Interruption

Musical Inspo: "Who Are You" by Svrcina; "Blindfold" by Sleeping Wolf

My One-Shot Series, Chronological Order (for those interested):

1. Madness

2. Insane

3. Give and Take

4. Interruption (you are here!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. Sad face.

~xXx~

Natasha certainly hadn't imagined that her day would turn out quite like this, but she couldn't deny that it was a far better outcome than she had anticipated as she took the offered glass of whiskey from the cybernetic hand that was extended toward her.

It was only two days ago that she had sat at the conference table at the Avengers headquarters, agreeing with Tony that the Sokovia Accords might not be the worst thing in the world. She had a lot of bad history, the red in her ledger, as she preferred to call it, and no matter how much good she did she had never shaken the feeling that it still followed her every step. The deaths that she could claim as her handiwork, under orders from both Hydra and SHIELD, haunted her nearly as much as the one thing that reminded her that she was not fully to blame for the pain she had caused in the past - her own experience in the Red Room. The training, the torture, the graduation, and even her combative yet tender relationship with the Soldat...these things reminded her that she was still human, but they couldn't make up for the rest of her past prior to helping bring down SHIELD, and thus Hydra's control over U.S. and other global intelligence operations.

After Steve had abruptly left the meeting she had received a general notification from Sharon that was informing all former - and cleared - SHIELD operatives of Peggy Carter's passing. Steve had barely left his room at the compound for the next day, mourning in private for the long lost love he still held for Peggy, his first sweetheart and the romance that never had the chance to be. It was during this time that everyone seemed to lie low, with Tony even retreating to his own part of the compound to nurse his own wounds over his troubled relationship. Wanda stayed in her room, overcome with guilt for the tragedy in Lagos. Vision hovered outside her door, resisting the urge to float through the walls to comfort her. Sam and Rhodey sat in the main room, discussing the implications of signing the Accords, with Rhodey trying to talk reason into Sam, who was failing to understand how they, as military veterans, were being held accountable to leadership and decisions based outside of the United States government.

With the Avengers otherwise occupied, Natasha had taken the opportunity to follow up on some loose ends. She knew that Steve and Sam had been trying to trace her Soldat, Steve's best friend Bucky, for the last two years. She had given him the file, but she had left out the fact that she had seen her Soldat after SHIELD had collapsed and while Steve had still been confined to the hospital for the gunshot wounds inflicted by the Winter Soldier. She had also left out that she'd helped him escape, get a head start, and had provided him with locations to use as safe houses for a short time until he created a new identity. She had lost track of him a few months after D.C., but she had recently come across a very loose lead that her Soldat had been spotted in Romania within the last week. It was the first piece of information on him in over a year, and she knew that she had to check. Now was the perfect opportunity.

Peggy's funeral was in London on Friday. That would give Natasha just under 48 hours to fly to Romania, check on the lead, and fly back in time to give Steve the support of a friend during his lost love's funeral. She slipped away from the compound quietly and sent an email to the team before she boarded a flight to Europe. She claimed that she wanted to scope the location for signing the Accords and bid a farewell to her team until she saw them at the funeral. She knew it might seem cold to leave at such a time, but they all knew and understood that Natasha was typically avoidant when it came to emotional situations, so it wasn't completely out of her character to disappear at a time like this.

Eleven hours later she was walking along the river path that wound through the heart of Bucharest. She had tied her hair back in a low ponytail and had a small travel bag thrown over her shoulder. After a quick stop at a bank and a retrieval of two handguns from her safety deposit box, she was now walking with her phone in one hand. She was following a map that would supposedly lead her to the whereabouts of her Soldat. She had to see that he was doing well, that he was still free, that he hadn't been caught by Hydra when she had lost track of him. If he was under Hydra's control again then she was walking straight into a dangerous situation, but it was more important for her to simply know above all else.

Besides, she knew that she could hold her own against him so long as he didn't try to shoot her.

Again.

She came to the end of her trail at the foot of an apartment building. The address was on the fifteenth floor. She looked up, shielding her eyes against the bright afternoon sun. Nearly all of the windows on the upper floors were open to the fresh air of the cool afternoon, curtains dancing lightly in a gentle breeze, with balconies adorned with drying laundry and overhanging plants. Nearly all. One balcony was bare, and the windows were closed. Natasha would bet her worth that, if he was really here, that was exactly where she would find him, hidden away from the world in the dank and musty apartment. She brought her eyes back to the ground and stepped toward the entrance, her hand lightly resting against the hard and comforting steel of the handgun in her pocket.

