#if they’re in separate bodies they can perform together

[skelebagels]

I bet Sunny (and maybe moony) would just be over the moon if you asked to see them perform. Set him up with a little stage n jazz.

[kaciidubs]

i’ve come back a lot sooner than i expected 🤭 hear me out.. 9th maknae member reader (skz) x Mingi (ateez) 🤯 Reader and mingi have been in a secret relationship for at least a year and both Companies are preparing on announcing their relationship to the public/fans. (it gets better 😼)

Both groups: (ateez + stray kids) don’t know that they’re dating 😱 The boys arranged a massive sleepover for both groups to hangout and reader gets really hot and bothered by mingi teasing her the whole night. They end up excusing themselves (sneakily) and they have the most mind blowing sex ever. All of the other boys over hear and were shocked 🤯 They act like nothing happened as they didn’t want to assume they were dating but later on at an award show it was finally announced that Mingi and Reader were dating. Skz boys went crazy and was practically babying their precious maknae 🫶🏻

kaci my favourite writer 🥰

(p.s sorry for how long this is 💀)

This one's been sitting for a while, mainly because it's already a wonderful thought as is! So, here's just a few thoughts to expand on it~ ❣ Warnings: 9th Member! Reader + Song Mingi [Ateez], smut, fluff, slight humor ❣ ❣ Additional tags: essentially a crossover for Staytiny all around the world~

While the rest of the members were in the living room, you would be bent over the bathroom sink with Mingi giving his all in rearranging your guts in the most quick yet efficient way possible - though, that way didn't include him being the quietest while doing so.

"Mm, jesus, fuck-"

"Mingi, be quiet."

You'd think he was the one currently getting his guts rearranged from the way he struggled to contain his moans, leading you to shoot him a warning glare through the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

"We might as well go and fuck in front of them if you're going to be this loud!" You seethed with a hushed scold, gripping the edge of the counter to keep your balance with his unwavering thrusts.

You could only hope that your combined groups were too occupied with the movie they were watching to notice you and Mingi missing.

Sharp eyes locked onto your own through the mirror, a sideways smirk stretching his lips, "You'd like that, wouldn't you? It's not like they don't suspect it anyways." Snapping his hips forward, he continued, "We can just give them a nudge in the right direction."

Biting back a moan, you dropped your head between your shoulders to focus on the orgasm he'd been teasing you toward since he arrived at your shared dorm; subtle grazes and risque touches keeping you wound up and ready for anything.

A hand found its way around your throat, pulling your body up at an angle so that your gaze met his once more; captivating and hypnotizing, yet still filled with a love that had you falling for him all over again.

"I love you," the words fell from his lips with ease, honest and true, "and I don't want to keep hiding it."

You were, too - he knew that better than anyone, and having to hide it not only from the world, but your band members, the closest people you have, had been eating you both up since day one.

Gripping his forearm, you nodded softly, "I love you too, baby - just a little l-longer to go."

His lips curled into a smirk before driving into you with a newfound fervor.

Neither of you would catch the knowing side eyes or smug smirks of your members when you each returned separately to the living room to catch whatever remained of the movie.

The 'little longer' would eventually come during an award show, with the thoroughly discussed plan between your managers and PR team of revealing the relationship to everyone during a collaborative performance.

Part of it was Mingi's plan to do a performance together, but with the way your schedules aligned, you figured doing it live as opposed to uploading it on youtube was the easier choice.

With the stage - quite literally - set, you and Mingi performed your arduously practiced routine in front of your fellow artists and hundreds of screaming fans, and as the song came to an end the moment you've been waiting for was upon you.

Getting ready for the ending pose, Mingi pulled you into his side and pressed a loving kiss to your temple, while you hugged him with a dazzling smile to the camera focused on you both - and to say the reactions were worth it would've been an understatement.

The wild screams of your colleagues and fans was enough to pierce through your earpiece, and shooting a glance into the idol space you could see all eight of your members going absolutely insane - sneaking a glance to the Ateez table to see almost a mirrored reaction.

Leaving the stage to take off your earpieces and mic packs, the return to the Stray Kids table was nothing short of a spectacle as Changbin swiftly wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

"You think you can just go off and get a boyfriend without telling us?! You're too young!"

"Innie and I are literally just a few months apart," you laughed, trying to pull away from his partial choke hold.

"Yeah, a few months too many! You're our baby!" Jisung all but wailed, squeezing your cheeks much to your dismay.

Seungmin scoffed, "The fact that we knew and you're still acting like this? Hyunjin's dramatics is rubbing off on you."

"Wait- You knew?!"

"It's not like the two of you were the sneakiest..." Minho's nonplussed tone made a wave of embarrassment wash over you, the memory of the movie night quickly dawning. "Plus, trying to hide anything from Wooyoung is like trying to limit yourself to one of Felix's brownies - it's impossible. Changbin hasn't stopped talking about their theories since they first started scheming."

Managing to untangle yourself from Changbin's hold, you found Chris standing in front of you now, a firm expression on his face.

"Are you happy?"

You could hear the lingering, unspoken words behind his question and you offered him a gentle smile, nodding, "I am, I really am."

Face brightening with his signature smile, he pulled you into a quick hug, squeezing tightly, "Good, because you're definitely telling us how everything started between you two, later."

Separating to go back to your unassigned assigned seats - with a few words of congratulations from Felix and Hyunjin - you looked across the aisle to catch Mingi already staring at you, his lips pulled into a proud smile while the rest of his members gave you teasing, yet supportive, cheers.

[unedited]

[superblysubpar]

oh you sweet lovely angel, happy birthday week @palmtreesx3 - you've had your cake, now it's time for steve to eat too💛

warnings: minor mentions of body image concerns/letting them go, "public" smut (aka, you're outside by the pool, and maybe a neighbor *could* hear or see, but they won't), mentions of alcohol, steve telling you what to do you and both of you liking it, a praise kink sort of, and oral - steve performing | my blog is 18+

1495 words

Maybe it’s something only people in love can do, or perhaps only that sweet bubble of lust and love joining together to create this totally new feeling that allows it. 

Maybe it was just something you and Steve could do. 

Because, without opening your eyes, you can feel his eyes on you. 

And they’re making your body warmer than the rapidly fading sun has all day. 

They’re on your ankle now, traveling up the curve of your calf, the bend of your knees and your lips twitch. You know if you turned your head and blinked open your eyes, you’d find him with just his eyes out of the clear water that mirrors the pink and tangerine in the sky above him. 

You decide you’ll let him have his moment. 

Steve’s currently deciding he hates the color red. 

He hates it on your toes, because it’s reminding him of you painting them earlier. A moment where your sunglasses were pushed onto the top of your head and your body was curled over itself, letting curves and rolls and things happen you’d normally try to cover just to reach them, your mouth forming the words of top forty after top forty song.

Happy. Content. Totally in love with the day. With him. 

Which is what you told him from where you laid in a floating tube a few hours later as he handed you a can. Sweating droplets over red aluminum as your head fell backwards and your smile was more dazzling than the sun in the middle of the clear blue sky.  

He had watched you a little greedily, swallowing when you did, wishing he was the red can you were drinking out of. 

You’d laughed, flicked water at him and said he needed the beer more than you. That he needed to cool off, reading him better than the actual book in your hand. 

But how could he cool off when you were still wearing that? 

Red little bows against your hips. 

Red triangle of fabric rudely separating him from you.

Red that traveled up your shoulders and disappeared behind your neck resting on the towel beneath you. 

Red that teasingly let the curve of each breast taunt him all fucking day. 

Your hands twitched from where they laid flat against the pavement as the sound of water falling off of his body near the stairs alerted you Steve was finally getting out of the pool. 

Steve’s watching your eyelids flutter, the way your knees tap together tighter as he slowly approaches you. 

The air pulses with each step he gets closer, the cicadas buzz louder and despite the sunset taking away the heat, your body is on fire when Steve finally speaks with a tap to the top of your knees. 

“Open these up for me, honey.”

The words are a command, despite how softly they’re spoken. 

Your stomach fizzles and warms as you do as you’re told and a cold drop of chlorine scented water drips onto your stomach accompanied by praise. 

“That’s my girl,” his hands aid you, palming over the inside of your thighs as they drop open for him, “There you go.” 

Steve clicks his tongue when you flinch at the second drop, a soft and teasing remorse in his tone as a large hand roams low again, circling your knee and back up. 

“You cold?”

A breath huffs out of your nose when your back arches as his fingers play with the bow at your hip. 

Your eyes finally open, a dazzling sunset above the man grinning smugly at you as you shake your head and let out an even shakier, “No.”

Water clings to his tan skin, a particular drop convincing you to never look away from his cupid’s bow ever again. Darker, chestnut hair falls over his forehead as he cocks his head to the side in a silent ‘That so?’ while one singular fingertip travels across the band of your suit. 

His lips twitch as goosebumps rise to the surface of your skin. 

He brushes over a fresh wave of them, just above the tie of the suit, with his thumb, and leans down, eyes remaining on yours as he blows a warm breath against the pebbled skin. 

“Steve,” your hands lift with the plea, only for Steve’s much larger ones to wrap around your wrists.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he shakes his head, the honey turning amber in his eyes as you freeze and blink up at him with a pout on your lips. Until he reminds you, warmly, softly, “Just painted your nails baby. Wouldn’t wanna ruin ‘em, yeah?”

Your chest fucking aches as he gingerly lays them back down and reassures, “How about you just lay there and look pretty?”

It’s hard to breathe from the eye contact, from the way he takes the end of the red bow between his teeth and tugs. 

Steve’s nose nudges your hip, it skates across the looser band of the suit, till he’s at the other side. 

He doesn’t undo that bow though, he just follows the suit’s seam lower, dropping with the crease where it meets your thigh. 

You jolt, torso lifting and hands doing the same as his tongue licks you once and boldly through the red fabric. 

Steve lifts too, quicker than you, reading you just as well, hands circling your forearms and giving you a look beneath raised eyebrows. 

A silent question of if you’re going to behave lingers in the honey that’s turned amber that’s turned molten. You give a single nod, Steve drops your arms and his adams apple bobs as you slowly and patiently, let your hands drop back down to the towel. 

Your clit fucking throbs, pulsing faster than your heart as you blink away spots that compete with the lazy clouds above you. 

Steve’s lips press a kiss to your thigh and you squirm beneath him. The kiss lingers and his lips drag up to the wiggling and needy hips moving. 

“So,” he grumbles against the red fabric, nosing at the second tie, “Impatient.”

You whimper as the suit falls open, and Steve licks the path of it as he removes it, like he’s following the outline he’s been memorizing all day and determined to not actually ever put his mouth where you want it. 

His thumbs spread you open though, and finally, his tongue lazily licks through you once. 

Your fingers flex against the towel as your stomach burns, desperate to just grab his hair and pull him closer, but you know if you move one more time, he might never stop teasing you. 

Except you’re so wrong, because while Steve does love teasing you, he’s about 2.7 seconds from coming in his swim trunks and it’s all the color red’s fault. 

Which is what he sees as he looks up your stomach as his mouth makes contact with you again. Red fabric tightening over pebbling nipples as you arch higher and gasp out his name a little too filthy and a little too loud for a neighborhood, even if there are fences hiding the two of you. 

But it only spurs him on more, fingers bruising into your waist as he picks up the pace, tongue traveling up you once, twice, three - fucking keep going Harrington you need her to cum -, his nose tapping at your clit each time and getting rewarded with a, “Ye-yes. Steveohmygod.”

Your eyes blink rapidly, fingers scrunching into the towel and your thighs press against his ears as you gasp through his steady and brutal rhythm. A fluid and practiced drag of his tongue over and over and over again, until his lips are molded around your clit and you swear there’s fireworks going off in the sky right now. 

Steve squeezes his own eyes shut, because if he looks at the way your back arches higher or the way your lips look saying his name like that or the way your chest heaves with a new layer of glistening of sweat, he really will come and he can’t, because he’s absolutely not done with you. 

He blinks, mouth sucking slower, tongue lingering until he knows you can’t take anymore. He pulls away and smiles as your bright red fingers cup your cheeks as you breathe deeply, in and out, through your nose. 

Steve pretends he’s not just as worked up, carefully and slowly tying your suit closed again. 

He kisses your stomach as you sit up and before your parting mouth can say anything, he nods towards the house. 

“Go lay down on the bed.”

Steve bites his lower lip as the retreating view of your ass bouncing under the high cut of red disappears into the sliding door faster than he’s ever seen a person move. 

He waits a solid ten seconds to calm down, grabs the bottle of polish you left behind and makes note of the name. 

He’s buying every bottle the store has tomorrow. 

[wrathofrats]

idk why but I thought you may like the idea of Aurora, when she's new to performing publicly, fears that the fans may see her as "the innocent one" or something similar due to her being Very Obviously Smol in comparison to the other ghouls, ghoulettes, and of course, Papa. Being, y'know, a demon, she instead decides she wants to be the raunchiest one on stage...

So she decides to try and sneak a flash of some kind to the crowd during a ritual and it may go a bit further than she intends :]

I hope this is ok!! I modified the request a bit bc I was having thoughts and ideas. It’s maybe a bit misogynistic, dew and Swiss really teasing Aurora over the whole innocent thing. But I am a gay woman so I’m allowed to perpetuate sexist stereotypes and if you disagree you’re also sexist. (THIS IS A JOKE) but know the banter is in good fun, they’re obv all some kind of poly bonded pack thing so auroras gucci.

Or aurora decides to throw her panties into the crowd, and things don’t exactly go her way (based on that panties on dews guitar gif you know the one)

“I’m not doing this with you right now dew” Aurora grumbles, batting his hands off of her.

Dew looks too smug. Like hes won some secret game that Aurora doesn’t know about. A mischievous glint in his eye that makes Aurora want to kick him in the balls to hopefully neuter his perpetual horniness.

