks jokes (often referencing things from modern day, aimed at the adults in the audience) that annoys Kaptein Sabeltann and the crew. He very much prioritizes fun and jokes over doing his job and being serious. If Pelle and Pysa are the physical comedy he is the verbal comedy. Benjamin also has the best eyesight of the crew and is often stationed at the crow's nest.

Finally there is Skalken (Tully, his name actually translates to crust)...... Skalken is the ship's cook, and just by looking at him you can guess he isn't very good at it. Skalken only cooks food that makes the rest of the crew squeamish. He is often on the hunt for rats and cockroaches to put in his "famous" rat soup. According to him, rats and cockroaches are nutritious meals and a necessity to pirates. Despite everyone verbally and physically hating his cooking he just laughs and goes on believing he is a first class gourmet chef. He is our gross-out humour guy. Skalken, like Benjamin, often makes jokes that go over kids' heads, only Skalken has the ability to break the 4th wall.

And that's the main crew of Den sorte dame! I plan on writing another post for the villains, the side characters and the shows themselves in the near future. I will also have a short post with links to some of the media up soon. See you then!

[meyousing]

𝒞𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜, 𝒮𝑜 𝒫𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: chrollo with a super obedient reader that just complies to whatever he says and frequently asks him if she can do stuff no matter how many times she's told no

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: despite your undying loyalty to chrollo, something inside of you persistently wonders if your love truly is mutual, and how he sees you. his answer is unexpected, and leaves you questioning your decisions thus far.

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: yandere chrollo, sfw, manipulation/gaslighting. part two here!

“What if we got a puppy?” your feet swayed beneath the kitchen island, chin resting upon your interlocked fingers which soon moved to hold your head up by the jaw instead. 

You couldn’t see Chrollo’s visible reaction to this inquiry, his back was turned as he had been brewing the both of you an evening tea. You liked to watch him carry out such mundane tasks, it felt so domestic. As if you two were a normal couple; as if you were a tired wife who just returned home from her irksome job, with your loving househusband catering to your needs so he could help you relax after such a long day. This, instead of an essential cult leader and the woman he saved. But you didn’t see it that way. Chrollo’s power made you view him as your protector, who knew what was best for you and ensured that every decision he made for you was ultimately beneficial. 

He chuckled softly, looking to the side, his charming profile in your sights as he spoke.

“You know we can’t do that, my beloved.” 

You watched him turn his back to you once more, an arm raising as he poured your drinks into the cute, matching “Mr. & Mrs.” mugs that you asked him to buy you as a birthday gift last year. (He questioned if there were any particular reasons why you wanted these mugs, given the officiality of the titles they displayed. You told him that if that was what he desired, then yes).

You did know that you couldn’t do that; get a puppy. Because it was Chrollo who said you couldn’t do that, the same Chrollo who knew what was best for you, after all. You agreed with him. You trusted him. But it couldn’t hurt to have asked. Maybe you’d try again in a few days or weeks. 

You’d like to have another companion at your side for when Chrollo was out on long days with his troupe, with you being unable to join him for obvious reasons, always leaving you alone for so much time. If he said yes, you would have something more to occupy your daytime, too. Reading could only provide entertainment for so long before plots became repetitive or too easy to understand, and while you appreciated his thoughtfulness when he bought you a laptop that couldn’t connect to the internet but still provide you with digital papers to write your own stories on; something tangible and alive like a pet would make your life so much more… lively, so much more fun. But you were unwilling to argue with him, who always had your best interests at heart. Chrollo had never steered you wrong before, it would make no sense for him to start now. 

He was at your side rather quickly, breaking you out of your thoughts by placing your cup down in front of you and sitting at your side with his cup in his fist. You smiled in thanks, placing your hands around the mug to warm your fingers and let the drink cool off before sipping. 

“Would a plush suffice?” you heard him ask, peeking up to watch as he took a quiet swig of his tea. 

It really wouldn’t. This was said from the bottom of your heart, the very truth. But you told that voice to be quiet, that a plush would absolutely be enough. Chrollo may have been asking you this, though he may as well have just said “a plush will suffice.” 

“Of course” you leaned into him, puckering your lips to peck his cheek. His hand swiftly caught you by the jaw and pulled you in for a real kiss, your lips meeting his sweetness with some warmth from the remnants of his pekoe. His thumb brushed over your cheek as you parted. 

“Such a precious thing, you are.”

Is it my obedience that makes him think this? You would continue to be that way if it were the case. But Chrollo was a bit of an enigma, you could never really know. He let you know as much as he wanted you to know, and who were you to ask for more? Once again you hushed that internal voice, you are precious indeed. Chrollo thinks so, so you are. That’s all there is to it. 

You melted as he wrapped an arm over your shoulders, bringing you closer into his embrace. Your temple rested against his chest, the gentle thrum of his heartbeat lulling you into a tranquil state. A tranquil, vulnerable, impulsive state.

“What would you do if I never listened to you?” you couldn’t stop the words before they left your mouth. 

A beat of silence.

You felt him hum. 

His hand on your tricep squeezed. 

“Well…” he laughed. “What use would you be to me then?” 

Ouch. You moved to detach from him, to make eye contact and wonder if what he just said was meant genuinely, to see if his eyes were as honest as his words. His grip on your arm was unrelenting, you squirmed for a moment before coming to your senses; you weren’t going anywhere. 

“What do you mean?” your voice was timid. You knew that you couldn’t accept the truth, that your compliance to his every word was the reason why your life here was so simple, so problem free. What started as an impulsive question that you couldn’t control was now a thought beginning to plague you. What would he do if you didn’t act this way? What if you fought back or if you resisted his commands and advances? 

You were complicit because you loved him. It was a hard pill to swallow, to come to terms with the fact that the version of Chrollo that you were bound with now was not the same Chrollo you fell in love with. In spite of that, there was a part of you that loved him still, even who he was now; the ugly truth of him. 

But if you weren’t this way, if you weren’t obedient and allowed him to control your every decision, then… you would just have no purpose in his life? You could see past his flaws, but he couldn’t see past yours?

“You know exactly what I mean, Y/N.”

Of course, you did. Because it was Chrollo who said you knew that, the same Chrollo who knew what was best for you, after all. 

He held you impossibly closer, both of his arms caging you into his chest as you brought your fists beneath your chin, pressing into him and allowing his warmth to consume you. How much truth did his words bear, if he held you this way? His clench on your arm had long softened, that same hand now rubbing up and down in a very soothing way, a way that had you sighing in contentment. 

Maybe you could play this part for a little longer if it meant being touched with such fragility as if you were a precious artifact of the utmost value. That wasn’t too far off from the truth, was it? You are precious, remember? Chrollo said so. 

You could only play a part for so long, though. It felt wrong to envision, but delight filled you at the image of Chrollo’s potential reaction to a sudden outburst or blatant disagreement on your part. Would he let you off with a warning, or do something grandeur? No matter how far away, you could not wait for that day to come. 

© meyousing 2023. do not share/export my work on to any other platforms. do not translate my work. 

[astranite]

Blue-Grey

Some Early IR and post-Bereznik Jeff and Scott, featuring the blue sash Scott would've had if not for everything.

Hurt/comfort. Mentioned PTSD given post-Bereznik.

(I wrote this yesterday completely not meaning to, didnt post it because it was too late and I needed to get some sleep, and completely forgot about it until now!)

-----

“So how do I look?” Scott gave a spin, showing off the form-fitting, blue tactical suit and sash they’d decided was going to be the uniform for International Rescue.

Jeff gave a thumbs up, swallowing the lump in his throat. His boy had come so far. 

From the kid who’s eyes were always on the skies, to the young man who couldn’t be without them. From who he returned as, when he thought he’d never live to see them again.

Scott was still too thin, bones prominent in the way of lost weight instead of harmless youthful ganglyness, but it was sights better than it had been. Getting back into training meant he was even gaining some more muscle again. The dark shadows under his eyes seemed permanently stamped there, but there was some spark back in the blue. He woke up yelling from nightmares on occasion, flinched if someone touched him without warning, and watched the exits, but the flashbacks in the daytime were far rarer and Scott was more like himself again. Talk even was of getting him back into duty, not yet, but now it was soon becoming a possibility.

The move to the island had done them all good. And IR, a project, a focus to drive their energy towards. A grand goal to do everything they could to prevent another family from experiencing the sort of loss his had.

Scott was watching him, even as he adjusted and readjusted the blue baldric, fidgeting with the buckles. Jeff had picked out blue for Scott, just as he’d given each of the older boys their favourite colours (and well, there were some left for the younger ones if they happened to want to be a part in a few years.) He’d taken the silver for himself, know it was the right choice when Scott’s face lit up at his own bright blue.

