#I might start working on some original content. now that I can ease up on this

[vibingandsimping]

This is exactly who you think it is. 🦜🦜

Might I request the origin characters (+ Halsin) of your choice caring for a burnt out/sick Tav?

Hello! I shall call you bird anon…

(Leave me and my family alone)

But ask and you shall receive! Requests/thoughts always make my day.

Origin characters + extra companions taking care of an exhausted reader pt. 1

No forewarnings besides maybe some suggestive mentions and a little angst. Mostly all fluff + comfort… barely proofread

Characters included in this part: Astarion, Gale, Lae’zel and Jaheira

Astarion

Astarion, when you present him with the problem after his insistent pestering, is a little lost. Everyone has their breaking points and their limits. You just held a confident front for so long that he started to believe you truly lacked one. He suggests the pleasures of the flesh at first. “To ease that pretty mind,” he claims with a smirk. You can tell in his gaze it’s his default- he was used for his body for so long it’s clear he’s unsure of what else to say. A bit of frustration with both him and his past bubbles up. It hurts to know he values himself that little and at the same time… it’s frustrating that he thinks it will solve anything. After a curt “No thank you.” he seems to deflate a bit. You stalk off to your tent as he watches from afar.

He sat with himself as he contemplated his abilities. You’d done so much for him over the period of time you’d known each other. Quite frankly, he hates to say it but he’s realized he’s taken you for advantage. He reminisces over the times you’d let him feed and he has had his nose pressed into your skin. How he’d inhale your scent and memorize it with your blood. He broods over it for a little before beginning to test different scents and oils. What he believed would work with your body chemistry and what he knew you liked.

It’s an hour or so later when you hear slow footsteps. Whoever it was made their presence known, so as to not scare you with a sudden intrusion. You’d been laying with your head in silence and the dark due to how it throbbed. Everything seemed so loud and overwhelming. He speaks smoothly and announces his arrival, you just grunt in acknowledgment. It seems to amuse him as he laughs gently and places something on the ground. Which? You’re unsure- and you could care less to check right now. It’s only when you hear the flick of a match and the room illuminates that you peek. He has a couple of wax candles laid out that seem to be dripping in mixtures. He smiles at you in such a way that you push suspicions aside. The room flickers with the light of the candles. “Relax. I made these special for you. Just focus on them and let the world wash away.” You watch him for a minute more as he lights the candles and the scent grows stronger as it burns with the wax. At first, it also overwhelmed you. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and focus on taking deep breaths. With each inhale, you draw more of it into your lungs and feel your muscles slack. Whatever he used was working wonders to calm your body and ease your mind. He did miss his calling as a perfumer.

The feeling of cold hands on your neck tenses your so delicately relaxed frame. His voice comes out in a shush, making you shiver from the tone. The way his fingers move so slowly tells you he’s holding a part of him back. It’s likely the reflex to make things more… intimate. A part of you swells knowing that he is trying a more simple intimacy on you. Thumbs dig into the tense muscles until they’re worked from the stiffness. Soft moans of content escape your throat. Though, just the same are the groans of pain when he reaches a more tender spot. “You’re lucky you have such a caring companion.” He muses half-heartedly, an attempt to make you smile. It did, matter of fact. You’re sure he knows because his movements become more confident. You drop your head back into your pillow and breathe out a sigh. He didn’t say anything but you could feel his eyes on your back. It was quite comforting to know he was there if you needed it. You eventually drift into a half-conscious state as he works your tender flesh. By the time he’s left you to rest you were already asleep.

Gale

Gale’s watchful eye concluded your growing burnout long before it settled in. He was a wizard- a man who studied for a living. He understood frustration and burnout. He’s faced it many times before… and it’s never an easy thing. When you settle down at the camp for the night, he can’t seem to get his eye off you. You walk around slowly and seem out of it. The man sits in his thoughts for a moment longer and decides to make his way over to you. You, of all people, deserved to have a moment to relax and truly replenish your mind. His hand makes contact with your arm and you’re snapped from your daze. He gazes down at you with a softness and silently asks you to follow him. You’re too worn down to argue and just nod.

He winds you out of the forest and towards a still lake. A drinking deer turns and shoots out from its spot when you two arrive. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he bashfully smiles. “Water is soothing to the mind and muscle. I’ll take care of you- let me.” The moonlight dappling the water is tempting and he seems harmless enough with his request. You relent and begin to slowly peel the clothing off your body. Turning back around you stride into the water only to find it pleasantly warm. It was almost hot- glancing up at him as he removed his robe, you knew he tampered with magic to heat the water. You’re not complaining though. It’s already doing wonders to work out the aches in your muscles. He slides in behind you and asks you permission to touch you. You hummed approval as you closed your eyes and put your trust in him.

He lathers his hands with soap and begins to work your muscles along your back. Simultaneously massaging gently and washing you clean. His fingers work from your neck to your shoulder blades, down your spine, and to your legs. He slowly turns you around so he can repeat the same process down your front. He’s careful around your more intimate areas, eyeing you cautiously to gauge what’s too much. It feels nice to be doted on and not have to bathe yourself for once. You’re sure he knows it, too. Then, he whispers for permission to do your hair. You barely speak and instead hum once more. He chuckles a little before wrapping an arm around you and one under your head. He dips you into the water until your hair is thoroughly soaked and pulls you back up. Like that, he begins to lather shampoo into your scalp. His fingers work wonders and you moan a little. The moment is gone too soon for your preference and he’s washing it out.

After a minute more of holding you in the water as he rinses you off, he guides you out. You almost protest like a child, wishing to relish the hot water a little longer. He hands you a large linen cloth and you dry yourself off. Squeezing your hair until it no longer drips annoyingly and wrapping it around yourself to conceal your intimates. He follows alongside you back into camp and you head into your tent. He lingers beside you while you settle down and gather some night clothes. Then, as soon as the eyes are noticed, he leaves you to your own devices. You manage to get to sleep surprisingly easily and the night passes mostly peacefully. In the morning, your previous clothes are folded neatly outside your tent. They’re clean and practically spotless. Gale must’ve taken the time to wash them while you slept and hung them to dry overnight.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel’s instinct is to scold you for showing weakness. Githyanki are warriors and have no time to tend to the frail. Yet, you’ve proven anything but frail in the time she’s known you. She’s utterly torn and wears it on her face obviously. You’re unsure why you turned to her for comfort, it was obviously a mistake. You sigh exasperatedly and trail off as she watches. You almost make it to your tent before her hand wraps around your wrist and tugs you to look at her. “Battle me,” she speaks blatantly. “Githyanki soothe their mind and body with battle. It is all I know to do. Battle me.” There’s a desperation in her voice. She cannot stand to see you so exhausted and fed up. You squint at her and almost protest that all the battling you’ve done is what led you to this point. The expression she held deterred you. You complied in the end.

She leads you into a dirt clearing and unsheathes her sword. Her face is like the steel she holds in her grasp and you ready yourself. There’s a moment of silence and anticipation that hangs in the air as you two lock eyes. She makes the first move, launching towards you and missing the side of your face by a few inches. You retaliate and dig your weapon of choice into her side. She grits her teeth as she is sent sprawling a few feet away. The girl gives you little time to react. Her next attack flies at you and you two are a clash of steel and flesh. There’s an adrenaline that elicits your veins and your head clears. The worries of taking care of everyone fade and you focus solely on your sparring partner. It’s like a second wind that envelops your body. It takes you a few hits until you realize she’s purposefully leaving herself open and using weaker moves.

She was allowing you to win. To taste her blood and victory in battle. You’re almost insulted if it weren’t so flattering that she was laying herself openly for you. You lay a final hit on her and she kneels with her head bowed. The two of you pant as wounds seep blood. Nothing is too deep and can easily be fixed by bandage or magic. She pulls herself to her feet and smiles softly at you. “A formidable opponent. You underestimate your power.” It was her form of a compliment, you supposed. She then followed you back into camp and sat you down. She runs a wet rag along your scrapes and cuts. The crimson washes off and leaves the wounds exposed to the fresh air. The githyanki is gentle in her touch as she wraps them with a bandage and secures it in place. The muscles in your body flex as you test the hold before turning your attention to her. You go to tend her wounds but are met with a hand in your face. “I am fine. I am strong enough to take care of myself. You, on the other hand, need to recover to lead us onward.”

You quirk a brow at her before pulling away and allowing the campfire to warm your bones. She works deftly on sealing her wounds and you can’t help but feel a little rejuvenated. It wasn't pampering of sorts- but she cared. She tried her best to show it and that’s truly what mattered. She fought against her nature to shame you and instead attempted to cure your ailments. She was rough around the edges but had a soft heart. The thought made you smile softly as you watched the shadows of fire dance along her olive-green skin. She catches your gaze for a moment and seems flustered. “Go rest.” She commands softly and you laugh breathlessly. It takes you a moment to get to your feet but you manage it. Some sleep would surely help repair the worst of it as long as you took it easy the next day.

Jaheira

Jaheira was an older elf. She could spot the telltale signs of wear. Whether that be mental or physical. She took care of her harpers for just about as long as she could recall at this point. It felt nice to not have to be the one in charge- but maybe she took too much comfort in it. A little guilt weighed in her heart. Too late to dwell, though, you needed assistance. The crackle of the fire was all that could be heard as you sat in front of it. You were still- seemingly lost in thought. She groaned a little as she lowered herself to a seat. Her knees weren’t as they used to be. The sound alerted your mind and you snapped out of it to look at the woman. She smiled softly at you and handed you a goblet. In her other hand was a bottle of wine and her own goblet. “Do not worry, no funny games this time. Just something to unwind.” You scrunch your nose a little before grabbing it.

The bottle uncorks and she pours a glass for you two. It’s not the finest wine but certainly was much better than the gruel served at the tiefling party. You draw your knees to your chest and take a long sip. After she takes a sip of her own she clicks her tongue in thought. Her gaze isn’t on you but on the campfire as she begins to speak. “You are more powerful than you know,” she begins and you look at her from the corner of your eye. “I’ve seen it firsthand. You vanquished the curse of the shadowlands and defeated Ketheric Thorm. I am surprised you didn’t succumb to exhaustion sooner.” You tense, almost expecting it to be an insult. Her softness of tone betrays that thought. “You need to rely on your friends and company more. We are here to help. We care. I care.” She enunciates the last word by looking at you. You can’t help but feel a soft fuzz blooming in your chest. Was it her words or the alcohol?

“I took care of my harpers for a century or more. It is hard work to look after the well-being of everyone else and yourself. I think I became too comfortable in letting you guide me. I apologize for that, truly.” You open your mouth to speak but she shushes you with a point of her goblet. That gesture makes you flush a little and take a sip of your wine once more. “I have seen many people in my life. I have lost many people in my life. You are among some of the most… wonderful I have seen. I will be damned if I lose you to anything beyond yourself.” She smiles at you, the age lines on her face only speaking to how truthful she is being. You can’t help but feel relaxed by both the influence of the alcohol and her words. You realize anything you say would be practically pointless. So, you just shuffle to her side and press against her. She hums in satisfaction and wraps an arm around you. You can hear her swallowing her wine more clearly. There’s a comfortable silence that is punctuated occasionally by the crackling of the fire.

“Another pour?” She offers as she holds the bottle and you cannot help but laugh while gesturing your goblet. Indulging for a night hurt nobody and hell you deserved it. She refills the two glasses and rests her head against yours. There’s a mutual understanding of comfort and connection between you two as you sip and watch the fire. It’s nice to not have to say anything in return. To be able to simply sit and digest the fact that somebody appreciates the fact that you work so tirelessly for them and everyone around you. It’s only til your goblets empty again does she finally pull away and cork the wine. You stand and allow the buzz of the alcohol to warm your veins and loosen your mind. She offers a hand out with a sheepish smile, “Help a gal up?” you tease her for a minute and grab her hand as she hoists herself off the ground. She regards you with a softness and plants a gentle kiss against your forehead. You two part and head to your respective tents to sleep the night away.

[x-press-it]

Devilish Desires - 4/8

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹⚔️🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others…) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn’t know, even in the descriptions) - Mention of other character from the MCU and subtle references to the comics for flavor (not mandatory to understand what is happening) - Flash back and mention of past trauma - Very quick mentions of drugs - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers..

I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator. Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited. This was another hard chapter to edit/rewrite, but I did it ^^ I hope you guys like fighting/sparring scenes ^^" Ok, let's feed that hunger, shall we? ;)

Need some music? I've got you

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 4/8

Word Count: 9.9K / 60K+ for now

In the days that followed their meeting in the library, E kept their distance from Logan. They must have been tangled up with all the contract adjustments and whatever else came with their mysterious agenda, or at least that’s what he assumed. Logan couldn’t say he minded their absence; if anything, the tension between his shoulders had finally started to ease, and his routine felt a little less invaded.

He hardly saw them around the mansion. E would appear in passing, usually on their way to Charles’s office or briefly dipping into the library, but they seemed to vanish as quickly as they appeared. They never crossed paths otherwise. Not in the gym, where he’d half-expected to catch them training, nor in the kitchen, where they always managed to get there before him and leave behind only faint traces—a mug in the sink, an empty coffee pot. Even Ororo, who spent most of her time outside tending to the gardens, mentioned she hadn’t seen them lingering around the grounds. And as the days dragged on, Logan felt the empty space they’d left lingering.

A part of him was curious now, his wariness easing as he'd learned more about them. He’d gotten a glimpse of them beneath that composed exterior, enough to see that they weren’t the threat he’d originally thought, maybe even enough to say they weren't so different from each other—if he squinted. Their goals didn’t seem so far from his, and neither did their need for freedom. He found himself wondering, almost against his will, what they were doing when they weren’t working. It didn’t sit right, not knowing.

And soon enough, he realized he’d started keeping an eye out for them. Them, the person who’d been in his face day in and day out for weeks, was now barely a shadow in the mansion’s daily rhythm. It was… odd, and the feeling only grew with each day they didn’t cross paths.

But then, on the fifth day after their meeting, Logan’s curiosity finally got a break when Charles called the team to his office. He could sense something was coming—the air in the room was thick with it. The team gathered, shifting uneasily, the only absentees being the three younger members. Logan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze as sharp as ever as he watched each person in the room. His eyes kept circling back to E, who stood slightly off to the side, their expression a wall of carefully constructed calm. They didn’t look at him or anyone else, a clear signal they weren’t here to play nice.

Charles cleared his throat, drawing their attention as he settled behind his desk. “I’ve called you all here to discuss an important matter regarding the security of the school.”

Logan’s gaze narrowed, his instincts already piecing together that this had to do with E. Sure enough, Charles’ steady look swept across the team, his voice carrying a calm authority. “It has been decided that E will be training with you all from now on. They won’t be part of the team, but as they work here at the school and have the right to defend it, it’s important for everyone to understand their abilities. In case of an attack, we all need to be on the same page.”

The discomfort in the room was tangible. Everyone shifted, casting skeptical glances at E, who remained silent, almost impassive. Their appearance looked more severe today—dull skin and eyes, their horns lacking their usual shine, and their hair pulled back in a tight bun. They wore mostly black, save for a few touches of dark red, with no jewelry and only the barest hint of makeup. Jean watched them closely, brows furrowing as she tried to read their thoughts, but E’s sharp glare in her direction made it clear that wall wasn’t coming down.

Scott was the first to voice his hesitation, clearing his throat as he looked between Charles and E. “Is that really necessary? We’ve never had any outsiders train with us before.”

Logan couldn’t help the low chuckle that slipped out. “Forgot about me, Summers? I was an outsider once, too.” The words hung in the air for a heartbeat before he cast a quick glance at E. Just as he expected, their attention—once fixed on their perfectly manicured red nails—flickered to his, briefly meeting his gaze before quickly looking away, the moment slipping by as quickly as it had come.

If they weren’t friends, Scott would’ve probably fried him with his visor for that comment, but Charles remained patient as he waited for the room to settle. “E works alongside us here,” he said, voice steady but unyielding. “They have every right to protect the students, just as we do.” His gaze swept over each person, settling on them a moment longer than necessary. “It’s important we trust one another in times of crisis.”

Logan’s gaze drifted back to E. They stood rigid, a subtle tension in their posture that hadn’t been there before. If he was reading them right, they didn’t want to be here any more than the team wanted them here. It wasn’t just distance, it was a quiet wariness, like they were on guard against everyone, Charles being the only exception. Even Jean’s curiosity only earned another glare from E, a silent warning to stay out of their head.

As the murmurs of agreement wrapped up the meeting, Logan lingered, eyes settling on E. He wasn’t wary of them anymore, not exactly, but something about them made him curious. He’d seen a glimpse of who they were under that mask. He wasn’t sure he trusted them yet, but he respected them—at least enough to want to see more of what they were capable of. And there was that other thing, too; he’d noticed it in the faint shadows under their eyes and the worn edges of their aura. Whatever was keeping them going seemed to be running thin.

“Hey,” he called out before they could leave. They turned slowly, an eyebrow raised, the only indication they’d heard him.

“When d’you have time to spar?” he asked, trying to read their reaction.

Their face barely shifted, but he could see a glint of amusement behind their guarded look. “Right now, actually,” they replied, their voice steady and even. “Unless you’re busy.”

Logan pushed off the wall, straightening his posture. “I’ve got time.”

They nodded, excusing themselves to change and, twenty minutes later, they met him at the bottom of the staircase. They were both now dressed in gear more suitable for what lay ahead, and Logan couldn’t help but notice the way their presence had shifted from the last time they spoke—the carefully polished exterior was there, but the energy behind it was dimmed, like they were holding something back. As they stepped outside, Logan led them to a secluded corner of the grounds, far from prying eyes. The shaded glade lay far from the main paths, ensuring no students or teachers would wander by, a quiet space with plenty of room to move freely.

As they reached the clearing, he rolled his shoulders, flexing his arms and testing his range of motion with a low, almost eager hum in his throat. “Alright,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

E’s lips curved into a faint smile, tight at the edges, as they removed their shoes, grounding themselves in the cool grass. Logan studied them, and it seemed like even the glint in their eyes was dimmer than he remembered; they looked tired, worn.

“You sure you’re feelin’ up for this?” he taunted. “Look a little beat.”

At those words, a faint smirk tugged at their lips, a dangerous spark lighting in their eyes—not quite playful, but charged with a hint of anticipation as they settled a few feet from him, their toes curling slightly in the green blades. “Looks can be deceiving,” they stated, their eyes narrowing with a brief, steely flash. “So don’t hold back.”

Logan chuckled, a low growl under his breath . “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They shifted into their stances, circling each other slowly, and Logan took a moment to assess them, noting their balance and posture, looking for signs of fatigue or hesitation. E looked drained, their skin and eyes lacking the usual intensity, their expression guarded but when they lunged forward, it was with a speed and grace that took him off guard. They were light on their feet, with an economy of motion that spoke of years of training. Even so, they lacked their usual edge. He’d felt their agility before—those brief, charged touches when they went after him over the past couple of weeks. But now, with their first steps, he saw a whole new side to them.

As Logan moved in, he blocked their strike, and the force behind it surprised him. They were damn quick, and strong enough to make him realize he couldn’t take this lightly. He dodged a swift kick, aiming a punch in return, but they twisted smoothly out of his reach, moving with a precision that was… stunning.

A flicker of respect—maybe even awe—stirred in him, and he noticed the shift almost immediately. E’s movements, initially strong, suddenly sharpened, a faint glow sparking in their eyes as they draw strength from his reaction. Each impressed thought, every ounce of admiration, pulse under their skin like fuel, strengthening them further.

Their smile widened, feeling the strength coursing through them now, a flash of teeth as they spun around him, arms a flurry of open-palmed strikes and swift fists. Logan blocked most of them, dodging the rest. They weren’t just good—they were damn good. And as his recognition grew, he felt an odd, almost tangible energy radiating off them, a surge that seemed to seep from the esteem they stirred in him.

“Not bad,” he grunted, his breath steady despite the exertion. The thrill of a real challenge was humming through his veins, the kind that made his blood come alive. But he couldn’t ignore that other feeling creeping in, like something slipping just beyond his control, something wild and powerful in E that his respect seemed to unlock.

They closed in again, and as their bodies met, Logan realized just how agile they were. It wasn’t only that they were fast; it was the precision of each movement, the way they slipped around his strikes like water weaving through rock. He found himself pushed harder, each dodge and block requiring his full attention.

Their style was unlike anything he’d seen before: smooth, swift, each movement flowing into the next like a performer weaving between shadows. There was a seamlessness to their steps, an exotic grace laced with foreign influences he couldn’t quite place—Arabic, maybe, or something even older. As they exchanged blow after blow, it felt like choreography, mesmerizing—E’s motions were fluid and graceful, carrying a rhythm and elegance that Logan could respect, even as he fought to keep up. This wasn’t just skill; it was... Art. And the more he admired it, the stronger they became, each spark of his interest feeding into their movements like an unseen force binding them.

Realization struck him like a blow—yes, they were good, but their power was intensifying, fueled by him.

He’d heard of mutants who could channel the emotions of others, drawing strength from positive thoughts like attention and interest. But feeling it now—feeling their strength mirror his thoughts… it was unlike anything he’d experienced.

They were more than a match for him, and his respect for their skill, their grit, surged. The moment that thought crossed his mind, E’s strikes grew even faster, their focus intensifying, and he was almost sure of it now. His every impressed reaction were seeping into them, fueling their intensity.

Their strikes picked up speed, and Logan found himself on the defensive more than he’d anticipated. They were fucking sharp. For every hit he blocked, two more came at him from new angles, as if they were testing him, pushing him to see just how far they could go. And with each strike, with every dodge, their energy grew, their fatigue seemed to melt away. The fire in their eyes reignited, and their form tightened, honed into something intense and unyielding.

He went in close, using his instincts to counter their movements, but with each passing moment, he witnessed how his respect only made them stronger. It was mesmerizing—and unsettling. The bond felt tangible, like an invisible current between them, and it was taking on a life of its own.

Logan ducked under a high kick, his instincts leading the way, and countered with a low sweep that nearly knocked them off-balance. E rolled out of reach, landing on their feet with a fluid twist that made Logan pause, even for just a fraction of a second. The way they moved was intoxicating—a mix of elegance and deadly purpose that sparked something inside him. He couldn’t help it; for a split moment, he was simply watching them, almost spellbound.

But there was no time to linger. E closed the distance with a burst of energy, a flurry of controlled, powerful strikes, fists and open palms, that had Logan moving on impulse alone. Each hit was controlled, precise, but damn, the force behind them kept him on his toes, like they were trying to push him to his limits. And maybe, deep down, he wanted them to. He blocked, deflected, and when he caught their wrist mid-swing, he allowed a small, knowing smirk to flicker across his face. That’s when he saw it—the glint of mischief in their eyes, quick and bold. E twisted out of his grasp with a move so smooth it felt like he’d tried to catch water.

Logan tightened his grip as they shifted, pulling them back to him, but the moment their faces were mere inches apart, time seemed to pause. Their eyes were locked onto his, unflinching and intense. There was something fierce there, a silent challenge that pulled at something deeper inside him, stoking the embers in his guts. It was like they were daring him, testing him not just as an opponent but as someone who understood the fire behind their eyes.

E must have seen the battle between reason and desire flicker in his gaze because they seized the moment, breaking free in a swift motion. Logan let them go, both impressed and curious, wanting to see what they’d do next. They didn’t waste a second, attacking with renewed vigor, moving like a force of nature, their body a seamless weapon of precision and raw determination. Logan could feel the shift—a resolve in them, the power that had been lying dormant now fully awakened. They weren’t holding back anymore, weren’t playing it safe. The series of blows they threw with rapid precision drew him into that primal place where his instincts ruled, and he was forced to meet them there, letting the feral part in him slip closer to the surface. The thrill of it sparked through his veins like wildfire.

“Alright,” he growled under his breath, almost laughing as he absorbed another blow and stepped back, chest heaving. “So you’re not playin’ around.”

Their eyes glimmered, never breaking eye contact, that confident grin tugging at their lips. They let out a breathy laugh, low and challenging. “You finally noticed?” they teased, their voice smooth with the thrill of the fight. There was something almost predatory in the way they held his gaze, the way they readied themselves for the next round. The air between them was tight, charged, every breath a shared battle. They circled each other once more, both panting heavily now, both intent, and Logan shifted his stance, ready for whatever came next.

He braced himself as they lunged, and this time, he met them head-on, gripping their fist mid-swing. The impact sent a shock through them both, a raw electricity that stilled the moment. E didn’t pull back, and neither did he. The space between them buzzed with an unspoken understanding—a recognition of equals, of opponents who respected each other enough to give everything.

Logan’s gaze drifted over their features, taking in the fierce focus, the glint in their eyes that had come alive in the heat of combat. He could feel his own pulse thundering in his chest, the thrill of the challenge, the sheer admiration for their skill. Whoever they were, whatever their story, they were damn impressive.

Their faces stayed close, eyes locked in a dance of silent words and wild, racing thoughts. He realized then, amidst the push and pull, that they weren’t just sparring. They were testing each other, challenging what they thought they knew.

When they finally broke apart, their breath heavy, Logan took in the slight rise and fall of their chest, the gleam of sweat on their neck. He let out a slow, impressed hum. “You weren’t holdin’ back, were ya?” His voice was low, rough with something more than exertion.

“Not my style.” E’s sly smile was full of restrained satisfaction. “But I thought you’d be a little faster, Wolverine,” they taunted, breathing hard, a mischievous edge to their tone.

Logan chuckled, the sound more rumble than laugh. He rolled his shoulders, a smirk playing on his lips as he nodded. “And you’re better than I thought. Maybe I misjudged ya.” The admission came with its own weight, but it felt right. “Wasn’t expectin’ you to get that fired up.”

And there it was again, that pull in the air between them, a flash of mutual acknowledgment that only seemed to heighten E’s energy. It hung in the air like an invisible thread, binding them to something that was no longer just a sparring match.

“Guess you bring out the best in me,” E added, their voice softer now but no less charged as they straightened, wiping a sheen of sweat from their brow.

This fight, this moment, was more than just a test of strength; it felt like a line had been crossed, an unspoken understanding forged in the heat of battle. Logan’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, and for once, he didn’t bother suppressing the feeling. He’d had his fair share of fights, of sparring matches, but this had felt different—charged, almost like a trial, a test that had changed something between them.

He let a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. “Seems like we both do, huh?”

Their gaze glinted, a hint of mischief mixed with something he couldn’t quite place. “Careful,” they said, voice low, “You might actually start liking me.”

He shook his head, though a glint of something warmer shone in his eyes. “Don’t go gettin’ ideas. I still don’t trust ya,” he said, though there was a reluctant admiration in his tone. “But I can’t deny you’ve got skills.”

They both stood there in the quiet clearing, the tension between them heavy and electric. It wasn’t just the fight that left him on edge—it was that undeniable force that surged through them, the energy that seemed to bloom under his attention, his respect.

They held his gaze a moment longer, something unspoken passing between them. And finally, E’s expression softened, the intensity in their eyes dimming as they nodded slightly. “You ever want another round, you know where to find me,” they said before turning on their heels, the tension between them lingering like the echo of a battle not quite over.

As they walked away, carrying their shoes in one hand, Logan felt a strange pull, something magnetic urging him forward, a reflexive need to know more. Before he could think better of it, he called out after them, half-jogging to close the distance. E paused, glancing back with a raised eyebrow and a hint of amusement in their eyes.

They were checking their phone, frowning at a few missed calls, their thumb hovering over the screen to call back. But before they could hit the button, Logan spoke up, his voice steady despite the racing of his heart. “When d’you reckon we could do this again?”

They looked up, and for a second, there was a gleam of something mischievous in their eyes, a playful spark that was hard to miss. Their lips curved, and that teasing smile tugged at him in a way that caught him off guard. “Oh, can’t get enough of me now, huh, pretty boy?”

Logan felt a tingle in his gut, the playful edge in their voice threw him for a second, that casual nickname landing unexpectedly. They made him feel like he was fifteen again, trying to play it cool in front of someone who seemed way out of his league—a completely new feeling for him. A part of him wanted to fire something back, maybe a quip about how he wasn’t in it for them, but for their skills. But he deflected instead, maintaining his composure. “I want to know more about your style. It’d be good for the team. Could give us an edge, y’know?”

“Good for the team,” E echoed, amusement flashing in their gaze as they cocked their head, weighing him. “If you say so.”

They turned their phone over in their hand, clearly tempted to tease him further, but before they could say anything, he cut them off, “Remember the training sessions Charles mentioned in the meeting? Did he told you about the Danger Room?”

E raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at their lips. “I might have heard of it… but maybe you could tell me a little more?”

Logan nodded, sensing an opportunity. “Well, it’s…let’s just say it’s our own personal, high-stakes training ground. If you want, I can walk you through it sometime.”

E considered him for a moment, their posture straightening as they regained their composure. “Alright. How about we meet back here tonight, after dinner, for some sparring again, and then you can tell me more about this danger room you’re talking about.”

“Tonight, huh?” he said, a hint of a smirk returning. “Yeah, I can make that work.”

“Good,” they murmured, their hand brushing his arm as they stepped past him, a fleeting, electrifying touch that sent a shiver through his skin. It was nothing—a casual touch—but it was enough to spark that strange charge between them again, something he could feel deep in his gut.

“See you tonight, then,” E said with a half-smile, their voice low, almost intimate. They turned, heading back toward the mansion with that damn sway in their step, every move as deliberate as their fighting style, leaving him there, watching and feeling just a bit off-balance. He couldn’t shake the feeling that, tonight, he was in for more than just another spar.

Logan was no stranger to being haunted by his thoughts, and most of the time, it was his past. But this was different—it wasn’t memories lingering in his head, it was someone alive and present, shifting through his thoughts like they had every right to be there. He’d spent the better part of the day moving from task to task, hoping that the routine would get his head on straight. He’d given three history lectures to classes who looked mostly bored out of their minds, walked the mansion perimeter twice, and even joined Hank in the lab for a solid hour before irritation got the best of him.

And still, every damn time he tried to clear his head, they were there. E. A quiet thrill snuck through him at the memory of their last spar, at the way they’d moved with that sharpened focus, picking up on his admiration like they could feel it.

Which they probably could. If his suspicions were right, E could sense admiration the way he could sense a lie—and that alone was a reason to keep his distance. But he hadn’t, not really. He’d leaned into it, watching the way they seemed to glow under his attention. That look in their eyes when they caught his gaze? Couldn’t shake it.

Damn it, it was making him question everything.

You’re not some lovesick puppy, bub, he thought, dragging his hand through his hair, frustrated. Get your head on straight.

E wasn’t his responsibility, not in the usual sense. He wasn’t there to watch over them or protect them. That wasn’t his job. Not that they needed him to, anyway. But the pull they had on him—some strange mix of curiosity and something else—wasn’t something he could easily shake off. He wasn’t sure if it was admiration, attraction, or something more dangerous, but it gnawed at him all the same.

Things never ended well when he got close, especially with someone like them. It was better, safer, to keep his instincts in check.

But still, when he thought about seeing them again, it felt like a twist in his gut, like he was waiting for something he couldn’t name, something primal. It was maddening, intoxicating—a feeling he hated as much as he longed for. And he couldn’t help himself.

His thoughts braught him back to them again, as he remembered the way E’s strikes had picked up speed, their movements sharpening with every surge of his admiration. The memory sent a chill down his spine. His jaw clenched as his mind raced. The urge to spar again—to see how far he could push them, what more they could become—tugged at him. But damn it, he had to remind himself to focus. He was here, not in the damn glade.

“Get ahold of yourself, damn it,” he muttered, hoping the sound of his voice might help break the spell. “You’ve got enough ghosts followin’ you around, don’t go invitin’ another.”

But E wasn’t a ghost. They were sharp, present, and so fucking alive. He didn’t want to admit it, but that made all the difference. This wasn’t some lingering regret or phantom from his past. It was real. And that made everything harder.

It wasn’t just his admiration—it was the way they challenged him, the way they made him feel. That pull, that instinctive response—it was there, simmering under the surface. And maybe that was what scared him the most.

Because even now, he couldn’t decide if it was them or their powers making him feel this way. The pull was real, but was it them? Or just some side effect of them feeding off his admiration?