It’s their own little tradition at this point in the tour. Swiss and dew and whoever else was bored would come hang out in the ghoulettes dressing room while they pinned their hair to fit neatly under their helmets and to apply the black face paint. Dew usually showed up to steal cumulus’ never ending supply of bobby pins, and swiss was there to help with smearing the paint onto everyone.

“Iighten up your highness” dew laughs, backing away from her with his hands up as if he didn’t just wrap them around her body to grab at her waist. “You’re not this prudish when you come knocking at my hotel door”

“I’m not a prude,” Aurora grumbles. Swiss and dew giggle to themselves as Aurora swipes her hands at them to make them back up from where she’s placed herself on the counter. She can feel cirrus’ glare through the mirror, directed at the two idiots that are currently still laughing among themselves.

“You’re telling me you’re not ms ‘don’t mention sex around the other ghouls! They can’t know I’ve fucked you!’” Swiss teases, his voice pitching to mock auroras. “Come on princess, I don’t know why you demand to be seen as so innocent.”

Aurora wants to scream at them to leave their dressing room already. Dew and Swiss can tend to be idiots while they’re separated, but together? Aurora isn’t sure how they manage to lose brain cells when they combine.

“I just didn’t want anyone knowing I’ve fucked you, I don’t care about anyone else”

She’s not innocent like Swiss says, is she? Sure she’s smaller, tends to be more reserved in that regard, but Aurora thinks it’s unfair to call her innocent of all terms. She could be worse sure, not tending to go as far as humping the stage or groping her bandmates like dumb and dumber, but she likes her little act. She likes her swishy cape and little dances with her tambourine, and how she twirls and -

God maybe she is a princess.

The boys continue to laugh, mostly shoving each other around at this point. Aurora can hear cirrus yell at Swiss to shut up and help her with her paint, even now lost in her own thoughts. Ideas come and go, staring at her lap and swinging her legs. She’s not innocent. She’s just as bad as the rest of them and they all know that. The fans know that too, right? She’s a demon, a fucking creature from hell.

She’s not innocent.

She hops off her perch to shove her way past dew and into the bathroom to pull her uniform bottoms off. Her idea is probably stupid, will probably get her reprimanded and placed on whatever terrible chore imperator comes up with when they get back. But the reactions from the other ghouls, especially Swiss and dew, will make it worth it.

Aurora quickly takes off her panties and pulls her uniform back up, cringing at the feeling of the rough fabric against her. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but the weird insecurity of not wearing underwear makes every sensation feel tenfold.

A 5 minute call sounds through the rooms. She grabs her underwear and hastily puts them in her pocket before running out to get in her position.

Her movements are meant to tease. Hands running over her body, jutting her hips behind her hoping Swiss will look back at her. She wants him to come on her platform, wants him to take her on the innocent act she’s been offering. She wants him to smell her through her uniform.

It’s just an extra personal part in her plan. She tries not to bounce giddily as he does notice and run behind the different set pieces to come walk up into her space. He can feel his breath on her neck as he approaches her, his all too wide smile trying to intimidate her, mock her after their conversation earlier.

Auroras lucky Swiss is good at improv, and an even better performer. Barely reacts as she shoves him to his knees. Even grabs her thighs and mock drags his tongue along her legs. Hes fucking obscene, she should’ve known the reaction she would get like this.

The real reward is the way she can see Swiss’ mouth twitch as he shoves his face right next to her cunt. He can smell her, would nose against the outline if they weren’t still performing in front of thousands of people, honestly she’s sure he’s forgotten considering the way his face turns into a snarl. Aurora is positive she will pay for this later, but for now? She couldn’t be happier.

The second phase of her plan comes once Swiss leaves. She eyes the audience carefully, eyes her bandmates to wait for the perfect opportunity. Dew turns to mess with rain, while phantom moves to mess with the audience on his side of the stage. All the ghouls are occupied, not paying attention.

Aurora pulls her panties out of her pocket, balling them in her fist so they can’t be seen through her hand. Hastily she throws them towards the crowd, praying they make it to their destination.

Whatever she prayed to however, is not listening.

They land directly next to dewdrop, right by his feet as he steps back onto them. He pulls his foot up, eyeing the black fabric in confusion. She watches in horror as he swings them around his finger, looking back at her as if he knows they’re hers,

Before hanging them on the head of his guitar. Displaying them for the whole crowd.

[pommpuriinn]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ W KOREA LOVE YOUR W EVENT

❀*ੈsynopsis✩‧₊˚ the three eldest members go to W Korea event meeting lots of people and seeing some familiar faces

❀*ੈ outfit✩‧₊˚

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ photographers went crazy when the trio hit the carpet to the point where Joohyung had to cover her eyes for two second and continued on posing like nothing happened. They took solo shots then trio shoots which the photographers went crazy for the trio shoots causing them to demand more together. “Wow their visuals go crazy together!”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ entering the event they did more posing and walking for W Korea social media. Staff were wowed by their looks and height, saying that ‘they’re truly models’ and ‘they look so good together’

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ it was a dinner/party type of vibe and the three stayed close to each other since the three are pretty introverted when it comes to these events

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ sitting down at the table kinda helped, but of course they were kinda separated from each other but Joohyung didn’t mind it much because she was sitting next to Jennie Kim

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ “I always wanted to talk to you.” Joohyung turned to her left hearing the voice. Jennie was talking to her, “me?” Joohyung pointed to herself kinda shocked. “Yes, I always found you so pretty and I never gotten to see you in person, I would always see your pictures online.” Jennie complimented. “I feel the same towards you.” Joohyung smiled at her. “You know I also would listen to your solo album because it’s so good.” Jennie chuckled, a little bit embarrassed with herself. “Ah thank you so much~” Joohyung placed her hand over her heart

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ the two continued talking hitting it off with each other to the point where both women gave each other their phone numbers so they could hang out. “Also just in case anything happens you can always come to my company.” Jennie explained that she was leaving YG and opening up her own company. Joohyung was shocked at the offered, “thank you, but I don’t think I can leave my boys.” Jennie completely understood, but the offer will always be there

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ as everyone got up and started doing their own thing the three went to the person they truly knew; Namjoon. “Your hair.” Joohyung patted Namjoon’s head feeling his buzz cut. “Yeah, I shaved it just cause I wanted to not really for the military yet.” Namjoon explained. “I can’t stand the military talk because then this one,” Joohyung nodded towards Soobin. “Starts talking about their time I can’t deal with it.” Joohyung doesn’t want to think about it. The guys laughed as Joohyung covers her ears. “Don’t worry I won’t talk about it.” Namjoon takes Joohyung’s hands away from her ears and hugs her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ many people came up to Joohyung telling her how beautiful she looks and if they can take a photo with her which she gladly took with them, many also expressed how much they like txt’s music including hers

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ the members social battery was draining and so they decided to go into the restroom hallway and just chill there and taking some mirror selfies since there was a full body mirror in the hallway. “I can’t believe we’re hiding from everyone.” Soobin laughed at the situation. “It was getting to much.” Joohyung sighed. “You know if I could I would be smoking right now.” The three of them bursted out laughing at what Joohyung was saying. “Ya! Then hybe would be freaking out on you.” Yeonjun playfully pushed her. “It’s not like they don’t do it too.” Joohyung defended herself. It didn’t tell long before they started gossiping with each other with all the info they got from talking to everyone

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ after chilling in the restroom hallway they came out to watch the performances the event was having. Which was some groups/soloists performing there hits

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Joohyung was just vibing with a drink in her hand enjoy the light buzz she had going on, it wasn’t long after the event ended and it was finally time to go home

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ but before heading out many female idols and actresses took the opportunity to quickly talk to Joohyung and gave her their numbers. “Wow Joohyung you’re very popular~” Yeonjun teased her, as he saw all the new numbers on her phone. “Shut up because you know if there wasn’t any cameras they would go for you and Soobin too.” Joohyung chuckled at Yeonjun teasing her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ “it feels weird dropping you off first.” Soobin hugged Joohyung ‘bye’ as the car stopped in front of Joohyung’s apartment building. “I know, but I told you guys could come whenever or stay the night.” Joohyung said, as she moved to give Yeonjun his hug. “We will. Maybe when we have a day off so we can eat and drink together without worrying about work the next day.” Yeonjun said, squeezing Joohyung tight before letting her go. “That’s perfect.” Joohyung waved ‘bye’ before making her way in with her staff member who was going to help her take everything off. The members made sure the driver didn’t drive off before Joohyung and the female staff member got into the apartment building safely.



[bg3-npc]

Wyllstarion concept I can’t stop thinking about so I’m making you all suffer with me.

Post-game get together, the scenario involves Astarion not ascending and Wyll keeping his pact with Mizora. Wyll can chose any endgame path, I personally imagine his Duke ending. The party went their separate ways after defeating The Absolute, and at least a year has passed. There’s the setup, here’s the concept causing me brain damage:

Wyll and Astarion reconnect in some way. Despite the dire circumstances, they enjoyed each other's company during their adventure. Astarion is recovering, enjoying his freedom while trying to figure out what ‘being good’ means to him. He’s experienced many things since the party's victory and seems to be steadily improving on all fronts. Wyll has been doing whatever duties come with his chosen title and doesn’t seem different. He almost seems entirely unchanged, but the more Astarion is around him he feels like something is off.

Astarion pays closer attention and notices small differences he hadn’t before. Wyll looks haggard, he fidgets and blinks constantly like he’s trying to keep himself awake all the time. He’ll lose focus and zone out so badly he won’t respond when Astarion calls his name. When Wyll doesn’t have a day full of tasks, he’s restless and almost seems to panic. He will return from missions more hurt than someone his skill level should. He struggles to concentrate during conversation, especially when it’s not centered around his responsibilities. Wyll also never drops his persona, even when the two are alone. He performs his part, but it seems more exaggerated and forced than when they first met. Whenever they’re together, Astarion never actually feels like “Wyll” is there.

A normal, everyday interaction provides an explanation for Wyll’s strange new presence. Someone starts calling Wyll’s name to get his attention. Astarion notices the person immediately, but Wyll doesn’t. After a few failed attempts, they call Wyll by his title. That method finally gets Wyll’s attention, and he’s seemingly oblivious to the previous attempts. Seeing this recurring phenomenon from a third-party perspective gives Astarion the insight he’d been missing.

Wyll reflexively, and almost exclusively, talks in the third person now. Only ever talking and presenting as his title. He will give his input on a matter, but only what’s necessary and doesn’t reveal anything about himself. He hasn’t formed any new connections or relationships since they departed, and any he has are friendly but essentially professional. Wyll is never off duty and ensures he always has some quest to complete. He’s never idle or relaxed, keeping his mind and body occupied at all times.

The issues that plagued Wyll before and during their party's journey never got resolved. He wasn’t managing well before, and by the end of everything his suffering had only increased. His situation has not improved since and the toll of everything that’s happened is becoming intolerable. Wyll refuses to acknowledge his pain but it’s overwhelming him nonetheless. He sees no end to his misery and feels helpless to stop it. In a desperate attempt to regain some feeling of control over his life, Wyll’s removed himself from it entirely. He doesn’t have to address what’s affecting his life if he’s not living it. Wyll’s abandoned his name and latched onto the identity of his title. The reason Astarion never feels like “Wyll” is with him is because he no longer sees himself as “Wyll”.

Astarion avoided asking Wyll about his pact with Mizora, but this breakthrough compels him to broach the subject. Wyll tells him he feels it’s best for everyone if he doesn’t break it, and he has resigned himself to a fate in the Hells. He truly believes it’s the right thing to do and disregards his feelings about it. He will do his duty to the people, and he will convince everyone he’s okay. He wants to convince himself he’s okay.

Wyll is doing all he can to avoid and deny any of his trauma, but his coping strategies aren't working. He's still doing heroics for the right reasons, but now they've also become a distraction. He’s even begun to use them as a form of self-harm, his reckless selflessness verging on suicidal. Ignoring the issue doesn’t resolve it, and Wyll is completely unaware he’s nearing a breaking point. Astarion has no idea what reaching it will do, but he refuses to let that happen. He cares for Wyll and dedicates himself to pulling his friend back from the edge. Astarion will help him regain his sense of self by any means necessary. Wyll is going to fight him the entire time, but Astarion has had 200 plus years to perfect stubbornness. Wyll has the capability to save his soul, save himself, but he needs someone to show him he’s worth saving.

Aaaaand from there the plot varies and mostly depends on how much suffering I want to put these two through. The amount of psychic damage I cause myself with this setup also varies day to day.

[natrogersfics]

Blinding Lights - A Romanogers Oneshot

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

Torment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’ll do great, I’m sure of it.”

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

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

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

“That’s more like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until last week, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With that, she couldn’t argue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Natasha! There you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Technically.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha arches a brow. “James?”

“Clint.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And it will.”

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

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

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

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

“That you gave me, no less.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still harder than slipping through the back door.”

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

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

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

“Look who finally decided to show up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You too, Matt.”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what room service is for.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re leaving?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nearly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that’s a problem because…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have they really?”

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

She smiles. “Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know…”

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

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

Matt beams. “Perfect.”

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

Steve shrugs. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam scoffs. “Does it matter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got it, Cap.”

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

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

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

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

“Fancy running into you here.”

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

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

“Is that right?”

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

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

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

“Sharon-”

“Oh, excuse me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How am I acting?”

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

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

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

“That’s not what I said!”

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

“Sharon? Natasha, nothing happened with her.”

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

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

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

He shakes his head. “Nat-”

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes darken. “Do you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come back to my suite with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She barely has time to react.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what are we going to do?”

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

Earlier that night…

“Your Old Fashioned, Mr. Laufeyson.”

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

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

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

“Everything all right, darling?”

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

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

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

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

Steve nods. “Of course.”

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

“You know something.”

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

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

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

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

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

[ac3may]

Undisturbed ~ Sam Kerr x Williamson!Reader

A request by the gorgeous @dreamin-inwoso​! I hope you’re not offended that I made it into a sequel to my other Conti Cup fic, they just kind of worked together but can also be read entirely separately. Sorry if this sucks, it’s the first thing I’ve written in actual months...

