#Plush broker

[hereicomeworld]

I know... I know I've let you down...

[therealhobo]

hi phighting community

[glitterliver07]

a doodle of me hi guys its me its me its m

[brokerplushreal]

… Oh! I'm sorry! i didn't see you there! Would you like to join me? Sit, and stay awhile, if you'd like.

they call me da trash doll. im da trash doll!

[pbthesimp]

I JUST REALIZED WHEN I GET MY BROKER PLUSH I CAN MAKE MINI KANDI TO PUT ON THEIR HORNS

HEHE

[rosesntea2]

I don't think I posted this here yet...

If I have uhhh oops your seeing it again.

Live reannactment will be posted in October pinky promise

[sunboki]

— MR. FIREFIGHTER.

Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. firefighter! au, neighbors! au, coincidences, power outage.. hehe

WARNINGS. cursing? chan being a firefighter bc HELLO

AUG'S NOTES. hi hi, ya’ll wanted more firefighter! chris? me too i gotcha

In a neighborhood like yours, power outages were common. But of course, with your luck just moving here, nobody paid any mind telling you.

Perhaps that’s the best explanation as to how you ended up at a strangers doorstep, your phone’s flashlight making the entire experience look a thousand times more pathetic the longer you shifted from foot to foot.

You’d been plugging in your charger, only for your entire bedroom to fall pitch black. Initially, you assumed it was simply a broker malfunction, leading to—after carefully hobbling out to the garage—a multitude of failed attempts to ensue.

About halfway from leaving does the front door open, and upon turning around are you met with a sight pitifully breathtaking.

Blond, messy hair rests atop a well sculpted face, masculine features on tanned skin, dark chocolate eyes belonging to that of the finest sweets.

“Hello?” He asks, voice thick with an accent you deem Australian.

“Oh yeah uh, the.. the power?” Winding your index around haphazardly, the man looks you up and down (an action that shouldn’t have brought such blood to your face), glancing around and wetting his lips before inviting you inside.

Sure, he may be a serial killer, but if that man strangled you, you’re not sure you’d be too upset. Shameless, but who disagreed?

Without a word nor greeting, he slinks into a small kitchen area, leaving you to curiously investigate your surroundings. You note the huge, beige boots by the doorway, the firefighter’s hat lingering on a coat hook.

And he’s a firefighter? Good fuck have mercy.

“‘Happens a lot,” The frustratingly attractive stranger grumbles as you enter the living area, candle-light illuminating the plushness of his lips. It takes you a moment to register he’s talking, too busy reigning yourself into a sane headspace.

He hands you a small mug of tea that’s warm to the touch, beckoning you to take a seat.

“And by the looks of it,” He laughs a low, bemused laugh. “You didn’t know that…?”

“Y/n, it’s Y/n.” You introduce, sipping the steaming beverage carefully.

“Scared?”

“Mm, little bit.” Truthfully answering, you scorn your bashfulness, hating how the way he’s merely looking at you disorients every sensible article of your brain.

Reaching forward, he fondly pats your head, eyes crinkling in the corners when smiling.

Just then you abandon all hope of remaining civilized.

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of, just light some candles ‘n wait it out. Plus, it’s good sleeping conditions.”

If he keeps talking you’re certain you’ll dig a human sized hole and bury yourself in it, because of course you had to knock on his door, him who you’ve become smitten with without even knowing his name.

Before you can apologize for likely waking him up, he interjects.

“But be careful with candles. ‘Don’t wanna start a fire.”

Recalling his firefighter status, you raise your brows, leaning back into the cushions.

“You’d save me, right Mr. Firefighter?”

Momentarily, surprise etches his face.

He grins.

“Nah I’d—”

You smack his arm and he laughs—a kind of laugh that makes the entire room burst alight.

“Of course I would. And It’s Chan by the way, but you can call me Chris.”

Already getting comfortable with conversation, you rest your chin upon your hand, studying.

His mannerisms (as much as his looks could kill) are rather adorable. They’re nervous, fiddling opposed to the career he chose.

A man with a deadly duality.

Charming.

“Oh? Nickname privileges?” You mischievously pique, witnessing that shyness once more.

He covers his face with his hands, dissolving into the couch, evidently embarrassed. The urge to continue becoming irresistible.

“Say, Chris, are you flirting with me?”

Peering through his fingers, Chris’ lips pull tug upward slightly, seeming to mirror your sly attitude.

“I don’t know, am I?”

Perhaps it’s your imagination, but his voice seriously just lowered a pitch and all ability to bite back has turned to dust. And now you can certainly say your feelings are justified, especially from his eyes. Brown hues boring into you, sending your heart a thundering mess.

No, no no, don’t say that. That’s not fair.

As if on cue the lights flash awake and you spring up from your place, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks.

Barely making it out the door before Chris pulls you back around, his hand loosely grasps your wrist, stuffing a piece of paper into your palm adorning that same stupid smile you’re effortlessly falling in love with.

Inside his number is written, and more than ever you feel like a teenage girl passing notes to her boyfriend in class.

“Just in case,” He claimed, clearing his throat as if that would magically cure his noticeably pink ears.

Take it back, you’re both teenage losers fighting to see who cracks first. Nervous wrecks, red faces.

“In case my house burns down?”

“That’s a plus, yep.”

“You’re awful.”

Chris, walking you up to your door despite being a mere foot away, giggles his delight, bidding you good night. But seconds before he turns around it’s your turn to be spontaneous, and you press a soft kiss to his cheek prior to racing inside, shutting the door as quickly as possible.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

Covering your mouth with your hands in order to suppress the utter squeal threatening to break your lungs, you feel seconds from physically imploding — ignorant to the fact that outside the door, Chris is currently doing the same thing.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[fayes-fics]

Absolution

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: After an argument, Benedict seeks forgiveness.

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI. Sub!Benedict, domme!reader, established relationship. Strip tease, slight begging, praise, massage, sexual tension.

Word Count: 2.0k

Authors Note: Anon request fill from HERE, where sub!Benedict begs reader to let him touch her. I'm not sure this is begging enough for you, Nonny, but it's what my muse chose - and after being unable to write for 2 months, I went with it. I hope that's okay. Unbetaed, cos if I ask someone to read this, I will chicken out of posting it. Errr, enjoy?

You feel as much as you see him—a hovering, hesitant presence in the doorway.

“May I… join you?” 

His request is sotto voce, tinged with a gauzy hope that pulls your attention, eyes flicking to his reflection in the mottled glass of your vanity table mirror.

“You are not yet forgiven….” 

Your response is a touch sharp, perhaps, as you restart your motions, untangling your hair with an ornate silver brush, the bitter edge of your dispute still ringing in your ears, even now, hours later. Yet there’s a metallic taste of victory on the tip of your tongue that he is the one attempting to broker the peace between you. 

“Understood.” 

Benedict nods, stepping fully into the bedroom now, the door clicking closed behind him as he continues talking. 

“Perhaps I may find another way to apologise?” 

He bows his head, lacing his fingers together loosely in front of him as he looks upon you through his lashes—a gentle, reproachful demeanour that softens the sharper edges of your irritation. After a beat, you twist around and stand up, moving towards him, the silk of your night robe a balm on your flushed skin, your body reacting to him in this room as it always does, despite what has transpired, something very Pavlovian about it. His light eyes seem to dance with the reflective candlelight from the nearby sconce as you stop just beyond touching distance.

“What are you proposing?” 

You don't miss the way his gaze is drawn to the pull of fabric taut over the swell of your breast as you cross your arms, perhaps still a shade defensive.

“I seek absolution…” 

His words are a sighed exhale, eyes pleading. You know precisely what he is referring to—that power dynamic play that neither of you can resist. And sure enough, a twitch of a smile ghosts over your lips in spite of yourself.

“And will you do as I tell you?” 

You don't mean your voice to be quite so throaty, but the rapid dilation of his pupils and the jump of the vein in his neck speaks volumes.

“I will do anything for you…” His murmur draws attention to his pink, damp, plush, distracting bottom lip as if he has bitten it for your delectation. “My Lady.” It’s a goading, blatant addition, an invitation you are powerless to turn down, especially when he looks at you like that, all large pupils and quivering lip.

“Strip for me,” you command, a surge of want in your veins as his lip quirks up, his hands flying to his buttons instinctively. 

You watch greedily as he fights off the cropped jacket, and his dextrous fingers start to pluck at the pearl buttons upon his paisley silk waistcoat. He is always so exquisitely wrapped in jewel-toned fabrics that it seems nearly a shame to ask him to remove them. As both items fall to the thick rug with an audible thump, you take a step to the side and sit in a comfortable chair in the corner of your bedchamber. You cross your legs, enjoying the bob of his Adam's apple as your legs are revealed through the parting of your robe. He has probably correctly guessed you are naked underneath; a keen flare of his nostrils as you sit back to get comfortable, gesturing for him to continue. 

You lick your lips reflexively as you watch his elegant hands unwind his soft gold cravat, the candlelight catching the signet ring upon his little finger as he throws it to the floor and takes a step towards you, a nascent trace of that troublesome smirk toying at the corner of his lips.

“All of it, Benedict,” you warn, taking the upper hand as he seems to be advancing upon you still in his boots, shirt and trousers. 

He stops short when he is a couple of paces away, close enough you can scent his cologne but too far to touch—perhaps an intentional tease. He will sometimes push up against your boundaries, that cheeky nature flaring under those beseeching, wanton looks. He follows your command, though, your skin flushing as he obediently pulls off his boots and tosses them aside haphazardly.

He takes another half-step forward, watching your eyes tracking the movement of his hands as he pushes down his braces, bouncing once on the outside of his upper thigh as they fall. Subconsciously, you squeeze your thighs together, tamping down the pulse of arousal, the sensual tension between you already heady and delicious, thick in the air, despite so many crossed words earlier.

“May I touch you, My Lady?” 

His soft, yielding tone makes a thrill prickle across your scalp, but your tongue is still sharp with a barb.

“Earn it.”

His eyes flash at your challenge, and there is a flutter behind your ribs—you are as under his thrall now as he is yours. 

And then he does something that makes your body surge with want. He suddenly buckles to his knees before you, looking up at you imploringly again through those long lashes.

“How may I earn it, My Lady?” 

His ask is tender even as he makes short work of the buttons of his frilled shirt, kneeling temptingly beyond your kneecaps.

“I am still awaiting your fulfilment of my last command…” Your response is accompanied by a raised eyebrow, emphasising your point. Benedict is indeed still in shirt and trousers, although the shirt now hands lose from his broad shoulders, framing that lithe, toned torso.

“And once I am naked, what then, My Lady?” 

“Patience, my love…”

Your tone is portentous, but you don't miss how something warm melts in his expressive eyes at the term of affection. His shirt sails down onto the rug, his movements carrying more urgency than before, keen to here your subsequent plans for him, no doubt. 

With him still upon his knees, your breath quickens as he reaches for the buttons of his trousers, knowing as you do what lies beneath. Indeed as the front falls away, you are unsurprised to see he is without underwear as usual, a thatch of dark hair teasing before his cock springs free before you, you canting yourself forward slightly to see.

As he pushes the trousers down around his bent knees, you see the little half smile, noticing your lean-in, your eager stance to see him nude as requested—the flash of that playful nature, which makes his obedience so much more delicious. Your eyes focus upon the constellation of freckles upon his left shoulder as he does, temporarily transfixed by the play of muscle under his skin as he fights off his trousers the rest of the way while still on his knees. His triumphant huff and hurling aside of the item snaps you back from your short reverie, and indeed, what a sight it is to behold. A beautiful, toned, naked man before you on his knees, raptly awaiting your next word, his smooth chest rising and falling a little with shortened breaths of anticipation.

“My lady…” he prompts, but there is a trace of prideful preening, knowing he has you captivated, your legs uncrossing reflexively as you lean in further, your eyes drinking in the sight before you, his gaze falling briefly to your lap, hoping for a glance under your ribe.

“You may touch my feet, my love,” you offer, and you let out a ragged sigh as those large hands cup your arch and a thumb presses into a sensitive spot that makes you collapse back, putty in his hands already. 

“Thank you, my lady; I hope I can soothe you…”

His light whisper falls onto your skin like feathers, your eyelids fluttering shut as his hands work their magic upon your feet. Indeed, you have been promenading today and his assured touch seems the perfect salve to the ache of miles walked. Tension drains through the soles of your feet as he works. 

Before you know it, his hands have moved up, and you do not protest as he starts to massage your ankles and the lower part of your calves. Your whole leg becomes less stiff, your eyes still closed, breathe deep and even until he makes a sharp inhale that has your eyelids flying apart.

In your relaxed state your thighs have parted, and your robe following suit. His heated gaze is upon the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs, not yet open enough to betray how aroused you truly are.

“You may not touch.”

It's a clipped statement, an attempt to wrestle control when he had you compliant under his touch. A slight pout claims his handsome face as if hoping a puppy dog expression will make you yield.

“You are the most beautiful creature, please, please, My Lady…”

“Not yet,” you modify, his adulation weakening your resolve a touch.

He massages your left calf muscle, placing your foot upon the warm fuzz of his bent quad muscle, feeling the warmth emanating from his nearby cock, a temptation you resist moving your foot to brush against. But you can no longer tamp down the need to moan gently as your body responds to his expert touch. It makes his fingers dig into your flesh temporarily, and you hear him take a steadying breath, knowing he is fighting his desire to pick you up and take you to the bed—a desire raging just as brightly in you.

And so, as if catharsis for your earlier argument, you tease him more. Begin to writhe slightly in your seat, an undulation that inches your foot higher on his thigh, your toes curling into his flesh there as your noises become less restrained, his touch heavier, still soothing but with an undercurrent of urgency that speaks of pent-up passion. You can almost feel the increase in his heartbeat, the blood thrumming through his body, his cock no doubt leaking even though you dare not glance at it—too tempting a prospect, wanting to elongate this tease, this foreboding simmering between you ratcheting up the tension between you.

“You are heaven itself, My Lady, I live to bring you succour….”

There is nothing like his lilting, wanton poetic praise. When his hands round your kneecaps, you let him continue higher, dextrous hands cupping your lower thigh and squeezing the tension from your muscles there. His breath is laboured as the movement parts your legs, and he can see what he has wrought, a glistening warmth you can feel deliciously as the cooler air swirls between your now parted thighs.

“Please, My Lady…. Please let me touch you there��”

His tone is broken now, fawning words tumbling from him between deep breaths as if scenting you, his whole body tilted over your lower half, looking up at you from your lap, supplicant arousal humming in his being, feeling the heat of his cock against your toenails as he leans in.

“Undress me.” your voice a breathy whisper.

The tiny noise of victory he makes has your heart skipping a beat as his fingers instantly fly to the sash, holding your robe cinched at your waist. Watching him work through a hooded gaze and a fluttering chest as he unloops the knot and then, as if unwrapping the most precious gift, parts the material from around your body, pulling it down from around your shoulders until you are as naked as him.

“My Lady…..”