Damn it. Logan clenched his fists, trying to shake it off. But no matter how much he fought it, E’s presence lingered, just out of reach, but never really gone. They weren’t his responsibility, not really—but hell if his instincts weren’t practically begging to make them his.

Hours dragged on, the sun dipping lower in the sky, but Logan found himself waiting for night to come. Waiting for the next sparring session. His body was wound tight, focus frayed, and he knew damn well it was because of them. No matter how hard he tried to pull himself back, some part of him was already leaning forward, eager to step into that clearing again, to see how much further they could go, how much more they could push each other.

His reason fought to resist, but he honestly wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep fighting it.

Logan settled into his seat in the dining room, but he wasn’t really there. He’d forced himself to join the others for dinner, hoping that the casual chatter would ground him, help shake E from his mind. But as plates clattered and conversations flowed, he found his thoughts still circling back to them—and to the way their strength had fed off his admiration. It gnawed at him, that feeling he’d fueled them somehow, that his respect had made them stronger, sharper. A part of him didn’t want to go down that road, but damn if he wasn’t already obsessing about the next sparring session, counting down the minutes.

He tried to focus on the idle talk around the table, but most of it only seemed to make his hackles rise. People were talking about E—debating whether they’d be joining the team in the future or if this was just a one-off thing. To them, it felt like E was edging their way in, and they didn’t like it. He could see the unease in Bobby’s frown, the way Marie’s gaze flitted to him, clearly feeling out where he stood on all this.

Eventually, the young woman turned to him, her brow raised in question. “So, Logan… what d’you make of her?” she asked, misgendering E without a second thought. “You’ve spent more time with her than the rest of us. ”

His reaction was swift and sharp, his tone a bit harsher than intended. “Them,” he corrected, voice edged. He took a steadying breath, reigning himself back. “They prefer ‘them.’”

Marie and Kitty exchanged a glance at that, a silent conversation that didn’t escape his notice. He forced himself to ignore it, though the sting of irritation remained, mingling with a faint, unexpected defensiveness. He wasn’t the type to stand on ceremony or correct people just to be polite. Still, he wasn’t going to stand by and let them talk about E without a damn bit of respect. But again, why the hell did he feel like he needed to stick up for them?

He tried to keep his tone casual as he shrugged, downplaying it like he didn’t care one way or another. “They’re alright. They’ve helped me out with some legal work, actually. Seems like they know what they’re doing. We sparred too… they’ve got a style that’s different. Pretty sharp. Could be good for you all to pick up some of that.”

The more he spoke, the harder it became to keep the admiration out of his voice. It wasn’t just that they were capable—there was something in the way they moved, the way they fought. Respect had never come easily to him, but with E, it was there, raw and undeniable.

Kitty raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and Logan felt a small spark of irritation as she leaned in. “What’s so special about it?”

He tried to keep it casual but the words flew out of him before he could stop them. “It’s… fast, strong, fluid… almost like watching something crafted. Like art.” Damn it. He hadn’t meant to let so much appreciation slip through, but it was hard to ignore how their moves had lingered in his mind all day.

His comment hung in the air, and he could see the others’ gazes shift toward him, noting how his tone had softened. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, feeling a bit exposed under their scrutiny.

“What’s their power, though?” Bobby asked, curiosity written across his face.

Before Logan could even think of a response, a smooth voice coming from the doorway cut him off. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady about their powers?”

Logan turned, catching sight of E leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over their chest, a teasing smirk on their lips. They looked different than they had after sparring earlier—not as radiant, but still damn good, with that casual confidence that could set anyone on edge. They had changed again, now in some kind of foreign traditional outfit, somehow looking both beautiful and dangerous as their gaze shifted over each face at the table.

Bobby’s cheeks flushed pink at E’s words, and he fumbled for a response, while Marie shot them a half-hearted glare. Logan didn’t miss the slight flicker in E’s expression—a hint of something softer, like a crack in their armor, but it was gone in an instant, too quick for anyone else to catch.

Ororo was the first to break the silence. “What brings you here, E?”

E straightened, sauntering into the room with an air of nonchalance, though their smirk said otherwise, metal chiming on their ankles and wrists. “Sorry to interrupt,” they said, though the smirk made it clear they weren’t sorry at all. “I’m just here for Logan,” they added when reaching him, their hand finding his shoulder and resting there, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Logan’s frown deepened at their words and actions—like they owned him, like he’d just been summoned. Something primal flared within him at the look in their eyes, and he fought to keep his own expression in check, unwilling to let that part of himself show.

“We had another sparring session planned,” he explained quickly, shrugging off their hand, his tone a bit too abrupt. He didn’t want them getting any strange ideas about what this was.

E gave a small nod, a glint of mischief in their eyes. “Yes, a sparring session,” they repeated, voice low and almost playful. Their gaze lingered on him for just a beat too long, that glint sending his instincts flaring.

They turned with a casual wave of their hand, bracelets chiming with the motion, before glancing back at him over their shoulder as they sauntered back toward the hallway. “I’ll be outside. Don’t take too long,” they tossed back with a wink, disappearing around the corner.

The room went quiet as E left, the tension hanging thick in the air. Logan forced himself to finish his meal, trying to ignore the eyes on him. He could practically feel the questions lingering unsaid, the looks exchanged behind his back. But he kept his focus on his plate, forcing himself to eat slowly even as impatience thrummed beneath his skin. Finally, he excused himself, heading into the kitchen to put his dishes in the dishwasher before slipping out the back.

When Logan reached the clearing, he found E sitting cross-legged in the grass, the deep black of their tunic blending with the shadows, disturbed only by the dark red sash at their waist. When they shifted, the golden and crimson bracelets at their wrists and ankles chimed softly, each note cutting through the quiet night. Even their hair and makeup, immaculately done, added an edge to their poised, lethal beauty—a sharp contrast to the rawness of their last sparring session.

They looked like they were dressed to perform and, for a few heartbeats, he was mesmerized. They were utterly still, chest rising and falling so slowly that they could almost pass for a statue, something sculpted by a master, with an eye for each curve and line. The moonlight washed over them, casting an ethereal glow that only added to the aura around them, one part mystery, one part raw strength.

They had felt him, of course. He didn’t have to make a sound; the energy rolling off him was enough. A faint, knowing smile blossomed on their red-painted lips, soft at first, then sharper as it settled. Eyes still closed, they spoke, their voice smooth as silk in the quiet night. “I’m glad we’re doing this again, Logan.” They paused, savoring the weight of his gaze. “I couldn’t focus all day. You… lingered.”

Logan felt his pulse kick up a notch, his mind flicking back to his own restless day—the way he’d had to force himself to push through the usual motions, when all he really wanted was to get back here, back to them. He tried to keep his expression steady, giving a small shrug as he stepped closer. “Your style’s… intriguing,” he said, hoping it sounded casual, unaffected. But he knew better, and they did too; the spark of warmth they felt from him seemed to seep into their own energy, feeding them.

They savored it, and now he could tell. He watched as something in them shifted, as if they were becoming more than they had been a moment earlier, like his presence and attention added a new depth to their form. Finally, they opened their golden-hooded eyes, meeting his gaze head-on. The shimmer of the powder accentuated the sharpness of their stare, turning it into something almost regal.

Rising to their feet with the delicate chime of metal, they moved with an effortless grace, stretching in a way that was deliberate, flexing their muscles as though reminding him of what he was about to face. “It’s called kalaripayattu,” E said, their voice steady. “It was my foundation. But… it changed, especially in Turkey.” Their gaze darkened momentarily, a flicker of something painful passing through their expression before it settled into a smirk, masking the past. “Not all evolutions come from the best places.”

Logan's jaw tightened at the admission, a familiar pang settling low in his chest. He’d seen that look before—the one that spoke of scars hidden under skin, memories too heavy to carry yet impossible to drop. The urge to say something, to tell them he understood that kind of burden, nearly surfaced, but he bit it back. This wasn’t the moment for words; they both knew that. Instead, he nodded, letting the unspoken understanding hang between them as he rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as he watched them, that low hum of anticipation lighting up in him again.

E grounded themselves, digging their toes into the grass like they did before their last fight, finding their balance in a way that was both practiced and primal. Their stance shifted, flowing into something new—a crouched position, one leg stretched back and the other supporting them low to the ground, arms raised toward the sky, palms pressed together, like a warrior in prayer. The pose was unexpected, striking, and undeniably dangerous.

“You ready for round two, pretty boy?” They smirked, mischief dancing across their face, challenging him in a way that was hard to ignore.

Logan felt his pulse spike at the nickname, an involuntary reaction he stubbornly refused to acknowledge. It got under his skin in a way that was both infuriating and exhilarating, making his chest tighten with something unspoken. He cracked his knuckles, returning their smirk with one of his own. “You think you got it in you to keep up?” His tone was thick with confidence, with that hint of wild pride that only emerged when he faced someone capable of pushing him to his limits.

“Oh, I know I do, sugar.” They let the word roll off their tongue with a teasing lilt, eyes gleaming with challenge.

They shared a look, two rivals who’d found a rare equal, sizing each other up, caught between the thrill of the fight and the satisfaction of knowing that tonight, there was no one else who could possibly match them.

And then, as the tension reached its peak, both held taut in that breathless moment, they launched at each other. Their bodies collided, a clash of motion and control, every inch a dance of precision—not with brute force, but with a dynamic grace, a synergy that felt almost primal. E moved first, sliding low to the ground, almost flowing, their actions fluid and deliberate, bracelets and anklets chiming with every shift. Each touch, each brush of their hand along his arm, shoulder, and side was deceptively soft, like a caress meant to lure rather than harm. But Logan wasn’t fooled. He felt the energy coiled in every motion, understood just how deadly each one could be if they chose it to be. He knew the strength they were capable of. Those strikes—gentle as they were—carried a restrained power, and he sensed it, a whisper of the damage they could inflict if they changed their mind and decided to hurt him.

They circled each other in a rhythm that came as naturally as breathing, bodies weaving in and out, almost as if bound by a magnetic pull. E struck out with an open palm, a grazing motion that skimmed across his ribs, a warning rather than a blow. Logan responded, ducking low and twisting around, countering with a restrained swing that they sidestepped with ease, pivoting on one leg, the other extended gracefully behind them. Their fighting style was a thing of beauty—each move sharp, controlled, yet inherently lethal. It was all in the restraint, the elegance in the way they flowed around him, closing the distance only to slip away, like waves ebbing back from the shore.

The touches, brief as they were, left lingering warmth against his skin, almost delicate in contrast to the fierce intent that lay beneath them. Logan could sense it with every shift in their stance, every breath they took—if E wanted to, they could bring him to his knees. It was a tantalizing threat, one that made his blood sing with the thrill of the fight.

In return, he matched their intensity with his own. He countered with his own practiced moves, his ferocity meeting their grace—rougher, rawer, like fire pushing against wind. He didn’t back down, wasn’t about to let them get too close without a response. He dodged, weaved, barely avoiding some of their strikes, slipping by with mere inches to spare. When they made contact—a calculated strike to his shoulder—he could feel the charged intent behind it, even as they held back, making him stagger back just enough to shake it off, smirking, before charging in again. They danced around him, a perfect, untamed rhythm building between them, and he found himself moving faster, sharper, like every step forward fueled the energy between them, both testing the other without any intent to truly harm. He could feel it in the air between them—something feral, almost like a mating ritual, the way their movements mirrored, challenged, and matched.

They struck again, this time low, forcing him to leap back and adjust, his grin widening with every movement. It was as if they were bound not by competition but by an unspoken connection—a bond that thrived on the intensity, the way they pushed each other without ever holding back. They were not opponents, nor allies in the typical sense. There was no give, no yield. Neither wanted to win or lose. They just wanted to keep moving, to stay in that almost sacred moment, as if time could stretch itself around them, infinite, like two forces swirling endlessly into one another, an ouroboros that neither began nor ended.

E’s presence seemed to shift, to pulse with each strike and dodge, a captivating intensity building under the lights as if drawing energy from the exhilaration in Logan’s gaze. The more he felt—admiration, awe, the raw thrill of the dance—the more vivid they seemed, their form almost transcending reality in the moonlight. Their eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered joy, and he saw it, saw the way they thrived under his gaze, every ounce of respect and challenge he sent their way amplifying their allure, making them seem more vivid with each passing second. They absorbed his fire, his strength, and reflected it back, their entire being moving with an entrancing grace that felt more alive than the world around them, their movements turning quicker, sharper, a need to show him more, to perform for him, to be seen. It was like they wanted him to witness the full extent of who they were, to understand how much he fueled them, empowered them.

And still, they did not relent. They wove through their attacks with such artful grace, arms sweeping in wide, lethal arcs that never quite struck him, but came close enough to make his heart race. Logan could feel the tension build in every swipe and brush of their hands, a coil wound tight within him, a primal urge to keep going, to fight like this until the stars themselves faded from the sky.

In a final sweep, they pivoted and leapt into the air, their body twisting mid-flight as they spun over his head, landing with barely a sound, crouched low, their gaze burning as they looked up at him, alive with energy, skin aglow. They seemed transformed, radiating something almost otherworldly, as if their exchange had unlocked something deep within them.

They rose slowly, never breaking eye contact, a faint smirk tugging at the edges of their lips, and Logan felt a surge of awe and something deeper, something inexplicable. This hadn’t just been a fight—it was communion, the give-and-take of two forces that could spend eternity bound in this endless, exhilarating cycle. In that timeless, breathless exchange, Logan felt the truth of it. He’d found someone who matched him, who fed off the same fire, who thrived under the heat of his gaze just as he could under theirs. And as he steadied himself, breath ragged, he knew one thing for certain—he didn’t want this moment to end.

But then, unexpectedly, E burst out laughing—an honest, unrestrained, melodic laugh that broke free as if from a place long hidden. They threw their head back toward the sky, eyes closed, arms open, an untamed joy that caught Logan completely off-guard. That sound—it wasn’t mocking, nor was it triumphant. It was raw, genuine happiness and it sent a ripple through him, something deep and visceral. His chest tightened at the sight, at the way E’s expression softened for just a breath, letting the mask slip enough to reveal the humanity underneath all that skill and bravado.

It lasted only a few heartbeats, but in that space, Logan felt a shift. The air between them crackled differently, heavier, as if the laughter had broken down an invisible barrier neither had admitted was there. E’s eyes met his, searching, almost daring him to react, to see beyond the sparring and the guarded quips. For once, there was no battle in their gaze, only an invitation.

Logan’s eyes lingered on them as he tried to steady his breathing. A slow grin creeped across his lips, a rare thing that made the edges of his face soften, the soft, unguarded joy in E’s laugh still echoing in his mind. “Enjoying yourself, huh?” he said, voice rougher than he intended, a mix of exertion and something deeper. He’d seen them as fierce, elusive, hidden behind layers that only cracked in quick, playful smirks. But tonight, they’d shown him something true, almost sacred, and he couldn’t look away .

E’s smile didn’t fade as they stepped closer, their chest rising and falling in time with their breaths. “More than you know,” they replied, voice low and charged, carrying a promise unspoken yet understood. They stood close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from their skin, the space between them almost humming with potential.

Logan’s gaze couldn't leave them, their bare sincerity, their easy grace, the way they stood under the stars as though they belonged there more than any place he’d ever seen. For once, he was stripped of any clever response, any guard. He didn’t look away, either, though something in him warned he probably should. He could feel it—how much more they seemed to want to show him. How much closer he wanted to be.

They could feel the fire burning in his gut, feeding their hunger in a way that made the ache to stoke it grow stronger. Under his curious eyes, they began moving in slow, hypnotic turns, delicate and precise, metallic chimes echoing from their wrists and ankles. They were dancing—an ancient and untamed choreography, meant only for the night air, the moon, the stars, and him. Logan could almost feel the pulse of their energy in his bones, awakening that place deep inside him that almost never stirred, except in moments like this—moments fleeting and rare. His reason urged him to keep his guard up, but his defenses were slipping, worn down by the rhythm of their dance and the raw humanity of their movements. He found himself stilling, breathing slow, caught in the silent music only they could hear.

Then, they stopped, releasing a deep, contented sigh, like someone freed after being bound for far too long. They looked at him, an unfiltered calm in their gaze, and the sight of it drew something close to an ache in him.

“Thank you, Logan,” they said, their voice holding a warmth he rarely heard from anyone.

He gave a short nod, gruff as always, but inside, her words struck him with a strange weight. “Didn’t do much,” he muttered quietly, shrugging it off.

“Oh, but you did.” E’s lips curved up, but there was no teasing, no facade, only quiet gratitude. They extended their hands, twisting their fingers and wrists slowly in delicate, almost playful movements, while their bracelets chimed softly against their skin, as though savoring the freedom, the lightness they’d reclaimed. “Since you gifted me peace, tonight, I’m gonna give you a gift of my own,” they whispered, stepping forward. They reached out, their fingers brushing his forearm, a casual touch that set his nerves on fire. "You’re leaving yourself open here," they murmured, their skin grazing his, their voice close enough to send a shiver down his spine.

A current shot through him, sharp and electric, but he rolled his shoulders, masking his reaction behind a rough mutter. “Ain’t used to sparrin’ against dancers.”

“You’ll learn,” they replied, their smirk tugging back into place, the hint of that earlier mischief glinting in their gaze again.

For a moment, they both fell silent, the night air cooling around them. E’s eyes shifted upward, to the expanse of stars overhead, and Logan felt the pull too. The sky was scattered with pinpricks of light, stretching endlessly into the dark. It reminded him of how vast everything was, how small he was within it, how his years—his long, battle-hardened years—were just a blink in the vastness above. And yet here, with them, under this open sky, he felt strangely anchored.

Beside him, E’s voice softened, thoughtful. “You ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?”

Their words hit him, catching him off guard, reaching into places he usually kept sealed. It gnawed at him, the way they stood there looking like a piece of the sky had touched down, that soft glow in their eyes, one of peace, of gratitude, maybe even of kinship. There were few people who’d ever asked him something like that, fewer still who might actually understand the answer.

“More often than you’d think,” he muttered, the words escaping before he could second-guess them. He kept his eyes trained on the stars, the expansive sky above, as if it could ease the ache that always lingered somewhere in his chest. “Don’t matter where I go, or who I’m with—there’s always this… hole. Even when I’ve got a good thing goin’ on.”

They stayed quiet, listening, and somehow that silence gave him the space to keep talking.

“I got a family here, I know that. Hell, got more people than I ever thought I’d get who actually care if I stick around or not,” he said, his voice gruff, but his words open. “But sometimes… feels like I’m just borrowin’ time. Waitin’ till somethin’ pulls me back out there.” He motioned vaguely to the woods, to the wild that always seemed to call his name when he lingered too long within four walls.

E shifted, their eyes softening, and that glow in them brightened almost imperceptibly, as if his words, raw as they were, had stirred something in them. They looked at him in a way that felt like understanding, a wordless acceptance of the parts he rarely let anyone see. He felt his pulse stir again, just under his skin, something vulnerable and hungry for connection clawing its way out.

“Maybe you’re meant to belong somewhere that’s not on a map, you know?” They tilted their head thoughtfully, a gentle shrug in their shoulders. “I know that sounds… vague, but some of us are a little too wild, even for this world. Doesn’t mean you’re without a place, Logan. Maybe it’s just somewhere different.”

Logan let the words sink in, feeling the honesty in them settle like warmth into his chest. He wasn’t used to anyone framing it like that. Usually, the mansion’s residents treated his absences like quirks, a fact of his nature, but it was different with E. They seemed to see through his wanderlust, to recognize something in it that went deeper than just the need to roam.

“Hell, maybe,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair as he tried to shrug off the sudden vulnerability that gripped him. “Dunno if anyone ever told me it was all right to be that way.”

“Guess I just did,” they said, that teasing gleam returning, but softer this time. “Wherever you belong, Logan… you’re welcome in my orbit.”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What happened to ‘I don’t need anyone, especially not you’?” His voice was rough, but there was an unmistakable spark of curiosity in his eyes.

E’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of defensiveness tightening their features before they smoothed it out. “I don’t need anyone,” they repeated, but the words held a different tone now—less sharp, more open. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t offer a place to someone who needs it… if they want it.”

The words hung between them, suspended in the night air. Logan felt himself drawn to them again, a subtle battle between reason and instinct churning inside him once more. The reasonable part of him couldn’t fathom giving in to that unspoken need, but another part of him, primal, wanted to reach out, to take up their offer without a second thought. So against his better judgment, he let himself step closer, studying the way they seemed to radiate with a quiet strength, a calm that fed into his own unrest in a way he couldn’t quite grasp.

E met his gaze, eyes steady and searching. “Who knows, maybe it could calm the need to wander for a time.”

A flicker of something softened Logan’s expression as he watched them, the words settling deep. “Not a lotta people see me,” he admitted, his voice gruff but his gaze locked onto theirs. “Not like this.”

E smiled, soft but sure. “Maybe because most people aren’t looking in the right places.”

They reached out, their hand brushing his forearm lightly once again, this time lingering—grounding him as much as it startled him. The tension between them was palpable, gnawing at his insides, at that hollow void that filled him. It felt like their connection was solidifying, and it was dangerous. It made his pulse race, his mind screaming at him to pull back, even as every fiber of him longed to stay close. He felt the warmth of their fingers as they pulled away, leaving a faint tingle in their wake. And suddenly, he wanted to know more about them—where they came from, what scars they hid beneath their words and allure, where they honed their fighting skills, what their true power was. So many questions burned on his lips, but he settled for something less intrusive instead.

“What about you… you ever stick around long enough to feel like you could belong somewhere?” he asked, voice low. He didn’t know where the question came from, only that it was out there now, drawn out by a need to connect, another piece of himself he rarely showed.

E paused, searching his eyes. “Once, maybe,” they murmured, and for a moment, a flicker of something deeply personal passed over their face. “But not for a long time.”

The weight of their words hung between them. They shifted again, the lingering sorrow barely visible before it was replaced by their usual confidence. But Logan caught it, the faint sadness, the echo of a familiar ache that mirrored his own. For just a heartbeat, they weren’t his rival, his partner in combat—they were something else, something fragile and human, someone who understood, and it awakened his protective instincts, making his claws itch under his skin.

“Guess we both got a little lost along the way,” he said softly.

They nodded, still holding his gaze, that warm glow growing just a touch brighter. “Then maybe we don’t need a map tonight. Just… a moment to be here.” Their eyes softened, catching his, and the way they looked at him, as if he was the only other soul in the universe, chipped away at some wall he hadn’t even known was still there.

Logan managed a rough smile, a smirk that barely covered the pull he felt toward them. “Guess I could live with that.”

E’s smile spread, almost in relief, as the two of them stood there—not fighters, not strangers, but two people sharing the same quiet space under the stars, filling the empty places between them, if only for a little while. Before he could stop himself, his thumb found its way to their cheek. The pull between them felt almost tangible, a lifeline connecting two drifting souls lost in the unending current of life.

Their face relaxed instantly under his touch, their eyes closing as a deep sigh escaped their lungs. They sensed his desire before he even realized what he was about to do. The world around them seemed to fade, the rustle of leaves and distant hum of crickets dissolving into the quiet thrum of their hearts. He leaned in, his lips so close they could feel the warmth of his breath, the space between them charged with anticipation.

And then they felt it—a subtle, almost magnetic pull as the energy began to flow, unbidden, from him to them. It was faint, like the first tremor of a storm. Panic flickered behind their eyes as they opened, the realization sharp and immediate. With a graceful tilt of their head, E shifted just enough for his lips to brush their cheek instead, the warmth there a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

Logan froze for a moment, surprise flickering across his expression before he blinked, as if shaking off a spell broken by the soft press of his lips against their cheek. He pulled back, eyes searching theirs for answers, confusion and something deeper swirling in their depths. The space between them thickened, heavy with the unspoken.

“I—” E’s voice wavered, a soft, apologetic smile tugging at their lips as their fingers drifted to the necklace at their throat, the cool pearl grounding them. “It’s late,” they said, each word layered with unexpressed longing.

Logan’s brows knit together, confusion still etched across his face as he took in their expression, the unguarded look that spoke of things they couldn’t voice. E took a long, steady look at him, memorizing the rough kindness in his eyes and the silent question he wouldn’t push. The pull between them ached with what they had to refuse.

With a deep breath, E took a step back. “Goodnight, Logan.”

The silence lingered as he watched them walk away, their silhouette fading into the night. Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something deeper than he’d anticipated. And for the first time since they’d met, he wondered just how much control he truly had over the pull that tethered him to them, an unknown force that defied the walls he’d spent a lifetime building.

To be continued…

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don't forget to follow the tags "Devilish Desires" and "xpressit writings" to stay tuned for the next chapters 😁

🔖 @quillycrow

[fallenhanari]

Hello! Sorry if this is abrupt, but I’m a new follower of yours, and I’d love to hear more about all of your Amnesia WIPs if that’s alright! It’s one of my favorite otome games and I love to see it getting new fan content 😄

Plus I’m also considering starting to write fanfic for it myself (but am still nervous about putting my writing out there lol)

Omg anon, you just made my day. I've been getting back into tinkering with a couple of these WIPs this past week actually, so they're fresh in my mind too. Amnesia was one of the first otome games I played when I was getting back into them after a break a few years ago, and I'm so attached to the worlds and characters honestly. And Shin unexpectedly became a big muse for me for a while, though I do have stories for multiple other characters even if he features most often lol. He's not even my favorite overall, but something about him just absolutely compels me to write, it seems. I'd also love to see if you get to putting any future writing you do out there!! Honestly, just the act of writing can be really fulfilling if you're not ready to share - I have some WIPs for other fandoms that probably won't ever see the light outside my docs since they're more for me than for posting - but there's such fun in sharing with the community too. Fandoms for specific console/PC otome games tend to be on the smaller side since most players spread themselves across many games with time, so all the writing we can get out there is exciting imo. Anyway, moving to what you're here for haha. So for Amnesia I have four WIP documents in various states of worked on. I'll break them down under a cut since I might just ramble on a bit much, knowing myself lol. Also heads up for mild smut discussion though there won't be much detail.

Shin/MC Sequel (E-rated, PWP, post-canon Heart World) This one is the oldest file, but I haven't actually worked on getting down concrete ideas for it until literally this week, woops. Last year I posted my first Amnesia fic which was a PWP/smut oneshot for these two involving Shin initiating a kind of sex game to try to ease MC into more direct intimacy then getting in over his head by the end with her. Right after finishing writing and posting I decided I wanted to do a sequel fic where MC proposes a similar type of game and gets a bit of a taste of her own medicine. Where the original focused on edging, this one would focus on overstimulation. At the time I quickly got distracted and in too deep with another WIP in this list, but I reread the posted story recently and got back in the mood for exploring those two in that vaguely post-canon verse. If the smut writing wants to cooperate with me I might be moving forward with this one soon enough~ And though none of them have documents yet, I have started considering some other ideas to explore in this series, mainly one for their first time having penetrative sex and one where Shin bottoms for MC for the first time. I just find the particular dynamic I wrote them with here weirdly comfy to settle into, so it makes me want to explore their evolution of intimacy more and more! Math Fools (E-rated, PWP, poly, tentatively Spade World but probably doesn't matter if there or Clover World or AU) This one has the least meat to it so far, but it's probably obvious who it's featuring by the name lol. There's a particular scene in Ikki's story in Amnesia Later that I was reading and made me stop to create a new document. Ikki, Kent, and MC engage in silly roleplay shenanigans and all get hilariously into it, so of course my brain went and extrapolated that into a potential smut scenario. In its current state the document is a literal single sentence: "So y’all are into roleplay now huh? Ikki, Kent, MC, I see all of you." And that basically is the extent of my thought into this one so far. I have no idea what kind of roleplay they might get up to, and it's even possible I'd turn this into a sillier comedy fic instead of smut if that's where the characters took me when I started writing. But they're all absolute goofballs together, and I think it'd be fun to explore one way or another! Not Even a Real Idea TBH (G-or-T-rated, post-canon Spade World, pre-poly, fluff and silliness) Despite the title, this is moderately more developed than the last one! I just didn't have a title idea when I made the document and have yet to change it since I still don't have one and didn't want to just make it a throuple title only lol. Since it's post-Spade World, Ikki and MC are our established couple here. Near the end of Ikki's Amnesia Later story, there's this part where the best way I can describe it is Shin being very earnest toward and observant and fond of Ikki and MC's relationship, while Ikki is a complete menace toward Shin in every capacity. I don't even remember the exact content of the scene as I think about it right now, but that was the whole vibe that came across to me. And I just think Spade World MC totally has the capacity to become a bit of a menace toward Shin too if she wanted. So these two start teasing Shin in various slightly flirty ways after talking to each other about their mutual interest in him. And Shin isn't really getting it for a while, too much a shipper on deck to realize they're individually and together flirting with him and sort of courting him in their strange roundabout ways. So they probably eventually end up having to be direct with him, and then the throuple antics can begin. This one truly is vibes-based and not so much concrete writing/scenes/ideas yet for me, but I think it'll be neat lol. It could be a longer oneshot or a smaller multi-chapter thing; I haven't fully decided for it yet. I think I'll need to go back and replay the scene that got me thinking on it to iron out their dynamic before I get into it.

And I'm now hitting a new character limit I didn't even realize Tumblr had, so uh. Look to a quick reblog to see the last WIP and the end of my message to you anon! Sorry for the weirdness lol

[age-of-greta]

The Moon

The Moon represents illusion and deception, and therefore often suggests a time when something is not as it appears to be. Perhaps a misunderstanding on your part, or a truth you cannot admit to yourself.

Author’s note: hi!! Welcome to the last part of The Moon, the epilogue. I hope you have loved this fic as much as I did. Thank you all for following along. With that being said, I am working on a new fic (where my Josh girls at?)! Originally I planned to start it at the end of next month, but upon further reflection I might postpone it because… I am working on a very spooky Halloween series!! I plan to release one special a week in October. So stay tuned for that!! Again, THANK YOU & enjoy The Moon <3

Paring: Sam x reader & Jake x reader

Warnings: adult content, cursing, alcohol consumption, fluffffffff, maybe slight angst?

Word count: 4.3k

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR LATER:

“Shit! Sam, can you check the oven?” You yell down the hall, still grasping for the zipper on your sundress.

“Got it out five minutes ago my love! All is well here I promise!” Sam yelled back from the kitchen.

You took a deep breath. Thank god. You had been running around all day like a chicken with your head cut off; cooking, cleaning. Now you have to make yourself presentable in twenty minutes or less. Well, that was when they were supposed to be here anyway. Realistically, you knew it would be at least thirty to forty five minutes before someone walked through that door. It was your housewarming party, sort of. You and Sam had moved into your own house in Nashville around three weeks ago. As much as you tried and worked, things still weren’t fully unpacked. Moving was dirty work, it was even harder when Sam would pause from unpacking to “christen” a new room. As stressful as it was, it had been blissful. Except now you were all sorts of stressed. When you had planned this party surely you thought everything would be in order and decorated. That wasn’t the case. Sure, some of it was. The kitchen was in okay shape and the living room. Yours and Sam’s bedroom was okay too, it was really the spare rooms and basement that was a disaster. All of that swam through your mind, but your biggest enemy today was this goddamn zipper on your dress. It wouldn’t budge.

“Motherfuck.” You spat. Then, you heard laughing in the hallway.

“Need some help?” Sam said, leaned against the door frame with an amused look.

You gave him a glare and nodded. He scooped your hair to the size and ran his hands over your back, grabbing the zipper and tugging at it with ease.

“There.” He said, looking at you.

You were wearing a pink linen sundress, it was sort of short, but it complimented your body and tan gracefully. It was a square neckline with fun ruffled sleeves. You had crimped your hair and pulled some of it back in a golden butterfly clip. You wore a gaggle of gold necklaces and a medium sized pair of hoops. Your makeup was dewy and glowy, with your eyebrows brushed ever so slightly up. You felt pretty. Genuinely pretty. Sam must have thought so too, as you could see the way he was looking at you in the mirror.

“You smell good.” He said, as he spun you around and placed his hands around your waist.

“Thank you Sammy.” You said, beaming a smile up at him.