Part 1 | Part 2

Request: "Something fluffy with Sam. Something like reader consoling her after the Conti Cup loss."

Words: 1.5k, edited

Masterlist

As Leah is called away for press and the trophy presentation you and Sam are joined by your mum. She steals Ari’s attention, taking him into her arms. Your daughters are entertaining themselves watching the celebratory scenes, so you take the moment to check in on your partner. 

Sam is lent against the barricade separating the two of you, and watching as the team in red collect their medals, disappointment and self-depreciation plastered on her face.

If there was one thing you knew about your girl it was that she hated losing far more than she enjoyed winning. You knew she’d be beating herself up for this one despite the performance she gave the children.

Wrapping your arms over her shoulders and pulling her in tight to your chest you rest your chin on her shoulder. 

“How are you doing baby?” The hushed tone is accompanied by a brush of lips to the Australian’s ear. 

Her hand raises to entwine fingers with yours, her reply accompanied by a gentle squeeze, “I’m okay.”

Her tone is disheartened, desperately trying to be strong for you all. “They played a better game, they deserved the win.” She lets out a defeated sigh as she shrugs, eyes following her opposition as they cheer together, trophy in the air. 

“I’m sorry lover,” bringing your conjoined hands to your mouth you place a kiss on the back of hers.

Sam simply hums in reply, the downturned corners of her lips tell you all you need to know. But as you glance at your two girls playing patty cake on the grass and your younger sister chugging champagne you know it's not the right time for the conversation you want to have.

Instead, you hug Sam tighter, pressing intermittent kisses to her shoulder, head and cheek, providing as much silent support as possible. 

As the celebrations on the pitch began to die down you and Amanda manage to gain control over your hyperactive little ones. A task which was not helped by the chocolate treats a certain Alex Scott had provided.

Following the little bodies away from the grass you find yourself falling in step with your mum. 

You sigh before speaking, “they’re gonna be a nightmare getting to bed tonight,” an exasperated chuckle follows the words. 

“Well, I can take them?” The question is casual, the redhead beside you running her gaze adoringly over her three grandchildren, holding hands and skipping along in front of you.

“Are-are you sure?” You're hesitant, “it’s a school night! And Marlee’s been having her nightmares again. Ari only sleeps if Sam cuddles him a certain way! No-no, I can’t let you do that.” Although the idea of yourself and Sam in an empty home for the first time in aeons sounds like a dream.

Tutting at you your mother rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Go home. Take care of our girl. I can handle the tots. I raised three menaces myself, remember?” Raising her eyebrows she leaves you with a gobsmacked look as she approaches the children. “Who wants a sleepover at Nana’s?!”

Making your way home childless was an unusual experience, but as you arrived you basked in the silence of the house for a moment.

A mewl breaks the moment as the white cat slinks through from the kitchen to the hallway. “Hey, Helen.” You can’t help but chuckle as you lean down to fuss over the fur baby gently. 

After a few moments, Helen loses interest in you entirely and stalks away to curl up in the corner of your sofa and you set about putting your last-minute plans into action.

Collecting the shopping bag, abandoned at the door you begin organising your purchases in hopes to set up the perfect night in for your girl.

You dot about positioning candles, closing the curtains, digging through bath bombs and pulling out two glasses to accompany the freshly purchased wine stashed in the fridge.

Glancing at your phone you notice an unread message from the woman herself informing you she’d made it back to Cobham and was on her way home. You respond with a short and simple ‘see you soon baby x’.

Twisting the basket to sit carefully on the edges of your bathtub you can’t help the prideful smirk that appears on your face. A selection of Sam’s favourite bath bombs, bath salts and facemasks sat inside.

Admiring the set-up you had created you can only hope she won’t be moody enough to deny your efforts of a childless night with a non-pg movie, adult takeaway, an alcoholic drink (or two) and a warm bath.

As you're pridefully snapping a photo of the setup Sam’s confused voice reaches your ears.

“Y/N? Are you here?!” 

A wide grin grows on your face as you skip down the stairs excitedly, bounding like a child yourself. "Coming!” You call.

By the time you’d reached the plush carpet of the living room, the striker had left a trail of bags, shoes and coats before collapsing face-first into the sofa miserably. 

Dodging the abandoned belongings you settle gently on your knees beside Sam’s head and run your fingers softly through the stray hairs falling from her ponytail.

“Hey star girl,” the gentle whisper encourages a grumpy groan into the sofa cushions from the brunette and dramatic grumbles as she shifts her body to face you.

The two of you sit in an undisturbed silence for a moment, hands interlinked as you continue stroking gently through her hair. “Not feeling like much of a star right now,” she sighs, eyes closing. 

Continuing your movements you press soft lips to her hairline, “You’ll always be my star girl.” You murmur the promise gently and received the softest of smiles from the girl in front of you.

Jerking slightly in your place, heavy hands press against your hips and a giggle escapes your lips, Sam chuckles with you as she speaks.

“What are you doing down there?” She asks, a playful smile tickling her lips as she runs her hands up and down your sides. “Get up here,” she grins tightening her grip again and tugging you towards her chest.

Despite the emotions of the day Sam can’t help grinning adoringly down at you as she holds your giggling figure tight to her own. 

Settling together, eyes which had gently fluttered shut at your touch open slowly as a confused frown pulls at the Australian’s lips, “Where are the kids?”

“Mum took them?” The response is hesitant, unsure of the reaction it’d receive.

Eyebrows raise, “Really?” The confirming nod of your head has a smirk appearing on Sam’s lips immediately.

“Wow,” she sighs, “do you remember the last time the house was empty?” Daring fingers run along the expanse of exposed skin as you watch her mind flick through all the possibilities for the night. 

“Before Ari was born?” You question a knowing smirk of your own growing.

Your patience with her gentle touches and soft looks quickly reaches an end and you move fast in latching your hands together and dragging her from the cushions. Tugging her with you the pair of you share childish giggles as you lead your unknowing partner to the bathroom you’d prepared. 

With Sam wrapped in your arms, you don’t feel anything but content as your muscles relax in the warm bubbly water.

But as you massage into her shoulders it is evident she is not feeling the same peace. Tension is held tightly in her body language despite the soft fluttering of her eyes and the ticklish patterns she draws on your bare skin.

Resting your chin on her tanned shoulder you gently murmur in her ear, “How are you doing baby? Do you wanna talk about it?” 

A defeated sigh falls from Sam’s lips and your body follows hers as she visibly deflates. “What’s there to say? We lost. I hate losing. Especially to them.”

Lips pressing to all available skin you hum as she rants, evidently needing to get the emotions off her chest. “But football’s football, I know I should just leave it at the club and let it go. It's just so hard.” 

Humming again, this time you reply, “Yes, football’s football but it has also been your life for basically forever. You’re allowed to be angry and upset.” You can practically feel the roll of Sam’s eyes at the care in your voice.

“Why are you always so logical.” She complains with a huff, sending a wave of water backwards towards you. 

Giggling at her response you can’t help but tease her, “I don’t know about you but I wouldn’t say either of us are being very logical right now.”

Turning her head to be inches from yours she presents a furrowed brow and questions, “How so?” You let your fingers run sensually down her spine as you pause before replying.

“We’re naked in a childless house and somehow you're still talking about work?” A grin grows immediately on Sam’s face and her sultry tone from that morning drips into her words as she begins lifting her body from the tub. 

“I guess we should do something about that, huh?” Without giving you a second to respond your girlfriend swoops down, collecting you into her arms, a squeal emits at the sudden movement, “Sam!” A hearty laugh leaves her as you cling tightly to her muscular biceps your laugh joining hers as she tosses you on the mattress. 

[strangermarvelss]

the pain of letting you go- e.m (pt 12)

Pairing: Ex!Eddie Munson x Ex!AFAB!Reader

Summary: steve has a heart-to-heart with you before your lunch with eddie

Warnings: a bit of angst, confessions, revelations, steve being just the best

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: part twelve of the series is here! only one more part after this! thank you to everyone for the continued support! reminder: if the topic is sensitive for you, please do not read. enjoy! :) -sava

“He’s going to quit the band? Are you sure that's what he said?” Steve asks, nearly choking on his drink as he sets it down on the coffee table in front of him. You continue to pace in front of him, biting your nails as you nod at his question.

It’s been almost a week since your therapy session s a family and the detail Eddie hit you with at the end of the session has stuck with you this whole time, keeping you up late as you toss and turn in the bed you once shared with him. He is willing to quit the band in order to show you how serious he is in getting you and Christopher back and show how he can be better. 

Sure, the reason he asked for the separation in the first place was because he was worried about his image and was insecure about his low body count, but at the end of the day, being a successful rockstar still his dream. The passion and craft he has been perfectly for longer than your relationship together. Finally being able to escape the town that has treated him like dirt since his earliest memories as he does the only career he's ever shown an interest in was something the two of you spent many nights talking about, before and after Christopher was born too. So the fact that he was willing to give all that up without hesitation was throwing you more than you thought it would.

“Yeah it’s…it’s weird to think about him potentially not performing anymore. I can’t ask him to do that, right? That’s his main source of income, and they’ve been gaining a following as of late, so it just feels like they’re on the brink of a record deal. I can’t take that away from them, especially the others members,” you ramble, continuing to pace in your place while bringing the wine glass to your lips. 

“I mean…I think you can,” Steve starts, raising the glass bottle to his own lips before setting it back down. “I mean, you said he wanted to have some kind of badass rocker persona and wanted to go around banging groupies. So what makes you think that you’d be able to trust him during performances again? You and Eddie would be constantly stressed during the shows and I just think he’d start to lose the love he has for it.”

“I still don’t know if I even want to take him back, Steve,” you admit, stopping in your tracks to plop on the couch next to him. You set your glass of wine on the coffee table before covering your face with your hands and a loud grunt escaping your lungs. “I mean…how can I trust him to not hurt me like this again? H-how can I put that kind of faith in him? He basically tossed me aside like garbage and came crawling back the moment I even thought about moving on? And when things were getting better, he goes and tells me that he was upset about not getting his dick wet like other rockstars? I mean, we did just barely get to speak during the session last week because we wanted to let Christopher have enough time to let his feelings be known, but he just kept apologizing and not really giving much substance behind it. I just…I just don’t know what to do Steve. I really don’t.”

“I think it could be deeper than you might be leading on…”

You turn to him, confusion mixed into your features. A few weeks ago, Steve was leading the “fuck Eddie Munson” campaign, and now he sits on your couch saying there could be more to it? 

“Really Steve? I thought you were on my side,” you say, throwing your hands up in defeat as you turn away from him. You feel his light touch on your shoulder, nudging you to turn back to him as you meet his sympathetic eyes.

“I am on your side, Y/N. I’m going to support you in any kind of way you need me to,” he tells you with a smile. You return the smile and lean on his shoulder, letting out a sigh as you feel yourself deflate a little. “But with that being said, I need to be honest with you. I ran into Eddie the other day.”

“I’m sorry…what? Did you kill him? Steve please tell me I don’t need to lie to Jim Hopper’s face because you know I’m not good at-“

“Y/N, I swear if you don’t shut up I’m going to pour my beer all over you,” Steve interrupts. You look at him and push his shoulder, a giggle tumbling out of your lips as he joins in. “No, I didn’t kill him, but we talked a little. I ran into him at the Shell station a couple days ago, I think it might’ve been after he dropped Christopher back. He was out of cigarettes and I was getting some beer so-“

“Steve?” You interrupt, pulling his attention towards you as his words stop. He quirks a brow at you. “Get to the point.”

“I was getting there, god you’re impatient. Okay, so we were talking and honestly, I don’t want to tell you much because you should hear it from him tomorrow, he made that a point during our conversation. But from what he told me and what I could digest from the whole thing, I think he means serious business. I believe that he really wants to fix things between the two of you and be better, so I say go for it! I mean, I know you still love him, so why not give him another chance?” Steve explains to you. 

You take a minute for his words to sink in, letting them play through your head and hit you in your own emotions. Steve really was the only person who could read you like an open book, knowing your own feelings before you even had the chance to think about it. As much as you valued Steve’s opinions, thanks to years of friendship, you still weren’t convinced that you should give him another chance.

“I never said I still loved him, Steve. Plus, I know he keeps saying he wants to try this all again, but…what if he just ends up hurting me again Steve? I can’t put myself or Christopher through any of this for a second time, it’s too much on him and I’m barely able to keep my sanity at bay,” you question. He scoots closer to you and puts a hand on your shoulder, a mockingly look plastered on his face.

“You act like I don’t know you Y/N. You and Eddie were always the couple people looked up to, hell, even I envied your relationship and wanted something like that for myself. I know he hurt you, and I hate him for putting you through months of pain. But at the end of the day, Eddie made a mistake. He got so mixed up in his head and let something stupid destroy the thing he loved most. He has his reasons that, like I said before, won't repeat, but the regret is so evident Y/N. Plus, Eddie has never given you a reason to doubt him before this. The thing you two used to argue about most was what music to listen to in the car or what movie to watch during movie night, nothing this big. After talking with him, I can see just how much he really wants to be with you for the rest of his life, so if you’re asking me, I think you should take him back,” he explains to you.

You shoot him a toothless smile, looking down at your lap as you let his words soak in. “You know, I thought you’d be telling me the opposite…telling me to leave him in the dust and be with you instead. Like, I know you felt a little something brewing between us over the first few months. Especially that night in the kitchen when you made me make that big mess-,” you tease, making him laugh. His cheeks turn a light tint of pink as his soft brown eyes look at you for a moment, boring into your soul in an intense gaze that makes your breath hitch for a moment.

“Part of me wanted to be selfish and tell you to choose me, give me a fighting chance. But…I know you wouldn’t have been happy. We’re great friends, sure, but I’m not Eddie. You were always so drunk on the guy, I could see how much you cared from him the minute you saw him ranting in the cafeteria after we all hit puberty,” he pauses, taking a moment to laugh as giggles tumble from your lips. “So I gotta push you towards who I know you’ll be happiest with. And I know he’s hurt you now, but he won’t make that same mistake twice.”

