#aled: you haven’t been quite as subtle as you think you have

[heartstopperthoughts]

Nick and Charlie saying they’re going to be low-key but then being the least low-key couple ever

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 1 - Post #5: Aren't You Sweet?

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem Reader

Total word count: 2.3K (of 25K total in Volume 1)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

______________________________________________

V. “That’s a beautiful smile you have.” 

With most of the crowd milling about while technicians finished repairing the disabled platform, you hadn’t noticed this young man sidling up next to you. His armor bore a crest of two wolves, one red, one black, with snouts and scorpion tails touching to form a circle. 

“You can’t be from around here because I would remember you.”

He looks at you with a glint in his red eyes—as though you were a particularly rich dessert, and he was still debating how large a portion he should take. “So what do you think of Al-Campur? Enjoying the sights?”

It's clear from the look on his face, this is a none-too-subtle reference to himself. The Chiss is tall, with sharp cheekbones and an angular face that's softened by cascades of wavy black hair. Now that you bother to look, you have to admit he is handsome. Knows it, too. 

“Haven’t seen much beyond the spaceport,” you pout, praying to the gods that Mando has turned off the comlink. “My master works me too hard.”

He laughs at that bit of innuendo. “I could show you a good time.” 

“Aren’t you sweet?” You reply breathlessly. “But, I’m afraid my time isn’t my own. I just snuck up here to watch while my master places bets with those barbarians.” 

Your hand waves vaguely to where the most fearsome looking gangsters hovered around Mighty Barka. The Hutt was seated atop his massive throne amidst the gambling tables and betting counters lining the private mezzanine level. 

“Well, I hope you’ll stay long enough to watch me compete." A wide palm snakes up your back to pull you close. “It would give me courage knowing you were waiting to…congratulate me.”

“Careful,” you say, placing a hand against his chest with just enough token resistance to please him. “Or my master will see us.” 

“Maybe I should kill your master,” his smile transforms into a wolfish grin, shaking waves of jet-black hair from his blue face. “And take you for myself.”

“You are brave, Har’sho of Taris.”

His red eyes widen with satisfaction. You recall watching him last night in the Arena, where he’d been stupid, reactionary and survived thanks to sheer dumb luck. 

“For a body like yours, it's a risk worth taking.” 

Behind him, you see Nito returning with what can only be described as ‘lizard on a stick’ and a sour look on his face. “Hey, guy! You're blocking my view.” 

Give the Ardennian some credit; he can’t quite maintain eye contact, but he is standing up for himself. Har’sho doesn’t even bother looking down to discover the source of the noise. 

“How about a kiss for luck?” He leans in, but you flick your sleeve in time to slide the taser into your palm, pressing the tip under his chin. 

“Very brave,” you purr. 

“I’ll work you harder than your master,” he whispers into your ear.

“Is that a promise?”

He laughs, “Come find out.”

“That was… yuck!” Nito says, sticking a purple tongue out between his pointed teeth. “I might actually throw up again.”

“Is he gone?” You ask, scooping the kid up before he could get his little talons on Nito’s fried lizard stick.

“Yeah.” He leans back to peer down the row of benches. “Of all the people I’ve seen hit on you, I can’t believe you’re encouraging that asshole.” 

“Believe me, that’s why he left. If I ignored him, he would have sat here harassing us and made a scene,” you explain, even though you don't need to justify your behavior to Nito. Or anyone else who might be listening. 

He plucks off a crunchy lizard leg and hands it to the kid.

“Don’t give him that!” 

“Face it, he doesn’t like your healthy food, Thuli.” 

“Alright, then you’re sitting up with him when he’s fussy and constipated.”

“Ew!” Nito snatches back the lizard leg and shoves it in his mouth. “S’not good for you, buddy.”

The kid blinks up at you both in breathless horror, ears wilting.

“How can you eat that shit?”

“Well, my stomach is empty now. Farrik! Mando’s up again,” Nito announces, pointing to the combatants selected for the next round. “Ha! And he’s fighting your new boyfriend.”

Har’sho’s smug face appears below a Cathar gladiator rounding out the board. 

Maybe Mando had heard the Chiss making sleazy overtures through the comlink. Or maybe it was the Raquor’daans emblazoned on his armor. Whatever the reason, the Mandalorian makes a performance of absolutely destroying Har’sho’s face, knocking him out cold with the Beskar helmet. 

You feel a little sorry for the guy, actually. The whole thing was spectacularly humiliating, watching his unconscious body being taken on an aimless ride around the Arena by one of the circling platforms. 

But, the rest of it? The violence and gore? How could this possibly be entertaining? Seeing firsthand what Mando is truly capable of is unsettling, to say the least. The way he could tear through the gladiators surrounding him, impervious to the blood and screams and brutality.

“So, that’s two matches.” 

The Cathar had raked his claws down the bounty hunter’s leg trying to pull Mando off a platform. And despite doing a good job of hiding it, you know the cadence of the Mandalorian’s gait. He's limping.      

“You want those air filters replaced?” He asks brusquely.

“Ok, yes, we would all like to wake up without feeling sand between our teeth, but…”

It takes another two rounds before the inevitable finally arrives. Soon, the clamoring tension in the stands becomes a living thing, the crowd unable to decide who they want to prevail when Mando faces Imiako in the next match. The Houk was their champion, bathed in blood, but the Mandalorian was canny and brazen. What clever trick might he use to leverage Imiako’s weaknesses against him?

No one charges after the gong this round. They all immediately flee from the meteor hammer. With the Houk positioned on the opposite side of the Battle Dome, Mando is safe from its immediate path, but the fighters next to Imiako are either choked or crushed. Or dragged across the Arena to be choked and crushed.

Imiako was strong, but he was slow. If Mando could climb faster…

“The platform above your right–”

“I’ve got it,” Mando says, familiar enough with the sequencing by now that he could navigate the Granee Hasa pretty well without you. 

The Mandalorian clears about half the distance towards the Victor’s Dais when the platforms stop following their automated pattern. Suddenly, they swerved and careened, forcing gladiators to leap aside or risk collision, stalling their progress until Imiako could make his way up. 

They were being herded. And it was immediately obvious to where. And to what purpose. 

A large platform hovered at the center of the Arena about midway to the Dais, right at the height of the mezzanine level. The operators didn’t bother hiding their blatant machinations. It would be a great show for Mighty Barka and all the other high rollers. 

A few of the fighters leap onto whichever platform happened to pass nearby, their attempts becoming more reckless the closer Imiako got. Some of them made it.

The remaining gladiators fight amongst themselves, clearly afraid to leave an enemy at their backs when they finally face down the Houk. 

“We have a better chance of survival if we work together,” the Mandalorian shouts, dodging the frantic attack from a combatant’s broadsword.

“Fuck you!” The Dowutin spat. 

“Have it your way,” Mando sighs. Grabbing them by the wrist, he spun inside their guard to thrust the sword upward until it sliced through the back of their skull.   

Through the comlink, you can hear a dull whoom, whoom, whoom sound coming through the speaker.

Mando turns sharply to look behind him, raising his new blade to the throat of a fighter running towards him. It was the same Trandoshan gladiator from last night.

She holds up both hands, “No! I agree with you. A split reward is better than a split stomach.” And to prove her loyalty, she hurls one of her axes into another fighter stalking towards them. “We can work out the cut later.”

Then you hear that dull whoom, whoom, whoom sound again.

The Trandoshan decides to place her faith in Mando’s chivalry, taking position behind him, back to back, to protect each other’s blind spot. They make an effective team, fending off the remaining gladiators when, at last, the Houk lumbered onto the platform, swinging his meteor hammer around those immense shoulders.

Whoom, whoom, whoom.

The half a dozen fighters still battling it out all pause to watch as Imiako extends a single finger, crusted with gore, to point directly at the Mandalorian.

“Mine,” he roars. 

Dread clenches around your heart like a fist. The crowd, on the other hand, explodes with bestial delight, jumping up in their seats so raucously you worry the stands might collapse. 

One by one, the gladiators peel away from Imiako’s range except for one very stupid Devaronian, who maybe thought that because they were close in size, he had a chance of taking down the Houk. This did not prove to be true. Despite the Devaronian’s massive stature, Imiako’s meteor hammer crushes his skull as easily as an overripe melon. 

The Trandoshan—Rumia, if you recall her name correctly—is smart enough to choose her life over money. Before the Houk could swing his hammer around again, she leaps out of its path towards a descending platform.

But Imiako catches her by the throat. 

Mando’s knife embeds into the Houk's neck, but he hardly seems to notice. Laughing, he throws Rumia off the platform.

Whoom, whoom, whoom. Mando manages to jump, duck, and dodge until the meteor hits him squarely in the chest. The Beskar held, of course, but did nothing to cushion the force of the blow, and the Mandalorian is thrown like a projectile to the edge of the platform.

“Oooooooooh, fuck.” Nito moans in a terrified whisper. 

Sensing your shared panic, the kid squirms against the folds of the cloak, holding him to your chest. 

“Mando can do this,” you say with determination. “Imiako is slow, and he has never fought a Mandalorian.”

A fearsome snarl comes through the comlink, filling your ear. 

This time, when Mando sidesteps the meteor, he thrust a discarded spear into its path. The chain wraps around the shaft, but before the coiling metal can snap the wood in half, the bounty hunter lets go. The spear whips back, burying the blade into the Houk's shoulder. The knife he could ignore, but now Imiako had lost the use of his arm, the one he used to wield the hammer. 

Pulling the bounty hunter’s spear free from the ruined flesh of his shoulder, the Houk plunges the blade down, intending to impale Mando like a fish for roasting. The crowd loves it.  

With the Houk and the Mandalorian locked in hand-to-hand combat, you hardly notice the Trandoshan making her way toward the Victor’s Dias. With everyone else dead, it’s a clear path to the top. She was going to win. 

And you know what, you don’t even hate her for it. In fact, you’re cheering her on since it means that the match might end before Imiako could fracture every bone in Mando’s body. 

He was barely hanging onto the platform with one hand, having managed to kick Imiako over the edge by launching himself feet first at the Houk. But Imiako had 'miraculously' landed on a nearby platform, and it was about to bring him within striking distance again.

Mando readies himself, growling through clenched teeth to gain another handhold.

Suddenly, every platform in the Arena stalls. A shocked, disgruntled murmuring picks up. It takes a full minute for the crowd to realize that Rumia Kar is standing atop the Victor’s Dais, hands on her knees, howling like a madwoman laughing in the face of death.

That building tension amongst the crowd, now thwarted, finds new life in an angry chorus of frustrated rage. They boo, and the sound is a chaos. 

After watching, suspended on the edge of ecstasy, hoping to witness a new unimaginable height of Imiako’s brutality or some clever ingenuity from the Mandalorian—all the audience can do now is scream. And riot.

You're too afraid to look for Mighty Barka’s reaction. Imagine how much money all those gangsters just lost — since there is no way they put their bets down on Rumia Kar, the fucking Trandoshan, to win this match. 

Shrugging out of your shoulder holster, you slip the leather straps over Nito and adjust the buckles. “The ion pulse from this pistol is enough to bring down a Gundark. Take the kid and head back to the ship. Go the long way around, through the Duwani district. There’s some kind of festival going on, so if anyone’s following, you should get lost in the crowd. As soon as you’re inside the Crest, engage security protocols.” 

“Do not lower them for anyone or anything until we get back.” 

Bless Nito, who simply nods, taking it all in stride.

“What are you going to do?” He asks.

“Save the Mandalorian,” and a tug of your eyebrow is all he can see of the wink you shoot him from behind the visor.

************************

Read the next post - Post #6: I'm here to rescue you

Go Back to Volume 1 - All posts

[catmansquad]

Waking Up In 2102 (4)

Gods, this is going to be divided into so many parts for how long it is...

Alex glanced at his wrist as the SOS reset back to a prompt, and was replaced with the image of Lyla’s heart-shaped glasses. ‘Will there be doughnuts? I think Miguel is craving doughnuts. Just a hunch. I haven’t been told to subtly suggest them to you or anything. So, yeah, doughnuts…. Ahem. Doughnuts.’ ‘Your subtlety ratio needs adjusting.’ Alex replied with a smirk before he pulled his sleeve back down to hide the bracelet. Doughnuts at his apartment it was, then. 

He did stop off on his way to grab a box of mini-doughnuts, and he’d had time enough to himself to change and clean up from his close encounter and interrogation with a parallel version of the man he loved. Who knew just how many versions of Miguel there were out there? That other one clearly didn’t recognize him, and who knew just how far he would have gone if his Miguel hadn’t arrived? He was chased from his thoughts by the apartment bell going off. ‘Hello?’ ‘Hola, mi vida. ¿Puedo entrar?’ ‘Uh…’ ‘Heh... Can I come in?’ Miguel’s voice was rich with amusement, and Alex couldn’t fight his own smile building on his face. ‘Maybe… If you convince me that you’re not another parallel version of you.’ He heard Miguel chuckle softly from the other side. Alex looked up as Lyla glitched into existence beside him, pulling her glasses down to meet his eyes. ‘Big guy says open up, Al. You can trust me; I’m synchronized between your anchor and his gizmo.’ She gave a sharp salute and fizzled out of existence once again. ‘I would’ve haven taken a confession of your love, Miggy, but sure, send your futuristic PA on your behalf.’ He heard Miguel chuckle again, before quietly buzzing him inside.

Alex reminded himself that Miguel had been in his home several times, yet still his heart was beating rapidly, he was flustered and prone to checking his appearance every few seconds. He felt like he was preparing for his first date with the man all over again. Perhaps he had been even more of a nervous wreck back then, too. He jumped from his thoughts at the knock on his door, and quietly reminded himself that he looked fine, and he was well beyond the first date. Giving himself one last check over in the mirror, he pulled the door open, briefly catching Miguel staring into a holographic screen just above his own bracelet, showing his reflection as he tried to tame his unruly hair before sharply snapping back to a posture of confident relaxation. ‘Hey…’ Miguel’s smirk was cool and collected, a hint of his fangs peeking out. Alex met his smile with his own, stepping back to let the larger man across the threshold. As soon as Alex had shut the door, he had drawn a laugh from Miguel as he latched onto him in a tight hug. ‘We’re just hopeless, aren’t we, Miguel?’ ‘Heh… Well, you might be; acting like you didn’t just see me a little while ago. You’ve seen quite a lot of me today, haven’t you…?’ He chuckled softly again, returning Alex’s hug, strong arms that lifted him clean off his feet and held him there. ‘Urk! Miguel-too-strong!’ Alex spluttered, feeling his ribs creak in protest at the hold that briefly threatened to crush him. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of just how strong Miguel truly was. The man could probably juggle cars, crushing Alex in a bear hug was probably easily achieved. Relief came as those arms relaxed, allowing the smaller man to fill his lungs again, although he still remained with his feet dangling off the ground. ‘Shh… I’ve got you, mi cariño… You got us doughnuts, too? You’re a mind-reader….’ Alex rolled his eyes. ‘Miguel, are you going put me d-down?’ He wheezed as he felt Miguel’s arms squeeze him again briefly, a momentary reminder of just how much he held back. ‘Why would I? If anything, I should just carry you like this all day.’ Alex fixed him with a narrow glare. ‘Well, sure. If you want to carry me, and the doughnuts, straight back to your world, where you know I’ll be “absolutely safe”…’ He let the words linger in the air then yelped and scrambled to wrap his hands around Miguel’s thick neck to stabilize himself as Miguel moved him in his arms with impossible ease; carrying him bridal style. Miguel’s smile was pure confidence, and Alex didn’t realise was being cradled by only one arm until he saw Miguel reach out, the thwip of webbing as he pulled the box of doughnuts into his hand and rested them in Alex’s lap. ‘You’re wearing your bracelet, yes?’ ‘Always, Mig.’ ‘Good.’

Miguel’s world brought with it the relief of clean air. Alex had screwed his eyes shut through the wormhole, clinging tightly to the box in his lap with one hand and Miguel’s body with the other, the arms that held him were stronger than vices. Now, here they were once again; in that shining city of the future of another reality. The doughnuts had probably survived the trip in better condition than he did. ‘You like it here, don’t you?’ At Miguel’s question, Alex smiled, resting his head on Miguel’s shoulder as he took in the sight of the city spread out before him. ‘It’s nice here, Mig. It’s like a utopia…’ He felt Miguel go tense, briefly. ‘… Looks can be deceiving, Alex. We’re in the nice part of Nueva York, and it’s not very big. My work as Spider-Man takes me into downtown more often than not…’ He felt Miguel’s arm come around him, holding him close. ‘Don’t go to downtown, Alex, it’s not safe.’ He heard Miguel swallow and felt the superhero’s arms briefly squeeze him. ‘… Really not safe.’ He finally felt Miguel’s arms release him, and he stepped to the edge of the terrace once more, leaning on the railing and overlooking the city spread out before him.

[primofate]

im feeling kinda akward since its my first time requesting,i really really really like your writings and im wondering if you could do some angst for albedo, anything you feel like tbh, but if may i be a little selfish i was thinking on something like he hurt you, so you break up with him or maybe he break up with you and regret later, im in love with the genius and your writings so why not lol, hope you are doing well, xoxoxooxox

Thanks for the request anon. <3 Sorry it took so long, but I’m feeling angst today so here goes. Let me know what you think <3

QUEUED POST

Scenario: Breaking up

Characters: gn! reader x Albedo

Warnings: angst, break ups, regrets, did I say angst?

Categories: angst in Part 1, comfort in Part 2 (It was getting too long so split it into two parts)

Read: (Part 2) (Part 3 - Final)

Albedo

Alone.

These days you found yourself alone in your shared home. It had been nearly a year since the two of you decided to live together. Maybe that was a bad idea.

You were smitten. He was such an intelligent man, and truth be told you loved how his mind worked. He was silent and mostly kept to himself at first, but with you, there were subtle touches, fleeting kisses. Oh and his eyes, the way his eyes brightened or the way his lips turned up at the sight of you. The way he held you close at nights, up until the morning.

Gone were those days. 

He was hardly home. The intelligent man you had fallen in love with, was also a workaholic. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming. There were so many signs.

Maybe he changed. Maybe you changed. But the little things weren’t enough anymore. He came home just to sleep and wake up, and he was off again. 

“Bedo, have you got some time off on the weekend? We haven’t been up to Starsnatch Cliff in a while,” you had prodded him a few days ago, wondering if the problem would be solved if you made the first move. 

“Sorry, Y/N, we’re just about to discover more about the properties of electro crystals... It’ll be useful if we want to sustain higher energy concentrations on...” and just like that he had gone off a tangent explaining the whole thing. You smiled a little, it was still endearing how excited he got discussing those things. 

But you couldn’t help but be lonely at how he seemed to love his research more than you. 

‘Maybe I just need to be more proactive. That’s it! I’ll go and visit him at the lab today!’ Surprising him was one of the things that you had always wanted to do. But not a lot of things got past Albedo. He was observant like that. You made a quick run to the bakery, getting him some croissants and welcomed yourself into the Favonius Headquarters. 

You looked up at the sign on his laboratory door. That sign was always there though, Klee had told you about it, and Sucrose had also talked about it once or twice before, telling you that it wouldn’t be a good idea to go in if the sign was up. But when was it ever down? So, you shrugged, and pushed the door open with a wide smile.

“What are you doing here?!” There’s a wild look in Albedo’s eyes the moment you step in. He didn’t appreciate being disturbed. You tilted your head a little at his reaction, you weren’t expecting that.

“Oh, since you’ve been so busy these days I just thought I’d drop by and give you something to--”

“Y/N, did you not see the sign on the door? No disturbances, even from you,”

“I’ll just be quick, I’m just dropping this off,” you lift the paper bag from the bakery and lay it down on the nearest table. Albedo closes his eyes with a sigh. 

“...We’re working on something dangerous right now, I don’t have time to eat. Please take it back,”

Surprisingly, you obey quite quickly, and take the paper bag back into your hands. Annoyance start to pulse in your veins. “Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

Sucrose had been standing there the whole time, and you can see the slight wince on her face at your cold statement... But Albedo had returned it ten fold, snapping an answer back. “Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

You didn’t expect how much it would sting. Your shoulders slump downwards at the realization that this... had gone too far. You couldn’t take it anymore. Sucrose opens her mouth, but doesn’t know what to say looking back and forth between you and Albedo. 

The Kreideprinz had continued with his task as if nothing had happened at all, but he knew what he said. He didn’t want any interferences nor accidents happening in the lab and that was the only thing he cared about at the moment. 

Your foot moves to step back, but your eyes are glued to Albedo. You can only see his back. His hair tied up neatly, the shoulders that you loved to wrap your arms around and his hands that were always gentle. You took a good look, drinking the whole scene in like you hadn’t had a drop of water in days. 

This was the last time you would lay eyes on him and it broke you into so many pieces. You turned away without another word, Sucrose staring at the door, before she decided that she needed to follow you. “I-I’ll be back, Master Albedo,” she rarely ever abandoned an experiment, but she knew that you needed a friend right now. 