But right now that grin was forced and faltering. Scott’s teeth worried at his lower lip, eyes fixed on the floor between glances up, looking to him for direction.

Jeff despised the easy confidence that hellhole had stolen. And everything else that had been taken from his kid. 

He swallowed again and stepped towards Scott, smiling and telegraphing his movements.

Gentle fingers tipped up Scott’s chin so he could meet his eyes. 

“You look like you’re gonna go far, Bluejay. And I’m here now to cheer you on every step of the way,” Jeff told him.  

Scott’s intake of breath was sharp with disbelief. 

A quiet, “Dad,” and a shake of his head followed it.

“I believe in you, son,” he said firmly, and tugged Scott into a gentle hug. 

Jeff was rewarded by Scott leaning into him, head finding its way to be buried at his shoulder.

Even if he hadn’t always been there. On long missions, after Lucy… Well, here he was now.

All he could do was wrap his arms around his Scott, and hope that even with all the ways he’d failed him, that somehow he could still protect his son from the world. 

-----

(I have more Thoughts about Scott and Jeff, and Jeff throwing them all into IR, maybe a bit too much, too fast with too few people to help and hold them up, and then the Zero-X happens, and I don't think Jeff planned for that--- But I think that's more for another story!)

[vasheden]

Rinkah Bajhiri

Basics-

A.K.A.: Rin, to friends. She’s pretty strict on casual acquaintances and strangers using her whole name.

Age: 29

Nameday: 10th sun of the third umbral moon (which is 6/9, completely accidentally)

Race: Keeper of the Moon miqo’te, 1/4 hrothgar

Gender: Female

Orientation: Bisexual and demiromantic

Profession: Mercenary, alchemist

Physical Aspects-

Hair: Very dark green that looks black except in the light. Slightly longer than shoulder length, usually kept braided or tied out of the way.

Eyes: Pale silver, almost white. Reflect light and seem to almost shine even in daytime.

Skin: Grey skin with black tabby markings all over

Tattoos/Scars: Healed gouges across her nose and left eye, several healed stab wounds in her stomach and back, tattered ears

Family-

Parents: Never knew her dad. He was a wandering adventurer who hooked up with her mom and then went on his way. Her mom wasn’t great, but wasn’t terrible. She was mostly just there. Rinkah left her village at 14 and hasn’t seen or heard from her since.

Siblings: None that she knows about

Grandparents: None

In-Laws/Other: Drusilla and the lemures are the closest thing she has to a family. They took her in, saved her from the voidsent that was slowly killing her, and offered her a place in their family.

Pets: Taro the tiny tapir. He sleeps next to her and eats her nightmares.

Skills-

Hand and Land: Rinkah is a very talented alchemist, if a little bit reckless. She was initially self-taught, making medicines, potions and other supplies that she could sell on the streets for less than the official prices. She got caught, but her work was good (and Severian hates menial tasks), so she got hired by the alchemist’s guild. She is also a decent botanist and miner, due to needing to gather her own materials.

Combat: Rogue and reaper. Her skill with her daggers carried her for a decade, until she encountered Drusilla. She recognized that a voidsent had been haunting Rinkah, and offered to teach her how to use it to her advantage.

Hobbies: She really enjoys painting, saving images of places she’s been so she can revisit them in some small way. She also really likes experimenting in the kitchen. She’s always on the lookout for interesting new ingredients and recipes to try.

Traits-

Most Positive: Doggedly loyal to her friends, incredibly professional and keeps her word/contracts with employers

Most Negative: Hot-headed and distrusting. She doesn’t come around to liking folks easily and tends to keep very solid, very high walls up.

Likes-

Colors: Black, mossy green, red

Smells: Fresh coffee, old books, the astringent smell of mixing chemicals

Textures: Well-worn wood, deerskin leather. Her house is full of very solid, cozy things.

Drinks: A nice cup of coffee, whiskey, green tea

Foods: She really loves the food from Doma and Hingashi. Her pantry is full of ingredients she stocked up on the last time she visited. She also really likes Ul’dahn comfort foods, like hearty mushroom stews.

Other-

Vices: Smokes like a chimney, prone to picking fights when she drinks too much. Has experimented with a lot of drugs (especially homemade ones), but doesn’t do any of them regularly

Mount Issuance: She has a motorcycle that she tinkers with sometimes, and an alkonost that she befriended. She was absolutely entranced by him when she first saw him in Kaia’s island paddock, and over time she won his trust. The day he let her climb on his back is a big contender for happiest day of her life.

Been Arrested: Yes, a couple of times. She got caught undercutting the alchemist’s guild and released into Severian’s service, and she’s been locked up overnight a few times after bar fights that got out of hand. She’s tried to stay on the Yellowjackets’ good side after starting work for Jacke, just because she doesn’t want to make any trouble for the rogues.

This has been in my drafts for so long, sorry about that @halikyon! I was also tagged by @elliewiltarwyn! I’m just gonna leave this an open tag for anyone who hasn’t seen this yet ☺️

[lostloveletters]

Bruised Fruit Chapter 4 (Michael Corleone x OC)

Summary: In the Bible, Cain killed Abel, and when confronted by God responded, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” But Michael isn’t Cain, and Gloria isn’t God. She doubts he’d answer her if she were.

Note: Thank you everyone who's read the fic on here and AO3! Your support means a lot to me🖤

Warnings: Angst, canonical major character death, emotional manipulation. Sexually explicit content that involves vaginal fingering.

Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content. I will block you.

Chapter 3 | AO3 Link | Masterlist

“Were you at Guadalcanal?” she had asked, his eyebrows raising in the slightest display of surprise. “I remember reading that article in Life magazine about you. My brother was there, but he won’t talk about it.”

That was the first conversation she had with Michael after Fredo’s brief introductions between them. A clumsy encounter, awkward, even, as she could tell Michael was politely tolerating her presence for his brother’s sake until she couldn’t help but bring up Guadalcanal. Suddenly, Fredo was dead, and Gloria began to suspect Michael had never truly left that island. 

She could only piece together what had transpired on Michael’s disastrous trip to Cuba. No coincidence that Fredo’s death occurred just after Hyman Roth’s assassination made the front page of The Daily News. The bell had tolled both for he and Rocco Lampone, one of Michael’s caporegimes who was shot by federal agents immediately after taking out the hit, according to the paper. 

At the same time, Gloria struggled to wrap her head around Michael ordering his own brother’s death. Perhaps it was her own attachment to Jackie, but she couldn’t imagine a situation where she’d even consider that an option. She and Jackie didn’t talk often, but they were as close as they could be considering the circumstances.

She wouldn’t have even considered the possibility if Michael hadn’t attributed Fredo’s death to drowning when he broke the news to Gloria. Though she tried not to show it, she’d taken pause at that detail. Even after a few drinks, he was a good swimmer, often hanging out at the hotel’s pool with whichever waitress of the week had caught his attention. 

Michael’s eyes widened when Gloria teared up. She’d been able to keep herself composed throughout his mother’s funeral and wake, but not knowing Carmela much at all helped that. Fredo was a better boss than other people she’d worked for in the past. She supposed she considered him a friend.

“He was always so nice, really, everyone at the hotel liked him,” she managed to mumble. “I’m so sorry, Michael. Losing your brother—I can’t even imagine.”

He reached out and caressed her cheek, her tears rolling down her face and onto his hand. He stared at her, silent for a moment. “You’re here, darling. That’s all I need.”

She took his hand from her face and kissed his palm, giving him a weak smile. His gaze was dark, dense and sprawling like the bare trees that hadn’t yet begun to bloom so early in spring. So easy to lose her way if she weren’t careful in the daytime, helplessly lost at night if she dared attempt to do so. She could see herself, so minuscule reflected in his eyes like an omen. 

Finally, she broke his gaze, wiping her eyes. He gave her a hug and a soft kiss on the cheek that lent her some warmth, allowing herself to wallow in his embrace. She sniffled, rubbing her face in his shoulder without care as to the makeup and snot that she’d surely smeared on his clothes. He shifted one hand from around her back to stroke her hair, his fingers getting caught in the microscopic tangles and stray curls she struggled to keep under control. His comfort was all she’d be offered, and she accepted it as long as he’d provide it.

Minutes passed before Michael put his hands on her shoulders, telling her in a gentle voice to take a hot bath to calm her nerves, and that he’d be just outside if she needed anything. Reluctantly, Gloria nodded, though she didn’t leave her spot, even when he was outside, instead staring at her feet, her arms wrapped around herself. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt so helpless, so morose.

Michael glanced back at the house, his young fiance no longer in view. Gloria, Latin for glory. Reminded him of attending mass as a child. Supposedly echoed by choirs of heavenly hosts in the presence of the Almighty, a being so extraordinarily divine that to gaze upon His visage would cause certain death. Until the end of time and beyond that, Gloria, Gloria, Gloria en excelsis Deo. Forever and ever. He sighed. Gloria.