Without an elevator it took her a good ten minutes to scale the fifteen stories of stairs, but soon she had picked her way into the apartment. She stood silently in the shadows of the entrance, one gun in each hand, and peeked around the corner. The sound of a shower running registered in her mind, and she stealthily moved into the apartment to take a peek at whatever she could find before the Soldat came out of the bathroom. She glanced at the drab twin mattress and the sad sleeping bag laid across the top, understanding the Spartan nature that stuck from their shared training, but she paused when she saw a notebook lying open next to the bed. On the paper was a single name, written in thick black ink.

Natalia.

She knelt down next to it, setting a gun on the floor before running her fingers over the letters of her lost name. It had been years since anyone had called her by that name; she had only wanted to be known as Natasha once she had defected to SHIELD in an effort to cut ties with some of her dark past.

"How did you find me?"

Natasha jumped up, snapping the gun back into her hand and aiming both pieces toward the sudden appearance of the Soldat. He stood just a few feet from her, dressed only in a pair of black jeans with his wet hair messily brushed back from his face. The light shining through the dingy curtains cast a sheen on his arm that shone directly into her eyes for a moment. She blinked away as she answered, taking in the rest of the apartment even as she kept him in her peripheral.

"Who is here right now?" she asked, keeping her guns trained on him.

"All of me," he retorted, twisting his arm so that the sunlight no longer reflected into her face. She glanced back at him and nodded with a small smile as she raised her eyebrow questioningly.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. He had yet to take his eyes from hers, she noted. In the blue she could see no trace of that cold shell of a human that he had been for so many years. There was a new kind of void, though, a look that was easy to read as a deep loneliness. He was no more under Hydra's control than she was; mindless assassins don't feel.

She dropped her guns, tucking one back into the waistband of her pants and the other into her boot. "So, what do I call you these days? James? Barnes? Bucky? You have quite a few and I'm sure that Soldat isn't at the top of your preferred list."

He chuckled and shrugged as he pulled on a shirt and walked into the kitchen, answering her as he tinkered with a couple of glasses. "Bucky, I suppose. But it doesn't seem right with you." She came up behind him and he turned to face her, a glass of bourbon in each hand. He nodded toward the side door and she followed him out onto the narrow balcony. He held out one of the glasses to her. She took it from him, marveling at the absurd simplicity of sharing a drink with this man.

Natasha spent the next few minutes listening to him speak, drinking in the sound of his voice as he thanked her for her help after D.C. and told her of some things he had remembered since the last time they had seen each other. As he spoke his eyes would flick back to hers then quickly away, as if he was nervous in her presence. She kept still, entranced with the different version of her Soldat that sat before her in this moment. Oh, he was still the brooding soldier - nothing would ever change that - but there was a lightness to him that she had never seen before, and it was unsettling to her but also very beautiful.

It dawned on her that the biggest difference in him was the movement of his eyes. No longer did they coldly focus, taking in everything around him despite the fixed gaze, but now his eyes jumped from her to the skyline of Bucharest to the cracking ice in his bourbon as he swirled it with a gentle flick of his wrist. She was amazed at how human he seemed now, compared to the icy figure of destruction as the Winter Soldier. Her lips parted as she continued to watch him, looking for any sign of the man that she had known so well for so many years, and when his gaze shot back and trained on her mouth she caught her breath.

He certainly still had a certain...predatory smolder when he looked at her. "I remember the good things too," he said. She snapped her lips shut and straightened her posture, suddenly very aware of the short distance between their bodies on the very small balcony as he stared intently at her.

She took a long swig of the bourbon, feeling a very uncharacteristic desire for the calming effects of the amber liquid. She inhaled deeply and used his moment of silence as an opportunity to shift the gear of their conversation to something less...intimate.

"You really should consider telling Steve that you're okay," she stated. "He will be nearby soon, you know. Peggy Carter just passed away and he's been asked to be a pallbearer at the funeral in London."

It was his turn to be silent as he took that in. She could see the guilt cross his face over his deliberate avoidance of seeing or communicating with Steve since he had nearly killed him two years earlier when the helicarriers had fallen over the Potomac. "He hasn't given up looking for you," she pressed further. He bit his lip and then emptied his glass.