It's a stuttering, wrecked sigh, trembling hands ghosting over the quivering of your stomach, your ribs—not touching without permission, but still making your pulse race, your skin tingle. And you hunger for him like nothing else, uncaring of the disagreement you had earlier, irritation and pride usurped by the burning need you have for him as much as he has for you.

And so you relent.

“You may touch me anywhere, my love.”

Your greenlight has him almost howling, and before you know it, you are scooped up from the chair and carried to the bed, his body flexing deliciously against yours, your lips meeting in a hungry, inelegant kiss, tongues tangling. Words of apology will come later—after your bodies have what they crave.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[sebastianandpainterkisser4]

I'm just gonna make "how take take care of your own ___" a series

Since the broker plush is out might as well make this

How take take care of your OWN broker!

Feed him 2-4 times per day! It is recommend to feed him cookies! (Or flesh)

Give him atleast 5 bux a day! He physically cannot go a day without gaining bux or he'll explode

Please kiss him on the cheek per day for the love of god..

Don't insult him or he'll probably take your fucking wallet and eat it

no need to get him a bed, your chest is the bed (IN THE MOST NONSEXUAL WAY)

He'll bite you affectionately

^^ relateable (I bite my friends affectionately)

[tavloi]

broker plush!!! buy now!!!!!!

[nonymous-nb]

•────~❉᯽❉~───────────────•

Medkit x Reader

•───────────────~❉᯽❉~────•

"Charged kisses."

PHIGHTING! | One-shot | Fluff | Romantic.

Warning/s: [fluff. :( ]

Extra: [Hi, I'm still alive + not fully proofread]

You and Medkit have been dating for almost a year now, it was quite the shock when some of the other phighters found out about it.. Other than Subspace and their Biografts, of course. The same also goes for the warden and his "family" as he didn't trust them with the information of him dating you, yet. Sword mostly did the cheering for the both of you. (He also teased Medkit about it and he didn't get any healing from him during the phights after that.) The day the Broker found out about it gave Medkit a slight panic attack, he does not want the Broker to turn you into a blackmail for him to do more stuffs than he already has, he was considering having a break-up with you due to not want to endanger you, but also doesn't want to tell you about the stuffs he went through with the said "family". That was until Scythe had accidentally met you and found you quite entertaining, she even treated you as a part of the "family" even if you weren't in the cult. Even saying how she sees you as a "sibling" as you both hangout, that didn't calm Medkit's nerves though. Medkit couldn't help but tell you the half of the truth about what he has been doing for work and what he truly was.

A criminal.

Medkit was sure you were going to leave him as you finally knew about what he does and what he truly is, his heart slowly breaking and sinking as you only stayed silent for a while. He was about to apologize and leave until you took his hands in yours, smiling at him softly and told him that you still love him as him and not even his work would ruin his and yours relationship, you were gonna make the man cry and emotional as you shower him with love and care.

Medkit really does hold you dear.

After a few more months he then finally found the courage and trust for you to learn more about his background, what he does in his work and his very.. very interesting co-workers. Sure it did still give you a slight fright due to them being criminals; how much they've done to innocent people and all that jazz, but that didn't deter your love for him, nuh uh, he's stuck to you till the very end until you die. How did you even get this fine man?

Though, since he has work 24/7 as it can sometimes go for even a week straight; that never deter both of your love and admiration for each other. Now you're here, stuck in your own shared apartment.. All alone with nothing to do than try to entertain yourself as you wait for your lover's arrival as he last texted.

You stared at the ceiling; feeling bored as hell as you can't seem to think of anything to do this time as you usually do. Plus, your lover is almost coming back home from work. You sighed as you sat up from the couch and took your phone; scrolling through stuffs to see if you could do something to entertain yourself for a while as you wait. You scrolled a few more times before stopping, scrolling back up to see what you found interesting. "Oh, it's a new plushie." The design was really quite alright, a humanoid person with a black hat and an eye for a head was the new plushie on the plush shop that you liked and bought at least twice on.

You were about to click it to see more until a notification popped up on your phone, distracting you. Seeing a very familiar name on the notification, you clicked on it which took you to the messaging app as a familiar demon messages you.

═══════════▣◎▣═══════════

⏎ [ The Best Dealer🤫🧏 ]

[ The Best Dealer🤫🧏 ]

: {Attachment_stling_mney.lnk}

: you should def buy sum of this stufs fr ×:3

[ Remaining Eyes < You ]

: Broker.. I'm not falling for that.

[ The Best Dealer🤫🧏 ]

: dam worth a shot 😔

: ok thus is what i actually wanna send ya!

: [Attachment_rppring_lpstck.lnk]

[ Remaining Eyes < You ]

: I don't do makeups as well Broker ತ⁠_⁠ತ

[ The Best Dealer🤫🧏 ]

: nah dis thing is like invis then appers later on

: yo culd prank mskit wit dis too!

: i kno ya bord so think bout da offer ×:3

[ Remaining Eyes < You ]

: Alrighty then I will

: But first off, why do you now type like that—

[ The Best Dealer🤫🧏 ]

: Ops aft me LOL

: OH SJIT THR WATDEN IS HERE TOO

[ Remaining Eyes < You ]

: O h

: Goodluck escaping—

═══════════▣◎▣═══════════

"Rip Broker.." You let out an airy chuckle not even wondering what that demon did. You looked back at the link that Broker sent you thinking about the said offer. Finding that it's actually a good little harmless prank on your lover when he comes home from a long day of work, You then nodded to yourself and quickly read through the reviews seeing if it's legit or not. After finding the reviews all positive with a couple of showcasing, you then ordered the lipstick. "This will be interesting.."

Now you just need to wait for a few days to get it. You sent a quick peace sign to Broker, telling him you got it as he replied with the thumbs up emoji.

Now you just have to wait for your package.

A few days had past and your package finally arrived!

as well as your lover.. :0

"Buying some stuffs online again, I see." Medkit hummed as he carries a small boxed package, handing it to you. "So, what did you order online this time?" Medkit gave you a small peck on your forehead as he went inside your shared apartments, sitting down on the couch to rest and placed his little kit on the couch as well. "Well, y'know.. some typical me stuffs." You told him as you close the door, walking to the table to place the box on it. "How's work this time? A certain dealer still bothering you?" You changed the subject not wanting him to get curious about your little package. Medkit groaned at the mention of a certain dealer. "He kept asking me about.. something. And later on 'telling' me how I shouldn't mess up on some things." Medkit vents about his frustrations about the dealer and how stressful work is. You hummed as you went to where he was and sat down beside him, slowly and gently taking his hands in yours; pulling him gently towards you as you made him lean into your arms. His hands lightly flinched at the small gesture as he stopped talking for a few minutes, not expecting the sudden physical contact. After some time he relaxed; adjusting his postion and slowly hugs your waist as you fully lay him onto you, nuzzling his head a bit onto your shoulder while being mindful of his horns. You both knew that he still wasn't fully the one for physical touches as he's had a fair share of trauma, but he quickly relaxes, you were different, you feel so warm and comforting.. he loves and cherishes the feelings he always has with you whenever he's free from the hell he calls work.

"But, other than those it was alright.. Scythe has protected me during the phights whenever I get targeted by a certain scientist and.. it's creation." You began to massage Medkit's temple feeling that he's getting even more stressed by thinking about it, you could slightly hear a small bit of rumbling from Medkit.. it almost sounds like a soft purr. "Both the boss and the dealer said hi to you as well." He murmured as he got comfortable at his laying position. "You should definitely get some rest now. You got some work tomorrow too, don't you?" You asked him as you tried to get him to sit up so he could sleep and rest in your shared bedroom. He let out a slight groan as he wants to stay in that position and spend time with you as it's been so long since you both could spend a whole day together. Though he knew you were also right, he reluctantly sat up from his position and let you drag him towards the bedroom.

You let him change his clothings privately first.

You then led him into the bedroom, laying him down and tucking him in the bed. "I'll do something real quick alright? I'll be back later." You told him as you were about to leave the room. He wanted to ask what you were going to do, but quite hesitant to do so. So he laid back down in bed waiting for you to return. You'll come back either way.. he hopes so, as you close the bedroom's door.

You would be back later though, you just need to put your little package somewhere so he doesn't see the product.

You then open your little package to reveal a packed up lipstick with a light slightly transparent teal case and a silver lid. Opening the lid revealed a clear clear wax, inside of it having cute little designs containing stars and flowers. "Huh, pretty.." You admired the lipstick before closing it up and standing up from the couch, heading straight to the drawer that's near the couch placing it inside; making sure it's hidden.

You then went straight back into the bedroom; sitting down onto the bed beside Medkit as you tuck in yourself into the blanket you both are sharing; making yourself comfortable. "Goodnight, Medkit.." You whispered thinking that he's already asleep as you nuzzle onto his side slightly but still keeping a some distance incase he wants his space in his sleep. "Goodnight.." You lightly flinched not expecting any reply back, you were about to ask why he's still awake until he moved to face you, hugging your figure close to him. You were about to lightly tease him until he spoke again. "Say something about this and I'm sleeping on the couch."

You then stayed silent during the night.

≻───────── ⋆TimeSkip⋆ ─────────≺

Morning finally came.

You did some light stretching as you finally wake up, your arms still wrapped around your lover's sleeping form, you tried to open your eyes to look at the clock.. yeaaah, bad idea. You then let out a light hiss as the sun greeted you head on from your window, you quickly flipped it off as you tried to adjust your vision at the sudden brightness. "Stupid sun's brightness so early in the morning.." You grumbled out as your vision finally adjusted, you moved away from Medkit to check the time. Medkit let out a groan at the lost of warmth as he tried to get you back for more sleep, you just held his hand as he lightly drifted off to another sleep.

"5am.. Medkit, my beloved, it's time to wake up my dear." You said hushly, yawning at the same time as you let go of his hand. You heard another groan from your lover as he begrudgingly sat up; still tired as he rub his working eye lightly. You then stood up from your bed to do your usual morning routine, Medkit did his after you finished.

You were now in the kitchen making Medkit some quick breakfast and his dark coffee, your mind quickly drifted off to the lipstick. "Oh, the lipstick!" You finally remembered what you and Broker talked about, you then thought of scenario for it as you let out a few silent chuckle at the idea. You then placed his breakfast and coffee on the table while waiting for him innocently.

Medkit then came out of your shared bedroom, ready for work, going to the table to where the food is not before giving you a small forehead kiss before going to sit and eat. "Aren't you gonna eat as well?" Medkit asked you as you chilled on the couch. "Hmm, not hungry yet.. I'll eat later so don't worry!" Medkit nodded at you while saying something along the lines that you should. While Medkit is busy eating and his attention is on the food, you quietly reach for the drawer taking out the familiar lipstick, as you hid it behind you, you'll put it on after he's done eating to make sure the lipstick won't show early and ruin the little prank.

It wasn't that long till Medkit finished his breakfast as he made his way into the kitchen to wash his plate. You then took out the lipstick that you're hiding observig it before putting some on you, as you're done you took out your phone to see if it's visible and man was it not. Now the question, does it appear later on? As you were pondering about if it's going to appear or not, Medkit came out of the kitchen and grab his case. "I'll be going now, I shall see you when I get home soon." He said as put on his shoes and was going to open the door.

"Wait!"

Medkit stopped on his tracks as he looks back at you with a raised eyebrow. "A kiss before you go?" Damm, you getting real bold right now, you still couldn't help the slight blush of embarrassment creeping in. "Oh? Care to explain why?" You pouted at his question. "Because it might take you another whole week off.. and I'll miss you.." You guys are dating for almost a year, ALMOST and yet you're still shy about asking for some type of affection due to you being the one who always show him some affection. You could feel Medkit's little sly smile as he knew what he was doing, he letting out a pleased chuckle he then went to where you were and placed a kiss on your forehead. "There, now I'll be goi— mphh?!" Medkit let out a small yelped as you pull him back in for an actual kiss, you could feel his face heating up as you didn't let go and kept kissing him a bit more longer. Medkit could feel his face heating up more and his heart beating fast as you don't pull away.

Someone save him. :(

You finally pulled back after leaving a few more kisses on his face. Now, finally getting a good look at Medkit, he looks like he's still processing what even happened as his face look like a giant lightbulb as he pull back and let out a light cough on his hand, still not facing you. "I.. think it's time for work— uhm.. see you later." He then gave you a nod as he went to go out the door to leave. Oh how you love to see that old man flustered at times.

"Hehe, I wonder what his reaction would look like when he gets home.."

≻──────── ⋆At Medkit⋆ ────────≺

Scythe and Broker was casually chatting the other polishing their weapon as the other laid on the couch. "OH!! And get this: a certain warden was stupid enough to—"

The door opened.

Scythe perked up at the sound of the door opening. "Howdy, 'kit! Ya should hear what happened with the warde—" Scythe then stopped in her tracks as she observes Medkit face. Medkit senses her stare as he look at her. "Wha—" Before he could ask what is going on, Broker let out some loud giggles and cooing noises. Medkit just gave him a narrowed glance until a weight was added onto his shoulder. "Damn 'kit~ didn't know ya and the jewel were getting freaky at it!"

Medkit choked on his saliva as he pull away, face heating up at the slight thought. "What— No! We never did, what are you talking about.?" He asked, quite shock as he never expected that I mean.. you both just shared some kisses, but neither Scythe and the Broker needs to know that. What even got Scythe to say such thing? "Awh, no need to be so shy Meds! It's totally fine by us!" Now it was the Broker's turn to tease him. Scythe snickered as she patted Medkit on the back of his shoulder. Medkit moved away a bit and gave the two a narrowed look. "I don't have anymore patience to deal with the both of your shenanigans. What is it?" Oh how he wish he could just walk out of here and go home. "Hah! No need to be so snarky 'kit!" Scythe laughed as she took out her phone and places it in front of Medkit's face.

". . ."

≻──────── ⋆At Reader⋆ ────────≺

You were casually flipping through channels on your television until you hear a notification popping on from your phone, curious. You took your phone that's on your side of the couch and check out who caused the notification.

You then froze as you read the notification.

[ Handsome Old Man♡: I'll be charging you 5000 bux per kiss stains you've left on me today, now Scythe and the Broker won't stop bothering me about it. Oh and your punishment is that you'll be receiving no kisses nor cuddles from me for a whole month. ]

"Well, fu—"

[reallyromealone]

Uncanny Valley reader

I don't remember what part

Male reader

Violence, fluff

🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷(name)s move was prompt.

Ran watching the cats explore the new area and a majority of (name)s belongings in storage (mostly his stuffed toys and furniture), The Bonten executive excited to have his strange boyfriend around more often.

(Name) held his hello kitty blanket and squishmallow confused and Ran cooed "you can put your stuff anywhere darling, my home is yours"

(Name) tentatively put his stuff in little areas, a stuffed plush there and his blanket on the bed.

That was another thing ran was going to enjoy.

Sharing a bed with (name).

Ran was determined to be a good boyfriend to (name) who also did try his best in his own way, the broker letting ran cuddle him and even wear one of rans shirts to bed.

Ran didnt want (name) finding a new apartment.