You feel a tear slide down your cheek, happy to see and hear just how much Steve has grown over your decade long friendship. King Steve would not have wasted a moment in snatching you up and playing the hero, taking you away from Eddie for good and just allowing himself to have that victory and satisfaction. But his ability to see the love you had for Eddie and take a step back from his own feelings for the sake of yours warms your heart. Steve moves his hand up to your face and wipes the stray tears away with his thumb, leaning his forehead against yours as a sob leaves your mouth.

“You really are a great friend, you realize that right?” you let out, laughing a little as you continue to cry a bit.

“Wow Y/N...way to hurt a guy while he’s down. You seriously have to friendzone me right now?” Steve teases, pulling back and shaking his head as you laugh.

“Shut up, dingus. You know what I mean though. Junior year Steve Harrington would never say the shit you just did or act so selfless. I really like the new person you’ve become over the years, and I know you’ll find someone who appreciates that too. If you need me to, I can help Robin be wingwoman on our drinking nights from now on,” you offer with a smile. He lets out a dry laugh, taking the beer bottle he’s been nursing all night back in his hand and bringing the glass to his pink lips. 

“Mommy?” You hear from around the corner, your ears perking up and standing from the couch. Rounding the corner, you’re met with a sleepy Christopher hopping down the last step, turning to face you as he rubs his eye with the palm of his hand. You shoot him a sincere smile, walking over to him and crouch in front of him. You run your hands along his covered arms, grazing over the dinosaur print of his pajamas as you look in his big brown eyes.

“What are you doing up sweetheart? It’s-“ you pause, looking up at the clock that rested on the wall in the entry way. “10:30 at night bud. You gotta get a good nights sleep for school tomorrow,” you say.

“Had a nightmare,” he tells you simply, frowning a little. You pull him into your arms, rubbing his back as you mutter out soothing phrases. 

“C’mon, I’ll help you get back to sleep okay? I’ll meet you upstairs, I’m going to tell Uncle Steve real quick,” you reassure him, turning his body and gesturing for him to get back upstairs. Standing up straight, you take the few steps back towards where you were earlier and whip your head around the corner, watching Steve shove a slice of the pizza the two of you had forgotten about into his mouth. 

“Chris had a nightmare, I’m gonna go put him back to sleep. Be right back,” you tell him before disappearing behind the wall without letting him reply. You make your way up the stairs, taking it one step at a time before slightly jogging to get to your son.

He’s already in his small twin bed again when you enter the room, bundled under the covers as he sees you. You sit next to him on the bed and brush his hair, knowing it calms him and helps him get back to sleep easily. He smiles, showing off some missing teeth as he closes his eyes and relishes in the feeling of your soft fingers gliding along his head of hair. 

“You want to tell me what your nightmare was about little man?” You ask him. He opens his eyes and pouts a little, the relaxation you had briefly brought him fading away quickly.

“It was about you and Daddy. Y-you guys were fighting and said you were getting a divorce,” he admits. You stop your motions, blinking at the boy who was laying in front of you as you try to process the words that just left his little mouth. 

“How do you know that word buddy?”

“Kyle said that his parents are getting one, and he told me it means that they won’t be with each other anymore. Like a breakup, but worse,” he explains softly. You nod, turning your head and closing your eyes for a moment, bracing yourself for the words that enviably would be leaving his lips in just a few moments. Part of you was surprised to be hearing about Kyle’s parents divorce from Christopher rather than the other moms around Hawkins. Another part felt relieved, as much as you knew you shouldn’t be. The word of their divorce spreading around would finally give you time away from being the center of the drama. No more knowing stares and loud whispers being pointed your way…at least, not as often anymore.

“Mommy? Are you and daddy getting a divorce? Are you guys not going to be together ever again?” Christopher asks. You let out a sigh before turning your attention back to him, his big sad eyes looking up at you from his position and making you feel weak.

“I don’t know yet buddy. Daddy and I are going to lunch tomorrow to talk about some things, so we’ll know more about it then. But even if we do, I don’t want you worrying about that okay? We will both love you the same amount, if not more, if things don’t work out between us, okay?” You assure him, resuming your motions along his hair.

He frowns, looking away for a moment. “I hope you guys make up. I want you to be together forever.”

“I know you do buddy. We’ll just have to see how it goes tomorrow. And you will be the first person to find out after our lunch okay? No one else will get to know before you, because you mean that much to the both of us,” you smile, standing from your spot and tucking him into bed. You lean in further, pressing your lips to his forehead briefly before turning towards the door. “Get some rest buddy.”

A yawn leaves his mouth as you turn, watching him flip onto his side with his back towards the door. You pull the door shut, taking a moment to close your eyes as your press your back to the wood. At the beginning of the night, you were still lost in your head, fighting through the different feelings trying to assert dominance in your decision to be with Eddie. But after hearing not only Steve talk you down and reassure you about the relationship you used to have with your husband, but also hearing your son share his support of your relationship with his father to continue on, you knew one important thing that would stick with you until the afternoon hour strikes tomorrow.

You know exactly how you felt, and exactly what you are going to do.

[macfrog]

just me over here thinking about reader having a favourite song and singing bits from it in front of joel constantly just to have him surprise her one night when theyre spontaneously slow dancing in the kitchen (where else amiright?) and he sings the lyrics softly to her… BESTIE I AM NOT OKAY

and to make it worse, he emphasizes certain words in the song to subtly let her know he thinks about her when he hears them I AM DONE RIP

BESTIE YOUR MINDDDD I SCREAMED FOR 5 MIN STRAIGHT BEFORE I WROTE THIS

[cowboy like me dbf x reader - 800 words of pure FLUFF below the cut sorrysorrysorry]

i feel like, as much as she’s a lil swiftie and whatever, one of her guilty pleasures is dad rock. her dad probably didn’t let her play her own stuff in the car growing up ‘cause he figured his stuff (marty robbins ew) > beyoncé, so she wound up liking a whole lot of that stuff. lotta queen, lotta eagles, all that. and she probably heard the likes of can’t fight this feeling by reo speedwagon as a kid and used to dream about when she’d meet someone who might love her enough to feel that way.

one day she’s at joel’s and she’s in the shower. it’s a sunday morning, she’s spent the night. he’s still laying in bed, sat up against the headboard. and he can hear her humming.

dude was literally alive when the song came out. he knows what it is. and he just sits with this dumb smile on his face ‘cause she’s graduated to quietly singing: even as i wander, i’m keeping you in sight.

n then she pushes the door open, towel around her body, probably twirls over to the foot of the bed still singing the words, and he just sits with his arms crossed, shoulders bouncing, chest vibrating with stifled laughter.

she’s like, c’mon, old man.

excuse me?

this is your era. sing with me, she pleads.

and she’s crawling up the bed to him, tilting her head and nananahing the guitar solo until she’s sat in his lap, his hands on her hips, watching her perform for him with what he reckons is more passion than even the band had.

she hums it when she’s following him around the grocery store, elbows on the handle of the cart, watching him doing all the heavy lifting. she sings it while they’re lying on his couch, both doing separate things but together, y’know? he can’t focus on the building plans he’s tryna read on his phone ‘cause she’s stuck singing the same bit on a loop while she flicks through netflix or something.

so then maybe one night the power goes out and they’re home alone. she raids his cupboards for candles; they sit in the kitchen and eat leftover pizza and drink cheap wine and wait for the lights to turn back on. and joel puts some playlist on his phone, sits it on the counter while they eat and talk and…whatever else you do during a power outage.

he gets up to go refill their glasses. she follows, sliding the empty pizza box onto the counter as pearl jam fades into silence. and then…the twinkly intro. the piano melody. the crooning bassline. she gasps. her jaw falls slack, huge beam spreads across her lips. eyebrows lift as high as they’ll go. n joel’s shoulders jerk with a laugh.

she takes his sleeve in her fist and pulls him into the middle of the kitchen, and he lets her, obviously. and she’s swaying, and his arms sit comfortably on her hips, wrists cross at the bottom of her spine. and he watches her with this little glint in his eye, the reflection of the candles and probably something more, just letting her sing to him.

you-really-gotta-sing-this-time-cmon, she says, squeezing it between the lines of the song. and i’m getting closer than i ever thought i might, she sings.

and she shuts her eyes, balls her fists and jerks them twice when the drums kick in, and joel snorts, leans in, lines his lips with hers until they’re, like, an inch apart, and they’re breathing the words to one another as they sway back and forth.

…and i can’t fight this feeling anymore, i’ve forgotten what i started fighting for…

her arms cross around his neck, and his forehead’s on hers, n she’s singing it’s time to bring this ship into the shore, and he sings back and throw away the oars forever, and they laugh because it’s so fucking corny, so sickly sweet, and neither of them care.

she lets him sing the second verse, mostly ‘cause she’s never heard him singing this song and never heard him sing so softly, like he’s doing it for only her to hear, and no one else. she kinda nuzzles her head into his neck and feels the bristle of his beard against her temple, his lil quiet drawl singing, it always seems that i’m following you, girl, ‘cause you take me to the places that alone i’d never find.

and it’s cute, and they’re so in love, and my chest hurts to think about them looking at one another as they sing the last fucking line, the lil oooohs, the lil saxophone notes. the dumb little grins on their dumb little faces.

yeah. what the heck, dude. i need an inhaler.

series masterlist | main masterlist

[moreespressoformydepresso]

I was thinking about your Pup time loop au and what if scenario where he wasn’t the only one looping. Like, what if Treech was also caught in the time loop - they’re both trying to save Lamina for different reasons.

Pup doesn’t realize Treech is also looping because he doesn’t like Treech (still viewing Treech as an obstacle to Lamina winning) and doesn’t pay him enough attention to any Not-Lamina-Tribute to notice Treech is doing things differently. Treech does realize because Pup starting to act differently every time is Very Obvious.

Maybe Treech tells Lamina he’s in a loop and it makes her try to get both of them out (of course, that doesn’t work, and Treech doesn’t tell her in the next loop because he doesn’t want to watch her die for him again).

(And the inevitable discovery that both of them are in a loop and begrudgingly working together until an eventual ✨friendship✨ because there’s only so many times you can redo the same week before warming up to the only other person who remembers.)

Genius

Pup only figured out Treech was looping after around 100 retries of about 300 or so? It takes a while to get the games cancelled in a week okay? And even then the first day of the games still starts with all the tributes alive.

Treech caught on by loop 3.

Actually, he noticed immediately that Pup was acting different, but chalked it up to him just not paying attention or being uncharitable the first time. Or maybe the butterfly effect is at play here? Well, the second time around he was paying attention. There is nothing he could’ve done to cause this. So yeah, he picked up on not being the only time traveller really quickly. However, he also caught on to Pup’s dislike of him and wasn’t about to open that can of worms if he’s gonna keep going back in time anyway. What’s the worst that can happen? Death? So Treech isn’t saying anything and Pup just straight up doesn’t realize, which causes quite the amount of shenanigans.

It’s pretty obvious they both want the same person to win (to Treech) so he tries very hard to use this to his advantage. It doesn’t work because Pup keeps changing up his strategy, but it’s gotta be effective at some point right? So he tries everything. Being violent to draw the other tributes’ attention away from Lamina, hiding like the first time but specifically to keep her safe, causing distractions whenever the pack starts approaching her, leaning very hard in the performer angle to get sponsors to help Lamina with, you name it. Sometimes he involves Lamina in planning, sometimes he keeps her out of it. Especially after that time she died for him in hopes of getting them both out. The performing one really makes Pup loathe him though. Something about “stealing” sponsors from Lamina? Ha! Jokes on this guy, Treech was gonna share anyway.

Then he slips up.

After weeks upon weeks of pure Hell, groveling and suffering and dying to get Lamina home and constantly failing, he breaks. Rambles about her deaths and the more notably horrible ones like Circ and Coral with the snakes (they almost always die of those stupid, horrible, disgusting snakes. At least they don’t remember, unlike him) or Bobbin’s bashed in head those few times he came across it. Less often as loops come and go, but still a horrifying sight. Once he gets those off his chest, his stupid mouth can’t quit and starts talking about his own deaths. The snakes (down his shirt, dragging him down, all over his body. Bites in his neck, in his legs, in every inch of his skin) and the trident and the pitchfork and the broken neck and the drones and the powder in his eyes and the cold and hunger and everything else. Later, he plays it off as just a nightmare he let get to his head. Luckily, she just hugs him. What sane person would jump to time travel as their first conclusion anyway?

Well, turns out fate ain’t on his side because Pup decides to try and separate the two in that exact loop. Lamina gets mad when he insists the two will get over each other just fine and shouts that Treech is her friend and she won’t abandon him. When he tries to convince her she cares more about him than he does her, she brings up the “nightmares” as proof that he’s worried sick. Which he is, and he did admittedly spend the most time breaking down over her deaths, but still. The one she told Pup about specifically is a little too recognizable for Pup to not notice, and three loops later he has the epiphany. And confronts Treech. Yay.

They have an argument that ends with a tenuous alliance once Treech finally manages to convince Pup they both want Lamina to win here. Despite this teamwork, the two remain frosty and uncomfortable with one another, mostly because Pup is still hardcore dehumanizing every tribute that isn’t Lamina. Though Treech doesn’t like being around more Capitol people either. He’s still figuring out how to feel about Vipsania. By now, he’s managed to admit to himself that aside from one loop where he murder-hobo’ed as many mentors as possible because the Capitol’s bullshit broke him, Vipsania always ends up caring about him. Kind of. She never really gets there, or if she does it happens during the games at which point it doesn’t matter because he’s already dead. Treech is a little too busy figuring out how to feel about that seeming change of heart to worry about Pup of all people. He’s going to die no matter what so it’s not like it matters.