Ironic, because it should have been Albedo running after you, but instead the green-haired girl caught up to you just as you reached the fountain in the middle of Mondstadt. “Y/N!” she jogs, and stops when you do as you hear your name.

Tears prickled your cheeks, but they were more of frustration than sadness. You stand there for a moment, drying your tears and turning around towards Sucrose, gaze on the pavement. “Y/N...” Sucrose approaches carefully, hand resting on your shoulder.

“...I don’t know anything other than Albedo, Sucrose,” you start, a curtain of memories flashing through your mind. “...Without him, there isn’t much reason for me to stay in Mondstadt,” Sucrose shakes her head rather hastily. “H-He’s just... a little occupied right now, Y/N, I’m sure he doesn’t mean what he said,” You close your eyes, the scene repeating in your head.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

A hard lump forms on your throat at how hard you try not to sob. How hard you try to keep yourself together and Sucrose sees it from the way your lips tremble. “Sucrose, please watch over him,” and that is also the last that Sucrose sees of you. 

That night, Albedo arrives home exhausted, just as he always does. But now that he was home, he could at least expect a warm meal and a warm hug. A soft smile tugs on his lips at the thought.

When he turned the lights on, he was met with a strange stillness instead. His hand stays on the switch as his eyes scan the living room. It was...quiet. There were no plates on the table, and there were no sounds from the kitchen.

Deep in the pits of his stomach there’s an anxiety that starts bubbling up. He brushes it off, opting instead to check the kitchen. “Y/N?”

Empty. 

His footsteps hasten as he opens the bedroom door, expecting you to be curled up there, asleep. 

Empty.

Albedo takes in a shaky breath. You were probably just out in town, doing some late night shopping. Yeah, that’s it, perhaps you just didn’t have enough ingredients for dinner today and--his eyes land on the bedside table.

The photo frame is gone. The photo of the two of you standing side by side together with comfortable smiles on your faces, his hand on your waist, and the house on the background. 

He throws open the closet doors. Your clothes are gone. Your shoes are gone. Even your scent seemed to have disappeared. The anxiety that was once a small bubble in his stomach had started to claw it’s way out, wrenching his heart in places that he didn’t know could hurt. The tears pooling in his eyes were so foreign that he didn’t even know what was happening until he hears himself gasp back a sob.

You’re gone. 

Suddenly it was so hard to breathe, but he pulls himself up and out the door. There’s no way. Where would you go? Perhaps you were just around Mondstadt, trying to get a breath of fresh air to calm your nerves. He searches everywhere. The church, the tavern, the Good Hunter and even atop the rooftop of the Favonius Headquarters. There was a decent view of the city there, and his eyes roam the streets, just to get a glimpse of you.

“...Please...” There’s another lump in his throat, his eyes dart around looking for any small sign of you. 

“Albedo? Tired?” you ask as he returns home one day. He merely lets out a small “Mm,” and pulls a chair out from the dining table to sit on. You walk into the kitchen to fetch him a cup of tea, and he snatches your hand to press a soft kiss on the back of it. “Thank you, love,” 

“...Please!” his grip on the stone walls of the rooftop tighten. His vision blurs.

“Al! Don’t do that!” you try to swat his hand away from the pot, a short laugh coming off of your lips at how mischievous he could be sometimes, trying to dip his finger into the sauce. He has a grin on his face as he successfully tastes the sauce off his finger, making a sound of approval as he draws you in for a light kiss on your forehead, “It’s good, as always,” 

His legs buckle, and he finds himself on his knees, hands fisted upon the cold stone wall. “At least tell me where you've gone! I can’t--” he doesn’t know when the last time he cried was, but whenever it was, he doesn’t remember it to be this bad. The pain was unlike any injury he had, it grasped so tightly at his heart.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

He furiously shakes his head because he knows that it was his fault. “I didn’t mean it, please give them back,” as if there was someone else who took you away. As if there was a God listening to him right now. 

He realizes that the worst of it was not that you had left, but that you had left no traces of you behind. No photo. Not a piece of clothing. Not a trace of your existence.

Nothing for him to hold on to.

That night, he dragged himself back home. Face flushed and hot from the tears he had shed and the ones he was attempting to hold back.

That night, he painfully got into bed.

Alone.

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[thearvariblues]

Sing Me a Song

“You Geralt of Rivia’s bard?”

Jaskier looks up from his notepad and grins at the man who’s just sat at the opposite side of the table.

“Technically, I used to be,” the bard says, taking a sip of his ale. “We had a tiny misunderstanding last year. I’m sure he’s gonna be fine, though, I’m just giving him some time to cool down and wallow in self-pity.”

Jaskier frowns, because his brain has finally caught up with his mouth and informs him that even though the man who asked the question is very pretty (and he is – a bit short, but lean and clearly very agile, brown-skinned, with dark, wavy hair and stunningly unnatural green eyes), he also has got two big, scary swords strapped to his back, way too many scars and has, in fact, only one green eye, the other being covered by an eye patch, presumably missing.

And then there’s the Cat school medallion on his chest.

As Geralt would say… fuck.

“Unless you’re here to kidnap me and torture me to lure him into a trap. If that’s the case, I’ve never met a Geralt of Rivia in my life. Also, if you harm a hair on my head, he will hunt you down and kill you, very slowly and painfully. Just a heads up,” Jaskier smiles, utterly failing to sound at least a little bit threatening.

“Thanks for the warning,” the Witcher laughs. “But I actually need you to write me a song.”

“Sorry, I’m afraid this bard already has a Witcher to praise,” Jaskier protests, shaking his head firmly.

“Ugh. Who says I want praise?” the man says, making a face. “I just can’t seem to find a friend of mine, so I need to make him find me.”

“With a song? Do I look like a fucking pied piper?” Jaskier smirks.

“A little, yeah.”

“Fair enough. What’s in it for me?”

“What do you think is going to happen once Geralt hears that his bard has found himself a new muse?” the Witcher grins.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, chuckling. “Oh, but that’s good.”

“Are you in, then?”

“Absolutely. And, uhm… What did you say your name was?”

“By the gods, where are my manners?” the Witcher laughs. “I’m Aiden.”

*

Geralt places two tankards of ale on the table and sits down with a grunt.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting old, Wolf,” his brother Lambert smirks and promptly pulls one of the tankards closer. “Because that almost sounded like Vesemir when he’s trying to get up from his chair.”

“You’re so fucking funny,” Geralt murmurs.

“I know, right?” Lambert grins, tucking a strand of curly red hair behind his ear. “So, how’s life on the Path without your beloved bard?”

“Not my bard.”

“So pretty fucking terrible, eh?” Lambert chuckles.

“Fuck off, Lambert.”

“You’re being very nice and friendly today, you know?”

“I bought you a drink. So shut up and… drink.”

Lambert shrugs and for once does what he’s told. Within a few seconds, half of the tankard’s content vanishes.

“If it’s any consolation, life without my Cat is also pretty fucking unbearable,” he says then.

“Hm.”

“Oh, really, Geralt? You’re using your famous hm against me? Me, your brother?!”

Geralt groans.

“By the gods… Why can’t I just run into Eskel for once? Why does it always have to be you?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess.”

“Lucky. Yeah.”

Lambert rolls his eyes and focuses on his ale again – until the local bard grabs his lute and starts playing a slow, romantic ballad. Lambert growls.

“Fuck, I hate that song!”

“Why?” Geralt blinks, because he’s never heard the song before, and to be perfectly honest, it doesn’t really sound that bad.

“A brown-skinned woman with dark hair who’s seemingly killed, then comes back to life already plotting her revenge, only to find out that her lover’s already avenged her? Always reminds me of Aiden.”

“Aiden wasn’t exactly… A woman, was he?”

“He also hasn’t come back to life, as far as I know,” Lambert mutters.

“Who wrote it?” Geralt frowns, listening carefully. “It sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Some Master Dandelion. Never heard of him, but it seems he’s very popular now.”

“Hmmm…”

“Oh, not again!” Lambert groans.

“It just… It really does sound like Jaskier’s song.”

“You just fucking miss the bard, Geralt, that’s all.”

“No. No, I actually think…”

“That might be exactly the problem,” Lambert says and places his empty tankard back on the table. “The second round’s on me.”

*

“Seems like your plan’s not working as intended,” Jaskier comments. He’s spent weeks traveling with Aiden, and they still haven’t even heard about another Witcher trying to find them.

“I’m aware,” Aiden mutters, chewing his dinner without even noticing its taste – which is, honestly, probably for the best. “Could you be, like… less subtle?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“I suppose.”

“Fine,” Aiden nods. “Do it.”

*

“It’s a man now,” Geralt frowns, listening to the song he’s heard countless times already. “That’s new.”

“Looks like Master Dandelion might like to, uhm, dual wield,” Lambert snorts.

“It still sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Does Jaskier like to dual wield?”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dreamily.

“All the more reason to apologize, then, eh?”

“Oh, shut up, Lambert…”

*

“Still not working!” Aiden groans. He’s been waiting for three months for his Wolf to find him, and to no avail.

“I could, you know… Try something more obvious,” Jaskier offers.

“Please.”

*

“It’s a cat now,” Geralt blinks. “Dark-skinned, dark-haired… cat.”

Lambert sighs.

“Yeah, I hate those fucking metaphors.”

*

“I’m starting to think I should have just… kept trying to find him,” Aiden sighs, staring out of the tavern’s window.

Jaskier, cheeks still flushed from his performance, downs his ale and shakes his head.

“Don’t give up hope just yet,” he says. “I’ve already made a few changes to the song.”

“Oh, have you?” Aiden smirks. “Does it now say Lambert, I’m alive you moron, stop hiding and fucking find me?”

“Well, not yet… But almost.”

“Great. I can’t wait to hear it.”

*

Lambert is staring at yet another local bard singing the fucking ballad. He doesn’t even blink. Geralt is getting a little worried that his brother’s brain might have actually exploded.

“It says a Cat Witcher now,” he says, hoping it would get a reaction out of Lambert.

The redhead finally blinks. That’s probably good.

“A Cat Witcher who comes back to life only to find out his Wolf lover has already avenged him,” Geralt adds.

Lambert blinks again.

“And you know, I’m almost sure that this Master Dandelion is just Jaskier’s new alias.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Lambert mutters when the song finally comes to its end.

“Which one of them?” Geralt smirks.

“Both of them!” Lambert growls. “I swear to gods, if I find out your stupid bard stole my Cat…”

“Excuse me, madam,” Geralt says to the innkeeper who’s just brought them their dinner. “Where did your bard learn this song?”

“That sappy ballad?” the innkeeper frowns. “From this Master Dandelion himself. He passed through the town last week with a Witcher.”

“And Master Dandelion…”

“You know the bard that calls himself Jaskier? It’s him with a fancy hat on,” she smirks.

“About this Witcher,” Lambert growls. “Does he look like in the song?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Kind of small for a Witcher, and almost too pretty, you know, but we had a little griffin problem and he slayed that beast like it was nothing, so…”

“I’m so gonna kill them both,” Lambert murmurs while Geralt has to try very hard not to chuckle.

“Would you happen to know where were they heading?” he asks.

“I would,” the woman says and looks at the Witcher expectantly.

“I see,” Geralt sighs. “You have another monster problem, don’t you?”

“Well. It turns out the griffin probably had a mate…”

“Of course it fucking did,” Geralt nods and picks up his fork. He simply refuses to deal with this with an empty stomach…

*

Jaskier critically eyes the clothes he’s picked for tonight’s performance.

“What do you think, Aiden?” he asks his companion. “Isn’t the purple a bit too much? It’s a small town, after all. Wouldn’t the steel blue look better?”

“I don’t know, I like the red one best,” Aiden shrugs from his spot on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Reminds you of Lambert’s hair,” Jaskier says, rolling his eyes. “Melitele’s tits, I wish he’d find us already, because this is getting really–”

As if on cue, the door of the room slams open and a big, red-haired man walks in.

“You fucking bitch!” he yells when he sees Aiden.

The dark-haired Witcher beams and gets to his feet.

“Lambs!”

“Oh. Okay. That was fast,” Jaskier nods.

Lambert growls and grabs Aiden by the collar.

“Asshole!” he hisses. “I fucking mourned you!”

“Oh, honey, that’s so sweet,” Aiden smiles.

Lambert pushes him against the wall, so hard that Aiden grunts.

“I cried for you!”

“In my defense, it wasn’t exactly my fault,” Aiden smiles.

Jaskier inches towards the door.

“I guess I’ll just… leave you two to it.”

Needless to say, Lambert ignores him completely.

“I fucking avenged you!”

“Yes, that was very kind of you,” Aiden grins, utterly unaffected by Lambert’s angry face so close to his own. “You saved me a lot of trouble.”

Lambert groans, buries his face in Aiden’s shoulder and sighs deeply.

“You fucker,” he mutters.

“Yeah, I missed you too, puppy,” Aiden smiles, wrapping his arms around Lambert.

Jaskier, who’s already standing in the doorway, places his hand on his heart and takes a deep breath.

“Oh,” he whispers. “I shall write the most beautiful ballad about this… Ow!”

He’s unceremoniously dragged out of the room and this time it’s his turned to be slammed against the wall by a big, angry Witcher – but this one is white-haired and dressed all in black.

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims, his face brightening up.

“You won’t write a fucking thing,” Geralt growls.

“Is that so? May I ask why, dear heart?”

“Because you’re mine. My bard. And if I ever find out you’re writing about another Witcher again–”

“Then what?” Jaskier asks, cocking his head. “But before you answer, I’d like to remind you that I am not yours anymore, as you have made it quite clear on the mountain that you are not interested in having me as a companion–”

Jaskier is effectively shut up by Geralt’s lips pressing against his with determination that makes it absolutely clear that Geralt hasn’t merely lost his balance and happened to be falling in Jaskier’s general direction.

“Mine,” he growls.

“Well,” Jaskier sighs, slipping his fingers into Geralt’s hair. “When you put it like that… Fuck the mountain, I suppose.”

“Fuck the mountain,” Geralt agrees. “But I’m sorry. For what I said.”

“Apology very much accepted,” Jaskier laughs. “I’d ask you to fuck me, but I’m afraid my room is currently… occupied.”

Lambert’s loud moan only confirms Jaskier’s statement.

“Hm,” Geralt hums. “Do you think this tavern has a bath? I think I still have some griffin blood in my hair from last week.”

“Oh,” Jaskier purrs. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure I could get some chamomile oil…”

They hear another moan, this time Aiden’s.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Geralt grins and grabs Jaskier’s hand. “Come on, bard. We have some catching up to do…”

[fanfic-archive]

Sober

Geralt X Female Reader

(Just want to say that I have posted this fic on a different platform as well so if you think you’ve read it before, I haven’t stolen it or anything 😂)

Summary: Geralt can't help but feel a pang of jealously whenever you and Jaskier get close. This evening, you tell him that he has no reason to worry.

Word Count: 2312

This wasn't an uncommon occurrence these days, sitting in a tavern and watching you and Jaskier talk and joke. It was tiresome, bothering Geralt in a way that he wasn't quite comfortable explaining or completely thinking about.

The three of you had returned to the little town after completing a contract. You had collected your reward and Geralt went to the inn to bathe, ridding himself of monster guts, while you and Jaskier agreed to meet him in the tavern afterwards.

After bathing, Geralt crossed the road and pushed opened the door of the tavern. He was used to the way voices lowered and gazes dropped when he entered a room, it didn't bother him. The less people interacting with him, the better. He spotted the two of you almost instantly, both of you already a few drinks in and laughing at a table in the corner.

Geralt headed to the bar, purchasing an ale before approaching the table you were sitting at.

"Geralt! You took your time. Though I can't imagine it's an easy task washing all that gore from your hair" Jaskier commented, the two of you looking up as the Witcher approached you both.

"But you're here now and that's what matters" you gave him a smile as he sat down opposite the two of you.

"Hmm" Geralt just nodded, his short response making you smile a little to yourself. It could be strangely endearing at times.

"Ah! Such a profound response, I do love when you bless us with your thoughts" Jaskier jested fondly.

"Oh ignore him...and cheer up. We have some extra coin, that's something to smile about" you reminded him, waving at Jaskier to playfully dismiss him.

"We won't if you keep on the drinks" Geralt hummed.

"Loosen up. We won't spend that much, we'll have enough left over" Jaskier assured him, but Geralt didn't seem convinced.

"Plus, we all deserve to treat ourselves. Especially you, monster-slayer" you attempted to convince him.

"Exactly. I earn the coin and you both spend it" Geralt commented. To anyone else it would appear that he was annoyed but both you and Jaskier knew that he was only joking.

"But you'd have it no other way" you winked.

The corner of Geralt's mouth tugged upwards but nobody that wasn't you or Jaskier would have even noticed, you both just knew him so well now and were able to notice the small things.

You lifted your drink up to your lips, only to find it empty. "Oh..." you frowned, looking into the empty tankard.

"Drink. You need more drink!" Jaskier told you, finding his own tankard empty as well. "To the bar!" he announced and you laughed as you both stood from the table.

Geralt watched, nose subtly scrunching up in distaste, as Jaskier placed his hand on the bottom of your back to guide you through the tavern. He didn't even notice how his grip on his own tankard tightened as he watched Jaskier lean towards you to speak in your ear, as you lent against the bar and waited for your drinks.

It was not the first time that Geralt had found himself beyond irritated by Jaskier's proximity to you.

The two of you were always chatting away about one thing or another, though Geralt couldn't really be mad about it since he took the role of the more silent companion. If he wanted you to speak with him more, he should have made more of an effort, he was aware of that.

The Witcher had also noticed that the two of you often got closer after a few drinks, leaning on each other, laughing about nothing in particular, sometimes even dancing if there was music playing. He understood that it was mostly harmless, you were just enjoying yourself, but it still created an unsettling feeling in his stomach.

Whenever the three of you had a little more money than usual, they would get you your own room at the inn to give you some privacy, since Geralt figured that you didn't want to be trapped with the two of them 24/7. However, even then, Jaskier usually spent hours in your room with you before he returned to the one that he shared with Geralt.

He often tried to distract himself in those moments, tending to his swords or other equipment. Sometimes he wondered why Jaskier didn't just sleep in there with you but a larger part of him was grateful that he didn't, it gave Geralt a reason to question what was really happening on the other side of that wall. Then he would curse himself for even worrying about, it wasn't any of his business.

The rest of the evening went like that, you and Jaskier drinking more that you probably should. You were sitting on the chair beside the bard, his arm draped over the back of it, as Geralt watched with a tense glare. He would never say anything, you were the only friends he had, the only two people he found himself truly caring about, he wouldn't want to ruin your happiness over his own desires.

The three of you shared a few drinks and, as the conversation died down, Jaskier lent into your ear and whispered something that made your eyes widen slightly and your face turn pink.

You both jumped in surprise when Geralt's tankard hit the wooden table. "E-everything alright, Geralt?" you asked, still a little flustered.

"I think you two have had enough" he grunted.

"I can handle my drink just fine, thank you very much" Jaskier insisted with a contradictory slur in his voice.

"I'm cutting you both off" Geralt told you both, leaving no room for argument.

"Geralt-" Jaskier began to argue but you interrupted him.

"No, Jask, he's right" you sighed, placing your hand on his arm. "We have to save some money" you reminded him.

"Fine" Jaskier groaned dramatically, making you laugh.

You stood from your chair and swayed slightly, steadying yourself by holding onto the table. Jaskier did the same and you laughed at him again.

Geralt grunted to himself as he stood up, ushering you both out of the tavern.

You stumbled out of the door, nearly tripping over your feet. Luckily, Geralt's reflexes were always fast and he hooked an arm around your waist.

"Thanks" you just laughed at your own clumsiness.

Geralt released you once he placed you back on your feet properly, but you only stumbled again. Of course, he caught you around the waist again.

"I should have cut you off earlier" Geralt muttered as he steadied you on your feet again.

"I'm fine" you assured him but still lent into him for support. Jaskier was always a bad influence on you when it came to drinking, always bringing out a more outgoing side of you. "Help" you murmured with a small laugh, leaning into the Witcher some more.

Geralt sighed, considering his options before lifting you up, holding you in his arms bridal style. You had absolutely no complaints.

"Jaskier. This way" Geralt ordered when he noticed the bard walking in the wrong direction.

"Yeah, yeah, I know" Jaskier nodded as he turned around and started following the Witcher to the inn across the road.

Geralt led the bard into the inn and up to the two rooms he had rented earlier.

"That's ours" Geralt nodded towards one of the doors.

You shifted in his arms, looking over his shoulder to laugh at Jaskier as he fumbled with the door before managing to open it and disappearing inside. You continued to laugh as you buried your face in Geralt's shoulder, which he tried his best to ignore.

The Witcher just carried you into your room. "Are you mad at Jask?" you asked as you both entered the room.

Geralt was surprised and confused by your question but it didn't show on his face. "No" he answered simply as he placed you on the ground. You placed a hand on his arm as you steadied yourself, quickly becoming stable on your own feet.