Though the others?

They couldn't stand it.

And boy did it FILL RAN WITH SO MUCH JOY.

(Name) and rans schedules were surprisingly similar though ran did have to drag (name) from his computer to bed when the man wouldn't sleep with the promise of more Cat videos and people watching at the park.

(Name) liked how ran smelled.

He always smelt very nice, expensive.

(Name) never imagined having a relationship much less being the little spoon, letting ran take the lead in the relationship. He didn't think he would enjoy not being in control but Ran seemed to know what he was doing so (name) let him do as he pleased.

Ran learned (name)s likes and dislikes, he wasn't fond of big fancy dinners often, the broker liked private rooms to eat and ran didn't mind, less likely to get killed that way.

(Name) was also not easy to impress as the man was always on edge but Ran learned what he liked.

Cute things and soft things.

Ran was truly dating a cat.

The two got ready at the same time, Ran splitting his closet for (name) "you have so many plush toys and blankets but three suits"

"Yes?"

"We have very different priorities, I know how much Bonten pays you so why don't you buy suits baby?"

Ran also learned (name) liked nicknames and pet names but only out of the public eye "Why would I need more?"

"Why not?"

Today was a rare day off, ran deciding to take (name) out clothes shopping, the man having one set of pajamas, three suits and five casual pants and shirts.

Ran was appaled.

Ran managed to convince his boyfriend to go clothes shopping with the promise of buying him a limited edition plush toy.

What they weren't counting on was Bonten tagging along in disguises..

"Wear this..." Mikey commanded to the deadpan broker, handing him a god awful shirt but the man just shrugged and went into the change room and tried it on.

"When can I get my plush" (name) said deadpan, clearly not enjoying this experience and ran wanted to scream, not at (name) but at the others who were taking up his time but Ran appreciated how (name) always focused his attention on his boyfriend when asking questions. "(Name)! Try this!" Koko beamed and held clearly women's lingerie and the broker just looked cold and dead before going and changing into his clothes and walking out of the store "God damn it..." Ran mumbled.

Over the months with (name) he learned (name)s tells and he knew (name) was very much done.

He ended up finding him at a gatcha machine corner getting little keychains.

(Name) was beyond uncomfortable, he didn't have experience with a lot of people at once and malls were only used for people watching or info gathering.

Not people who he knew didn't like him months prior suddenly wanting attention.

He didn't understand.

"Hey baby, cute keychains" Ran joked and (name) looked at him "I'm not some doll to be dressed, can we end this errand and return to your apartment?" (Name) mumbled gripping the keychains, he didn't even get his plush like promised.

Ran nodded and ended up ditching Bonten (save for Rindō who he asked to get the plush and a few other cute things for (name)) and went back to the penthouse "they're insistence is confusing and unwelcome" (name) said simply "yeah, I wish they would lay off too..." Ran said bringing him to the livingroom where the cats were currently very entranced with the birds on the balcony.

Ran smiled as (name) and him ended up cuddling on the couch, the broker clearly overwhelmed and overstimulated and after head scratches and shows Ran introduced (name) to, the man was out cold in comfy clothes.

He looked absolutely precious.

People often forgot who and what (name) was and did.

He was absolutely precious to Ran but seeing him beat a guy senseless with a briefcase and an empty expression was both horrifying and *hot* to the elder Haitani. The man was half conscious as (name) bent down "don't try and swindle me" he hissed out and bashed the guys face into the floor before getting up.

(Name) recently began working with Bonten fully no longer as an information broker but as an intelligence gatherer strictly under Bonten.

"I don't like this apartment" (name) said simply as he looked it over, it was a very nice place, state of the art appliances and an excellent view of the city "what don't you like about it?" Ran asked as Rindō checked out the rooms "it's not right"

This had been (name)s answer for the past four apartments and Ran was confused, what was wrong with these places?

Then it clicked.

And Ran was smug.

(Name) now only slept in Rans bed, in Rans clothes and cuddling ran.

He got ready with Ran.

He ate with Ran.

He did most things with Ran.

What was missing from the apartments was Ran.

"Still looking for an apartment?" Koko asked (name) who was walking to his new office as (name) technically counted as an executive as he was in charge of an entire sector.

"Yes" (name) said smiling, he didn't like Kokos company or most of their company "well an apartment opened up in my building, I can put a good word in for you!" He offered and (name) shook his head "I have decided to continue my residency with Ran" (name) said simply and the energy in the office plummeted as the men lowkey pouted but (name) didn't care "does this mean we can move your stuff to my place fully?' Ran grinned fully aware of what he's doing.

"Yes" (name) looked very unsettling as he walked into his office and Ran followed "you know you don't have to do that if you don't want to" Ran said softly and (name) was twitchy "it's fine" he said stiffly "is it?'

"I... I enjoy your company greatly... I don't want to be without it... Is it acceptable for me to continue?"

"Absolutely baby" he said kissing (name) softly and spoke "we can take your stuff out of storage... I have three extra rooms, we can put all you're cute stuff in there"

"Stuffed toys on the bed?"

"You can have five"

"Deal"

[carolmunson]

what're you doing new years?

(bigmoney!steve x f!thick!reader)

recommended reading: peanut butter vibe once bitten, twice shy recommended listening: what're you doing new years eve? by ella fitzgerald brought to you in part by carol's christmas song blitz, and readers like you.

cw: minors dni. 18+. drinking, smoking (cigarettes), casual dominance, references to cocaine, bathroom smut, p in v, fingering (f!receiving), literal IDIOTS in love, fake dating trope, discussions of class relations, gambling, mild daddy kink

a/n: we made it, folks! dividers by @newlips

December 31st, 1996 - NYC The apartment smelled like fresh paint and saw dust. Sprawling and sunsoaked, a lot of open space. You assumed all the apartments in Tribeca looked like this, gorgeous inside and out. Expensive and old money, beautiful brick outsides with stunning interiors. Windows with ornate arches that went from floor to ceiling with deep sills for books or antiques that cost more than your mom's life insurance.

"It's really nice," you say, stepping into the open concept livingroom - Barcelona chairs and a sleek black couch sit on a plush carpet. It looked like a show room. The heels of your leather boots click and echo on the redone hardwood. Boxes and boxes of his life in Indiana are stacked in the room against the wall, trailing all the way to a full chef's kitchen. New appliances gleam with the film still on them, untouched.

"It's really nice," you say, stepping into the open concept livingroom - Barcelona chairs and a sleek black couch sit on a plush carpet. It looked like a show room. The heels of your leather boots click and echo on the redone hardwood. Boxes and boxes of his life in Indiana are stacked in the room against the wall, trailing all the way to a full chef's kitchen. New appliances gleam with the film still on them, untouched.

"You wanna see my room? It's almost fully done," he smiles. Steve offers his hand to you but you're hesitant. He falters when he catches the gears turning in your head and puts his hand in his pocket, leading you with a cock of his head to the left. "Down that hallway s'a guest room, laundry, full bath," he rattles off pointing down one hallway while he leads you down another, tapping on closed doors, "A couple other rooms I haven't figured out yet. Broker said they'd make great nurseries. I had to laugh." He's trying to joke with you, but you know it hurts him to say that. He's always offhandedly mentioned how much he wants to be a dad.

"And here's my room, master bath, full dressing room -- you know, sort of just like home," he smiles, clicking open the door and guiding you inside. It's set up very much like his old room in Indiana, big kingsize bed with triple fluffed pillows and hotel style linens. Crisp white this time, slight navy accents, light wood. It was bright and airy, the gauzy curtains fluttered gently against the central heating vent.

"Very you," you smile, "It's like you never left."

"Some things never change," he shrugs, opening the double doors to the dressing room, "Come see."

The room is a little smaller than his bedroom, which means it's still bigger than your apartment. The way his clothes are hung in the cubbies and his shoes are oragnized on the shelves can only be described as sterile.

"It's not done, obviously, but, we're getting somewhere," he smiles.

"Oh good, right now it's a little serial killer-y," you laugh, noticing that the other side of the room is completely empty, "Lot of vacancy here. Planning on getting a whole new wardrobe? Bored of the Saint Laurent you already have?"

He rolls his neck slowly to stretch it out, looking over at you and the vacant side of the dressing room with heavy lids through his specs. He lets out of a soft chuckle, "Nah, wanted to keep it empty so you can fit all your clothes in there, too."

You swallow. A tight smile freezes your face when he says it and you remember the conversation you had outside of his office building in Indiana the week before. His hurt features when you left him abandoned back in the lobby while he called another cab home. You came home in tears, your mom and sister consoling you and your tipsy dramatics. 'Never thought you'd be the heartbreaker, honey.'

You know she didn't mean it like that, but it still stung. Who were you to give up someone like Steve Harrington? Steve Harrington who, after he went home and cried in his shower and called his best friend about it, still wanted you to put your clothes in his closet. Still wanted to watch you wake up in the morning and rush to get ready for work. Still wanted you to come up behind him while he made you both coffee on Sunday mornings. Still wanted you take you out to dinner every Friday night so you could both sleep in on Saturday mornings.

"You got plans for tonight?" he asks when you don't reply to his half truth of a joke. You jolt out of your trance when he asks, looking over to see him cleaning his glasses with the cloth he always keeps in his back pocket. A gentle flush of pink has made itself to his cheeks and nose, your shoulders sulk a bit. You want to give into his little fantasy, but that's all it is. It's his little fantasy that doesn't need to be a reality, he'll have it with someone else -- anyone else.

You clear your throat, "Uh, yeah, actually. Um, the head of marketing, she always invites the department to her uncle's fancy New Year's Eve party so I finally made the cut. Some ridiculous theme this year -- casino or something? Just so they can all throw their money around." Steve starts to laugh, tutting while he puts his glasses back on, hands on his hips. "What's so funny?" you ask, arms crossing against your chest.

"The party's in midtown, right? At the Plaza?" he asks, matching your posture.

"Technically it's more midtown east, but yes," you reply with more attitude than you were expecting. You don't like hearing him talk like he knows his way around New York when he's been here all of ten seconds. "Yeah, your department head's uncle is Carl. CEO of Slate Insurance, s'my boss. Why do you think I came out here a little early?" he smirks. Fuck.

"Don't look so disappointed," he says, walking towards you slowly, dropping his hands to meet your hips, "You wanna just go together?"

You step out of his hold and catch his shoulders drop in his sweater, a pang of guilt drives through your chest at his disappointment, "I can get there myself, it's no problem."

"I mean, it's not the kind of party you roll up to in a cab," he says matter of factly, like it's obvious, "You have to like, make an entrance."

"I wasn't going to take a cab," you glower. A rejected Steve was sometimes not a very kind Steve, all showboating and no substance -- he just wanted to be a jerk. "What were you planning to take?" he asks, brows raised over his frames in faux curiosity, "The subway?" "Better than showing up in that tacky green Porsche," you retort, cheeks burning at his meanhearted teasing. He grins and shakes his head. "I left the Porsche with my dad. I'll probably take the new Benz," he shrugs, cocking his head while he looks at you, "Well -- my driver'll take the new Benz, but you know what I mean." Your face sours, he was reaching the border of ugly cockiness. "Looks like you’re not into a Mercedes," he frowns, a faux apologetic look washing over his face, "You wanna ride in the Bentley instead?"

"You sound like such an asshole," you confess, walking out of the dressing room and back into his bedroom. "What? I can’t congratulate myself for getting a new job?" he bites back, following you, “I’m just tryna catch up to what my life is gonna look like here, Nat.”

“Not all of us have that life, Steve.”

He softens while looking at your back, he reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder to turn you around, “M’not trying to be an asshole, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, “I just—you know you can still be 'Hawkins Steve', Harrington. You don't have to be like these Wall Street guys.”

“I know,” he nods, both hands meeting your shoulders, “You wanna come with me tonight? Be my date? Carl’s sort of a traditional guy, it’ll be nice to make him think I’m some family man with a girl at home waiting for me.”

"Steve," you started, "We talked about this. This is your Christmas Party all over again." His eyes cast downward for a moment as the evening replays in his head at record speed. The day you left him, the day he realized he planned your whole future in his head but you didn't want that.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn--" you start before he comes back to himself in time to interrupt.

"You can be my fake date," he nearly whines, lips pouting.

"I dunno," you shrug, his hands slide from your shoulders to the dip of your waist.

"You don't want me spoiling you all night? C'mon. I gotta show off to these assholes," he asks, voice warm and soothing. His cologne ghosts your nose and your knees get weak, "And you're a great way to start showing off."

Your heart thrums when he speaks, it's so frustrating to be around someone so handsome, "Don't be stupid, Harrington."

"It's not stupid, Manhattan. It'll be fun, we're just playing pretend," he takes a step closer to you and you can see his stubble, the plushness of his lips.

You consider it, he fights off a smile because he knows you're about to say yes. Steve Harrington always gets what he wants. Steve Harrington always gets the girl.

"Just playing pretend, huh?" you challenge.

"Just playing pretend," he smiles, wrapping you in a gentle hug -- friendly, chaste, sweet, "I'll pick you up at seven."

The hug is soft -- but you can feel his heart beating hard against his chest.

Bbbrrrriiiinggg!

You run to your front door, pressing and holding the button on the intercom to buzz him in. You click the lock before escaping back into the bathroom to finish your face, makeup bag torn open in your sink. As you finish your lipstick you hear a soft knock echo down the hall.

"It's open!" you call, and the loud squeak of your front door screeches through your apartment.

"Y'know this could really use some WD-40," Steve says while he shuts the door behind him, "Do you have some? I can --"

You peek around the door frame, patting your lipstick into your lips with your finger. His eyes glint behind his glasses.

"Hey," he smiles, brushing some of the snow off of his coat.

"Hey," you smile back.

"You look pretty."

"So do you," you tease before escaping back into the mirror. He meets you at the frame of the bathroom door, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

"Should I start telling you I'm picking you up earlier so you'll be ready on time?" he asks, dipping his glasses down his nose to peer at you over the rims, "Or are you wearing pajamas?"

You roll your eyes mid-mascara application, throwing everything back in the bag when you finish, "I just have to put my dress on and then we can go, I promise."

You hurry to your bedroom, only mere steps away, pulling your dress out of it's bag hanging on your closet door, "Give me five minutes!"

You shut your door in his face, slipping the navy satin over your head. It wasn't anything too special -- vintage cut fit and flare. The curves of your body made it look more expensive than it was. Your tailor did wonders on it after you snagged it from a sad looking rack of sale dresses at Saks. You pulled on a pair of nude, gloss finish stockings -- silicone on the bands snapping around your thighs with a loud smack, before slipping on a pair of heels.

While grabbing a small purse to keep your effects in, you open the door to reveal Steve resting against the wall of the hallway. He looks inside, giving it a once over with one turn of his head.

"This is uh...cozy," he says, his smile is unethusiastic.

"Fuck off, Harrington," you groan, spritzing your ever declining bottle of Angel by Mugler across your chest and wrists.