She’d been so deceptively earnest in asking him about Guadalcanal when they’d first met, clumsily paired by his traitorous brother. He almost couldn’t help but humor her question, and the subsequent ones that followed, betraying her knowledge of what transpired on those nightmarish islands but a desire to understand it all the same. She had thanked him for being so honest, a striking smile on her face that made him feel like it was reserved just for him.

He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, but she had made it so difficult, pretty and wild with a gleam in her eye that made him want to indulge her despite all reason. So he indulged her question about Guadalcanal, and then almost every other request she’d made, doing so while stewing in the fact that she was yet another reminder that he was merely a man, a slave to his base desires.

Coaxing her into calling him by his first name had been a bit of a challenge. In every other circumstance, he’d expect to be addressed as ‘Mr. Corleone’. Instead, he was inexplicably frustrated by her insistence on maintaining the veneer of professionalism despite his being uncharacteristically personal with her. So, he brought those damn service medals with him all the way from New York to Nevada. Hadn’t even looked at them since he returned from his exile in Sicily. 

The banquet hall had been practically empty, save for a handful of other employees setting out utensils ahead of Johnny Fontaine’s dinner show that evening. ‘I’d like to show you these somewhere private, Gloria. They’re very personal to me,’ he’d said, his voice low so only she could hear. 

She gave him that same striking smile when she agreed to go up to his room with him. He wasn’t a man many people said ‘no’ to, and she wasn’t a woman who said ‘no’ to many men. A morbid part of him wanted her to, just to see what would happen, test his already dwindling self-control. He could feel it slipping from between fingers when the door clicked shut, wondering how she could be so calm, alone in a room with a married man. Either she’d done so countless times before or hadn’t been expecting him to fold. Probably both.

Her fingers had brushed his World War II Victory Medal, then his Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal, then, while he described how he earned his Navy Cross, she finally uttered his name in a raspy lilt. Michael sounded almost foreign coming from her lips, part of this secret they were sharing—hotel rooms and service medals and first names. As soon as she pinned the Purple Heart to his lapel, her manicured hand lingering on his chest for just a moment, his ego howled for a taste of blood. Tiger, she called him, lurking in the dense jungle, fiery eyes stalking his fox-prey as she chased pleasure without a thought for him until he pounced, and, in turn, consumed her, razor-sharp maw dripping with her passion.

Hearing about her other dalliances, never from her but always in passing, made him silently seethe with a raging possession he knew he had no right to feel, but did nevertheless. She had clearly assumed that he would be a quick and casual fling like every other man she saw. He resented those men not just for their proximity to her, but at the ease with which they seemed to be able to cut things off with her. Every time he told himself a visit would be the last, he’d habitually slink back to her in the still of the night. He supposed giving in to those instincts served some purpose higher than simply giving in to desire. If he hadn’t, he would have been alone, without hope for another son.

Little else good had come from his family’s tenure in Nevada, and upon receiving confirmation from Tom of Frank Pentangeli’s suicide, had quickly come to the conclusion that they could get a chance at yet another fresh start in New York. Besides, with the newly created vacuum of power there in light of Roth’s and Pentangeli’s deaths, he needed to move in quickly to maintain control.

Gloria sat in the bathtub, watching her fingers prune beneath the foggy surface. She had run it scalding, tears streaming down her face as she allowed the hot, perfumed water to engulf her. When it had cooled enough to not be painful to the touch, she splashed some on her face. A knock at the door caught her attention.

“Gloria? It’s me.”

“Come in.”

Michael opened the door as narrowly as he could to slip inside, not wanting to chance anyone catching a glimpse of Gloria in her state of undress despite the bathroom being in the master bedroom, which few people were allowed in, anyway. He watched as she pulled her knees to her chest, looking at him expectantly. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, tie nowhere to be found as the first two buttons of his shirt were undone. He looked almost as disheveled as he did that night he appeared at her apartment.

“I decided it would be good for the family to move back to New York,” he said, sitting on the edge of the tub, his fingers grazing the top of the warm, sudsy water. “I’m going to make an offer on my childhood home tomorrow. It should close by the end of the week.”

“Long Beach, right? That’s pretty close to my parents. They’ll be glad,” she said. “Did the people who lived there say why they were selling?”

“An old associate of my father’s lived there, but he died recently. His widow put it up for sale. Doesn’t need such a big place anymore.”

“Wow, between your friend, Fredo, and your mother…it comes in threes, that’s what my dad always says.”

She knew when his thin-lipped smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, it wasn’t so simple.

“Things will be different in New York. Quieter, not as much trouble,” he said.

“So you’re leaving me here?”

He snickered, his smile more genuine as the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I said not as much.”

“I see,” she said, shifting in the tub, her bare breasts peeking from beneath the water, and she gasped as the cool air brushed her sensitive skin. She noticed his eyes on her chest. “You just here to look, or are you trying to go for a dive, tiger?” she asked, her laugh light and airy until his hand dipped beneath the water to squeeze one of her breasts.

“Something like that,” he muttered, gently tugging her nipple before doing the same to her other breast.

There they were again, those eyes like woods she’d lose herself in. This time, she did so willingly as he drew her in with his touch, his arm submerged in the bath water as he slipped his fingers between her folds, watching as she gripped the edge of the bathtub. She lifted her hips, rolling them slightly as she felt his fingers fill her. 

“Michael—fuck,” she groaned when his thumb brushed her clit. “I need more.”

The sensation was odd, for all they’d done in the past, bathtubs had never been involved. Pools and showers, yes, but perhaps they’d both wordlessly come to the conclusion that something about a bath was far too intimate. She could understand why in that specific situation, something inherently erotic about him being fully clothed while she was quite the opposite, exposed and easily accessible for him.

With a curl of his fingers, a loud moan echoed through the tiled room. No one would hear her anyway. As she flexed her legs, calves burning ever so slightly, she tried digging her nails into the porcelain tub, breaking one with the force she used to grip the sides of it. 

“Don’t tease me,” she growled, voice low and husky in her frustration. 

Her eyes met his again, and she was something wild in that forest, a woman-beast with no regard for civility, instead venturing deeper in search of pleasure. It was how Michael had lured her in, carefully domesticating her before she could realize what he’d done. Her body jerked as she felt her orgasm building up inside her, splashing water onto the floor from her sudden movement.

His shirt sleeve had rolled down, drenched despite his efforts, but he didn’t let up, his eyes fixed on her as he felt her pussy clench around his fingers as he worked them inside her, his thumb unforgiving on her clit. Her legs shook as she came, toes curling as more water splashed out of the tub. 

“Oh my god,” she moaned. “Fucking—keep going.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and a haze overtook her mind as she rocked back and forth against his hand. So engrossed in her second orgasm wracking through her body like an earthquake, she almost forgot he was even there, instead this disembodied figure that existed only to make her cum. If only. 

She shook as the aftershocks of pleasure rolled through her, eyes wild as they opened again, fixed on the man before her, so composed compared to how she’d come apart. 

He pulled his arm from the water, grabbing her nearby towel and drying his hand off with it. Her knuckles were white when she released her grip on the side of the tub, chest heaving as she ran her fingers through her messy, half-dry hair. 

She attempted to push herself up from the tub, and he quickly wrapped his arms around her torso, supporting her as she climbed out on unsteady legs.

“Your shirt—“

“I don’t care,” he said, wrapping the towel around her. “I’ve got others. How are you feeling?”

“Good, really good.”

He lifted her hand, inspecting her broken red-painted nail. “You sure?”

She snickered. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

As she dried herself off, he leaned against the counter, watching her. For a moment, it felt like they were in the hotel room again, no obligations or strings attached, and something inside her ached for that time. She’d always enjoyed it, but she wouldn’t have taken it for granted if she’d known what four years of it would have led up to. 

She grabbed her brush from the counter, combing the knots out of her damp hair. 

“Where do you want to honeymoon?” he asked suddenly.

“I don’t know,” she said, hissing softly as she painfully snagged a knot. “The Hamptons would be nice.”

“Not very exotic.”

“Well it’s not exactly about sight-seeing, is it?”

She could be a tourist any time she wanted, but when else would she have a week where having sex was not only expected, but encouraged? Even in school, she wasn’t one for museums or monuments, finding books far more engaging than the watered down information presented to them. As the likelihood of a summer wedding was rapidly increasing, the last thing she wanted was to walk around looking at ruins or statues in sweltering heat, hardly having the energy to do much else by the end of the day.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Gloria turned to him, her eyes wide. “What?”