"I know," he replied. "I'm not ready for that yet." He rolled the glass in his hand, swirling the ice in it. "Not yet," he said again, quieter this time, as though he was instructing himself. Natasha fought the urge to reach out to him. Instead, to distract herself and him, she told him about the Accords, reminding him that no matter what he does about Steve he should be careful to avoid recognition - if he was caught he would not only need to register himself but he would absolutely be prosecuted for any crimes they could trace back to him as the Winter Soldier. She had heard whispers that files had been found that linked certain directives to even the Kennedy assassinations in the 60s, which meant he was fated for the closest thing to public execution if he ever was apprehended and brought to the U.S. He grimaced but nodded, acknowledging the seriousness of his past and the way that it would forever affect his present.

His eyes were on the horizon, taking in the skyline of the city. Natasha leaned forward, placing her elbows on the wall of his balcony, and looked out at the city around them. She could feel the heat of him, so close to her arm. Neither of them spoke, but both were very slowly leaning closer to the other. When she felt their arms brush she snapped out of the moment and stood up straight, clearing her throat. She squinted in the light and looked over at him. A smile played at the corner of his lips.

"It's good to see you, Natalia," he grinned, keeping his gaze averted. She couldn't help but smile as well, hearing the sound of her name spoken in his rich, throaty voice. She hadn't seen a remotely playful side of him since the Red Room and it warmed her very core to see it on him now, despite all that he had done and been through. His hand shot out and took hers in a firm grip, his thumb rubbed circles on the back of her hand. "I've missed you." Natasha fought her instincts to fight against the sudden touch even as the warmth within her sparked into a fire.

She hadn't been with anyone else since that night and now her faintly composed resolve was dangerously close to melting away. She reminded herself that had only sought him out to ensure that he was safe. If he was taken back into Hydra's custody he would only kill more people, and if he was found by SHIELD or any other government force he would be the one to face death. She couldn't watch Steve go through that. And she couldn't bear the thought of witnessing it either. But even as she tried to convince herself that it was strictly business with seeing him today, she knew that it was a complete lie. She missed him. He was the only one who was a true match against and for her. Even when she had hated him she had wanted him. But she couldn't risk losing herself now, not with the Accords looming over their heads. She pulled her hand from his grasp and moved back through the door into the apartment, mumbling that she had to get back to the team as she set the empty glass on his counter.

She made it as far as opening the front door of his apartment before she felt his arm wrap around her waist, pulling her backside against him as he buried his face in her hair. "I can't," she whispered, fighting the urge to lean into him.

"Stay a little longer, please," he groaned into her neck, and she lifted one hand to touch his face. When he felt her fingertips against his temple, he spun her and pushed her into the wall, running his hands along her sides and lifting her arms over his shoulders. She looked up at him, wanting to say no, to say yes, to say anything at all, but the words were lodged in her throat. She could not bring herself to give in to or run away from him. He did not go any further, waiting for her to respond. She looked into his eyes and ran her fingers through the long hair. From the corner of her eye she saw an elderly woman come out of the apartment across the hall, shooting a disapproving look in their direction. Natasha smirked and only hesitated another second before throwing caution to the wind and giving in to both of their desires. She gave a slight nod and kicked the apartment door shut as he pulled her in close to him.

She took a handful of his hair and pulled his face to hers. She moaned into his kiss, savoring the feel of his full lips against hers, the way that his lips parted and how he grazed his teeth against her lips before lightly biting down. He walked her backwards, deeper into the apartment, both removing their jackets without interrupting the kiss. When her hips edged into the counter, she felt him press against her and it was very evident that he wanted her as much as she wanted him him. She could not know, and did not want to know, if he had sought out another for physical comfort since D.C., but his need was strong and it was deliciously pressed against her lower abdomen.

Her Soldat gripped her thighs and lifted her up onto the counter, bringing them to eye level with each other. Natasha lifted the hem of his henley, pulling it over his head to expose the chiseled muscles of his upper body. She lowered her mouth to kiss the scars that lined where metal met flesh, eliciting a groan from him as he pushed the straps of her tank top down her arms until it was pooled around her waist. He took one of her breasts into his hand, lightly squeezing the curved flesh. Their lips met again in a fury as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close to her so that he pressed against her warm center, and he lifted her from the counter and lowered their bodies to the ground as he unclasped her bra.