"Let me look at you, hm?" he asks, stepping all the way into the room. You turn toward him, skirt of your dress swaying with the turn of your hips. His eyes unfocus for a moment, you hold back a chuckle -- men are so easy.

“So let me wrap my head around this real quick,” he puffs his chest a bit while he walks toward you. You giggle while walking backward, tripping on your heels, “You were gonna go to this party alone —”

“Wearing this?” he asks, catching you by the waist to steady you. He lets a finger drag from the halter strap of your dress, following the curves of your body downward, “That’s just not fair, Manhattan.”

“You’re Manhattan now, too, Steve,” you correct. His light touch sends a shiver through you and he lets out a satisfied hum. He smells like spice and evergreen, your mouth runs dry when his eyes linger on you for a little too long.

"C'mon, can't let Vinny wait too long for me down there. You're makin' me look bad," he says gently, taking you by the hand to your front door. He pulls your camel coat off the hook and holds it open for you, gliding it onto your arms with the finesse of a man who knows exactly how to treat a woman. Betrayal is the only emotion running through your chest as your body warms up against his touch.

Naturally, the Bently is the nicest car you've ever fucking seen.

He was right, you couldn't have shown up in a cab. There were paps everywhere and you couldn't understand why. It's not like there was any famous people here, just people with a shit ton of money. Were they famous by proxy? Would this show up on Page Six? If your networth had seven zeros, did you get welcomed into a hall of fame or something? Did everyone want to read about your life?

You squinted into the flashes of people taking pictures, Steve's hand immediately lacing with yours as you walked towards the entrance of the hotel.

"Careful, careful," he says, while you inch up the short icy stairway. Your heels clicking on the stone as you reach the doors, "Go slow."

"I'm okay, Steve," you assure, he looks back at you with doting eyes when you get inside.

"Just don't want you to hurt yourself, baby," he softly scolds before locking eyes with an usher for the party.

Oh, we're starting this now, you think to yourself. He walks with his hand still laced with yours while the usher leads you both to the Grand Ballroom, framed signs letting patrons know that the casino is in the Terrace Room down stairs. You immediately feel too broke to be here.

"Let me get your coat."

He undoes the button at your waist, smoothing your coat over your shoulders before removing his own. He checks them both and your eyes widen at the amount of cash you see in his wallet as he goes to pay. Gulping hard while he fingers through the bills -- hundred after hundred gleaming back at you.

He turns when he's done, running a hand through is hair, and gives you a very Harrington smile, "You ready?"

Your words catch in your throat while you look at him. His suit is perfectly tailored, the shirt patterned, but silk and neatly pressed. His leather banded watch sits perched on his wrist -- you can tell it's new. His pants hugged his thighs, streamlined in a straight line down to his ankles -- shoes freshly shined. Being handsome like this had to be a crime in some counties, there was no way he was just allowed to look like this and be rich.

"You ready, baby?" he asks again, offering his hand, "Come on."

Something about being called baby by him feels so natural. Like you forgot your own name and that's the only one that could get your attention. Baby, angel, princess, honey. You'd look up immediately and search for him at the sound of his voice. You'd know he meant you.

But he's not your boyfriend. This is just pretend. This is not what you want.

When the doors open, you can't breathe. The ballroom is completely transformed in gold and silver. The lights and chandeliers catch the decorations in a show of shimmer. Like the whole room was waiting to start glittering until you got there.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

"Yeah we're definitely not in Indiana anymore," he mutters to you. You feel his hold tighten on your hand in a show of something you hardly see from Steve. He's nervous.

You look up at him, eyes riding up from his jaw, cheek bone, to his eyes behind his glasses. His gaze roves over the party and he licks his lips, brow quirking before he makes a decision.

"You okay?" you ask, he looks down at you with a soft look in his eyes.

"I'm perfect," he says with a nod. The room is sprawling with tables and he's able to finesse a way to get you both to sit together even though the seating chart had you woefully distanced. It doesn't surprise you how easily he's able to assimilate to making things work for him here. You see his performance again and again: with the waiters, with how he orders drinks, how he checks his watch, how he smiles at people walking by.

You're both at the bar when you see it in full force, his arm protectively around your waist, thumb grazing the smooth fabric to keep him grounded.

"Steven?"

You both look over, an old man with a thick, white walrus mustache in a stunning black suit comes close to approach you. His wedding band is a shining platinum to match the watch on his wrist -- sapphires sit in the face of the metal backing. You wonder briefly how much it costs.

"Oh, Carl!" Steve beams, letting go of your waist for a moment to shake the man's hand, "How are you? Beautiful event -- really stunning."

"Thanks, thank you, but you ought to tell that to my wife. She's the one who plans these things, I just foot the bill," he laughs. His light eyes linger on you and you flush.

"And who's this? She looks like she just walk right out of Old Hollywood."

You introduce yourself, hand reaching out to shake his but he takes it to his lips to press a kiss to your hand. If he wasn't Steve's boss you wouldn't have smiled at the gesture -- but ah well.

"This is my girl, Carl. The one I was telling you about," Steve says with a blush.

"Just your girl?" he asks, eyes noting to your empty ring finger, "Hope she's your fiancé soon, Harrington."

"Sooner than she thinks. I promise, sir," they both laugh. Steve's hand returns to your waist and it feels like a leash. They talk for a moment, Steve passing you a drink while he does. It's business and you don't care, the drink is liquor forward and your face sours at the first sip.

"Sorry baby, that's whiskey. That's mine," he switches your drinks seamlessly while still in conversation. "We're just so happy to have you, Harrington -- my son Chuck, he's y'know, he's got no fuckin' clue what he's doin'. I blame myself, me and Muffy let him do whatever he wanted," Carl complains, "So I think havin' someone who just gets the business will be really helpful. I know you'll start guiding him in the right direction."

"I mean Carl, I was the same when I was twenty-six, he'll get there," it was like Steve had known him his whole life. He keeps his hands on you while the talk continues, two more men joining in. C-Suites. Big money. Important people. You're just a piece of art hanging on his arm.

You need to get the fuck out of here.

As if the heavens heard your plea, a call of your name takes you out of your bored trance.

"Over here!"

You sigh with relief at the sight of your coworker, also head to toe in shimmering Saks ready to wear in a sea of authentic Dior and Chanel.

"S'cuse me," you say gently, tugging out of Steve's grasp. He looks down at you a little sternly, you frown.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry. A friend of mine is looking for me, it was great to meet you all," you smile at the group of men, stepping away delicately on your heels until they aren't paying attention. As they continue talking your run on the balls of your feet into your friend's arms.

"Rob, oh my god, what the fuck are we doing here?" you laugh. Robin Buckley looks like a million bucks, but you know she only makes $49k a year because you do, too.

"We do not belong here," she laughs with you, "Do you wanna go lose some money with me downstairs?"

"Yes, yes, one hundred percent," you not, "Get me away from these stiffs."

"So that's Steve?" Robin asks, passing you a glass of champagne while you finish the last sip of the margarita Steve got you a little earlier.

"That's Steve," you murmur, immediately letting the bubbles slide past your lips.

"He's really something," she grins, "You're complaining about being smothered by that?"

"Stop Rob, you don't even like guys," you tease, nudging her knee with the tip of your heeled toe.

"I don't have to like guys to know when a guy is hot," Rob says through a sip of her drink, "And he's fucking hot. Like, Tom Cruise hot. Top Gun hot."

"Oh, stop."

"Jerry Maguire hot -- and like, super fucking rich, obviously. That's a Prada suit. Are you kidding? Talk about 'show me the money,' he's showing you, babe."

"Yeah, but like," you frown a little, "You know how all the guys in finance always talk about how much they hate their wives? And all their wives are Tribeca moms who keep going on retreats to 'work on themselves' after they get cheated on?"

"Of course, that's like, the Tribeca mom rite of passage," she agrees, crossing her thin legs, her sequin dress shimmered in the low, warm, light.

"So, Steve just moved to Tribeca -- it's like...like I'm staring my future right in the face," you exclaim, another sip meeting your lips, "And it's not like I look like any of those women either. I'll be going on my first retreat in three months tops."

"Okay, well one, you have no idea what you're talking about," Robin shakes her head, "You're a smokeshow."

"And two, isn't Steve from Kansas or something?"

"Indiana."

"Same thing," she waves you off, "Steve's from Arkansas. He doesn't have the same mindset as the guys who came here when they were teenagers to jerk off at frat parties at NYU."

"They'll get to him," you shake your head, looking at her with a knowing glance, "They always do."

You both make your way over to the slot machines, weaving through crowds at roulette and craps tables, snaking by chairs sat at poker games. The piles of chips make you sweat. There was a lot of money down here.

"This is all I can handle, cards are so boring," Robin sits down on the plush leather of the seat across from the machine while you take the one next to her. You both play a few rounds in silence before she looks over at you again.

"Do you know what I think?" she asks, champagne glass empty in her hand.

"What do you think, Buckley?" you ask, finishing the last sip of yours.

"I think Andy fucked you up a little and you can't believe someone like Steve wants to be with you, so you're pushing him away," she says with a shrug, "You're trying to hurt him before he can hurt you."

"You sound ridiculous."

"I sound ridiculous or I sound right on the money?" she asks, pulling the lever on the machine. It runs and stops, she doesn't win.

"Sounds like you're not on the money at all," you shrug.

"Shut up," she laughs, "I'm just saying, I think you're really convinced he's settling when I think it's pretty clear he likes you a lot."

"You don't even know him!" you exclaim, running the machine over again.

"Looks like I might get to know him," she smirks. You turn toward the entrance and there he is, frowning while peering through the room. He's squinting behind his glasses trying to find you in the low light, hands in his pockets. For a moment you think about letting him not find you, maybe he'd pick someone else up at the party. Hell, women were gawking at him from the moment he walked in -- he had plenty to pick from.

But the desperation on his face made your heart ache -- this really was your world. Maybe he really did need you to help show him around.

Against your own judgement, you wave, hoping he'd catch you in the sea of people. You don't have to wait long to see his smile when he catches you, waving back and disappearing in the crowd.

"Hey, there you are," he breathes with a small jog towards you, "Thought I lost you."

"No, no, just out here draining my Christmas bonus," you laugh, tugging on the lever again. Robin looks over and smirks at you when he rests his hand on the back of your neck under your hair, thumb grazing the skin under the hinge of your jaw.

"This is Robin, she's my friend from work," pointing your thumb at her. Always the business man, he leans over you to shake her hand.

"Steve -- nice to meet you," he grins.

"Oh, I know who you are," she teases. You shoot her a look, but it falters. The way his hand leaves your neck to stroke over your head, gently enough to not ruin your hair, makes you melt. It had to be the booze. The haze of cigarette smoke making you woozy.

The lights of the machine infront of you flash wildly, the music sounding, screen glowing - WINNER! JACKPOT! WINNER!

"Oh, fuck yes!" you cheer while the chips fall into into the opening at the bottom.

"Come on!" Robin huffs, "I've put in at least twenty more dollars than you have."

"Didn't pick the lucky machine, Rob," you joke, collecting the chips in a stack in your hand. "How much did you win?" he asks, trying to count them while you clumsily try to keep them together.

"I think just a hundred bucks, so -- eighty dollar profit!"

"Ugh don't say profit, we're at a party," Robin groans, pulling the lever down on her machine hastily.

"Let me take those," Steve says, collecting the chips and putting them in his suit pocket, "I have to go get some anyway."

He pulls out his wallet, thumbing through bills and plucks an $100 out. He folds it, handing it to you, "Now you don't have to cash them."

"Steve..." you scold softly. He takes your hand and presses the bill into it, closing your fingers over the paper. He smiles, thumbing through his wallet again while you put the money in your purse. He plucks out another bill and holds it out in front of Robin. Her mouth hangs open at the gesture.

"Steve!" you raise your voice but he thinks the reproachful look on your face is just too cute.

"Sorry Rob, I think he's drunk," you apologize, embarrassed beyond measure.

"What? I think she deserves a consolation prize," he smiles. Robin plucks the bill from his fingers, putting it in her wristlet.

"I think he should be drunk around me way more often if this is how he acts," she rasps. Steve throws her a wink, arm snaking around you once you get up from the slot machine stool.

"S'it okay if I steal her from you?" he asks. You swallow thickly, both hating and loving how he pulls you around this party like you're his property.

"Steal her, take her home, take her kidneys, I don't care," she laughs, "Do whatever you want, consider me paid off."

"I'll see you later, Rob!" you smile, reaching out and squeezing her hand. As Steve turns around with you, you look back at her. She gives you an exasperated look -- 'What the fuck is wrong with you? He's great.'

He is great. That's what makes it so hard.

He leads you over to the chip exchange, fingers grazing your back while he lets go of your waist. His hand sneaks into suit jacket where he pulls out a wad of cash secured by a shining gold money clip.

"Can I get four grand in hundreds?" he asks.

"Steve that's -- stop," you huff, "Who're you trying to impress?"

"Impress?" he scoffs, "The buy in for blackjack is five hundred dollars, baby. This is just fuck around money."

"Here," he says, plucking a glass of champagne off of a waiter's tray as he offers them. Steve passes it to you, "Have a drink, stop pouting. It's a holiday."

You sip it bitterly while you wait and he sighs at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before reaching back into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and a silver lighter, embers glowing while he inhales, lighter escaping back to its hiding place.

"Hey," he says, blowing the smoke out away from you, "Wanna smile for me?"

You smile, it's fake and exaggerated, he laughs into his next drag, "I'll take it."

The attendant passes Steve a rack of chips, neatly rowed but as he's about to take them his name is called. Yet another group of stiffs asking for his attention.

"Will you hold this for me, honey? Thank you," he asks softly, passing you the rack. You nod while you take it, desperately hoping this conversation goes quicker than the last one. He introduces you like you brought you on a leash and they all shake your hand like you're a show pony that got gussied up to leave the stable. You're not a person, just an accessory -- and you know they're surprised at his choice, but he doesn't need the extra social currency.

You keep sipping your champagne and shutting up, but your ears perk up when you hear him mention you, "You know she just put together this wild campaign for their lipstick line with the creative team, she might as well have produced it. And now their quarterly has that lipstick up fourteen percent and growing. And here we are with just -- what? Claims? How do we even market that? She swears what she does is boring."

You blush at his praise. So he does listen when you complain about work.

The conversation changes and you're bored again, eyes surveying the crowd of long elegant women and handsome stuffy men. Cheers roaring from tables, the sounds from the slot machines, it seemed less overwhelming with a few drinks in you. You guessed upstairs was for the boring people.

"Have you ever even seen four grand before?" you hear sneering your way. You look up and there he is -- the heartbreaker whose heart you barely broke by breaking up with him. The boy who hardly cared.

“Andy?” you ask, brows pulling inward in disgusted shock, “What’re you doing here?”

Andy had gotten a new attitude after he got a new job, suddenly too good for you and your old group of friends. Suddenly telling everyone he broke up with you. Telling everyone he shouldn't settle for less. The glasses of champagne you’ve had finally meet your brain, making you woozy and nervous. The glittering decorations on the ceilings marry the lights and cross over your vision. Andy sparkles in front of you, his friends faded out behind him. A scene in slow motion.