"Yes, you are. I saw you glaring at him, why?" you asked but he didn't respond. "Geralt, we know you better than anyone. I mean, you're always glaring at people, but I can tell when you mean it or when you're just being intimidating" you reminded him as you stepped backwards, away from him. "So, why were you glaring at Jaskier?" you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to act stern but that just amused Geralt and you didn't miss the subtle upturn of his mouth.

"He had been drinking and getting a little close. I was just making sure you weren't uncomfortable" Geralt told you.

"Oh..." was all you said at first, surprised by his answer. "Well, thank you but...you don't need to worry about Jaskier" you chuckled, Jaskier was harmless and surely he knew that.

"Yes...the two of have been close recently. I suppose I shouldn't worry" Geralt nodded, his arms folding over his chest.

"...what do you mean?" your head tilted to the side, confused by what he was suggesting.

"You aren't...involved with each other?" Geralt asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Me and Jask?...no!" you laughed, dropping your arms to your sides. "Don't get me wrong, he's great but he's just my friend. I'm not interested in him like that and he isn't interested in me" you told him, shaking your head and still laughing slightly.

"I just assumed. He has been spending most of the night whispering in your ear" Geralt pointed out, he wasn't crazy for considering the possibility.

"What? Oh yeah but only because he's making fun of me. Teasing me about you, mostly" you huffed at the memory.

"About me?" Geralt questioned, head tilting to the side ever so slightly.

"Uh...I didn't mean to say that" you blushed, only intriguing the Witcher.

"But you said it" he prodded, deciding not to drop this topic. "What was he saying about me?" he asked.

"Gods Geralt, since when are you so talkative?" you asked, looking away shyly, unable to meet or hold his gaze.

"Well, what was he saying?" Geralt asked again.

"...he was just teasing me" you shrugged.

"About me?" Geralt cocked an eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah...he just kept saying that you were watching us or just pointing out that I was looking at you. He always teases me about my feelings for you, telling me that you feel the same way even though that's absurd" you rambled, eyes widening when you heard yourself speak. "Ugh, I didn't mean that" you groaned as you brought your hands up to cover your face.

Geralt just watched you for a moment, trying not to let his surprise show on his face.

He didn't like that you were hiding from him, even if he understood your embarrassment. So, he stepped towards you and wrapped his hands around your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face.

"You have feelings for me?" Geralt asked, his brow furrowing slightly. He could hear your heartbeat quicken as you looked up at him.

You paused, searching his face for some sort of emotion but he rarely gave anything away, but you gave in and nodded.

"I wasn't sure if Jaskier had told you or not. He promised me that he wouldn't say anything but, well, you know how he can be" you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"He didn't mention it" Geralt told you.

"At least one of us can keep our mouth shut" you tried to joke but it felt like it fell flat.

"Hmm" was all that Geralt said and you were a little nervous that he was going back to humming and grunting rather than actually talking. That didn't seem like a good sign.

"Geralt?" you asked nervously. He never spoke but his hands were still holding your wrists. "Sorry" you murmured as he released them. You really didn't want this to mess up your friendship.

Geralt was silent as he scanned your face, his mind working overtime. He wasn't good at talking, that was obvious to everyone he met. He had spent so long believing that he didn't have feelings or that he wasn't supposed to have them that now he couldn't really talk about them at all.

"How drunk are you?" Geralt asked quietly, his question surprising you slightly.

"Pretty damn sober now, I won’t lie" you scoffed.

It turns out that the fear of the Witcher's reaction to you accidentally confessing your feelings for him is apparently very sobering.

Geralt just nodded before stepping closer to you. Placing his hand on the side of your neck, he shifted closer to you again. You watched him carefully with slightly widened eyes, your heart feeling like it was about to burst out of your chest. Was this really happening?

Then, the Witcher was leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. You instantly returned his kiss despite your surprise, resting your hands against his chest. The kiss was surprisingly gently, his lips lingering against yours before he pulled away.

"...I'll see you in the morning. Get some rest" Geralt told you as he began to step away from you.

"Geralt" you stopped him by gently grabbing his arm, knowing that he could push you away with ease. "Stay" you requested quietly.

"You've been drinking" Geralt reminded you with a sigh, even though you felt almost sober by this point.

"Then you better not take advantage of me" you joked, tugging him back towards you. "Just stay" you pleaded, meeting his intense gaze,

"...fine" Geralt breathed and you could feel him relax under your hands. You smiled, leaning up to steal another quick kiss from the man.

That night Geralt learnt that he much preferred sleeping with you curled up against his side compared to listening to Jaskier ramble about the plans for his next song.

[mandaloriandy]

For the WIP game, Obi-Wan Can’t Catch A Break, Can He?

[WIP Ask Game!]

Obi-Wan Can’t Catch A Break, Can He?

a.k.a

The Star Wars AU I’m Not Gonna Write: Time Travel, the Fuckening: Darth Searah 3.0

So time travel. Wham, blam, cosmic rays, everyone gains future memories. And! There’s a bunch of people who haven’t been born yet who show up out of nowhere. “I don’t understand why we’re the same age, you died years before I did,” Sabine Wren tells Ezra Bridger, when they meet up. On Kamino, everyone has a big ole freak-out before the medics yell at everybody to shut up and start getting their control chips out (and Kix, just in case, carefully does not mention the time he spent in cryo-stasis). “Hm,” says Shmi Skywalker, when her much-older-now son shows up to kill Gardulla and free her. “Things got complicated, didn’t they?” Ani doesn’t stop hugging her, so she can feel his nod. “I have some things to tell you as well, I think…”

Obi-Wan Kenobi is an initiate. This is, to borrow a phrase of Ahsoka’s, a big yikes moment. He would probably be freaking out about it more if everyone else was freaking out about it less, but as it is, there is nobody in the temple who is not halfway to a panic attack except for maybe Vokara Che, who is grimly sedating anyone who needs sedating, and Sifo Diyas, who is pointing and laughing and saying I told you so. So Obi-Wan does what anyone (he thinks) would do: he organizes his fellow crechelings to go give their various masters a slap upside the head (or, more likely given their current stature, a stomp on the toes) until they stop freaking out and start doing things.

This is not the interesting part of the AU. Just work with me, here.

Okay. So over the next few years, things become… weirdly normal? Like, nobody is pretending that Obi-Wan et al are as young as they are. But also it is very clear to everyone that they’re all still children, and have the cognition skills and habits of children. So people go off with their various masters (with only a few minor shuffles) and start doing missions across the galaxy. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan (and Tahl and Yoda and Mace and probably a few others, for safety) swing by Tatooine, because they’re not gonna just leave Anakin there, but… well, he’s not there, and neither is Shmi. Plo Koon’s first stop is not Kamino (because trauma, and getting shot down by men you considered your family) but he goes there after he can’t find Ahsoka on Shili, and it’s just… empty. Palpatine has vanished. Great, everyone says. Now what.

Well, now problems.

The thing is, last time, by the time Obi-Wan had turned like seventeen, all of Qui-Gon’s friends were dead. They’re not, this time, and that’s wonderful (even though Obi-Wan is probably only like fifteen at this point so technically they’ve still got time.) The thing is, Qui-Gon is a maverick, and has never played by the rules, and knows how to play-by-the-rules-in-the-rules and also how to pretend. The thing is, the thing is… the thing is that when they had first started truly delving into this research, it was Dooku who had been following Qui-Gon’s lead.

It takes Obi-Wan Kenobi, oh, three months to figure this all out?

No, not quite. It takes Obi-Wan about that long to figure out that Qui-Gon is dangerously close to the edge of Falling. Unintentionally, he thinks. From trauma and sorrow and loneliness, he thinks. So he argues with the Council (he was once on the council) and they agree that he can keep trying to convince Qui-Gon not to Fall. Since technically he isn’t Fallen yet. He writes up all their mission reports, anyways, so he can just include an encrypted section with a status update on that. It’s Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu thinks. Surely he is the person best-placed to determine how safe or unsafe Qui-Gon Jinn is. Normally, he would be right, especially with a post-ANH General Kenobi. Unfortunately for him, Obi-Wan Kenobi is currently a teenager.

So a few years into this, when Obi-Wan is fifteen or sixteen, Quinlan Vos runs away. He Fell, his master says. Months later, when Obi-Wan senses a shadowed presence stalking him through the concourse of a space station, he just sighs and gets an extra cup of caf, then sits down on a bench until Quinlan just comes out and talks to him. Quinlan says that he didn’t know what to do – he’d Fallen before, and returned, but now it kept happening and he doesn’t know how to stop it. Quinlan says that he just thought he needed some time away for things to settle, but it hasn’t settled yet, and would Obi-Wan be willing to help him? Quinlan is lying out his ass about most of those things. Again, unfortunately, Obi-Wan is a teenager, and at this age he has a much harder time keeping his eyes off of Quin’s biceps than he should. (Also, well, Quinlan knows Obi-Wan, and knows that this is exactly the kind of narrative that Obi-Wan is looking for, because it’s the kind of narrative he’s desperately trying to find with Qui-Gon, had desperately tried to find with Anakin. Quinlan Vos, at this age, is a bit of an asshole.) Of Course I’ll Help You, Obi-Wan says. Let me just tell the Council– You can’t tell the Council! Quinlan says. Half of them died before the Clone Wars even started, they… I’m scared they won’t understand… he makes his eyes go wide, he bites his lip, he lowers his lashes. Okay, Obi-Wan says.

Quinlan’s not that subtle, though, so Obi-Wan figures it out in just a month or so. A month of him traveling around with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. And learning Obi-Wan’s routine. Like, when he sends the Council updates. And what kind of things he puts in them. Oh, fuck, Obi-Wan thinks, while Quinlan has him pinned to the floor, his lightsaber clipped to Quin’s belt. Then, he thinks again. It’s not as if Quin knows any of his passwords, or his encryption keys, or his separate decryption keys. Without those, there’s no way Quin will be able to use his datapad to send the Council false updates, so they’ll realize that everything has gone south fairly quickly. Quinlan shifts Obi-Wan to a one-handed grip (damn those biceps) and, with his teeth, pulls the glove off of his free hand. Oh, fuck, psychometry, Obi-Wan thinks. Yeah, he’s kinda screwed. “Don’t tell me you’re working with Dooku,” Obi-Wan says, as scathingly as he can manage. Quinlan rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m working with Skywalker.” he pauses. “I mean, Dooku’s also working with Skywalker. So. You know.” Well, Obi-Wan thinks, trying to be optimistic. If Anakin kills me then my force-ghost can go complain to Yoda, at least.

Obi-Wan has failed to ask which Skywalker is the one pulling the strings, here.

[jetaime-jespere]

Prompt #15

#15: Don’t Tempt Me

Smut.

A special thank you to @sweetsecretskeptinside for the inspo pic (and the 3:30 AM conversation that led to this little thing)

In 7.21, Emily says, No, I don't have a fear of owning stuff. Turn me loose in a shoe store, I'll prove that. So, we know she loves a good pair of shoes. Well, what would happen if Emily were in fact turned loose in a shoe store, only to come home to a curious Aaron?

Aaron is about three quarters of the way through a basketball game on TV when he hears the door open, announcing her arrival. “I’m back,” Emily calls through the narrow hallway, keys jingling from her wrist as she closes the door behind her. “Aaron? Where are you?”

He hears the thump of her shoes coming off, the soft swish of her jacket being hung up. He smiles, because even though it’s only been a few hours, he’s much happier now that she’s back. “In here,” he calls over the hum of the game as he finishes the last of the beer on the end table. “Watching the game.” Not that he actually cares too much - but there isn’t much else on at the moment, and it’s been just a little too quiet.

“Someone had a busy day,” Emily says in jest when she takes in the sight of him sprawled across the couch, while taking note of the spotless living room with appreciation. All the toys normally strewn about are cleaned up and tucked away, blankets neatly folded on the back of the couch. There’s a bag dangling from each of her slender wrists - two long white handles, brown and nondescript, with elegant white lettering across the side. Emily sets both down next to the couch, coming up next to him and looping her arms around his neck. “Hi,” she murmurs, kissing the sharp ridge of his jaw. “I’m sorry I’m so late getting back. Traffic outside McLean was awful.”

“That’s Northern Virginia at rush hour for you,” He quips, looking slightly amused, because she was supposed to be home almost an hour ago. “Did you have fun shopping at least?”

“Yeah,” she says casually, settling on the couch beside him, draping her legs over his lap. “It was crowded though. You’d think it was a holiday.”

“Get anything good?” Aaron massages her ankles, trying to appear interested in whatever she’d purchased. She’d gone out with JJ and Penelope a few hours before, giving him a few hours to run some desperately needed errands. There’s hardly any food in his fridge - they’ve been slammed with cases one right after the other for the last two weeks - and his place was in dire need of a cleaning. With Jack at a friend’s house for the afternoon it was perfect timing, but he’s expected back home at any time. There are dinner plans to figure out; Aaron promised his son the three of them would watch a movie, one that Jack gets to pick.

“You could say so,” Emily says coyly, reaching for the magazine in his hands. She flips through a few pages, even if her attention isn’t on it at all. Instead, Aaron feels her stare from across the couch, the subtle shift of the weight of her legs in his lap. The smile on her face and the lift of her eyebrows tells him she wants him to ask just what she got.

He relents, because her insistence has his interest piqued, and he wonders just what could be so fascinating about a standard day of shopping with JJ and Penelope. It’s something they do fairly often, sometimes coupled with drinks and dinner, or sometimes with brunch. Those trips usually end with her slightly tipsy, something he finds endearingly adorable. And while he still isn’t completely comfortable with the fact this his name most definitely comes up more than once, he looks past it now. “What did you get?”

“Some shoes.” Emily says casually, with a slight shrug. “I didn’t see much else.” But she’s reaching for the bags on the floor, the brown paper crinkling under her fingers. “Want to see? You think you can tear yourself away from the TV for a few minutes?”

There are two boxes in Emily’s lap. Both are brown, matching the bag, with the same logo embossed in the middle. Each box is wrapped with a red ribbon on the ends, and he frowns, thinking the whole presentation is a little … ostentatious.

But she’s already undoing the ribbons, popping the lids off the boxes. The first box contains a pair of high heels, black, with high sharp heels and an unnatural looking arch. They look ridiculously uncomfortable, yet something tells him she’d pull them off without question. The other pair are even less than practical - a pair of slingbacks with bows on the back, with even higher heels. They look like the kind of shoes that could break an ankle. And yet she’s watching him intently, gauging his reaction with an expression that he might label as pleased.

Where the hell would she ever wear those? His mind starts to wander with possibilities, and it dawns on him they’re not supposed to be practical. They’re fuck me shoes.  “Are they supposed to …” Aaron blinks with confusion as he studies the ridiculously impractical pairs of shoes, nestled in wrapping paper, both with red painted soles. “Are the bottoms supposed to be red?”

Emily laughs lightly, and Aaron can’t help but wonder if this is one of those things he’s just somehow supposed to magically know - not that he knows remotely anything about womens’ fashion. Haley’s taste in clothes had always been relatively practical, and given their line of work, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Emily actually dressed up, much to his chagrin. “It’s the designer’s trademark, Aaron.”

He narrows his eyes with confusion. “Red soles?”

“Mmhm.”

“But no one sees the soles of your shoes,” he points out logically. “Besides, don’t you have a few other ones that look just like this?” He isn’t quite sure he sees the need for multiple pairs of black high heels that basically all look the same, even though the more he stares at the shoes, the more he can’t help but think about what she’d look like wearing these particular pairs.

“So? Emily looks very pleased with herself. “They’re an investment piece, Aaron. Christian Louboutin is timeless and classic.”

“Christian Lou - what?” He completely butchers the word Louboutin, struggling with the French pronunciation that seems to roll off her tongue so easily. Emily laughs softly, patiently pronouncing the word again, and then again. Something about hearing her speak French makes his mouth go dry, and he swallows thickly as she neatly wraps the shoes back up in the boxes.

Something else catches his eye - the pricetag - and he makes a conscious effort to keep his jaw firmly closed. “Emily,” he says evenly, even though he’s certain he’s seeing an extra zero he shouldn’t. “Tell me those shoes were not seven hundred dollars.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with disbelief, a slight shake of his head. “You bought two pairs.”

“Actually,” she says with an air of indifference. “The ones with the bows were seven hundred. The others were on sale for six.”

“Six hundred dollars for a pair of shoes?” He sounds incredulous, probably because he is. He’s no stranger to the fact that Emily was raised with an abundance of wealth and with that, probably comes some appreciation for the finer things. And not that he cares one bit about how she spends her money, but the thought just seems completely absurd to him.

“You know,” she begins slowly, batting her eyelashes with a mere shake of her head. “I’m sure you’d appreciate them more if you saw them on me.” And then her fingers drop to her shirt, beginning to undo the top button, then the next. “What do you think?”

It’s his turn to smirk, the slightest lick of his lips with his tongue as he meets her gaze with a look in his eyes that matches her own. “What are you  -”

“Daddy?” The excited voice coming from the foyer tears them out of the moment completely, and Emily practically bolts off the couch in surprise, as if they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Shit. She hurriedly buttons her shirt, taking a few precautionary steps away from Aaron out of habit. Jack is still hanging up his coat, chattering animatedly about his afternoon, running through a rather long list of potential movie options. Aaron gets up from the couch, pecking Emily on the cheek with a slightly apologetic look. “Next time?”

“Next time,” she agrees, practically purrs in his ear, pressing her body up against his. She stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, letting her teeth scrape against his earlobe as she disappears with the boxes in her hands, putting an extra sway in her hips along the way.

…

“Not here,” Aaron tells her for the third time, this time more firmly. They’re milking drinks at a roundtop table in the middle of an ALS Benefit a few days later. They’re there for Dave, like every year, and for some reason, he’s just not feeling it tonight. It’s warm in the room, he doesn’t feel like dancing, and not to mention, Emily has been goading him since they arrived.

“Come on,” Emily coaxes him with a wink from across the table, a glass of red wine in her hand. “You’re no fun, you know.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, our colleagues happen to be in or around the vicinity of this room.” Aaron takes a sip of his drink, this time downing most of the glass. The drinks are a little too strong, the music is a little too loud, and he’s already having trouble concentrating on anything, thanks to the fact that Emily has stayed within his line of sight almost all evening. It’s intentional, that much he knows. The rest of the team has dissipated, spread out amongst the crowd, mingling with the other guests. He knows they should probably do the same. After this drink, he tells himself.

“But I’m wearing the shoes.” It’s the way she says it, locking her eyes with his. But he already knows - he’d noticed as they walked into the hotel two hours before.

“Don’t tempt me,” he hisses just a little more forcefully, wishing he had a fresh drink to occupy his hands. “We’ve got another two hours at this thing.” He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes forward instead of staring at her, but that’s getting harder. She’d decided on the black dress after a careful deliberation, showing him the various options she’d pulled from the depths of her closet. They’d barely made it out the door on time.

“There’s plenty of open rooms,” she tries again. “Nobody will notice we’re gone.” As if to prove her point, Emily tips her head in the direction of the band, where Strauss and Dave are all but tearing up the dance floor. “Look at them.”

Aaron nods, stifling a laugh in his fist. “Sometimes I still can’t believe they’re together.”

“It’s been going on for years,” Emily snickers. “Dave used to think he was subtle about it. He wasn’t. But good for him.” She tips her head back, exposing the side of her neck. Something inside of him snaps, his mind made up, because before he can stop himself, he’s wrapping his hand around her elbow, giving her a gentle shove through the crowd of people.

“Aaron, what are you -”

“Let’s go,” he growls in her ear, pressing a hand into the small of her back to lead her closer to the door. It’s risky at best and a bad idea at the worst, but what the hell? He thinks, leaning forward to get a trace of her perfume on the back of her neck.

Emily grins to herself, her eyes locked on the door just ahead of them, and she’s grateful for the dimmed lights in the ballroom - no one will even notice they’re gone. The hallway is hushed quiet compared to the booming of the music on the other side of the door, and they stare at each other for a brief moment. “Here,” he says, taking her hand. There are multiple closed doors that lead to empty conference rooms; Aaron leads her to the one at the far end of the hall.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to tempt you.” Emily flutters her eyelashes, her fingers lingering on his face as she slips past him through the doors. This is a bad idea, they both think, not for the first time, and yet, neither of them are about to put an end to it.

“Too late.” Aaron closes the door and adds the lock for good measure, spinning on his heel to face her. Emily licks her lips, backs up until her back is against the wall, all but cornering herself as he nearly rips his own suit jacket off, throwing it against the table. He’s eying her almost ferally, staring at her legs and the damn shoes. His jaw is set in determination as he moves toward her. “I’m going to take you apart.”

Damn, Emily thinks, her eyes widening as Aaron gets a hand around her waist, pulling her into him. He bypasses her mouth entirely, going right for her neck. She gasps as his teeth drag over her skin, his hands impatient as he goes for the zipper at the back of her dress.