He smiled the slightest bit at her shock. “Kay and I married in a small ceremony in New England, and then we went back to Long Island. We didn’t honeymoon.”

“But that’s the best part.”

“You’ll get your honeymoon, I promise.” He wrapped his arms around her bare torso from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. “So, the Hamptons? Beachfront, secluded–”

“Very secluded,” she emphasized as he kissed her cheek.

Her dreams that night had troubling vividity in which she couldn’t tell whether she was asleep or awake as realistic scenarios warped outlandishly. People’s faces shifted into others, desperately trying to tell her something but unintelligible nonetheless. She woke up in a cold sweat, Michael sleeping soundly beside her. Damn. It was her turn to be the insomniac. 

As quietly as she could, she got out of bed, sliding her feet into her slippers and padding across the carpeted floor, hoping she wouldn’t wake him up. She slipped out the door and made her way into the living room, turning on a lamp for the slightest bit of light. Shuffling into the kitchen, she made herself a rum and coke, trying to remember something from her dreams, but came up with nothing comprehensible.

She wandered back into the living room, turning on the radio that was almost always set to the local rock n’ roll station since she’d been there. The volume of the music was low, but she could still make out the sounds of the familiar songs as she sipped her drink.

“Glo?” a small voice whispered. “I can’t sleep.”

The kids had taken to calling her that, less formal than Gloria without forcing them to call a woman they hardly knew a derivative of mom. 

Anthony emerged from the dark hallway, a teddy bear tucked beneath his arm.

“Me either, kiddo,” Gloria said. “Are you hungry? I can make you a snack.”

The boy shook his head, instead walking into the living room and sitting next to her on the floor. Despite effectively moving into the house, Gloria had hardly interacted with Anthony, though that was almost exclusively his choice. She couldn’t blame him. She still thought it was too soon for her to be living there, but after Carmela’s death, Michael practically insisted.

“Do you know why everyone’s leaving? Daddy says mommy did something bad, but I think he’s lying,” he said. “He lies a lot.”

Gloria let out a shaky breath as she tried to figure how to answer such a loaded question. “He doesn’t tell me much, but I don’t–your mother isn’t a bad person, Anthony. She was just very sad.”

“Was uncle Fredo sad, too?”

“I think so. When you become an adult, you’re not supposed to talk about things like that, and some people have a harder time with it than others,” she explained. “They feel very alone, and they do things they might not normally do because they don’t know how else to ask for help.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t. I don’t think things should be that way.”

Gloria knew what Kay did, and though she wasn’t sure if she herself could go through with having an abortion, she certainly wouldn’t condemn a woman’s desperation. Still, she wondered what Fredo had done to be iced out by Michael. She felt almost guilty for considering Michael had something to do with his brother’s death, fratricide was certainly no weightless accusation. Then again, even if she confronted him with it, would he tell her the truth? 

For four years, she had to face the horrifying reality of nearly losing her own brother. She wondered about the worry Michael’s family felt when he was fighting overseas. From what she understood, they hadn’t been very supportive of him joining the Marines in the first place. He had told her that the only person who congratulated him was Fredo, and the only people who regularly sent him letters were his brother, his mother, and Kay, all no longer in his life in some way.

“I’m going back to sleep now,” Anthony said.

She nodded. “Good night.”

He disappeared back down the hallway.

When she heard a door close, she threw back the rest of her rum and coke before making herself another. Some teeny-bopper’s twangy voice faintly played out over the radio, singing his song about heartbreak. The station always played the moodier songs at night, giving way to the teenagers who sounded like lovesick ghosts that haunted the airwaves. “I’m crying,” they’d wail. “My baby left me.” Few said it better than Elvis, “You’ll feel so lonesome, you could die.”

The song shifted to Ricky Nelson’s ‘Lonesome Town’. Despite his talent, she always found it funny, the California boy putting on an accent to sell records. But people put on acts all the time, different masks depending on the scene. She thought back to earlier in the bathroom, and wondered if Michael’s sudden display of intimacy was calculated on his part. His question about the honeymoon had certainly taken her by surprise, enough so that for a few hours, she didn’t think much about the implications of his brother’s death or try to talk to him about it again.

She squeezed the glass in her hand, enraged at the thought of him playing with her emotions while she was in such a vulnerable state, but more than that, angry at herself for falling for it.

[helplesslypurple77]

Day 6-Atsushi/Fyodor w/ kinks restraints and blinfods(also vampire au)

Notes: rarepare, yes, i know. Also I'm literally obsessed with Fyodor's dead apple outfit. Like did they all go to the mall to try on matching suites?? Where they all like, ‘bro, those jackets are too long.’ or, ‘Fyodor you should wear two fancy coats over your normal clothes,’ or ‘Dazai that looks bad on you try this one.’? I'm literally obsessed you don't understand 

It was freezing in the mountains. A bitter cold chill seeped into his bones and froze him from the inside out, even as the tiger did its best to fight the frostbite away. Atsushi pulled his fur lined cloak closer around his body and trudged on through the snowstorm. The wind abused his face raw, and as quickly as the pain hit it receded, healed by the tiger inside of him. For once in his life Atsushi truly thanked the tiger. For with its strength he was this year's trader, a great honor in his village, as well as one of the members strong enough to make the trek up the mountains and across the snow tundra below them to the neighboring town, to trade. 

The snowy mountain ranges blocking Atsushi’s small village from the neighboring village were truly a blessing sometimes. Legend had it that the mountains had risen from the ground after the bloody battle that split Yokohama City, the capital of Yokohama island in half, forever separating the warring factions. The Northern village, run primarily by the Mafia Guild, and the Southern Village, Atsushi’s home, run by the Armed Detective Guild. The villages never interacted, the inhabitants far too volatile or just plain violent to have calm relations, except for one day out of the year, when one person from each village would cross the snowy mountains and trade with the other village. There was an unspoken truce these days, ‘you kill our resident and we kill yours’, and of course, as the least volatile of the Armed Detective Guild, Atsushi was saddled with the honor of making his way across the forever snowing mountains. 

(Last year's trader, Atsushi’s mentor Dazai almost incited all out war between the two villages, and had subsequently been banned from ever doing it again. Since then the traders have been chosen with greater care, and the entire job holds a strange reverence about it.) Atsushi didn't mind the job, not really. It was interesting to visit the other village, and most of the Mafia Guild were pleasant, if a little strange. The bloody war was almost two decades ago, and only the oldest Guild members could even remember a time when the villages were one. And so, it was a unique opportunity to meet people he wouldn't usually see, and maybe get some delicacies for the long months to come. The problem, this year, was the snow, and the strange things that had been happening in the mountains lately. 

It always snowed in the mountains, no matter the season. The snow piled higher and higher until it fell, rolling down the slopes in big balls and melting at the bottom, creating the lakes that littered the island. But it was usually a peaceful kind of snow. No wind ever disturbed the peaceful atmosphere. At least, that was how it had been. Now, fearsome winds battered the snowflakes against Atsushi’s face, rubbing his cheeks red raw. The trees, formerly covered in fluffy white, shrieked with the wind, their bare dead blanches scratching his face and hands. The mountain was as barren of life as ever, but ever so often Atsushi had the strange sensation that someone was watching him.

The other change, and the most noticeable was the large gothic castle that had materialized in the mountains, right at the top. Its large arches and dark marble walls were visible even from the ground. It appeared dead of life in the daytime, but as soon as evening hit, lights poured out from the large windows, and occasionally music could be heard. None of the Guild Members had ever seen anyone leave or enter the place, and yet it didn't worry them at all.

“This is Yokohama island, strange things are commonplace.” Was all Kunikida, the Guilds vice President had told him when he asked about it.

Atsushi was kind of worried though. Castles did not just pop out of the ground for no reason, and as he was the one trekking across the mountains this year, he was a little worried. He hoped to steer clear of the place and make it across the snow without any major problems.

As if god had heard his problems, and then proceeded to laugh in his face, the snow began pelting him faster and faster, the trees bare arms seemed to reach for him, to scratch his arms and pull at his fur lined cloak, pulling it from his shoulders with a yank. Atsushi watched in disappointment as it flew away, the black velvet outside disappearing in the snow storm. He almost felt like crying. That cloak had been a gift from his mentor Dazai when he had first joined the guild, and was one of his most treasured possessions. He was left in only his button down shirt and vest, warm but still thin black pants and snow boots. Without the coat, Atsushi knew he could not make it across the mountain without freezing to death, and so, with a resigned sigh he made his way towards the winking lights of the gothic castle in the distance. 

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The castle was huge up close, golden light spilled out of the large windows, the black glass spires spearing the sky. It was beautiful, and at the same time cold, not unlike the queen of winter herself. Hesitantly, Atsushi raised his hand and knocked. The sound echoed off the walls and then faded into the snowstorm, whirling away with the wind. The large black marble arched doorway is clearly decorative, and a much smaller door opens slowly with a creak.