You feel Steve’s hand on your waist, giving you little squeezes so you don’t feel like he’s ignoring you while he talks to his new colleagues about stocks and sales. Boring metrics that you’d care about if it mattered.

“I was invited. Perks of Chuck being my boss,” he gives you a smarmy smile, knowing you’re only here by proxy. Not because you’re important, not in the same way that—

“Whose this asshole?” Andy scoffed, giving Steve a once over. You hear Steve’s pleasant, ‘Sorry fellas, if you’d excuse me…’ to his group as he turns toward Andy and his friends. He flashes a charming Harrington smile.

“Andy! Nice to see you again, man,” he raises his champagne flute toward him cheerily. Andy looks at Steve with a furrowed brow, confused but sly.

“Sorry, guy. Not sure we’ve met,” he laughs — covered in new money sleaziness, his friends laugh with him, “Nat must’ve told you all about me, I guess.”

You feel Steve’s posture change — confident and cocky. His head tilts the way it does when you know he’s about to say something mean. Your body heats up when he places his empty glass on the platter of a near by server, putting the free hand in his pocket.

“We met in Indiana,” he corrects, confidence unfaltering, “You don’t remember?”

“Indiana?” Andy scoffs again. Your face twists into something Steve doesn’t like, a mix of annoyed and embarrassed.

“Well, since you’re at a loss let me reintroduce myself,” he smirks. He puts his hand out shake your ex’s, Andy loosely shakes it back.

“Name’s Steve,” he introduces himself with a warm genuine quality that people learn from years of sales work, clapping his other hand over Andy’s, “Steve Harrington. I’m Natalie’s boyfriend.”

He says it so casually that you immediately flush, it sounds too natural.

“Oh,” Andy says, surprised. He gives you a once over, offering you a pathetic glace, “You're dating her? You're her boyfriend?”

“Her boyfriend,” he lilts, taking his hand away. He slinks an arm back around your waist, tucking his shoulder behind yours, “And sorry, couldn't help but over hearing -- You said Chuck’s your boss? Chuck at Slate Insurance?”

“Yeah, and?” Andy asked, annoyed. Steve let out a gentle chuckle, the kind that sounds rich. The kind that sounds like a trust fund with seven figures.

“Oh, that’s—hoo!— that’s funny,” he teases, but it comes out cool and uncaring. He bites his lip to keep from laughing more, giving Andy a judgmental once over.

“What’s so funny about it?” he asks, arms crossing in a huff causing his cheap suit to crease.

“Oh, it’s uh, it’s funny because I’m Chuck’s boss,” he gestures toward him before tucking his hand back in his pocket, “So I guess I’ll see ya Monday, champ.”

Andy chokes on his sip of champagne, you bite back a mean giggle that bubbles in the seat of your chest.

“Now, hate to be rude but, my woman and I are gonna head over to the roulette table,” Steve starts, beginning to move you over to the next room with him, “Unless — you know, unless you’d care to join us. You feelin’ lucky?”

Andy’s face has gone red, eyebrows sloped down, a prominent wrinkle forming on his forehead. His friends look into their drinks, coughing and shifting awkwardly while they watch the exchange.

“No?” Steve asks, a slight taunt to his voice. Andy shakes his head no, “Ah well, suit yourself, I guess. Say bye, angel.”

Steve nudges you with his shoulder and you burn under the instruction, lifting your gaze to Andy who looks like he could maul Steve at any second, “Bye, Andy,” you mutter, your voice trailing higher than normal.

“See you around, man. Next time I catch ya, I'll give you the number to my tailor,” Steve's eyes linger on the hem of Andy's trousers -- sloppy and too long for him. He let's out a soft 'hm' before meeting Andy's gaze and shooting him a wink with a steely grin. Steve leads you out of the chip exchange by the small of your back, passing you another glass of champagne.

“Drink that before you say whatever smart thing you wanna say,” he says, hand dropping from your back to clasp with yours while he leads you through the throngs of people to the roulette table.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” you lie.

“Pfft, okay,” he shakes his head in front of you, but you don’t need to see him to know that he’s rolling his eyes. You arrive at the edge of the table, oak wood bumping into your hip.

“I’m not much of a gambler,” you confess, taking your places around the table closer to the wheel. He kisses your cheek before taking your chin between his fingers gently.

“You thought I’d have you dropping your own cash here? That’s cute,” he teases with his voice low enough so the other players couldn't hear, “Daddy’s gonna gamble, baby. You’re just gonna watch.”

“Steve,” you blush, “Don’t say that.”

“I don't know,” he shrugs coolly while placing his chips, turning back to you when he's done, "I think you like when I say that."

He wins big at roulette, of course he does. He's Steve Harrington.

Now he has you nestled on his lap while he plays black jack, your hips and thighs spilling over the leg you're perched on. Everyone's drunk so no one cares that you're not supposed to do that, as long as your hands are in view of the dealer. It's not a real casino anyway.

His breath hits that spot between your neck and shoulder that makes you squirmy, hips rolling achingly slow on his thigh when he does it. You have half a mind to think he's doing it on purpose.

"Watch yourself, angel," he mumurs, placing a hand firmly on your hip to steady you, "Don't want you to fall."

You watch him play, him and his colleagues, some men he doesn't know -- they're betting real big. Big enough that you had the pleasure of holding two more racks of chips for him while the other two were stacked on the table in front of you.

The three other men have either had too many or are sitting between 12 and 16 in their cards. He has fourteen in front of him, a jack, a three of hearts, and an ace. You watch him tap the table to hit and then double down, you gulp. A fourteen thousand dollar bet, and it's just chump change to most of the guys down here.

The dealer hits, a seven of clubs slapping down on the table. "Blackjack."

He smirks and the table claps while the dealer expertly slides over $35,000 in chips which you load dutifully onto the empty racks on the table next to you.

"Really got lady luck on your side tonight, huh Harrington?" the older man next to him asks. You feel Steve's hand clap your thigh.

"Actually, she's on my lap," he smiles and you flush at his teasing, listening to them talk while the dealer shuffles for the next round. His hand slides over your thigh and he talks to the guys at the table like he's not driving you insane when he toys when the hem of your dress.

"Can I get anyone a drink?" a waitress asks the table. You turn to Steve while the men start to order, some glasses of wine, some full bottles of liquor.

"Get whatever you want, honey," he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. The waitress looks to you expectantly and you smile. It's probably the first non-horny smile she's gotten all night.

"Can I get a bottle of Dom for the table, please?" you ask, "The earliest vintage you have."

You were pushing your luck -- but you were at a blackjack table. He squeezes your thigh and you squeal under his touch while the dealer starts the game.

"Didn't know my girl was so greedy," he teases in your ear. Your lip quirks.

"M'not really your girl, Stevie," you whisper back.

"No?" he murmurs back to you, hand skimming your dress up the side of your thigh, "Spending my money like you are."

You blush hard, he loves how easy it is to fluster you once you've had a few. Still lucid, less tightly wound. He liked when you loosened up for him, when you relaxed into his touch with all these people around.

The Dom comes and the waitress starts pouring glasses, Steve gets the bill and shoots you a look when you go to peer over the leather.

"Don't be rude, baby," he tuts, tilting it away from you. There were way too many numbers in the total for a bottle of champagne.

"Sorry, Steve," you mumble while he passes the waitress his credit card with the bill. The champagne is dry and heavenly and your smile when you take the first sip makes all the money he paid worth it.

"You like it?" he asks, attention going back to the game.

"Mhmm," you nod into your next sip.

"Good," he smiles, "Have another bottle at home we can break into later."

Home. Oh. He wants you to go home with him. Was that the plan? Were you following through with the fake date thing the whole time? All night?

"Hm," is all you reply. He keeps winning big -- but you're really the only thing he's betting on.

It's starting to get a little late and the party is picking up. All the screens in the casino have Dick Clark on, the big party on the other side of town is ramped up to eleven.

Steve holds your hand at the chip exchange, the manager and two security guards stand by while they stack bundles of cash for Steve. You know the short set of bands is more money than you've ever seen in your life, it almost makes you nervous.

"This isn't gonna fit in my money clip, angel, can I borrow your purse?" he asks sweetly. Your purse isn't huge, but it can fit the money in it.

"Uh, um, yeah," you say, you mouth running dry while he puts at least forty grand in your bag.

"Thank you, baby," he smiles, the booze affecting his grin. You let him lead, taking you out of the casino and back upstairs to the ball room. There are people everywhere, but more importantly, there is food.

You both don't even think about it, manuevering to the buffet in silence, giggling while you load up plates with obscure hors d'oeuvres and different types of bread and dessert. You sit at the table, barely talking while you eat, but stealing glances at each other.

"I think this is octopus, try it for me and tell me," he says, holding out a small sauteed tentacle on a cracker with avocado.

"I'm not trying it for you!" you laugh, "Try it for yourself. Don't be such a wimp."

"C'mon, just try it for me, tell me if it's good," he smiles, leaning his chin on his other hand to watch you. He pushes the cracker further towards your mouth and you give in, lettling him pop the bite sized morsel into your tongue. His fingertips brush your lips and he swallows, adams apple bobbing slowly against his collar.

"Definitely octopus," you nod.

"You're so brave," he says dreamily, fingertip booping against your nose.

"Okay weirdos, enough with your fake date, let's go dance," Robin's voice booms from a couple tables over while she walks towards you. She grabs both of your hands to lead you to the crowded dance floor. The live band plays fast jazz and the three of you make up what you can to it. Robin really taking the prize for most creative dance moves.

"Is she okay?" Steve asks, giving you a little spin. You look at her and back at him, nodding.

"Yeah, she'll sleep good tonight," you let him lead, arm wrapped around your waist. The music slows and he hums to himself, pulling you closer.

"This is nice," his voice is warm and low, "This is what I wanted all night."

"To dance with me?" you ask softly. He nods, a bashful smile curling up his lips, glasses slipping a little down the slope of his nose. You push them up gently, putting your arms back around his neck.

"I really like dancing with you," he whispers, noses close to brushing each other.

"Thanks."

His bashful smile turns to a tight one, "Look, I'm sorry about the fiance and boyfriend stuff with Carl and Andy. That was outta line, I shouldn't have said all that shit."

"It's okay," you assure, but he's not done talking.

"I'm sorry if I've been laying it on too thick all night," he says apologetically, "Got too committed to the part, I guess."

"S'fine Steve," you say, looking up at him, "It's just pretend."

Hurt flashes in his eyes, brows softening when you say it.

"Yeah...it's just pretend," he mutters. He loosens his hold on your waist and you can tell he's embarrassed. You can feel his hands become clammy over the fabric of your dress, skidding against the satin while they move.

A woman gets to the center of the stage, a beautiful 40s gown clinging tight to her curves while she grips the microphone. The opening words of Ella Fitzgerald's, 'What're you Doing New Years Eve' , starts with the band.

"Aw, you don't hear this song a lot," you smile, "My dad loved this song."

"Yeah?" he asks. He takes a deep breath, looking at the other couples getting close, nuzzling, kissing. Diamond rings dazzling in the light, wedding bands glinting in his eyes.

"C'mere," he says, reinvigorated to keep up the charade. His arm snakes all the way around you, chest to chest, his other hand holding yours. He rests his forehead against yours, moving slow with you to the music, the instrumental lulling you both into the fantasy you both created.

Steve had such a way of making it feel like it was just the both of you.

'Maybe it's much too early in the game, Ah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's eve?'

"It's a pretty song," he says.

"Yeah," you agree, lost in how he looks at you.

'Maybe I'm crazy to suppose, I'd ever be the one you chose, Out of the thousand invitations you received.'

You rest your head on his chest while the horns solo, the hand on your waist trailing up to brush your hair and cup your face.

"Hey, look at me," his voice is quiet, "Wanna see your pretty face, Manhattan."

"I look tired," you complain, looking back up at him with a scrunch of your nose. His thumb slides over your cheek bone.

"You look perfect," he confesses.

'Ah, but in case I stand one little chance, Here comes the jackpot question in advance, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?'

"Hey Nat," he starts.

"Mhm?"

"What if it --" he lets out a breath through his nose, "What if it wasn't pretend?"

"What?"

10!

"What if we didn't have to pretend?" he asks, "What if we just...what if we just were each other's real dates? Cause like --"

"Steve, come on."

9!

"You can't pretend like this doesn't feel right," he pleads, "Like this doesn't feel real."

"Steven, I told you this morning--"

8!

"Baby, I haven't stopped thinking about you since you left me at the office," he confesses, "Thinking about how to change your mind. I want you so bad, Nat. You have no fucking idea."

"I'm just the only person to tell you no," you assure, "That's the only reason you want me."

7!

"No, I promise that's not it," he urges, both of his hands cupping your cheeks while he talks. The cheering getting louder around you at the clock ticks closer to midnight.

6!

"You're not gonna want this after a month of you being here. Look at everyone around you Steve -- I don't fit in here," you say, "Don't you want a trophy wife? Someone who everyone gawks over?"

"Have you seen yourself?" he asks, eyes wild, "Had to walk behind you all night so all these guys would stop staring at you."

5!

"Steve you're just...settling," you finally say it and it feels like a weight has floated off your chest, "This was the opposite of what you came to New York for."

"Settling? Are you stupid?"

4!

"You wanted to do something new and exciting," you counter.

"You are new and exciting," he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth, "You are why I wanted to be here. I wanted to do something new with you."

3!

"I've been sitting in Hawkins for the last five years thinking about how much fun you're having out here. Thinkin' about how much fun we could have together -- haven't stopped fucking thinking about you since the night I met you in Porter's."

"You're just saying that," you argue, lump growing in your throat, "You're just drunk."

2!

"I'm not just saying that, please just listen to me" he pleads, "Fuck Nat, I --"

1!

"I love you."

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Silver and gold metallic confetti pours from the ceiling, your breath hitches while it glitters on it's way down.

"I love you so much, it hurts," he confesses, eyes shining behind his frames, "I just -- I think I loved you the whole time."

Your mouth falls open against his hold on your cheeks.

"You don't have to say it back, I--"

You stop his sentence with your lips against his. The kiss he wanted to give you all night. It feels like an old movie kiss with with way his arms wrap tight around your back and waist and your hands meet his face.

He breaks away from you for a moment, locking his eyes with yours.

"I really mean it," he murmurs, "I love you."

"I --," his eyes linger on yours, your cheeks heat up, "Steve."

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

He knew it. God, he fucking knew it.

The lock clicks and he checks it once, twice, three times before caging you in against the wall. There weren't any families here so it's not like anyone was looking to use the bathroom with a changing table. Everyone was using the lounge bathroom for coke anyway.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he gasped into your mouth, "You're so fucking pretty."

"Thanks," you breath against his kiss. His lips trail from your mouth down your jaw, lips sliding down your neck to your chest. His tongue is warm and wet on your skin and you sigh up to the ceiling at the feel of it.