He smirked at that familiar nickname and pecked a kiss at your neck.

You giggled. “It’s almost five and I have so much to do!”

“Relax.” Sam said, still kissing up and down your neck while his hands roamed. “I got the cheese board out of the fridge, the green beans are in the crockpot, pasta salad in the fridge, and the fish is in the oven on warm. Besides, they're always late anyway.”

You start to give in, you’re always putty in his hands.

Then the doorbell rings.

“Goddamnit.” Sam says, tearing his face away from you. “Really? The one time they’re actually on time?”

You laughed and pressed your forehead to his.

“Get the door. We can finish this later.” You said with a smile.

He kissed your nose. “Yes ma’am.”

Then he’s off and you're cleaning your appearance up. He didn’t do too much damage, thankfully. You exit the room and walk down the hallway with your woven platforms thudding against the hardwoods. You see that familiar black curly hair and smile big.

“Hi cousin, welcome to our home!” You say.

He smiles back and wraps you in a hug.

“So this is the harlot’s den that stole my best friend and roommate from me?” Danny jokes.

You roll your eyes while Sam chuckles.

“Just you?” You ask.

Danny laughs. “Yeah what do you think? I thought I’d come by early and help a bit.”

“Early?” You say furrowing your brows. “Danny it’s 5:03. Everyone was supposed to be here at 5.”

“And yet here I am, the only one here. I would say that constitutes as early.”

You groan a laugh. “Okay fine. Sam, can you give him a tour?”

**

It had in fact been 45 minutes until that doorbell rang. In that time Sam had given Danny a whole tour, had a few beers, then started eating the fruit off of the fruit pie you had made. You figured the next to arrive would be Jake- and he was bringing his girlfriend. When you heard Josh’s boisterous voice from the other room you smiled and headed out of the kitchen.

Standing in your doorway was Josh with a bottle of wine with an obnoxious red bow. But next to him was Jake, his sunglasses still on, and his girlfriend with a plate wrapped in tin foil in her hands.

You swallow before speaking. “Well nice of you to join us!” You say, making your presence known.

“My apologies for being late, my lady.” Josh says, handing you the bottle of wine and pecking your cheek.

“You’re forgiven, but only because you brought wine.”

“Hi, Jake.” You lean in giving him a light partial hug.

“Birdie.” He retorts lightly tapping your back.

“Gwen!” You exclaim, pulling her into a hug.

She hugs you back. “Sorry we’re late. Jake didn’t turn the oven on before he popped these in.”

She unwraps the plate and displays an array of cookies. Gwen was always well intentioned, but her cooking skills were awful. You couldn’t help but think that Jake may have intentionally turned off the oven.

You chuckle at her. “Sounds like him. Wanna come pop these in the kitchen with me?”

“You bet.” She says, offering a smile.

Gwen and Jake had been dating for about three months now. You liked her, you really did. She was very kind, a little soft spoken, and she was pretty. One night Josh drunkenly leaned over and said: “You know she kinda looks like you.” This caused Sam to grip your thigh a little tighter, but you brushed it off. If you were being honest, she did resemble you slightly. Except your style was a little more refined or extra if you will. Gwen loved the basics and she could effortlessly pull it off. Perhaps that’s why Jake was attracted to her. You didn’t think Gwen knew anything about history with you and Jake. Why would he tell her? If she did know, she didn’t seem too concerned with it. She was always kind to you. You couldn’t help but like her, but personality-wise you two would never be beyond surface level friends and that was okay.

“Where do you want these?” Gwen scanned the room for empty counter space.

“You can put them on the stove, it’s not on. Thank you for making them by the way, you didn’t have to do that.”

She waved her hand at you. “Happy to. I love this kitchen by the way. Your style is so eclectic.”

You laughed. “Thank you. Wanna grab the guys and start the grand tour?”

You two made your way back to the group making small talk on the way there. You took your place next to Sam, who absentmindedly wrapped his arm around your waist.

“Birdie, where’s Margo?” Josh asked, furrowing his brows slightly.

“Florida. She got called into a travel meeting yesterday. She was upset about it to say the least.”

Josh groaned. “Oh boo.”

“Tell me about it.” You replied.

Josh and Margo were… friends? They hung out randomly it seemed. You didn’t believe anything romantic had popped up, but truthfully you didn’t fully know. They seemed like the opposite version of the other but also somehow the same. But in group settings you could find them side by side joking and cackling in a corner somewhere.

“Alright!” Sam exclaimed with a clap. “Ladies and gentlemen prepare yourselves for a once in a lifetime tour this evening where your tour guides will show you every square inch of this lavish home. Except for the basement, because all of the weird sex shit is down there and my partner here gave us a red flag for that part.”

You scoffed and lightly smacked his chest. “Oh my god that’s enough beer for Sam tonight. Our basement is still a disaster right now, but next event I promise it will be open to the public.”

“So you need time to clear out all the weird sex shit?” Danny asks, in an amused tone.

You huff and roll your eyes. “Okay right this way everybody.”

**

After the tour had come to a natural conclusion everyone was sipping beers on the back porch.

“This is where we’re going to put a pool in.” Sam announces, talking with his hands.

You look at Gwen and smile. “So what did you think?”

“It’s really nice. I can’t wait to see it once you get everything finished. You should come by and decorate their house.” She says, nudging Jake.

He offers her a small smile and nods in return.

“I actually sort of did for a few days when they moved in last year. It was absolutely hectic.”

She chuckles. “With this group? Never.”

You felt as if you needed to keep the conversation progressing. “I really like your jumpsuit. Where did you get it?”

She was wearing a navy sleeveless jumpsuit and sandals with her hair pulled up in a ponytail, a few whispys framing her face, and pearls on her ears. She looked cute, sort of nautical.

“Ah, thanks. It’s from Nordstrom Rack I think? But I mean look at you. You look and smell like a birthday cake.”

You laugh at that. “A birthday cake? That’s a new one.”

“She’s just as sweet as birthday cake too.” Sam smirks, putting his fingers in his mouth and pretending to lick them clean as a lewd gesture.

Your cheeks turn pink. “Jesus Christ okay seriously no more beer for you Sam.”

Gwen laughs with no thought behind it as Jake looks off in the backyard.

Sam didn’t typically act this way, but you assumed he was taking a chance to say something like that in front of Jake. Almost as a reminder. He never brought up what happened, but you could tell sometimes he still felt some way about it. You couldn’t say you blamed him.

“I’m going to cut up some more fruit to top the pie with.” You say excusing yourself away. “Danny, no more beer for this one.” You point at Sam.

He laughs and salutes you as you walk inside.

Once back in the kitchen you take a breather and pour yourself a small glass of wine while grabbing the fruit, cutting boards, and a knife. You take a sip and begin washing the produce. You hum absentmindedly as the water runs. Once washed you begin to dry the fruit and start to chop up some strawberries. Then you cut up pineapple and decide to clean up the mess before you get to your last fruit.

“Wine?” A voice pops up from behind you.

You jump, slightly startled. Then you see Jake standing in the doorway with his hand up on the frame. His sunglasses are finally off and he has a beer in his other hand.

You huff a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Just something to take the edge off I suppose.”

He steps closer towards you. “Want any help?”

You shake your head and look back to the fruit. “I think I’m good. I just need to cut the kiwis now.”

You begin placing the sliced strawberries and pineapple on the top of the pie.

“Nonsense. I’ll cut these up for you.”

You both reach for the kiwis at the same time and your hands touch, grazing by one another. You look over and Jake’s eyes are staring back into yours. Silence. Mere seconds have passed and you feel as if it’s been forever.

“Hey Jake they’re playing cornhole if you wanna-“ Gwen states stepping into this kitchen. “Oh sorry if you’re helping I can just partner with Josh.”

You rip your eyes away from Jake and shake your head. “No, no. Go play Jake. I’ve got it from here.”

You can see in your peripheral he glances back down at you. “Okay yeah. Let’s go.”

Then he leaves the kitchen and grabs Gwen’s hand wrapping it in his.

You chug the rest of your wine and cut the kiwis.

**

“Fuck that was so good.” Josh states, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah it really was. You two could call yourselves chefs.” Gwen says, taking a sip of her water.

You and Sam laugh simultaneously.

“What? Did you poison us or something?” Josh asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Something like that.” Sam starts. “The fish filets? They’re plant based. We’re full veg now baby.”

Sam wraps his arm around you as you continue to giggle at his antics.

“Oh son of a bitch. You two have somehow now become more annoying.” Danny teases.

“I mean what a better opportunity to make this announcement than at a dinner party where you actually enjoyed your vegetarian food?” You ask, lifting your wine glass off of the table.

“I think I would rather have been poisoned.” Josh jokes.

You all laugh at that.

“I think I’m going to grab some pie. Anyone want some?”

Jake asks, starting to get up.

Everyone raises their hand.

“Well shit let me just go put on my butler uniform and I’ll get to work on bringing that out for you all.”

Gwen laughs. “I’ll get a bell for you babe!”

You tip your wine glass towards her and nod. “Now that is a good idea.”

She lets out a laugh and inches closer to you. “Right? He’s been so weird today, it’s good to see him smile. I think he’s just tired, they were in the studio last night.”

You force a smile. “Oh definitely. They might as well take overnight bags when they go.”

Except, they weren’t in the studio last night. Sam was at home with you and you knew Danny went ax throwing. It was seldom Jake or Josh went without the other two, especially since they had their own studio in their house. You tried not to read into that too much.

Jake returned a few minutes later with the pie cut and portioned. He plopped a slice down on everyone’s plate. You all ate with an array of small talk bouncing around the table. When you were finished Josh and Danny did the dishes and cleaned up while you and Sam had gotten the fire pit going outside. Jake had grabbed one of Sam’s guitars and was sitting by tuning it. Gwen stared at him in awe, you remember those days.

But your head was glued on Sam. Watching him try to light some fancy logs you two had bought as he cursed under his breath. A smile curled up on your lips and a light laugh left you. Sam turned around and beamed a smile at you. “Hush.”

You threw your hands up in defense. Finally, he got it to light. Then everyone gathered around the campfire while Jake softly strummed. You laid your head on Sam’s shoulder while he held your legs. He smelled so good, just like himself. You swear you would turn his scent into a candle if given the opportunity.

Josh and Gwen were talking about something in depth while Danny entertained Sam. There were a few bottles of wine that were brought out, so everyone poured a glass. Sam took the light sweet liquid and brought it to his lips, softly humming and running his thumbs over your skin. He glanced down at you and gave you a wink as you grinned back at him.

You were so in love and you felt so at peace. Surrounded by the people you love the most: your friends, your soulmate, your family.

**

THREE YEARS LATER:

Wedding planning was a bitch. You shut your laptop and groaned. If you got on Pinterest one more time you might have thrown up.

“Hey it’s okay. I don’t care what anything looks like. All that matters is that it’s you and me up there.” Sam offers in a kind voice. “I’m going to make you some tea.”

You sighed. “I know Sam, it’s just so fucking stressful. I thought us having a tiny wedding would be easy. I stand corrected.”

Sam chuckled and placed a teabag in a mug. “Baby nothing with me is ever going to be easy.”

That brought a smile to your face. “I know. That’s why I’m marrying you.”

He placed your tea down next to you and placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Just a few short weeks and you’ll be mine forever.”

“I already am.” You remind him with a grin.

**

The day had arrived. It was hectic to say the least, but you and Sam had spent last night together cuddled up in bed discussing how no matter what everything would be perfect. You were all back in Michigan, choosing to get married at a lake house you had been to as kids. It was secluded and beautiful. There weren’t many people invited to your wedding and you and Sam had chosen to skip the groomsmen/bridesmaids aspect. Per tradition, you hadn’t seen Sam all day, but you could hear him. He was getting ready on the third floor while you were on the second floor. You could hear him pacing about and raising his voice at his brothers. It made you giggle. He was nervous, as if you would ever say no.

“Makeup and hair is here. You ready?” Margo asks you.

You smile and nod. “Send them in.”

You were about to begin your getting ready process. You had already had various hair treatments done, your teeth whitened, nails done, toes done, spray tan, you had even gotten a special facial (not from Sam). All that was left was makeup, hair, jewelry, then dress. The dress of your dreams. It was just a plain and simple white silk dress that hugged your body perfectly. The train was rather small and you opted out of a veil. Sam would be in a classic black suit, tailored specifically for him. You had seen the previews of the suit and it made your heart skip a beat. The theme of your wedding was florals. Really just purple, blue, pink, and orange wildflowers. These flowers were scattered amongst white roses on the small wooden arch and dusted around the aisle. You would be married right in front of the lake, with a small reception at the lake house after. It was simple and small, but everything you could have wanted and more.

Your hair sat in rollers while the makeup artist rolled a nude pink lip liner over your lips.

“I’m going to run something down to Josh.” Margo announced, leaving the door slightly ajar.

You gave her a nod as you heard her click down the stairs. The makeup artists continued to focus in on your lips and you stared at yourself in the mirror. You looked beautiful. Dewy plump skin, natural contour and blush, light warm smokey eye with lashes, paired with this nude pink satin lip.

“Margo hold up!” You heard your fiancé almost yell out.

“What’s wrong Sam? Getting cold feet?” She asked with a laugh.

You heard him scoff. “No. I probably have the hottest feet in the history of feet right now. I need you to please come and fix Daniel’s tie. He thinks it’s straight and it isn’t.”

You chuckled at Sam’s concern. He had tried to be the calm one about this wedding. But deep down you knew he was just as much of a perfectionist as you were. He had been there to ground you through the stress of the planning, but you had secretly heard him get snippy with his brothers on the phone when they chimed in on the wedding. He had put a lot of thought and effort into this day, but didn’t want you to stress about it.

You sat in your chair as your rollers were taken out and your hair was sprayed and teased. Truthfully, you loved the way your hair had turned out. It was full of volume and light curls. You added your gold and pearl earrings and sprayed perfume onto your hair and body. The last thing you had to do was put your dress on. You smiled as you slipped the white fabric up your body and Margo got to work on pinning.

“Oh fuck. You look so beautiful.” She said, giving a small sniffle.

Margo looked beautiful too. She was in a light green midi dress that tied in the back. Her light pink hair contrasted it perfectly.

“Stop it right now.” You say, pushing a tear away. “I’m not crying on my wedding day.” A half sob half laugh escapes your throat.

Margo wraps you in a hug and then clears her throat. “So we’re ready then?”

You nod and give her a smile.

“I’ll go rally the troops.”

Margo heads down to get everything in motion and you stare out the window at the arch and the beautiful scenery around it. There would be no more than twenty people attending, but you still felt a little nervous.

Just then you heard a knock on the door frame. You turned around to see Jake. He had an indescribable look on his face with a soft smile.

“Wow.” He breathed. “You look absolutely breathtaking. Sam is going to cry his eyes out.”

You laughed at him. “He better.”

“I just wanted to come down and say, I’m happy for you. I’m happy for you and Sammy both. It’s a beautiful day.”

You smiled brightly at him. “Thank you Jake.”

He returned the same smile. “I’ll see you down there.”

Then he’s off down the stairs filing in with everyone else.

Only one thing left to do now, and that was to get married.

**

Sam did cry; borderline sobbing. That melted your heart. The ceremony was beautiful. Your family, Josh, Danny, Jake and Gwen, Sam’s family, Margo, aunts, uncles, a few cousins, and a photographer friend were in attendance. They all followed you and Sam into the “reception.” Which was really just the large outdoor patio. Josh rigged up speakers and acted as the DJ.

“For the first time Mr. & Mrs. Kiszka!” He bellowed into the small karaoke microphone. Everyone collectively cheered. There was the first dance, a few speeches, and of course food. You had catered a vegetarian burger joint and a modest sized vanilla cake. Everything was delicious. After the champagne toast, you took a few pictures before a majority of the crowd shuffled out knowing once the alcohol began to flow things would get out of hand. You hugged your parents and family who came, promising to meet for brunch tomorrow. Then turned your attention back to Sam who was more than eager to have you to himself. He kept his hand around your waist the whole night while everyone played drinking games and danced. Gwen had gotten incredibly intoxicated as she swayed around in her lilac dress. Jake eventually had to sit her down and force water and bread onto her, before resuming his drinking activities.

Josh was pouring more tequila shots for everyone while his vape hung out of his mouth. “Gather round! Gather round! I have the nectar of the gods!”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and turned towards you. “I can’t keep my hands off of you Mrs. Kiszka.”

Sam’s eyes were a little red and he had the slightest smell of alcohol on his breath. He had been incredibly diligent with pacing himself on the extracurricular activities, as you know he wanted you both to enjoy your wedding night.

You smiled mischievously at him. “We’re married, Mr. Kiszka. You don’t have to.”

Sam reached down and scooped you up while you erupted in giggles.

“Sorry Josh! No can do! I’m taking my wife to our room. An apology fair in advance to everyone staying in this house tonight. We won’t be quiet!”

You lightly smacked his arm as he walked into the house, still carrying you. “Sam! Goodnight everyone! Thank you for coming!”

You and Sam both laughed giddy with each other. He finally got you both into your room. Then, he unzipped you out of your dress and let it fall to the floor. You had on white lace lingerie underneath and Sam gave your ass a light smack as you plopped down on the bed. He sat beside you with soft eyes.

“I can’t believe I get to call you my wife. Forever.”

You grin at him. “Forever baby. I love you.”

“I love you. You’re so beautiful. Ethereal even.”

“Don’t make me blush. Why don’t you get out of those clothes? Do a little strip for me.”

He smirks at you while starting to undress. “Your wish is my command. Happy wife, happy life right?”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Shut up and come here.”

**

The next morning you woke up next to your husband sleepy eyed and well rested. You glanced over and saw him sleeping peacefully bathed in sunlight, his arms still wrapped around you. You looked over at your ring sitting proudly on your finger and couldn’t help but smile. This was your life. He was your life. You would follow him to the ends of the Earth, and he would for you as well. You started to scoot over slightly and he subconsciously pulled you closer into him. You nuzzled into his chest, content to lay like this all morning as your breaths synched. It was a preview as to how your life would go.

You and Sam, moving together fluidly as one.

Forever.

***

Fin

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don’t Go Blindly Into The Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus @i-need-help-this-is-my-obsession @devoted-people-hater

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: death, trafficking references, slavery (Kerch indenture system), injuries, broken bones, blood, violence, implied violence, abuse, ptsd, implied child abuse, loss of loved ones, grief, dehumanisation, imprisonment, misogyny, implied sexual assault (there isn't a scene focusing on the event itself and what happened isn't explicitly stated but it's very strongly implied that the character experienced this during the course of this chapter), dead bodies, murder, non-consensual drug use, choking/airway trauma, child abuse, separation from home & family

Note: You guys... this is over 8000 words long... it was not originally suppsoed to be this long but I love Anya so much I just looked up at some point like 'oh damn, whoops'. Other than it being so ridiculously longer than all the other chapters I really hope that you enjoy this, I am honestly so happy with it I'm so excited to be able to share it!!! I do, however, want to say please read through the content warnings, because this chapter is pretty dark <3 Thank you all so much for reading!!!!!!!!

AO3 link

Interlude - Anya

The end of Anya’s life was characterised by knocks on doors. So mundane. So simple. 

The first one came at the Van Eck house. Joras wasn’t long back from a voyage with one of Van Eck’s shipments, as a Squaller he travelled with most of the trade ships to call winds or calm the skies whenever necessary, and had caught a bad break to two of his fingers during the journey. 

“What did you do this time?” Anya asked, shaking her head, letting gentle humour lilt in her voice, as she gestured for him to sit down with her. 

Joras insisted he had got his hand trapped between the boom and the thwart, which meant nothing to Anya because she didn’t know the parts of a boat - and that meant she couldn’t be certain whether or not the story added up, because she didn’t know how booms or thwarts worked. She felt suspicious as she eased Joras’ hand into hers, but she said nothing. It wasn’t too difficult an injury to fix; Anya traced her fingertips lightly over the broken bones and shifted them back into place, the dark bruising shrinking beneath her touch, the quick cracking sound of his bones filling the air between them and then dissipating just as quickly. Joras flexed his fingers in and out of his fist, then pulled a sharp arc through the air so a brief gust of wind flew through the workshop. Anya laughed as her hair lifted briefly up off her shoulders and then resettled. 

“Perfect,” he smiled, “As always,”

“You just do that because you like to hear me laugh,”

“Well, who wouldn’t want to hear such a beautiful sound?”

Anya liked Joras - enough that she didn’t mind his flirting, and might even reciprocate from time to time - but theirs was a difficult friendship to maintain. So frequently he vanished, and for so long, and so often he came back injured. For the past year or so the two of them had been the only Grisha indentured at the Van Eck house, and so much of Anya’s time was spent alone trying not to go mad in the confines of the workshop. Wylan would often sneak to see her, when he could; on early mornings, or when his father was out or busy with other occupations. 

She’d once told him, when they were alone in the workshop, that sometimes she thought she wouldn’t mind kissing Joras. More to fill a silence than anything else, not that it was a lie but just that she couldn’t think of anything else to say, but Wylan had burst out laughing and Anya wasn’t sure she’d ever been happier to see him smile. She still threw one of her grapes at him in mock offence, though. 

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry,” he managed, still laughing, as he picked up the grape and threw it back at her, “You just took me by surprise,”

A moment passed. 

“So… Joras?”

“Oh, leave me alone,”

“You brought it up!” Wylan cried, laughing again, before suddenly wincing and glancing at the door as he lowered his voice, “Why don’t you just ask him?”

Anya raised her eyebrows. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could spontaneously combust,” she said, restraining a giggle, “Or… I don’t know, accidentally kill him or something,”

Wylan laughed again, pressing one hand over his mouth to try and muffle the sound.

As Joras looked at her now, somehow she knew that he genuinely meant that he enjoyed her laugh, that even though the sound was a silly, fun-filled shriek and not the pretty drifting and tinkling of bells, that he thought it was beautiful. She stared back into his eyes for a minute, eyes that so calmly settled on her as though they had never wanted to be anywhere else but here, the dark moss of a forest floor containing a thousand beautiful secrets that Anya wanted to learn. 

“What?” he smiled, a little nervously, “What are you looking at?”

Anya shrugged. 

“Just you,”

“Oh? You like what you see?”

“I might,” 

Joras’ smile changed ever so slightly, something sparkling on the edge of those dark green eyes. 

“And if I said-”

A banging sounded against the door, and Anya collapsed back into her chair like a deflated balloon as Joras turned his head towards the sound. It would either be Wylan or Paige, one of the younger maids in the house; no-one else ever knocked. 

“Come in,”

The door crept open and Paige leaned cautiously around its edge, looking suspiciously like her nervous smile was trying to hide something. She greeted Joras quietly, her focus clearly elsewhere, before turning towards Anya. 

“Mister Van Eck would like to see you in the main house,” she said softly, “He said to Tailor Wylan’s scars,”

Anya frowned, feeling her guard raising inside her. There was a schedule for Tailoring Wylan’s scars, and she shouldn’t be needed until next week. But she nodded anyway, stood and walked to the door, catching a final glance at Joras over her shoulder as she left. He looked worried. She tried to give him as reassuring a smile as she could manage. 

Paige led Anya to the living room door and then knocked, and when they were called inside a moment later Anya was once again set to alarm when she realised that it was not Wylan’s voice she could hear, but Jan Van Eck’s. They would not be able to have much conversation, then, if he intended to hover over them like a hawk. She bit her lip, something anxious seeping through her chest, and followed the maid inside.

Wylan wasn’t there.

The door banged shut behind Anya and she whirled instinctively, fighting the urge to duck and pull her hands over her ears, to see that Paige had disappeared. She turned back with about as much politeness and dignity as she could muster, to find herself faced by Jan Van Eck, with two of his guards either side of him, and a man she didn’t know. He must have been a similar age to Van Eck, maybe a little older but it was hard to say, and wore the same mercher black, an expensive looking tie pin, a thick, gold wedding band, and shoes so well shined that when she dipped her gaze Anya could see her own frightened reflection staring back up at her. 

“Mister Van Eck,” she managed a polite smile, lowering her head in the customary Kerch bow, “I was expecting that your son-”

“Wylan will not be joining us today,” his voice was cold and as the words rushed over her, Anya’s blood seemed to shiver into matching its temperature, “Well?”

It took Anya a moment to realise that he was no longer addressing her, but the stranger at his side. He looked her up and down, like he was surveying a painting in a gallery or a cut of meat on a market stall, and then shrugged. 

“Agreeable terms,” he replied, before holding his hand out towards Van Eck, “The deal is the deal,”

“The deal is the deal,”

They shook. Anya stood there, blinking, as the stranger marched straight past her and out of the door as though she weren’t even there. 

“By tomorrow morning,” he said over his shoulder, “If that’s possible,”

“Of course,” Van Eck nodded, “As soon as possible,”

Anya didn’t understand. She watched the door close again, fidgeted with the sleeve of her kefta, waited until she thought it was appropriate to venture:

“Sir, I’m sorry, I do not-”

She cut off in a gasp as Van Eck grabbed her shoulder, shoving her almost onto the floor as he hissed into her ear so the guards could not hear him. 

“I know what you did, you little wretch. I should sell you into a whorehouse on East Stave for pulling a stunt like that,” he spun her round to face him with almost embarrassing ease, his hand was bigger than her entire shoulder, and a slow, terrifying smile spread across his face as he pushed her towards the door and said: “But luckily for you, Councilman Hoede offered a far more favourable price,”

For a moment Anya barely registered what was happening, could do nothing but search her mind for what she could have possibly done. 

“Rest assured,” he continued, “you will never get anywhere near my son again,”

Anya stumbled. Wylan. He knew that she’d been helping Wylan. 

And now she was going to leave him here, in this house, they were going to take her away and who would be here for-

“Wylan!” she shouted, because surely, surely, he had to be here somewhere, he had to hear her, he had to know, she had to warn him, “Wylan!”

She didn’t know where she found the strength to break free, but the next thing she knew she’d wrestled away from Van Eck’s grasp and was running into the hallway, screaming Wylan’s name up the staircase. The guards were, of course, on top of her in seconds.

She was on the second step of the stairs when they grabbed her; a hand under her shoulder, on her waist, an arm wrapping around her middle and dragging her backwards. 

“Wylan!” she tried again

Please hear me.

“Wylan!”

“Wylan is at university,” said Van Eck coolly, watching her from across the hallway with his arms folded across his chest, “And if you have no intentions of calming yourself-”

“Babink,” she snarled at him, trying to push forwards through the guards’ hold on her, ignoring the stunned looks on the faces of servants hovering nervously in doorways, “You do not deserve a son like him, you do not deserve the ground that he walks on,”

Never had she spoken like this before, not to him, not to anyone. It might have been her only chance to ever do so. Might as well lean into it. 

She spat and snarled every word that she could think of, every possible name that she could call this man, fighting uselessly against the iron grip of the guards pinning her in place. Van Eck just stood and watched her, almost with mild amusement, like a parent waiting for their toddler to tire themselves out instead of succumbing to their tantrum. She paused for breath, which felt heavy and constricted in her chest, and Van Eck studied his fingernails. 

“Are you quite done?”

“Nothing would ever be enough to be finished with you,” she hissed, still trying to step forwards against her restraints, but she had to admit that she was running out of Kerch words to say.

She resorted back to babink, sure that he would understand its meaning well enough, and he just gave a long, low sigh. 

“Knock her out,”

“I could kill you!” she shouted, hurling herself forwards and almost tumbling straight onto the floor with her own momentum as her wrists fell free. It wasn’t true, of course, she wasn’t even sure she could’ve done it if she’d tried. But it felt good to say it, to scream it, “I could kill you for what you did to him!”

Van Eck’s hand landed on her shoulder, tight and painful, and then the guards were on her again and she was being forced towards the ground. 

“If that is at all true, Anya,” he said, leaning down like he was speaking to a very small child, “then you have missed your chance,”

Pain exploded on the side of Anya’s skull, and everything went dark. She dreamed of Ravka. She woke up in chains. 

Waking up came, at first, hand in hand with a strange sense of confusion for her surroundings. Her mind quickly lost its grip on the image of home that she’d been lost in, replaced by tall walls and dark, austere wood panelling beneath wallpaper that told the stories of somebody else’s god; at first she thought she knew where she was, a small storage closet off a service corridor at the back of the Van Eck house that moved from the Grisha workshop to the servants’ staircase and above. This room was the right size, had the right panelling, had the same basic shelving units at her back and neatly folded piles of linens - but she was facing the wrong way, she realised, because sitting like this should mean the door was behind her and instead she was staring at it dead on; the door, also, bore no brass hook on its back but instead there was a slender hat rack at its side, empty of property but for a red kefta draped over one of its pegs like the skin of a dead animal yet to be transformed into a coat for sale. Her red kefta, with the white embroidery and the loose stitching along the cuff where she’d caught it on a nail protruding from the top of the table. She could see the little rip from here, the broken red and white threads curling over each other and hanging frozen in the air. It reminded her that this was not, in fact, her kefta, not really, that such damage would never have so easily occurred upon the fabric of the real thing; this was a Kerch kefta, a false impression of something that was supposed to mean so much more than it, and Anya did not own it. Anya did not own anything. If she’d moved to pick up the costume now she would have felt fabric practically ready to break between her fingers, seams set to burst with the pressure of quick movement, a practically translucent weave, a red ribbon pinned to the lapel - nothing about it built for battle. But she didn’t do that, couldn’t in fact, because there was another thing wrong with this room: Anya was chained to a chair. 

This hadn’t particularly surprised her, it hadn’t been the first thing to alert her something was amiss, and it definitely wasn’t the first time she’d woken up like this during her time in Ketterdam. But it was the realisation that she did not know where she was that made the panic grip her; the foreboding sense that this was new, this was different, and that meant she didn’t know what was going to happen next. 

She didn’t know how much time passed before the door clicked and groaned its way open, but it must have been at least an hour. Footsteps had sounded down the corridor more than once and Anya had braced for the appearance of a stranger, but none had come. This time, though, the footsteps had been different - one in command, expensive shoes and a confident stride, another more nervously obedient scurrying afterwards, and two more in almost perfect time with each other. Someone important, with a servant and two guards. She was sure of it. Whoever was keeping her here, they were coming to collect. 

Anya had quite easily readied herself for the arrival. Her hands were bound tightly to each arm of the chair but she didn’t need her Grisha power to summon tears, she was well-practised at calling for them on cue. With cheeks wet and eyes still brimming, she lowered her face towards her chest and waited for the door to open. Look weak. Look frightened. Look willing. Look quiet. 

It was one of the guards who opened the door. The lock giving way to his key with a loud clunk that slightly surprised Anya - Van Eck rarely bothered with a lock if she was already in chains; he knew well enough she would not get anywhere - and in he stepped, harsh face peering over her and beady eyes flitting over the room. Anya looked up slowly, sniffing through her fake tears, blinking both to adjust to the sudden stream of light pouring through the open door and because she knew that more droplets of water would roll prettily down her cheeks as she did so. She let a breath catch in her throat as her eyes met the guard’s, pleading silently until he turned away and stood to attention with his side towards the door. 

Her captor stepped inside, and immediately Anya clicked the pieces together. It was the same man she’d seen at the Van Eck house, with his slowly roaming eyes and fingers that twitched briefly towards his wedding ring before falling still. She’d first thought him to be closer in age to Jan Van Eck but perhaps the lighting here was less flattering. She would guess he was at least in his early fifties, and he was as obviously prosperous as he had looked at their brief earlier encounter; dressed in fine mercher black with a large, dark blue stone glinting in his tie pin. 

Luckily for you, Councilman Hoede offered a far more favourable price.

So this was it, was it? This was all that her desperate fighting had gotten her. A house farther down the same road, new people to learn, new rules to follow, new threats to contend with. No chance of moving any further. No chance of helping Wylan. 

She was still on the same fucking street. And all of it was over. 

Hoede was followed in by a servant but the other guard remained outside the door, perhaps in case she started shouting again or tried to get out. They obviously knew everything she’d done in her final moments at the Van Eck house. 