“Don’t rip it,” she breathes, arching her back as his fingers dance down her spine, pulling the little metal tab down to the small of her back. “It was expen-”

“Shhh.” He covers her lips with his own, smiling a little when she moans into his mouth,  her body bowing into his. Aaron gets his hands around her hips, walks them back and around until he can lean her against the large credenza in the corner, pulling the dress down over her shoulders. Her breath hitches as the cool air hits her skin; it pebbles as his hands slide around to work the clasp; it snaps free in one go.

“I’m impressed,” Emily drawls with a grin as it falls away.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.” He leans her back even further, going with her as her back hits the top of the table. He takes one breast in his mouth, alternating the pressure of his mouth until she keens into the air, her hands pulling at the fabric of his expensive dress shirt. Emily gets a hand in his hair, urging him to keep going. He switches to the other breast, repeating the same pattern with his mouth. “You’re perfect,” he breathes, cupping his hands around her jaw when he stands straight to kiss her again. “So perfect.”

Emily smiles, already starting to work the buttons of his dress shirt. “There’s lipstick on this,” she murmurs, finding the imprints of her lips on the collar. “I guess we weren’t very subtle earlier.”

“I don’t care.” He gets the shirt off his shoulders, then lifts her up just enough to get the dress past her hips and over her head. She’s left in nothing but those damn shoes that make her legs look endless, and some impractical, lacy underwear that matches the bra that’s now discarded on the floor. He stands back to look at her, an equal mix of adoration and lust. It takes little effort to lift her up, setting her on the top of the credenza, coming to stand between her legs. He runs his hands over her thighs, down her calves, closing around her ankles, admiring her, smirking when he sees the shoes again. Emily rests on her elbows, watching as he kisses the insides of her knees, her stomach quivering with effort to remain semi-upright.

“The shoes,” he says as he props her legs on his shoulders, watching her for a few moments. “Stay on.”

All she can do is nod, her heart fluttering in her chest as he tugs on either side of the lace at her hips, dragging it down over her legs. On the pile it goes, and when she’s finally completely bare before him save for a ridiculously expensive pair of high heels, her legs bent around his shoulders, does she seemingly realize where they are, her eyes sparkling. “If anyone hears us,” Emily breathes, “I’m blaming you.”

“Then keep quiet,” he says with a wink, spreading her thighs even further open with his shoulders. He kisses each thigh, taking his time to build her up until Emily presses the spikes of her heels into his shoulders. He only smiles against her, one long, slow lick of his tongue follows a moment later. Emily whines as he drags her closer to his mouth.

“Hurry up,” she pants with anticipation, and as if on cue, he touches his lips to her clit just enough to make her back arch and her eyes fall shut. “Fuck,” she groans, tugging at his hair with both hands, and when his tongue becomes an insistent pulsing rhythm, Emily lets out a loud whimper, one that reverberates through the conference room. Aaron pushes her over once; she comes against his mouth hard, her legs shaking on his shoulders as the heels nearly pierce his skin. He rears back, encircling her ankles with gentle fingers, staring down at her.

“So much for keeping quiet, Sweetheart.” He’s taunting her, loosening his hold on one ankle as he pulls at his belt. Emily’ head rolls back against the table, biting her lip when his pants are added to the pile. He palms himself in his hand, lining himself up with her as Emily wraps her legs around his waist. Aaron smiles when he feels the spikes of her heels dig into his lower back; he kisses her in tandem with the initial thrust inside of her. Emily whimpers into his mouth, bringing a hand to grip his shoulder for leverage as he pushes all the way in one smooth press of his hips.

“Oh fuck,” she whines, and he runs a finger over her lips to remind her of volume. She’s making these little noises, clenching around him, tilting her hips forward to meet his shallow thrusts. “Harder.” She tightens her legs around his back, bringing him impossibly close, and he’s more than happy to appease her. And he does, driving into her deliberately and forcefully as she hums in pleasure around him. Her nails scrape down his back, he winds an arm around her waist to keep her steady as those damn shoes remind him of how tightly her legs are locked around his hips.

Jesus Christ. “Emily.” Each drive of his hips sends the table into the wall. “Come for me.” He gets a hand between them, swipes his thumb over her clit a few times and it’s all it takes to send her over again, the near scream in his ear. She clenches around him like a vice, her moans muffled by the seal of his mouth around hers. He kisses her through her second climax, his own coming quickly, and one final push of his hips and the rasp of her name on his lips. It takes more strength than he anticipated to keep himself upright, and his arms shake with effort as he cleans her up with a tissue from his pocket. Aaron helps her down, making sure her legs don’t give out beneath her in the unforgiving shoes, beginning the now arduous task of searching for their clothes. Even with the closed door they hear the boom of music, indicating the party is still going strong.

“We should make this a yearly thing,” Emily says with a wicked grin, tossing his jacket in his direction. “No one even missed us.”

He pretends to consider it, wondering if there’s any truth to her words. They’ve been gone awhile; certainly by now someone might be wondering. His jaw flexes as he watches her rearrange her bra, getting the dress over her head and past her hips. And as his eyes wander down her legs to the expensive shoes, the ones with the name he still can’t pronounce, he knows he’ll never be able to deny her. “Fine. But only if you wear those again.”

[xfandomwritingsx]

His Girl – Steve Rogers – Part 2

-gif source-

Description: You’ve always been Bucky’s girl. But Bucky’s not here anymore…

Warnings/Labels: Angst. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. A bit of a Dom!Steve. A pinch of sexting. Masturbation. Smut. Minor choking kink. Unprotected Sex.

Approx. Word Count: 8,500

A/N: 10 months later here I am! Jesus, this wasn't supposed to take this long. Sorry guys!  

Part One

---

You’ve retreated to your apartment for the week, finding comfort in your cozy little place as your last assignment ended. You light a few of your favorite scented candles, fill the bath with water that is probably a little too hot, load it with bubble bath, and pour yourself your favorite drink in the fanciest glass you have. It’s a much needed and overdue relaxation. The hot water does wonders for the tension in your shoulders and the atmosphere you set puts you at peace.

You’ve been soaking for nearly twenty minutes when your phone pings annoyingly on the floor next to you. You toy with the idea of just flipping it off, but you still haven’t been able to shake that habit drilled into you that forces you to, at the very least, check your phone in case it’s an emergency.

Emergency, it is not, but seeing Steve’s name pop up in the little text notification bubble makes you smile with excitement. Texting is still not his favorite form of communication, but he partakes with you and you can never leave him without a response. You swipe to read his message.

Chicago’s settled for now. It’s funny how much it feels like “old times” around here.

Steve left for Chicago a couple of days ago. With most the city population dissolved into ash, criminal activity skyrocketed and two groups had been going the direction of starting war with each other. It was extremely reminiscent of the days of mobsters and mafia running cities which is what you assume he’s referring to. You type out a quick, light-hearted reply.

Think Al Capone would have survived the snap?

You let your arm hang over the edge of the tub, keeping your phone in your hand in anticipation of his next text. You have your drink in your other hand and take a sip from it. When your phone vibrates, you put the glass down onto the little floating drink holder bobbing in your lap.

Who knows. How’s your night going?

You type a couple of replies, deleting them all as they all seem too wordy, too much. He didn’t need to know your dinner was underwhelming or that the cheap dryer hadn’t dried your pajamas all the way. As you try again, you silently thank the creator of the PopSocket for all but completely removing your fear of dropping your phone in the tub.

Could be better. Finally relaxing now.

You don’t even close out of the text window or put your phone to sleep. You simply watch as the ellipses appear on your screen almost instantly as he types back to you.

What are you doing?

You chew on your lower lip, debating if you really want to act on the idea that runs through your head. You take a larger gulp of your drink before throwing away your hesitation. You sweep your arm over the surface of the water to gather all of the remaining bubbles to your chest in order to cover your breasts for the picture you snap a moment later.

Your damp hair is tied up at the back of your head in a mess of a bun, cheeks and collar pink from the heat, and no trace of makeup on your skin. You’ve also been soaking long enough that the bubbles have turned mostly to a thin foam on the surface of the water, barely concealing your body beneath it. The candle flames give a dark, suggestive aura to the photo and you can’t help but be pleased with how it turned out as you hit send with a brief caption.

What about you?

His reply is slower this time, the lack of ellipses making you wonder if he didn’t appreciate the photo as you hoped. When your phone turns black, changing into rest mode due to lack of activity, your heart starts beating a little faster and you start to worry it was a mistake. You have never exchanged pictures before, let alone one of you stark naked in a bath. It was pretty bold and despite what he’s implied about his feelings for you, maybe he didn’t like it.

When your phone lights up again, it notifies you that Steve has sent you a picture in return. You’re not really sure what you had expected, but this is not it. Before you can even convince yourself it’s going to be something completely innocent and bland, you’re already opening the message.

Steve is laying down on what is obviously a bed in a fairly fancy hotel room. One of the “perks” of The Snap; fancy things aren’t expensive anymore. He’s leaning partially on the headboard, propped up on big, fluffy white pillows. He’s got the smallest little smirk on his lips, his eyes on the camera lens and not the screen. One arm is thrown behind his head lazily, the other clearly raising his phone up as high as he can. And due to that little detail, you’re able to see clearly that he is not wearing a shirt. It’s accompanied by a short message.

Missing home… Missing you.

You breathe deeply and sink a little further into the water. You’ve seen Steve shirtless on a number of occasions, even touched his super-soldier-given perfect skin patching him up. This is different though. This is quiet and personal, intimate. This is a picture he snapped just for you to see and the angle he took it at, the effort put into making sure his phone was that high, it wasn’t by accident that his chest is on display.

You’re stuck for words, nothing coming to your blank mind, completely enthralled by his photo. You stare so long that your screen goes black again and you have to unlock your phone once more.

Wish I could have come with you.

After hitting send, you keep staring at that picture while wondering, hoping even, that he’s just as entranced by yours as you are his. You run your wet hand along your neck, the water still not cool enough to quench your flaming skin. You trail it down to your breastbone, palm resting at the very top of your breast.

You should have. Only had rooms with one bed available though. Consolidation and such.

You let your hand slide down and cup around your breast in full, giving it a small lift and squeeze. You clench your thighs together, trying to ease the steadily building excitement between them and type your reply.

Well now I really feel like I’m missing out.

Is he in sweatpants, you wonder. Shorts? Underwear? Nothing? That building desire is clearly not going anywhere. You finish the last of your drink in a hurry.

Bed’s small. Might have ended up on top of each other.

Well, hell. The man is going to drive you insane. Or cause you to spontaneously combust. The water doesn’t feel quite as warm as it did a few minutes ago. Your squeeze your legs together again and shift, jostling the water a little as you sink to a more comfortable position, hand resting on your lower stomach, daring and itching to sink down.

Good thing I like you on top of me.

God, what was it about texting that made you so bold? You try not to think about how mortified you’ll be tomorrow if this ends disastrously. His reply is just a little slower and you wonder if he’s trying to find a graceful way to abandon the conversation. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s readjusting himself, removing his pants or simply pushing them down far enough to get his dick out.

Oh yeah? Anything else in particular you like?

He’s giving you an out, letting you lead how far this conversation is going to go. You’re too far gone to stop though. Your legs open practically on their own and your hand glides through the water to cup your sex. The pressure of your palm on your clit and the image of Steve sprawled out on a hotel bed causing a small moan. It takes you a moment to gather yourself enough to respond.

I like when you pin me down, hands over head, and grind into me.

Your middle finger teases your entrance, easily remembering how it feels to have his large hands wrapped around your wrists, his hips on yours. So many times you wanted to just wrap your legs around him, lock your ankles at the lowest part of his back and keep him there.

Want to know what I like?

Your body is on edge, heart pounding at your chest. You can only manage to type out a single word.

Yes.

Your eyes drift shut, letting your finger run up and down your lips through the water. Your mind is filled with images of Steve, so many you can barely keep them straight. You want so badly to see him, to know if he’s as worked up as you are. You’re so distracted that you don’t notice the minute tick by, or that he’s typing back the whole time.

I like when you follow orders and when you try to be subtle when you stare. I like thinking about you on your knees. I like the way your whole body shuddered when I suggested you call me Daddy. I like that I can practically hear you moan my name when I pin you to a wall. I also like when you cook breakfast in those little blue shorts of yours. Think you could manage that for me the morning after? That’s assuming my babygirl can still move after a night with me.

Your mind is a melted mess as you read it. Your entire body feels like a tight coil with lust and your hips grind up into your palm as you slip your middle finger inside of you. You moan louder this time, images of the two of you bombarding your mind. Your thumb numbly types out a pleading text you pray isn’t pathetic in comparison.

Send me another picture. Please.

Waiting for his reply isn’t difficult. It comes quickly, but even if it didn’t, his previous text is enough to keep you running and satisfied for the whole night. Perhaps even longer.

Since you asked so nicely.

The words come through a few seconds before the picture. The room he’s in is dimly lit, but the photo itself is still clear enough for you to see what he’s showing you. He’d brought the camera up to his chest, taking a picture looking down his body. The thin, white hotel bedsheet is laid loosely on top of him, the edge of it lightly tickling his waist. The bulge tenting it up between his legs is obvious, but just in case it wasn’t, his hand is there; thumb pressing into the base of his cock, large hand at the juncture of his thigh, the rest of his fingers likely cradling his balls out of view.

You want so badly to peel that sheet away from him and see what’s underneath. You tap your thumb on the screen occasionally just to make sure your phone doesn’t turn black and take that image from your eyes. Your body is thrumming, your skin practically vibrating on you as your finger slides in and out of you, indulging in some of pleasure you’ve been trying to deny yourself for years.

Another text comes through from him.

Was that too far?

You realize now that you’ve failed to respond for a few minutes. He just sent you what you’re qualifying as a dick pic and he’d been met with silence. Instead of being worried you weren’t impressed by it, that old, gentlemanly Captain America peaks out and is worried he’d taken your little game too far. The four little words crack through the lust and give your heart the slightest pang. You type back quickly, eager to ease his concerns.

No! You’re good. I was just… admiring the view.

Good. I was worried maybe you had second thoughts.

The pleasure in you threatens to turn. When were you not having second thoughts about it all? But no! Not tonight. You refuse to let it sour everything. It’s been years. Years. You deserve some amount of pleasure, of release.

My only thoughts right now are about what’s under that sheet.

His response is quick.

Some things are better seen in person.

Your breath catches and your finger starts to move a little faster inside of you.

Is that an offer?

Absolutely.

You know he believes there’s a good chance this conversation will never see the light of day, that it will be some dirty little secret kept hidden away. You don’t want that though. The very idea of jumping into his arms and kissing him when you see him next has you squirming.

What are you going to do when I actually take you up on that offer?

You push the heel of your palm into your clit a little harder and grind your hips. You’ve moved your hand and phone outside the tub, no longer trusting yourself not to fumble it.

Maybe one day you’ll find out.

You moan, hoping with everything you have that Steve has his dick in his hand and is as much of a mess as you are.

Get your ass back home Cap.

You can almost hear his chuckle in your ear.

So needy babygirl.

You can feel your pleasure building, everything in you tense and wound up. You withdraw your finger so that you can make circles on your clit and try to bring yourself over the edge. Your thumb shakes as you type out a short response.

Need you.

Say the word and you have me.

He follows up almost instantly with another text.

In person though. Not now, not like this. Call me old school.

You ease the pressure off your clit enough for you to focus on typing on a coherent reply to him.

Then you might want to tell me goodnight or I’m going to take this too far.

You don’t actually want him to do it. You want to take it too far, to take that leap of faith and get a taste of what you’ve been craving, but you know you can’t right now. He doesn’t want some quick, technological affair that can be literally erased at any point and quite frankly, neither do you.

Goodnight, babygirl. Be home soon.

I can’t wait. Goodnight, Steve.

And with that, you drop your phone onto the bathroom tile and sink your hand into the water, fully succumbing to your own pleasure.

-

When the sunlight streams in the next morning, you’re expecting the guilt to come with it. It always does after a night thinking about Steve. It’s a crushing weight that sits right in your stomach and pulls down on your throat. It’s familiar by now, but no less unsettling.

You lie in bed, waiting for it to hit you, but the only thing you feel is a slight fear. You feel a tensing and a pressure, afraid that when you look at your phone, there will be a text from Steve that retracts everything. Sorry about last night. or We shouldn’t have said those things. Let’s forget it happened. Something like that.

The fear is an unwelcome intruder amongst your feelings. Self-hate and guilt you can handle, have handled for a long time, but fear is not something you want to deal with. So, you bite the bullet and roll over to snatch your phone off the night stand.

One unread text from Steve Rogers sent thirteen minutes ago.

You open your phone before you can convince yourself not to, before the fear sinks teeth into you and forces you to leave his message unread all day long.

Morning beautiful. Had a complication this morning and I am headed to a place with little cell service. I’ll also be home a little later than planned. Only a day or so I hope.

The fear lifts off of you and is replaced with a light, floaty feeling. While you’re disappointed that he won’t be coming back on time, the relief you have is much stronger. Maybe, just maybe this won’t end in disaster after all.

-

Steve ends up being home a week later than originally planned and you haven’t talked to him much during that time. When you did speak, it was professionally about his mission or another issue. Cell service around the county is much spottier than it was before The Snap which can make communication in certain areas more difficult.

You’re working out at The Haven when he returns. You’ve worked up a slight sweat and are pummeling a punching bag when he finds you. You don’t notice him at first since the doorway is behind you and he takes the moment to silently watch you.

“You shouldn’t let your form get sloppy,” he calls once you finish a sequence. The sound of his voice brings a smile to your face, but his words cause you to huff and roll your eyes before turning around.

“It’s just practice,” you chide, wiping your wrist over your brow. He’s leaning against the doorway casually, a duffel bag at his feet. He hadn’t even stopped at home first.

“Practice for the real thing. You lose it in practice, you’ll lose it in a fight.” You give him a sarcastic look to display your disbelief at his critique. It doesn’t faze him. “Fix your stance next time.”

“Yes, sir,” you mock as you begin to unwrap your hands and try to bite back your smile. It’s impossible though once his stoic mentor face breaks and his own smile appears on his lips. “How was your trip?” you ask, leaning down a bit to grab your water bottle. He sighs and considers his answer briefly.

“Long,” he says. “Long and annoying, but successful.” There’s a moment where your eyes connect with his and the air in the room gets heavy. “Glad to be home.” There’s a meaning beneath his words that reads loud and clear, but you force yourself to swallow it down. If you didn’t, you may just end up leaping into his arms right here in the gym.

“Glad to have you home, Cap.” You say it as jovially, as platonically as you can muster, which isn’t much. There’s still a little look in his eye, a deepness in the air, and you’ll be damned if you can’t break your gaze with him. You bring the bottle up and gulp down water, the tilt of the bottle forcing a disconnect in your eye contact.

“Nat has a conference call in twenty,” he says, voice slipping back into work mode. “Are you going?” You finish the rest of the water and breathe deeply.

“I probably should.” He reads the translation easily; you hadn’t intended on going.

“I’ve got to give a status report on my trip.” Translation; he has to go. “I’ll save you a seat.” You give him a short nod as he grabs his duffle bag and moves to exit. It’s not like you could ever say no to him anyways.

-

True to his word and unsurprising to you, Steve had in fact kept the seat next to him open. The only people in physically in the room are Steve, Natasha, Rhodey, and yourself so it could be simple coincidence that the chair is open, but you suspect it was more strategic than that. In your usual fashion, you’ve arrived just moments before the holographic conference call opens over the table, spilling a flickering blue light from overhead. Light particles float around like miniscule puzzle pieces before coming together to form the shapes of your friends, recreating them standing onto the large table.

You slip into your seat as Natasha greets everyone and Steve gives you a small smile that you return easily despite the way your heart is starting to hammer in your chest. It’s an odd feeling trying to be the same kind of friendly you’ve always been with him when you’ve both admitted attraction, when you’ve both exchanged racy photos. You scold yourself silently as your mind drifts back to the photo of him which you’d saved onto your phone. Now is not the time to let those thoughts wander freely.

Rocket calls your name and your attention snaps to the raccoon.

“We can’t see you. Scoot in next to Steve more.” There’s a humor in his voice that makes you fully believe he can see you just fine, but no one corrects him and they all wait for you. Natasha is biting the inside of her cheek and purposefully looking down at papers she is most certainly not reading. With a heavy breath, you scoot your chair closer to Steve’s side. “Little bit more,” Rocket teases and again, no one swoops in to say you’re in view yet. You bite your tongue and scoot ever closer, the armrests of the chairs nearly touching. “Just a little more.”

“If I move anymore, I’ll be in his damn lap,” you snap at him, annoyed by this play. He smiles and shrugs and is about to open his mouth when Natasha finally cuts in and starts the meeting. If that raccoon ever comes to Earth, you’re going to strangle him and ruin every betting pool he’s ever run.

Steve is nothing but professional as he gives his report. You hear the business in his voice, but fail to retain what he’s actually saying, all of your attention focused on the way his lips move and the way his tongue occasionally licks them. It’s not obvious, right? It’s common for people to watch someone’s mouth when they speak.