He manhandles you at the sound, arms overtaking you to shove the complimentary products on the sink's counter and throw you onto it. You look at him with swollen lips from his kiss, eyes begging. He grabs your hand to press it firmly up against his erection, staring down at you down the slope of his nose, “That’s how you got me all night, lookin' at me like that. Wearin' this dress -- what's wrong with you, hm?”

"S'wrong with me?" you slur, dragging your hand back over his cock without his guidance, "S'wrong with you? This suit fitting you so nice, that stupid fancy watch?"

"Stupid? My Patek?" he laughs, "It was nine grand, don't call it stupid."

"You're disgusting," you spit, but it doesn't have the bite you can normally dish. The way he lingers over you makes you lose your edge.

"Mmm, love when you're a little mean," he groans while he buries his face in your neck, reaching for the hair at the nape of it, tugging just enough to make your thighs twitch, "Get to watch you get so nice for me."

You feel his lips drag over your sensitive skin, pulling it in between his teeth to bite down. He takes in your scent, grunting into your jaw while the perfume he likes rules his senses. He's rough, hungry. He's a little drunk, but so are you.

You thighs part to make room for him, ass nearly hanging off the counter while his hips press into you. You run a hand through his silky hear while he assaults your neck, eyes reeling when he hits that spot right past the base.

"You all wet?" he asks in your ear, gravelly voice booming in your chest. His hand skates up your fleshy inner thigh, heat greeting him like an old friend.

"I'm so wet, Steve," you whine back, pushing your hips against his fingertips while he strokes over your satin covered clit.

"Yeah, you're so wet for me?" he mocks, "I got you all worked up out there?"

"Y-yeah," you whimper while his fingers toy with your panty line, inching inward. He's smug when he feels what's waiting for him behind the fabric.

"Showing you off all night? Throwin' all my cash around?" he growls, a finger sliding in between your legs, "Givin' it all to you to hold on to? That got you all hot and bothered?"

"Y-yes, yeah," you nod, biting your lip to keep quiet.

"Oh-ho baby, they can't hear you out there -- party's gettin' a little rowdy," he teases, "Go ahead an' moan for me."

A second finger follows his first and you start whimpering with every thrust, every flick of his wrist. You grip the counter, skirt of your dress falling back as your thighs lift up and out involuntarily.

"Steve," you moan it like a prayer, it echos back at you, "Shit, fuck, just like that."

"Good girl, baby," he grins, more so when your hips rock in time with his fingers, "Oh, you showin' off now?"

"Sh-shut up, Steve," you chuckle between gasps, face crumpling again while he grazes your g-spot with his fingers. Your walls grip him, gushing over his knuckles. A lazy smile falls onto your face while your hips pick it's rhythm with his fingers.

"Love when you smile like that for me," he says softly, pressing a kiss against your lips -- the facade of your rich, sexy, big money fuck toy falling away, back to his Hawkins beginnings, "You look so beautiful."

"You think I'm beautiful?" you tease against his lips, but you know the answer.

"Don't think it, I know it," he whispers between pecks.

He takes out his wallet with his free hand, flipping it open, using his nimble fingers to pull out the condom he'd kept in there tonight just in case. His other fingers ease out of you slowly, tossing you a stern look when you whine.

"Be patient, pl-- Jesus, baby," he melts when you take his fingers, still shining with your slick, directly into your mouth. You make a big show of letting them leave your mouth with a wet pop, his mouth hanging open, eyes unfocused.

"Just wanted to clean up my mess," you say with an innocent shrug.

"You're gonna kill me," he breathes out, sliding the condom on and tossing the wrapper to his feet. Your legs part immediately, skirt of your dress falling way with your thighs, the roll of your tummy poking out to the cool air as you hold your legs up close to your chest.

"You're okay? You want this?" he asks, "I know you had a few."

"I want this," you nod, "I want it."

"Good, cause it's yours," he grins, gliding the tip down from your clit to your entrance, "S'all yours."

"All mine," you whine, sighing high and breathy while the tip breaches inside. Your hips roll instinctively to feel more of him and he obliges, pushing in a third of the way to feel you make room for him. The moan you let out makes him bite his lip. You feel so good around him.

"Who fills you up like me, huh?" he pants while he pulls out and pushes back in, gripping the fat of your thighs hard enough to bruise. "No one, Steve," you moan back, while he rocks against you, "P-please more, please." His lips fall open when you ask, "More, huh? You want all of it?"

You nod feverishly, gripping his shoulders, nails nearly ripping the fabric of his dress shirt as you pull him by the hips. He laughs, locking his hips in place where only half of him was snugly inside you. He adjusts his glasses, peering at your through them, "Say please again, angel." "Please, Stevie," you beg, hips shimmying. He tutts at you, pushing a little farther in and a whine peals through you.

"Like that?" he asks, "You want a little more?"

"Please, please, please," you huff, the stretch of him slowly moving in driving your eyes to the back of your head. The bulbous tip creeping past your g-spot unbearably slow -- juices seeped out of you over him.

"Please, please, please. All that whining, think this is all you can handle angel," he mocks gently, hand cupping your cheek. His thumb grazes over your lip while he starts his thrusts again -- half way to all the way out.

"No, no, all of it, please," you grovel, "Please. It's mine."

You bite your lip, eyes watering while the pleasure builds below your belly -- you're aching for the fullness of him.

Your eyes round in neediness, overtaken by the wetness between your legs, the way he touches you, "Please, daddy." "Fuck, baby," he groans while he pushes in to the hilt, lips finding yours while he readjusts. His arm reaches around your back to angle you differently, caging you in against the mirror on the wall. His other hand snakes up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deep kiss, all deep breaths and tongue. Steve's hips roll against yours, shallow thrusts to keep himself as buried inside of you as possible, "See what happens when you — mmm — ask me nicely?" You roll your eyes but he thrusts again and your head lolls back against the mirror, “Sh-shut up, you’re so— you’re so — ah! oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m so what? We’re you gonna say ‘I’m so annoying’?" he grins into another kiss. You can feel his tip pushing against your cervix with every short thrust. Your body stretched around him with ease, making you gasp with every thrust of his hips, “M’so deep you can’t even talk right.”

He presses his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight while sweat builds on his forehead, "Oh shit, shit you feel so good."

"Harder, please," you whisper. He nods against you, picking up the pace of his thrusts and he has to cover your mouth to drown own the sounds coming out of you.

"Shh, shh, not too loud baby," he giggles, "Don't wanna lose my job."

You take a deep breath through your nose, trying to maintain your composure while you pulse tighter and tighter around him.

"Steve you...oh my god, yes, yes, like that," you slur out while he holds you steady on the counter, watching you come undone around him. "Say you're mine," he says, grunting between thrusts, "Say you're all mine."

"M'all yours Steve, all yours," you nod, eyes pooling with tears as each thrust sends you closer to seeing white, "Oh fuck, fuck -- I'm gonna cum, ohmygod m'gonna cum."

"Cum for me angel," he says through gritted teeth, getting close himself, "Cum for me."

Your legs vibrate when he pulls your hair to bare your neck to him, final thrusts sending blinding pleasure through your body. You shake and spasm beneath him, whining and mewling at the come down.

"That's it, baby," he coos while you gasp back to reality, "That's my girl." He buries his face in your neck when his hips stutter, groaning, gripping your legs so hard you know you'll bruise.

"Mmm, god," he grunts, "Oh fuck, I'm gonna -- oh, baby --"

You both rest against eachother, breathing heavy, hands roaming. He pulls out slowly while he softens, discarding the used condom in the trash. You go to move but he stops you, pulling up his briefs and pants and cleaning you up gently.

"You okay?" he asks, "That felt good?"

You nod, "Was it good for you?"

"Bathroom sex with my girlfriend? Oh, amazing," he smiles, helping you down off the counter.

"Girlfriend, huh?"

"Do you wanna be called something else? I'll call you anything you want," he bushes, "S'long as you're my girl, Manhattan."

"You're girl," you muse, "Steve Harrington's girl."

"Sounds really good, doesn't it?" he tosses you a cool look, "Lot's a girls would beg for that title."

"You're annoying," you huff, opening the door to the bathroom and peeking outside to check for people. The coast was clear and he leads you out to the hallway by the hand, heading over to the coat check.

"We're going home?" you ask.

"We're going to yours," he says.

"Why?"

"So we can start packing up your shit to bring to mine tomorrow morning."

[waterb0ttleguy]

i think the phighting fandom will enjoy dissecting this frame by frame -soda also happy 5k for broker plush chat

[phightinghottakes]

I'm hopping on the broker hate train, and also commenting about the phrenzy.

Broker. Yeah why is it broker. Oh it's because his plushie is releasing? Cool he could have been in a tiny little announcement on the corner while keeping a deity as the main focus. Epic! That would work. Bring attention to the phrenzy awhile also maybe a small corner is dedicated to " hey look! We've got a broker plushie. Yay!" And also it'd be kinda funny to see cool big deity on the page. And then in the corner broker is just there. Not his render but like a PNG of the plush. That would be funny to see. Brings attention to the phrenzy while having a litttle giggle at broker release. Makes NOBODY! Mad. Easy! Another thing is that it's just boring. Broker holds no mechanic to the game (aside from donations but whatever) while deities do. It was also just funny to hear that darkehart was sitting on zukas truck. And that he was around and that you would talk to him to get into a match. Someone new to talk to!!! The dark heart. But now it's just broker. Hes nobody new.. also if subspace won the plushie poll it'd be subspace which imo would be drastically worse???

Could've been illumina themed, but no soda wants to keep all imunia lore secret!!! OR WIND FORCE!! OR ICE DAGGER!! PLEASE GIVE THOSE DEITIES LOVE. WASN'T THERE A MODELING STREAM AFTER WIND FORCE!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?? WINDFORCE THEMRD PHRENZY WHERE BAN HAMMER GETS A SICK SKIN 😭😭 PLEASEEE SODA. HE NEEDS ANOTHER SKIN ITD BE SO COOL IF HE LOOKED LIKE HIS MOMMA OR SOMETHING.

-💉 Anon

.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Four: The Morning After

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After yesterday's events, it's time to face a ghost from your past. The only problem is, you'd forgotten the Power Broker has a hit out on all of you. When things go sideways, what can you do?

Words: 7.5k

Warnings: Sexual Inferences, Traumatic Flashbacks, Gunfire, Raids, Death, Gory Descriptions, Violence, Existentialism, Guilt, Harsh Self-Judgment,

Mentions of: Talk of Morals, Life,

A/N: It's been awhile, but I love changing up what I'm writing on from time to time and whatever inspires me and doesn't leave me stuck is what I'm working on. I missed Zemo❤️

Slippers shuffling across the polished wooden floor, you revel in the--far too big--terry cloth bathrobe sleeves brushing the backs of your hands. Blasé as you flick on the electric kettle in the kitchen, the simple task of retrieving a mug from one of the cabinets and an accompanying teabag preoccupy your mind.

"Looks like you had fun last night." Sharon's voice elicits a jump as you startle. "Can't say I would've taken you for the type if I'm honest."

While you'd normally be offended any other time, the relaxed nature you'd acquired after sleeping in a warm plush bed luckily isn't as easily swayed. "What do you mean?" You ask, turning to her to in an attempt to gauge her meaning through her eyes.

Sharon gives you a once over, lips opening for a moment before they close. Having gotten out a tub of strawberries from the fancy bottom drawer of her refrigerator, she plucks one from the container. "All I'm saying is... I'd be careful if I were you." Her eyes shift to the table a few feet away before resettling on your figure. Strawberry lingering against her lips, you notice the faint smirk she dawns before she bites into the fruit.

"So... what's the plan?" Sam's groggy voice asks. With a clap of his hands together, he rubs them for a moment before taking a seat at the table just a few feet from the counter. It's only then that you notice you're not alone anymore. Sam sits at the table while Zemo browses the couple of magazines lying there. It's then that her comment dawns on you. Hiding your embarrassed blush behind your cup of tea, you can only hope and pray neither of them heard.

"I was thinking breakfast, then we can devise a plan for Nagel." Sharon posits with a confident air about her. "Please, help yourselves." Rummaging through her kitchen with ease, you tentatively work around her to find something for yourself.

"We cannot afford to delay too long," the Baron says. All the while he's not torn his gaze from the magazine he's picked up and is now flicking through. Part of you can't keep from ogling him; adorned in a matching white bathrobe, he must've found another. Surely that's why Sharon said something, no? Jumping to conclusions? There was no other plausible reason, right?

"Can't say no to that," Sam teases. Closing the laptop he'd only opened moments before, he slides it aside and stands to get himself something to eat. "A cup o' joe never hurt anyone."

"Best to start off the day right," Bucky's sarcastic tone emanates from the hallway. As he turns the corner you can only hope he's joking. Seems like something he'd find funny. At least from the lack of acquaintance, that's what you'd guess.

"Most important meal of the day and all," Sam digs at him. With a hand gently encompassing your waist, he skirts past you in search of a mug. "You make coffee?" He asks no one in particular.

"No," Sharon responds. As she spreads cream cheese on her bagel, you debate having one yourself. When was the last time you had one? It's not something you'd typically have in your house, not to mention that these look to be high quality.

"Mm-mm," you reply. With your tea, you hadn't thought to make a pot of coffee. Even if you knew they might've wanted one, you wouldn't know where to start.

Halfway through breakfast, you can't help but feel your blissful demeanor start to slip as nerves begin to crawl toward the forefront of your mind. Surely with the fleeting time at hand, you'll be facing a ghost from your past sooner than you'd like.

"What else do we need? I managed to exhaust a connection last night. I found him; Nagel," Sharon informs you all. Running your fingers over the smooth surface of the grape you'd picked up from your plate, you simply listen to them discuss.

"Where is he?" Bucky asks. Dominant hand encapsulating his coffee mug, he doesn't take his eyes off the steam rising from the cup.

"You got earpieces? I can reroute them through my equipment and link us to a private channel for communication." Sam responds before taking a big bite of the bagel he'd gotten himself. It seems finishing off Sharon's bagels is something you'd all inadvertently tacitly decided.

"He's hiding out in the shipyard. I've got a container number here," Sharon answers as she fishes her phone out of her pocket. Placing it down on the table for all to see, she then tosses her crumpled up napkin onto her plate and stands to discard of her dishes. Zemo follows after her with his own.

Attention drawn to your heart thumping in your chest, you can't help yourself as the words slip from your mouth before you've settled on a way to phrase your thoughts. "Sam- I... I need to know what's expected of me before I go in there. Because I'm..." you hesitate, eyes drifting away from his face as you unconsciously bite your lip.

"Did you hear about the wrap party on Friday evening at Brian's place? I heard Janice is bringing her fiancé! We're finally going to meet him." Partially interrupted from the forms you're manually copying from the computer's formulas as security, the older woman leans on your desk, looming over you. "And for the record, everyone's allowed a plus one," she mentions in a sing-song voice. "Are you bringing someone?"