The man who steps out is a strange man, about a head taller than Atsushi, and very pale. He's wrapped up in a white outfit, a fuzzy white hat over his dark, purple black hair. He seems to be wearing two coats, a long one on the inside with a golden design on the bottom, and a shorter overcoat, with a fur lining. He looks very cozy, but he still shivers slightly, pale cheeks painted with a slight bit of pink. His dark eyes scan Atsushi questioningly, and Atsushi shivers. The man is so pale he looks almost sickly. His eyes are underlined with bags that give him an alluring, mysterious vibe.

“What can I help you with?” The man's voice is slightly accented, something Atsushi has never heard on the island. The whole man has a foreign air about him, from his fuzzy hat to his smooth accent. It's not weird, in fact Atsushi feels slightly mesmerized, as he replies. 

“Um, I was wondering if I could stay the night. I can't make it across the mountain tonight.” Atsushi draws his arms around himself, trying to keep himself warm. The man stares at him for a moment longer. “Where are you coming from, little one?” He says. His accent is so foreign, Atsushi just can't place it.

“Oh, I'm coming from the village down the mountains.” Atsushi says quickly. “I'm heading over to the other village to trade for this year.” The man nods. “I see.” He stands back, opening the door wider and allowing Atsushi to enter. “You are welcome to stay the night.” Atsushi thanks him gratefully as he steps into the warmth of the building, the door closing with a resounding slam behind him. 

The inside of the castle is as grand as the outside. The walls are a dark purple, with white and silver accents. White candlelight floods the long hallway and Atsushi can't help staring around in awe as the man leads him down the hallway and into a warm and cozy living room. The ceilings are high, so high that Atsushi can barely make them out, and shadows dance happily in the corners where the light doesn't reach. The whole building has a lonely feel about it, like a beautiful princess stuck in her solitary tower, looking desperately for some company. 

The man chuckles, as he slowly sheds a layer as the fireplace roared with white hot flames. “It's beautiful, isn't it?” His thin pale fingers undo the claspes of his first jacket, draping it gracefully over a large armchair. Atsushi nods. “Oh yes, I've never seen such a large castle in my life.” He turns to the man. “Thank you so much for letting me stay Mr…” 

“Fyodor, little one.” 

“Mr Fyodor. I don't think I would have been able to make it across the mountain tonight. It was really kind of you to let me stay.” Atsushi fidgets with his hands nervously as Fyodor looks at him, blinking his eyes slowly. “Yes, as you can see I have plenty of space.” Fyodor says, smiling a small little smile. “Now Atsushi, would you like something to eat?” Atsushi nods happily, and honestly he's too hungry to even notice that Fydor said his name. 

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The dining room is huge, the floors carpeted in a silver and purple rug, a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, spilling silver candlelight all over the room. The table was long, and one side was set for two, completely covered in different dishes Atsushi had never seen before. It all smelled delicious, and Atsushi’s mouth watered as he stared at the spread of dishes. Fyodor chuckled next to him, his gloved hands leading Atsushi to a seat and pulling it out for him. 

“You're hungry, enjoy.” The man took a seat across from him, and Atsushi dug in. The first thing he reached for was a meat skewer, the meat dripping and tender and he tore into it. He let out a little groan of happiness. It’s delicious, the flavors melting into his mouth delightfully. The dishes are things he’s never seen before but he’s so curious to try them all. Fyodor sits across from him, sipping delicately on what looks like wine, not touching the food. 

“Are you not hungry?” Atsushi says, teeth sinking into a flaky pastry filled with meat and potatoes. “I'll have my dinner later, little one.” Fyodor chuckles. “Now tell me, why are you venturing out on a night such as this one? It's far too dangerous for a pretty boy like you to be out in the snow.” Atsushi flushes at the compliment, sipping at some red soup that warms his insides, whipping the residue with the silk napkins he was given. “Well, every year someone has to travel across the mountains to trade with the other village.” He takes another few bites, this time of the meat skewers again. “It's usually pretty easy, the weather was especially bad this time.” 

“I see, and why are you the one trekking across these dangerous mountains?” Fyodor takes another sip of his dark red wine, swirling delicately in the crystal stem glass. Atsushi leans back, patting his belly with a small groan. “Well, last year they sent another guy. My mentor Dazai.” Fyodor’s small smile falls, his face unreadable. 

“Dazai, you say?” he says, his voice blank. 

“Yeah, Dazai.” Atsushi frowns. “Do you know him?” 

The silence that descends for a moment is excruciating. Atsushi begins twisting his hands again and again, resisting the urge to backpedal and apologize. Finally, Fyodor smiles again. “No, the name just sounded familiar.” He stands, and Atsushi jumps to his feet, in a hurry to please. Fyodor has that small little smile curving his lips again, as he leads Atsushi out of the dining room, and up a large winding staircase. 

The castle is huge. Their footsteps echo off the walls, before Fyodor leads him into a carpeted section of the house. Atsushi pasess door after door, corridor after corridor before Fyodor finally stops outside of a small door, with a silver door handle. The knocker is silver two, and made in the shape of a roaring tiger. The tiger almost looks alive, and its brilliant yellow eyes sparkle, almost seeming to follow his every move. Fyodor coughs, dragging Atsushi’s eyes away from the sparkling yellow eyes. He hands him a small pile of folded clothes with a smirk. Atsushi thanks him gratefully, but he simply chuckles and waves it off.

“It is no problem at all. But Atsushi, I need you to promise me something.” Fyodor says, gripping Atsushi’s shoulders and meeting his eyes. Atsushi has to look up at him, and he feels his face heat up for some reason, his heart pounding slightly in his chest. Fyodor continues, voice serious. “You must not come downstairs after nine o’clock. No matter what noises you hear.” It's a strange request, to be sure. But it's Fyodor’s house, and this whole situation is strange. Atsushi ignores his blushing cheeks and nods. “I promise.” 

Fyodor simply looks at him for a moment. His dark eyes scan Atsushi’s face and Atsushi tries vainly to keep the blushing in control. The man is close to him, and Atsushi can take in every feature on his face. He’s pale, so so pale, with only a slight amount of pink on those cheeks. Dark circles highlight his dark eyes, effectively giving him a sickly appearance. It's strange how that face makes Atsushi’s body heat up. ‘I want him to come closer.’ Atsushi slaps the stray traitorous thought away. 

He feels for a moment that the taller man will lean close, and maybe press those pale lips against Atsushi’s own. But finally, he steps away, and with a wave he turns the corner, leaving Atsushi alone in the carpeted hallway, a pile of clothes clutched in his hands. He shakes himself out of his stupor and twists the door handle, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. 

The clothes Fyodor gave him are simple, just a thin cotton button down and pants. The fabric is soft however, and strangely warm. Atsushi takes care to fold his clothes and place them on the small table by the fireplace. He should ask Fyodor for a coat tomorrow morning, before he leaves. The room is large, and very luxurious, with a white carpet covering the entire floor. The bed is large as well, and covered with a purple covering that shines strangely in the light. It even has an attached bath that Atsushi used happily. He now sits, warm and comfortable on the side of his bed, just letting the day wash over.

What a strange man the owner of the castle was. Quiet and handsome, and dressed completely in white. He was a nice man too, feeding Atsushi delicious food and letting him stay the night. His instructions were a little odd though. ‘Not to go downstairs, no matter what.’ But whatever, Atsushi had a nice place to sleep and a full tummy, he was very happy indeed. 

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

He’s almost asleep when he hears it. Piercing the silence of the darkness, the faint strains of a waltz. How strange. But Atsushi remembers the words from earlier, and does his best to tune it out and go to sleep. But for the strangest reason, he can't. The music gets louder, filled with laughter and joy and the tapping of heels and Atsushi can't resist. He steps down the carpeted hallway, following the strains of a waltz. ‘I want to go downstairs.’ he thinks, almost involuntarily. ‘I need to go downstairs.’

The music leads him on, begging him to continue, pleading him to follow, teasing him with delight. It leads him through twisting hallways lined with portraits, through large empty rooms, until finally he stops, in the entrance to a ballroom. Hesitantly, hoping no one sees him, he peaks around the entrance, mesmerized by the lights.