What might be more obvious is when your eyes finally drift from his mouth and travel down his neck. The muscle and tendons tighten just under the thin skin of his throat as he talks, especially when he’s annoyed with whatever he’s talking about. Your eyes keep slipping down. Down to the biceps left mostly uncovered by his short sleeve shirt. Down the veins in his forearms. Down to his hips and his thighs, to the seam of his jeans between his legs that you can only see because of your close proximity.

He’s stopped talking you realize. You’re not sure exactly when he did that, but you quickly snap your eyes back up to his face. You hope to seem casual about it and perhaps no one would have noticed your little daze you slipped into. The subtle smirk on Steve’s face makes it clear he’s caught you though.

You duck your chin and clear your throat as if that’s going to stop the embarrassed heat from spreading up your neck to your face. You refocus your attention on your holographic teammates, try to murder Rocket with your eyes, but you can feel Steve continuing to watch you. It’s nearly impossible to hear what the team is bickering about with the heat in your face spreading up to your ears and your mind entirely unable to keep a straight train of thought.

You cast your glance his way, knowing you won’t be able to concentrate until you get him to stop staring. The smirk remains on his lips and his eyes lock with yours, full of amusement and intrigue and something a little darker, a little heavier behind his irises. A nervous and unconscious lick of your lips guides his eyes down and his mouth parts slightly.

Then he’s turning his head to look at your teammates and speak to them as though he’s been fully involved in whatever conversation they’ve been having. The man could multitask when he wanted to. You’ll give him that.

“If they’re having trouble with their crops,” he says, all too cheerfully. “I know someone who can help.” He reaches over the very short distance between you and him to pat your thigh. “Our resident gardener here can probably lend a few tips.” It takes every ounce of you not to choke on your tongue and to respond in an acceptable fashion.

“Yeah,” you say with minimal stumbling and another clearing of your throat. “Give them my contact info if they don’t have it.” You’re impressed with how steady you manage to make it sound and just hope they hadn’t been talking about someone you knew very well because if they were, your response would sound silly. Thankfully, there’s no odd looks or questions and the conversation continues on without you. Which is very good. Because your heart is starting to catch in your ribcage as you notice that Steve hasn’t removed his hand from your thigh.

He’s not doing anything, just resting his hand there, fingers close to your knee, thumb grazing the outside of your leg. His hand is large and you can feel the warmth of his palm sink through the fabric of your leggings. You should have changed after your workout. Jeans wouldn’t have allowed him to feel so close to your skin.

He’s not looking at you anymore, his eyes following the conversation professionally and staying a silent participant in the meeting. You try to do the same, but your eyes never seem to focus on anyone, instead staring off into blank space. If anyone notices, they don’t say anything and even if they had, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t hear them through the blood rushing in your ears.

Steve moves his hand and years of stealth training falls out the window as you flinch at the movement. Not only that, but you flinch towards the motion, going so far as to reach your hand out to his and while that gesture could be construed as something negative, your body had zero intentions of pushing him away, wanting rather to pull him closer. Thankfully, you manage to stop yourself from actually getting to him.

His hand turns and he brushes his knuckles along the outside of your thigh, slowly gliding up and then back down. The shiver that shoots up your spine doesn’t quench the heat still steadily building up from your core. His touch is gentle and tentative, waiting of any sign of possible rejection from you. None comes of course. You’re so far past rejecting him. In fact, you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t let him feel you up right here mid-conference.

And just like that, you’re imagining his knuckles sliding all the way up your thigh to the juncture of your hip. He’d flatten his palm against the very top of your thigh again and twist his hand down so his fingers can gently tease you through your leggings.

Biting your lip, you push those thoughts from your mind. His knuckles are still slowly stroking your thigh. You’ve stopped trying to focus on the meeting and sink a little more fully into your chair. Taking a deep breath, you take his hand in yours, taking a little bit of pride in the way he suddenly stills in surprise. It lasts for only a moment before his fingers wrap around yours and you’re left holding each other’s hands on your thigh.

“Anyone else have anything else they want to bring up?” Natasha’s voice breaks through to you and pulls Steve’s attention.

“I think we’re all good,” he says confidently, pretty much ending any conversation from continuing. There’s a gentle squeeze on your hand and it’s so soft that your breath gets caught in your chest. The way he slips from making dirty smirks to delicate touch amazes you.

Before you know it, the holograms have disintegrated and Natasha is all but escorting Rhodey out of the room, leaving you alone with Steve, still holding your hand. He leans back into his chair, fully relaxing and smiles at you.

“I still owe you ice cream,” he says, giving your hand another small squeeze.

“That… is true.” The awkwardness of your reply makes you both let out breathy laughs. You’d never been awkward before and in recognizing it, it breaks some of the strange tension in your body. This is still Steve. Nerves and excitement were bound to happen, but awkwardness just feels silly. “You offering to make it up to me?” That sounded better.

“I don’t have any plans tonight.” He says it as an offer and instantly your mind starts going over your apartment. Is your laundry done? How clean is it? Do you have food in the fridge? Beer? When did you shave your legs last? He can see the questions rolling around in your head, watches the wheels turn behind your eyes. “I’m actually pretty free all week,” he amends, giving you an out.

“Tonight would be great.” You think maybe you say it too quickly, but he just smiles at you warmly. He stands, taking your hand up with him for a moment. Then he bends and brings your hand to his lips and kiss your knuckles softly.

“I’ll see you tonight.” There’s a flutter in your stomach and you hold your breath for longer than you realize, only letting it out after your hand has fallen from his and he’s sending you a wink over his shoulder before he walks out of the door.

-

You spend the rest of your day cleaning your apartment. It’s not a disaster and it’s not like Steve hasn’t seen it a mess before, but tonight is different. You can feel it in everything from the way your hands shake to how you push the cheap beer to the back of the fridge. You also pull a dress from the back of your closet and hold it against yourself for far too long before deciding that would just be too much. You don’t have to try so hard, not with Steve.

You’ve managed to calm your nerves enough that by the time he knocks on the door, your hands aren’t shaking. When you swing the door open, he holds up a plastic grocery bag with at least five pints of ice cream inside and flashes you a smile. It’s such a genuine, unapologetically bright smile that it makes you feel like you had been missing it somehow. The corners of your mouth pull back in a reflective smile that threatens to make your cheeks hurt.

“Think this will be enough?” he jokes, motioning to the bag.

“I don’t know,” you tease back, tilting your head to examine it. “I mean, I’m clearly going to eat all of that myself so what are you going to eat?” You can tell by the way he hesitates and bites the inside of his cheek that he’s pushing down a dirty response. “Come on in,” you say, stepping aside and saving him from the internal debate of voicing his thoughts.

You had been concerned all day about how the evening would go. Were you supposed to just jump right into his arms when he walked in? Did he want to talk about this first? Would anything even actually happen tonight? More than anything, you expected awkwardness; small laughs and bites of your lip and both of you trying not to make eye contact.

And yet... that awkwardness never comes. As soon as Steve is in your door, things feel fairly normal between you two. If anything, there’s just an added energy to the air, a weight to your flirtations.

As you both unload the bag onto your kitchen table, Steve acts as though he’s forgotten your favorite flavor of ice cream. He does it every year and tonight, he has it behind his back. You can’t see it, but the way his arm is twisted behind him and how he's slowly putting himself closer to the kitchen wall, you can tell that’s where it is when you notice it’s not on the table and the bag is empty.

“You know... It was on the top shelf and I meant to get an employee to help me, but by the time I got finished, I completely forgot.” He spins the ridiculous story terribly, unable to stop the amused smile that breaks out on his face. You advance on him, nodding along and pursing your face. “Real sorry about that.” He’s got his back as close to the wall as he can with the pint of ice cream behind him and it only takes a moment for you to get close.

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “Then what’s behind your back?”

“Oh that?” he feigns innocently. “Nothing you’d be interested in, I’m sure.”

You hum again and find yourself nearly pressed against his front, mere inches between your chests. Slowly, you reach around him with one hand. His body larger and arms longer than you, force you to lean in to reach. Pressing against him, you almost feel his breath hitch in his chest. Your eyes flicker away from his and you can feel the chill of the ice cream as your fingers get close.

You don’t see his eyes darken and when he grabs your wrist, shifting the pint to one hand and using the other to pull yours away, it startles you. It gives him enough leverage to spin you around and push you to the wall, lifting your hand above your head and pinning your wrist there. You gasp softly and look up at him with parted lips. Steve smiles down at you and leans in stopping just short of pressing himself into you.

And then in a moment, he’s gone, leaving you with your hand still over your head while your mind catches up. He puts the pint down with the rest and goes to get spoons from your drawer. Your body tingling and craving more, you can tell tonight will be interesting.

It became clear pretty quickly that there would be no jumping right into each other’s arms and there would be no talking about it. Instead, you shot each other charged looks and flirtatious innuendos and got physically into each other’s space as much as possible. It left you wanting more, wishing desperately, without a shadow of guilt, that Steve would just throw you up against any surface he could find. And then you realized he wasn’t going to. Even this hardened, dirty New Steve was a gentleman and he was very clearly waiting for you to make the first move.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table when you finally crack. The table is small and round. The chairs aren’t directly across from each other, but rather next to each other and you’ve each turned them to face one another, the table more on your sides than in front of you now. It makes it easy for Steve to lean forward towards you.

“You’re a mess,” he says, reaching to swipe his thumb along the corner of your mouth and scoop away some of the melted ice cream on your face. You react before you can even think about it.

You turn your face and capture his thumb between your lips. You both pause, the gesture unexpected. The weight of his thumb resting on your tongue spurs something inside of you and as you watch Steve’s eyes glaze over, turning from surprise to lust, you run your tongue over him and suck lightly. Steve leans his body in and his fingers cradle your jaw, encouraging you.

He watches you closely, coming to the edge of his seat and tilting your jaw upwards just a little bit. It’s a firm gesture, one that shows you that even though he’s letting you lead, he’s still in charge and damn if that doesn’t make you suck a little harder on his thumb to please him. You squeeze your knees together as he pushes his thumb further into your mouth. The sweetness of the ice cream is well gone, replaced by the slight salt of his skin and you only wish there was more to take from him.

He drags his thumb back out, letting it drag your lower lip down as you release it. Your breath is heavy and you can feel a wetness between your legs already starting. You want to glance down between Steve’s legs, to see if he’s got a similar problem, but he holds your eyes so firmly you have no choice but to focus on his face.

“That was a good girl,” he praises. He makes you want to just drop onto your knees right there, but he’s coming forward instead. Pushing off his chair and slipping that hand back along your jaw to your neck, he pulls you up with him until you’re standing in front of him. Your hands come to his waist, just to have something to steady yourself with. He grabs the base of your skull and tilts your head up to look at him. “You have to say it,” he tells you, voice a lot softer than his eyes. His other hand brushes through your hair. “You have to tell me you want it.” You swallow thickly before whispering back to him.

“I want you, Steve.”

His mouth crashes down to yours. There’s no softness or hesitancy. The kiss is rough, rushed, and hot. Steve pulls you flush against him, one hand still holding the back of your neck and the other running down your back. Now having your permission, he takes what he wants. He opens your mouth under his and pushes his tongue inside. There’s no fight for dominance. You’re entirely compliant and willing under him. He turns you sharply, pulling his mouth from yours for a moment and bending you back so that he can sweep the table clean. Pints of ice cream, spoons, your mail, everything clatters to the floor.

“A mess for you to bend over and clear later,” he tells you hoarsely. Any thought of being irritated at the melted ice cream on your floor vanishes. He moves his hands to your waist, but doesn’t lift you up like you expect. Instead, his fingers dip into the waistband of both your pants and underwear. “We’ve moved slowly for too long,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. No sooner than he heard the word did he drop away from you, down to his knees, and drag your clothes down to your ankles. You let out a low moan, your weight shifting back and leaning into your table. “Steve...”

He wastes no time. Asks no more questions. He slips off your shoes quickly and once he’s rid you of your pants entirely, he grabs behind one of your knees and hikes your leg up and open, giving him full access to your hot, wet pussy. He doesn’t even give you the chance to beg him. He comes forward and licks only a single stripe up your lips before delving his tongue deeper.

Your body tries to gasp and moan at the same time and instead a strangled sound barely rises from your throat. Your body tenses and you throw one hand into his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more. He places your leg over his shoulder and tilts his chin up to take your clit between his lips and suck. Somewhere in the back recesses of your mind, you wonder where in the world Captain America learned to eat pussy like this, but then his tongue is working again and your mind blanks.

“Fuck,” you whisper harshly, followed by a moan. The hand not tangled in his hair grips the edge of the table, trying to keep your balance. He gives another hard suck on your clit and pulls away just slightly.

“You taste so good, babygirl.” He leans forward and licks at you one last time. “But I’m an impatient man.” He carefully removes your leg from your shoulder, a hand on your hip to make sure you get both feet on the ground and balanced before he stands back up. He starts unbuckling his belt and your dry mouth waters. You push off the table, start to sink to your knees when he stops you, hand on your chin, and keeps you standing. “So eager,” he coos, still using his other hand to undo his pants. “I like that.” He brings your mouth to his and kisses you deeply, letting you taste your own juices on his tongue. “But if you put that pretty mouth anywhere near my dick, I’m going to cum,” he admits harshly. The brashness in his voice sends electricity down your spine. The very idea of Steve’s cock in your mouth, cumming down your throat with his hands in your hair makes you quiver. You reach out, fingertips tickling at the open waistband of his pants.

“Please?” you ask, as sweet as your voice will manage. You swallow and steel yourself to be brave. You’re already naked from the waist down. Steve’s face is glistening with your juices. Now isn’t the time to be shy. “Please, daddy?” The hand at your jaw slips down around your neck ever so gently as he chuckles.

“Don’t tempt me,” he warns, unable to resist pressing another kiss to your mouth. “I'll use that pretty throat another day,” he promises, giving just a whisper of a squeeze around the column of your neck before removing his hand and continuing to free himself from his pants. “Turn around,” he tells you. “Bend over the table.” You listen to his commands without question.

Before, you’d always thought Steve would be vanilla; straight up missionary in bed with the lights off kind of a guy. After The Snap, after he hardened up and caught your attention, after he admitted to his very own Daddy kink, you knew he had a little spice in him, but you still hadn’t expected this. You get lost in his dominance. Turn into a wet, writing mess at his touch. God, you wish you hadn’t waited so long for this.

“Last chance to run, babygirl,” he says, bringing you back from your thoughts. You wish you could see his cock, could feel it, but the excitement of not knowing as he rubbed the budging tip against your wet slip, made you crave it all the more. You look back over your shoulder at him and wait for his eyes to meet yours.

“Steve... Fuck me.” It’s less of a plea and more of a demand of your own. He smirks down at you and presses one hand into your lower back, pushing your belly to the table. When he slides in, you drop your face down and moan. He goes slow, his entire length slowly pushing inside of you, stretching you, filling you. “Fuck,” you moan into the table. Steve represses a groan as he pulls out just a little and then pushes back in, fitting his entire cock in you.

There’s only a brief moment of stillness where you both revel in the feeling. Then Steve is moving, slowly pulling out then pushing forward. His pace increases, his thrusts get harder. Soon, you’re a panting, moaning mess on your kitchen table as Steve glides one hand up your back and tangles in your hair.

“You feel so good,” he groans out, voice barely above a whisper as though it’s hard for him to speak at all. “Touch yourself,” he says. “Touch yourself for me.” You lift off the table just enough to sneak your hand beneath you and play with your clit. You can feel his cock thrusting so close to your hand and you can’t help but reach just a little further and let your fingers touch it. Steve shudders and his thrusts stutter for just a moment before he gets it together. “Such a good girl,” he praises.

“Wanted this for so long,” you mumble, cheek pressed to the table and eyes closed, grinding your palm into your clit while you try to circle your fingers around his thick cock.

“Ever since Tony’s last Christmas party,” he admits. “That fucking blue dress.” He groans, recalling how you looked. “Wanted to bend you over the table right there in the middle of room.” He slows his thrusts, getting too close to his end with your fingers teasing him and your tight pussy wrapped around him. It gives you enough clarity in your head to think back. Christmas party?

“That was...” you breathe out loud. Before The Snap. Steve leans himself over your back, shallowing his thrusts and pulling the hair from your neck so he can kiss and lick at your skin.

“Yeah,” he groans, bringing his lips up to your ear. “Not like I could tell anyone I wanted to fuck my best friend’s girl.” Your breath hitches and your hand stills for a moment, but the low, long moan that escapes you involuntarily only encourages him.

He’d wanted you for that long? Years. While Bucky was still alive. While you hadn’t even given Steve a second look. How many nights did he spend locked away in his room thinking about you? Had he touched himself wishing it was you? How hard did he get imagining being inside of you just like he is right now?

“Steve,” you moan, reaching back with your other hand to feel for his hip, to hold onto him. Suddenly, you crave to give him everything. He’d waited so many years for you. You want to give him everything he wanted. You circle your fingers around him again. “I want you to cum in me.” His motions stop and he breathes heavily near your ear.

“Are you sure?” he asks, old fashioned concern in his voice. You hadn’t exactly discussed birth control or expectations or wants, but the way his cock twitches inside of you says everything. You take your hand off his hip and push up on the table enough to twist your head to kiss him.

“Please, daddy,” you try the line again. His hand snakes around to your front, cradling the very bottom of your neck by your collarbone and pulls you up, arching your back and taking some of his weight off of you. “Fill me up,” you beg.

“That what you want?” The concern in his voice is replaced with confidence as he starts moving again. “You want me to cum inside of you?” You barely manage to nod as he starts thrusting harder. You dig your palm into your clit, chasing your own release as much as his. “That’s right, babygirl.” You’re moaning hard now as he fucks you and you can feel his dick swell against your walls. “Oh, fuck,” his hips sputter again and with one more grind of your palm, you feel your own orgasm wash over you.

“Fill me,” you moan through the waves, clenching tight around his dick. “Make me yours.” Steve’s hand tightens around your neck briefly as he cums, pulling your body against him as he buries himself as deep as he can and spills inside of you. A mess of moans and sharp gasps, shuddering bodies and slickness, you both start to come down from your high, hands falling away from each other and breath shaky.

Steve recovers first, kissing gently at your neck before helping to lower you to the table. Your muscles feel wobbly and skin hot, sweaty. You’re spent and used and sticky and utterly satisfied. When Steve slowly pulls out of you, you feel fluid drip down your thighs and you clench down as if you can keep him inside of you.

“I can...” He pauses, still catching his breath. “Help you with the mess,” he says, motioning to the floor. You start to straighten yourself out, fighting your own body as your vision goes a little fuzzy, your blood still not back up to your head where it should be. You let out an airy laugh at his sudden concern to be gentlemanly again.

“Should probably clean ourselves first,” you joke lightly. He laughs and dips his head.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You worry he’s going to get awkward now, that the spark will vanish as quick as it lit the fire. Then he smiles when he looks at you and pulls you in for a kiss softer than any other he’d given you. It’s slow and gentle, melting any worry away from you. “Ladies first.”

After you’ve both washed yourselves up and made quick work of the melted ice cream, you move to the couch. You sit across from each other, each of sitting back against an armrest, feet and legs intertwined in the middle. Steve is staring at you softly and it causes a blush to rise up on your neck.

“So...” you sigh. “The Christmas party?” He bites his lower lip and grimaces a little bit.

“Yeah. I didn’t actually intend on ever telling you that,” he admits sheepishly and for a moment you see the Old Steve show up. It’s endearing and cute and makes you smile all the more.

“I honestly had no clue,” you tell him through a small laugh.

“I got pretty good at hiding the blushing after a while,” he says. “And you were happy. I wasn’t going to mess that up for either of you.” The tone humbles and you crawl over to seat yourself between his legs, back to his chest, and wrap his arms around yourself.

“So, tell me,” you say coyly. “Did I live up to the years of dirty fantasies?” He chuckles and puts his face into your neck.

“Better than I could have ever imagined,” he mumbles into your skin. “And what about you?” he asks, tightening his grip around you and settling you into his arms.

“Never even dreamed the good ol’ Captain America had such an intense side,” you tell him, humming and dropping your head to his shoulder contently.

“I took it easy on you,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your pulse.

You giggle and push back on his chest with your back as a playful shove. He chuckles again and eases up, settling into just holding onto you and enjoying the moment.

The happiness you feel is long overdue. It feels good. It finally feels right. You turn and give Steve a slow, lazy kiss and smile at him, unable to stop yourself. Your thoughts float back to your final words before his orgasm. Make me yours. It’s what set him off; the idea of you being fully and completely his.