BOOM! It's the aftershock that jolts your writing hand, the calculations jagged. Screams sound throughout the dark lab as you're met with light shining from the direction of the crash. Looking to Denise you're met with her fearful expression. Eyes widened, lips parted in shock, there's blood running down the side of her temple as you stand from your chair. Gunfire echoes and pings off nearby surfaces as her body slumps on top of you, weighing you down. Pinned beneath her motionless body you try to push her off as black and white passes your vision over and over. It's them, the black regulatory shoes, the white lab coats. Your fellow coworkers, the people that've grown akin to family in the past eight months you've been working on this project, all scatter before your eyes.

"-I'm not doing that again. Okay?" Shoving the memories from your mind, your jaw tenses slightly as you try and figure out the plan.

"Doing what, exactly? You know the plan, we've just discussed the plan. You're either in or you're out, and quite frankly, we need you in," Sam argues. Staring you down across the table, he's got a stern look on his face.

"I don't. Still don't even know why she's here," Bucky mutters from beside him. Taking a sip of his coffee, he looks nonplussed about the entire situation at hand.

"Fine. I need you in. Got it?" Sam corrects himself. "You know more about this entire situation than any of us, and that's saying a hell of a lot with Cyborg over here."

A halfhearted chuckle escapes you, your lips twisting in thought. "So we go in there, we interrogate him? Because this is more of a question of build-up. I mean, there's not really the question of how, since we know he's capable, it was just a matter of time." You point out the real problem. "This is tracking back. Who's funding him? Where did he get the supplies and essentials for this? Because this isn't just some seventh grade science project shit. It requires equipment that costs thousands and thousands of dollars," you retort, unable to help yourself from getting louder as your fear and anger start to surface.

"He's working for the Power Broker, Sharon said," Sam reiterates. Placing your closed fist to your lips, your eyes flit around the table, lingering with each person for a moment. "Okay, so... what's the plan?"

"Arrest him. Get him out of the shop so he can't help anymore," Bucky butts in.

Lips curling inward, this is exactly what you were scared of. Head lowering for a moment, you can't help but look anywhere aside the table since no one seems to disagree. "Wow," you say, finally raising your gaze again. "Okay, this is exactly why I can't do this. I'm not going to jail."

"No one said-"

"He's sick! Alright? He's sick, but he's not- it's not like we're some evil scientists running around doing shit for... well, maybe he's doing it for the pleasure of it. Not really though since clearly he just wants namesake, but still-"

"Look, if you help us, you'll get pardoned. You won't have to keep hiding. Isn't that why you flew all the way to Germany?" Sam points out.

As silence overtakes the table and you find yourself lost in thought, it's the sudden movement before your face that tears you from your mind. Gloved hand finally dropping back to his side, you question the man with an acknowledging hum. "Hm?"

"I asked if you were done." Eyes wandering up to meet his face, you're met with a strange look from Bucky. With a subtle shake of your head to ground yourself, you reply with a simple nod and smile. The soldier takes your almost empty plate and heads toward the counter.

"You good?" Sam questions from across the table, his eyes on you. "You know I can't afford to lose you now. Not on this," he reminds.

Met with silence, this time it's Sam who breaks the eye contact as he sighs. He quietly says your name. "I can't promise you it won't end the same. I just can't... but you know what's at stake right now, and we can't lose this chance."

"But you get that this isn't just an infiltrate and demolish kind of deal, right? That's the mistake they made last time." You point out. Despite the worry etched across your face, Sam meets you with a look that can only, really, say one thing:

'Really?' A huff of breath leaves him as he tilts his head back a bit and sits up straighter. "You don't need to tell me twice. This is an infiltration and extraction," he assures you.

With that conversation over and your burden lifted from your shoulders, you feel able to continue with the plan. "Good."

"Here we go, then," Sam announces. Standing, he pats your shoulder as he, too, heads off to dispose of his dishes.

Dressed, ready to go, and thirty minutes later your boots stamp against the damp concrete as you follow Sharon through the stacked containers in the shipyard.

"Madripoor could give New York a run for its money," you hear Sam comment behind you.

"They know how to party," Zemo indulges his conversation. An amused smile threatens an appearance as it tugs at the corners of your lips. It seems Zemo's traveled a lot. You'd ask him about his experiences if only it were another time and place. Travelling is something you never had the luxury of doing, but always dreamed of.

Leading the pack, Sharon guides you as she references some tracker or map on her phone. "With that bounty on your head, the longer you're in Madripoor the less likely you're ever leaving." Her words loom ominously over your heads. While last night had managed to temporarily eradicate the reality of being hunted by the Power Broker, the reminder was needed. As she comes to a stop in the junction of four containers, she turns to face you all.

"All right, he's in there: Container 4261," she points out, "I'll keep an eye out while you talk to Nagel, but hurry, we're on borrowed time." Withdrawn from her pocket, she extends a handful of earpieces. As the men grab theirs, you take a deep breath and follow suit. You can do this, you remind yourself. Facing parts of your past may be dreadful, but in this case, there's no way to set things right without having to dive head first into it. There's no use running from it any longer.

Earpiece in place, you follow Sam as he marches right up to the container. He opens it without much trouble. When he doesn't go in, you step out from behind Bucky to see what's up. The container is dark and empty; there's no way that's right. With a look around, it doesn't seem like anyone's followed you, and Sharon said this was the right one. Either someone lied to her, or... there has to be something more.

"Hey, Sharon," Sam calls, testing the communication line. "You sure this is the right one? It's completely empty." As he stands in the doorway, you slink around him and enter the metal box.

"Positive," she confirms, "It has to be."

While it's dark, you can still make out the blank walls of the container. That is, until your light is blocked. You look back to see Sam and Zemo follow after you, yet the light is lacking now. With a faint click Zemo shines a flashlight, something you should've thought to bring. As he steps around you to delve further into the container, you search the side walls for any sort of clue or sign.

All of the sudden there's a loud creak. Stopped in your tracks, you whip your head around to find Zemo's eyes slightly widened and the back wall pushed in. It's a door! As everyone gauges each other upon this revelation, Zemo decides to push it open and see what's inside. With quick feet, you follow him. Before you can follow the set of stairs up and into the light, however, Sam stops the both of you.

Your friend takes the lead as he has his gun held up in a readied stance. A glance behind you shows that Bucky's done the same, his gaze behind himself to make sure you all aren't followed. With quiet and cautious steps, Sam's halfway up the stairs before Bucky pushes past you in pursuit. At the bottom of the stairs, Zemo simply lifts a gloved hand in a tacit gesture. 'Ladies first' you can only hope, gut twisting and turning at the terrifying alternative.

Fluorescent light illuminates your group as you make your way into the laboratory. 'You know I'm waitin' here for you~' Music plays loudly throughout the container and you can't help but wonder how this man possibly thought it was a good idea. Wouldn't he be ready for something like this? It's that thought that instantly has you recoiling into yourself mentally. You weren't expecting it. None of you were when the SWAT raided that lab. 'Comin' home, baby, now. You don't know what I'm goin' through~'

As you all spread out, you find yourself lagging behind as you're more interested on the setup rather than the man. After all, this... is some authentic tech. An actual laboratory, an expensive one at that. Eyes running over the grow lights, the centrifuges, melting point actuator, it's clear there's more than meets the eye.

Suddenly the music stops. "Doctor Nagel?" Sam's voice calls out.

"Who are you? What do you want?" That familiar nasally voice responds. The creeps run up your spine and elicit a shiver from you.

"We know you created the super-soldier serum," Sam states.

"Get out of my lab," Nagel responds. As you contemplate approaching and interfering, the sound of footsteps makes you halt.

"Hey!" You hear Sam call out. He's trying to flee, your anxious mind worries. He doesn't really think you'll just let him go... does he? As the footsteps cease, you gauge Bucky, the closest person to you. "You know who he is, right?" The soldier's gaze is focused on something, and you realize Nagel has to be right behind the corner, a machine blocking your view of one another. There's no response. "This is Baron Zemo. I know you've heard of him, too, right?"

Someone stumbles a couple feet before you; it only takes a split-second to recognize it's Nagel. "You seem like a pretty smart guy," Sam compliments, "So you better become conversational real quick." It's then you notice how your friend has a hand wrapped around Nagel's bicep. With a shove of him into the metallic wall, the scientist turns.

Unfortunately for you, Zemo had taken it upon himself to insert himself between you and Sam. He clearly wants a piece of Nagel. You're still blocked from view though, unable to determine what exactly is going on. "How about a counter proposal?" Nagel barters. As you step out from Zemo's shadow and get closer to Sam is when it happens. He sees you; there's a faint look of recognition in his eyes, a parting of his lips, and a slight furrow of his brow. "Make me a better offer and I'll talk."

Despite your past, your presence doesn't deter him. He's far gone. The creepy and nihilistic man you once knew is now completely devoid of any self-preserving instinct. "Guys, we have company," Sharon's voice warns through the earpiece.

All the sudden it seems like Bucky's had enough. With a sturdy hand he grabs Nagel by the shirt before tugging him closer. Shifting his hand onto his collar he guides the weak man toward an empty chair before forcing him into it. Never straying the gun from its target--his head--Bucky intimidates him. "You're with these guys?" He questions, spitting in your direction as his eyes draw in on you, narrowing with contempt. "Who's to say you weren't the little rat all those years ago?" A vile laugh emanates from the man as he throws his head back.

Jaw clenching, hands balling up into fists, you internally writhe in the anger he's stirring up. Someone might have spilled the project's secret contents to the Government, but it certainly wasn't you. That information would cost most of your coworkers their lives, and leave the rest scarred, scared, and forever fleeing from the fed's eyes in search of security and home. You'd never betray your family like that. Never, not even for reward.

"Every bounty hunter in the city is here-" Sharon's voice comes through again. "We gotta go!"

The metallic echo of a round piercing the wall somewhere behind Nagel elicits a gasp from both you and said weasel of a man. Bucky doesn't even need say anything to intimidate him. "Okay! Okay, I was brought into HYDRA's Winter Soldier program to pick up their work after the five failed test subjects in Siberia." Despite his clear fear shown in not meeting any of your eyes, Nagel starts to gain confidence as he takes his time. "When HYDRA fell, I was recruited by the CIA, as you know." Eerie blue eyes settle on you as he speaks.

"They had blood samples from an American test subject with semi-stable traces of serum in his system. After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary compounds in his blood. I recreated it on my own. Without any of you. I was a god. I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do."

The monotonous tone of his voice starts to wear on you, and despite knowing what he's talking about, you don't dare interrupt him when he's on a roll and bound to spill something. Anything. And it doesn't just seem to be you, either, as Zemo turns his back on him, beginning to walk around the lab analyzing the environment.

"But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines or jacked up bodies. Mine was going to be subtle, optimized, perfect," Nagel brags.

"How have we never heard about this?" Sam's voice is quiet in comparison as everyone's eyes turn to him momentarily.

"You haven't?" Nagel's questioning look toward Sam turns into a glare as he hones back in on you. "You haven't," he repeats, a slight shake of his head. One that almost reminisces of disapproval. "Because..." He begins to answer Sam's query. "Before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. Then when I returned, it was five years later, program had been abandoned, so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fun the recreation of my work."

Just like any other day in your office--a laboratory--nothing was unordinary. Of course, you knew of the tensions in the East, and while things had been on and off going for years now, the presence of aliens that day would have made things known earlier, if only you all hadn't been shut inside work with your faces buried in the business you were hired to do. Regardless... even if you knew what was coming, was there anything you could do to change the way things would inevitably unfold? No.

While the Avengers might have been off fighting on your worlds' behalf somewhere in the East, you were busy doing what you could too. Had you realized your employer's intentions from the beginning, would it have changed things? Perhaps. But you can't go back and change time.

It happened in an instant; the gasps and crashes of different equipment dropping all around you had the group of you in panic. Looks around only left the lot of you puzzled and in distress as your coworkers and friends began crumbling before your vision into what could only be described as a powdery dust.

Wilfred Nagel was one of them. It was probably the only time you'd seen any notion of some tell in emotion on his face.

Eyes widened in fear as the beaker fell through his disintegrated hand, both of your attention shifted from the broken glass up to one another's faces. Despite being across the room from one another, the utter look of despair, distraught, and utter horror behind his irises had him seeking out help. You were frozen in place, stock still, as whatever it was continued to consume his body rapidly in an eerie, silent, and fast pace. His lips parted as he tried to say something... but by then it was too late. The last of it eviscerated his face and dissolved the man right before your very eyes. It was the last time you'd ever see him.

Or so you thought.

"How many vials did you make?" Sam prods, attempting to get the facts.

"Twenty," Nagel answers. The lack of emotion or concern on his face only causes dread to further sink in the pit of your stomach. He'd already been frighteningly stoic when you'd first met the man upon hire, but this... this feels as though he came back vile, with any sort of remorse he'd held out for humanity wiped clean. Revenge consumed him whole, and now he was nothing but a shell of the man he used to be.

"You didn't!" You exclaim, brows furrowed in shock.

"Karli Morgenthau stole those, so... I can only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl." The lack of remorse, the apathetic speak of logical contemplation leaves you angered.

"Where's Karli now?" Sam interrogates.

"I don't know where she is, but a couple days ago she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. Poor woman has tuberculosis," Nagel explains.

"And you didn't. Did you?" You poke at him, no longer able to hide your equal contempt for the man.

"-Typical of overpopulation in displacement camps like that," he continues.

"Well, what happened to her?" Sam asks, clearly unamused by the need to continue prodding for information that's clearly relevant.

"Not my pig, not my farm," Nagel answers. A sneer displays itself across your face and you can't keep yourself from turning on him. It's one thing to be a scientist, to understand many of the mechanics that make up life... but it's another to be heartless and cruel. To not help those in need? Those without the capabilities, knowledge, or necessities? And after the Snap? When so many suffered. You'd seen how people rallied together, how humanity actually felt like it meant something again, and now? Now it's like none of that ever mattered anymore.

"Is there any serum in this lab?" Bucky questions, finally putting his hat in the ring. It only takes a moment of silence for the soldier to press the barrel of his pistol into Nagel's temple. Whatever apathy had been there before is now replaced with fear again. Clearly, he has the ability to feel something.

"No," Nagel answers.

"Now what?" Bucky asks. Both of you look toward Sam as he'd been the one leading this plan originally.

Just then you spot someone run in. "Guys, we're seriously outta time here-" Sharon exclaims. A gunshot rings out. You jump, body going rigid. "No!" You hear Sam yell, motion on either side of you as you hear the shuffle and bang of someone shoved into the container's wall. Eyes settled on Nagel's body lying on the floor, blood pooling from his chest out onto the pristine floor. It stains his shirt, the dark red bleeding into the blue fabric and turning it a dark sort of maroon. You can't bring yourself to look away.

"What did you do?" Sharon urges.

Boom! You're thrown to the floor, heat burning your backside as a weight lies heavy across your side. An alarm blares throughout the lab and groans emanate from across the aisle. You don't know when you closed your eyes, but upon opening them you're met with Bucky's stoic expression. Eyes searching one another's momentarily his blue eyes scan you before he's pushing himself up and off you.

"You okay?" The soldier asks. All you can do is nod.