The ballroom is alight with music, full of people, full of laughter. The lights and colors mesmerize him speechless. The whirling skirts of the pretty women and the suites of the men, the ballroom is full of life. The dancers move perfectly, each move graceful, begging his eyes to stay, pulling him in, begging him to join. The music seems to come from all over, and Atsushi can't seem to pinpoint an exact source, but it swells and dips and crescendos and someone is telling him to go, to join the festivities and be happy. To feel the joy that they must be feeling, to join in the celebratory mood of the party. Atsushi stumbles forward, begging for the light, longing for the happiness…

Suddenly, it's all gone. Atsushi feels a slight stinging on his neck, and reaches up involuntarily. His hand comes away bloody. The culprit is a crystal light fixture, pointed sharply and dangerously. Atsushi feels strange. He doesn't quite know why he wanted to join the dancers, it seemed fun, sure, but kind of illogical. It almost felt like someone was telling him to do that, to join the dancers and dance to the music. And then, Atsushi notices something strange. The music, that joyful waltz, has come to a halt.

He looks up, and freezes with fear. The entire ballroom has come to a halt. The dancers are standing still on the dancefloor, and the people scattered across the room have stopped their conversations as well. Every eye in the room is turned on him. Atsushi feels a cold sensation run down the length of his body, because their stares, they aren't stars of disappointment, or even accusation. ‘No, these stars are hungry.’ He thinks, mentally calculating an escape route. One of the men on the ballroom floor steps forward.

“Well, what are you doing here, little human?” He says, advancing slowly on Atsushi. Atsushi has the urge to step back.

“I'm sorry for bothering your party, I'll leave now.” He says, slowly starting to back away. Atsushi feels like he needs to leave. He doesn't know why, but all his instincts are screaming at him to get away. The man vanishes, and suddenly he reappears, grabbing Atsushi’s arm and with supernatural strength, pulling him to an abrupt stop. 

“Not so fast, human.” The man grins, revealing white teeth, his canines sharpened to dangerous points. In a heartbeat, Atsushi realizes what these people are. ‘Vampires, they have to be.’ He thinks to himself. 

He’s surrounded by dangerous creatures of night and he needs to get away. He tries to shake his arm free, but to no avail. The strength the tiger has granted him is useless against this man, and Atsushi stumbles back again, trying to at least shake him off. He trips, crashing back and abruptly hitting another person. The words flash through his head, embarrassingly. ‘I'm scared. I don't want to die.’

A hand falls over his eyes, and abruptly, the man's hand is yanked from his arm. Atsushi is enveloped in the smell of lilies and apples, and a familiar voice speaks by his ear. 

“What are you doing down here, little lost kitten.” Fyodor. Atsushi immediately relaxes into his hold, sinking into the comfort of it. He knows this man at least, will not hurt him. The silver door knobs on the room Atsushi was given, reflect that in startling clarity. Fyodor is speaking over him, in a language Atsushi cannot understand. 

“Этот мой, тронь его и я тебя убью.” The language is smooth and strange, but somehow very pretty to Atsushi’s ears. The man says something back, in the same language. 

“Не портите вечеринку, поделитесь человеческим мальчиком с другими.” His voice is pleading, but with another word from Fyodor Atsushi hears a crack, and his voice dissolves into a scream. He doesn't really want to know what happened. Fyodor escorts him away, and removes the hand over his eyes as the man's screams fade in the background.

Atsushi feels an anxious mix of fear and the urge to apologize to Fyodor for disobeying his command, and after all the man had done for him. But he remains quiet, until they enter Atsushi’s room and Fyodor closes the door behind him. 

“I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me. And i know you told be not to go down and you were so nice to me and fed me yummy food and i just—”

Fyodor holds up a hand, and Atsushi comes to a flustered stop, wringing his hands anxiously. 

“It's all right, Vampire music tends to have that effect on people.” Fyodor says, seating himself on the couch across from the fire. Atsushi sits down next to him, still a little nervous. It's strange, but to Atsushi’s eyes, Fyodor doesn't really look surprised. He looks more resigned as he leans back against the fine cloth of the couch. Everything about this man is strange, and Atsushi really shouldn't be surprised that he has ties to the supernatural. ‘I mean, he can't be a vampire…right?’ Atsushi thinks to himself, fiddling with his hands again. ‘Im still bleeding and he has no reaction.’ 

“Um, Fyodor? Are you a vampire too?” it occurs to Atsushi a second to late that he doesn't know if that's a rude question, but Fyodor answers before he can apologize. “So, you figured it out? Yes, I am.” The surprise must show on his face, because Fyodor chuckles. “Why, are you surprised? Was it not obvious?” Atsushi shakes his head, a little embarrassed. “I just thought…well, because you're not affected by my blood…” Fyodor chuckles again, and in an instant, erases any distance between their bodies.

Fyodor’s breath tickles his neck, and his voice is thick with something hot when he speaks. “Oh, is that what you think?” Atsushi shivers, as hot breath hits his ear. 

And in an instant, the man before him has fallen apart. His eyes burn, tracing every contour of Atsushi’s face as he speaks. “Every time you move i smell it. The aroma of your blood, teasing my tastebuds, dancing a dangerous tango with arousal.” 

All pretenses of put togetherness are gone now, as Atsushi’s back hits the arm of the couch, Fyodor’s thin body cornering him against the hard edge. Thin fingers tangle in his hair, the long strand framing his face, twisting the silver strands around his fingers. Another hand traces his jawbone, gathering the remaining blood of his neck in a delicate swipe. Fyodor makes sinful eye contact as his tongue darts out, licking the blood of his finger. 

Every nerve ending in Atsushi’s body is at war, caught between a rock and a hard place, a small silver tiger, cornered by a creature of myths, a creature draped in darkness and danger. He wants to run, but he also wants to submit, to let his head fall back against the couch, to allow this creature, this man, to take him any way he wished. It was an odd feeling, but not terribly unpleasant. 

“Tell me little one.” Fyodor’s mouth curves into a smile, his fangs flashing in the light. “Will you allow me a taste of your blood?” Every part of his brain screems at him that this is a bad idea. He could be seriously injured, or worse, die. But every other part of his body is telling him to give in, to consent and give this man permission to do waht he wished. And Atsushi feels more inclined to go with those feelings. He nods, squeaking out an answer. “Yes, you can do what you want.” It's probably a dangerous response, but Fyodor seems pleased as he pulls two thick black ribbons out of his pocket. “Hold out your hands, little one.” 

The ribbon is silk, soft on his skin, and dramatically black against his pale skin. It feels strange to have his hands tied like this, and even though he could easily rip the ribbon apart, he would rather enjoy the feeling. Fyodor comes closer, and leans forward, securing the other ribbon over his eyes. The world goes black, one of his senses taken away. It only serves to heighten the excitement, because now without sight, all his other senses are sharpened. He can hear the rustling of clothes as Fyodor undoes his button down, feel the coldness of his skin stroking Atsushi’s bare chest, the thin trails of cold tickling his waistband, stroking him over the thin fabric of his pants. The man yanks his pants down slightly, just far enough that Atsushi’s dick is set free. 

He bucks up involuntarily, the cold pressure of Fyodor’s hand both a relief and a tease for his hard on. The man above him chuckles, his voice gradually coming closer. “Don't worry, this won't hurt a bit.” His voice is right by Atsushi’s ear, and he shivers with anticipation. “In fact, I think you’ll enjoy it.” And then, teeth puncture his skin. 

The pain only lasts for a second. It's a meager prick of pain, the pain of skin being broken, and it's swiftly overwhelmed by pleasure. A heat, a blinding heat is running through his veins, tainting his soul with pleasure. Pleasure, running from the bite of his neck, through his body, driving his crazy. He knows he must be letting obscene moans leak through, but he can't even bring himself to care. His dick twitches, shooting ropes of cum all over his stomach as Fyodor gulps hungrily at his neck, little groans of pleasure occasionally leaking through the obscene sounds Atsushi can faintly hear himself making.

It's like nothing he has ever experienced before. He’s still twitching slightly, coming down from his abrupt orgasm when he feels Fyodor draw away from his neck panting. Then cold hands are on his waist, flipping him over effortlessly, pulling his pants all the way off. Atsushi’s hands fall forward, tied wrists hitting the hard arm of the couch, head falling forward onto the soft cushions. He’s on his knees, hands still tied, eyes still covered, dick dripping cum onto the couch cushions, back arched ass up, for the man behind him. The position is embarrassing, even in his post orgasm haze, but the embarrassment doesn't last long, as Atsushi hears a cap open, and then cold, wet fingers are working his hole open. 

Atsushi moans again, loud and obscene as his dick twitches, leaking onto the couch. Fyodor chuckles behind him. “I wish you could see yourself right now, all tied up and pretty.” Atsushi’s dick twitches at the praise, even as he heats up with pleasure. Fyodor continues, his accent thickening slightly. “I know you’ll look even prettier screaming around my cock.”