“Anya?” asked Hoede, not that it particularly sounded like any kind of question of introduction, studying the tears of her cheeks with what she, grimly and yet victoriously, thought might have been satisfaction, “I am glad to see you have awoken,”

I’m sure you are. What a waste of money it would be if I’d dropped dead on my way here. 

“I am Councilman Hoede and, as you should know, I purchased your indenture just recently,”

Anya nodded, slowly, then attempted a halting, nervous: 

“Yes, sir,”

Hoede gave a single, sharp nod, still surveying her. 

“Well before we can take this agreement any further,” he said, as if she was agreeing to anything here, “we need to discuss what happened yesterday,”

Yesterday? How long had she been unconscious? What had they done to her? 

“I am very sorry, sir,” she said, emphasising her accent ever so slightly, “I was frightened, I did not understand what was happening and I panicked,”

“That’s very understandable,” Hoede nodded, “It is not uncommon for those like yourself to be prone to such hysterics, I know, but you must learn to keep them under control,”

“Of course, sir,” she managed, through gritted teeth. 

“Are you calm enough now that we can remove your bonds? You will be sensible?”

“Yes, sir,” Anya bit the inside of her lip, hard, “Thank you,”

Hoede regarded her for a moment longer, then snapped his fingers towards the boy at his side. He was maybe twenty or a little more, Zemeni born but with no hint of an accent in the few words she’d overheard him sharing with Hoede as they walked down the hallway, slender and neatly fitted together like his joints had been intentionally snapped into place. He smiled at her and Anya felt the skin on her arms turn colder even though there was no breeze in the room. Why would he look at her like that? What did he want from her?

“Show her to the Grisha workshop,” Hoede told him, “But know that I will keep a close eye on you, young lady, and misbehaviour shall not be tolerated,”

And then the door had banged shut and he was gone. The guard followed him out, and the pair was alone. Anya swallowed tightly as the servant knelt at her feet to first free her ankles, and then her wrists. 

“I’m sorry about him,” he said, softly, “But I promise, it’s not too bad here,”

She resisted the urge to huff in reply; servant he may be, and his seeming dislike of Hoede may not be false, but he had more power than her here and she would not risk taking the bait in a cruel plan. If she had learned nothing else of this country, she had at least learned that everyone always had an ulterior motive. 

“What’s your name?”

“Anya,”

“Good to meet you, Anya. I’m Ori,”

She said nothing.

“I’m told you were brought from Councilman Van Eck’s house?” he asked, almost cheerily, as he unwound the chains from around the chair leg. 

“Bought,” she corrected, distantly, as though it were a simple matter of grammar. 

“I met his son once,” Ori continued, as though she had not spoken, and though it seemed he would have gone on, Anya lurched forwards and grabbed his shoulder before he could utter another word, fire in her chest. 

“Wylan?” she whispered, forgetting any hopes of keeping herself away from traps or tricks, forgetting any sensible need to hide her secrets, “You’ve seen him? Is he-?”

“Y-years ago,” the boy stammered in surprise, leaning away from her, “When he was a child,” 

Anya dropped away from him, breaths shuddering through her chest, nodding and lowering her gaze apologetically. 

“Excuse me,” she dared to murmur, “I… I do not know what came over me,”

Ori glanced at her for a moment, then his easy smile returned and he offered her a hand to get to her feet. 

“You are close with him? Wylan?” he asked, either ignoring or not noticing how nervously Anya accepted his outstretched hand.

How was she supposed to answer this without wading into dangerous territory? She had acted rashly, without thought, and now she was going to have to face the consequences. 

“He is kind,” was all she dared to murmur. 

There were two other Grisha in the workshop here; a Fabrikator named Yuri, a couple of years older than Anya, and Retvenko, a Squaller some good amount of years older than either of them who’d been at the house ever since the Ravkan Civil War. When Anya stepped over the threshold that first day they both looked up, then at each other, some kind of secret language passing between their silent eyes. As soon as Ori had introduced them to each other he left, and Retvenko beckoned Anya toward him to issue her a warning. She listened, terrified, promising herself she would be careful. But, of course, that didn’t make a difference. It took about a month. 

They both knew, afterwards, when she crept to the workshop like a frightened mouse and spent the entire day in silence, studying the ground, trying to keep herself from crying. Yuri watched her over the top of his work, and she felt like she was going to catch alight beneath his gaze. Retvenko did her the small blessing of ignoring her, but for passing her a glass of water when they paused for lunch. 

“At least drink,”

Anya said nothing. When the pair returned she had not moved an inch from where she sat, had not touched the glass. Yuri held out a piece of fruit towards her and suddenly a dam burst inside her; the tears flooded out of her from despair and pain and sorrow and from being so overwhelmed by this simple, tiny act of kindness. Sobs burned like fire in her throat, the tears felt like acid on her cheeks. She was vaguely aware of Retvenko calling for a maid, of words passing between lips, of being shepherded out of the workshop and up the servants’ staircase to her little room. They claimed that she was ill, and she got three days alone, shivering in her room, to stitch the pieces of herself back together. It was lucky timing, if you could call it that; Hoede’s wife returned from her break to the countryside that week and remained at the house for a full five months. For a full five months, nothing happened. 

*

“May I ask why you're here?” said Anya, offering a chair to the boy who had just been led into the Grisha workshop. 

He looked too young to wear the purple stadwatch uniform he was clad in, but she guessed he must be just a year younger than her. There was a nasty bruise under his eye, dark purple and blue, that Hoede wanted her to clear up for him. 

“It’s my new post - well, first post, really,” he said, as he sat down, “I’m staying here for a while, I think; they want extra security at the Councillmen’s houses because of what happened to the Zemeni Trade Ambassador,”

“We should be introduced properly then,” she nodded, “If we are to know each other for some time. I am Anya,”

“Joost,”

“Good to meet you, Joost,” she stood slightly to lean over him as she reached out to Heal his bruise, “This will itch for a moment, but then it will be fine,”

Anya didn’t smile much these days. There were too many things going on inside her head for that. It was barely a month since they told her that Wylan… 

No, Anya didn’t smile much at all these days. But when Joost looked up at her with those wide, pale blue eyes, something tugged at the corners of her mouth. He’s clearly never experienced Grisha power before, and the awe in his expression made him look so innocent that she couldn’t help it. She smiled, just a little, to see that innocence still existed somewhere. And so close by. 

It had only been after about a week of living at the Hoede house that the Councilman asked her about Wylan. That boy, Ori, must have told him. Anya seethed - more for her own foolishness than for him reporting on her; she should have known that he’d do it. That he may have had no choice but to do so. 

“Perhaps, Anya,” Hoede had said, “if we don’t have any problems, it would be possible to arrange some time for you to see him again,”

���Really?” she’d whispered, looking up, in spite of herself. 

She tried to reel it back but it was too late. Hoede had heard the desperation in her voice, seen it in her eyes. He knew he’d got her. He smiled. 

It wasn’t true, was it? She knew that, really, of course she did. Even if Hoede wasn’t outright lying to her, Van Eck would never allow it. 

“It may be possible. Can we agree that if the next month passes without issue you will be happy to write to him?”

“He-”

“I’m aware of the child’s lack of sight,” Hoede waved a vague hand, “I am sure someone would be able to read it to him, and that he could transcribe a reply. Would you like that? Do we have a deal?”

It didn’t matter that she knew, somewhere inside of her, that this was a front, a trap, a lie. It didn’t matter if it was just a dream. Because he’d found her lever anyway, and Anya nodded even though she knew that she probably shouldn’t. 

“We have a deal,”

And that was it, then. He had rendered her incapable of saying no. 

It was an evening not long after this that the second knock in the build up to Anya’s death came calling. The knock came on the door of her little bedroom and she was led out to the back of the house by a guard in Hoede’s green livery with no answers to her questions. The air was crisp enough to raise the hair on her arms as she padded out into the night, to see Hoede and a group of guards waiting for her. Anya was shoved roughly forwards by the meaty hand of the guard who brought her downstairs and found herself almost tripping straight over a girl lying in the grass of the garden. She was on her back, staring unblinking at the dark sky with empty eyes. There was nothing behind them anymore, there was only the reflection of the stars far above. Anya gasped. 

“What- what happened?”

“It is not of your concern,” snarled Hoede, his eyes dangerous. 

Anya took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“I cannot Heal her if she is already-”

“She is dead,” said Hoede, simply, as if both of them couldn’t already see it. As if it didn’t matter, “Make it look like she was choked,”

“Why-?”

Anya’s question died with the sting of a hand across her cheek. 

“Do it,”

Shivering, though not because the night was cold, she knelt at the corpse's side and took her hand into her own. There was nothing to feel beneath the press of empty skin; no blood, no movement, nothing. But she must have died quite recently because livor mortis, where the blood pooled on the underside of the body without a heart to keep it pumping, had not yet begun. Barely an hour then, maybe less. 

The girl was young, Anya realised - at least a year younger than her, probably more. She was dressed in scant fake silks, her body lithe beneath them, her feet bare. Her skin had the golden hue of someone who’d been raised in the Southern Colonies, under a brighter sun than that of Kerch, and her brown eyes were wide and startled, more like they belonged to a doe than that they matched the leopard spots painted on her cheek and down her neck. 

Anya raised one hand to the girl’s neck, very slowly, and began to trace her fingers across the skin. With her other hand she reached out to her insides, trying to find out what had happened, and was met with the shock of water inside her lungs. Water? She had drowned? 

She traced a thumb over the girl’s pointed cheekbone as though to brush away a non-existent tear, smudging the edge of a painted leopard spot. What did they do to you? 

This couldn’t be right. The girl bore no signs of drowning; her flesh had not bloated, her skin had not discoloured. Her skin and hair were bone dry, but she couldn’t have been dead longer than an hour.

But there were too many eyes on Anya to investigate much further. Too many threats for her to dare taking much longer. She apologised silently to the stranger as she spread bruises across her throat and then, with a sharp tug through the air that sparked real tears into the corner of Anya’s eyes, crushed her windpipe. 

“What was her name?”

No-one answered her. She could hear them moving behind her but she stayed leaning over the girl anyway, brushing the hair of her face as she began to whisper a prayer. They were pulling her away before she’d got the chance to close the girl’s eyes. 

“No - no wait, please, let me-”

“Your job is done,” 

“No, please, please, let me pray for her, let me- let me-”

The guard holding her gave her a sharp shake, strong enough to rattle her teeth so they felt like they might spring right out of her jaw, and lifted Anya clear off the ground with casual ease as she continued to try and pull away. 

“No, please, please-” she tried, still scrambling uselessly towards the girl, “Please-”

She earned herself a smack on the side of the head, and finally fell silent. They held her there as two more guards collected the corpse, and Anya watched Hoede through a stream of tears as she bit her tongue to keep her pleas and questions to herself. 

“You will not breathe a word of this to anyone,” he said, looking down at her, “Understood?”

Anya breathed tightly, lowering her gaze not from fear, and definitely not from respect, but because she did not want him to see her cry. 

“Yes, Onkel,” she whispered, “Of course,”

She did as she was told.

Anya had written to Wylan at least five times since coming to this house, though a reply had never come and she knew in her heart that the letters were never sent. It was a month ago, now, that she’d dared to ask Hoede about the possibility of seeing him again. 

“I’m afraid I learned just earlier today that the boy has left the city,” he’d said, almost distracted, “to attend music school in Belendt. I assumed you knew of this - did he not write to you?”

Of course he didn’t, Hoede knew that. But Anya didn’t even care for this cruelty, because she’d stopped listening by the time he said that. Because there was not a chance that Jan Van Eck would let his son leave this city. If Wylan wasn’t in that house anymore it could only mean one thing, she knew. She felt like something was piercing her through the stomach; the moment Hoede had left, a painful sob forced its way from her throat and she fell onto her knees. Yuri’s gentle arm appeared around her shoulders and she wept into his chest, unable to articulate any of the thousand things inside her head. She didn’t need to hear anything else. 

She knew. 

She knew. 

But, somehow, once Joost had drawn that smile out of her, it was like she’d remembered how to and her body didn’t want to let go of it. He started stopping to talk to her on his every round of the house, even bringing her little trinkets that he’d bought in the city - a little beaded bracelet, a whimsical map of Kerch with an ocean full of hand-sketched sea monsters. 

The third of those fate-sealing knocks, if you believe in things like fate, came not for Anya, but for Yuri. No-one knew why Hoede had come for the Fabrikator this early evening, and no-one knew what had happened whilst he was gone, but when he returned something profound had clearly changed.

“Yuri?” Anya ventured, watching him, “Are you-?”

He flinched to look up at her, eyes flashing and wild. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he whispered, “I don’t- I didn’t- I- I-”

His words broke into fragments as though he couldn’t breathe, but before Anya could say anything more he had lurched to his feet and met her in the centre of the room. 

“It broke her,” he hissed, grabbing Anya’s hand so tight enough to be painful, “It’s inside her head. It’s in my head, all of it. It’s screaming,”

“Yuri-” Anya tried, pulling her hand to no avail, “Yuri, please-”

“She doesn’t even remember,” the way his voice shook almost made it sound like he was laughing, but he looked absolutely terrified, “So much metal in the body. I can feel it,”

“Yuri-”

He pressed a finger to his lips, shaking his head, then said softly: 

“You need more calcium. Did you know that? I didn’t, before, but I can feel it now,”

“I- what? Yuri-”

“I can help with that,”

“What are you-?”

Yuri raised one of his hands and then suddenly there was a guard on his arm, forcing him backwards. He didn’t struggle, but he kept his gaze on her and his free hand still held hers close. 

“They came for me,” he whispered, eyes wild and desperate, gripping her even tighter and pulling her close, “They’ll come for you too. They’re coming,”

“Let go of me, Yuri, let-”

“Pray,” he snarled, letting go of her so she fell backwards with her own momentum and crashed against the wall, “They’ll come for you next,”

Anya stared at him, shaking, pressed against the wall on the floor of the Grisha workshop. What was happening? This was Yuri. Yuri, who had found her on the bad nights, brought her food and water, who had sat with whilst she wept. Yuri, who had held her when the news about Wylan came, who had cradled her like a child and never pressured her to tell him any of it, who had let her cry into his shoulder for what to him would have sounded like nothing of more gravity than a weather report. She stared up at him, still quivering, as someone offered her their hand to help her to her feet and someone else began to lead Yuri out of the workshop. 

“Wh-What-?”

“He didn’t mean to hurt you,” murmured someone to Anya’s right, and after a beat she realised it was Greta’s hand that she was holding; a maid about her age who had always been kind and gentle, “He has a very bad fever, it’s addling his mind. Mister Hoede wants him quarantined, to make sure it doesn’t spread. Don’t pay his words any heed, it doesn’t mean anything,”

Anya nodded stiffly, a little shakily. 

“Are you alright?”

“I- yes, thank you,”

Greta smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I’ll bring some tea,” she said, “It’ll do you good,”

Anya could only nod, and return shivering to her chair at the workbench. He was just spouting nonsense, wasn’t he? It was just a fever. Wasn’t it? She shuddered, rubbing her wrist where the shadow of his hand still gripped her. 

The last knock didn’t take too long to come.

Anya and Retvenko were sitting in the workshop, in their customary silence, when Greta rapped the open frame as she stepped into view. 

“Mister Hoede asked for you to go to the boathouse,” she told Anya, with a light shrug that told Anya there was no point in asking why because Greta didn’t know either. 

Anya nodded, glancing briefly back at Retvenko with frightened questions in her eyes that he either did not notice or did not care to acknowledge - it was impossible to tell with him - and followed her out into the garden. Crossing through the damp grass it was difficult to push away the memory of the dead girl she had Tailored, and as she tried to push the thoughts away Anya forced herself to focus on the crocuses growing near the boathouse and around her feet. She could smell them in the air, rising up to greet her and cradle something close to her chest. Joras had given her a bunch of crocuses, once, that he got at the harbour on his return; six of them, tucked together in a brown woven ribbon. 

“How did you possibly afford this?” she’d asked, holding them close and inhaling their scent like a drug. 

“Who says I bought them?” he teased, and when he saw her stricken expression: “I picked them Ani, don’t look at me like that!”

They’d both laughed. Anya convinced Paige to let her keep a glass of water from the kitchen in the workshop, and the crocuses sat in the centre of the table until they’d turned so brown and dry and wilted that she could no longer justify keeping them. Looking back on it, she wished she pressed them when they were fresh; she could have tucked them into the pocket of kefta and kept them close forever. But they were long dead now. 

“Pretty,” Wylan had said, when he was certain it was only the two of them in the room; only Anya knew that he could see the flowers, “You have definitely got to ask him to kiss you,”

“Wylan!”

“He picked you flowers, Ani,” he’d teased, having overhead the nickname that morning, before Joras left for another voyage, “He even chose a ribbon for them. I bet he’d say yes,”

Anya blushed so profusely that she wasn’t sure she’d ever looked pinker in her entire life. 

“I should never have told you,”

Wylan grinned. 

“You did though,” he preened, “Now you have to live with it forever,”

Anya wondered if Joras knew where she’d gone, if he ever thought about her anymore. She thought about Wylan, grinning at her over a vase of crocuses, laughing, the light dancing in his eyes, and suddenly felt the desire to rip every single flower from the beds and tear them into a thousand pieces. Why was the smell so strong? She hated it. It was choking her. She prayed for something, anything, strong enough to overpower it so she never had to smell those stupid flowers ever again. 

“Anya?” 

Anya flinched as Greta’s hand brushed against her elbow, shaking herself back into reality. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Anya rubbed a disobedient tear off her cheek, “Yes. Thank you,”

They walked inside in silence. 

Hoede stood inside the boathouse, with a stadwatch officer, whom Anya guessed must be high up by the little stripes on the breast of his jacket, and another man wearing mercher black, but they weren’t the first thing that Anya noticed. The first thing she noticed was the large metal… well, box, she thought, for lack of a better word to describe it. The front wall was made up mostly by a large window and inside she could see a small table, wherein sat a small boy kicking his feet off the edge of his chair. A stadwatch guard stood behind him. 

Hoede nodded at Greta to dismiss her, then beckoned Anya wordlessly to the box and gestured for her to step through the open door on the side. The stadwatch guard closed the door behind her, and she heard the sound of a lock being moved on the outside. This side of the glass was mirrored, so Anya could no longer see Hoede or the strangers in the boathouse, but there was a vent above the glass and she could hear them speaking. The guard directed her to sit down, and she followed the instruction. 

“What’s going on?” asked the boy, looking between them. 

The guard told him to be quiet, and with a nervous shiver he stuck his thumb into his mouth. How old was he? Not yet ten, surely. What was going on here? 

An entire hour passed by as a hum of voices began to slowly filter into the boathouse, a small crowd gathering for no purpose that Anya could divine, before the door opened once more and Hoede stepped inside. He patted the boy on the back. 

“Be brave, lad, and there’s a few kruge in it for you, ja?”

The boy nodded nervously, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

“And you,” he turned to Anya and she braced as he grabbed her by the chin, tilting her face up to meet his eye, “You do as you’re told and this will be over soon, ja?”

Anya forced her serene mask over her features, the cloak she wore day in, day out, and gave him a vague, empty lie of a smile. 

“Of course, Onkel,” 

He nodded, apparently satisfied, and stepped back through the door. There was another low conversation on the other side of the glass that Anya could not properly hear beyond the edges of words - “results… Fabrikator”, “the dose”, “compensate”. What the hell was she listening to? 

“Sergeant?” called a voice she didn’t know, loudly now and clearly for the ears of those trapped inside this strange box, “First test,” 

The stadwatch guard instructed the little boy to pull up one of his sleeves, and almost as soon as he had done so he produced a small knife and crossed it over the child’s skin. The boy burst into tears as blood leaked onto his pale skin and Anya, glaring at the stranger, immediately leant forwards to him as she tried to whisper comforts. 

“Let me see,” she murmured, “I can-”

“Stop that,” snapped the sergeant, placing a hand on her shoulder, but Hoede’s voice floated through the grate telling him to leave off and he stepped away. 

Anya shot an angry stare to the mirror that she hoped was aimed at Hoede, and then laid her fingers softly over the boy’s cut to close the wound. He stared at her, then back at the smooth, unbroken skin of his arm, running a finger over it like he couldn’t believe what had happened. 

“Was that magic?” 

“Of a sort,” Anya smiled, watching him. Innocence, she thought again, with an internal shake of the head, that’s still all it takes to make me smile, “The same kind of magic that your body does, given time and a bit of bandage,”

The boy nodded, still running his fingertips over the place that she had Healed him. 

“Yes, good,” came Hoede’s impatient voice through the grate, “Now the parem,”

Anya frowned. She didn’t know that word. 

The sergeant demanded the boy hold out his arm again and he shied away, shaking his head, but the man grabbed his wrist and pulled it sharply towards him as he slashed the knife across his forearm once more. Before Anya had a chance to respond, he had placed a small envelope in front of her on the table. 

“Swallow the contents of the packet,” said Hoede. 

If he thought she trusted him enough to do that without question then he must be mad. 

“What is it?”

“That isn’t your concern,”

“What is it?” she demanded, refusing to touch the envelope until she was answered. 

“It’s not going to kill you,” he said, impatiently, “We want to judge the drug's effect, we're just going to ask you to perform some simple tasks. The Sergeant will make sure you do only what you're told, understood?”

Anya nodded, more because she saw no other way out of this than following instructions than because she felt convinced, and slowly reached for the little packet. 

“No-one will harm you, but if you hurt the Sergeant you have no way out of that cell. It's locked from the outside,”

Anya nodded again, then peeled back the edge of the envelope and tipped the contents down her throat. 

“Is…” she frowned, but still the hope that she had tried so hard to kill sparked inside her chest, “Is it just jurda?”

“What does it taste like?” asked Hoede. 

“Like jurda, only sweeter. It’s-”

Anya cut herself off with a sharp gasp as every muscle in her body seemed to seize. She inhaled heavily, leaning back. She couldn’t smell crocuses anymore. She could smell blood - the boy’s blood, bleeding lightly on the skin of his arm across the table from her. She could hear his heartbeat, and the sergeant's heartbeat, and the heartbeats of everyone on the other side of the mirror. Each one of them sounded different, she realised; every heart had its own individual pattern, and she could hear all of them without even trying. What was this? It was… beautiful. Anya sighed, and realised she was smiling. A different kind of smile. A new one. 

“Just the same as the Fabrikator,” said someone on the other side of the glass. 

His heart rate had risen; he was scared of her. Good. He should be. 

“Heal the boy,” called Hoede. 

Anya knew, somehow, that she wouldn’t need to try. She didn’t even look at him, just to see if it would work - and it did. She waved her hand; no touch, no line of sight, nothing. The boy’s cut closed in an instant, and Anya felt something rushing inside her. 

“That was magic,” he whispered, and she did turn to see him then. 

“It feels like magic,”

“Anya, listen closely,”

Anya made a soft humming sound. She didn’t really want to listen to him anymore. She didn’t have to. She could do anything she wanted to. And that was definitely going to be a problem for Councilman Hoede. 

“We’re going to perform the next test now. Sergeant, cut the boy’s thumb off,”

The child cried out in fear, scrambling to sit on both his hands as he frantically shook his head. The sergeant stepped forwards, but Anya wasn’t worried. She looked up at him, smiling her brand new smile. 

“Shoot the glass,”

“What did she say?”

“Sergeant!”

Anya watched him. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if it was working. She reached out to him again - it was so easy, so quick. The sound of his blood rushing moved through her like she was floating on the surface of the True Sea, she wrapped an invisible hook around his heart and felt its rhythm as she raised the rest of her focus to his brain and said again: 

“Shoot the glass,”

She knew that it had worked this time. There was a slight knack to it, but once she’d done it once she knew that she could do it again and again and again. His heartbeat calmed and settled, safe and eased in her command. Comfortable. His face went slack, his eyes blank, and then he drew his weapon and turned to follow his orders like a good little watchdog. 

The gunshots were loud but they couldn’t frighten her now, not when she could control them - not when the heartbeats were even louder. Not when she was floating. The glass rained down ahead of them, a shattered mirage, and a frenzy of cries filled the air. Guns were raised, the cocking of pistols hit her ears, but Anya was calm. She was not afraid. She would never have to be afraid again. 

“Wait,”

All of them - every single one, with a single word - fell quiet and blank. They looked up at her expectantly, patiently. Her toy soldiers. 

“Hoede,” she beckoned, “Come inside,”

He obeyed, of course. 

“Come here,” she whispered to the boy, not commanding him like she had done the others. 

He shuffled towards her and tucked himself into the arm she offered him, either too scared or too confused or too overwhelmed to ask any questions. 

“Don’t look,” she whispered, gently easing him against her shoulder and stroking the back of his head. 

He settled into her, one tiny fist clinging to her kefta. Anya looked up at Hoede, waiting in patient, expectant silence.

“Do as you're told and this will soon be over, ja?”

It was definitely not for innocence that she was smiling any longer. 

*

Anya didn’t know the layout of Ketterdam well, but it wasn’t hard to find her way to the harbours. She ran as far as she could down the Geldstraat, only halting briefly in front of the house that she was pretty sure, though she didn’t know the street or the front of the house very well, belonged to Jan Van Eck. She hesitated - but she didn’t even know why. Wylan wasn’t there. Wylan was… he wasn’t there. There was nothing left in this city for her, not anymore.

It was time to go home. 

[mangocheesecakeicecream]

There's no matheme for love it doesn't lend itself to fantasy or to any of the other little compositions that we have in the graph of desire but it would have something to do with being cool enough with your own split subjectivity to allow the same in another you might think of this as a kind of radical approach to acceptance or something along these lines but remember lacan's definition giving what you don't have this is love and to have it reciprocated i think sometimes that the ultimate horizon of this lacanian stuff as far as human beings are concerned is a way of being with another person that allows lack not to be a problem overcome at the level of the dream of eden overcome by a series of spa treatments where you and your partner hold hands as you get massaged nothing like that it's a little grittier than that it's about being fucked up together if you will and i would like to suggest that as we think about this as a clinical practice i'd like to suggest that there is something satisfying productive not maladaptive well adaptive about being able to be fucked up with somebody you were not an addict and now you're not you're always gonna be an addict that's who you are that's what you are and when you find somebody who's cool with that who can hear that you're in a different place i think the goal of lacanian analysis is to turn out subjects who know how to love in this way who can see split subjectivity as a handsome condition instead of the decline of humanity the worst part of modernity and so forth it's just the opposite i don't know what kind of mood that results in maybe a kind of humility i think self-compassion comes very naturally to people who have undergone the lacanian psychoanalysis and reached the end but uteromorphic dreams of wholeness and all the fundamental fantasies thereof those are the things that usually you don't see when you meet people like this it doesn't mean that they're happy with their misery or with you with yours it just means that they have a kind of contentment which is different from happiness a kind of ease around discomfort i think that's worth holding in mind as we take a little break here i think it's worth holding in mind as we start moving deeper into the graph of desire when we come back from lunch or whatever this break is for you i want to talk a little bit about how it is that language comes into our lives and i want to show you at a really granular level even at the risk of verging onto developmental psychology how this happens how it is that we wind up as split subjects and how it is that others primary caregivers in particular play a part in this what i'm trying to get at here is some way of showing us where we come from as linguistic beings but also in the spirit of this essay what i want to show is how we become these desirous fuck-ups these people that are never satisfied that are constantly miserable that constantly have to buy the next thing how do we become so vulnerable to capitalism it has something to do with how we are introduced in the field of language it has something to do with developmental psychology and i think lacan has a pretty good finger on this i bet you'll be able to come up with some other people who also have good fingers on this but for our purposes when we come back i want to talk about the introduction into language how that works how it produces the fantasy of wholeness i want to talk about how it also marks the origin of desire and with that an opportunity for something else something beyond desire and if you follow up the right hand side of the graph of desire as we did at the start of this class beyond desire is the drive

-Samuel McCormick

[leclercsbf]

i just saw your post about how things seem to be a bit tense between the both of them and i agree, i thought i was the only one who sensed it

for some reason it feels like we’re also getting less content of the both of them together this weekend, for some reason and with the little content they’ve posted, the both of them do look a bit tense around each other. they look like they’re being more careful around each other if that makes sense and not as ease as they always seem to be, maybe i’m overthinking this but their smiles don’t seem to be as bright? as usual too.

i don’t want to judge the whole thing of the tidbits we’re getting too so im hoping that its just me overthinking this and we can judge the whole thing better as we get more content.

and that video of carlos saying he likes his teammate, you’re absolutely right it does look like charles gets less tense once carlos says that, it kinda looks like he’s just exhaling out all the tension and he does look relieved, he seems to smile a bit more after that too cause he seemed quite down prior to that. im thinking it just made him feel better and it was probably reassuring too to hear it out of carlos’ mouth, given everything that happened.

truth be told, this was all kinda expected considering it’s been less than a week since the drama and they probably haven’t had the time to kinda straighten things out after that until now but again you’re right, we’ve been through much worse and i think they might just need some time to settle things and talk things out cause at the end of the day they do get along really well, regardless of what people seem to think.

am i kinda upset that this all had to take place in singapore? yes. but again, im sure they’ll go back to being giggly messes around each other in no time (well at least i hope they do)

im sorry for the rant!! i just also wanted to say how much i absolutely ADORE AND LOVE your fics and your content <3

first off, please don’t say sorry! i absolutely love asks and i’m always happy to read through them, especially when they’re bursting at the seams like this one. that said, i will be putting my reply under the cut just to avoid adding another wall of text, but again—the wall is very much appreciated! don’t ever doubt that.

it’s honestly very interesting to me how more of us seemed to have picked up on the tension than i originally thought, because at first it was just me and goggles who were going back and forth about this whole thing. i feel like we were all kind of just second-guessing it, or maybe we were afraid that talking about it would make it seem more real and therefore more of a cause for concern, and overall it just feels a little strange to speculate based off of the little bits and pieces that we have to work with. however, i do feel like the stuff that the ferrari social media team has been posting is very telling. we all know that they release content whenever rumors about tension in the team start cropping up, but putting a photo of the two of them for the quali result post? come on now. they didn’t even do that for monza, and that’s monza. something’s definitely going on here. i feel like that’s the most compelling example i can provide, but generally it just seems like this week they’ve been throwing out content of the two of them that clearly doesn’t have their usual vibe.

i do agree that they probably haven’t had any time to sort things out, especially with charles delaying his flight to singapore. i’m just as upset as you are that this had to happen here out of all places because it’s singapore, goddamn it, i was so excited at the beginning of the week—but i’m not too worried, and i honestly feel a lot more optimistic after quali. carlos seemed pretty intent on sticking to charles, and after seeing this on top of the olive branch that is “i would have picked charles, esteban. i like my teammate”, i’m inclined to think that carlos is trying to mend things one step at a time. charles’ post-quali review is also very compelling, because look at the way he just smiles the moment he talks about carlos—as if it’s muscle memory, as if he simply can’t help it. they’ll be just fine, anon. we just have to wait it out.

this got long as well, but hey, thank you so much! i’m really glad you like my work and my content, even if the latter is literally just me brainrotting all over everyone’s dashboards. i’m currently working on a new charlos fic, so i’ll try my best not to disappoint. ♥️

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Finish the Feed and Plug the Thing! (And Play the Music!)

Today, under the cut, I shall demonstrate my new ability to create original music that might be recordable! (Guest Starring the Radio Demon from Hazbin Hotel!)

My web serial! My brainchild! My empire of dirt! I write this, I'm only on social media because I want people to look at it, and they're not. I suspect I've sold my cow for some magic beans and it turns out they're not even regular beans, they're foam peanuts. Nevertheless, the people in my orbit seem decent in general SO I WILL CONTINUE TO BROWBEAT YOU WITH GUILT-INDUCING REMINDERS UNTIL MY READERSHIP IMPROVES! No need to thank me! It's a service I provide!

Current known readers: 3 (hi!), 1st Goalpost: 10?

Current supporters: 2 (hi Kith and 5th!), 1st Goalpost: 5?

So! I am doing a Hazbin Hotel fic, while working sporadically on the serial. It involves David and I have a lot to say about mental health, fictional universes and massive multiversal crossovers, so it's still technically serial content, even if you may not want to read it.