It'd all happened so fast.

He'd saved you; having pushed you out of the way he must've landed on you partially. It all happened so fast. As the soldier pushes himself back up onto his feet you can see the fire roaring behind him. What the fuck happened? There was nothing that should've caused an explosion like that. At least... nothing you saw.

The alarm is loud, yet the clinking of vials and test tubes rattling in their sets are ominous in a way that immediately sets you into flight mode. There are chemicals and compounds here that will cause a secondary explosion any second now. Reality set in, you immediately follow Bucky's lead as you push yourself up, uncaring of the glass shards that may imbed themself in your palms. Glass crunches beneath your boots as you stumble, and there's a faint hissing that reminds you of the kettle this morning. Only you know this is far more dangerous.

"Anybody see Zemo?" Sam's voice calls out. You hardly make it out as the alarm drowns him out, yet you heard him just barely. You'd seen it. In your peripheral you'd seen something fly by in the corridor. It had to be Zemo. That's the only explanation that makes sense. With Sam's concern in your mind, you can only think of one thing to do.

You take off after Zemo.

"Let's go!" It's Bucky's voice. He's got them, Sharon and Bucky; he'd never leave them behind, from everything you know about him, and even if he did- they're more than capable of taking care of themselves.

You've barely caught up. The tail of his expensive coat is all you're chasing. Rounding one corner and then the next, you follow him blindly through the shipyard. Boot-clad feet stomp against the pavement in matching strides as you chase after him. "Stop!" You yell. "Stop running!" You refuse to let him get away.

Surprisingly, it works. Zemo comes to a halt and lingers for a moment as you close the distance between you. Finally a matter of an arm's length away, you don't know what you'll do to subdue him and stop him from running off again, but you're not thinking straight. He's suddenly turning toward you. "I'm not letting you-" the rest of your sentence is muffled under his glove. Pressed up against the closest container, Zemo stares down at you with ferocity in his eyes and his leather glove covering your mouth. Surprise quickly turns to understanding in your eyes as his tacit request is met. Be quiet.

The sound of thudding footfall approaching comes to a stop and you realize that your yelling might've drawn unwanted attention. Metallic pings resound in the distance from ricocheted fire and you know that the fight is going on back where you'd come from. It's a matter of moments before the thudding returns and you both listen to the bounty hunters run on the other side of the container toward the commotion.

Pushing his gloved hand off your mouth, you glare up at him. "I'm not letting you get away," you scold him in a whisper.

"I'm not running away," Zemo bites back at the same volume. With a look around he slowly steps back before returning his gaze down to you. "Follow me. Stay close."

The Baron takes off again, this time with you close behind. You round a container only to be met with two men wielding guns; where you halt, Zemo has no hesitation and charges into one of them. He knocks the shoulder of one, his hands going to the gun and trying to disarm him. It's then that you notice the other raising the gun at you. Jumping aside, you feel something graze your bicep as a whiz resounds beside you. Heart accelerating rapidly, you're left scrambling to your feet when you find yourself towered over. Who it is? You can't tell fast enough as you're being kicked back onto your butt, pain spreading through your stomach. As you look up at your attacker, you find he's being pulled backward by Zemo, effectively taking the man by surprise as the gun drops.

The other bounty hunter is slumped against the nearest container with blood dripping from his temple. "Ack!" The pained noise elicited from Zemo captures you're attention and you're reaching for the gun that'd clattered onto the pavement. Luckily it didn't go off- not that you have time to think on it now. In a tangle of bodies, the two men are still wrestling one another. With a slow lift of the gun, you're aiming it, finger hovering over the trigger.

Eyes drawn to the movement of the man's hands into his pockets retrieving a switchblade, you can't breathe as the juxtaposition of Zemo finally trapping him in a headlock does nothing. He's going to get stabbed. Bang! Smoke trickles from the chamber as you stand there, watching as the man's body falls limp, the dot of red on his shirt beginning to pool. "Good," Zemo praises, shrugging the body out of his hands and onto the pavement. "I doubted you had it in you for a moment there," he chuckles to himself as he dusts off his gloves.

Stepping over the body, he approaches, lifting your hands into his own as he presses the gun back into them upon spotting you attempting to dispose of it. "Take this." Pistol shoved back into your hands, you quickly right it and do as you've seen in your limited exposure and on tv. "You will need it."

There's no words coming out. Nothing you can say to stop the pit in your stomach from deepening. You might not have time to think on the precarious thoughts tempting to take center stage, yet you know you can't let yourself do so. "We need higher ground," he mutters. With a final look around he sets off. Vaulting himself onto the stack of barrels and pallets at the other end of the container, he gains leverage to climb atop. You follow suit.

"You're supposed to follow me!" Sam yells.

"And where are we now?" Bucky counters.

You can hear them arguing even from here. Wherever here is. While the Baron might take big strides resulting in the obvious clank, clank, clank of his boots against the metal, you take quieter more cautious steps. He retrieves something from his pockets, and it's only as he tugs it over his head you realize it's a mask. Why though? You're unsure. As you rear closer you can see he was right: you have a better vantage point from here. Worry washes over you as you spot your friends trapped under a shipping container with people approaching on either side.

Without warning, Zemo aims and shoots a pipe a few meters away. Boom! In a fiery explosion you watch as a group of bounty hunters going after your friends burn. They're down. The Baron takes the lead as he jumps down onto the adjacent container and launches himself off that one down onto the concrete.

Dodging one man's advances, the Baron shoots the attacker's partner before spinning, using that same man as a shield to shoot another bounty hunter approaching from the container to your right.

Still standing atop the container, you watch as some more people file in from the left. They're in a blocked viewpoint from your friends. Crouching, you vault yourself off the container and ignore the pain that shoots up your shins as you try to catch the attackers off guard. Gun aimed before you, the first man walks out into the open before you shoot him. Pop! Pop! Pop! One man down. Two to go. The next two emerge, one darting for their friend in an attempt to save him. You take that opportunity to shoot. He's injured, but not dead yet when you feel something whiz by you. The third man, who'd taken your opportunity to his advantage is coming for you! Another bang comes from behind and you find yourself cowering, hands covering your head as you realize someone is shooting at you too! You're screwed.

The advancing man coughs, however, blood sputtering at his lips as he comes to a halt. With a shaky hand he lifts it to his stomach before you turn and see that it wasn't someone out to get you... but was someone protecting you? It was Zemo... and knowing him, you'd sooner guess that he was simply finishing the job so your friends can make a quick exit.

You watch as Buck leads Sharon and Sam down an aisle. With a quick look between the two, Zemo's closer. While you've been left behind, you chase after the Baron who's only a few feet ahead of you. Every few feet he slows down, head turning this way and that as you eventually realize he's reading the numbers on the shipping containers. While you have no idea why, you don't question him. He turns a corner and stops. Opening the latch, he spots you in his peripheral as he turns his head and waves you closer. "Get in."

While it's almost pitch black inside as the shipping containers parallel this one are stacked high enough to block out most of the sun, you can see the shadow of a large object. Gently guiding you further inside, there's a faint click before the container is illuminated. His flashlight, right. Why hadn't you thought of one of those? Or better yet, why didn't Sam, for God's sake? You'd think someone with more experience would've guessed what we were up against beforehand.

Lips parting in awe, you can't help but ogle the car for a moment as you don't think you've ever had the luxury of being in a convertible. "Hello," Zemo practically purrs, and you're more than sure it's for the car. After having seen his little collection back in Germany, it's clear he has a thing for them. "Ladies first," he teases. This time you know it's toward you, and while the car is pressed up against one of the walls of the container, it makes getting in the passenger's seat difficult. With that in mind, you simply opt for the back. Climbing in behind Zemo as he takes the driver's seat, you meet his eye in the rearview mirror as he adjusts it. "Like what you see?"

"Can't say you don't have taste," you joke. With that, you're out of there. The wind whips around you, and you're suddenly thankful you'd tied it back this morning as the car expertly swerves and maneuvers the crates. The car eventually rolls to a stop just before your friends. "Supercharged," Zemo touts, a small smirk tugging up the corner of his lips.

"You're going back to jail," Sam states, clearly unamused. You hadn't even had time to think about how Zemo found them before the banter began. Geez.

"Do you want to find Karli or not?" Zemo asks, trying to ration with him. An eyebrow quirked, you all wait for their response.

"He's right. We need him. There's two of us and at least twenty of them," Bucky defends. Opening the passenger side door, he climbs in. Sam opts for the back seat beside you. Any other time you might be offended that Bucky hadn't included you in the count, however you're sure he sees you more as a Bioengineer than a Fighter.

"Fine, but if you try that shit again," Sam warns, still eyeing Zemo skeptically.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Zemo quips smoothly. With a shake of your head and a roll of your eyes, you decide to chime in.

"Hey, at least I didn't let him get away," you point out. If there's anything you accomplished today, it was that.

"I saw that," Sam acknowledges, a chuckle escaping him as he shakes his head with a reluctant smile on his face.

"Well, that was one hell of a reunion," Sharon comments as she shuts the back seat door. Wait. She's not coming?

"Come back to the States with us," Sam offers in an attempt to persuade her.

"I told you, I can't. Just get me that pardon you promised me," she responds. With that, she's headed in the direction you'd come from. Fortunately, you know that you'd gotten every bounty hunter you'd come across. She should be alright, she can clearly handle herself. At least, that's what you tell yourself out of comfort.

"Thanks for everything," Sam calls after her. Sliding down into his seat, he turns his sight toward the seat in front of him. Where Bucky sits. "You're not gonna move your seat up, are you?"

"No," the soldier responds without hesitation. This elicits a chuckle on your behalf, though a pointed look from Sam is all it takes for you to pull your attention elsewhere.

--------

While you were out of leads and aboard Zemo's private jet once more, you have no idea where it's taking you all. Did Sam really intend on returning to the US and harboring a fugitive? Were you going to give up and just go home? The morose thoughts had consumed you since you'd gotten to safe space.

Eyes on Madripoor's city lights disappearing under the settling fog over the island, you can't help the incessant bouncing of your knee as worry brews within you. The recent memories of shooting those men in the shipyard gnaw at your moral scale; you may have never been directly involved with the Avengers, or your friend's antics, but that doesn't mean you hadn't done bad things in life. Yet... taking someone's life? That's on an entirely different scale, you fear. Sure, you could argue that they were after you and it was a matter of self defense, yes... but was it? Couldn't you have taken them out some other way? Rendered them unconscious?

Nevertheless, there's no point in arguing the different ways today could've unfolded when there's no way to change what happened. It doesn't change things. You killed two people, aided and abetted in more deaths. That's blood on your hands, something that despite the physical act of washing them of their blood, will never truly rid them of the true sentiment.

You can spot Zemo drying his hands off on a towel as he heads toward the galley in your peripheral, Sam pacing the short distance of the aisle repeatedly as he'd picked up a call you can only assume is business related.

"Donya Madani. She's a refugee, yeah," Sam explains over the phone. His voice stirs you from your internal war, the recipient on the other end must be done talking for now.

"I still don't understand how you can get service up here," you mutter jokingly to yourself. "Always thought the plane was supposed to explode or some shit if that happened." Head leant back against the jet's leather seat, you turn your attention onto Sam, watching him pace.

At this point you can deduce who's on the other end of the line. Joaquin must say something as Sam quiets again, the cabin silent for another moment, the only sound being that of the wind passing by the windows and the simultaneous quiet roar of the jet's engine.

"Okay. Call me if you get a hit," Sam instructs. Heart leaping in your chest, you know he's about to hang up.

"Say 'hi' for me, please!" You shout, not wanting Sam to ignore you, and to miss this opportunity. Joaquin's been your best friend since you were kids, after all, and you miss him. If today had shown you anything, it's that you weren't the only ones after the serum, and there were people willing to kill in order to protect it. Tomorrow is not guaranteed by any means.

"Thanks, Torres," Sam responds after another moment. "Oh, and-" Sam says your name, "says 'hi'." A light-hearted and audible huff of breath leaves the man as he plops back into his seat. "He says 'hi' back for the record." There's a tired smile on your lips as Sam releases a sigh. It's clear that exhaustion has consumed your group for the time being and rest is needed.

"You okay?" Bucky speaks up, turning his head toward your friend.

"Yeah," Sam responds, though it doesn't sound entirely convincing. "Just thinkin about all the shit Sharon had to go through. And Nagel referring to the American Test Subject like Isaiah wasn't even a real person." The Avenger sits up, turning to face the soldier. Your lips curl inward in a grimace as guilt sits heavy on your chest. Hopefully, Sam doesn't think of you the same.

There was a reason Nagel referred to 'Isaiah' like that. And while you might only just be learning the name of the test subject yourself, you have no idea of his background. The government did it on purpose. Most clinics do it intentionally; it's a way to keep things isolated and somewhat confidential. Almost like a doctor's confidentiality agreement. The government may know the details concerning Isaiah's specimen, but you, the scientists handling it were never to know.

And you know the only reason is to cover up America's hands getting dirty.

While you'd drifted into your own thoughts again while the boys were talking, you finally manage to tune back in. Whether they know the circumstances of your employment or not isn't really necessary at the moment.

"But maybe I made a mistake," Sam says. Though you're now lost as to what the topic's about.

"You did," Bucky agrees.

"Yeah," Sam continues, "Maybe I shouldn't have put it in a museum, maybe I should have destroyed it."

The shield. That damned thing, that's what this is about. Garnering your attention, you can't help but eavesdrop. Albeit, you're sure they know considering it's a small space. Not that you'd ever divulge any sensitive information if it were to come out.

"Look, that shield represents a lotta things to a lotta people, including me," Bucky points out. "The world is upside down, we need a new Cap, and it ain't gonna be Walker, so before you destroy it, I'll take it from him myself."

You wonder what Bucky's plan is, and how exactly he determines to do that... but you also know it's not your place to ask. It certainly isn't the time either, considering all of your emotional states. Just as the buzzing of someone's cellphone chimes throughout the cabin, Zemo returns. Plate in hand, he wordlessly offers you it. Dinner, you suppose.

"Thanks," you graciously respond while taking the plate into your hands and place it across your lap. A silent nod of his head, you take that as the closest thing to 'you're welcome' that you'll receive.

"Yeah?" Sam says. "Yeah... yeah. Okay." The boys, focused on the call, Sam listening while Bucky stares, as if trying to read the man and figure out what's going on before Sam can say, Zemo returns again. Two plates in his hands this time, he offers the men dinner as well. "Thanks, good work." As the Baron takes a seat beside the men, you all wait intently for whatever news it is Sam's gotten. "They found Madani. Dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea."

Sat in contemplation upon the revelation, Zemo suddenly points his finger, the motion catching your eye. "I have a place we can go," he announces. While none of you question it, you can't help but wonder about it. How many places does he have? And where? All across the globe? How long does his contact list go, exactly? Yet, the Baron sits back in his seat, an unreadable expression across his face. "I, for one, am looking forward to coming face to face with Karli." As you all process the change in plans, Zemo speaks up again. "Oeznik, we're changing the course."

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