Atsushi feels a pressure against his asshole, and then something big is stretching him open. It hurts just a little, but Atsushi feels himself bucking backwards, begging the man to move faster. And he does. In one fluid stroke Fyodor buries himself deep in Atsushi, hands gripping his waist like an ice cold brand. Atsushi screams a moan as he moves, setting a deep brutal pace. It hurts slightly, Fyodor is big, but only in the best way, and Atsushi lets out more obscene noises as the slaps of skin fill the air. 

What an odd day this has been. He would have never guessed he would end the day, bent over a couch and blindfolded by a vampire, a vampire who is now leaning down, breath teasing Atsushi’s neck again, cooing compliments in his ear.

“So pretty.” an especially hard thrust hit a spot inside Atsushi that makes his eyes white behind the blindfold. “So obedient. You like a bit of pain, don't you?” A moaned yes, then a scrap of teeth followed by a hot tongue. Fyodor’s smug chuckle is slightly huskier, a sign of his slipping composure. “Do you want me to bite you again?” Fyodor says, tone full of mocking. “You liked that last time didn't you.” 

Atsushi can imagine it, the overwhelming pleasure, the forced orgasm. He wants to feel that all over gain. “God, yes please!” He sounds embarrassingly needy, but he can't bring it in himself to care. Fyodor rams that spot again, and Atsushi’s back arches. “Oh, you want me to bite you again.” Fyodor says, all smug. “Then beg, pretty boy.” Atsushi is too far gone to even care. He would gladly beg for the pleasure again, no matter how humiliating it was. “Please Fyodor, please bite me again!” His voice is breathy and tight, full of pleasure and pleading. Fyodor grunts, cold hands still gripping Atsushi’s waist. 

“You're such a dirty boy aren't you.” Atsushi nods frantically, begging, pleading the man above him to sink those sharp fangs into him once more. Fyodor sighs mockingly. “Very well, since you begged so nicely, I'll do as you wish.” Atsushi moans in joy and agreement, back arching as he feels the fabric of Fyodor’s shirt scraping his bare back, and feels the tickling of his shoulder length hair on the nape of Atsushi’s neck. He can't help but moan in anticipation, and Fyodor just seems more pleased as he leans closer, whispering in Atsushi’s ear.

“You're such an obedient pet, maybe I should keep you here for all eternity. My little fucking doll, you’d like that wouldnt you.” Atsushi clenches involuntarily at the thought, his dick dripping more and more precum onto the couch. Fyodor huffs a small laugh. “You naughty boy, and over such a depraved thought.” Atsushi can feel an orgasm building, winding pretty little knots of pleasure tangling in his gut, and at that picture, he almost falls apart. The thought of spending eternity here with this man, getting fucked ruthlessly by his big dick and fed delisous food, sounded honestly like a dream. It was a dirty thought, to leave all his responsibilities behind, but in the heat of the moment, it was all he could think of.

Fyodor’s tongue teased his ear, hot breath tickling the soft skin, as he trailed kisses down his jaw, teeth scraping his neck in anticipation. Atsushi fears he’ll cum early, and as those teeth puncture his neck, he does. It's embarrassing how he cums at the shot of pain that precedes the pleasure, but he does, spraying ropes of cum all over the couch beneath him. And then, the pleasure hits and he cums again, moaning out an obscene garbled mix of Fyodor’s name, as his asshole clenches down on the large protrusion lodge inside of him. 

And just when he thinks he cant cum anymore, Fyodor hits that spot inside him for the last time, and Atsushi’s spent dick twitches to life again, leaving more trails of cum all across the poor couch. Fyodor’s teeth are still lodged in his throat, and his dick twitches inside Atsushi as he releases hot ropes of cum inside him. The pleasure is so great he almost blacks out, his dick twitching limply against his thighs. 

Hes hazy when he comes down, and when Fyodor unties his hands, pulling the blindfold away from his eyes he blinks sharply, his eyes adjusting to the light. And hes tired, so, so tired. Fyodor seems to sense his mood, because he doesn't say much as he cleans Atsushi off, and pulls a blanket over his spent body. With a snap of his pale fingers, the candles are out and with one last little smile, Fyodor bids him goodnight, and Atsushi drifts off into dreamland.

End Notes: the russian is google translated. Fyodor says: ‘This one is mine, touch him and I will kill you.’ and then the man says: ‘Don't spoil the party, share the human boy with others.’ And then Fyodor breaks his arm. His red flags are big but so is his dick…

Taglist:@mulit05ho3st4n

[sanjisluvbot]

Good Days

Masterlist

“ I missed you, I can’t believe we’ve been apart for two years”

“ I missed you too b-babe”

“ Babe?”

“ If it’s alright with you…”

“ absolutely. Babe”

Sinking into the bubbles to hide the smile creeping up to your face from the daring interaction with your new official lover. You haven’t yet added a label to what you are because both of you had different motives for joining the crew and didn’t want to be bombarded with questions by the rest of the crew. That’s why you were always creeping around and escaping to the bathroom at night.

Your eyes were the other thing Sanji could make out from the other side of the tub, the blush creeping onto his face as he continued to admire you. You reminded him of that scene in the Bambi movie where flower was starring at the soft eyes that were inviting him to come see more.

“ You’ll forever be a temptress y/n” he said as he made his way towards you. The softness in your eyes was now replaced with fire, you enjoyed playing cat and mouse with Sanji because when he caught you that meant you’d both have a fulfilling night.

There wasn’t really anywhere to run so he was easily able to capture you and hold you captive in his soft hands. Using his thumb to wipe away suds on your cheeks and moving your free curls away from your head.

“ Don’t move my hair my forehead is huge!”

“ you’re perfect”

“ kiss ass”

“ Only for you beloved”

You felt yourself cringe but the laughter between the two of you was contagious and filled with love. If someone told you three years ago that when you were 21 you’d be living your dreams and in a stable healthy relationship you’d laugh until it hurt. But you loved you present life where you could be 100% of yourself in front of someone who didn’t judge you.

During your late night escapades you held one another, had open conversations for hours about everything and anything. In the daytime you spend excessive amounts of time in the kitchen which has been noted by almost the entire crew, the once quiet kitchen filled with soft laughter to be heard by anyone who passes by.

The mini dates you’d have on islands, whether it be a picnic, shopping, or looking at the sunset from a high peak. Each memory with Sanji was special.

These were the good days.

—

Authors note: I want to expand on this and maybe do the same with other characters eventually. If you liked this make sure to Reblog <3

Edit: I need to make this longer so we can really get into it ifykyk

[deadnamedblog]

Headcanon : in the first half of the Grand Line, Luffy mostly fights with terrain advantage. At least for his big fights

Sunny country, with sun representation as flag

Land of god, ground of sungod worshippers, under a former church/shrine usurped by new god.

Always daytime island

Church/graveyard

[sgiandubh]

A stupid shipper's guide to the Peloponnese, part 2: Mycenae, my Craigh na Dun

Forgot to mention: Praxiteles' statue of Hermes still has faint cinnabar traces in its curls. Which makes that Hermes a ginger, hehe. You simply can't make this shit up. /end of poetic justice moment

Anyways. The very minute your car, bus or bike crosses the Corinth Canal, even if you cannot see it from the modern, German highway, you just know you are in the Peloponnese. Everything changes: the light, the landscape and even the silence. In summertime, cicadas reign supreme: mercifully, after a while, you don't hear them anymore and sleep like a log in daytime. Summer nights are always for something else, in this land.

Odysseas Elytis, my favorite Greek poet, knew something about all this:

"Drinking the sun of Corinth Reading the marble ruins Striding across vineyards and seas Sighting along the harpoon A votive fish that slips away I found the leaves that the sun’s psalm memorizes The living land that passion joys in opening."

So really, forget about the islands, spare some unsung, almost unknown gems. The heart of this country beats South of Corinth, and once you've realized this, there is no turning back.

Olympia and her little sister, Nemea, are all about joy and cheer and the sort of organized happiness the Ancient World was so adept at. But at Mycenae, we hit a different chord. It is home to this guy - the filthy rich, ruthless, rogue King Agamemnon.

"Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair":

Mycenae and I go back a couple of years and too many repeated, insistent expeditions to count properly. Even Zorba the car knows the way by himself, so all I have to do is wait for the right week-end, climb at the wheel and enjoy the scenery. Many dinners in town and embassy receptions have been traded for the simple joy to be awaken by kyria Panagiota's impertinent rooster (across the street) at 5 am and open my room's French doors to this view:

A mix of olive groves and vineyards, with the odd cypress tree randomly thrown around. 354 inhabitants. Two churches. Two stone bridges, built somewhere at the narrow end of the Stone Age and still treaded by tractors, cattle and unsuspecting pedestrians. And also this:

The Lions' Gate (the real one, not TPTB related), as photographed by me the day before yesterday, for the umpteenth time, proudly standing at the end of a steep-ish climb cursed daily in tens of different languages by thousands of tourists. As for Angkor Wat, you'd have to see it at sunrise or sunset to fully get the magic, in complete silence. Patience and determination will certainly be rewarded. For this place is rich with all the memories of those who once called it home, back in the day when it was one of the most powerful political and trade centers of the known world. The Cyclopean fantasy of a demi-god, which is all about flawless ownership of space and aggressive affirmation of one's worth. Or, as the obscure Alpheus of Mytilene aptly put it in an epigram, written some time around 0, AD: "a city built by giants and passing rich in gold".