The coolness of the tile was pleasurable against the mild Romanian afternoon. Natasha ran her hands over his back as he placed kisses along her jawline, her neck, moving lower across her collarbone, until she felt his hot kiss against her breast. He pulled the bra from her body and his tongue flicked out to caress her nipple as he held the other in his hand. She bit her lip as he lavished attention on her body, running her fingers through the dark hair of her Soldat. She felt him toy with the button of her jeans, and she reached down to push them away, wiggling out of the confining material before then turning her attention to him. He pushed his own jeans down just enough to release the hard shaft from the denim confines. Natasha ran her tongue over her fingers and moistened the tip of his length before guiding him to her wet opening.

Their mouths met again as he pushed into her. Natasha cried out as he filled her, stretching her around his girth. He held his weight away from her with a propped elbow while the other hand curled under her shoulder. He used his strength to pull her tightly into him, preventing her from sliding away as he thrust into her over and over on the tiled floor of the shabby apartment. Her nails raked across his thick shoulders and back and she gripped his lower back as he pummeled into her.

She had dreamed of the feel of his body intertwined with hers for what seemed like her entire life. Nobody had ever given her the satisfaction that her Soldat had been able to provide, and as they came together with shaking limbs and muffled swearing she let herself be overtaken by the waves of ecstasy that coursed through her. He was the only match for her, every thrust contained more power behind it than he may have realized. The bruises he created would appear and fade away in hours, the marks on his back would have already stopped bleeding and be healed in a day, and neither of their desires were yet sated even as his seed dripped from her core.

He was still buried deep within her, and he began to move out and then back in while he placed light kisses along her collarbone. She groaned and her body rose up to press against him as he slowly drew his full length out of her and then slowly, torturously pushed back into her. His fingers wound into her hair and he moved to rest his forehead against hers, looking deeply into her eyes as he moved, both of them savoring every inch of pleasure. Natasha pressed her lips up to his, pushing the hair gently from his face.

"I've missed you so much," he groaned against her lips.

"So have I," she hummed in response, holding his body against hers. She hooked her leg around his thigh and then used her strength to flip him onto his back, the metal of his arm clicking against the tile as she mounted him. He placed his hands firmly on her hips, his fingers digging into the curve of her lower back as she began to glide along his length. Using the angle of their bodies, he pushed up into her, filling her deeper than before. She braced herself with a hand to his chest as they began to move faster together. With her other hand she began to rub her clit. She grinned as she saw his eyes widen when she began to clench tighter around him, the pleasure of her fingers bringing both further pleasure. It was not long before she came atop him, her core muscles constricting as she cried out while he continued to thrust upwards into her. He reached up to take her breast in his hand as he lifted his body to meet hers. She was light in his arms as he twisted her so that they both kneeled. Her breasts pressed against his chest and he kissed her deeply as he continued to fuck her deeply, impaling her with his rock hard length while he held her tightly against him. When he came, he took one nipple in his mouth and sucked with all his strength, causing her to cry out in both pain and pleasure as she came a third time.

Their bodies were slick with sweat and their own juices when they finally collapsed in a pile of flesh and metal on the ground after another round. Her knees were bruised from him taking her from behind, her scalp tingling from the way he had pulled her hair as he barrelled into her over and over again.

"Imagining this is one of the few things that has kept me going since D.C.," he breathed into her ear. He pulled her body into his, placing her head against his rapidly beating heart. It had been two years since they had come together before, and that night they had been so timid. He had thought of her in his arms, remembering how he had trained her and then visited her room late at night to share in physical comforts and pleasures, a respite from the cold that he barely realized he hated. He knew now that the snow only served to remind him of the fall, of his death in the snow-covered ravine and how Hydra had "saved" his life. His Natalia had been warm, so warm, an act of rebellion against the subconscious hatred of the iciness that permeated every aspect of his life as the Winter Soldier. She was here again, now, warm in his arms, and he drifted off to sleep contented for the first time in decades.