Switching to Pup’s POV as he is the main character for this AU:

Finally, Lamina wins. Treech has to sacrifice himself and dies slowly for it to happen, but Pup can’t bring himself to care when Lamina is finally out and safe. The boy was gonna die anyway, it’s not like he matters all that much. Except Lamina isn’t happy or relieved or even numb. She’s inconsolable! Nothing he says helps, and if anything he’s making everything worse! And then he’s right back at the start of the week again. Treech… doesn’t talk to him. He already knows she won, and that it didn’t matter. He clings to Lamina, and for the first time… Pup actually sees him. Not just another tribute or an obstacle, but a kid. A terrified child who’s died over and over and over again, only to find out that it meant nothing. They don’t talk that loop. Treech doesn’t respond to anything he says. But the next time, Pup brings food for Lamina and Treech and talks to them both. Not about the games, but about them. And this unfortunate partnership becomes a bit of a camaraderie. Pup’s the only one that knows about the loops and he’s happy to sit on the other side of the bars, hugging the other boy as much as possible while he sobs his heart out about the horrors he lived through and about how much it hurt to die.

That’s when Pup really starts working to fix the problem, rather than the symptom. Losing a girl he cares for a symptom of the disease that is these horrific games, and Pup starts to plan. Treech can’t do much for now, so he lets the boy mentally pull himself together for a few loops while he collects info from his classmates on who would be willing to help him.

I’ll come back tomorrow or something to write down my thoughts on how this will conclude. Now I wanna write this lmao but idk if I should.

[hausofneptune]

[the astrology of pedro pascal] - soft mercury aspects (major) | mercury conjunct jupiter

hey y’all! in this series we’ll be covering major soft/positive aspects (conjunctions, sextiles, and trines) to pedro’s mercury. he doesn’t have any major hard mercury aspects outside of the square to his moon, or any minor positive aspects, but the minor hard aspects he has will be covered in an upcoming series, as well as the rest of the major and minor aspects to the rest of his planets and asteroids in his chart! i also want to note that when it comes to these aspects, they have to be examined through the lens of the entire chart, as they’re influenced by a myriad of factors within it.

disclaimers | masterlist | ask

mercury conjunct jupiter (within 6.8°)

in this aspect, the planetary bodies influence one another and their energies are amplified. with conjunctions, the energies can manifest in beneficial or disruptive ways depending on the planets in contact. in this case, we have two benefic (positively influenced) planets working together. mercury represents our mental processes, and the faculties of the mind. it governs how we communicate our thoughts and ideas as well as our intellect, and how we think and learn. jupiter is the traditional ruler of pisces and sagittarius, and is representative of wisdom, expansion, philosophy and theology. it’s also indicative of optimism and good luck, hence why traditional astrologers refer to it as the “great benefic.” 

with mercury conjunct jupiter, there is an insatiable hunger for expansive knowledge and understanding of one’s passions. they learn and absorb information with ease, and tend to be very expressive and enthusiastic about their personal philosophies. they have a tolerance of new ideas and seek to understand various viewpoints. they’re extremely opinionated, and may come off as “pretentious” or “preachy” at times, but at the root, they’re simply dreamers with a dedication to learning and passing on the information they’ve gathered. this can gift someone who otherwise has more challenging aspects in their chart, with a sense of confidence and optimism. 

those with this aspect tend to be drawn towards topics that deal with the advancement of humanity, and may find interest in being professors, preachers or missionaries, philanthropists, or humanitarian workers. they may also find themselves drawn towards the arts, and find success in creative avenues such as writing or performing. they’re eloquent speakers, and typically have a calm temperament that grants them the ability to diffuse rising disagreements between themselves and others. while these natives are open-minded and expansive thinkers, this attribute could work against them, as they could have a tendency to overlook the fine print. they may be overly-optimistic, and assume that details are something that work themselves out in the long run, resulting in them coming up short and potentially over-exaggerating their insight.

they may navigate ideas in an unorganized fashion, jumping from one thing to the next, and attempting to find connections between separate ideas and subjects. this can cause them to lose track of things not only in a cerebral context, but in their day to day lives as well. these natives would benefit from a set routine, as their inclination towards procrastinating may find them scattered and constantly misplacing their belongings. regardless, they have a knack for influencing others to explore ideas and theories beyond their range of thinking, and are typically well-respected by those around them. these natives also benefit from being able to naturally find opportunities before others. they tend to be sociable, warm, outgoing people, and as a result find ease in befriending people from different backgrounds. they find growth through traveling overseas to foreign countries and learning about various walks of life, and may even be attracted to people from other ethnicities or cultures. 

the signs the planets are in are also significant, in pedro’s case, his mercury is in pisces, and his jupiter is in aries. while mercury is considered in detriment in pisces, there’s a reason people with this placement excel as writers and poets. they tend to have a spiritual, romantic way of not only communicating, but thinking, and find ease in exploring what others would write off as immeasurable and illogical. on the flip side, jupiter in aries is an active, go-getting placement. these natives tend to be excitable, and impulsive in risky situations. they may struggle with restlessness, but can find success when they navigate towards their goals with a clear sense of direction.

in the context of this aspect, these natives have an innate understanding of spirituality and matters of the subconscious mind. they may find themselves drawn to occult studies such as astrology or tarot, and enjoy researching and studying psychology. their communication style may seem chaotic and evasive, but sentimental nonetheless. the energy from aries gives them the ignition to act on their desires, but effort is required to maintain their focus and keep them organized and on track. they find personal and spiritual expansion through traveling and hearing the stories of different people from across the world. 

ultimately, these individuals enjoy philosophizing and exploring subjects that resonate with them, as well as subjects that are unfamiliar to them. they’re typically gifted storytellers and writers, and have an entertaining quality about them that draws others in. they enjoy finding meaning in everyday, mundane life, and are typically very uplifting and motivating figures. 

as always, if anyone has any of the placements or aspects mentioned in this post i’d love to hear how it personally manifests in your own life and how it impacts your personality, or if anyone has anything to add in general feel free to reach out and let me know!

[magdaclaire]

a anna comes back from the empty and meets milf mary fic beginning (full of poetics and nonsense, as per usual)

a crowbar is pushed through the soft flesh of anna’s chest and for a moment, she is nine years old. she spits blood from her mouth and she remembers the very first time she thought she might be different from everyone else, blood in her mouth saying the pledge of allegiance, the inside of her cheek bitten at the sound of god in the voices of a dozen and a half children. under god, under god, under god, they say. there’s a crowbar in anna’s chest and god is her father, and god is dead, there’s nothing left of god to find. she pulls the crowbar from her chest and spits out the blood.

the moment passes. the blood washes from her mouth as her grace buttons her poor body back together. the body is never separate from the soul when your human, except for when it is. except for when the body isn’t you and you are not the body, and anna felt like that for a long time. of course, she had no idea then that she was without soul, without some deeply essential self because of what she had done. she thought she would feel better if she tried cutting her hair short. she didn’t get to keep her first body, her bastion of normalcy, as fragile as it was, she didn’t get to keep it long enough to try short hair out. she’d always wondered what it was like to be the butch girls who went to her college, camped out at the library in big boots and vests, she always wondered what it was like to know yourself like that.

michael snuffs her out like a match light, tears her from a mortal coil that angels have barely been aware of for millennia upon millennia, billions of years, and in this moment, she thinks of nothing but her big brother. when each of the angels of her brood had been taken to be trained by the archangels, she was taken by michael. he had led her through that initial childhood as a shepherd, had spread her wings for her and taught her to use them as weapons. her memory of him is nearly as rich as her memory of richard milton, his hands guiding her as she learned to ride a bike, the careful way he looked over her math homework, even when she got so far as fifteen, rocking back and forth on her feet.

richard milton is dead because of her, and there’s nothing she can do to change that. she floats in a deep, black space and no one says anything; it’s not until castiel arrives (not for his first stay) that she realizes they’re all meant to be asleep. castiel yells and screams and aims to wake the dead, aims to wake someone, and yet still anna lingered. however castiel struck his bargain, however he made his way from this place with no name, anna barely heard of it before he was off and gone again, always gone again. something in anna sits awake, truly awake, at the idea of being able to leave. leave? leave this place with all of her brothers and sisters she can feel sleeping around her, leave this place when there must hardly be any angels left?

the place without a name opens a door for her. it hovers above anna for a moment, an hour, a day, a nameless performance of time, before anna finds herself above it, and then falling through it. the ground rises up to meet her before she’s ready to find it, her joints aching as she collides with the soil. her joints ache. they did when she was still graceless, when all she had was a body and the lack of grace or soul, when she was empty straight to her fingerbones. now, there is a humming within her without grace, this music she can feel thrumming through the floorboards of her mind. this might be what having a soul feels like. anna hardly has any idea.

a shotgun loading clicks beside anna’s head. what a terrible time to find out that one is becoming human. she tilts her head up to find mary winchester, much older than when she had last seen her, pointing a loaded gun at the side of her head.

“where the fuck did you come from?”

[viscountessevie]

Something There Vignette #2 - The Carriage

A/N: Welcome back to all who have been following this story aka my besties who have been either helping me beta reading and editing this with me or those just along for the ride reading snippets and listening to me ramble - here’s a second part of Chapter 1! [Taglist in the notes!]

Those who are new: Hello there! This is a fanfic for Lord Cassidy from Mr. Malcolm’s List and since he didn’t get a love interest in the film and is PRIME HR hero material, I gave him one! Her name is Lady Persephone Parker-Greens and you can read all about her in the links below. This is a childhood best friends to lovers story with marriage of convenience and a touch of forbidden romance. 

Masterlist | Vignette #1 | Vignette #3 

Yall read The Waltz and came back? Okay so some context, after the waltz they are both ambushed by other suitors and debs respectively and it’s just a filler scene that was too boring to post but probably will sharpen it up by the time I post the fic. The following vignette takes place after their separation at the Ball and they are on their way home together since they’re neighbours. Happy Reading yall!! [Added a watermark to my edit this time! I mean this is a very niche edit but if anyone does want to share - please let me know beforehand but reblogs are the most appreciated! Thank you] 

As they left Amberton Manor, Sephy started to spring back to life. She could be the life of the party if she pleased and the occasion called for it. However, there was a guarded wall up with her performances in the Ton. If one knew where to look. Cassie knew. Now, as she pulled herself to his side, she allowed herself to relax in his presence. This is when the real fun began. 

"There she is." He chuckled, his arm around her waist squeezing her playfully closer to him. They were so close she could feel the vibrations of his laugh against her own body. "I could have sworn you were about to put yourself to bed in the middle of the ballroom floor after Dick Chumley tried to engage you a second time." 

Finally feeling free from prying eyes, she produced her fan hanging from her wrist and delivered a quick swat against his chest. "I would never. I will have you know, I am the perfect debutante" She gasped dramatically before hitting him again, lightly this time. "And that was for ignoring me while talking to Lady Feather."

"Lady Feather? You're slipping tonight, my dear Sephy." He teased and she couldn't help but smile at the endearment. It was just like any other night of theirs so why did it feel different? She shook her head to settle herself as they reached her carriage. 

"Oh, I know exactly what her name was. It was Lady Gwyneth. She had far too many feathers, I'm surprised your nose was not aggravated." They left the conversation there as Cassie excused himself for a moment, running over to his valet and carriage. Most likely to brief that he'll be travelling with her tonight and to follow them. 

She was opening the door to let herself in when he jogged back and swatted her hand away. Holding out his hand to guide her in, he opened the door for her. Sephy clasped his hand grateful and climbed in. Once she situated herself comfortably, she tugged him in. They both underestimated her strength of her pull as he tumbled inside and landed squarely on top of her. 

She fell back onto the seat and their bodies pressed against each other under his weight. This time it did not feel as alarming as it did in the ballroom. Sephy was starting to enjoy being pressed up against Cassie. Before he could put out his arms to stop himself from crushing her, their faces came close together and their lips crashed into each other. Fire was the only thought that ran through her mind. It was the only way to describe how she felt having his lips on hers. Every part of her was set aflame. 

The initial shock wore off a moment later and Cassie pulled back. He stared earnestly into her eyes, silently asking Sephy for permission to continue. They both knew their whole night had been building up to this. The waltz had been the turning point for them both, most of all for Sephy who was seeing Cassie in a new light. Oh, it was maddening how desperately she wanted to have him kiss her again. 

Persephone didn’t need a moment to think before nodding enthusiastically. Tilting her head up, she pressed her lips against his. She let herself melt into the kiss. Her hands instinctively found his hair, her fingers tangling themselves through his thick locks while Cassie’s own hands came to cradle her head gently. Her fingers trailed down to stroke the nape of his neck, earning her a moan from him. She smiled satisfied against his lips as she brought her hands down to his lapels to tug him closer to her. They shifted their position so their legs could slot perfectly together. With one hand running through her hair, Cassie slid the other down the curve of her neck - letting her shiver in the wake of his touch before cupping her breast through her dress. His thumb rubbing against the hard pebble of her nipple, causing her to whimper into his mouth. 

For those few minutes, they forgot themselves. They were completely wrapped up in each other, oblivious to the world outside. Then the door closed behind them, the noise startled the two. Persephone swore she jumped out of her skin while Cassie jumped away from her, landing on the seat across from her. 

She used to always adore how well she could read him and how expressive he could be. Tonight, it felt like a curse. It was crystal clear how he felt about the kiss. Watching him carefully, she could pick out his furrowed eyebrows, eyes trained to the ground - he wouldn’t even look at her - and it had brought out his worst habit: chewing his lip to the point of drawing blood. She did take pride in how flushed he was from the kiss with his once perfectly styled hair all mussed up and swollen lips she was sure she could spend a lifetime kissing. Before she could part her lips to speak, he spoke first. He was stammering and fidgeting with nerves. Whatever was he nervous about? 

“Sephy - Persephone, I apologise. That was highly inappropriate and… I shouldn’t have done that. It-it shouldn’t have gone that far. Good God, I compromised you.” He covered his hands over his mouth. She knew he was one for theatrics but this was too dramatic, even for her taste. 