But, I like to use side projects to experiment. I have to have something I like enough to put a lot of effort in, but I don't want to feel terrible if that effort comes to nothing. The fic happened because I drew David Vivzie-style to test my drawing ability and stamina. (It's improving! I can draw! Slowly!)

I am writing MUSIC with STAGE DIRECTIONS for David's stay at the Hotel, both reprises of Hazbin Hotel tunes with new lyrics, and new songs with public domain melodies. There is a LOT of music in the public domain. I've been filking pop songs, but that's still legally grey. When I filk this stuff, there's no limits!

...but that's not true, because a lot of it doesn't have lyrics. My process up until now has involved rewriting music with existing lyrics. Never before did I tackle an instrumental. Now I have!

I would call it a 75% success. It scans, fairly well, but I think I made an error in choice of melody. I LOVE this raggy 1925 arrangement of Hungarian Rhapsody - I listened to it a million times to do this and I STILL love it - but if you actually had to sing it at speed, I think your tongue would fly off. Hamilton has unsingable music like that, too, but I think this came out too complex to be catchy. I can barely sing it and I WROTE it!

Nevertheless, here it is (stage directions omitted for ease of reading along fast enough to keep up), with some background on the fic for context: David has, at this point, convinced Alastor they were best friends in the 20s, and made friends with Angel Dust in a more conventional way. Alastor does not wish to be second-best at anything (we've already got a canon song about that!) and is registering an objection from the piano.

...That's probably still incomprehensible, but the point is, it scans. You gotta ignore the intro and start reading when the treble kicks in, but I do think it scans.

ALASTOR: Funnily, we’re both used to dining with refinement Trust two chefs to know I thought our dinner was almost perfect When the waiter served it But then you fondle The ketchup bottle! There’s bearnaise right there on the platter, what’s the matter? Must you stoop so low? Horrors! It’s just as if you called the sous-chef over —  “This needs salting!” So insulting! DAVID: Darling! The sauce is no improvement If the meat is poor With ketchup, there’s no dressing there to dress up  No one loves a pompous bore, Bestie! A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? Formal wear is not required Friendship outshines one’s attire And I won’t mind, I won’t pretend Remember I’m your dearest friend I won’t compete, it’s not a test I can’t be beat, I’m always best D: Although your doubtful dedication’s Quite despicable I don’t envy your situation That’s forgivable A: I’m dedicated when it’s worth it Is that true for you? And of course my friends deserve it What I’d do for you! D: Oh, I forgot, my poor coat is soaking Might you mop up my reckless joking? A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: And one more thing, I’m a little squeamish You think we could keep the murders cleanish? A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: You’re so competitive Do you just want to win? A (counterpoint) : (If that’s better, I’ll do better) D: Hey, I need devotion, too, if you’ve a notion to! You can’t be listening Might you do anything? A: (If that’s better, I’ll do better) D: A fur coat, a fancy car, how ‘bout a chocolate bar? A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: For the salt lick, I hope I’m forgiven? I show respect with little gifts given A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: If I’ve annoyed, I think I should mention I just enjoy all kinds of attention A: And I won’t mind, I won’t pretend Remember I’m your dearest friend I won’t compete, it’s not a test I can’t be beat, I’m always best And I won’t mind, I won’t pretend Remember I’m your dearest friend I won’t compete… D: Can we have sex? A: I ca… [spoken] Old friend, if you were a woman… I’d turn lavender [note: 20s slang for gay] with shame. D: Ah. Tant pis! Shave and a haircut, no sale!

It diverges at the end, they need time to talk to each other, but it's very close!

And I should add how I "transcribed" the music to write that, because it almost broke me. It was so silly I started cackling and had to confess what I was doing and show the spouse the placeholder lyrics. You see, transcribing the beats and stresses as dashes and numbers wasn't working, so I decided to use words. I decided to listen to this music over and over, trying to find words that had a matching rhythm, and place them into stanzas with a rhyming scheme. THIS is what THAT looks like:

It’s okay it’s not even ready it’s a steady It’s an onion bowl Oh but it’s not a begonia-bopper It’s a hot dog topper It’s a taco And it’s a tico It’s okay it’s not even ready it’s a steady It’s an onion bowl Oh ba-by but it’s not a holy hanger it’s a radio And it’s okay but it’s just a Samples! It’s not a rosy robber It’s an onion bowl It’s not a motherfucking compsognathus  It is just an onion bowl But it’s Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s no pony in a pickup It’s a tuesday hiccup coat And scrambled eggs, and scrambled eggs And applesauce, and applesauce And jellybeans and jellybeans And polka dots and polka dots It isn’t very much to listen It’s okay but it’s Not much of a good decision It’s okay but it’s It isn’t very much to listen It’s okay but it’s Not much of a good decision It’s okay but it’s Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s a blue doughnut boy he’s got a taco truck (not a pony in a pickup) And it’s a tree it’s a tree it’s a tree but it’s not It’s a blue doughnut boy he’s got a taco truck (not a pony in a pickup) And it’s a tree it’s a tree it’s a tree but it’s not Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s not a puddle puck in a piston It’s just a whiny duck who won’t listen Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s not a puddle puck in a piston It’s just a whiny duck who won’t listen And scrambled eggs, and scrambled eggs And applesauce, and applesauce And jellybeans and jellybeans And polka dots and polka dots And scrambled eggs, and scrambled eggs And applesauce, and applesauce And jellybeans and jellybeans And polk— It’s not anybody it is just a Camaro cap!

I can't sing that version either ("It's not a motherfucking compsognathus!" I'm dying! 😵I'm dead!) but I'm still fond of it. And look, it worked! Kinda!

If I want to do this for the actual serial, I may have to pick simpler music, or simplify it by choosing PART of the melody to use and repeat. I can't write or read musical notation, but most people can't either, so if I can link you to a piano roll or someone's recording of an old record, we can both sing along on the internet. And maaaybe some day I'll be able to record something. I wouldn't be good at playing or singing, but if you throw enough money at me, I can pay someone!

SO PLEASE GO BEG PEOPLE TO READ ME AND GIVE ME MONEY! THANK YOU!

[scoundrels-in-love]

3, 15, and 22 for the fic writer asks! 💙

Hi hi love <33 Thank you so much for asking! (And for always reading & commenting. I appreciate you so much.)

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written? Oh no, that is so hard to answer. I think there is something I treasure about every fic that imprints it in my memory. Sometimes it might be something that happened during writing process, like a realization or a conversation. I am, however, still very partial to when the sun is coming though, you fill my head with you. It was a scramble to write it after my original idea for the exchange didn't work out and it was my longest fic by far at the time (amusingly enough, I have quite a few fics that come close to the word count now, though it still reigns as longest) and I genuinely like how it turned out.

Climb on your tears like a ladder to a rose, baby (There's a time to rest, There's a time to move on) is, I think, one of my favorite for deeply personal reasons. (It's just self-projection with a side of character study.) Somewhere out there is a Jaime piece to go with it, which would encompass more grief and guilt things from my own heart.

From Trigun, there's a special place in my heart for I was caught in a crossfire, I was still as the night (You were an angel in the shadows) because it was first fic I wrote for the fandom, first fic I wrote in, honestly, years, with any ease, all the while putting a lot of myself into it, for catharsis. Also, the way people reacted to it actually tied me to fandom, encouraged me, made me feel like maybe someone wants to read whatever little I have to say.

What can I give that is all for you? These arms are all I have (But I hold you like I do love you) was my first exploration of non-Meryl POV and I was nervous about it, but I also had shitton fun with it. It was written in frenzy, but I am happy with it's internal consistency, even though it required some rewrites (which usually means death sentence for a fic), so it feels like mark of some growth as a writer. 15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

It depends! Back in the day, long before Braime days, I used to write fics and then try to come up with titles all on my own. Later, I switched to finding Vibe songs I'd often play on infinite loop as I wrote and the titles came from those, or the songs were actually inspiration that sparked the idea for the fic in the first place. Lately, I just try to find a song that would have a line to fit the fic. ... Sometimes, it takes much longer than I'd like.

As for chapter titles, Everything about you is on the tip of my tongue is only one that actually has chapter titles and I just thought it'd be funny if every title would be a Warning relevant to the content. (Actually, my sibling came up with the idea and 3rd chapter's title, haha.) 22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

Typically, in most vague sense, yes. I know what events I'd like to take place, even though I often have no idea how I'll get there or how I'll connect them, so a concept of ending is floating around. Sometimes, if the fic is more of a spur of the moment thing that is driven by an emotion or two, I will not and just let the flow deliver me there.

Send me fic writer ask?<3

[25thnightbaam]

It has been a few days since the official announcements of the three Atlus games. I have collected my thoughts on them and will be going over them, as well as some speculation and assumptions on Persona 6. Starting with the two Persona games.

First off, Persona 5 Tactica. Honestly, no matter how many times I've rewatched the trailer, I am not interested at all. The only reason being it's yet another P5 spinoff. I am tired of these spinoffs! Yes yes, we know Atlus, P5 is your moneymaker, but ease up on licensing more spinoffs! When I first saw the leak it did not surprise me to see another spinoff. I said this before, but it will not surprise to see a few more spinoffs. If you are looking forward to it, good for you, but it just doesn't interest me. Maybe if I see more gameplay later, I might gain some interest. For now Persona 5 Tactica is a pass for me.

Next, we got Person 3 Reload! Now this I am interested. Admittedly my want for a P3 remake has waned a bit over the recent years. While my want for remakes of the original Persona or the Persona 2 duology have heavily increased. Disappointed it is neither of the latter, but I'm happy the rumors turned out to be true for the former. I liked what I saw.

Though, some more disappointments have come out since the Xbox showcase. Like the whole voice cast being recast, but this quickly became an interest. Especially since KaggyFilms (Alejandro Saab) is in it! It's been years since I last seen any of his videos and, also, apparently he's a vtuber now! After checking out a Youtube video showing off the new voice actors' previous roles, I am intrigued in hearing their takes on the characters. Then there's the disappointment this isn't going to be a remake/definitive edition of P3. After taking some time to think on this, I accepted it. It's fine. I still got the original P3: FES to re-experience the Answer. And if I want to try out as the Female MC, I could get the recent P3P ports. It helps its cheap, especially when it goes on sale. Thankfully, thanks to a Famitsu interview, it has been corrected that content added in the FES for the main game, will be in Reload (https://noisypixel.net/persona-3-reload-producer-clarifies-fes-story-will-be-featured/). Just not the Answer or Female MC. I've seen some of you saying they could be added as DLC. Spending a bit of time thinking on this, I feel like the Female MC won't be. As they said, this is a remake of the original, vanilla version. The Answer has a higher chance, but not good enough to be DLC too. I will not be surprised if they do have the budget and the resources to do so. It is Atlus. Overall I am still very happy to see P3 remade and modernized. Like this new fans that started with P5 can experience P3 with the quality of life improvements P5 has.

Before I move on to the last announced, and best, game, I'd like to give some thoughts on Persona 6. So far, on Tumblr anyway, I have not seen anyone talk about Persona 6 after these announcements. You may be wondering why I'm bringing this up. Well if you haven't noticed or didn't think further on it, who is the team working on Persona 3 Reload? P-Studio! The team formed in the early 2010s to work on the mainline Persona games and maybe whatever other Persona-related project they pitch to Atlus to work on. If I remember correctly in a recent video posted by IGN, they said they started development in late 2019. Basically, Persona 6 is still years off. Who knows, they might have a small group on the side working on pre-production. Either way it looks like we still have to wait a bit longer for the next mainline Persona.

Finally, we have the best game to be announced from the Xbox Showcase! Metaphor: ReFantazio! I am hyped, excited, happy! I thought this project was dead, but so happy to be wrong! Some of you newer Atlus fans might be confused on this game or never heard about it. Sometime after P5 launched in Japan, Katsura Hashino, and some other heavy hitters of Atlus, formed a new internal studio to work on non-Persona projects, as some of the members were part of P-studio. Their first game was teased as Project Re:Fantasy with some art shown years ago. And here it is, alive and well, now officially titled as Metaphor: ReFantazio! I love everything I saw in the trailer. If I am given the choice to only be able to buy and play only one of these three announced games, it will be Metaphor: ReFantazio.

[cerealforkart]

DnDads the Manga is caught up!

Now you guys, the podcast, and I are all on the same page. So, it’s time for a bit of housekeeping. Being caught up means that next week there’s going to be no new manga pages (I make these pages pretty quickly, but not that quickly, but you’ll have just gotten a new episode, you’ll be fine). The release day is still going to be Wednesday, but from here on out, manga pages will come out on alternating weeks when episodes don’t come out.

As a little treat to celebrate I’m gonna try opening sketch requests again. So if you’d like, send in your favourite characters, ships, scenes, poses, prompts, AUs, fics, anime characters you’d like to see Taylor cosplaying, or whatever else you’d like to see sketched out

[whateveriwant]

Easy Peasy

College AU

Summary: Friday night at the frat house means it’s time for a party. Besides booze, beer pong, and bro-nanigans, the brothers have something else up their sleeves to help get the party going.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: ~13.2k (ummmm?)

Warnings: language, alcohol, sickness, slight injury, Captain kink, size kink-ish (muscles kink???), 18+ content

A/N: Hello! This has been a long time coming! About 2 years ago, I put out a fic called Oopsy Daisy. That fic was such a labor of love and is honestly one of my personal favorites. Well now, over 2 years later, I've come bearing this: a sequel! While I didn't originally intend to make a sequel for Oopsy Daisy, you all have the lovely @shythingstudentdragon to thank for this follow-up! They requested "A college au where Steve is showing off to reader. It starts with a push up contest between him Sam and Bucky, before he starts flexing for her and showing her what he can lift. Finally, it gets back to his room where reader questions if he can bench press her, which he does with ease." I changed the order of the events slightly, so I hope that’s ok. And one last thing to note: While technically a sequel, this fic works completely as a standalone (though I encourage you to read both ;p). As always, I hope you all enjoy!

Your heart thumps in time with the music, the heavy bassline resonating through your skin, shaking the very foundation of the house. The track is absolute garbage – some dubstep/techno/house music amalgamation you couldn’t be paid to listen to if given the choice. Under normal circumstances, you'd rather tear your own ears off than listen any longer.

Although it's truly God-awful, right now, it's all just background noise. No, you haven't a care for the monstrosity pounding away at your eardrums, not when your attention is directed miles and miles away.

You twine your fingers behind Steve’s head, keeping him firmly attached to you as your tongues dip into each other’s mouth. Something shatters in the distance, followed by the sound of drunken cheering, but you also pay it no mind. In this moment, it might as well just be you and Steve tucked away in your own little bubble – a small slice of heaven reserved just for you two.

Well… if only that were actually the case.

Just as you start to grind against Steve’s lap, his hands tighten on your hips, halting your movements. “Not now, dollface,” Steve breathes against your mouth.

“What? Why?” you practically whine between kisses. You try to rock your hips again, but are met by an even stronger resistance from Steve’s hands.

“We’re in the middle of the living room,” he grunts as he combats your movements, his fingers digging into the elastic material of your leggings.

Exasperated, you pull back from him and huff, “So? Steve, we have done way worse things on this very couch.”

“Yeah, but not when a rager was going on around us.”

At that, you quirk an amused brow, a specific memory from a few weeks back replaying in your mind. “Y’sure about that?” you smirk.

Steve takes a moment to think before he rolls his eyes, remembering the night in question. “Okay, I was blasted then, so that doesn’t count," he says. "But now I’m basically sober and definitely not in the mood to put on a show for the whole house to see.”

Retracting your hands from behind his neck, you gesture at the party around you. “Steve, look around.” You turn your head side to side, seeing dozens of students half-drunk off their asses as they aimlessly mill about. “Literally no one cares. They’re all focused on their own things and couldn't give a single shit about us.” You turn back to face him. “Maybe we just gotta get a few more beers in you before you stop caring as well,” you gibe, poking him in the pec.

Steve grabs your hand to stop you. “Let’s just wait a little longer until the party dies down, alright? And then we can have a little fun,” he teases. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before relinquishing it, dropping his palms back to your waist.

You all but pout as you regard him – that steadfast look on his face that tells you his mind is made up. As much as you adore Steve, you hate that he can be such a hard-ass sometimes. You just want to have a good time with your man right now. Is that so bad? Apparently, it is to Steve since you know you'd have a difficult time trying to convince him to see things your way.

Damn him. Maybe if the damn captain of the damn football team wasn’t so used to getting his way on the field, he’d be more open to persuasion off the field as well.

You sigh. Well… come to think of it, there is one thing that renders Steve practically dumb with compliancy. While he doesn't prefer you to whip it out in public, you figure there's no harm in trying it out now. After all, a little teasing never hurt anybody, right?

With your mind made up, carefully, you tuck your face into the side of his neck, releasing slow, even breaths as you pretend you’re relenting to his wishes. But then, ever so delicately, you start nuzzling the underside of his jaw, peppering kisses along the smooth skin.

“Baby…,” Steve warns you, a slight edge to his voice as his fingers curl tighter into your flesh.

“I’m just kissing you,” you mumble against his neck. “Oh, am I not allowed to kiss you now?” your question is thick with sarcasm.

“You—” he starts to reprimand, but as your tongue darts out to taste his skin, he lets out a shaky breath. “Just… don’t try anything funny,” he sighs and softens his hold on you slightly.

“I won’t, I won’t,” you lie.

With a green light, you suck several faint bruises along his neck, feeling Steve gradually relax as the seconds tick by. He makes a choked noise as you hit that spot just under his ear, and it takes all you have not to laugh as you see how hypnotized he is by your ministrations. Amusing as it is, you haven't even started the real fun yet.

Slowly, you rake a hand down his chest, letting your fingertips graze the hard planes of muscle through his t-shirt. Steve shudders and tenses at your touch, his heartbeat picking up as you steadily descend. As he goes to still your wandering hand, you grin and start rocking your hips again, forcing him to keep both hands on your waist to inhibit your movements.

Trailing your mouth upwards, you tease his earlobe with your teeth, nipping carefully before soothing the flesh with your tongue. You moan softly under your breath, practically purring directly into his ear, and when you feel him shudder again, you finally whisper the nickname you know has a debilitating effect on Steve.

“Captain.”

Steve groans. “No, no, no, no,” he rushes the words out. “Don’t start with—”

“This is a party, Captain,” you cut him off, "and I want to have fun now. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at parties? Have fun? Not wait until after when everyone’s gone?” you let your faux pout seep into your voice, the sound nearly whiny with need.

“Dollface,” Steve grunts, struggling to simultaneously maintain his composure and get you to stop moving. “It’s just a few more hours. You can wait—”

“Please, Captain” you husk. “Let’s have some fun now. I feel like I’ve barely seen you because of practice. You’ve been so busy lately.” Your hand crawls down his stomach, teasing the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh, please don't remind me of that," he begs. "I know I've been a bit preoccupied, but—”

“I just wanna enjoy this time with you now…,” plucking at the elastic of his shorts, you croon, “Captain.”

Steve groans again. “Baby, you gotta stop with the ‘Cap—’”

“Captain, please,” you pretend to beg out of desperation. With your lips against his ear, you let out a series of breathy moans, your voice ascending in pitch with each, “Please, please, plea—”

“That better be apple juice in your cup, Parker!” The barking voice suddenly snaps you from your mischief.

Your words halt as your eyes flit over Steve’s shoulder, observing Sam cross his arms as he glares at something behind you. Craning your neck back, you see Peter chatting with a group of friends, red solo cup in hand. His eyes go wide at Sam’s accusation. Carefully, he places the beverage on the TV stand before putting his hands up in surrender. He backs around the corner – hands up the entire time – until he’s out of the room.

Just as quickly as you were distracted, you redirect your attention to Steve. You go to speak again, but before you can, Steve claps a large hand over your mouth to silence you.

Steve’s expression turns stony as he’s pulled from the near-trance you had him in. “Baby, I’m only gonna say this once so you better listen closely. You need to stop before—” his caution is interrupted as a drunken Scott bumps into the back of the couch, slurring an apology to the furniture as he stumbles away.

Steve watches Scott’s movements for a moment before looking back to you. He continues, “Before it’s too late. You might just do something you’ll regret.” He raises a brow in warning.

Slowly, he withdraws his hand to allow you to speak again. With your mouth uncovered, you lick your lips deliberately, letting your tongue make a lazy pass from corner to corner.

You smirk and narrow your eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that almost sounded like a threat, Rogers.”

Steve purses his lips, giving you a similarly skeptical look. “Who said it wasn’t?”

Amused, you lean forward and drape your arms around his shoulders. “Well, baby, I’ve told you before that I like a little danger.” You nip at his bottom lip, gently tugging at it with your teeth. “So you’re only threatening me with a good time, Captain.”

A hint of a smile pulls at Steve’s lips as he rolls his eyes. “You are something else sometimes. Can’t you go one day without trying to pull some shit?” he admonishes, gently pinching your hip. “Must you always be such a tease?”

“Must you always be such a bore?” you retort and force an obviously fake reproachful look on your face.

Steve’s eyes darken almost imperceptibly at your words. His fingers tighten around your waist, gently divoting your flesh. “Oh, you’ve done it now, dollface. You want danger? I’ll give you da—” His eyes suddenly go wide as they focus on something over your shoulder. “Shit!” Steve unceremoniously lifts you from his lap, all but tossing you onto the empty cushion beside him as he lunges off the couch.

You gape as he dashes to the TV stand – Peter’s abandoned drink having been spilled onto the console, the liquid spreading rapidly. With no time to think, Steve’s reflexes take over and he lifts the impressive flatscreen off the table, protecting it from the expanding pool.

“Lang, what the fuck?!” Steve snaps at Scott standing beside him.

Scott teeters on his feet for a moment before he puts a hand on the wall to balance himself. “W-what?” he hiccups, totally unaware of his clumsy mishap.

Steve lets out a displeased breath and shakes his head. “Dude, just… go lay down before you pass out or something.”

Scott blinks in confusion for a few seconds. He looks between Steve and the puddle like he's trying to make sense of the scene, his face creasing as he thinks. Eventually, something must click in his inebriated brain because he nods. “‘Kay,” he agrees, then stumbles away to hopefully take Steve’s advice.

Steve sighs heavily before shifting on his feet, getting a better grip on the appliance in his hands. He mumbles something, though you don't catch it as you remain seated on the couch, enraptured by the sight before you.

Steve's back strains against his fitted shirt, the muscles shifting as he moves every now and then. He turns to the side slightly and mumbles something else, but again, you don't register his words – instead, watching on as he unintentionally flexes the cords of his arm.

Suddenly, your mouth feels incredibly dry. Not only did getting tossed around like a ragdoll stir something in your belly, but watching Steve lift that TV with ease – witnessing his strength on full display – makes your stomach flip in excitement.

You swallow thickly as the vein running along his bicep pulses against the skin, feeling a pressure similarly throb in your core. You know Steve is strong – for goodness’ sake, just look at him! – but seeing that strength firsthand does something unexplainable to you.

You wonder what it would be like if Steve showed you just how strong he really is. If he threw you around without a care in the world; manhandled you however he wanted; gripped you so fiercely, he left bruises on your hips as he dragged and pulled you onto his coc—

The sound of Steve yelling your name pulls you from your wandering thoughts.

“Huh? W-what?” You bring yourself back to the moment with a shake of your head.

“I asked if you could get something to clean this up.” He nods towards the spill.

“Oh. Y-yeah. Sure,” you mutter.

You run to the kitchen and grab a handful of paper towels before returning to the living room. Dutifully, you sop up the spilled beverage – something that definitely wasn’t apple juice just as Sam had suspected.

As you clean, you chance a peek from the corner of your eye, watching as Steve appears to be completely unfazed by the heavy load in his arm. You try to be covert as you ogle him with your peripheral vision, pretending to be totally focused on your task at hand.

Steve catches you anyway.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

At his question, your attention is drawn up to Steve’s face, seeing him giving you a perplexed look. His brows knit more tightly together when you don't immediately respond, your hand paused mid-wipe as you think of what to say.

While you could be honest and say you were nearly drooling at the sight of his biceps bulging, you know Steve would never let you live that down, especially given the shenanigans you just pulled on the couch. Steve would have a field day if he knew he got you all tongue-tied like you frequently do to him. You don’t want to give him that satisfaction.

“What do you mean? I’m-I’m not looking at you,” you mutter, opting for good ol' denial.

He scoffs, unconvinced. “Yeah, you are. Pretty obviously, too.”

Damn it. Looks like that won’t work.

“I… I…,” you stutter as you scramble to think of an explanation. After a few moments of scatterbrained thinking – bingo! – an idea comes to mind. “I was just remembering how Sam once told me you think with your muscles and m—, well… your muscles before your mind. I guess he was right,” you chuckle.

“Oh, come on," Steve grumbles. "Would you have had a better idea than to lift the damn thing? What was I supposed to do? Whip out my emergency ShamWow I just happen to carry with me?” he asks rhetorically. “Or better yet, power slurp whatever drink that was before it spread to the TV?”

You turn to face him more directly, a smile inching your mouth up. “I mean… you do have a talented tongue, Steve. So that wouldn’t have been out of the question.”

Steve simply rolls his eyes before nodding at the puddle again. “Just finish cleaning, please.”

You give him a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Captain,” you say in a gruff voice, earning you a snort from Steve.

Having narrowly avoided being exposed, you soak up the rest of the drink in a hurry, only stopping to sneak one or two more peeks at Steve during the time. Afterwards, once you’ve discarded the dirtied towels, Steve drags you back to the couch you occupied earlier, plopping you down beside him.

"So… how ya been? How's practice been going?" you question, deciding to pass the time with something other than tonsil hockey.

"Ugh, let's not talk about that," Steve groans. He takes your hand and begins to fiddle with your fingers. "How about we talk about you instead."

As you let Steve play with your fingers, you shrug noncommittally. "Alright, shoot."

“Okay…,” he begins as he thinks of a topic to discuss. After a beat, he asks, “What was the real reason you were looking so intently at me?”

You blanch at his question. “I-I told you,” you insist. “I was remembering when Sam—”

“No, no, no,” Steve cuts your fake explanation short. “I said the real reason.”

Steve sets his jaw and locks his fingers with yours as he waits for your response. Under the weight of his gaze, you start to squirm and babble nonsense as you try to think of another explanation that sounds convincing. As you scour your brain for something – anything – to say, unfortunately, you end up coming short, a heavy sigh falling from your lips at the realization you can’t claw your way out of this.

Since Steve seems to be dead set on finding out the truth, you figure it's only a matter of time before he catches on, no matter how much you try to tell him otherwise. Hoping that maybe he'll take a little pity on you and not poke too much fun if you're upfront, you decide to be truthful.

"Okay, so… maybe I was, um… admiring your muscles not because of what Sam said, but because of my own volition."

"Why…?" Steve prods.

"Because… I like how they look?" your voice pitches up at the end, turning a would-be statement into a question. When Steve gives you a look saying “Go on”, you sigh, but ultimately yield. “Okay, I really like how they look,” you elaborate only just so.

“So, you were distracted and all fuzzy-brained because you were checking me out?” Steve arches a brow.

You sigh once more and drop your head in defeat. “Yes,” you nod.

A few seconds of silence pass as Steve lets your words sink in. Then, a sudden, boisterous laugh bubbles out of his throat, making you snap your head back up at him.

“I knew it!” he chortles. “I just wanted to hear it from your mouth.”

You scoff and roughly pull your hand out of his. “Well… congrats," you say in as monotone of a voice as you can muster. "You got what you wanted. You happy now?”

Steve retakes your hand to briefly kiss the back of it. “Ecstatic,” he beams.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Don’t get too used to it, Rogers,” you grumble and wave him off. “It’s like I said earlier, I haven’t seen you much the past couple of weeks, so I’m having to readjust a little. You’re a lot to process,” you snark.

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say,” Steve concedes, the sarcasm obvious in his tone. He grins widely as he settles back into the couch. “But I must admit, it’s nice being on the other side for once. I’m just so irresistible that you couldn’t help but be distracted by me,” he jokes, pretending to toss long hair over his shoulder.

“Alright, don’t get ahead of yourself, Narcissus.” You elbow him in the ribs.

Steve laughs and rubs his side for a moment, pretending to soothe his ribs after your assault. But then all of a sudden, he jolts forward in his seat, his face rapidly shifting into a serious expression. “Oh, what’s this?” he exaggerates his voice and movements, slipping into almost a caricature of himself. He stands and rounds the coffee table set before the couch, theatrically pointing at one of the legs. “I think this leg looks a little wobbly. Wouldn’t you agree, dollface?”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “What are you doi—”

Before you finish your question, Steve lifts the table several feet off the ground, jostling around the empty beer cans and various pieces of garbage lying atop. Carefully, he examines the leg in question, the muscles of his arms tensing and contracting as he turns it every which way.

“No, I think it’s okay actually,” he muses, setting the furniture back down with a smirk.

You can't help but chuckle at his antics. “You are such an idiot.”

“Hey,” he faux chastises, “I think the correct term is ‘himbo’, thank you very much.”

You nearly choke on your spit as you laugh. You didn't expect that to come out of his mouth. “I stand corrected. You are a huge idiot,” you guffaw.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Steve puts his hands on his hips and pushes his chest forward, power posing before you.

Shaking your head incredulously, you chuckle again, unable to keep a smile off of your face. “If you keep this shit up, I’ll just leave early. I've got a test on Tuesday I can be studying for,” you warn. Maybe if you threaten him a little – even though you don't really mean it – you can get him to stop acting like a dumbass.

Steve lifts his arm and bends his elbow at a 90 degree angle. “Well, the door’s that way,” he tells you, flexing his bicep as he points unnaturally at the door. “Or… is it that way?” He switches directions, mirroring the pose with the other arm. “I’m not sure. I think I might’ve had too much to drink tonight."

Though a small part of you wants to stop and admire Steve's physique, all you can do at the moment is laugh at how ridiculous he looks as he tries to show off. Steve, on the other hand, schools his own expression in order to play up his act and not break character.

"But you can leave whenever you want, especially if you’ve got stuff to do," he finally declares. "Though… you might want to stay for the show. I’ve heard it's quite an experience," he baits you.

Your eyes feel like they're about to pop out of your skull from how hard you're stifling the need to roll them. But, you decide to humor him. You cross your arms and lean into the couch. "And what show is that, Steve?" you ask.

He smirks and drops his voice an octave. "The gun show."

Steve swiftly raises both arms to put his muscles on full display, switching back and forth to flex each arm in turn. He leans side to side to give each bicep a loud, sloppy kiss, prompting an ungodly cackle to erupt from your mouth as you watch.

He gives you an intense look as he turns his attention back to you, keeping his voice at a low baritone to really sell his macho man act. “Welcome to the gun show, baby. You're in for a treat,” he croons. “It looks like you’ve got yourself a front row seat, so you better strap in and hold on tight before—”

"Man, what the hell are you doing?" Sam’s voice comes out of nowhere, interrupting the scene playing out before you.

Steve is quickly snapped from his tomfoolery as he's caught red-handed by Sam, his friend just so happening to wander into the room during the peacocking.

Steve drops his hands back down by his sides and returns his voice to its normal timbre. "I, uh, I was just… um…," he trails off, not having an excuse for his actions.

"Look, we get it," Sam says boredly. "The gym rat’s got muscles and wants to show them off. But this ain’t a Men’s Health magazine, so cut the shit, man,” he chides as he rounds the couch, coming to stand before Steve.

Steve shakes his head and goes to speak, likely to clarify that he was just fucking around for your amusement, but not before Sam adds, “I mean, it’s not like you see me parading around here showing off all of this," he gestures up and down at himself.

Steve’s mouth snaps closed, his expression twisting into a mix of amusement and incredulity. “Uh… well… maybe that’s because you haven’t worked out in two months,” he tries not to chuckle as he speaks.

Sam’s brows shoot up to his hairline. “Excuse me?” he asks, stunned. “I’ll have you know, I do 100 squats every. single. morning,” he states matter-of-factly, punctuating the words for emphasis. “And I know I can definitely outlift you, head quarterback or not.”

Steve snorts and reaches over to pat Sam on the shoulder. “Sure ya can, man. Sure ya can,” he encourages as if speaking to a child.