What he didn’t realize is that you’d been his girl for a long while now. This just made it official.

~~~

A/N #2: So... keeping in mind it took me ten fucking months to write a part two... what would you all think about a sequel that is a "choose your own ending" in which you get to be conflicted over and ultimately choose if you stay with Steve or get back with Bucky after The Blip? Anyone interested?

Tumblr has been a bitch getting my work out to people so I ask that you like, comment, and reblog. Of course, if you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee! https://ko-fi.com/writerashley

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@inukako​ / @misshale21​

[thelastpilot]

Empty Chairs- A DJWifi Fic

This is one of my finished commissions for the amazing charity even @mlbforblm with a 3k fic commissioned under the request for ‘DJWifi hurt comfort’. If you would like to commission something from me as well before this event concludes please go here to check out my slots! Please donate to this great cause and get a fic from yours truly.~~

----

Nino’s house was full of noise, usually. It was four people, but it always seemed like more than that. There were always songs playing in different rooms at different times so it would feel like loading into a new area in a video game every time you turned a corner. There was always cooking or bickering or talking happening at nearly every hour, punctuated by singing or rambling, or anything really. The Lahiffe’s loved noise, or at the very least they were certainly good at it.

But today the only noise came from Chris.

Nino’s little brother was playing in the living room, like he usually did. He was sprawled out on every surface like a bird making a nest, every single object that he thought might be necessary to his entertainment strewn around him. His radius was getting wider with every minute, happily pulling down colorful blankets from the couch to add this his secular chaos.

He didn’t pay much mind to the quiet of the house, he knew where everyone was if he thought he might need them. At most he might have noticed that no one was stopping him today, and his play time was not interrupted by the demand to clean up or quiet down. He didn’t see his parents much, both of them drifting past to check on him every once in a while, asking him if he needed something in subdued voices. The most he saw of his mother was the once or twice she came in to watch, looking over him silently as he involved himself in his games.

She would come up to him sometimes, running her hands through his hair and holding him close. For the most part though she was distant, but he didn’t mind that so much.

He never saw Nino at all, aware of the fact that he must be home but not seeing him. Chris pouted a little when he noticed this, prepared to barge in when the stilted nature of the house was broken by a sudden, perky knock at the door.

 The door remained shut for awhile long than was usual, despite the fact that Alya could clearly hear Chris yelling his head off to announce someone was there. She was alone in the hallway but she rolled her eyes nonetheless, sighing deeply but still smiling a little.

Chris was loud, all the time. It was one of Nino’s primary complaints about him, although she knew how much he loved him. Thinking of her boyfriend she smiled again, feeling pretty pleased with her spontaneous decision to drop in. She had been nearby and liked the idea of dragging him out with her, coming by unannounced on a weekend. She was in the midst of imagining what their impromptu date night might look like when the door finally opened, revealing the kind, withdrawn face of Nino’s mother.

“Oh, hello sweetheart,” Mrs. Lahiffe greeted her, a polite smile gracing her face. “Nino hadn’t told me you were coming over.”

“He doesn’t know,” Alya announced with a sly smile, “I just happened to be nearby and thought I might come by, if that’s okay. I was hoping to drag him out somewhere anyways.”

To her surprise, his mother stalled, her polite smile falling slightly into gentle concern. “Oh, he didn’t know you were coming?” She paused, and the way she looked over her shoulder made Alya hesitate slightly. When she looked back her expression was extraordinarily gentle, finally saying, “Actually, I’m not sure he is in the mood for visitors honey. Well I suppose I can ask, I know you came all the way up here…” she paused again, mulling it over.

“O-oh well, um,” Alya stuttered, surprised at the turn. “I hadn’t realized it was a bad time, I didn’t mean to-,”

“Let me ask,” Mrs. Lahiffe interrupted her, smiling kindly again but… Alya noticed this time that it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe he wants the company. Just wait here, okay?”

“Yeah sure, no problem,” Alya was quick to agree, trading a slight nod with her before she gently shut the door again.

A slight rebuff like that, as kind as it possible could have been, was still cause for overthinking. Alya couldn’t help but feel a little stupid suddenly, wishing she had shot him a text of some kind. It was too late now though, but she wasn’t kept waiting for long before the door opened again and Nino was looking out at her.

Before he could even speak, Alya’s heart hesitated in its beat. She always considered herself observant, especially with things she knew very well. It only took a fraction of a second for her to recognize Nino’s subdued expression. The kind that came on with quiet moments alone where he thought himself into a spiral. It was so subtle, just the way his smile touched his eyes just barely. The way he tilted his head, how his voice carried when he greeted her.

“Hey baby,” he said after seemingly forever in her mind, though it was only an instant. As he looked at her, his smile became a little easier. “I didn’t know you were coming. If you texted me I’m sorry I- I wasn’t ghosting you I’m just not looking at my phone.”

“No I um, I didn’t really give a heads up I was just nearby.” She paused, about to say something more when he stepped to the side.

“Come on in, my rooms a mess but I know you don’t care.”

“I don’t have to,” she quickly gave him, stopping him as he had already been turning to head inside. “If it’s a bad time.”

“Nah,” was all he said.

 They sat in his room somewhat quietly, Nino filling the time with aimless chitchat. He was barely paying attention to what he said, seeming tired and distracted to her. His room was about as cluttered as it usually was, clothes and controllers hanging around but swiftly shoved to the side when he realized there was nowhere to sit really.

She couldn’t help how closely she watched him, waiting only long enough for a break in his rambling to ask, “Babe, is everything okay?”

He had been standing by his bed when she finally got it out, his back to her as she sat in his computer chair. She focused on the way his shoulders… stilled, and then purposefully relaxed, analyzing his expression when he turned to face her.

“Yeah, it’s good.” He hesitated. “Why?” he asked a beat too late, meeting her eyes after another moment too long.

“Well… I know I kind of just swung in. Your mom mentioned that you might not be in the mood for visitors. And you haven’t texted me all day, I mean I just assumed you were working but…” she trailed off intentionally, hoping he might fill in.

To her surprise he frowned slightly. “Did she say that?” He scanned her eyes and found some kind of affirmative, nodding to himself. He turned away and fussed with his bed for a second.

He only waited for awhile more before he sighed, sitting on the mattress.

“Yeah,” he finally muttered aloud, surprising her again with its heaviness. Nino ran a hand over his face, displacing his glasses and sighed heavily, like the effort of the thin performance he had managed was extraordinary and taxing.

Alya’s reaction was instant, crossing the space and climbing on the bed, her heart starting to race as he leaned into her, letting her hold him without complaint or comment. He sagged into her, breathing deeply like he was gathering his resolve.

“Babe what is it?” Alya pressed again, trying to be patient but so caught off guard by it that she felt that urgent need to correct it. They had been together for a long time though, and she knew that pushing wouldn’t work.

Nino sighed. And was quiet for awhile.

After a few minutes he sat up slightly, staring forward at nothing, she thought.

He could be so motionless sometimes… when he was wrapped up in something she couldn’t even picture. It was so rare to see him like this. Anger and disappointment were more common with him, though he let so much roll off his back in general. She knew how to handle that the same way he knew how to handle her difficult moments.

But she almost never knew what to do when he felt so far away from her, still and subdued.

She waited for a long time, before suddenly, he apologized.

“I’m sorry Al,” he finally gave her, his voice low and heavy. “I feel like somehow you’re gonna be mad at me.”

“Mad?” she responded, waiting for him to look at her but it didn’t come, he just kept looking forward. She traced his eyeline to his desk, where she noticed for the first time his red baseball cap lay discarded. She hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t wearing it. She looked between him and the hat, saying again when he seemed content to say nothing, “What would I be mad about?”

He was quiet again, and she forced herself to breathe, demanding of herself that she be patient. He took a deep breath as well, and she could feel him absently running his hand against her back.

“There’s some stuff I’ve never mentioned to you. We’ve been dating for years now, now that I think about it… it’s fucking crazy that I never said anything. I should have, I don’t know why I didn’t. It’s just hard, and old. But you don’t even know and I hate that but I was the one who didn’t say it so- fuck.” He paused, putting his face in his hand again, taking off his glasses entirely now and setting them aside. His voice filled with emotion as the words got faster, cutting off abruptly when he stopped himself, like a dam on a river.

Alya just waited, knowing that he had momentum now. She watched him carefully as he prepared himself for something. And when he took his hand away from his face he looked pained, and then frustrated, and then far away again. Distant.

The moment hung in the air between them…

The sun had started its slow descent at much the same time Alya had arrived, the light of it so bright against the prevailing face of Nino’s apartment building that his room had been ablaze with it, and he had felt no need to turn on his light. With that forgotten and the sun pitching low, sinking beyond the threshold of the tall buildings of Paris, the space was abruptly dim… the fire of sunset shrinking up his walls and vanishing from his face. In that dim light he was still… staring ahead and seeing nothing much.

Nothing but an old hat that looked dull in the shade.

 “I have an older brother.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was even but quiet… anchoring himself to Alya’s presence besides him even if he couldn’t look at her just then.

Nino took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Willing himself to continue.

“Today would have been his birthday. He died awhile ago, probably. I guess we don’t really know, but he was never found and he never came back. I don’t think he would ever just disappear on his own, it wouldn’t have been like him. He loved us and we had a happy home, it wasn’t like he would run away. He wouldn’t take off on me.” He paused, and then took another deep breath, taking time to steel himself. “There was a pretty big age gap between us, my parents had married young and they had him right away, they didn’t decide to have me until after they moved to Paris. So I was eleven when he disappeared. Mom was pregnant with Chris when it happened. He wasn’t born until five months later.”

He still couldn’t look at Alya… but he focused on the way she held him tighter, reaching on hand to lightly touch the locks of her hair that spilled over her shoulder.

They were soft, and he could picture the color of the ends with perfect recall.

He had her memorized.

 “… what was his name?”

When she spoke it was so gentle, careful and full of concern. His heart finally hit an uneven pace, his fingers curled in her hair.

“Noah.”

“…what was he like?”

“You aren’t-…,” Nino hesistated, finally opening his eyes and turning his head, still not quite looking at her. “You aren’t angry?”

“Why would I be angry with you?” She pulled away from him slightly, but he moved to hold her still so quickly it was like the reflex of a child learning how to swim. ‘Don’t move away from me yet I can’t do it on my own.’

He couldn’t look her in the eye, so he settled for watching her lips, wondering how she wasn’t scowling like he expected. Just tight, concerned.

“It’s a big thing.”

“It’s a personal thing.”

“I still should have said something to you. You came along after he was gone but… he’s still my family. I should have shared him with you I just… couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say.”

Alya touched his chin, steering his eyes up and looking through him, it felt like.

He always got so quiet and distant. But she could see him hiding there, behind even tones and trailing sentences. He was pretending like it was all okay and a long time ago and thinking about it didn’t change anything and crying doesn’t bring him back and its been too long Nino just let it go he isn’t coming back things change all at once and they don’t go back-

And she was holding his face, saying his name and pulling him towards her, letting him collapse into her.

He clung to her like his swimming lesson had gone to the deep end… it was dark and deep and he didn’t know how to do it yet.

He hated how he was always going to feel like a little kid, waiting for his big brother to come home.

 Alya knew to let him go quiet, just holding him tightly. The house was still too, except for the energetic play of a little boy who didn’t realize he was missing anything.

It was during one of Chris’ loud bellows that Nino sighed, speaking again somewhat bitterly.

“I hate that Chris never met him. We’ve told him about Noah but it doesn’t mean much to him. How can you teach a kid to miss somebody? What’s even the point of trying… would it be better somehow if he missed him too?” Nino leaned into Alya heavily, staring at his hands. “It bothers me when he draws pictures of his family and Noah isn’t in them. That’s not his fault, but I hate it.”

Alya nodded slowly, glad he was talking again. “My mom said once that loss is hard because it changes everything. She described losing my grandma and she said it wasn’t just her absence. It was how a chair becomes an empty chair.” Alya hesitated slightly, wondering if this was even appropriate to say, but attempting to relate to him somehow. “It must be hard to see it in everything.”

“Empty chairs,” Nino agreed, his tone low. “Empty spots on the couch, full boxes of stuff he used to use every day.” He looked up slightly, drawing her attention again to his hat. “Stuff he used to wear all the time.”

Alya said nothing at first, looking at the old hand-me-down hat and appreciating what it meant to him. She had always known his hat was incredibly important to him, it wasn’t a joke and he never thought it was funny when other people touched it. Now she realized why.

She tried to imagine someone who looked a lot like Nino, but older. Her picture of him was hazy and indistinct, but the hat she pictured on his head made it realer somehow.

 “Nino?”

He turned slightly at his name, moving slowly, but eventually looking at her. His expression was soft, and reserved, scanning her face and watching her with some unperceivable emotion.

Alya crafted her words carefully, doing her best to be gentle. “I’m sorry I never got to know him. And I’m sorry you don’t have him. But, maybe you could tell me about him.”

Nino kept staring, but after awhile he smiled slightly. It was a somber image, but there was something nostalgic there too.

“Well I can tell you one thing for sure.”

“What?”

He smiled, tears in his eyes.

  “He would have loved you…”

[you-had-me-at-reviews]

Guards! Guards!

By Terry Pratchett 

Okay, truthfully, I’m starting with a little bit of a cheat. There is nothing on this earth that would ever induce me to getting rid of any of my Pratchetts. But, I saw an opportunity to reread one of the Pratchett books that I hadn’t for a while and grabbed for it with both hands.

‘Guards! Guards!’ Is I think, maybe the fourth or fifth Pratchett that I ever read and the Sam Vimes storyline has always been one of my favourites (It a bit of a toss up between him and the witches.) The story is dedicated the guardsmen of the night watch, a motley crew of policemen attempting to keep order in the lawless city of Ankh-Morpork.

The book follows the guards, a group of mostly humans, as they stumble their way through a series of encounters with a giant, fire-breathing dragon. In the bunch you have: Carrot – the newest recruit and a dwarf who, at 6,6’’ was becoming uncomfortably large for the family mine. Corporal ‘Nobby’ Nobbs, a human (?) of questionable species and cleanliness, to call him sticky fingered would be an insult to stickiness. Joining them you have Sergeant Colon, a man well suited to middle management and the Librarian, a temporary ally investigating the most heinous crime of all (gasp) the theft of a book. They are led by their commander, Captain Vimes. He may be drunk, confused and in way over his head, but Vimes will be damned if he’s going to let some dragon do whatever it likes in his city.

I always find it strange to go back and reread one of the early Terry Pratchett books. ‘Guards! Guards!’ is…the 8th Discworld novel and there are a few concepts that come into play in later books that haven’t been established yet. For me the most shocking was the use of the word ‘she’ to describe Carrots almost-girlfriend Minty. In the Discworld series all dwarves are referred to as ‘he’. Most dwarves aren’t even 100% sure that their mothers are ‘she’ and would certainly not be impolite enough to suggest such. A major subplot of later Discworld novels is when newly hired, dwarf guard, Cheery causes a scandal by referring to herself as she and ditches the traditional ale for a light sherry.

It was also strange to go back to the origins of Captain Vimes. Terry Pratchett is the king of the character development, some so subtle that you don’t even realise that it is happening until later. Captain Vimes is, to be frank, a disgruntled, prejudiced man with a spine of steal and unshakable sense of justice. It is strange to go back to his beginnings and learn that these are not things innate to him, but things that he chose, and fought to be. His dedication to justice – not always the law, because laws can be unjust – is something that Vimes choses for himself and something that he struggles and strives to stick to. His prejudices are something that are constantly challenged and overcome – Vimes may think that golems are untrustworthy and soulless, but the second someone tries to use that belief to discriminate against them Vimes steps in to defend their rights. Meeting an early Sam Vimes, at the beginning of his character arc is like seeing an old friend who is no longer quite how you remember them. 

‘Guards! Guards!’ Is however a brilliant introduction to his story. Even drunk, even hopeless, even facing a certain and fiery death by dragon – Vimes choses to do the right thing. Not always easy, not often pleasant, but definitely right and that is one of the things that made me first fall in love wit the character.

Keep l Donate

I did sort of spoil this one at the beginning, so I don’t think anyone is going to be surprised when I say that this one is going on the ‘to keep’ pile.

[zodiyack]

A Man Has His Needs

Requested by momottarou: I’M DOWN TO BEING FRIENDITAS, SO hello! 🌟 (?) ok but first i have to say that i looooovvve your blog and the way you write and i truly appreciate it, so thank you 🤍. And second, i would like to request something for either roman sionis or alfie solomon (if possible), i just want something involving them being needy, not in a sexual way but in a more romantical one, maybe? thank u sooo much 🤍✨.

Pairing: Alfie Solomon x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, slight mention of violence, fluff, me possibly being inaccurate again with the character and with what “needy” is, nudity/bathing together + mention of smut- but no smut, me not proofreading, surprise at the end!

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace​

masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

A soft quiet sounded through the room. The only noise was the fireplace, which Y/n was sitting in front of. Waiting for Alfie was all she could do currently, and so wait for him she did. Every once in a while, the door would creak and her head would lift up with an excited gleam in her eye, but when it was revealed to just be the wind, her expression changed and her head drooped back down to her book.

Just as all hope seemed lost, the door opened and a tired looking Mr. Solomons walked in. Y/n jumped up from the ground, her book landing on the ground, and ran to him. He picked her up and twirled her around for a few seconds before setting her down and smiling at her.

“’Ello beloved.”

“Hello Alfie. How was everything? I assume there was no trouble?”

Alfie walked to the sofa, sitting down and groaning. He mumbled some curses under his breath before turning his head and raising an eyebrow at his lover. “Aren’t you coming?” He drawled.

“Ah yes! Sorry...” the closer she got to him, the more the fire lit up his face and form, allowing her to see more than she was able to at the dark doorstep. “Bloody hell Alfie! What happened?!”

“Don’t worry about it love. Please-”

“No. Alfie Solomons, I won’t sit down or relax or do anything you please, until you tell me at least a part of what happened.”

The man looked at his wife for some seconds more, debating in his mind whether or not she was serious. Finally, he sighed and relaxed into the soft cushions a bit more. “I just ran into some mischief, it’s alright.”

“Mischief? You ran into some Mischief? Alfie! For fuck’s sakes! Your nose is bloodied up and you have a bruise around your eye! What kinda mis-”

Y/n was shushed with a kiss from her husband. He lept up from the couch and wrapped his arms around her figure, pressing his lips to hers and chuckling after they separated. He sat back down and dragged her along with him.

“I told you, it’s fine. See? I’m alright. I’m breathing, I’m alive, I’m fine.” The couple turned sideways on the sofa, moving into a cuddle position. “Besides, I have you with me, so I couldn’t ask for a better ending to my day.”

“Alfie?”

“Yes, love?”

“We haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

Alfie burst into laughter at the off-topic comment. He let go of Y/n and pulled her down for one last kiss. “If you wanna make it, you can go ahead.”

“Thanks Al.” She walked to the kitchen and started on the promised food.

Soon enough, the house started to smell of the dinner. Delicious smells reaching Alfie’s nostrils, but different thoughts on his mind. While food sounded delicious and the smell made his stomach growl with anticipation, he was eager for something else.

The entire day was exhausting, not to mention his eye bruising different shades of blue and purple. He was in need of some love and affection from the love of his life, yet he was too stubborn to bring it up. He knew very well that Y/n would love to cuddle him or kiss him or just hold him for hours, but he still couldn’t bring himself to ask. Alfie’s thoughts laughed in self-mockery. This man, a man involved in risky business, a man who could consider himself a friend of Thomas Shelby’s, a man who’s a bloody gang leader, didn’t have the guts to tell his lover that he needed attention.

Rolling his eyes at himself, he decided to “man-up” and face the “scary” and soft feelings he felt flooding his system. He crept into the kitchen, smiling softly at Y/n’s humming, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She squealed, but collected herself in a giggle.

“Well hello Mr. Solomons!” Why did he think this would be so hard? “I see you finally admit that you’re not all that okay?” Oh yeah, one reason has already revealed itself. Her teasing.

“I’m okay, I already said that, I just... I um... Oh just shush and let me stand here woman.”

Y/n turned for a quick second to give him a peck. She smiled even wider at the blush covering his face, which he quickly tried to conceal by whipping her around and hiding his face in her hair.

“As you wish Al.” Y/n continued cooking for the remainder of the time that was left for the stew. Every once in a while, Alfie would shift and kiss her neck lightly while he moved his neck to find a more comfortable place on her shoulders or head. She took it off the stove and turned around as quick as she could. Her arms wrapped tightly around Alfie and her head buried itself into his chest. “Don’t worry, I’m not all that fine either. I missed you...a lot.”

“It’s alright love, I missed you as well.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“Oi, missy! I’d watch what I’d say if I were you.” He grunted, face turning redder thanks to Y/n’s giggles and small pecks. “Besides, it’s not that big of a deal... A man has his needs, ya know?”