“Thank you for the delightfully astute observation, Caswell.” She said dryly, rolling her eyes at him. She was upset that ‘compromising her’ seemed to be his main priority. She hated that he seemed to regret what just happened and so she deflected. If he hated it, then she was going to pretend she didn’t care for it. “It was just a kiss, you do not have to get your breeches in a twist.”

“How are you so cavalier about this? I stole your virtue!” He dropped his head into his hands and let out a long groan. She could only glare at him with mild annoyance. With his dramatics, she couldn’t even enjoy how much she liked being ‘compromised’ in his words.  “You didn’t steal anything, for Christ’s sake!” She leaned over to take his hands in hers. He slowly lifted his head up and finally looked her in the eye. She rubbed soothing circles on his hand while she reached out to caress his face and ran her fingers through his hair gently. He slowly started to calm down.  “And I’m cavalier about this because it’s within our discretion, Cassie. It never happened if we don’t say anything.” She assured him. It hurt her to say it, but it was true. She loved him too much as a best friend to trap him into a marriage over a silly kiss that he certainly seemed to have hated. 

“I am not going to lie to your parents, Persephone.” She did not care for the way he hissed her name and dropped her hands from his. “I did compromise you and I will be asking your parents’ permission for your hand in marriage the moment we get off this carriage.” He insisted honourably. He was so earnest about it all, she couldn’t hate him for it. What she did hate however was the finality in which he said it. She narrowed her eyes at him, staring him down with a glare usually directed at others for misstepping but he knew it all too well. 

“Marriage?! Please tell me this is one of your jokes, Cassie. I assure you it is absolutely not funny.” Her tone was incredibly flat. The seriousness in his eyes told her exactly what she needed to know. She crossed her arms and stared hard at him.  “Does your future bride get any say in the matter?” Her sharp and sarcastic tone was giving him whiplash. His eyes flashed and she could tell he was wounded. She had pushed her tone a little too far - making a mockery of his proposition by calling herself his bride. Nevertheless, she steeled herself and kept staring until he answered her. 

“It’s the honourable thing to do, dearest and were you not just complaining days ago that you were already tired of the season and wanted a husband to fall into your lap? Well, here I am.” He grinned up at her. Now it was his turn to reach out and laced her fingers in his. 

Shaking her head, she started to re-evaluate how her life had come to this. She had said that. Irony truly was a cruel mistress. Her thumb dragged across his as she gazed down contemplating at the sight. Who wouldn’t want to be married to their best friend? It was not as if she had never considered the thought of marrying him before. She was not one to be fussy about her marriage built on love. She knew exactly the kind of world she was born into. Marriage was a transaction and the safety net of the next chapter in a woman’s life. If one were to be rather pessimistic, it has been said that marriage was a woman’s legal death. She knew it would not be that awful with Cassie. Yet she knew if she allowed this, she would be robbing him of actual love. She knew he wanted a love match. He always has, ever since they were children. He was the dreamer and she was the practical one. 

“No, Cassie, I will not be robbing you of your independence. And aren't you supposed to be upset that you've been ensnared by the claws of matrimony?”  “Must you always forget, Sephy? I’m not like them - you know me better than that.” “Why are you so eager? We’re not in love.” She shot back.

Before he could answer, the carriage came to a stop. He huffed, "All this bickering when I could have been getting better acquainted with my bride." His eyes twinkled at the comment as he leaned in close to her. His eyes dropped to her lips for the briefest of moments. She glared at him when she realised he was teasing her. He never knew how to be serious, could he? 

His wit was one of the things she enjoyed most about him. Tonight, it made her want to strangle him. Just as she was about to protest, the carriage door opened and her mask came on. She looked to him with pure adoration and was all smiles as Footman Jack helped her from the carriage. Forging forward first, a good distance was kept between them that no one but Cassie would be none the wiser to. Once they reached her front door, she spun on her heel to face him. 

"I trust you'll keep our discretion tonight to yourself. Good night, Lord Cassidy." She gave him a cold curtsey and left him wondering where it all went wrong.  "May I at least walk you to your room?" He hurried to catch up with her and gave her a pleading look. She never could say no to him. She nodded slowly, not trusting herself to say anything else. 

The exhaustion of the day was weighing on her. Sensing this, he shuffled closer to offer up his shoulder to lean on. Old habits die hard and Persephone laid her head against his shoulder as he guided their way to her room. Breathing came easier when her parents were nowhere to be seen lounging in the drawing room. She knew Cassie well enough to know that he would have somehow let it slip to her parents about their indiscretion. It was an uncomfortable silence on the walk to her room. She absolutely despised it. This is exactly why she never let the thought of marrying Cassie go beyond considerations. All superficial attractions did was ruin friendships. Theirs had long transcended a friendship, they had a deep lifelong bond that couldn’t be compared to anything else. She wouldn’t trade it for anything else, not even a marriage based on lust with him. It was simply not worth it. 

When they finally reached the threshold of her room, Cassie was the first one to  break the silence. “I truly am sorry for tonight, Sephy.”

She couldn’t fathom what was so horrible and regretful about the kiss that he had to be sorry. She may not want to marry him because he felt pressured to do so but she did not regret that kiss. Not even a little bit, not even at all. It made her want to scream desperately, “I’m not!” at him but she was far too tired to muster the energy. All she could do was nod mutely. 

“Promise me you will not tell my parents about tonight?” She pleaded softly - they would without a doubt have the two of them be married before the month’s end. The idea of Cassie resenting her later in their lives for trapping him in a loveless marriage broke her heart. There could be love in their marriage, just not the one he wanted. 

He dipped his head in affirmation, silent and deep in his thoughts. She wished he would tell her exactly what was wrong. While they prided themselves on knowing what was wrong with the other most days, they could not read each other’s mind. This certainly was uncharted territory for the both of them. Sephy was so sure he was going to turn and walk away without a friendly goodbye when he took a breath. She watched him intently, unsure of his next course of action.

“Sephy…” He started to fidget with his hands as he always does when he was nervous, which was most of the time. She took a step closer to him and clasped his hands in hers.  “Yes?” Looking up at him, her eyes were gentle and encouraging. You can tell me anything, was the unspoken reminder. He managed a small smile.  “Would you consider being courted by me? We would not have to marry, however it would give us a chance to explore a romantic attachment.” 

The hope that filled his blue blue eyes made her heart ache. She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t break his heart. She swallowed every one of her protests and slowly inclined her head. 

“May I have some time to think about it? It’s been quite the night, Cassie.” She laughed softly, attempting to lighten the dark mood that had been cast upon them. His lips tilted up to match her laugh but it didn’t quite reach his eyes like it always does. 

“Of course.” He stepped close to her and pressed his lips against her forehead. “Have a good night, dear Sephy.” 

Persephone had closed her eyes when he kissed her forehead, allowing the moment to wash over her. When she opened them, Cassie was gone. 

[scrumpledorph-writes]

Koben’s Requisition (Shopping Trip)

I

My wounds have had long enough to heal. Left arm is still a little tender, but I don’t think I can bear sitting around doing nothing all day again. Already deviated from my sleeping schedule by fifteen minutes last night. I should go scope out the landscape around here, pick up a few essentials while I do it: a change of clothes, a spare blaster, maybe some thermal weave if I can manage that discreetly. Date night tomorrow too; so I should get a second change of clothes. A nice one.

No getting around wearing the armor into town again. As much as it draws attention, it at least gives people the proper impression. Not much difference between a body glove and a cat suit to a civilian eye, and just the thought of being propositioned has me recalling all the practice I had on how to snap a wrist. I don’t think the blood would wash out if someone tried to perform an unannounced physical inspection. The blaster rifle should probably stay home though.

Only twenty minutes across the flats to town, this speeder performs exceptionally far above the standard set by all the taxi speeders I’ve been calling. Could be made with illegal parts, or stolen Imperial tech. If that’s the case, somebody will come looking for it. They likely wouldn’t be expecting anyone to put up a fight, and their body wouldn’t last more than a few days on the sands – scouring winds for the flesh, scavengers for the bones, but that would leave a loose thread for whoever sent them. They’d send a bigger force to follow up, one of them might report back, and I’d be left looking for another little nothing planet to start all over on, alone.

I should have this thing inspected. Brayli’s a speeder mechanic, but I don’t know if it would offend her to blend her work and private life, even if I offer to pay. She probably wants to get away from work when we’re together. I could find another mechanic, but then she’d wonder why I didn’t bring it to her; if I don’t think she’s a good enough mechanic to do the job. Maybe I should bring it in now, while we’re not on a date and she’s a speeder mechanic first. Just bring in the speeder I stole off a bounty target, I’m sure that won’t cause any problems. Stupid; bad idea.

Think about it later, stick to the plan for the day so I can at least get something important done. Blaster first, it’s the easiest to carry around. Should just assume anything I can find around here is illegal, so who looks like the most credible illegal dealer? Is that a squadron of Jawas running a stall out of a speeder truck? Never seen that before. They at least probably stole it first hand, so I’d be getting it second hand, which beats third or fourth from any of the rest of these shops. They’re looking at me expectantly—too bad I don’t speak Jawa.

‘Hey miss! You in the suit! Were you hoping to do business with my fine companions?’ Long loose coat, loping posture, smile too wide for his head, voice like a tread on gravel. Shifty, probably a conman. Unfortunately my best bet. ‘I was.’ ‘Ah, but you don’t speak Jawa do you?’ ‘No.’ ‘Ah that’s alright my friend, few people do.’ He’s trying to put his arm around me. Too friendly. Firm hand on the wrist, firmer shake of the head. ‘Ah, straight to business with you, I can respect that.’ He’d better. ‘So, what is it you’re in the market for?’

‘Blaster pistol. Highest power you have. Discretion is no concern.’ ‘Highest power you say? I hope you have your papers.’ He’s laughing, slapping two of his four spindly hands against two of his twig like knees. Trying to draw me in, establish a connection he can exploit. ‘I don’t.’

He’s standing up straight now, but with how crooked everything else about him is it makes him look off balance. ‘Ah ha, well, that’s no matter. Only a joke. Please, feel free to browse. We keep the batteries stored separately, so by all means inspect the merchandise, give the triggers a test squeeze or two.’

Surplus, worn out, stripped, knockoff. I should have expected none of these would meet any official standards. Good thing I carry a pocket tool. There might be one good blaster spread across this entire inventory. ‘Hey hey, whoa lady, what do you think you’re doing?!’ He’s spineless, maybe literally; push a little harder and he’ll fold.

‘You claim to sell blasters. These aren’t blasters, they’re piles of scrap. Most of your customers won’t know the difference until it kills them, but if you cared about that you wouldn’t be selling them.’ Guilt. Not the guilt of knowing his shoddy goods have killed his customers, but of knowing he’s been caught. ‘Let me pull a few of these apart, put together a complete, functional blaster, pay you for the parts since I’ll be handling all the work – then you can put the rest back together and get back to scamming people.’ His face looks more red than an imperial saber and pressurized as a grenade.

‘Two thousand credits for the privilege of picking and choosing.’ ‘A good heavy blaster is worth seven hundred new; five hundred and fifty for your secondhand wares.’ ‘That’s in the core worlds where you can get one made easily, fifteen hundred for the import fee.’ ‘Your Jawa partners stole these off corpses, I can see the kill tallies carved into some of them. Seven hundred and fifty.’ ‘And they risked their lives getting to them before the Tuscan raiders! Twelve fifty.’ ‘Nine hundred and I’ll put the ones I have to take apart back together myself.’ ‘One thousand for insulting the quality of my wares!’ ‘Done.’ Emperor that was exhausting. Used to be able to just serve up a writ of requisition to commandeer things like this. Or arrest the vendor.

I can’t believe it took two hours of sifting through and comparing their whole stock, but I finally have an acceptable blaster. Thick grip, long barrel, wide firing chambers, compact sight. Imperial steel through and through, none of those ornamental engraved wood or softer metal inlays that are popular with civilians. Just a needless point of failure. Reminds me of my academy days, stripping and reassembling a blaster over and over until I could do it with my eyes closed and an alarm siren wailing. Now I just need a holster and some practice shots to get used to the weight.

‘Finished. I’ll take five batteries for it. I’m done haggling for the day, and I know how much a battery costs. Twenty five credits per unit.’ He seems as fed up with me as I am with him, he’s not even feeding me excuses any more.

‘Say, not bad work you did putting these back together. One connoisseur of fine weapons to another, perhaps my wares may not be of the highest quality on the maintenance side of things. That’s why I have to sell them on the street. How would you be interested in a business proposition?’ Oh, he stopped haggling so he could get on my good side. How shrewd. Still, bounty work is inconsistent even under the best conditions. A fallback option wouldn’t hurt.

‘I have other avenues of employment, and I only work freelance. Whatever you’re suggesting would likely be bottom priority. If you’re still interested, keep talking.’ ‘I’m sure you noticed a lot of the problem with these blasters is wear and tear. Jawas are great at finding things and taking them apart, but not quite so good at putting them back together in good working order. How would you like to be my refurbishing specialist? Your blaster’s looking great, and all you had was a pocket tool and a folding table on the street. With a proper workbench and suite of tools, like the ones I’ve got at my workshop, you could probably get these good enough for the Troops!’ Delusions of grandeur. I don’t have time to get wrapped up in some small time scheme.

‘So you can peddle them to passersby? Sounds like wasted effort. The Empire has industrial grade contracts.’ ‘Ah that may be true my friend-’ ‘We aren’t friends.’ ‘-My potential business partner; but the local gangs are always looking to expand, and that means they always need new blasters.’ High quality blasters in the hands of the local gangs means higher quality blasters being pointed at me on the job.

‘Do you think I wear this armor because it’s comfortable?-’ It actually is, the body glove was vacuum contoured perfectly to my body, with all the plates machined to match. I used to sleep in it on long operations, just to be safe. But that would undermine my argument. ‘-My primary earner is bounty work. Being shot at by military grade blasters already sounds like a losing proposition, knowing I’m the reason they have them would just be insulting.’ ‘Mm. I understand. Take my comm number. If you ever change your mind, let me know.’ Doubt I’d ever make enough off of this to be able to stop doing bounty work, but fine.