“Man, fuck you. Don’t patronize me,” Sam spits, stepping back out of arm’s reach. “Newsflash, Dorito Man. Strength doesn’t have to be confined to just your upper half.” He makes an upside down triangle in the air, mocking the shape of Steve’s body. “Ever heard of lifting with your legs, huh? You see these thighs?” He pats his quads. “They’re like tree trunks. Solid. Strong. A.K.A. can absolutely outlift your little slim-hipped ass.”

Steve’s mouth pops open at the boldness of Sam’s declaration. He goes to retort, but before he can, you speak first.

“Yeah, baby, I’m with Sam on this one. He’s got some pretty nice thighs… and ass for that matter. I think he can take you,” you smirk, fighting the urge to laugh as Steve’s face contorts with more shock.

While Steve had originally been worried about “putting on a show for the whole house to see”, for the past several minutes, he’s been doing just that. You’ve been getting a kick out of it – as well as a few other feelings – so you’re not ready to let the show come to an end just yet. And what better way to do that than by inciting a little brotherly competition between the two frat members.

“Thank you, sweetness,” Sam says smugly before sending Steve a shit-eating grin. “See, Rogers? Even your girl agrees with me.”

Steve looks at you in disbelief, putting his hands on his hips. “Whose side are you on?” he accuses.

You shrug nonchalantly as you sink deeper into the couch. “I just call ‘em like I see ‘em, baby,” you further egg him on, hoping to ignite that competitive nature in Steve.

As Steve’s eyes darken ever so slightly, you know you’ve done it.

“Alright, Tree Trunks,” Steve looks at Sam, voice devoid of humor. “Let’s see if you can take me.”

Sam cracks his knuckles and his neck, rolling his shoulders to warm up. “Oh, it’s on, Dorito Man.”

They settle on the living room furniture as the events for their impromptu strongman competition. Taking turns, they lift various objects around the room: the end table, the armchair, even going so far as to ask you to stand from the sofa so they can have a hand at that. And when they both miserably attempt to solo lift the three-seater, you can’t help the ugly laugh that watching their struggle elicits from you.

During the course of the theatrics, a crowd of onlookers gradually appears, watching on as the two idiots manhandle every object in sight. At some point, Natasha and Bucky also join the group of spectators.

“What are they doing?” Natasha asks, sidling up beside you along the wall.

“Trying to determine who’s stronger,” you snicker. This dick-measuring contest has been going better than expected, and you’re thoroughly amused by that fact.

You and Natasha exchange knowing looks before shaking your heads and rolling your eyes in sync. “Men,” you both mutter under your breaths.

“Well, remind me to call them when I need help moving. I won’t have to hire a service that way,” Natasha jokes.

“Hey, what about me?” Bucky questions her, sounding a little wounded that she didn’t mention his name. While Bucky may not be as burly as Sam or Steve, he could probably be of some assistance when helping his girlfriend move.

“Don’t worry, babe, you’ll be there, too,” she reassures him with a gentle rub to his bicep. When Bucky smiles and goes to thank her, she elaborates, “After all, your truck can hold a lot more than my Bug.”

Bucky’s face falls at her statement, realizing she means to use his truck rather than him for labor.

She continues before he gets a chance to voice his dejection. “But… that sucker’s gonna have to be deep cleaned at least twice before I put my stuff anywhere near it,” she winces, thinking about the filthy state of his vehicle.

While you’ve, thankfully, never had to endure a ride in Bucky’s truck, you’ve heard enough horror stories to last a lifetime. You’d be willing to bet that some yet undiscovered species of insect has made home in the pickup.

Bucky raises a finger in objection and opens his mouth to speak, looking as if he’s going to argue with Natasha’s statement. But, after a second of self-reflection, he closes his mouth and lets his hand fall back to his side, nodding in defeat as he knows she makes a valid point.

Natasha gives Bucky one more reassuring pat before turning back to you. “So… think they’re gonna be done anytime soon?” She indicates the still ongoing competition. “Because some of us want to use the living room not as a home gym.”

You shrug. "Beats me. I was just thinking of making some popcorn.” Dinner and a show. That’d be pretty nice.

Natasha lets out a deep sigh and leans against the wall, deciding to patiently wait for the men to finish up. She stands with you for several minutes, tapping her foot the whole time. But, as Sam and Steve try and fail to lift the sofa for a third time in a row – causing you to seriously consider making that popcorn – Natasha finally decides she’s had enough.

“Well, guys, congratulations. You did it,” she says, directing everyone’s attention towards her. “You proved you’re both equally as strong as each other… and equally as dumb,” she deadpans as she nods at the couch. “It looks like you’ve come to an impasse so, unless you want to move to the kitchen so you can try lifting the fridge,” she rolls her eyes, “I think there’s only one way to decide the winner of this… whatever it is.”

Steve and Sam look at each other – both slightly sweaty and out of breath from their deadlocked battle. After a moment of sizing each other up, Steve waves for Natasha to continue, telling them what she has in mind.

“A push-up contest,” she states plainly, drawing a few cheers from the crowd. “Whoever does the most push-ups in 60 seconds wins.”

As people start whooping in encouragement – numerous "Hell yeahs" and "Do its" being tossed around – Sam and Steve finally take note of the sheer size of the crowd they've attracted. They’d been so invested in their competition that they didn’t even notice how a majority of the party-goers had gathered around the scene, watching the two men go head-to-head.

With a crowd that size, the stakes of their competition has increased tenfold. Now, instead of one of them simply having to concede to the other, they'd have to lose in front of several dozens of people.

Talk about a blow to the ego.

The reluctance is obvious on both men’s faces as they eye the group of spectators. They start mumbling various excuses as to why they're unsure about Natasha's idea, trying to dissipate the crowd’s desires to avoid further embarrassing themselves. As they continue to show their hesitation, Natasha takes the opportunity to speak again.

"Like I said…," she draws their attention to her once more, "…there's always the fridge." She smirks and cocks her head to the side, raising a brow in challenge as she waits for their response.

Natasha knows it's an impossible task, but she also knows the two frat members are too stubborn to end their competition in a stalemate. Thus, whether they move to some other room of the house or take part in the contest Natasha proposed, no matter what, the living room will soon be freed up for her use. Win-win for her either way.

The crowd starts cheering even louder, making Steve and Sam more and more uncomfortable as they fidget in their spots. As the noise crescendos into a frenzied cacophony, both men finally put their hands up in surrender.

“Alright, fine. A push-up contest to determine the winner,” Sam relents. “But… uh…," he looks around the crowd, his eyes widening in delight as his gaze suddenly focuses on Bucky. "Buck, you’re joining us, too.” He waves Bucky over with two fingers.

“What?” Bucky blinks in confusion at the command. “I don’t want to be involved. Don’t drag me into this.” He shakes his head firmly.

“C’mon, man. You can… act as the control,” Sam says, seemingly making up the excuse on the spot.

Bucky gives Sam a confused look and raises his palms to the ceiling. “What is that supposed to mean?” He looks around the room exasperatedly, as if he’ll find the answer written on the walls.

“He wants to juxtapose his strength to yours,” MJ pipes up, her and Peter having entered the room just as the contest was announced. “So, win or lose, he'll still look good in comparison.”

Bucky sends an accusatory look at Sam. “Screw you! No, I’m not doing that,” he pouts and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Look, you do this and I’ll call off the debt from when something bit me in your truck,” Sam narrows his eyes, tempting Bucky to take the offer.

Bucky cringes as he remembers the incident in question. He slowly uncrosses his arms, letting a none too pleased look overtake his face. “Okay, fine,” he grits and reluctantly walks over to join the two men in their contest.

The crowd backs up to allow ample space for the competition. The men lower themselves and plant their hands on the ground, waiting as Natasha readies everyone for the countdown.

“On my mark,” she begins.

Steve suddenly looks up from his place on the floor, catching your eye as you stand before him.

"Get set."

You wink and give him a thumbs up, mouthing, “You got this."

"Go!"

Right out of the gate, Sam and Steve start pounding out push-ups, already leaving Bucky behind in the dust. Per Natasha's orders, you're Steve's spotter, counting out loud along with each of his movements. The crowd grows rambunctious as the seconds quickly tick by, watching and listening as the counts climb higher and higher.

"Eighteen, 19, 20…," you keep time with Steve, barely able to hear the sound of your own voice above the din.

"Seventeen, 18, 19…," Wanda counts beside you as she spots for Sam.

Though he stands only a couple of feet away, you can only just discern Clint counting, “Seven, eight, nine…,” for Bucky – the wall of sound surrounding you too noisy to be able to think through, let alone hear.

But none of those distractions matter anyway as your attention is focused on Steve and Steve alone.

Sweat glistens his hairline as numerous droplets slide down his temples and the bridge of his nose, dripping onto the wood floor below. You watch over and over again how he extends his arms to raise up, only to rapidly descend as he lowers himself once more, his chest nearly brushing the floor with each bend of his elbows. The harder and further Steve pushes himself, the more his muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt, his biceps threatening to tear right through his sleeves.

As you watch on, an unbidden warmth starts to slowly spread in your belly, growing hotter and needier by the second. The adrenaline and endurance and excitement of the scene almost reminds you of something you know all too well, and it nearly distracts you from the task at hand.

You're forced to press your thighs together as you continue to spot Steve, feebly attempting to quell the throbbing in your core. It's all but totally unsuccessful. But, thankfully, someone saves you from the torture of having to watch this display of virility any longer than necessary.

"Ten…," Natasha starts counting down, alerting everyone that the competition is about to come to a close.

It seems to kick the men into overdrive, encouraging them to give strong last-ditch efforts to try coming out on top. They push themselves more and more, their faces becoming flushed and ruddy from exertion, their breaths coming out in harsh puffs.

"Seven…."

As the clock winds down and the men give it their all, Steve’s panting quickly turns to grunting, his muscles on fire as they protest what he’s subjecting them to.

The sound of his groans shoots straight to your core, making you choke on your words, your count faltering for a beat. You dig your nails into your palms, trying to get yourself to focus.

"Three…."

The crowd goes into an uproar in the final seconds. The sound of their cheering is nearly deafening, filling up every square inch of the frat house, almost drowning out the sound of Natasha finally yelling, "Stop!"

At her command, the participants drop to the ground like flies, heaving like they just ran a marathon. While you weren't even one amongst the now-exhausted competitors, you feel similarly winded to them, several shallow breaths falling from your mouth.

Wearily, Steve and Sam rise off the ground to sit back on their heels, leaving Bucky to lie face-down on the floor alone. Dripping in sweat and panting heavily, Steve looks at you for assurance. The sight of him makes you bite your lip, a small voice in your head telling you to jump on him right then and there.

You fight the urge to pounce, though, and instead flash him a thumbs up in response. While it was difficult to concentrate with all of the activity around you – as well as the inner buzzing you were experiencing – with the number you ended on, you figure you know who the winner is.

"Well, I think we all know who won," Natasha agrees with the internal remark you just made. "But, to make it official, let's have our spotters call out the final tallies," she announces, gesturing for the crowd to calm down and give you all the metaphorical mic.

"Bucky's final count was 19," Clint states, drawing a few "Awws" from the crowd.

Sam reaches over and claps Bucky's prone form on the back – Bucky not even having the energy to wave him off or grumble some kind of angry remark for being strong-armed into this competition.

"Sam's was 46," Wanda declares, being met with several "Whoops" from the party-goers.

As all eyes then turn to you, it seems like a hush rapidly takes over the crowd, the party silent for the first time this evening. You look over the spectators in turn before facing Steve once again. Ever so slowly, a smile grows on your face as you gaze directly into his eyes.

"Steve did…," you pause for dramatic effect, drawing out the palpable tension in the atmosphere, "…53."

A similarly wide grin spreads on Steve's face – the winner of this ridiculous but impressive competition. With the cocksure smile still plastered on, he raises his hands in victory, ready to welcome the inevitable flood of congratulations he's about to receive; ready to bask in the praise about to rain down on him; ready to—

"Sixty-eight," a voice calls from the corner.

All heads immediately snap towards the voice in question, seeing MJ leaning against the wall nonchalantly. "Peter did 68," she states again, nodding at Peter who stands beside her – looking slightly breathless and a faint flushed, but otherwise normal.

Your jaw drops in shock. You'd been so distracted by the commotion that you hadn't even noticed Peter was also participating just a few feet away. Apparently, Sam and Steve didn't notice either as their mouths also slacken in astonishment.

Peter shrugs and looks bashfully around the crowd. "I-I started a little late," he says, sounding almost embarrassed for not having done more.

Natasha smiles and shakes her head. "It’s okay, Peter, you did great,” she reassures him. “So, like I said, I think we have a clear winner on our hands." She brings one hand up to her mouth to mime holding a microphone while the other extends towards Peter. “Your winner, ladies and gentlemen: Peter Parker!”

The crowd once again erupts into cheers as dozens of people suddenly swarm Peter to congratulate him. While everyone else celebrates, Steve and Sam appear to be less than pleased that the underclassman won – both sulking and grumbling under their breaths.

“What’s that, gentlemen? Have something to say?” Natasha asks them, cupping her ear in a dramatic manner.

Sam raises a shoulder as if he's unbothered – though, that doesn’t keep the pettiness from seeping into his voice. “Just don’t think it was very fair,” he mumbles.

Natasha raises a skeptical brow at his words, putting a hand on her hip. “And why’s that? He did the competition, didn’t he? Did more push-ups than both of you? In less time, might I add,” she emphasizes, a smirk slanting her lips. “So how is that unfair?”

“Well, uh, we… we were… we were tired from all of the earlier lifting we did,” Steve offers, giving an excuse for why they’d been bested by the freshman.

“Yeah,” Sam nods vigorously. “I-I think I threw my back out trying to lift the couch. Ooh, ouch,” he hisses, contorting his face into a pained expression as he rubs at his lower back. “Yeah, that’s gonna be sore tomorrow.”

Natasha simply raises her brows as if to say, “You can do better than that.” At her sardonic expression, the men begin to spout more excuses for their loss. Natasha purses her lips and nods exaggeratedly as they talk, her motions drenched in sarcasm. After a solid minute of terrible justifications, the men eventually fade to a quiet lull, seeing she remains unconvinced.

“Mm-hm. Yeah. Of course,” Natasha says, continuing to nod along as if they're still speaking. When the men simply look at her in silence, only then does she stop the charade and let her expression return to normal. "Oh, are you finished? I don't want to interrupt you or anything."

Sam and Steve give her a guilty look before nodding gently, telling her they’re done with the bullshit.

"We can’t all be winners. You guys lost. Just accept it," she states, somehow managing to not roll her eyes as she speaks. "And while you might wanna sit on the floor and pout all night, I'd suggest getting up before you get trampled by the stampede." She gestures at the rowdy party-goers still floundering about, clumsily bumping into one another. She then turns to you and points to Bucky still splayed out on the floor. "Pumpkin, a hand?"

You nod and make your way over to help her. As you go about trying to pick up Bucky, you see Sam and Steve shoot each other disgruntled looks – brows furrowed and mouths downturned as they come to terms with what just happened. When Steve turns that grumpy look to you, you find that all you can do is hold his gaze in response.

Should you comfort him or give him some tough love like Natasha? Soothe him or scoff? Honestly, you’re not sure what to say in this moment, so you decide to say nothing at all, opting for a simple shrug instead.