Natasha woke hours later, her legs entwined with her Soldat, their fingers laced together, and her head nestled into the crook of his arm. She smiled, her lips curling against his chest, and she inhaled his scent, committing it to memory. Her time with him was coming to a close - she needed to make it back to the funeral in time. She untangled her body from his, surprised that he did not wake when the cold air replaced her body against him. Quickly redressing, she tucked the guns back into their places against her body. If he woke she might never leave, and she tiptoed past him to the notebook still sitting by the bed. It was the one that she had given him years ago, and she opened it once more. He had sketched a picture of her on one page; he had drawn her hair to look like it was blowing in the wind while her eyes were trained on the viewer, on him when he opened the page. She flipped a few pages past, nearly dropping a vintage picture of Steve in his Captain America suit, and scrawled a note with a black marker, smiling as she set it down open to that page for him to see when he woke.

"Until next time, my Soldat. Love, Natalia."

...Three Days Later...

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Natasha walked briskly through the corridor in Vienna. She had warned him to stay out of it. Why couldn't that star-spangled bonehead just listen to her. He lost all sense of reason when it came to Bucky. And now it was likely going to cost him more than he even realized. Steve was under arrest, along with Sam Wilson. Bucky, her Soldat, was in custody and would likely be extradited to the U.S. very soon. Wakanda's new and young king, T'Challa, who also happened to fight as an entity called the Black Panther, was on the warpath to getting revenge against Barnes for the death of his father in the Vienna bombing. Natasha had seen the footage...she knew her Soldat's body and she could easily tell that it was definitely not him in that video, although she couldn't quite explain to Tony that the facial recognition technology - something that he had created - was faulty and not enough to convict Barnes of the bombing.

She confronted one of the agents near the equipment vault. "I'll take it from here," she said, the authoritative tone in her voice clear that she wanted no objections. The young agent nodded and backed away as Natasha took the bin and pushed it toward lock-up. The shield, Sam's wings, her Soldat's backpack. It was all in the bin, and Natasha wrote up receipts for each piece, stopping for a moment when she caught sight of the notebooks in the backpack. There were nearly a dozen of them, each one filled to the brim with notes. Names, places, things that happened. She realized that they were memories. He must have recorded them as they had come back to him in the last two years. Something in her chest tightened at the thought of him punishing himself with the bad memories, desperate for the good ones, and incessantly working for two whole years to piece together a stolen and abused life of murder and pain. She wrote down every other content of the backpack, including a handgun, but did not record the journals on the receipt. She would give it to Steve, and would find a chance to pass the journals to him later.

Her notebook - the one with his sketch of her and her message to him from just last week - was missing from his backpack. She assumed it was still in his apartment, and she made a note in her mind to go back for it as soon as she could get away. She put the rest of the journals into her own locker, securing them from agency eyes.

On her way to meet with Tony, Natasha passed the equipment receipts to former-SHIELD and now-CIA agent Sharon Carter, the undercover "neighbor" from Steve's D.C. apartment. She ducked into the room across from the conference room where Steve and Sam were waiting to get a cup of coffee, and suppressed a laugh when she heard Sam read his receipt. "Bird costume?" he asked incredulously. She could see on the monitors that her Soldat, Bucky, was about to be interviewed by the psychiatrist, and she hurried to meet up with Tony on the next floor. It was hard to see him, bound and restrained and locked in a metal box. He was gentle now - she knew that he hated the Winter Soldier as much as anyone else, if not more so. All they had to do was read his journals, but of course they wouldn't see those as seventy years of remembered torture and manipulation by Hydra but rather an admission of the worst guilt imaginable.

As she walked back out into the hallway, Steve poked his head out of the conference room. "Nat, stop. A word?" She gave him an apologetic smile and nodded. He stepped toward her and, with a lowered voice, told her that he had been in Bucky's apartment. "I saw something in there, Nat. A message." She kept her face straight, looking him in the eye, and he continued. "You were there," he accused.

Slowly, Natasha nodded. She watched as betrayal crossed his face, an unbearable sight to see on a man that she considered one of her closest friends. He had trusted her, and she was breaking that trust. "I'll explain everything, I promise. But I wanted to keep him safe."

Steve nodded, not quite understanding but acknowledging her truth. "It all connected. I recognized your handwriting and realized it only made sense that you might share a history. But, dammit, Natasha. You should have told me." She pursed her lips.

"I couldn't. You don't think clearly when it comes to him. Obviously," she added. He glared at her, but a raised eyebrow showed her that he knew she was right.