II

That ate up too much of the morning. I was hoping to take a shuttle to the system capital early so I could beat the commute, no way I’d find anything approaching fancy on this planet, but at this time of morning there might as well be a blockade on intra-system traffic. Guess I can pick up those civilian clothes now.

I’m a little surprised to see she has an actual building to operate out of, but the desert winds aren’t kind to lighter fabrics so she must get a lot of repeat customers. Half filled racks of disparate pieces of clothing. A lot more variety than I’m used to. Could branch out from imperial black on imperial black. Not a lot in my size though.

That coat looks reliable, nerf leather lasts almost as long as plastoid. Still has most of its color, looks about my size. ‘Do you have anywhere I could try things on?’ A single disinterested finger from the other side of a holovid. Fine by me, I’ve been marketed to enough today. Over the shoulder and keep looking. Slim pickings for pants, and cloaks aren’t much my thing. Always get worried that there’s nothing under them whenever I see someone wearing one, or worse: that they’re hiding a lightsaber.

One pair of denym pants that looks like it could fit around my thighs. Another durable bit of civilian wear – no reason to compromise on that principle just because I’m stepping out of my armor. A shame it looks like it just came in from a few years sitting out in the suns, but it should do.

Those are some nice boots. Sturdy, reinforced worker’s wear. Maybe I can keep a little black in my wardrobe. The Empire puts everyone in it for a reason, right? Slimming, obscures your silhouette, muffles features. They have a nice clack when I tap the toes, could probably stop a blade if it really came down to it. Vibro-blade would probably still go through them like paper, but normal people take that risk every day and most of them make it out okay.

A nice looking holster. It looks new—brand new; too new. Imperial black, with a belt loop to fit any size and shape of blaster pistol. This is an officer’s holster. What would an officer be doing this far out? Hopefully not looking for me, and if so, hopefully this was picked off their corpse. Doubt the girl behind the counter verifies her sources. I’d have no choice but to buy it just to destroy it; the fact that it fits my blaster well is just a bonus.

This shirt might have been imperial black at some point; another casualty of the triplicate suns. Really need to consider moving to a system with fewer of those. A softer retirement than most imperial uniforms get though; no cuts or burns. It’s also the only shirt here that can fit over my shoulders, so I don’t have a choice.

I’m not sure I like civilian clothes. Even in the regular Storm Corps the glove was vacuum fitted despite the plates being mass produced, but after ten years of custom machined Purge Corps plates contoured to my musculature, these generically cut fabrics feel like they’re strangling me. I can feel the stitches on the jacket strain if I deviate too far from rest, not to mention the cuffs hanging up on my elbows. The pants would probably rip wide open if I had to sprint or lunge at something, even a crouch feels like I’m pushing my luck. The shirt has the opposite problem – loose fitted to the point of bunching and folding under the jacket so badly I’m constantly pulling on the collar to keep it facing straight. Boots and holster fit well though.

Fifty credits for it all, not a single word from the shopkeeper. One of the better interactions I’ve ever had with one. Easier to carry it around than my armor, so I guess I’ll have to head back home and change into it before I head off world. Less likely to get stolen if I leave it in my speeder too. Surely the people around here aren’t that desperate.

I doubt the morning rush has finished yet. The less time I can spend on a crowded ship the better. Maybe I can ask Vranki to order me in that sheet of thermal weave, a crime boss is sure to understand the value of discretion. If she’s halfway competent it should be no problem to source, and if not I should probably start looking for another employer.

‘Hey Trooper. Wish you chose a different code name, kind of confusing when I have to call out regular troopers.’ Good to see he remembers me, I think it’s a faux pas to disarm someone two times. ‘I’ve spent so long being called that I couldn’t think of anything else.’ Not a lot behind the eyes in that nod he’s giving me. ‘Nice blaster by the way! Where’d you get it—I’ve been thinking of upgrading. Just in case a fire fight ever breaks out, y’know? Can barely hit a bottle past ten feet with this thing.’

‘I had to splice together six blasters to make this one.’ ‘Oh no way, that’s crazy. Could you take a look at mine? Maybe it’s just rusty or something.’ Hard to picture this guy ever being a serious threat no matter how good a blaster he has. No rattling, no visible wear and tear. Likely doesn’t get fired often enough for that. Even a pretty good scope, but it’s completely warped. ‘Everything’s fine but the sight, what happened? Did it get run over, dropped off a roof?’ ‘That’s the bit I use to crack open beers when a shift is dragging on.’ Glad I’m wearing my helmet so the disgust on my face can’t sour our working relationship. ‘Don’t do that.’

Nothing seems to change much around here. Still dark, loud, and smoky: all problems my helmet solves. Surprised Vranki has time to see me, I figured there would be a lot more overhead on running a gang. A lot of it must handle itself now that I give it a second thought though: addicts just need some space to dissociate, and I’ve never seen someone paying for sex unhappily. The problem solving flow chart is probably a lot more linear without having to worry about court reprimands or public scandals—just use violence until the problem is gone.

‘Ah, Trooper! Glad to see you up back up and walking without that nasty limp. You here for work, or did you need a little help unwinding?’ ‘Neither ma’am. I would like to make use of your front companies if possible.’ ‘This isn’t Coruscant, why would I need to bother with those? Everybody in town knows who I am and what I do, and the only people who’ve given me trouble over it so far are people trying to compete.’ That’s a worryingly lax attitude, but the sooner I restore my armor’s integrity the better.

‘I need a sheet of thermal weave, but I don’t want my name on the purchase. Could I proxy it through you?’ ‘Of course! Normally that sort of business would start running into exorbitant fees, extortion if I’m being honest with you—woman to woman; but since we’re professional associates I’ll let you off with just a ten percent surcharge. I’m still running a business after all.’ ‘Fine. Give me the price as soon as you have it. If it’s too much, give me a target to make up the difference.’ ‘Oh don’t worry, I have no shortage of work for you if it comes to that. I should have a quote for you by the end of the day, not like it’s illegal or anything. Has anyone ever told you you’re paranoid, dear?’ I doubt it would be worth explaining how criminal activity looks from the enforcing side of the law. The Empire has a loose grip out here, but it tightens every day.

Suns are out in earnest now, traffic should have broken up. Just need to stow the armor at home and head to the spaceport. Things have been happening fast enough lately that I’ll likely be home by the time I’ve parsed them all in a sitrep. Vranki raises a lot of red flags – she makes half the rookie mistakes I spent seven years busting people on, and seems proud of it. She’s only gotten big because there’s no law out here to crack down on her, but once there is her operation is done. I need to not be a part of it by then. There’s no such thing as an honorable discharge from a crime boss’ service, so I might need to ingratiate myself to someone else more discreet and help with a hostile takeover. Should take my next contract from someone else too, better not to establish a pattern before breaking it.

Situation at home is appreciably unchanged. Looks like the wind rustled the shutters though, wish those stayed shut. Better not to invite any prying eyes or opportunistic scavengers in, even this far from town. Armor’s safely tucked in the alcove, casual clothes are on, time to go.

III

Honestly glad there’s no good tailors on Doobinth, I could use an afternoon away from this planet. Waterproofing is easy, but sand infiltrates every crevice in a piece of gear better than any assassin I’ve ever worked with. Maybe I can take Brayli off world for a date some time. I hear the capital is interesting. Not nice, considering it’s a hyper dense ball of iron that cooks you alive if you leave the arcologies—with rivers of mercury flowing across a lot of the surface, but apparently there are some breath taking views. I can’t even imagine how it got chosen to be the capital though.

Hang on a second: why does it smell like exhaust inside the ship, and why does it make me feel...nice? Better look around, just to be sure there’s no leak. It seems to be coming from that woman over there. That Nautolan with pink skin and tight coveralls who needs two seats. What’s Brayli doing on this shuttle? Should I talk to her? If she sees me I have to, it’s not nearly loud enough to pretend I didn’t notice her. We aren’t scheduled for a date until tomorrow though, she probably wants to be alone. Likely left the planet to get a break from me, I shouldn’t be too pushy. Just leave her alone.

‘Hey Koben, is that you?’ Oh, okay, never mind, impromptu short date. Public transportation through the void of space is romantic, right? It doesn’t matter, you need to get up and use your legs to walk over to her so you aren’t shouting across the cabin. ‘Oh, hey Brayli, it’s good to see you! I just happened to be heading to Saraz myself for some-’ Don’t ruin the surprise by telling her you’re going to spend a sizable chunk of your blood money on a dress from a tailor you’ve only heard about on the HoloNet; that would look stupid for two reasons. ‘-sightseeing.’ ‘Lucky you. Some oil baron who only drops by for the winter wants me to supe up his speeder so he can blast across the dunes, and the folks who make the parts for it don’t deliver. Just my luck, huh sugar?’

A pet name. A friendly elbow. That soft, warm laugh she does. How do I respond. Do I put my arm around her? Kiss her? Not in public, surely that’s too far too fast. I’ve been in situations like this before. This is a tightrope, she’s testing you. Fall and it all ends once we land. I recognized it, that’s the first part of the test, now all I have to do is figure out the answer.

‘You alright? You look a little pale, the shuttle making you sick?’ ‘No! I’m fine! I’m sorry. You’re very unlucky. I hope those parts are easy to transport.’ Feels like I just got hit by a speeder. ‘It’s just a few little nuts and bolts. The kind that are just a tiny bit off from industry standard so they can sell you replacements.’ A second part of the test, breadth of knowledge review, I can handle this.

‘Oh! I know what you mean, blasters have that problem all the time. The Empire published standard dimensions for chamber dimensions, seal sizes, firing power outputs, every characteristic that could possibly be regulated, because practically every culture had their own informal standards. Steep fines for intentional propagation of non-regulation part dimensions. The reason they do it is because they need to be able to requisition replacement parts from as many potential sources as possible, for when troopers are on long field operations and left cut off from official support lines. Of course, with how many blasters are rarely used, and passed down from father to son for generations in particularly egregious cases, there’s still quite a sizable market for unlicensed blaster parts. This one here I actually spent an hour just this morning putting together because of how many parts felt like they fit, but started to squeak or jostle upon further inspection. A lot of people think that they can get by with a fit that’s close enough, but with how much stress is placed on a blaster during use, the best result is that your blaster falls apart on you, and the worst is that it explodes in your hand.’ That should be sufficient.

She’s laughing again, and now our thighs are touching. There’s ample space for them not to be if she wanted, which must mean I passed. No other place for it now, so it’s safe to put my arm around her. This is nice. I hope the transport stalls out.

‘Wow, and here I thought troopers just fired blasters. I’m starting to think you’re secretly an engineer just trying to impress me with all that trooper talk.’ Teasing. Lighthearted teasing, I remember this from my academy days. ‘How do you think I got the armor?’ ‘Made it yourself in a workshop. It only looks real; the plates are rusty sheet metal you pulled off a speeder and painted up pretty. I could probably snap chunks off of ‘em!’ She’s grinning, and so am I. I hadn’t realized.

‘No way to prove that now, since I left the suit at home. Can’t risk depressurization with some sharpshooting, and there’s no floor space to spar a few rounds.’ She’s trying to lean in close, but her head barely reaches up past my chest. ‘Oh don’t worry, I’ve got the perfect spot to spar a few rounds at home.’ Now would be a good time to cross my legs, just to be safe while that image runs through my head. ‘Haha, yeah, well—I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it until we get around to that.’

Transport just arrived. I don’t want to get up yet, and neither does she. ‘See you tomorrow night?’ ‘Of course. Oh, nice new duds by the way – I’d been meaning to say. You finally get tired of catching heat stroke in that suit?’ No time to explain how sophisticated the temperature regulation is, only time to smile and laugh. All the time in the galaxy for that. ‘I got tired of having to wipe the sand out of the cracks every night.’ ‘Maybe you’ll get used to desert living yet. Shuttle’s just about empty, should probably head out, catch a taxi before they’re all snapped up. Bye sugar.’

IV

Hard to believe this place is in the same system as Doobinth. Everything’s bright, clean, crowded, and loud. It has its charms, but I’ve been out of big cities long enough I think I’m starting to prefer wide open stretches of nothing. This place looks surprisingly barren for a clothing shop. Figured there would be a lot more on display, but all they have is fabric samples. ‘Good afternoon madame, welcome to my humble boutique. How can I assist you on this fine day?’ His voice is coming out fast and nasal, wonder if it has to do with how much neck it has to traverse. Not used to looking up at people.

‘I have a date tomorrow and need a nice dress.’ ‘But of course, a trifling matter.’ ‘I don’t see any to try on.’ ‘Oh no my dear, you do not -try on- art! Everything we Kaminoans create is art, and art must be made bespoke, one of a kind, by and for those whose ambition wills it into being. Please remove your jacket; my droids will take your measurements and then we may begin holo-projecting potential designs over you.’

All of these designs look awful. My shoulders keep jutting out, my waist is a straight vertical line, and all these silky smooth fabrics just draw attention to how cracked and worn my skin is. I’m stupid, this is stupid. Dresses are for women with the luxury of sitting in a temperature controlled office all shift and taking monthly salon trips. Ones who’ve never had to practice knife fighting or crawl through suppressive fire. Real women.

I’m crying. Haven’t cried once since the Empire took me in, and now I’m crying because I don’t look good in a dress I could never have imagined affording until now anyway. What a joke. ‘Oh please do not cry madame. What troubles you?’ ‘I don’t think a dress is for me. I’ll be on my way.’ I guess she’ll have to be satisfied with these clothes.

‘Oh you must not go! In all my years I have never had the pleasure of working with one such as yourself!’ ‘Someone built like a slab of wrought iron?’ He looks offended. Don’t know how he has the gall to be the one offended here, but that’s self proclaimed “artists” I suppose. ‘That is how you think of yourself madame? Do not say such things!’ I’ve spent the better part of my life taking orders, but a scrawny seamster is a step too far.