Pic taken by me in late October 2021, that blessed age of innocence when I had no frigging idea of Craigh na Dun. Different light, same arresting view that plunges all the way to Argos and farther away, to the sea.

Cats rule the world. We know that (January 2023):

And then there's the Vault, half a mile down the road. If the Lions' Gate is about Space, the incorrectly named vault - a mausoleum, really - is about Time. Or rather the complete irrelevance of it:

Because I am not only stupid, but also nuts, I sometimes flip a coin, once inside. All binary answers were proven to be eerily accurate, with time. But things like this only show themselves to the believer. Last question asked is still technically up for confirmation, yet I - along with all of you here - know already it's a yes:

And yeah, I did it. What the heck. I had the place just for myself, and that is rare. Wouldn't you?

Mordor, I don't care about your pearl-clutching reaction. There is poetry to be found in the most unlikely of places. Especially in the most unlikely of places.

Walking back, I challenge you to pinpoint an exact year. It is impossible and there is a reason to it. This place and this view are timeless, of course:

In an unexpected, involuntary homage to the Atrides, the 354 inhabitants of modern Mykines still bury their dead all around Agamemnon's Vault.

Around an almost icy jug of Retsina wine, I asked my treasured friend V, the archaeologist: do you really think they ever left?

Are you nuts? And what would we do without them?

Coming back to a sweltering Athens, just imagine my head shake in disbelief watching Lasagna Lady once again clinging to that poor guy's T-shirt, the bickering between C's stans about who is the most telepath of them all and the wailings about the lack of secksay content in Episode 7.

Seriously, Fandom? Is this the best you can give me?

Episode I am hurrying to watch, nevertheless. But first, the laundry. Fair's fair.

[thestarkerisobvious]

Rainy Day Fireworks

a 

production.

-----------------------------------

Peter knew he was dreaming because they weren’t in the city.  They were at some county fair somewhere.  Peter was sitting with the rest of them,  a little higher on the hill in a dry place, watching the fairgoers run for cover as the misting rain became a steady drizzle.  He seemed to be under a tent of some kind… he was cold, but didn’t seem to be getting wet anyway… but enjoyed the peaceful scene of the lovely cool day through the mist of hazy rain.  Sometimes he looked up at the fireworks in the sky (an odd choice, given that it was daytime, and raining) and sometimes at the rotating buildings at the base of the hill below him.  

There was nothing else to see from this standpoint, but he didn’t want to move, not at all.

Because he was sharing his seat with one Tony Stark, who was sitting quite

 close to him.  So close that Peter could feel Tony’s beard scraping his cheek.  

The longer they sat that way, the harder things became.

The harder it became for Peter to believe it… why was Tony paying so much attention to him?  He was just a kid (okay, a young adult) and Tony could have anybody.  Peter was barely even an Avenger… and Tony could have any Avenger.  There were certainly rumors about him and Captain America (although the rumors were that hate-fucking was involved) but Tony wasn’t sitting next to Steve, thigh to thigh, cheek to cheek.  

That’s why it was so hard for Peter to sit still.  He kept moving his thigh just a little, pressing it even closer to Tony’s leg.  And every time Tony pressed closer - his face was completely pressed against Peter’s face now, so much that Peter could feel his jaw move as he spoke.  He was speaking about normal tech-stuff, but his voice was low and conspiratorial, almost secretive.  Peter had no idea what the others around him must have thought they were conspiring about… or if they had an opinion about Tony snuggling up next to him at all.

Peter tried to listen to what Tony was saying, to follow enough to keep up his side of the conversation.  But all he could think about was Bruce Banner, and how easy and relaxed Tony always was with that man (and why shouldn’t they be?  Easy and relaxed?  It made sense.  Bruce was brilliant.)  Rumor had it they were sleeping together, at least in a friends-with-benefits style.  Of course rumor also had it they had a bar somewhere on some island that they had built by hand - you couldn’t believe every rumor you heard.

And Steve… there were rumors about Tony and Steve, rumors that Peter tried hard not to listen to (and spent many a night trying not to think about.)  Rumors about hatefucking and lover’s quarrels and, worst of all, who would obviously be topping and who would obviously be…

And then there was the wizard… dear god how did Peter manage to forget about the wizard?  Those were the strangest rumors of all (no pun intended.)  Two devilish, devastatingly handsome men, both bearded, both arrogant as fuck, and both intelligent enough to almost justify their egos.  Both brought low by devastating physical injuries that changed the trajectories of their life.

Both tops.

Obviously.

And there would be rumors about this, there had to be.  Tony was sitting right next to him right here, right in the middle of this fair, this rainy-fireworks rotating-building fair.  Sitting side by side.  Knee to knee.  Cheek to cheek.  Tony was asking him something now, and waiting for an answer, but Peter couldn’t quite remember what the question had been.  His brain had been so busy trying to puzzle out the top/bottom puzzle he had almost imagined that this was the question Tony had posed.  But Tony couldn’t have asked that question, and Peter couldn’t imagine what the actual question had been.  He turned to Tony to ask…

…but that just moved their mouths closer together.  Which meant that Tony’s mouth was now so close to his that he could taste Tony’s breath.  And Tony wasn’t pulling away.  Tony’s mouth, slightly open, so deliciously close, wasn’t moving away at all.

Peter woke up.

                                                     *  * *

He blinked in some confusion at the ceiling above him that wasn’t his dorm room ceiling… but of course.  That was Tony’s ceiling.  He had slept over at the penthouse again because… what had been the excuse this time?  Oh yeah - the air conditioning in the dorms had gone out.  Maybe.  He had heard and had believed without really going back to check or texting anyone to confirm.  So here he was, sleeping over at Tony’s once again, enjoying his excellent air conditioning and the last time he could use that lame excuse.  He would have to start working on another one soon.

Or maybe he wouldn’t.  Maybe he would stop all this ridiculous pining and tagging along and mooning over a man who would obviously never look at him twice.  Would never have a reason to look at him twice.  Surrounded by Amazing Incredible Impossible Avengers, by First Tier Avengers, Peter was barely even noticeable.  Heroes like Tony and Bruce and Captain America - those were the Title Characters of movies.  Movies?  More like the Title Characters of trilogies.  He barely rated Spunky Sidekick that the hero picked up in the second movie… hell was he even that??  He might just be the comic relief.  

He climbed out of the giant bed in the guest bedroom and headed to the bathroom.  Then he spent a little time pacing the floor, talking to himself.  Spent a bit looking through a curtain down at the magnificent penthouse view.  Wondering, as he always did, who else had enjoyed this view on a night just like this.  Did Bruce find it peaceful, or stress-inducing?  Did Dr. Strange, a lifetime New Yorker, even notice it at all?  Did Steve Rogers ever look down on it in the nude, or was he always decently clad in pajamas instead?  

Finally, Peter gave up.  He was done moping.  He was done mooning.  Done being pathetic.  This was the last night, he promised himself, that he wasted dreaming of Tony Stark.

Like rainy-day fireworks, some things just didn’t make sense.

* * *

Tony, asleep in his lab, awoke when FRIDAY informed him of Peter’s movements.  Through a subtly placed security camera Tony watched Peter walk into the bathroom.  Pace the floor.  Gaze out the window.  The boy seemed to be talking to himself, seemed to be worried about something.  Maybe wondering why the broken old man had talked him into sleeping over one more night.  Peter was probably getting tired of Tony’s constant requests - seeing through the flimsy excuses.  Make-believe repairs to the suit over minor issues, possible-maybe hairbrained ideas of improvements to his suits that he just had to have Peter advise on because that made so much sense.  Peter usually slept the sleep of the innocent when he stayed at the penthouse.  Tony knew.  Tony knew everything.

But not tonight.  Maybe his hero was finally wising up to Tony’s endless neediness.  

And that was probably best.

Finally Peter lay back down in his bed, and Tony lay his head back down on the lab table.

He didn’t sleep in his own bed, not on nights when Peter stayed.

He didn’t dare.

Because when Tony Stark lay down in his own bed?  He only dreamt of one thing.  And that was one thing he couldn’t have.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

story by @thestarkerisobvious​

incredible art by @mrstarksbaby​

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