They finished dinner, quite chatty and happily. Y/n’s chair found itself next to Alfie’s and his hand grabbed a hold of hers. They talked about their days and the good thing and bad things were, they talked of their plans for the next days or week. While they conversed, their eyes never left each other. Y/n and Alfie watched each other with a sort of intense fascination that never faltered throughout each word they spoke.

Even when they washed their dishes, the conversation continued. It somehow took a turn to the playful side when Alfie and Y/n started a splashing fight. Water now soaked the front of her dress and drenched the white button up he wore. The childish release was something Alfie never knew he needed, but he was grateful for. 

Upon agreement, they headed to their tub in their shared bathroom. As rare as it was, no sexual acts were committed in that tub. Just Alfie sitting down with his wife’s back pressed to his chest. Almost as rare as their sexual-life pausing for soft romantic times, it was near impossible to get Alfie Solomons to sit in a tub. Luckily for Y/n, this time was where the rare times took control; Alfie demanding every ounce of her attention but attempting to be as subtle as possible about it.

“Promise me something, husband?” Her hand toyed with the soap suds the rested on Alfie’s arm. She gazed at it with such curiosity and determination, her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth, her question caught Alfie off-guard.

“Oh- Yes, wife?”

“If you ever run into trouble again, please tell me. And if you ever need some time for us, ya know, just being peaceful and calm, make sure you tell me rather than hiding it and trying to be sneaky ‘bout it, okay?” The hand that was playing with the soap wandered up his arm and grabbed his chin, forcing him to face her worried but softened expression.

“I promise. Now, how about we get up, clean off and get to bed, alright my love? We have a long day tomorrow. Especially to check up on you, little one.”

Alfie’s hands snaked under Y/n’s arms and rested on her stomach as he planted kisses on her shoulders. He took his time washing his wife and the small bump of her stomach- currently only noticeable with less clothing on. They dressed themselves in their sleep-wear, Alfie helped Y/n of course, though she explained to him that he didn’t need to.

When they got to their bed, their eyes drooped with visible exhaustion, eager to have their heads hit their pillows and drift into a peaceful slumber. However, Alfie was not quite ready. He waited for Y/n to make herself comfortable before wrapping his arms protectively, yet comfortingly, around her body. He snuggled his head back into her neck like it had been previously that evening.

“I love you, Mrs. Solomons.”

“I love you too, Mr. Solomons.”

She turned around so that they faced each other, a smile resting on her sleepy face. Alfie smiled in return, sliding down until his face met her belly, where he pressed a couple kisses before he crawled back up and kissed Y/n passionately. They closed their eyes and fell asleep, arms wrapped around each other and smiles resting on their faces.

[mnxxlove]

Hey! I was hoping for 3, 9, & 12 with obi-wan please? 💕

SECRET AFFAIR

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Prompts:

3; secret dating.

9; smut or fluff.

12; age gap.

Word Count: 2717

Summary: Y/n and General Kenobi, have been having a secret affair ever since the war began. But they haven’t gotten time or privacy to be all by themselves. They barely had news about each other, which made their relationship to be dangerously needy and not as conservative as they wanted it to be. Suddenly, one day, she gets the news that she’s going to be accompanying him and General Skywalker to protect their old common friend, the senator Amidala.

Their relationship has always been strictly professional, but once they get alone, it's just Y/n and him. Meanwhile, Anakin has a private talk with Padmé and the chancellor, Obi-wan and Y/n sloped off for a few minutes.

warnings: unprotected sex (do not do that. you ought to always use protection!), super light smut, old language(?(, age gap(-4), fluff, and I added a bit of angst, bc I’m build like that.

Thanks for your request love 🌹

gif not mine;

It was too early in the morning, not even the clouds were letting the rays of sunshine to brighten the city of Coruscant, and she was already upset with the whole Council. They've decided to make a decision that involved her, without her being present. And she later on, got warmed about it as always.... As much as she wanted to make decisions for herself, she was still not having enough privilege to do so. She could not stand it. But still, to this day, she needed to bite her bottom lip, nod and do as it was said.

"Did I hear you clearly? Am I going on my first ever solo mission?" Her voice sounded in a mix of excitement and exasperation. Such as if she could not believe what she did hear coming from her master's mouth.

"I have never said you were going all by yourself." Mace spoke seriously, his eyes staying wide opened while he stared at her in expectation. Y/n raised her chin, to look at him directly in the eyes, to then keep her breath right deep inside her lungs.

"Look, it's not that we don't trust you –." Her master continued, his voice soothing this time. But she did not care at all, so she talked back without thinking, then interrupting him abruptly.

"Well, it looks like it." Her voice did not sound with anger but with disappointment, instead.

There was a big pause between them. Mace sighed,  raising one of his arms while making her a signal for her to take a seat just right in front of him. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she sat, legs crossed, just as he was sitting. He was having his mouth opened, but any kind of words weren't escaping from his mouth. She did not have any idea about how long they decided to stay quiet. Seconds felt like minutes, and it did haunt her, making her feel pressured and quite too anxious. Y/n tried to keep her gaze steady on her brown robes, but his sudden voice got her by surprise, making her raise her face immediately.

"I gave my word, not them. They just agreed. I see potential in you, but I do not want you to go on a suicidal mission all by yourself, indeed." He continued, making her let out a deep breath of exhaustion. "General Kenobi and General Skywalker will accompany you in this mission, as long as the events do not change, of course..." He added, his voice calmed. Mace continued talking after that, but she did not hear anything clearly, it was too late. Her mind and thoughts were clouded by him again. Obi-wan's voice could easily trumble inside her head, making her feel completely lost. His subtle scent of vanilla and smoke was completely unforgettable, and easy to remember. Sometimes, it was that easy to imagine him with her, that she would not help but to sob. Imagining his presence was not the same as feeling the cozyness she would feel around him. The touch of his fingertips or the caress of his lips... It was too much to handle, and her heartbeat by consequence, began to pound rapidly. Making her master, to easily notice that her composure changed from then of sudden.. Mace did not say anything else, he just stared in confusion.

"I- I need to go. Excuse me, master." Her voice now way more softened, stuttered, while getting up from her seat. Her master did not say a word back, he just gave her a light nod while closing his eyes.

Y/n's heartbeat pounded hard and fast in her chest, it almost hurt. Feeling herself choking, she walked rapidly by the long corridors way to her quarters. Her right hand placed just where her heart should be. But it wasn't, because her heart left the same day he did. Her chest would raise and lower rapidly, while she could not help but to feel the adrenaline running through her veins once again. She was not used knowing anything about him, and when she did get any type of information, it would feel bitter but still pleasant to know and be aware that he was still alive, far away from her and achieving what he always desired.

Swallowing hard, she opened the door from her quarters and once she was already inside, she closed the door behind her, to then, resting her back on it. The room had a blueish subtone, making her understand that the clouds were still hiding the sun. She took a deep breath, her eyes kept closed, trying to find any kind of relaxation. Suddenly, she let herself fall to the ground, sliding her back down slowly. Her forearms then, resting on her knees, while she hid her face in desperation. Y/n's feelings have never been mixed up, as talking about Obi-wan, she loved him, truly. And he did as well.

It was madness! They were too reckless back then, to know certainly what they were truly feeling for each other, nevertheless, they were mature enough to take that one step, they needed to take and so they did, formally dating and having a serious and mature relationship. They knew that whatever they were feeling was true and honest.

And so, none of them wanted to leave the council, so, they decided to keep it as a secret, although they knew it was practically impossible at a certain time to know anything about each other, meanwhile he was up, fighting in galaxies far away from Coruscant.

The rest of the morning, she spent it inside the four walls of her cozy quarters. Wishing the hours and minutes to run as fast as possible for her to finally meet with him, after being apart from each other, for months. It was going to happen, and she was not ready. She didn't need time, y/n knew right deep inside her heart, that she was never going to be able to be ready to meet with him again... Impatiently, she let her hand travel up, to her collar, grabbing the necklace he gave her. It was the only thing she owned from him, and she did not want to lose it. She could not be able to apologise herself, if she ever loses it... Mace told her that they would be in Coruscant in a few hours, and it has already passed a few hours, making her feel completely irritated. A normal person would wait someone such as taking a seat or distracting itself, making some time for it's own, making useful things and to not waste minutes or mostly, hours not doing anything. However, on the other hand, she preferred to walk all over her quarters, stepping her feet rapidly on the floor.

Y/n was all nerves and insecurity at the moment, but she did stop feeling like that just for a matter of second. When the communicator from her bedroom did warn her that they already arrived. Before getting out of her place, having her eyes closed, she decided to calm herself down or anyone at this point, would notice that something was wrong with her. Having her mind clear, and a neutral face on, now, she left and walked until arriving to the furthest living, in which were always used for making private reunions. Approaching, she noticed that there were a few bodyguards protecting the entrance, but they noticed her clothes and the body of her lightsaber placed on her belt, and so, they let her in.

“It has been far too long.” Padmé admitted, a bright smile curving on her lips, while she looked at both not only Jedi, but her old friends.

The whole place was in complete silence, or at least it was until Y/n decided to step a foot inside the living. She seemed relaxed, or at least she was, until she noticed that not only the senator was there. Suddenly, all eyes were marked on her, and she tripped on both her feet accidentally, almost falling but still managed to get on her way to the senator, obviously, trying not to keep as much eye contact as she could with Obi-wan.

“Glad to see that you’re alright..” She gasped out of sudden once passing her shaky, sweaty hands by her tight shirt. She did grab Amidala’s hand to then take Anakin’s and Obi-wan’s too. Her words were fast and almost improvised, and Obi-wan knew it. He knew her more than she knew her own self. But he did not remember her as exactly as she looked at that precise moment, still, she was the same clumsy girl whom he decided to fall head over heels for, when he was just a young boy.

She was not going to ignore it. She could not be able to. It was impossible to ignore the fact that she has been craving for him to be with her, to stay just where she was at the moment, and not being able to gaze at his piercing blue eyes, at least once. Although she would’ve loved to have the guts to, she knew that if she did so, she would be lost. Whereas, on the other hand, he could not be able to stop staring at her. Her hair was now longer, falling down her back. And she was still keeping two braids placed as a crown, such as how she used to hairstyle her hair when she had no time for. Her face seemed way more brighter than he was able to remember, but she still owned that heavenly smile, which he adored and missed so much.

The chat did not last for so long. It was clear that their job was going to be about protecting the senator, or at least that was their mission for now on. Once everything was said, Y/n excused herself not after giving to her lover a grin. Once she was already out, Obi-wan did excused himself as well, and he did walk towards the exit. Finding her, waiting for him.

“Long time no see...” He admitted, smiling ear to ear. His eyes brightened as cristal. Obi’s voice sounded amusing, and it was understandable. She felt the same way too. Having him with her was good, but at the same time, too risky..

“Likewise.” She breathed out, to then smile back at him. The energy between them was speechless, their words always soft and careful, most knowing that they were still on the catch of the eye of anyone.

Although none of them would still admit it, their eyes were full with emotion, and words weren’t needed at that moment. It was left clear between each other, that they did miss each other like madly. Although, the verbal language was not used at any given moment between them, they were sure about it.

“So, how are things going?” She cleared her throat.

“Anakin has gotten his first ever padawan... She's strong but reckless.” Obi-wan admitted in a sigh and it immediately made her chuckle.

“So, were we.” She affirmed, having a playful smile marked on her lips. Obi just smiled back at her, his chin lowered and his eyes closed.He was happy, and so was she. They’ve been together, at the same place for less than an hour, but he was sure that he needed to ‘have a talk with her’. Without saying anything else, they just had a little walk, enjoying each other’s company. For once in a lifetime, the air did not feel suffocating. But still it felt quite too difficult to breathe. "I've been wanting to talk with you, actually." He admitted, now making her turn her head. Her face changed and her eyes were not longer shining but clouded with lust, and so were his own. She perfectly knew what those words meant and she was not going to hesitate.

“...Is it possible if we can have some privacy, now?” Obi-wan continued, but his voice sounded more of a whisper now. Blinking rapidly, she scanned both sideways, to see if anyone was nearby. When she made sure there were no people around, she grabbed his hand, and they ran straight to her chambers, which was not too far away from where they were at. Once they were already inside, she expected him to be soft and delicately as always, but instead, once the door was closed behind her, he pushed her against it, placing both his hands on her face, and pressing his lips with her own. At first she got surprised, but she still kept kissing him back. Her hands now trailing up to the back of his nape, twirling her fingers with his now shorter hair. Within seconds, he did take off his cloak, and hers as well. They were still standing at the same place, so, instantly, he did place both his hands, down on both her thighs, making her jump and twirl her legs just between his waist. Her hands now being placed on both his shoulders, while he carried her and laid her down not too delicately on her bed. She swallowed hard, while she watched him rapidly bend over, to kiss her once more, but now, with way more passion.

“Stars! I missed every piece of you, my love…” He admitted, his voice hoarse and low, while leaving wet kisses all over her neck. Y/n did not say a word back in response. She was just letting out low but soft moans, letting him just be the only one who could be able to hear them. His arms were trailing all over her body, while he slowly took off her pants to then throw them far away from them.

“We can only be absent for ten minutes, you know it.” She was exasperated, while trying to unbutton his pants. Her hands were fast but clumsy, then, him taking off his trousers and his underwear quickly by himself.

“I know. I know. And I need you.” He whined, while placing himself on top of her, both hands placed comfortably pressed on the mattress.

Without saying anything else, lust in both their glances, she placed her left hand on his right cheek, to then making him bend his head over to press his lips with her own once more. Still having their mouths pressed together, he did push his hip afterwards, getting her by surprise and then, moaning of pleasure in his mouth. It was slow but constant, but within seconds, their breathing started to get exasperated, and the only thing that was able to be heard in that room was the bed slightly creaking. It was slow but hard at the same time, and it did hurt the very few pushes but it then became satisfactory. Once they were getting close, his communicator started to vibrate, they did ignore it but then it turned constant, making him groan annoyedly.

“Shhh,..” She hushed him. “Ignore it. Just concentrate on me, love.” That was the least she needed to tell him, for him to do so. Once she felt that she was getting closer, she started to moan even way more pleasantly.

Her chin was placed on his left shoulder, while both her hands were placed on his back, her nails pressed hard. He was getting upset, and she knew it just by the way he was acting at the moment. He was always careful and she knew it, but for the first time, it just didn’t feel like just having normal sex. It was needy and wanted. It always has been like that, but the fact that they’ve spent months apart, without having any type of information of their good given status, they both craved that moment even more. Suddenly, his movements became faster, making both their breaths to mix up. He wanted her to scream his name out loud but it was not going to happen as long they were in Coruscant... Right before cumming, and him hearing her letting out a loud moan, he did kiss her one last time, to then, her placing both her hands on his face.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Eye of the Beholder

Warnings: non-consent (fingering, vaginal sex)

This is dark!Heimdall and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Heimdall has a secret.

Note: Well, another character I haven’t written before. Here ya go! I dunno what came over me but this is what happened.

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Thor

Thor had caught him again. He wasn’t disappointed or irritated by any means, merely intrigued. He had rarely seen the Asgardian as anything but the stoic and diligent sentinel of the realm. Yet he could tell when the watchman was not at his duty. When it was not the bi-frost he watched but some other mystery. Thor only wondered what it was that so entranced the vigilant Asgardian.

The warden stood with his sword gripped between his hands, his head lowered as his eyes glowed. He was silent and still but for the subtle movement of his lips; as if he were speaking to someone. He was entirely enamoured by whatever vision swirled within.

“Heimdall,” The prince boomed and the horned-helmet slowly rose as the protector greeted him with his golden eyes. “Rapt at work, I see.”

“Unlike you,” Heimdall let forth the hint of a grin. Unshakeable as ever. “You see to use the bridge?”

“Not today,” Thor said. “Merely to visit a friend.”

“And your visits do grow frequent,” He countered. “I think your father might be wary of his realm going unwatched on account of his son’s whims.”

“You have ears. Strong ones, I’ve heard,” Thor strode along the window that overlooked the bi-frost. “Not even I could keep you from your duty.”

“Oh but you do challenge my competence.” Heimdall chuckled. “It is quiet this night. Asgard is but another star in the sky it seems.”

“Surely the brightest,” Thor stared down at the glowing bridge and hid his smirk from the other Asgardian.

Heimdall was ever clever and a skilled liar, only because he was known to be an honest man. For all his years alongside his brother, Thor could read a fib. Even one as subtle and inconsequential as that which floated unacknowledged between the immortals. Perhaps the watchman didn’t know he had been caught or perhaps he was content enough to let the prince wonder.

It didn’t matter for Thor would discover what distracted the watcher. What immaculate attraction had drawn his eye from his service after centuries of chaste devotion. The prince hadn’t an idea of how he would uncover the secret to light but he knew one who would. The very person who had honed him to the knack of dishonesty.

Loki had his bag of tricks and surely one of them could affect the unaffected sentinel.

⚔️

Loki

Loki twiddled his long fingers as Thor paced behind the curved chaise before the hearth. It wasn’t often the golden prince visited his brother within his own chambers. He had learned long ago that it was there he was most vulnerable to the trickster’s wiles. The younger prince grinned as he realised whatever had his brother so anxious also had him desperate. It must have been delicious indeed.

Loki draped one leg over the other as he reclined in the velvet chair. He wore a black robe over little more than his linen shorts. He had been readying for bed when the knock came. His brother was only fortunate he had been alone otherwise his raps would have gone unheard. Well, Thor did seem to be in his cups so he might have made himself known even then.

Metal clattered to the ground as Thor knocked one of the ornaments from the mantel and Loki sighed. It was easily repairable but if his brother opted to make a full tour of the chamber, he might be left with not but mangled silver and gold.

“Brother, do sit before you fall on your ass,” Loki slithered. “I should like to attend to whatever menial concern has brought you to my rooms so late. I was only about to retire.”

“Oh ho, but I think you might not be able to sleep once I’ve told you what---” Thor paused and let out a belch into his fist as he stumbled his way to the chaise. “Once you know what has brought me here.”

“And in such a state,” Loki taunted.

“Well, that had really nothing to do with it and more to do with the Asgardian ale I was forced to drink unto myself.” Thor laughed. “Heimdall, ever abstinent from pleasure, did move my hand to drain a whole cask.”

“I am certain you could not have put the cork back in and done so another day,” Loki huffed. “Truly brother, it is late and I have as little patience as I do interest in your indulgences.”

“My indulgences?” Thor wondered. “What about Heimdall’s?”

Loki perked up suddenly and straightened in his chair. “What do you mean by that, brother?”

“Well, I am not entirely certain what I mean but I know there is something that has caught his all-seeing eye,” Thor belched again and waved away the cloud. “Which is what brings me here.”

“You want me to trick Heimdall,” Loki blinked. “You are truly mad. He was likely off on some far planet watching the leaves blow.”

“Some mighty fine leaves they must have been,” Thor intoned. “I’ve found him twice as such. He does not look upon a blade of grass or the wing of a bird. Brother, that look is one reserved for a more rapturous beauty.”

Loki’s brows shot up and he tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. He considered the thought of the great watcher’s desire. He could not imagine the valiant protector coveting anything more than what he had. And Thor was drunk. Still he was intrigued.

“And I suppose you want me to figure out what it is that has baited him so fervently?” Loki asked.

“Yes!” Thor clapped. “Yes. That’s exactly what you need to do.”

“Besides the obvious question of how I would do that,” Loki said, “Why would I?”

“Because, brother,” Thor smirked, “You are just as bored with this tedium as I am.”

⚔️

Loki had figured it out. It had taken some time but he had found a way to follow the watchman’s eyes. The only issue at hand was keeping him distracted long enough that he could do so. Surely Thor could help with that.

What Thor couldn’t do was wrap his head around what Loki was about to do. All the better as the dunce was of better use ignorant. 

Heimdall had a natural gift for seeing but Loki had discovered that upon his duties, his ability was amplified to make him truly all-seeing. The bi-frost was not merely the only path into Asgard, it was the only path into that Asgardian’s mind. 

There was a single strand upon the bridge among the hues of pinks, purples, blues, and blinding yellows that would betray him. A strand which would hold the secret he held so dear. Loki could draw a map from that strand and retrace every single thing Heimdall had ever seen. From that, he could surely uncover the watcher’s favoured fixation.

They only needed to make their little ruse believable. To draw the eye of Heimdall was hard enough, to keep it looking where you wanted was more so. And Loki was to trust in the daftest man he knew to pull it off.

⚔️

Loki was mostly sure this wasn’t going to work. Not if Thor kept thumping around so carelessly above. Not only was the trickster focusing on finding this elusive thread among millions, he was fighting to hold the illusion of himself that danced overhead with his brother.