‘And why shouldn’t I?! I could go to Coruscant with more credits than I’ll ever see and still not find a tailor who can make me look pretty!’ ‘You would not, that is true, but that is because you would be looking on Coruscant. That is a planet of high society, a world where there is no need for one to hone one’s body. Within those confines of course there would be nobody who would know what to do with a specimen of your caliber.’ That makes a nonzero amount of sense.

‘What is my caliber then, how would you dress me?’ ‘Dry your tears madame—whilst I tell you all I could see from the moment you walked into my shop. Your physique is sublime: a sculpted, chiselled testament to the endurance of the natural form. This could be the result of costly bodily sculpting technology, that is perhaps true, but such technology is unheard of by anyone living this far from the core worlds. An employer of such methods would have no reason to visit my establishment, and thus you must possess a physically demanding employment to maintain it naturally.’ I never figured it was that noticeable. It must be easier to make out through normal clothes than under armor.

‘Compounding this, your posture: the proud and yet restrained bearing of a soldier! Your eyes scanned uniformly across my shop, shoulders level, gait even. Such is not the behavior of a mere athlete or physical laborer. Even in so safe an environment as a shopping district you stay alert – vigilant for threats. Had I a blaster pistol in my hand when you walked in, no doubt you would have taken it from me.’ That is a difficult habit to unlearn.

‘You sound like a detective, but none of that makes me look any prettier in a dress.’ ‘Of course; nothing would make you look pretty in a dress. I knew that from the moment I saw you.’ ‘Then why put me through that?’ ‘Though I gleaned much from your bearing, I am no Jedi: I had no way to see inside your mind.’ Really need to learn not to tense up just from hearing that word some day. ‘I apologize for the distress, but more important than showing you what would work was showing you what would not. Now that you’ve realized a dress does not suit you, I would be happy to tell you what will.’ ‘Go on then.’

‘To accentuate and flatter your powerful form is the purview of a suit, madame.’ Oh, he’s right, these look amazing! ‘From your smile I see you begin to understand, but I will elucidate: there are as many forms of beauty as there are cultures in this galaxy. While you are a human, you are also a soldier – you come from a culture of power, strength, discipline; it would be foolish to force the beauty standards of the cosmopolitan worlds upon you.’

High shouldered, sleek limbed, and just a little imperial black for the under layer. I can see why this place has such a high recommendation, if the real thing looks half as good as this holo-projection it should be the second fanciest set of clothing I ever wear. ‘It’s perfect. I never knew how good red looked on me. I have one request though.’ ‘But of course, it is only fair that the canvas be comfortable with the art placed upon it.’ ‘Do you have any blaster resistant materials?’

That laugh is a lot deeper than his usual speaking voice. Hearty, makes him sound strong. ‘Oh, a daunting task, but you are in luck. Many of the people who care to buy tailored clothing in this system are members of the less savory side of society, and as such would prefer not having to compromise protection for style. I cannot guarantee it will prove immune to high power weaponry, but most common blaster pistols should take no fewer than two shots to damage this mesh. If you find yourself utilizing this property, fear not, because all my works come with a lifetime warranty.’

‘You’ve really surpassed all my expectations, I have to say. When will it be ready, and how much will it cost?’ ‘No more than two hours, and five thousand credits will suffice.’ The credits are easy, but I have no idea how to spend the next two hours. I never appreciated the utility of long patrols until now.

‘Can I ask you a non-work related question?’ ‘But of course madame.’ ‘I don’t know a good way to pass two hours around here. Do you have any recommendations?’ ‘Oh it would be my pleasure. If you are in such a mood as to spend more credits, I would recommend that you purchase a pair of boots to match the suit. Yours are passable, but red leather would certainly complete the ensemble. As for yourself, and please do not misunderstand me – the rugged, down to earth look has a charm all its own – you may want to seek out a salon, if for no more than a manicure.’

‘A salon? That sounds like an excessive measure.’ ‘Consider it a part of the ensemble. Just as one would not expect to see a full face of makeup underneath a trooper’s helmet, so too does one expect not to see a woman in a five thousand credit suit have dirt under her nails.’ For how much he talks, I have to give him credit: it makes a lot of sense. Definitely not just talking to hear the sound of his own voice. ‘I failed to consider that before, thank you.’

V

The boots were easy, managed to find the exact same shade as the suit to avoid any dissonance. Not usually impressed by civilian craftsmanship, but these are almost as comfortable as my old ones. Good flex, breathable, spacious. I’ve never owned clothes that weren’t made for fighting in before; I feel protective of them already.

I’ve never been to a salon before. No that’s not true, I raided an illegal one once, but I’ve never been a customer. ‘Hi there, welcome, can I get your name?’ Oh hell, should probably not leave too much of a paper trail. Been getting too comfortable lately, think of a fake name. Nothing’s coming to mind. Just Hers. Can I use it? It’s not like she’s around to be upset, and it’s the least she can do to make up for everything else. ‘Tessa Revilane.’

‘Well Mrs. Revilane, I don’t see you on the list, but you’re in luck: we just had a cancellation so I can squeeze you in.’ Her smile is fake, but polite. Wouldn’t look out of place placating an officer. ‘What was it you were looking for today?’ ‘I have a date tomorrow and I want to look pretty.’

Just relax. It’s okay to close my eyes around these unfamiliar women with scissors. They’re just civilians, if they were Imperial assassins I would have recognized their body language. The chair is adjusted for my height, and I’m being washed with water instead of sonic vibrations for the first time in years. I should enjoy it.

‘Goodness, you really needed this cleanup. How do you even get your fingernails into this state?’ ‘I wear gloves most of the day. Trim them with a knife when they get too long.’ Wow. These women must take this deathly seriously, I’ve never heard such an affronted gasp from so many people at once. ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place dear. I’ll have them fixed up for you in no time at all.’

The warm water is nice, but being detailed like this by three different people makes me feel like a droid in a repair bay. ‘Not often I work with hair this tangled. This might take a few brushes, and there’s a strong possibility of pulling, is that alright? I can skip it if it would be too painful.’ ‘That sounds fine.’ I’ve taken serrated vibro-blades between the ribs, I’m sure this will be triv-ow. Easy to forget how sensitive the scalp is wearing a helmet all the time.

‘Please don’t be offended by my saying this ma’am, but these callouses are so thick I don’t think a foot soak will be sufficient. We have a micro-vibrational cleaner that detects changes in tissue density in order-’ ‘Will it make them pretty?’ ‘Yes ma’am, very pretty.’ ‘Go ahead.’ Never worn an open toed shoe in my life, but I’m here, no use taking a half measure. It tickles. That feels nice.

I’m starting to see why the officers made such a big deal about their grooming, it’s really relaxing once you get used to being touched. The prices weren’t that steep either, for a bounty killing salary. Maybe I should make this a regular routine. Come here once a month, get to know them by name, make small talk. Then they all recognize me when an imperial detachment comes looking. Better keep it to just this once, and put effort into savoring it.

‘Well, we’ve done all we can out here, and if I may say so myself we’ve done quite a great deal. There is an optional full body massage we can have done for you in the back, a masseuse droid handles it to reduce any feelings of awkwardness. If not, we can get to painting your nails and styling your hair and you can be on your way.’ A massage. Never had one of those either, usually just been injected with a relaxant whenever a medical droid’s scalpel was having trouble penetrating. Why not? ‘I’ll take the massage.’

Now this is luxury. Most luxuries serve a practical purpose: they’re a status symbol to separate the wealthy from their servants at a glance. Investments in psychological domination. Jewellery, clothes, fancy speeders, large apartments; things to be seen, not enjoyed. This is different. Nobody will ever notice this but me. I have so many credits I can afford to throw them away just for my own pleasure.

Each manipulator digit feels like it’s giving me a stim injection. I never realized how much tension impairs physical capacity. My physical conditioning regimen has largely compensated for it and kept me effective, but right now I feel like I could do a standing jump over a speeder. The oil feels nice too. Like the cool tingle of hypoxia settling in, but I can lie here and enjoy it without dying. It might not be a good idea to come to this salon again, but surely the Empire would never track someone buying a masseuse bot, right?

Even my clothes feel different putting them back on, everything is so sensitive and providing me so much feedback. I thought with bacta eliminating scarring that there would be no difference, but this must be how molting species’ feel.

‘That was amazing. I’ve never felt anything like it.’ ‘That’s great to hear! Just sit back down and we can handle your hair and nail polish.’ A holodisplay of potential colors, but I don’t need to look. ‘Imperial black please.’ Applied in under a minute. They look pretty. My fingers look...pretty. I look pretty.

‘Is everything alright miss? Are you allergic to the nail polish?’ Crying again. A different sort of crying, not one I’m familiar with. ‘No ma’am. I’m not sure why I’m crying. Just ignore it, and give me the same hairstyle I came in with please. I’m happy with it.’ Not much room for a fashionable haircut under a helmet. Even in the same style, it looks completely different now.

VI

Six thousand credits. Four month’s salary for a set of clothes and a deep clean. I’d have scoffed at that last week, but thinking of how Brayli’s going to react when she sees it is invigorating. It’s going to be great. ‘Hey lady, hand over your credstick!’

Wow, I even look rich enough to get mugged. A back alley is a back alley no matter what planet you’re on I suppose. It only ever makes the situation worse, but I can’t stop myself from laughing at this guy. I’ve had some desperate people rush me with a knife, but this is just ridiculous: he’s grip is loose, his stance is terrible, and that blade looks like it would struggle to cut bread, never mind skin. Oh well, what can you do?

Grab his wrist, angle the blade away, pull him in, punch him in the throat, let him down gently so he doesn’t get concussed by the ground. Over and done, simple as that. Nails are intact, suit is still clean. He’s reeling pretty hard, I should call him an ambulance. Done. What a way to cap off my trip.

I could go for a walk back to the spaceport. Get used to the way these new clothes fit, break in the boots. How to pass the time? Already got everything done today, no topics for a mental evaluation. Maybe a marching tune. It must have been ten years since I’ve whistled one of those. The imperial March is always a classic.

VII

Back home. Probably shouldn’t wear this suit out too much, I can leave it off for the night. It’s still a bit too early to go to bed though. Maybe I can get my workout in early, then spend the rest of the evening practicing with this new pistol. That sounds like a good way to cap off the day. I can’t wait for tomorrow.

[vianthegryphonart]

I don’t normally do horror themes, and I don’t think my art style really suits it, but I’ve really been enjoying @hootbon's Freakshow!AU, and I wanted to try my hand at putting Grif into it. I actually had been struggling trying to figure out how I wanted Grif to look normally, and took a break from it to sketch an idea for this AU. I ended up loving the sketch that became the full-body image here, and then I worked backwards from it to make the regular Grif design. 

There’s more info about Freakshow!Grif under the cut. As well as a little sketch of him interacting with Freakshow!Gangle.

-Instead of a plush, he’s based on the fake taxidermy that freakshows would sometimes display, claiming that they were mythical creatures. 

  -Compared to his normal form, this Grif is made up of more parts, the front half of his body, the back half, the tail, his forearms and his head all being separate. And unlike how his normal form is fairly uniform over all his parts, each of Freakshow!Grif’s parts are different with things like fur length, fur texture, and the shades of grey varying. Other differences are as follows:

Instead of furred forelegs and cat-like forepaws, this Grif has scaled bird legs and talons.

The claws on Grif’s front feet are now actual claws, curved and sharp, and he also has them on his back feet too.

His beak isn’t plush and is instead a hard material with a serrated edge.

He also has teeth inside his beak. These teeth are almost like a second jaw, he can bite down with them while still keeping his beak open. The teeth themselves are needle sharp and slightly recurved.

Instead of embroidered eyes, he now has glass taxidermy eyes, with black sclera and pupils that are always elliptical.

-He doesn’t have much damage to his body because generally if something attacks him it will tear him apart by breaking the stitches holding him together, rather than by making new holes in him. He does have a notch in his left ear though.

-Grif is often used in shows where they need a wild animal. Sometimes that could mean acting like a circus big cat, balancing on objects, leaping through hoops of fire, that sort of thing. But it could also mean being a danger for others to face, for instance I could imagine someone having to walk a tightrope with Grif prowling underneath ready to maul them if they fall, maybe even him jumping up to snap at their feet.

-He used to only do the bare minimum in shows, not really feeling motivated to do them, and generally just not wanting to bother. Caine punished Grif for this by having his wings torn off. After all, if Grif was going to be lazy and not use them properly, he didn’t deserve to have them. Grif puts as much effort as he can into his performances now. He still does the bare minimum when he isn’t in front of the audience, though.

-When not performing, Grif is generally very chill. He prefers to lounge around and not do much. Grif doesn’t really socialize with anyone, he’s not one for conversation, but he also doesn’t like being on his own, and will often just flop down near where other people are and watch or listen to whatever they’re doing. Outside of performances, Grif isn’t particularly aggressive, however he will defend himself if someone tries to hurt him or annoys him too much.

-Grif despises being restrained, and anything that makes it hard for him to move normally will put him into a panic-induced rage. He will fight tooth and nail to free himself, even if that means injuring himself to escape, he absolutely would chew his own foot off to escape from a bear trap. He will also lash out at anyone that gets close to him, even if they are trying to help him, everyone is a threat to him when he's trapped.

-Relationship with other cast members: 

Likes Ragatha (she sometimes helps sew him up when his stitches get broken). 

Neutral with Gangle, Zooble, Kinger, Pomni, and Kaufmo. 

Dislikes Jax and AIngle (since I think both would have tried to mess with him by restraining/trapping him at least a couple of times).

Hates Caine (for obvious reasons).

-And here’s a little sketch I did of Gangle and Grif fighting after Grif accidentally broke AIngle’s mask. Grif is not going to win this fight, it’s fairly easy to tear him apart, but he won’t go down without a fight. Gangle will probably be nursing a shredded ribbon or two afterwards.