You'll deal with Steve later. Right now, the only thing you're concerned with is how you're going to peel Bucky's limp, sweaty body off the living room floor.

~~~~~

“There you are! I was wondering where you wandered off to.”

You smile as you find Steve in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he nurses a beer. After you and Natasha successfully got Bucky off the ground and over to the couch to recover, you’d found that Steve had slinked away somewhere. You've been searching the house for him the past 20 minutes, only to just now stumble upon him in the kitchen.

You expect he's been taking the time to decompress and mellow out, but as you near him, your smile falls when you get a closer look at his expression – looking as crabby and brooding as ever.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head as you look him over.

Steve shrugs a shoulder and brings the bottle up to his lips, ignoring your question in favor of taking another swig of his beer.

You narrow your eyes and study him more closely. You haven’t seen Steve this annoyed since a certain bucket incident all that time ago – though, that same scenario is obviously not the cause of his current chagrin.

Well, given the unexpected turn of events from the night, you figure that likely has something to do with his demeanor. But that alone seems a bit petty if you’re being honest. Sure, Steve might understandably be a bit upset about losing the competition, but you highly doubt he’d throw a whole hissy fit because of it, and especially not almost half an hour after the fact.

Come to think of it, Steve’s been acting a little off all night. Could there be a reason for that besides losing a dumb, drunken competition? You wonder if perhaps there is.

“This isn’t just about the push-up contest, is it?” you ask in a delicate tone, trying to carefully broach the topic.

He shrugs again and takes another heavy gulp of his drink – not directly answering you, but nevertheless all but confirming your suspicions. There is something deeper at play that’s souring Steve’s mood.

You sigh and lean a hip against the counter beside him. “You wanna talk about it? You seem pretty upset,” you note, watching as he downs the rest of the beer.

He shakes his head as he pushes off the counter with a grunt. He discards the empty bottle before reaching into the fridge for a new one, popping off the cap and coming to lean back against the counter again.

“Y’sure? We can talk. I’m all ears,” you offer once more.

Unlike after ‘The Incident’ where Steve was left to silently stew in his thoughts all afternoon, you’d rather him get whatever this is off his chest here and now before it has a chance to boil over later.

Steve shakes his head again before tipping it back, guzzling the new beer in his hand. As he gulps and gulps and gulps without coming up for air – seemingly going to finish the bottle in one breath – you suddenly reach for the drink, pulling it from his hand and earning you a disgruntled look.

“What the hell?” Steve finally speaks, his empty hand outstretched.

“That’s enough of that,” you say before bringing the bottle up to your own lips, downing the remainder of the beer. Once you’ve finished, you set the bottle down with a grimace, the bitter taste of the cheap liquor coating your tongue. “Now, talk to me. What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

Steve blows out an exasperated breath and tosses both hands up in the air. “Shit, I don’t know. It’s… it’s just a lot of things, I guess.”

Okay, he’s willing to talk. That’s a good thing; that means you’re making some progress. You nod for him to continue, encouraging him to speak his mind.

He lets out another breath and shakes his head before beginning. “This whole week's been shit, really,” he sighs, his chin dipping to watch as he traces his palm with his thumb. “First, Coach has been on my ass relentlessly. All ‘Pick up the slack, Rogers. We’re only as strong as our weakest link’. And then tonight, I just wanted to kick back and forget about all that shit, only to get showed up by some punk freshman in a fucking push-up contest.”

“Hey,” you say, the sharpness in your tone drawing Steve’s eyes back up to you. “Don’t blame Peter. This isn’t his fault.”

Steve tucks his chin again as he nods guiltily. “No, yeah. You’re right, you’re right,” he agrees. “It’s just… I’ve been getting berated all week in front of my team, and so now to embarrass myself in front of the whole house, it’s…,” he trails off with a sigh, his eyes falling shut. “It’s a lot.”

A frown overtakes your face as you regard his sulking form. So that’s what this all stems from. Not just some ridiculous competition, but a much deeper-seated feeling of inadequacy. That explains a lot. The way he avoided talking about practice, the gloomy or otherwise abnormal behavior he’s had all night, the showboating he did to try to overcompensate… It all makes sense now.

“Baby, look at me.” You bring your hand up to his cheek, encouraging him to lift his head and open his eyes.

He takes a moment, but eventually, he relents, carefully bringing his attention back to you. You smile when his gaze once again connects with yours and you rub your thumb over his cheekbone.

“You… are incredible,” you say slowly; deliberately. “You are smart. Strong. Kind. You’re a damn great leader if I’ve ever seen one,” you emphasize, drawing a small, amused huff out of him. “You are worth so much more than what a contest, or Coach Phillips, or anyone says of you, alright? Fuck all of ‘em,” you gesture vaguely towards the doorway, indicating not only the party going on a room over, but anyone else who’d criticize Steve.

You bring your hand down to rest over his heart. “You. Are. Incredible. And you should never forget that.”

As you press your palm against the center of his chest, you see Steve slowly process your words, the sincerity in your voice hopefully having its intended effect on him. To your delight, a small smile gradually brightens his face, replacing that somber look he just had.

“Thank you, baby.” He takes your hand from his chest to place a kiss across your knuckles, then drops your intertwined hands down to your sides. “But I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

His rejection surprises you, making you blink in confusion. “Wha—”

“Even if I tried to ignore what everyone thinks of me, I can’t help that there’s still one person whose opinion I care about,” he says, some vaguely playful expression on his face.

You let the tension leave your body as you realize Steve isn’t completely disregarding everything you’d just said to him. That would’ve been discouraging to have your words tossed aside like they were useless.

And his latest statement in conjunction with the look on his face. Does he mean…? Is he really about to say…?

“You,” he admits, confirming your suspicions.

“Me?” Your brow quirks in question.

“Mm-hm,” he nods. “You’re right that it doesn’t matter what those drunks or that drill sergeant thinks. But you… well, your opinion matters greatly to me. I think sometimes it’s even more important than my opinion of myself,” he chuckles.

You smile with him and squeeze his hand a little tighter in yours. “I’m flattered. It’s nice that someone holds me in such high esteem,” you say, partially joking and partially earnest. While you know he’s being a bit hyperbolic when he says your opinion is the only one that matters to him, it’s still endearing to know that he thinks so highly of you.

“So… what do you think of me? Honestly,” Steve probes.

You tilt your head in slight perplexity. “I just told you. You’re incredible, and smart, and—”

“Well, those are just facts,” he jokes, a smirk curving the side of his mouth. “What do you think of me?”

You take a moment to search your brain, trying to come up with a succinct answer to appease him. “I… think you’re pretty great,” you remark.

“Just 'great'?” He raises a taunting brow. He steps closer to you and wraps his arms around your lower back, enveloping you within his embrace. “Just a step up above ‘good’? That’s all?”

You roll your eyes in jest. While you’re glad he’s obviously in a much better mood than he was just a few minutes ago, his cheekiness leaves something to be desired. Still, you'll humor him for a bit.

“I think you’re absolutely amazing.”

“‘Amazing’?" He winces in faux pain. "Ouch, you wound me."

You sigh and shake your head, biting the insides of your cheeks to keep from smiling too widely. He’s really milking this for everything he can, isn’t he?

Bringing your hands up to his chest, you rest your palms across his pecs, leaning into him slightly. “Steve, I think you are the sweetest, strongest, sexiest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

“‘Knowing’ as in a… Biblical sense?” he grins devilishly.

You can't help the derisive tsk that involuntarily leaves your mouth. "Uh… I was thinking more of a general sense, but… sure. We can go with that," you chuckle, shaking your head in feigned admonishment. "Hmm, but… now that you mention it,” you start walking your index and middle fingers along his chest, dancing on the planes of muscle. “You know what, Captain?"

The sound of his nickname makes Steve squeeze you a little tighter in his arms, his pupils dilating marginally. “What?”

“Of all the men I’ve ever 'known'," you emphasize, telling him you're still talking about that kind of 'knowing', "by far, you have got the absolute biggest… thickest… most gorgeous-looking co—”

“Bleeeegh!”

Yours and Steve's attentions are rapidly drawn towards the sink, finding Scott bent over the counter puking his guts up.

"Bluuuuh! Blaaargh!" he vomits, the sound violent and entirely unpleasant.

You and Steve untangle yourselves from each other as the moment’s now unfortunately been ruined. You grimace as Scott continues to blow chunks just a few feet away, counting your blessings that you’re too far to be able to see or smell anything that’s coming up out of him. When he pauses for a moment to catch his breath, you call out to him to check up on how he's doing.

"Scott, are y—"

"BLEEEEGH!"

"—ou okay?"

Even as he continues to hurl, Scott manages to put a thumb up in the air, signaling that he's alright. Or… as alright as can be expected.

When there's another cease in the vomiting, Steve carefully approaches Scott at the sink. As Steve reaches the basin and looks down, he retches, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. His Adam's apple bobs as he pushes back a gag, forcing himself to hold his breath as he gently pats Scott on the back.

"You good, man?" Steve asks him, looking upwards at the ceiling instead of at the mess below.

Scott nods like his head is made of lead, his movements slow and heavy. "I-I think so," he slurs, the alcohol lacing every drop of his blood.

"Okay. Good." Steve nods, trying to sound pleased. "Now, why don't you—?"

"BLUUUUH!"

"Oh, come on!" Steve jumps back to avoid the splash zone. "I can't. I can't do this. I’m a sympathy vo—" he heaves, nearly joining Scott in the dramatics by spewing his guts across the kitchen tile. He takes a few deep breaths to collect himself before looking to you. “Dollface, can you…?”

“Me?” Your eyes go wide at the unspoken question. “No, no, no. He’s one of your brothers. And as such, you should take care of him.”

At that moment, some poor, unsuspecting underclassman walks into the kitchen, making Steve's eyes immediately light up.

"Luis, c’mere. I’ve got a job for you,” Steve waves him over, swallowing back another gag. When Luis is within arm’s reach, Steve grabs him by the collar and shoves him beside Scott. “Watch Scott and make sure he finishes up here. Then, go make him lie down. Okay?"

Luis nods vigorously. “Yeah, man, whatever you say. You know, one time back in highschool, I looked after this one sick kid. A week before, I was practicing my trick shots on my hoop in my yard. I’m normally more of a point guard, but I had just gotten some new Jordans and didn’t wanna crease ‘em, you know? My sister saw me and was like, ‘Wow, nice J’s, Luis. I think Daniel has a cousin with a pair just like them.’ Daniel had been my sister’s boyfriend at the time, but they broke up after he cheated with this girl who had a mole the size of a nickel on her—”

“Yeah, that’s great,” Steve cuts him off with a clap to his shoulder. He swiftly grabs your hand and ushers you towards the door. "Make sure you put him on his side!" he adds as he pulls you after him, taking you far away from the disgusting scene still playing out in the kitchen.

Your arm nearly feels like it’s going to be ripped out of its socket as Steve whisks you up the stairs towards his room. Once you’re pulled inside, Steve kicks the door shut behind you, muting the sound of the party still going on below.

Finally secluded from the chaos and mess of the night, you let out an airy breath as you turn around to face him. It’s just you and him now, and you’ll be damned if anything else tries to get in the way of you finally having a good time with Steve.

You take a step closer to him, hoping to backpedal to when you'd been interrupted in the kitchen. “Now… where were we?” you muse, letting your hands drift up his arms, across his shoulders, behind his neck.

Steve mirrors your sentiment by placing his hands on your hips. Luckily for you, he seems to be on the same page of picking up right where you last left off.

“Ah, I think I remember,” you say. “We were right… about… here.” You tug him down to you, connecting your mouths in a heated kiss, your tongue instantly lashing against his, tasting the alcohol still lingering on his taste buds.

“Mmm, mmm,” Steve mumbles against your lips, his fingers tightening on your waist. He pulls back a smidge, breaking the kiss but still keeping his hold on you. “I don’t think we were quite there yet, actually,” he teases. “I believe you were saying something about me having the biggest, thickest… what exactly?”

You roll your eyes and sigh, letting your hands come down to his shoulders. If he wants to continue to be a goof, then two can play at that game.

“Heart, Steve. You have the biggest, thickest, juiciest heart of anyone I’ve ever met," you smile innocently, knowing you both know that wasn't what you'd originally meant to say.

"Whoa, slow your roll there, Hannibal. Don’t go whipping out the steak knife just yet," he laughs. "But is there anything else about me that's particularly well endowed?"

"There is," you nod, still grinning. "That wonderful brain of yours, Steve." You touch his temple lightly, earning you an amused snort. "And don’t forget your big, bright smile, your larger than life charisma, your out of this world leadership skills—”

“Okay, now you’re just giving me a big head.”

“—and… I guess… your muscles aren’t too shabby either,” you say with mock indifference, squeezing his impressive biceps beneath your fingers.

“Oh, what’s this now?” he asks, voice piquing with his curiosity. “Weren’t you the one that was shamelessly ogling me earlier in the night? Practically objectifying me in front of everyone?”

You pull your brows together as if deep in thought, pursing your lips as you pretend to reflect for a second. “No, I don’t recall doing that.” You shake your head.

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Okay, sure,” he says sarcastically. “But weren’t you the one who, once upon a time, remarked that I could probably ‘throw you around like you weigh nothing’?” He raises a daring brow, reminding you of your words from long ago.

“No, I don’t recall that either,” you lie and shake your head again. “But, if I had said something like that, I’d also note that you’ve yet to prove it to me. I’ve experienced an utter lack of manhandling in our time together,” you faux pout, donning your best ‘wounded puppy’ look. “Maybe you’re not as strong as I thought you were.”

Steve all but groans as he shakes his head incredulously, his expression rapidly clearing of all humor. “What, do you want me to suplex you? Would that do it for ya?” He pulls you closer to him, nodding to his bed over in the corner.

Seeing the way his demeanor switches from silly to sober has you quickly putting a hand up in defense. “Okay, no, I don't actually want to get tossed around like the ol' pigskin,” you snap from your feigned sadness, shifting away from him slightly. Despite how you might joke, that doesn’t sound very fun. It sounds more like a recipe for disaster.

"Then what? What do you want me to do?" Steve releases you and places his hands on his hips. His face reads entirely serious as he stares you down expectantly.

Uh-oh. Now you've done it. You just had to go running your mouth. Now that you've brought it up, you know Steve won't simply let it go; he never does. You've just lit a fire under Steve's ass, and it won't be extinguished until he thinks he's finally proven how strong he is.

"I… I don't know…," you murmur under your breath. You’ve never really thought it through before, and being put on the spot now doesn’t help.

"You want me to rip a phonebook in half? Crush a watermelon with my bare hands?” he offers, taking a step in your direction.

“No, I— Well…” you stop and consider. Can he really do that? Is that even possible?

“Then something else? Cagefighting? Mud wrestling?” He takes another step, another few inches closer.

You step back. “Steve, I don’t know—”

“Then what?” He's right in front of you, practically breathing on you. “What?”

“Bench press,” you say, blurting out the first random thing that comes to mind.

He halts. “Bench press?” he repeats as if he didn't hear you correctly, his brows pinching together. Honestly, you don't blame him for being confused. Where did that come from?

You nod, albeit stiffly.

Steve's eyes rove your form for a moment, his head tilting inquisitively. "You mean you? You want me to bench press you?" he clarifies.

You swallow a sudden lump in your throat. “Mm-hm,” you confirm, though it doesn't sound confident at all.

Seriously, where did that idea come from? Bench pressing? You don't know where or how you got that in your head. Maybe it was because of the competition from earlier, or maybe it was something you overheard someone say, or hell, maybe it's a secret, unconscious desire of yours that Freud would love to psychoanalyze…

Either way, as soon as the words left your mouth, you immediately regretted them.

The second guessing only worsens as you watch Steve lower himself with zero hesitation, drawing his knees up as his back and feet rest against the carpet. You stay firmly rooted to your spot as he gets himself situated on the ground, the uncertainty curdling in your gut.

This is a fucking terrible idea. This is a rush to the ER waiting to happen. This is your fault if – no, when – things go badly.

You’re such an idiot. Why’d you have to spew the first dumb idea that entered your thick skull? Or rather, why’d you have to poke the bear in the first place?

Though you know you won’t be able to sway his mind entirely, maybe you can still suggest something a little less precarious. But what? What should you say? What would be an equal challenge that not only proves Steve's strength, but doesn't involve you cracking your head open as you inevitably tumble to the—

“Well?” Steve prompts, stopping your train of thought.

Fuck. Too late. You're out of time.

He stares up at you, eager to proceed. “What are you waiting for?”

It looks like your bed is made. Now you have to lie in it.

Cautiously, you take small steps as you round Steve, eyeing him as he lays by your feet. Are you really going to do this? Are you really this crazy? This stupid?

Just as the tips of your shoes come to his flank, you find yourself stopping. It's like you're completely frozen – unable to move or even speak.

What's the matter with you? Why are you so scared? You trust Steve, right? He wouldn't let anything happen to you, correct? So really, what do you have to worry about?

A vision of you riding in the back of an ambulance flashes across your mind, and you're quick to whisk it away. Oof.

“C’mon, I don’t bite,” Steve gibes, either not noticing or not caring about your unease. “That is, not unless you—”

“Alright, alright,” you cut him off before he gets a chance to finish the cliché. This was your idea anyway; you might as well get it over with.

You go to lower yourself, but before getting too far, you pause once more. “Just… don’t drop me. Please,” you beg, sending him an anxious look.

“I’ll try not to,” he says genuinely, though that smirk on his face gives his words a teasing edge.

Releasing a pointed breath, you carefully lower yourself into a crab position, your torso hovering over the expanse of Steve’s shoulders. Steve brings his hands up to your body – one high up between your shoulder blades and the other to your upper thighs.

“You ready?” he asks from below you.

Staring up at the wood-paneled ceiling, you nod once, feeling your palms start to sweat as they rest against the shag carpet.

“Okay, on the count of three,” he tells you.

You hold your breath, your heart practically beating out of your chest.

“One… two…”

You yelp as Steve suddenly lifts you into the air, completely ignoring the last number in favor of catching you off guard. He laughs at the surprised noise you make, his hands firmly planted on your body, perfectly confident as they hold you high.

“See? All fine,” he snarks as he begins to lower you to his chest. “Easy peasy.”

You swallow raggedly, your stomach flipping. “Alright, don’t get too coc—” you yelp again as Steve lifts you once more in the air, only to lower you back down not a moment later.

“I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t quite hear you,” Steve’s devilish grin bleeds into his voice.

Your nerves fray as shock and fear course through you, the adrenaline streaming through your veins. You want to snap at Steve for toying with you so, for purposefully frightening you, but instead find you can't say anything at all, your lips parted in silent disbelief.

That… wasn't too bad. Of course, you could've done without those initial scares since you didn't find them as funny as he did. But as you catch your breath now, you feel the anxiety slaking away from your body, being replaced by something else entirely. Something akin to warmth. Excitement. Thrill.

Maybe you'll enjoy this more than you thought.

“Again,” you chirp, a grin cresting your mouth. “Keep going!” you urge and reach down to tap Steve’s thigh in encouragement.

“Whoa, careful!” Steve’s hold on you quivers for a moment as your fingers brush a little higher than you expected. “I don’t wanna drop you.”

“You won’t, just keep going!” You give him one more slightly lower tap before bringing your hand back up. Crossing your arms over your chest and extending your legs into a straight line, you wait for Steve to proceed, practically giddy with anticipation.

With an amused ‘hmph’ at your eagerness, Steve obliges and continues with his reps – this time, raising and lowering you in quick succession, not bothering to snark in between.

He maintains a brisk pace as he effortlessly lifts you again and again, showing no sign of slowing down or tiring out. In fact, the only indication that Steve is exerting any real energy is the sound of his breathing – a solitary harsh breath pushed out every time you’re raised up, followed by a deep inhale during your descent.

It's hard to contain your excitement as you let him show off. Why were you so apprehensive about this before? This is exhilarating, damn near electrifying. This might be the most fun you've ever had.

As you hear his breathing start to rasp more, you try to remain as still as possible, wanting to ease his task so you can draw this out for every second available. That, in turn, ends up being a feat all on its own – your legs trembling as you keep them upright, your abdomen tensing in time with his pants, your thighs clenching as his touch gradually inches higher and higher.

A shiver runs through you as Steve’s fingers suddenly curl around your inner thigh, his grip readjusting so he has a better hold on you. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin barrier separating your skin from his, and you feel a similar warmth bloom in your core, his caress igniting something deep within.

Blood pounds in your ears as your focus centers on his hold, his hand wandering dangerously high. You gasp as his fingers suddenly brush the apex of your thighs and your breathing picks up the pace to match Steve's.

You're unsure if he even registers the placement of his hand – those thick digits pressed firmly against you, practically cupping your most intimate area – but fuck if it doesn't feel good. If he does notice how he's touching you, if he feels the way your panties slicken, he makes no move to stop. He just goes on and on and on and on, and it's almost too much to bear.

Your throat constricts as a knot forms in your belly. As much as you're enjoying yourself, you feel like you should say something. You're getting feverishly worked up, and you're not quite sure that's a good thing. The sounds, the sensations, even the smells you're experiencing… It's nearly overwhelming your circuits.

Perhaps you should tell him to stop; tell him you need a break; tell him that if he continues to touch you like that any longer, if he doesn't move his hand away right now, you're afraid you're gonna c—

"Hey, man, do you still have those— Christ!"

Startled, Steve's hold on you slips, Sam's sudden arrival surprising you both. You teeter in the air for a moment before the ground is rapidly coming up to meet you, your head narrowly missing Steve's bed as you tumble. The carpet absorbs little of the impact as you come crashing back down to earth, your hip taking the brunt of the fall. You groan and roll onto your back as Steve quickly sits up, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Damn," Sam says, averting his eyes from you two. "You guys could at least put a sock on the door or something. This room is half mine, you know." The corners of his mouth downturn in disgust, his gaze directed to the upper corner of the bedroom.

"That's not— We weren't—" Steve mutters.

"I don't wanna know," Sam declares with a sweeping hand motion. He sighs deeply through his nose like he's trying to muster up courage. Then carefully, as if he's afraid to look, he peeks back at you two. He relaxes when he realizes you're both decent, and turns to face you more fully. "I just wanted to see if you still have those waxing strips from last year," he says.

Steve's brow furrows in confusion. "I— Why?" That's an odd request.

At the question, a mischievous smirk curves the president's mouth. He leans against the doorway, crossing one arm over the other. "A certain someone might be passed out drunk on the stairs right now, and that someone might wake up with one less eyebrow tomorrow morning."

You can't help the snort that catches in your nose. Oh, that is evil. Hilarious, but evil.

Steve, on the other hand, doesn't seem to find it nearly as amusing. After all, he's had a first-hand encounter with those sticky bastards. "Who?" he asks.

"Don't worry about it," Sam supplies.

"Who?"

Sam rolls his eyes, but relents to Steve's insistence to know. "Let's just say they'll be languishing for weeks to come." His eyes twinkle wickedly.

Steve sighs and shakes his head. For a second, you think he isn't going to be an accomplice to Sam's scheme, especially since he knows how painful those strips are. But after a beat, he says, "Bucky had them last. Go check with him."

Satisfied, Sam nods and quickly backs out of the room. As he pulls the door behind him, he adds, "Make sure you guys air out the room this time. I don't wanna be smelling your funk after you're done."

"We weren't—" Steve tries to explain again, but is cut off by the snap of the door closing.

He sighs again, annoyed, and then turns to you. His eyes narrow as he takes in your disheveled figure, his focus zeroing in on the hand cradling your hip. Sam's interruption apparently made him forget all about dropping you on your ass because his eyes go wide as he finally remembers.

He springs into action, crawling over to you to ghost his fingers over your side. "Shit! Are you alright? Does it hurt?" He touches a particularly tender spot, making him retract his hands as you hiss.

Despite a lingering throb, honestly, it's not too bad. It's definitely not as horrific as you had imagined beforehand. It'll probably just be a minor bruise that'll greet you tomorrow, nothing too serious.

"I've had worse," you say, shifting to lean on the opposite hip.

Steve shakes his head, drawing his lips into a thin line. "Let me get you some ice." He's on his feet in an instant, rapidly making his way to the door.

"No, it's okay," you try to reassure him. You feel fine. You don't need him to go out of his way to fetch you anything.

Unfortunately, your words seem to go in one ear and out the other.

"We should have some in the freezer," Steve notes, more to himself than you. He's just about reached the door when you call out to him.

"Steve," you stress, making him stop dead in his tracks.

As he turns back to face you, you see the concern etched in his brows, the lines framing either side of his mouth. He's worried for you, and it's clear in his tense expression.

"I'm fine," you promise. For emphasis, you sit up a bit, hardly even feeling the dull pain that hammers in your side.

You can tell he doesn't quite believe you, though – his body still poised to run out the door – so you repeat yourself, a little firmer. "I'm fine. Really." You smile tenderly, affectionately, and emit the truth through your eyes.

That seems to do the trick.

Cautiously, Steve takes a small step towards you. "You sure?" he checks one more time.

You nod. "Positive."

Steve breathes a relieved sigh as he returns to you, kneeling beside you on the carpet. "I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to drop you."

Looking into his eyes, you see how remorse streaks his irises, the emotion running deep and wholly earnest. The sight tugs on your heart.

"It's okay. I know," you tell him gently.

You know he would never mean to hurt you, and you know he feels awful for unintentionally doing so. But you're not upset with him; not even a little. Even though you did get a little banged up in this instance, it was technically your fault for suggesting it in the first place. So really, you're not mad.

"Besides," you begin, lounging back down on the rug, "I actually had a lot of fun." Well… right up until the end that is. But that's besides the point.

Steve cocks an intrigued brow, slightly wary of your words. "Really?"

You bite the edge of your lip and nod. "Yeah. While I was a little nervous at first, by the end, I just… I don't know, I…" you trail off, diverting your eyes from his as the memories flash in your mind.

That free feeling as you were suspended in the air, weightless but grounded at the same time; that comforting reassurance of his hands on you, strong and sturdy against your body; that delicious warmth burning in your stomach, hot and hopelessly needy.

You press your thighs together.

"I really liked it," you conclude, meeting his gaze again.

Steve's eyes flit down to your legs before rising once more to your face. A knowing smirk pulls at his lip. "I'll bet," he taunts, a dimple forming in his cheek. He leans closer. "So, does this mean you're convinced? Was that enough manhandling to satisfy you?" he reminds you of the reason you got into this predicament in the first place.

"Mmm…," you hum, feigning timidity that you both know is a ruse. After a beat, you shrug. "I suppose."

"You 'suppose'?" His smirk deepens at your poor attempt to seem indifferent. He huffs and sits back. "Well, I'd be happy to do it again… and again… and again. As long as it takes until you're satisfied," his intonation hints at a double meaning behind his words.

At his innuendo, you quickly shake your head in dissent, and Steve's smile immediately falls.

"As much as I had fun and wouldn't mind trying again in the future," you say, telling him this isn't the last time, "I think, at least for the time being," you husk and bat your lashes, "it'd be better if you’re on top."

Now it's your turn to smirk as you let your own double entendre sink in. It doesn't take Steve long to get it, and when he does, his mouth similarly curls at the corners.

Steve seems to be right in line with you as he extends his hand to help you to your feet. Glad to see his enthusiasm, you reach for him, excitement tingling in your fingertips.

Your hand grazes his, but before you can grab on, Steve reaches past you to plunge his arm under the bed.

Your face twists in confusion. "What the hell?" you gasp as you watch him root around under his bed, apparently in search of something.

After a moment, Steve pulls his arm back out, a discarded gym sock clenched in his grasp. He stands and makes his way to the door. "Sam told us to put a sock on the door, so I’m grabbing the one for 'special time'," he explains. Quickly, he ties the fabric around the outside handle, closing and locking the door once finished.

You roll your eyes as he turns back to face you. You thought that only happened in movies.

"Hey, just be glad I didn’t grab Sam’s ‘special time’ sock," Steve says, reapproaching you. "That has an entirely different purpose."

Before you have time to cringe at the thought, Steve lifts you around the waist and tosses you on the bed, knocking the wind from you. He crawls up after you and covers your body with his, eyes smoldering as he nestles between your legs.

"Me on top, huh?" he repeats your words back to you. Brazenly, he lowers his hips so they rest snug against yours, rocking gently so that fire is quickly stoked inside you again.

The action makes your voice catch in your throat. Rendered mute, you find all you can do is nod in response, watching as he grins and dips his head closer.

With his lips a hair’s breadth away, fingers sliding up your sides, Steve whispers, "Sounds easy enough to me."

__________

A/N: You know what else is easy, Steve? *points both thumbs at self* This girl…

Anyway, I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

[grigori77]

So, about Critical Role’s statement on the new WOTC OGL ...

I know, I know, it LOOKS LIKE they’re trying to hedge their bets, that they’re trying to appease the evil empire (WOTC) while also trying not to alienate their fans, and perhaps there’s even a fraction of truth in this point, but ... REMEMBER FOLKS, THESE GUYS ARE NOT JUST A BUNCH OF FRIENDS PLAYING A FRIENDLY GAME OF D&D ANYMORE.  They’ve built up a real business based around what they’ve been doing, and this is something they need to protect.  If it was just about THEM, about the game and the webcast at Geek & Sundry, you know they’d cut ties in a heartbeat, going back to using Pathfinder like they started out with before the release of 5E.  But there’s so much more to it for them now.

They’ve got The Legend of Vox Machina on Amazon (there’s a reason there are subtle differences between what’s happening in the show, from powers to races to the names of the gods themselves, compared to the original Campaign 1 liveplay, and thwat’s so they can get around the copyright issues in order to make the series IN THE FIRST PLACE).  They’ve got all of the offshoot merchandise, which people have to make, and a series of tie-in expansion books and games - sure, some of them have been published by Darrington Press, but there are others which were specifically made by WOTC themselves, which means their contents are trapped FRONT AND CENTRE under the conditions of the new OGL).  MOST OF ALL, though, they’ve got the show itself, hell, they’ve got the ENTIRE INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY of Critical Role itself, which isn’t just run by them - they employ HUNDREDS OF OTHER PEOPLE, from their crew to evrybody working on the periphery, right down to all the jobs that were created just to help them make and distribute their tie-in games and merchandise.  That’s a hell of a consideration.

If they piss off WOTC by coming right out and saying what I’m sure they REALLY WANT TO about this, that could put them in a really bad position given that D&D Byond is one of their major sponsors, they’re using the 5E platform and intelectual materials to put this together in the first place, and some key parts of their own material are now, thanks to this new OGL, technically THE INTELECTUAL PROPERTY of WOTC now too.  They can’t just drop D&D Beyond as a sponsor and wash their hands, they’re pretty STUCK right now.

So yeah, they’re being cautious about what they’re actually saying here, so it sounds like they’re trying to appease BOTH SIDES of the argument.  Because they REALLY ARE.  They have NO CHOICE.  It’s clear enough if you actually PAY ATTENTION and read between the lines here that what they’re saying to WOTC is purely to put them at ease, there’s birtually no real SINCERITY in their words, but when they’re talking to the community at large, the ones who are being GENUINELY HURT by this new situation, they’re thoroughly commiserating with them, entirely trying to prop them up, their sincerity HERE is COMPLETELY REAL.  They love us, they’ve made it abundently clear OVER AND OVER AGAIN already, and they don’t want to fuck us over about this.

Look at it this way - look at this in eighteen or so months’ time, when the current campaign comes to an end and they have cart blanche to do whatever they want when it comes to Campaign 4.  If you ask me, they’ll jump ship entirely, go to one of the other gameplay systems or even create their own (they might even do it SOONER if Matt can come up with something himself while Campaign 3′s still happening), and when they come back to Exandria (or maybe even a completely new setting, which I think MIGHT BE more likely, even if it does mean saying goodbye to the possibility of tying in with the previous campaigns going forward) there will be some MAJOR SHAKE-UPS where they no longer have to pay ANY lip-service at all to WOTC’s properties.  Hell, if there’s any way they can use a little legal grease to try and wrangle Exandria and Stuff out from under WOTC’s grip while they’re at it I’ve no doubt they’ll try, although I’m a good deal LESS confident about THAT.

Just remember, these guys are on OUR SIDE.  They’re in a really impossible situation right now, and they have NO IDEA how this is actually going to turn out so they are JUST AS SCARED AS US right now, but they’ve got A WHOLE LOT to lose if it all goes proper south on ‘em.  So just think about THAT before you start badmouthing Matt, Marisha, Travis, Laura, Ashley, Taliesin, Liam and Sam about trying to play the middle or delivering a “milquetoast” statement.  This really is THE BEST they can do right now ...

[dreamsclock]

THE ULTIMATE DREAMSCLOCK UPDATE!

hello. hi. as most of u are probably very unsurprised to hear, i have bit off WAY more than i can chew in terms of personal projects. this is now something i am beginning to belatedly realize is A Problem for many reasons. mainly a) i am chronically overwhelmed esp with the biggest exams of my LIFE next months and b) i can’t take on any more projects realistically that i want to begin.

poll + more info under readmore bc i have chronic can’t-shut-up syndrome (adhd)

SO. in order to actually produce content for you guys i am Cutting Back Which Fics I Work On. at least until july. this SHOULD allow me to finish at least some fics and hopefully move on in the summer to other ones, but since im indecisive i thought i’d let YOU guys decide which fics i continue to work on!!! so here’s a poll.

the top five will continue to be worked on, and i plan to finish checkmate + hold him close in the next week anyway. so vote for your next five faves, and from there i’ll figure out which ones i’m gonna continue

this SHOULD help me make a good dent in these fics while also working on stuff that makes people happy :]

IN ADDITION TO THIS. i am also only streaming three times a week. ‘only?’ you might be thinking. ‘sparrow dreamsclock, you don’t even stream ONCE a week!’ to which i say Be Quiet. kidding but i’ve been putting way too much pressure on myself to try and stream every night and then beating myself up when i’m too tired 😭 so hopefully limiting myself to three times a week helps!!

STREAM DAYS: Monday, Wednesday, Saturday

I could stream more than this!! But at the very least you’re promised three streams a week unless something goes horribly wrong.

AO3 UPDATES: Wednesday, Sunday

AGAIN this is to try and give you guys some kind of consistency 😭😭 i know im very erratic + unreliable when it comes to uploading so i wanted to try and provide a schedule. no idea WHAT updates these will be, but you know Something will be posted there which is awesome

YOUTUBE UPLOADS: Beginning May

‘but sparrow!’ you may be saying. ‘you just said the most important exams of your life happen in may!’ to which i say Be Quiet. Yes. I Know. I’m An Idiot. but i wanna start providing youtube content Too!!! whether this be dsmp analysis or stream highlights or original minecraft choose-your-own-ending games i’ve made, i’ll be uploading (hopefully consistently) beginning may!!!! more info to come. unless i forget of course.

ANYWAY. if you’ve sat through all of this then HELLO HI!!!!! sorry. this announcement sounds self important and dumb but honestly even writing this out has eased like a load of my anxieties. ever since the end of 2021 i’ve been so overwhelmed with the frankly dumb amount of projects ive given myself, and it’s most of the reason ive been burned out since then too :’) thank u for being understanding and thank u for being such a source of inspiration for me and thank u thank u THANK U for being the best people ever muah ily

this starts from TODAY Btw!!! will be uploading a chapter of checkmate tonight and also streaming which i’m looking forward to. we’re gonna Chill until summer and then i can go crazy with projects again. but this feels more manageable!!!!

tune in for my stream tonight at 9pm (fnaf time FUCK YEAH) and thank u again :]

[absolutelyfizzing]

little dove

loki x reader

description - Loki acted so caring around you, more so than anyone else in his life. He loved to take care of you, especially when you had a long day, and he got teased by some of the team for it.

warnings - fem reader, cute loki and pet names, implications of gender fluid loki?, reader gets picked up, slight implications of a nsfw theme the night before

word count - 1900

A/N - this is a pretty plotless blurb but i just love this man, i have been obsessed with the new series and just wanted to write anything about him. i will inevitably be writing for him more so please end me now. there are no spoilers for the new series and it takes place in an AU after new york but pretty much otherwise out of timeline. all the avengers live at the compound together, endgame didnt happen and no i wont talk about it.

MASTERLIST

Loki was not someone who was overly friendly. To most of the people in the compound, he was courteous at best. That rule, however, was bent occasionally. The only exceptions were you and his brother (some of the time). He had been smitten with you the moment he saw you though he would never admit it. You were bubbly and light and the exact opposite of him. You were so friendly and kind that it almost made him want to be the same.

You were kind to him, which he was shocked by. Most of the people in the compound tolerated him but they were never caught being too nice. You, on the other hand, were friendly to him the day you met him.

You weren't an Avenger, you weren't really even a fighter. You were a genius in the medical field as well as the unofficial caretaker of everyone on the team. You made sure that they all ate, they didn't overwork themselves, that they were getting enough sleep every night because they were your closest friends. Everyone listened to you. You had this power over them all that they just wanted to make sure you were happy and that meant they wanted to do what you asked of them. They tried their best to take care of you as well.

When you met Loki and were very nice to him, he expected some ulterior motive. He assumed that there was something you wanted or that you would gain his trust and then humiliate him later. So he kept his guard up. This was proved wrong over the months to come. He noticed that you were that kind to everyone and you were just happy to be around other people. He let you in over time.

You became the only person who he opened up to, even more than his brother. You would keep him company even when he lashed out at others and when he was filled with guilt. You forgave him for his past without question and opened up to him as well. It took probably 3 months for Loki to realize that he was in love with you.

He couldn't believe himself. In love with a midgardian? What was he thinking?

But it was undeniable and uncontrollable. He just couldn't help himself. You would read to him and watch movies with him. You would braid his hair when he was stressed and would teach him how to cook when he asked. You were just everything to him. It took him a long time to confess. He was terrified that you would reject him. You could have had anyone you wanted, why would you choose him?

When he did confess, you were thrilled and he couldn't believe it. You kissed him and he thought he could die happy right then and there. He had never felt this much love for anyone besides his mother.

You continued to break his walls down and he fell deeper in love with you every day. He didn't, however, change his behavior towards others very much. He had grown closer to the team, having regained some trust from them all. He was no longer aggressive and he tried very hard not to lash out. Most of that was out of his own desire to be trusted. He realized that he was going to have to make his life work to remain with you and he slowly learned that most of the people in the compound weren't actually as awful as he might have originally guessed. That didn't mean that his personality changed toward them though. He was still slightly cold and short. He wouldn't smile too much and he was what some might call grumpy most of the time.

That only changed around you and everyone noticed. Loki got teased for it constantly and he couldn't care less. He just wanted to make you happy and he had no regard for what anyone thought of your relationship.

He was waiting patiently in the common area of the compound on the couch. Steve and Rhodey were sat on the couch watching something that Loki didn't recognize or care for, it was some kind of reality TV. When he heard the elevator door open he looked toward the door and you were walking towards him. A grin spread over his face and his posture relaxed. He could hear the men on the couch scoff at his sudden change in demeanor. When you got close to him he picked you up and pulled you to straddle his hips on his lap and immediately began kissing all over you. You buried your face in his chest and he kissed your hair.

"How are you, my love?" He mumbled sweetly and you hummed. "Long day?" he questioned and you nodded in affirmation. "Lets go get you some food then, yes?" He asked lightly and you hummed happily. He picked you up and you clung to him, arms and legs wrapping around him. He carried you with ease toward the kitchen. It shocked you sometimes how much he could lift and how easily he lifted you but you had to remind yourself that he was indeed a god.

"How come you never treat us that way?" Rhodey called from the couch and Loki grumbled a bit.

"Oh I'm sorry did you want me to pick you up and make you some tea?" He asked sarcastically and you giggled from where your face was pressed into his chest. He smiled at the fact that he had gotten you to laugh and he set you on the countertop. He tried to pull away to make you some food but you did not let him leave you, still holding on to the front of the shirt that he was wearing. "Do you want to talk about your day?" He asked sweetly, kissing your forehead lightly. You gazed up at him lovingly and his heart skipped a beat.

"I'm just tired. People are annoying and I didn't exactly sleep much last night." You winked at the last part. He smirked at your comment.

"I'm sorry, my love. I was under the impression that you enjoyed what we did last night but I would be happy to give you plenty of time to sleep tonight if that's what you would prefer." he teased and you punched him lightly in the chest.

"Okay fine you're right, I like getting kept up." You confessed. You paused for a moment and his eyes remained on you as he waited patiently for you to continue. "I was mistaken for an intern again today. You would think that after over a year of working here that people would recognize my name and my work but today there were some new investors walking through the facility. When they came to look at my work they started to talk to one of my coworkers and then turned to me to ask me to get them a coffee order while they waited for the doctor to arrive." You grumbled, your mood now sour at the memory. Loki frowned and he felt his anger begin to take shape inside of him. His eyes flashed green for a moment.

"Would you like me to go and teach them a lesson? Perhaps just to mildly terrify them?" he asked, fully serious. That cheered you up plenty and you chuckled. Loki knew that you were laughing because of the absurdity of his statement and the fact that he was dead serious but he was just happy to see you smile again. "I will never understand the midgardian obsession with gender roles. Though I suppose my own identity is more fluid than most asgardians as well." He confessed and you brought your hand to rest on the side of his face. He leaned his head into your hand as he beamed at you. You loved when he compared his home to yours. It reminded you just how powerful he was and that he still chose to spend his days with you. There was suddenly a flash of green before he held his hand out to you, now holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. When you gasped and moved to grab them he slipped from your grasp to move towards the refrigerator.

"Hey that's not fair, you tricked me." You pouted at him, now grumbling that you couldn't hold him anymore.

"Little dove, I cannot make you food when you hold onto me. When I am finished cooking then you can stay with me for as long as you would like." He promised and you nodded solemnly. He quickly pressed another kiss to your cheek before moving around the kitchen to prepare you waffles as he often did when you were having a long day. You observed the beautiful flowers in your hand and watched him as he moved around the kitchen, a million times more comfortable than he had been when he first moved into the compound. You talked contentedly with the people passing by as well as the man who was diligently trying to improve your mood. Occasionally one of the other team members would walk by and laugh a bit at how caring he was acting toward you, all of them just happy you were content though. Eventually Thor stopped by while Loki put some batter into the waffle iron and sliced some fruit.