"If you want to keep him safe then help me get him out," Steve pleaded.

"I'll do what I can," she responded. Steve moved away from her and she left him, heading for Tony to figure out what that man had planned for fixing the newest Avengers crisis. She was in the middle of formulating a plan after witnessing his interaction with Chief when the lights went out. Fuck.

She had thought that the dark part of him had gone. That the Soldat was gone from him. His tenderness as he had held her close to him, the deliberate softness as he had moved over and inside her just days before, she hadn't realized that the violent Soldat could still be buried inside him. Fifteen agents were dead, dozens more were hospitalized with broken or shattered bones or internal bleeding. And now here they were.

From across a cement void of fifty feet she could feel the intense heat of his gaze on her as Tony and Steve argued over turning Barnes into custody or protecting the world from another handful of Soldiers worse than Bucky. Natasha fought against rolling her eyes at Tony - she wanted to have his back in this matter but she couldn't believe how pompous he was sounding. Their team was barely a team. T'Challa merely stood on their side of the tarmac to get his revenge on Barnes. The kid idolized Tony. Rhodey was devoted to standing at Tony's side in nearly every matter. Natasha stood with him because she thought the Accords were right in seeking order against a world of vigilantes and chaos, plus she needed to stay on this side of the law in order to do what she could to help Steve and her Soldat. Her mind sided with Tony, but her heart was pulling her toward the other side.

Wanda and Clint stood side by side. Sam and her Soldat both flanked Steve, and another man that she hadn't yet met stood close by them. She should be on that side. Sam and Steve had been with her through many things since D.C., and Barnes...she should never be anywhere but by his side. They had too much history, they were too alike, and her heart had only ever truly belonged to him since he had first pinned her to the mat during her training in the Red Room.

She risked a glance at Barnes. Her Soldat was watching her, his eyes were pleading with her. She felt her heart twist. She couldn't do this. But she had to. Didn't she? When the two teams clashed together on the tarmac, Natasha kept some of her focus on him, fearing that she wouldn't be able to stop him from hurting another friend, or that T'Challa would get to him before she could. She felt her ribs crack as Wanda used her mind to throw Natasha thirty feet into a metal trailer, and as she pulled herself to her feet she watched as T'Challa extended his claws and nearly buried them in the throat of her Soldat before Wanda tossed him away as well. Natasha knew it couldn't continue this way, and she pushed her body from the fight, deftly heading toward the hangar that housed the Quinjet.

She had been there no more than a moment when the aerial tower had come crashing down and Steve and her Soldat emerged from the rubble unscathed.

"You're not going to stop, are you?" she asked Steve, avoiding looking at Barnes. "You know I can't," Steve responded.

"Go," she urged, throwing up her arm to send one of her widow bites into the Black Panther, who had climbed over the rubble to attack Barnes again. Steve ran past her, but Barnes, her Soldat, walked up to her slowly. She finally looked up into his eyes after sending another bite into the Panther behind them, and he took her face into his hands and lowered his lips to hers. She leaned into his kiss, placing one hand over his.

"I have only ever loved you," he whispered huskily, his breath tickling her lips.

"I know," she murmured in response. "Now go." She held T'Challa back as they boarded the Quinjet and took off. As the jet disappeared into the distance, she felt a void open in her body. If they were right, and she desperately hoped they weren't, there were five other super soldiers waiting for them in Siberia. She knew as well as they did, she was sure, that the two of them would be no match against five. She trusted that they would do everything they could to save the world from this enemy, but a very realistic fear that she had just seen her friend and lover for the very last time grew in her mind.

The only thing to do now was help her friends and wait for the right time to assemble and fight against this or the next threat to their world. But still, her Soldat's eyes danced in her vision and she couldn't help the thought that scrolled through her mind, over and over. Come back to me.

~xXx~

A/N: This was the longest one so far! I hope you enjoyed it! Also...Reviews are well-loved and will get a response from moi.

I was thinking about taking requests/suggestions for other one-shots... I like expanding on ideas for what happens when our favorite Marvel couple isn't on-screen, or when we aren't told where they are in or between the movies. So far these WinterWidow one-shots are coming from my indecent mind.

So tell me...What are your ideas? I'd love to hear them :)

Until then, multumesc si la revedere, My Lovelies.