"You know, this is the happiest I have ever seen him." He stated simply, a smile in is voice.

"It's the happiest I've been too." You responded with a small grin.

"The last time I saw him open up to someone the way that he opens up to you was on Asgard with our mother. She would be happy to see him being so vulnerable again." He patted your back and walked away as tears started to come to your eyes. The brothers would talk of their mother sometimes and Loki often mention the fact that he believed she would have loved you, if not for your own personality then for what you did for her son. You wished that you could meet her.

You were suddenly taken out of your thoughts by someone handing you a plate of waffles and sliced up fruit with a little container of syrup on the side. You looked up at Loki and nearly cried right there. You put the plate aside for a moment to reach out and pull him into a crushing hug. He was a bit startled but responded quickly, a hand going to the back of your head and his fingers brushing through your hair soothingly.

"Did something happen, my love?" He asked softly and you sniffled a bit.

"Just love you and I'm very thankful for everything you do for me." You got out and he affirmed to himself that he would die for you in an instant.

"I love you too, darling, but I slaved away at those waffles and now they are getting cold." He teased and he kissed your hair gently. You took a deep breath before pulling away, looking up at him with love. You smiled and then hopped off of the counter. He walked with you over to the dining table where he sat next to you and serenely waited as you ate, the food lifting your spirits a bit and easing your anxiety of the day. You planned on spending the rest of it with the man next to you as well as every day after that.

[watchmegetobsessed]

SAFE AND SOUND

a/n: this one took a little longer to write, but im so happy its finally finished! its not what i originally planned, i started a whole different plot but hated it so started again, but i might go back to the first story, so maybe more bodyguard!harry content is gonna come! anyway, hope you’ll enjoy this one!

pairing: Bodyguard!Harry X Reader

warning: use of weapon (no one dies), mentioning of cancer (no one is sick), sexual content

word count: 9.1k

masterlist

“This is not up for discussion, Y/N. What you are doing and what you are about to achieve soon might upset a lot of people that hold great power. We can’t just assume you’ll be fine, walking around like anyone else in the world.”

Your boss, Julian explains it to you, leaning onto his desk, trying his best to keep his cool about your protest to get you a guard to watch out for you and keep you safe. It’s been an ongoing struggle and fight you two have been having these past weeks and it became a burning situation since you’ve made some major progress in your project.

“I’m not some kind of royalty to have security with me all the time,” you grumble rolling your eyes.

“Not just royalties have guards, Y/N. Just accept it, that you’re valuable, your work is very important not just to our company but to the whole world. Do you not realize how big it is? You are close to having the cure to cancer, Y/N! You can easily get a Nobel-prize for that!”

“I know that it’s important, but no one knows me, no one will see me on the street and know who I am or what I do!”

“It’s not about the people on the street. The world is a dark place, darker than you could imagine. Please, just… I want to know that you’re safe.”

Staring back at him with your arms folded on your chest you contemplate his words. You can see the rationality in his words, it’s just that you don’t want to break your routine, you don’t want people around you all the time, you don’t want to end your privacy like that. But Julian is right, your work is important and there have already been a few attempts to steal your researches, but they miserably failed. However that doesn’t mean they will be stopped the next time as well.

“One guard,” you speak up. “Just one. I’m not gonna have a whole fucking team,” you tell him raising your eyebrows. He lets out a relieved sigh, a tiny smile tugging on his lips.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Reaching out to the phone he presses the buzzer that signals to his assistant, Monica outside and a few moments later she walks in, accompanied with a tall, suited man, his green eyes immediately falling to you upon entering the room.

“Y/N, I took the courage to pick him out for you myself. This is Harry Styles, the best you can find in the city if not in the country,” Julian introduces him as he pushes himself away from his giant mahogany desk, walking closer to the man as they shake hands firmly. You stand up from the armchair you’ve been sinking into these past ten minutes and unsurely hold out your hand to the man.

“Harry Styles, pleasure to meet you,” he introduces himself, a thick British accent lacing through his voice and the way his green irises stare back at you, you can feel your heart fluttering in your chest. Mr. Styles is undeniably the most charming and handsome man you’ve ever met, with his perfectly carved cheekbones and chiseled jawline, pink lips and those enchanting green eyes framed by his thick lashes. There’s something in his appearance, something feminine, but still, he holds so much masculinity at the same time, it’s hard not to be enamored by him.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you mumble your name, shaking his hand slightly before letting go of it.

“Details about your cooperation have already been discussed with the security agency and us, but of course, your word is what counts, so we’ll walk over the whole plan with you as well,” Julian explains to you and you nod shortly.

The three of you move to the conference room and the next hour goes by with working those so called details out, some of them are ridiculous, some of them you can get used to, at the end you are left with a somewhat bearable plan, but one thing is for sure. Harry Styles will be a big part of your life from now on.

THREE MONTHS LATER

The tiny pack of sugar tears open in your hands, but you put too much effort into it so the countertop is now covered with the content of the pack instead of ending up in your paper cup.

“Fuck,” you growl, dumping the empty pack into the trash before grabbing another one, hoping it won’t end up the same way.

“Let me help you,” a smooth, male voice speaks up next to you and Harry grabs the pack from your hands as he places his own coffee to the counter. You let him tear the pack open easily, pouring the sugar into your drink without problem before he puts the lid back to your cup.

“Thank you,” you mumble, closing your tired eyes for a split second. You’ve been overworking way too much these past weeks, it’s starting to shut your system down, but you don’t want to rest, not when you’re so close to finishing your project.

The past two weeks have been major, you finally made the progress you’ve been working towards for months now, letting you step into the last phase of your work finally. But it’s been a quite stressful time as you’ve been eager to finish as soon as possible, but that meant little to no time spent outside of your lab.

Harry shoots you a reassuring smile before you both grab your drinks and head out of the café in the direction of your workplace.

The past three months were one hell of a ride when it comes to Harry. You didn’t hide your dislike towards his continuous presence in your life, standing by your side wherever you went. It frustrated you, made you feel like you didn’t have your freedom any longer even though he never did anything to make you hate him. He was considerate, respectful and only wanted to do his job, yet you still gave him a hard time at the beginning, right until the need for his work was proved.

Two months ago someone broke into your apartment while you were out, they searched through the whole place, looking for something. Well, not just something, they were clearly interested in anything connected to your research, but luckily, you’re not dumb enough to just let these stuff lay around your home.

Even though you didn’t encounter the person responsible for it, the incident still shook your up. Knowing that someone could get into your personal space so easily, that they could have come at a time when you were home and vulnerable, it scared you. Harry was the person that eased the worry and fear in you, he took care of everything in an instant and upon his best advice, you moved to a new apartment with a higher security level. He even moved to the place next to yours so he could be as close to you as possible at all times. There was a much needed shift in your relationship after that and you didn’t see him as an intruder any longer in your life, but more as a hero.

“So would you like Italian or Mexican tonight for dinner?” Harry asks as the two of you enter the building, using your IDs you go through the massive security gates, the guards in post nodding in your way.

“Isn’t it your night to choose?” you smile at him sideways as you wait for the elevator.

“Okay, then Thai,” he smirks, making you laugh. “Hope you are not planning on eating it here again,” he gives you a warning look and you purse your lips.

“I have a lot to do, and—“

“Y/N, you need to rest sometimes,” he scolds you as if you were just a child.

“I do rest. Sometimes,” you answer with an innocent look as the elevator’s door slides open and you walk in with Harry following you right behind.

“Like once a week? Do you even sleep when you’re at home?”

“I do! Don’t make me look like I’m some kind of crazy workaholic!”

“I’m just worried about you, is all,” he sighs, giving you a hard look.

“Oh, Mr. Styles. If I didn’t know you better I would think you might have a soft spot for me,” you smirk at him teasingly before the elevator arrives to your floor and you walk out without a word. Harry just stares after you with a small smile tugging on his lips as he thinks about your words. It’s funny, especially because you both know something more than just a professional relationship has been going on between the two of you, only dancing around it as the situation is a little too complicated to address now.

It’s not like any rules are tying you down, but you would rather not mix up work with your private life. You might have feelings for Harry, but you refuse to act up on them until he is out of his duty as your personal guard.

Your days are usually the same. While you lock yourself up in your lab, working with no end, Harry stay either with you in there or he hovers around the door, keeping an eye on everyone and everything. Just the thought of his presence never fails to bring you a sense of comfort, knowing that you don’t have to worry about your safety until he is near. It might seem nerdy, but you can easily get lost in your work. It doesn’t feel like a job, growing up with parents who were excellent doctors and pharmacists themselves, you were doomed to be a science enthusiast yourself from the beginning. Learning has never been a task for you but a gift, as you liked to look at it.

Working overtime happens often because you lose touch with time easily once you get down to work. Nothing exists outside of your lab and you hardly realize how late it is until Harry usually warns you.

“I didn’t joke when I said I didn’t want to have dinner in here,” he steps into your sanctuary while you’re in the middle of running tests for the millionth time today. Pushing your glasses up to the top of your head while the machines are buzzing and whirling, you look up at him with a tired smile.

“Let me just… finish this one last test and then I promise we’ll head out.”

“Alright, but I’m watching you. No more tests,” he warns, sitting on one of the stools while you finish what you started.

Harry never really asked you about your work, for a while you weren’t even sure if he knows what you’re doing and why it’s so important. It was never discussed at the beginning and he never brought it up later either. But judging from the time he spends near you at the lab he must have picked up a few things about it surely.

The machines stop working and the tiny beeping sound signals that the results are out. You grab the long printed paper and start scanning the data, chewing on your bottom lip as you hope to find what you’ve been looking for all day. The numbers are coming in great, but it’s been like this for a while, it’s the end that never matches up with your expectations. So when you get there and see the graphs showing the result that you’ve been dreaming of since the start of the whole project years ago, your mouth falls open in disbelief even though it’s what you’ve been working for all this time.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

“What?” Harry’s head snaps up in alert, jumping off the stool.

“I… I did it,” you breathe out, glancing up from the paper. “It’s my first time succeeding, Harry!” you start laughing, the shock taking over your whole body that you really did it this time.

“And what does that mean?”

“Come on, let me show you,” you tell him in excitement, pulling him over to the computer where you pull up all the data you’ve been working on. A virtual version of a cell comes up on the screen as you start typing, modelling what you want to show him. “This is a completely healthy cell, it’s what you are made of too, mostly,” you ass with a chuckle before another cell comes up on the screen. “And this is what cells that are affected by cancer look like.”

The difference is a lot more complicated than what you can explain to him in such a short time, but he can see it with his own eyes. The color, the shape, everything is different from the first one. Harry examines the screen and nods shortly, letting you know that he is following.

“I’ve been working on a substance that is able to not just detect the cancerous cells but it can also kill it effectively without hurting the healthy ones.”

You bring up the virtualized version of the substance you’ve been working on, a short animation showing how it can tell the two cells apart and only attack the cancerous one.

“I haven’t been able to get the numbers above 60% when it comes to succeeding in the process of selection so my whole project was about finding a solution to that. I’ve been trying to find the right substance to mix with our already existing one to solve the problem, but I haven’t been successful in it.”

“I assume until now,” Harry hum and you nod smirking.

“Yeah. The last test results came back very good, quite promising. It’s still not the end of the process, but it’s a huge step.”

“That’s great,” he smiles at you and though you know he probably understands just a fracture of the whole process, he can still figure out how important it is. “Congrats, Y/N.” “Thanks,” you breathe out, pride filling your chest as you shut the computer off. “I guess this is my cue to end the day,” you smile at him before packing up everything, getting ready to finally leave.

It’s not the first time Harry is spending the evening at your place. You often have dinner together, or watch a movie whenever you get home early enough to do that. Through the time you’ve spent together because of his job you’ve grown to be friends above everything. Good ones, in fact, which is a big deal for you since making friends has never been an easy task for you.

You bought takeout on the way home and as Harry set the table you poured yourself a glass of wine, knowing well Harry would never drink when he is on duty and he is basically working all the time he is with you, so you’re drinking alone. You both sit to the dining table, starting dinner together in a comfortable silence. It’s another thing you appreciate about Harry. He doesn’t try to talk when it’s not necessary, you hate small talk, you’d rather sit in silence than talk about something nonsense and Harry is a partner in that.

“When do you need to leave work tomorrow to get to the party on time?” he asks breaking the silence and you freeze. His eyes fall on you, examining your features for a moment before he smirks. “You forgot about it?”

“I just… thought it’s going to be next week,” you truthfully admit.

“We talked about it last week,” he smirks at you playfully. “And I told you it would be next week which is… this week.”

“I know how the days work, Harry,” you give him a look of ‘give me a break’ before you turn back to your food. “I just…”

“You just forgot it,” Harry finishes for you, and you just roll your eyes at him.

Glancing at him over the table you wonder if he’ll wear something different than is usual attire he always wears. Black suit with a white shirt underneath, the top two buttons left undone, giving you a tiny peek at the tattoos on his chest. You know those are not the only ones, you’ve seen him with the suit jacket off before, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, his whole left arm is covered in ink and you wish you’ve had the chance to take a better look at them.

Harry is such an intriguing person in a lot of different ways. He definitely likes to keep things to himself, not one to ask for attention and it’s not just because of his work, it’s his personality. However he is good with people, interacting with them, being social. A skill you haven’t really mastered yourself yet and you probably never will. He always seems to know what to say, you’ve never seen him even the slightest bit anxious or nervous before, the confidence he holds is unmatched and it makes it hard to not think about him in ways you shouldn’t be.

After dinner he helps you clean up, just like he always does before heading out, but before he could leave he stops and turns back to face you.

“Oh, a friend of mine is visiting from the UK on Sunday. I already mentioned it to you before, but I was hoping I could get the afternoon off,” he wonders and you nod right away.

“Of course! I’ll be just fine at home,” you smile at him.

“Thank you,” he smiles back before walking out of your place at last.

Because of the party in the evening you are forced to stop working early the next day. It’s weird to leave the office in broad daylight, but you know today can’t be one of those days when you end up seeing the new day in the lab.

Harry was right yesterday, you completely forgot the whole party thing, meaning you didn’t plan anything ahead and you had nothing to wear, so through the day you called your sister, Mara to help you out. She was more than happy to lend you anything you needed. She meets you at the office, beaming to spend some time with you finally. It’s not that you don’t like her company, but you are quite different, is all. Your sister didn’t get sucked into the world of science, though she definitely has the bright mind to take up on any field she would want to explore. But she was more into the world of art, having written her first fantasy novel at the ripe age of twenty, she is now a bestseller author at only twenty-nine with a bubbly personality and basically every trait you never owned yourself.

“Harry! So nice to see you again!” Mara beams at the man as the three of you meet up at the lobby.

“Hi, Mara,” Harry smiles with a tiny nod.

“Alright, I have everything you could need so let’s head to yours!” your sister cheers before you make your way out to your cars.

Arriving to your home Harry splits from the two of you, letting you to get ready in peace and also to get ready himself. Mara didn’t joke when she said she has everything you need, the trunk of her car is basically filled with clothes and shoes, there’s no chance you won’t find something to wear tonight.

She orders you to take a quick shower as she unpacks everything she brought and when you emit from a cloud of steam with a towel wrapped around your body and one on your head, Mara gets down to work.

“So do you have a date for today?” she curiously asks while she does your makeup.

“Huh, yeah, sure,” you huff ironically. “It’s just gonna be Harry and me.”

“So Harry is your date?” her ears perk up, but you’re quick to protest.

“Of course not! He comes with me everywhere,” you mumble with your eyes closed as she is doing something on your eyelids.

“But it could be a date,” she offers and you huff in disagreement.

“You know that’s not how it works, Mara.”

“You are making it more complicated than it is! No one would blame you if you just… went for it! Harry is obviously an attractive guy.”

“Then maybe you should date him,” you bite back bitterly. Growing up you weren’t the boys’ favorite, they always paid all the attention to your sister. It’s not that you blame her or them, she always had a more capturing and lively personality that attracted people naturally. But it made you wonder if there was something wrong with you, spending all your time with your nose buried in a book or doing researches for fun while Mara was out with her friends, living her best life. Even her published books were inspired by her personal life experiences.

“Y/N,” she sighs, her hands leaving your face so you open your eyes to look at her disapproving expression. “You obviously like him so I would never do that and besides that, he for sure likes you too.”

“What’s not true,” you deny right away, but then you look at her curiously. “But why would you think that?”

Mara smirks at you tilting her head to the side, seeing right through your act that you’re not interested in Harry. Of course you are, but you choose to keep it at bay for the sake of his job.

“Y/N, I see how that man watches every move you make. It’s written all over his handsome face.”

“Of course he watches my every move, that’s his job!”

“No, it’s different. You’ll see it sooner or later,” she smiles before ordering you to close your eyes again so she can finish your makeup.

Mara does wonders to your looks, the makeup look she does on you already makes a huge difference since you don’t bother to do anything on your every days. But she didn’t stop there, she made your hair look like you just stepped off of the pages of a magazine and the dress the two of you chose was the cherry on the top. The emerald green dress was tight around your curves, showing just enough of your body to be still considered modest, but also have some spice. And though there are a lot of advantages of the dress, your first and most important thought (to you at least) was how well it goes with the color of Harry’s eyes.

“I’m a genius,” Mara sighs satisfied with her work as you slip on the pair of nude heels and put your necessities into the little clutch you’re taking with you. Just when you’re gone with everything, the doorbell rings and your heart jumps in your chest, knowing that Harry is standing on the other side of the door.

“I’ll get it for you,” Mara smiles rushing to the door as you walk into the hallway, standing a few feet behind her so as she opens the front door and Harry comes into view, over Mara’s shoulder his eyes easily find your figure standing there, feeling a little awkward and self-conscious, like you are about to go to prom with your crush. Difference is that you are not a teenager anymore and you aren’t going anywhere together together. Tonight is just work for him.

But as his bright green eyes fall on your frame and you see his lips slightly part, you can’t help but allow yourself to think for a moment that it’s more than just work. That he feels the same way about it as you do. Though you don’t voice your hopes and just smile at him faintly, hoping you don’t look completely ridiculous in your outfit.

“Harry, come on in!” Mara invites him into the apartment and he walks in, wearing his usual black suit with the difference of having a tie on around his neck, his white shirt is appearing neat and crispy and his sometimes unruly curls are now gently combed back a little so his curls are not falling into his forehead.

“Hi,” you smile at him nervously fumbling with your clutch as he takes a few steps closer to you.

“Hi. You look… beautiful,” he smiles back at you a little breathlessly as he takes a respectful look down your body before his green irises meet your gaze again.

“Thank you. You look great too,” you chuckle softly. “Should we… head out?”

“Yeah, sure!” he nods, offering you his arm and you link your arm with his instantly, hoping you won’t trip in your heels. “Lock the door when you leave, Mara, alright?” you call out to your sister who is watching you smiling.

“Sure! Have fun!”

You wave at her one last time before walking out and shutting the door closed behind you.

This party is held every year at Pharma-Z, mostly this is the time when the brain meets the money. Investors and funders like to meet the people behind the million dollars researches from time to time and this is the occasion where both sides show up. Julian always asks you to be social and try to mingle, but the whole thing feels forced and painful for you. You’d rather just be left alone with your researches and projects without having to schmooze to the people who give you the money for your hard work.

It’s held at one of said investors’ luxurious penthouse, that doesn’t even look like someone’s home with the huge outdoors infinity pool, the spacious and modern interiors and the expensive looking decoration that was put up just for the occasion.

“Y/N! I’m so happy you are here!” Julian approaches you with a drink in his hands and you’re happy to see a familiar face in the crowd. You don’t really know others from work, only your little team you directly work with and of course, your boss, Julian.

“It’s not like I had a choice,” you chuckle giving him a short, friendly hug. Julian is far from a nightmare of a boss some people have to face at their job. He is an actually nice and very smart and intellectual person. The pharmaceutical industry can be harsh and dark, the competition between the businesses is way more intent than people think. This is why you need the protection. Some companies profit off of the fact that cancer has no cure yet. They make money from all the treatments that doesn’t even guarantee full recovery. A lot of big fish don’t want the cure, because that would make them lose a good chunk of their income and some of those would even go to the depth of hurting you for being so close to ruining their business with your invention. Pharma-Z is luckily a genuine company that wants to help sick people and that’s why you’re working there.

“You know how important it is for the company,” Julian sighs, but he understands how uncomfortable these events make you feel, though he can do nothing to help you. “Harry, nice to see you again,” he smiles at the man by your side.

“Julian, nice to see you too,” he nods, shaking hands with your boss.

“Mingle a little so people can see and meet you, alright?” Julian requests and you just nod silently before he moves on to the next group of people.

You get yourself a drink to ease your nerves a little as people start approaching you. Some of them you’ve met last year, but there are a lot of new faces. Your project has brought in quite a few new sponsors and investors and now they want to meet you and talk about the research their money is going into.

You try your best to keep a smile plastered across your face as you tell the people the same thing over and over again, receiving praise and compliments on your work before moving onto the next conversation just to start over again.

You can feel your social batteries running out, not sure you can put up with another conversation with a wealthy investor who wants you to know you have a job because they gave money for your project in hopes of you bringing more money to them.

Harry has stayed by your side the whole evening, and you didn’t notice but he kept examining you every few minutes to make sure you were holding up and he noticed how tired you’ve grown from socializing for so long.

“Y/N,” he softly calls out, his palm finding the small of your back. “Why don’t we get some fresh air?” he kindly offers and you immediately understand that he is trying to get you away from the guests and the overwhelming conversations you’ve been dealing with. Nodding you let him usher you outside, finding a spot where the two of you can be a little alone.

“I fucking… hate small talks and being nice to everyone,” you let out a long and heavy sigh, as you lean against the railing, paying just one short glance at the city’s bright lights under your feet. Harry chuckles shortly.

“I figured. You’ve been chewing your lips so hard I was afraid you’d start bleeding.”

Now that he has brought your attention to it, you realize you are doing it again, so you let go of your bottom lip from between your teeth and it brings out another chuckle from Harry.

“I’m just… not good with these… social stuff.”

“I disagree with that,” he hums, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Oh please, if you haven’t realized it, my number of zero friends is a tell, I think.”

“Come on, it’s not zero. You’re friends with Mara.”

“But family doesn’t count, she is kind of forced to be my friend,” you shrug, making him laugh.

“Okay, but I’m your friend too, aren’t I?” You furrow your eyebrows at him.

“You spend time with me because it’s your job.”

His eyes soften on you as he leans against the railing next to you, looking so effortlessly handsome and charming, you almost need to take a deep breath at the sight of him. And the cheeky smile on his pink lips is definitely not helping your case.

“I know you didn’t mean that. You’re a smart woman, Y/N.” Reaching out he tugs a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he inches closer a tiny bit. “I think we stepped over the line of just work.”

“So… you consider me your friend?” you ask shyly.

“If you have to ask maybe I’ve been doing something wrong,” he chuckles softly, making you smile too. Folding your arms a shiver runs down your spine from the cold evening breeze. “Are you cold?” Harry asks, but before you could even say a word, he shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders.

“Oh, thank you,” you breathe out shyly.

“Do you want another drink?”

“Yeah, I think I might need another one,” you chuckle and nodding he tells you to just stay there until he gets you a new one.

Turning towards the view, you enjoy the lonely moments for a little, not too keen on going back inside and keep up the façade of interest any longer. You’d rather just head home, maybe have another drink with Harry on your couch while you watch a rerun of whatever show is on TV and then fall asleep after a hot shower. You’ve been working way too much lately and it’s just now crashing down on you. Next week you definitely should cut back on your hours at the lab, the project is already going amazing, it won’t hurt if you actually had some rest before you lose your mind.

You hear footsteps approaching you and you think it’s Harry returning, but as you turn around you are faced with a stranger, a man who is staring down at you with bloodshot eyes and… a gun pointed at you.

Your breath hitches, your blood freezing in your veins at the sight and your legs almost give up underneath you.

“What… who are you?” Your voice comes out as a whisper, tears already flooding your eyes as you melt against the railing as if you had anywhere to go, but you have no chance against him.

One glance at the gun allows you to see that it has a silencer on, with the music coming from inside and no one around, if he shoots you, he’ll be able to get away before anyone realizes what happened.

The man doesn’t answer, just holds up the gun, aiming right at your chest and you close your eyes, thinking that this is it. This is how your life ends, in the middle of a posh party with no one around to help you. Your lips are trembling and hands are shaking as you hold onto the railing, waiting for the inevitable to come, keeping your eyes shut, not wanting to see your killer as the last thing you see before you go.

And then you hear the muffled gunshot, making you scream in fear, your knees turning into jelly, but the pain never comes. Instead, you hear grunting and growling as a body falls to the ground in front of you.

Your eyes snap open and you see Harry straddling the man, the gun lying near your attacker’s hand and he is trying to reach it, but before he could, you kick it away as Harry throws a punch at his face that stops him from trying too hard to free himself.

The next few moments are so busy and blurry at the same time. Your legs give up underneath you, making you fall to the ground, your whole body shaking in waves. In the meantime Harry gets the man into a position where he can be easily controlled and people start flooding out at the scene, helping Harry while security working at the party take the man, the police already on its way.

When Harry can finally step back from the attacker, his eyes fall on your figure and he rushes over to you, kneeling down next to your trembling body, cradling you into his arms upon seeing how shaken up you are.

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s over, you’re alright,” he murmurs, holding you tight as your fists grab onto his shirt, your breathing is uneven, the oxygen barely makes its way into your lungs as you’re panting and gasping from the shock. “Come on, let’s get you inside, Y/N,” he gently tells you, helping you up from the floor even though your body feels like a pile of brick.

You can feel everyone staring at you, whispering behind your back as you try to hide in Harry’s arms while he walks you back inside, away from the man that tried to take your life. He walks you into one of the bathrooms and closing the lid he sits you down to the toilet while he grabs a towel and wetting it he kneels in front of you, tapping the cloth to your cheeks gently. You haven’t even realized that you’ve been sweating from the shock and the coldness feels amazing against your burning skin.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, but not even you are sure why.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Y/N,” he gently murmurs, giving your hand a squeeze as you shut your eyes closed. He grabs a glass from one of the cabinets and fills it with water handing it over to you.

“Thank you,” you mumble, bringing it to your trembling lips, but before you could drink it, your eyes snap up to meet his gaze. “And thank you for… what you did.” Your voice dies down at the end, the picture of the man pointing the gun at you still living so vividly in your mind.

“No need, it’s my job after all, right?” he chuckles softly, making your lips twitch the slightest bit before you start sipping on the water.

The police show up soon and they arrest the man who refuses to talk. They also request you to give your statement about what happened, but Harry manages to let you just give them the brief story and go in sometime soon to give them your full statement so you don’t have to spend any more time there. They are quite sure the man was hired by someone who doesn’t want you to finish your project, and it’s scary how far some people are willing to go just for the money, just to keep sick people in suffering for their own benefit.

Heading home you stay silent as Harry drives, staring out the window you let the nightlights of the city pass by you while you still see the same face, the face of the man that held a gun at you tonight. The gunshot is still ringing through your ears, it was so close, so real… of course it was real! All of it was real and your life was on the line. If it weren’t for Harry, you wouldn’t be here right now.

Arriving to your home Harry helps you out of the car and you cling onto his hand as you head up to the apartment. He keys the two of you into your home, flicking the lights on and looking around before you go further inside, just to be sure.

“It’s all clear, don’t worry,” he murmurs as you nod and make your way into the bedroom. Kicking your heels off your feet you sit on the edge of the bed, letting out a long breath, feeling your limbs loosening up a bit for the first time in the past hour.

Harry moves around the place doing whatever before he joins you in the room, kneeling in front of you his hands find your bare knees and your eyes meet his worry-filled green irises.

“Do you want to take a shower?” he softly asks and you nod your head. “Come on, I’ll start the water for you.”

He helps you up from the bed and walks you into the bathroom. You stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do as he starts running the water in the walk in shower before he steps back to you.

“Would you…?” you ask, turning around, needing help with the zipper of your dress. Harry clears his throat as his fingers work on it and a moment later the fabric loosens around your frame as you hold it to your chest with your arms. Turning back around you peek up at Harry and you notice the slight blush on his cheeks.

“I’ll be outside at the door, okay?” He whispers, his fingers delicately touching your cheek as you nod before you watch him walk out and close the door behind him.

The hot water feels freshening, like it could burn away the memories even though it’s still so vivid in your mind. You stand under the running water longer than you intended, but it feels nice and needed. Once you’re done, you wrap yourself into a fluffy towel and walk out of the steamy bathroom only to find Harry sitting at the edge of your bed, waiting like a loyal puppy. When he sees you, he stands from his spot and you don’t miss the way his eyes scan over your body that’s barely covered.

“Alright, I’ll go now, but if you—“ “Don’t!” you gasp, panic taking over you at the thought of being left alone. One of your hands grasps his arm to stop him from moving and he freezes in his spot, staring back at your fearful eyes. “Please, stay here,” you plead, voice barely over than just a whisper.

There’s a heartbeat of a pause in him as he is watching you intently and for a moment you think he’ll say no, but then his hand finds yours on his arm and he gives it a gentle squeeze as he nods.

“Okay.”

You let out a long, relieved breath as you ease into comfort. He’s staying, he’ll be with you all night, protecting you from everything and everyone.

“Can I take a shower too?” he asks softly and you nod, stepping to your wardrobe to get him a clean towel. “Thank you. I’ll be back shortly,” he tells you before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door closed behind him.

You hear the water running again and you find yourself standing at the same spot as you listen to the noises coming from the bathroom. Harry is in there, soaking under the water naked and you can’t take your mind off of how badly you want to be there with him.

It’s not just because of what happened tonight, though it made you realize that you don’t have much time to waste. Nothing can assure that you’ll live another day and you don’t want to deny happiness from yourself. You want to be with Harry and as far as you can make it out, he feels the same way.

Upon a sudden decision, you pad your way over to the bathroom door and open it carefully, the warmth immediately hitting your face as you step inside and close it behind you. The glass of the shower is steamed up, you can only make out the blurry frame of Harry in there and you wonder if he heard you come in, but it doesn’t seem like that. His clothes from the night are lying on the floor in a pile, his watch that he always wears is carefully placed next to the sink.

Your hands grab onto the edge of the towel around your body and you unwrap yourself, hanging it up on the wall before stepping to the shower. Hoping you won’t scare him, you open the door, the steam immediately hugging your naked body warmly and you see him standing there with his back facing you as you step into the spacious walk-in shower.

He notices your presence, you see him freeze mid-movement before he peeks over his shoulder, his eyes falling on you as he slowly turns, facing you completely. Standing in front of him completely bare, you feel more vulnerable than ever in your life. You’re scared that he is going to send you away, that he won’t let you get closer to him and if that happens, you’ll feel humiliated, but he just stands there in his naked glory and doesn’t say anything, so you take it as a chance to shoot your shot.

Reaching up your hands slide to his hard chest, up to the base of his neck as you push your front against his, skin to skin with the hot water running down your bodies. His hands find your waist and you could cry from the feeling of his touch on you. Pushing yourself up to your tiptoes your nose nudges against his as your eyes fall closed.

“Y/N,” he breathes out, stopping you right when your lips could meet. Opening your eyes you see the hesitation in his green irises that appear so much darker than they usually do.

“Do you not want it? You don’t want me?” you whisper.

“I do. It’s not that,” he sighs shaking his head slightly. “But you went through a lot today. I don’t want you to make decisions you might regret in the morning.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs on your lips at how considerate and protective he is over you, thinking that this might be just something that crashed over you in the heat of the moment, but it’s been in the making from the first day you met him. Despite all your protesting against him, you knew you needed him and not just as your guard. He is what’s been missing from your life all along, you just never realized it.

“There’s nothing I could regret when it comes to you, Harry. I needed tonight to open my eyes. Our days are counted, I’m done running from my own happiness.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath as his hands hold tighter onto your waist while your hands run up his neck until your fingers tangle into his wet locks.

“I need you. And not just because of tonight. I’ve always needed you.”

“I’m here, Y/N. I’m all yours,” he breathes out before his lips smash against yours all wet and hard, but it’s the most heavenly feeling you’ve ever experienced.

You become a mess, tangled in each other, lips melting together as your hands explore naked limbs and torsos, bodies pressing tightly against each other shamelessly. Harry walks you backwards until your back hits the cold tile and you let out a whimper as you arch your back at the sudden feeling, just as his head dips down, lips attacking your neck, kissing and nibbling on the soft skin. Your light leg lifts as his hands wander down your thigh, your hips pressing together and you feel how hard he is, his cock pushed against your other thigh, making you moan at the feeling. Reaching down you blindly wrap a hand around the base, giving him a few slow pumps, earning a guttural growl from him before his lips return to yours, kissing you hard and filled with passion. His hands are all over you, on your thighs, ass, back and chest, as if he was mapping your whole body wanting to remember how every inch feels under his touch.

Without tearing his lips away from yours, he blindly reaches behind him, shutting the water off before urging you to jump into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you out of the shower, placing you to the counter next to the sink as he stands between your legs, his hands once again finding your breasts as they knead them, making you whimper and shake under his touch. It’s euphoric and addictive, you already know you won’t be able to go a day without feeling him against you like this.

“Bed?” he breathes out against your mouth and you nod eagerly. Reaching to the side he grabs a towel, wrapping it around you, tapping and squeezing you to dry you off, throwing fits of giggles when you grab it and wrap it around his body as well.

The towel falls to the floor abandoned and forgotten as he lifts you off the counter and brings you to the bed, laying you down and holding himself up above you with one arm. His other hand cups your cheek and turning your head you kiss his palm gently, eyes glued to his as he settles between your legs.

“Are you sure about this?” he breathes out, his lips dancing against your cheek and the corner of your mouth.

“Yes! Harry, please!” you beg with a whimper, your whole body aching to feel him inside you.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, love,” he kisses you as his hand leaves your heated face, runs down your naked body until his fingers reach your throbbing clit.

He slides two digits through your already wet folds, but just to work you up even more he starts drawing circles on your bud, turning you into a whimpering mess underneath him. Your fingers dig into the lean muscles on his back, feeling them twitch from his movements and one hand sliding down to his ass, grabbing a handful of him while pushing him closer to you, his erection pressing against your core.

“Harry, I need you!” you moan, not able to contain yourself any longer. You need to feel him, you need him as close as possible.

Reaching over to your nightstand you grab a condom from the drawer, ripping the package open with your teeth before you carefully grab his erection and roll the condom down his length, ready to finally feel him inside you.

He flicks his fingers on your clit one last time before his hand wraps around the base of his cock, giving it a few pumps while his soft lips kiss down your jawline and throat, his face hiding in the crook of his neck. Your arms circle around his shoulders, your chest heaving from the sensation as he positions himself just right, the tip teasing your hole. Harry lifts his head up, his bright eyes finding your gaze just as he sinks into you, filling you up perfectly.

“H-Harry! Fuck—“ you gasp at the feeling, your walls stretching around his thick cock as he stays still for a few moments, letting you adjust to his size.

You draw your legs up, giving you more space to go deeper as he starts thrusting, sliding in and out of you oh so perfectly, inching you closer to your relief with each movement. You cup his face in your hands, staring into his eyes as if you could see his soul in them and for a split second, you feel like you actually do. His lips are parted and the cross pendant is grazing your chest while he fucks into you, never falling out of his rhythm.

You want to beg to him not to stop, to keep moving and moving, but no words can leave your mouth as your back arches, your orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach. You start grinding your hips in sync with his, allowing him to reach deeper into you, making your toes curl from pleasure.

“Harry, I’m gonna—I-I’m gonna—Ah!” You can’t make up one coherent sentence as your legs start shaking, feeling your orgasm taking over your body.

“I know, baby. Let it go. Let me make you feel good,” he pants, his lips kissing you everywhere he can reach, your lips smashing against each other in a messy kiss, your tongue meeting his in the middle just when you reach your high.

You moan and cry out his name, fingers digging into his flesh as you chase your release. Seeing you fall apart underneath him is enough to throw him over the edge, spilling himself into the condom as his mouth hangs agape, your name falling off his tongue as if it was the holiest glorification. Combing your fingers through his hair you hold him to your chest as he collapses on top of you, his head lying on your naked chest as you both try to catch your breath in the sudden silence that came over you without the sounds of your passion.

Rolling off of your body he slips out of you, an empty feeling taking over you right away, but he is quick to cradle you into his arms to keep the intimacy. You lay your head to his chest, a thin layer of sweat covering the both of you, but you couldn’t care less. You listen to his steady heartbeat as you draw one of the swallows on his chest with your finger, running it over the lines of the ink. You want to soak in the moment and stay in it for as long as possible, but you can barely keep your eyes open. As Harry’s fingers are gently running up and down your bare back you let your eyes close and the last thing you remember is hearing his soft whisper.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll keep you safe.”

You wake up without an alarm in the morning and it’s the first time for that in a long-long time. You stir and groan before you open your eyes, your hands reaching out next to you, looking for the man that was next to you when you fell asleep, but there’s nothing and no one beside you now.

Panic rises in your chest as your eyes pop open and you frantically look around in the room, hoping to see him somewhere near, but you’re alone.

“Harry?” you call you as you sit up, holding the sheets to your chest since you’re still naked. No answer comes and you can feel your heart rate rising instantly.

Getting out of bed you grab the nearest clothing item you find which is an old hoodie, and you put on a pair of clean panties before you carefully walk out of the bedroom, afraid of what you might find outside, but it’s completely silent and still, no one is around. Harry has left.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, feeling the lump in your throat growing as tears are forming in your eyes.

Where did he go? Why did he leave? Is he coming back? Is he gone forever?

You can’t stop yourself from going into depth you shouldn’t, just because you don’t find him first thing in the morning, but you still haven’t entirely recovered from last night’s events and before you could stop yourself, you are thinking about the worst possibilities there could be.

And then you hear the lock turning in the front door.

Blood rushes out of your head as you freeze, afraid it’s another attacker and this time you won’t be as lucky as you were last night. But as the door opens Harry walks in with a paper bag in his arm and you can’t help, but start sobbing at the sight of him.

“Harry!” you cry out, launching at him and he barely have time to put the bag down before he catches you, locking you in his strong arms.

“Hey! No need to worry, it’s just me!” he soothes softly, his hands running up and down your back and head. “I’m sorry I scared you, just wanted to get you something to eat, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head as you try your best to hold back your sobs.

“I just woke up alone and I thought…”

“I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have left while you were sleeping. But I’m back and I’m alright.”

You just nod, hugging him a little longer before you loosen your hold around him to lean back and look him in the eyes.

“So… you’re staying? With me?”

“If you want me to, yes,” he nods with a soft smile as he cups your tear-soaked face in his hands. “I’ll keep you safe and sound and I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

“Just be yourself and… be with me,” you shyly ask him and he nods, his smile growing into a wide grin before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet, intoxicating kiss.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!