The fight had drawn in the watcher quite easily as they had caught him by surprise. Loki suspected they had distracted him from the very secret they sought to oust. The only issue was that Thor was making this all too believable and Loki was close to being knocked away from the underside of the bi-frost. If that happened, he wasn’t fond of finding out where he would end up.

Finally, with his hand buried in the tendrils of light, Loki had grasped the single thread. That one, miniscule golden thread which varied only by the glimmer from the yellow ones. It burned his palm and he struggled not to scream. He clasped the metal ring around it and struggled to keep it on as the power surged into his arm. 

He tore it away as he hissed and his hand shook as he clutched the tiny ring. Relief washed over him even as his entire being buzzed from the deluge of energy. He might just fall into the void anyway. He was dizzy and his eyes wouldn’t stay still. 

Slowly he crawled up the underside of the bridge and pushed himself off. He barely caught himself at the bottom of the watchtower. Once he was clear of view, he sent up the signal and fell against a golden-leafed oak tree as he struggled to keep his illusion in place. He’d let Thor end it, hopefully before he passed out.

⚔️

Much to Loki’s shame, Thor had to as good as carry him back to his chamber. He shoved himself away from his brother as they entered and he stumbled over to the crystal orb that sat central before his hearth. He fumbled with the metal ring that vibrated inside his pocket and clinked it atop the glass. He fell back and caught himself on the chair. Slowly his strength began to return to him.

The crystal ball projected the energy of the ring across the chamber, a map of the universe all around them. Loki caught his breath and shakily stood as he shook off the haze. Thor’s forehead wrinkled as he looked around at the galaxies and the constellations. 

Loki dragged his finger along the crystal ball as the stars moved and different parts glowed brighter. He pinched his fingertips together along the glass and a particular spark came into focus. He pulled back and neared the speck. He squinted, then chuckled.

“Midgard,” He purred under his breath. “Curious,” He turned back to Thor and smirked. “It does amuse me how those beings seem to have such a hold upon our kind.”

“Midgard!” Thor lit up as bright as the stars.

“No,” Loki pointed a finger at him. “Not her. We’re there for Heimdall.” He neared the crystal again. “Let us just figure out exactly where he’s been spending so much time.”

⚔️

She was no extraordinary being. In fact, he found her quite plain. Loki shook his head as he watched her. Thor had stayed upon Asgard to further divert the watcher. As long as the prince was around, he wouldn’t think to look in on his little toy.

It was late and she seemed to be the only in her building who was still awake. The drone of music filled her small apartment as she bent over a low table. Her fingers were dark with the charcoal she used to sketch upon the paper. 

She was clueless. She didn’t hear a step or see a shadow. He stood right behind her as her charcoal dusted across the thick sheet. 

She sat up and yawned and grabbed the cloth beside the sketchbook. She wiped her fingertips and reached for her phone. She checked the time and swore to herself. She piled the charcoal into a small box and pushed aside the half-finished drawing. He was on her before she could stand.

She was easy enough to subdue. She didn’t put up much of a fight before his magic took effect. These mortals always were so weak. Perhaps that was part of it. As he wrapped her in a sheet and tossed her over his shoulder, he could imagine the thoughts that kept Heimdall enraptured. The fantasies that dirtied his pious mind. Oh, how naughty.

Loki stepped out into the glare of streetlights and looked up into the night sky. He smirked and snickered. Heimdall would be surprised at his call to enter the bi-frost, having not even noticed his departure. Oh, but he would be so much more surprised at the creature slung over Loki’s shoulder.

⚔️

Reader

You awoke to voices. An argument. You grumbled and gripped your spinning head as you laid across the hard stone. Your eyes shot open and you sat up with a whimper. You felt as if you would fall back down as your vision sparkled. 

Where the fuck were you?

You looked around the golden chamber and struggled to keep yourself up on your shaky arm. Three figures stood feet from you as they continued to argue. Your chest felt heavy as your nerves swelled there. You were about to panic, astounded that you were not already.

“What are you two doing?” The man in shining armour spat. “How did you even--”

“So you admit, you want her,” A slender man with dark-hair interjected. “So, what’s the issue?”

“You took her from her home.” The first hissed.

“Where you’ve been watching her,” The second countered and the third man, a towering blond nodded. “And we know you were not doing so for not.”

“Where my eyes see is of none of your concern, Loki,” The man snarled. 

“You would spurn our gift?” The man called Loki replied. The name and the face were strangely familiar. “You’ve earned it. You work so hard.”

“You should take her back before she wakes.” The first man insisted.

“Too late for that,” Loki slowly glanced over at you. “Besides, you are an Asgardian, you know our ways. We prize those who serve us often with flesh. Many warriors partake in the tradition.”

“You weren’t supposed to--” The first man took a breath and dared to peek over at you. “I was waiting…” He lowered his voice. “The two of you have spoiled it all.”

“We have done what you were too cowardly to do yourself,” Loki insisted. “So, here she is, she’s yours.” He shrugged. “To do with as you will. Though I can only imagine what plans you’ve been devising behind those eyes.”

The man in the gold armor gulped and looked at you again. His eyes were just as bright as his garb and you were startled by them. You drew your knees to your chest and hugged them.

���What’s going on?” You asked.

“Oh, sweet girl,” The slender man neared you and knelt before you. “You’ve been chosen by the gods to serve them personally. Specifically the one we call Heimdall.” He nodded over his shoulder. “The one with the horns but be assured, they do come off and he would have another which I think you’d much prefer.”

“Loki,” The blond growled as he came close and wrenched him up to his feet. “Do not frighten her… that is not your pleasure.”

Loki scoffed and wriggled free of the other’s grasp. “Of course,” He sneered. “Heimdall, she is all yours. Let that Asgardian blood flow freely…” He neared the armoured man again and flicked his mailed shoulder. “I’m sure you do tire of just watching.”

With a final grin in your direction, Loki followed the blond from the round chamber and left you alone with this man known as Heimdall. He sighed and watched them go. When he turned to you, his eyes glowed and he snapped them shut. He tilted his head as he turned his back to you and lifted the large helmet off. He set it down as he rolled his shoulders.

“They should not have brought you here,” He shook his head. “I am sorry that they did.”

His fingers tapped on the stone table beside the helmet. 

“Please, tell me what’s happening.” You begged. “I don’t understand.”

He took another deep breath, shaky and uneven. He pressed his hand flat to the table and growled.

“As the watcher of this land, I have abstained from my desires for thousands of years. It has not been easy but it is what I had to do.” He began and you trembled at the timbre of his deep voice. You pushed yourself up to your feet and crossed your arms protectively over your chest. “But I am of Asgardian blood and we have hunger in our veins. Restraint is not bred within us and it is hard to muster.” 

He turned slowly and unbuckled the sleeves of his armour. They fell slack and he slipped them off. He laid them down beside his helmet. He did the same to his breastplate and worked at shedding his armour one piece at a time. His golden eyes clung to you as you swayed nervously.

“”I admit, I have been watching you, and just that minor diversion was a betrayal of my duty. Yet, I could not stop. My eye always fell back to the little Midgardian in her little nest. All alone.” 

He set the last piece of mail aside and stood in a pale tunic, matching beeches, and a pair of leather boots. He seemed both hesitant and impatient to near you. He hesitated and paced across the chamber before you.

“If I kept you far away, I’d only watch. I wouldn’t… I couldn’t succumb to my instincts.” He continued. “But they… they conspired against me and now… now…” His fingers curled into fists and he stormed towards you. You retreated until you were against the wall. “Now… you’re here and I feel it rising in me.”

He opened a hand and it hovered over your shoulder as he trembled. You cowered against the stone as you tried to press yourself flat. As you tried to wake up from whatever terrible dream this was. You didn’t.

“I have protected you as I’ve watch you but there is one thing I cannot protect you from,” His hand settled on your shoulder and slipped down your arm. “...Me.”

He grabbed your elbow and spun you past him. He released you so that you collided with the stone table and it knocked the wind out of you. His breaths were like growls as he closed in. You turned to him and his hand stretched over your throat.

“I tried… I tried,” He ranted. “I truly did but… I promised Odin… I tried.”

His other hand grasped the strap of your tank top and snapped it easily. You tried to slap him away and his grip tightened around your neck. His body was trembling almost as much as yours.

“I won’t hurt you… if you don’t make me,” He warned.

Your eyes rounded and you stared up into his glowing eyes. There was something sinister within them that wasn’t there before. You dropped your hands and braced the edge of the table.

A shuddered “Please…” was all you could manage.

His tongue slid over his bottom lip as he tore your other strap. He pulled the top down to your waist and hummed as his gaze fell to your bare chest. You wanted to hide from him but you could barely move. The hand at your throat sapped all your resistance. Your skin buzzed as he cupped your tit.

He flicked a thumb over your nipple and then the other. He watched his hand as it explored your flesh and began to crawl lower. He crept over the crumpled tank top and his fingers pushed beneath the waistband of your shorts; the old faded pajamas were a poor shield against his ardour.

He tugged them past your hips and let them fall down your legs. A rush of fear flowed through you and you grabbed onto his thick arms. His hand squeezed your throat just a little.

“Stop,” You rasped. “Please, I… I…”

“I can’t.” He snarled.

He released you but only to grasp your hips and lift you in a single motion. He was so strong, you felt little more than a feather on the wind. He sat you on the table, his cold armour against your back. He pushed between your legs and bent to cover your mouth with his. His hand stretched across the back of your head as he held you to him.

You grunted and struggled against him. It only seemed to rile him as he shoved his other hand between your legs. His thighs kept your knees apart as he pressed on your clit until you squirmed. You slapped your hands down on the table and moaned.

His tongue pushed past your lips as he slid his fingers inside of you. You squeaked into his mouth and your legs tingled as he curled his fingers. You clawed the stone beneath you as he played with you. He pressed the heel of his hand to your bud and squeezed as he began a steady pace.

His other hand fell from the back of your head and you gasped as you drew away. His hand moved faster and faster. You shuddered as your core thrummed and ripples tingled along your spine. You panted wildly as you tried to resist the steep and undeniable rise. Your hips bucked as you came and your back hit the tall horns of his helmet as you quivered helplessly.

He withdrew his hand as you groaned and struggled not to fall back entirely. He quickly fought with the laces of his breeches and ripped them open. For a moment, the terror returned to you and you thought of escape. He pulled his cock from beneath the leggings and you gulped. He grabbed your hip as he stepped closer and stifled your fears.

He dragged his tip along your folds and you pushed on his chest. The ecstasy drained as he pressed against your entrance. This was a stranger, a man you didn’t know, a being you were certain was inhuman. You didn’t want him. You didn’t want this, did you?

He impaled you sharply as if he could sense your doubt. You cried out and scratched at the fabric across his broad chest. You gripped it tightly as your walls quaked around him. He was big and thick and the delight of his girth was laced with pain. Tears pricked your eyes and your legs hugged his hips without thought. You didn’t know if you wanted him to stop or keep on.

All restraint slaked away from him as he rocked into you. His hands snaked around to grope your ass. He pulled you closer to the edge as he pounded deeper and deeper. Beastly snarls whisked from his lips and he lifted you entirely. You draped your arms over his shoulders as he moved your body against his.

You couldn’t help the pressure as it mounted once more. Couldn’t help that this man was stealing this pleasure from you so easily. You blamed it all on this man. It couldn’t possibly be you. You couldn’t like it. You couldn’t.

You came again and he turned and leaned against the table. He lifted your knees up to rest beside him and rocked your hips against his. He sank into you over and over until you were wrapped around him. Your heavy breaths nestled in the crook of your neck as you weakly clung to him.

He slammed you down harder than before and let out a strangled grunt. He slowed and rode out his climax until you were completely still. You were breathless and weak against him, your body covered in sweat. He wrapped his arms around you as your limbs fell and held you against him.

“I…” He breathed over the crown of your head. “I tried.”

[mopeytropey]

a beer buds series: chapter 8

author’s note: happy, sappy Lexa hath arrived

available on AO3: here or below the cut

Timeline: just after Lexa returns from her holidays in New York, Clarke is bombarded with work at Dockside; Lincoln keeps her company over the weekend as Lexa relays the events of her Friday spent with Clarke (chapter 7 of 'apu')

Beer: Frequency KÖLSCH-INSPIRED GERMAN ALE

Clean and bright. Pleasingly malty with a touch of noble hop. Crisp and sharp with a subtle malt sweetness on the finish

ABV 5.0%

Frequency: Winter Hill Brewing (Somerville, MA)

:::

Lexa cannot stop smiling.

She hasn’t been able to curb the small grins and outright smiles that keep spreading across her lips at random intervals since leaving Clarke’s house on Friday morning.

She doesn’t stop them when her thoughts drift to the sound of Clarke’s voice and the looks they shared in her kitchen over coffee and bagels. And, she can’t keep her lips from curving when remembering their dinner Friday night, the way Clarke’s eyes would gleam and her cheeks would blush when Lexa would say something purposefully flirtatious. She has more-or-less lost all power over the muscles in her face and the control Clarke has on her overall good mood.

She hasn’t allowed herself this much visible happiness in ages. It feels both incredibly unnatural and like enormous relief.

And, because she is smiling into her phone while reading a recent text from Clarke, riddled with profanity about being stuck at work, she doesn’t notice Lincoln approaching.  

“Hey, I’ve missed that smile.”

Lexa’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and her smile remains. She’s missed him too.

“Hey.”

They clumsily exchange a hug while Lexa is sat on a wicker bar stool and Lincoln stands beside her at a bright grey bar counter made from swirled marble. The sun streams through the front windows of an upscale restaurant known for their brunch menu, woodfired pizzas, and signature cocktails.

Lexa had, in fact, intended to ask Clarke to brunch at this very establishment. She has been eager to resume their mutual exploration of the attraction that’s been brimming between them since early June. Friday had been a glimpse, a negligible fraction of what Lexa knows they are bound to discover over time. She thinks of her fingers tangling between Clarke’s or the physical distances between them that are gradually vanishing. Her head buzzes with all their potential in the days and weeks to come.

Lincoln unbundles from his wool peacoat and unwinds a striped scarf from around his neck to reveal his thick cable knit sweater beneath. “I just saw the girls,” he announces.

Lexa swallows, torn abruptly from the places her mind had been wandering. “Did you?”

“Yeah, they’re slammed down there.” Lincoln takes his seat and then angles himself comically in Lexa’s direction as if he plans to interrogate her. “So, Clarke says hi.”

Lexa’s chest balloons and her smile expands beyond her control. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

“I assume this means you two are on speaking terms again?”

The burn in Lexa’s cheeks is so severe, she’s forced to look away to the sounds of Lincoln’s delighted laughter. He playfully jabs a finger into her bicep while she fails miserably to keep her cool.

“We started talking before I left for New York.” Lexa clears her throat, hoping it will reduce the heat of her embarrassment. “She dropped me at the train station, actually.”

“Yeah, I know. Octavia told me,” Lincoln admits. Lexa backhands him across his chest and attempts to scowl. “Sorry, I had to mess with you a little bit. I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“That’s your one free one.” Empty threats, and they both know it.

“Yeah, sure. Okay,” Lincoln plays along, nevertheless slinging an arm around the back of Lexa’s stool.

The bartender approaches before Lexa can respond, and Lincoln reaches across the bar to slap her hand in a familiar exchange. “What’s good, Lincoln?”

“Hey, what’s up, Taylor?”

“What are you drinking?” she asks him while sliding a coaster in front of him.

He nods to Lexa’s pint of beer. “What’s this?”

“It’s that kölsch-inspired one from Winter Hill,” Lexa answers. “It’s really smooth.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll do the same. Thanks.”

“You guys eating?”

“Yeah, I’d love to see a menu,” Lexa tells her.

Taylor nods, reaching for two rolls of cutlery from beneath the bar. “You got it. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, so: what happened? What’s happening? Tell me everything. How was your Christmas?”

Lexa can’t help but laugh at Lincoln’s eager requests, rattled off with palpable excitement. She takes a deep breath. “Christmas was definitely interesting.”  

“Oh yeah?”

Taylor returns with Lincoln’s beer and two menus. She mumbles something quick and low in Spanish to Lincoln that makes him laugh.

“She’s got some real pretentious dicks on the other side of the bar,” Lincoln informs her once Taylor has left them to tend to her other customers. Because the bar is circular, Lincoln attempts to scope out the situation on the other side of the bar by peering through the rows of bottles, glassware, and flatscreen TVs that create a barrier between both sides.

“Think we should bounce them out of here?”

Lincoln laughs into his first sip of beer. “Let me have another pint and I’ll let you know.” He finishes another long sip before sliding his glass back onto the bar. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know why Clarke is suddenly in such a supremely good mood despite working her second double in a row, and why you haven’t been able to wipe that idiot grin off your face since I walked in. Wait—also, what did Anya get you for Christmas?”

Lexa rolls her eyes, hoisting up with disdain an article of outerwear from the stool beside her. “Stupid hat.”

Lincoln swallows his mouthful of beer and laughs, nodding approvingly. “Classic An. Okay so, what exactly happened while you were at home?”

Lexa watches her fingers trace the darker patterns that thread the marble bar top. “For one, Costia and I met for coffee after Christmas and finally had that long overdue conversation I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, you weren’t the only one avoiding,” Lincoln reminds her.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And so, it’s over?”

Lexa exhales, reaching again for her pint of beer and taking a low sip. “I think it’d been over for a while, but: yes. In an official capacity, we ended it.”

“And, how are you and Costia? Okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good. We’d been such good friends anyway—I honestly think that was a huge part of what complicated things for us for so long.”

Lincoln hedges his reaction. “I want to be really happy for you right now because you basically look like you just dropped this huge weight around your neck, but … are you okay with everything?”  

“I am.” She looks up to meet his eye as if to prove herself. “It felt right. And, I’m—” Her traitorous lips, already pulling at their edges in a smile, will give her away every time. “I’m really good actually.”

“Good because I’m so happy for you, buddy.” Lincoln squeezes her shoulder with the hand resting on her stool. “Okay so, I know you and Clarke are talking again—and, believe me, we’re all relieved as hell about that—but, what exactly have you told her?”

“You mean about Costia?”

Lincoln finishes his sip of beer, pinning her with a look he must have learned from Anya because Lexa feels absolutely transparent. “I mean, I think Costia is just the tip of a pretty substantial iceberg, but sure. Let’s start there.”

At his candid retort, Lexa exhales a laugh and grasps her beer. “I’m fairly certain Clarke knows that my feelings for her aren’t entirely platonic, if that’s what you mean.” Her mind flashes briefly to the lighting and warmth of Clarke’s kitchen, the scent of toasted bagels and freshly ground coffee.

Lincoln claps his hands, as he so often does in moments of triumph, and smiles broadly. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that we are finally having this conversation.”

“I know. Me too.” In spite of her nerves constantly bubbling to the surface, Lexa is also flooded with the acute relief of authenticity.

“Have you seen her since you’ve been back?”

“We spent some time together on Friday.” Lexa ineffectually bites at her lip to keep from smiling. She thinks of slow hugs, soft hand-holding, and timid admissions amid charged goodbyes. Their interactions thus far have been so buffered by innocence, Lexa cannot believe the way her stomach swoops at her memory of them. “I brought her bagels.”

“Suave.”

“Listen, she—I wasn’t attempting to be romantic.”

Lincoln doesn’t miss a beat. “Liar.”

“Clarke has been living her entire life under the misguided assumption that a small, newly established bagel shop in northern Massachusetts is on par with legitimate New York bagels, Lincoln.” The severity in Lexa’s tone has him visibly amused. “I felt it my sacred duty to correct this misconception.”

“You brought her Bergen’s, didn’t you?”

Lexa looks offended at the ask. “Like I would offer her anything less.”

“And, where are my Christmas bagels?”

She rolls her eyes, reaching for her nearby pint. “Linc—”

“Okay, I see how it is. Too hung up on impressing Clarke to remember one of your oldest friends.” He is nodding, self-righteously.

Like a loveable idiot.

“I’m beginning to second-guess your request to hang out today,” she tells him while averting her eyes to the paper menu in front of her.

Lincoln laughs at her stern tone, knowing it’s a bluff, and returns his arm to rest along the back of her stool.

“How are you actually feeling about this?”

“Sharing an afternoon drink with you? I’m of two minds at the moment.”

“Now who’s being a jackass?” Lincoln grins. “So, you’re scared out of your mind about Clarke then?”

Yes. Absolutely. The nervous uncertainty is all-consuming.

Lexa shrugs, ignoring her inner anxieties and recites aloud the mantra of useless facts she’s been telling herself for days.

“Clarke and I have been close for quite awhile. She knows me, maybe better than most people. Despite any potential uncertainties, we’re operating on the foundation of a very sound friendship.”

Lincoln watches her like she’s come entirely unhinged. “Okay, yeah. Do you have any idea how incredibly shook I was at the prospect of kissing my friend Octavia?”

At the thought of kissing Clarke—images painted vividly by her traitorous mind—a breath lodges in her chest, and Lexa must return to her beer for fear of passing out.

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“I’m just trying to get you to be honest with yourself. And me, for that matter. I mean, I’m just assuming—knowing how much you overthink every goddamn thing to death—that you haven’t slept with her yet.”

“Jesus, Lincoln.” Lexa swallows her embarrassment through multiple sips of beer.

“For that matter, you probably haven’t even kissed her yet.”

“I can’t think about … that yet,” she manages to say without her voice croaking from the strain.

“Kudos to you for being able to think about anything else.”

“I have, obviously, considered the prospect. I just—more than anything I keep thinking about how I want to be around her all the time.”

“No offense, because I mean this genuinely and supportively as your friend, but are you just now figuring that out?”

“Shut up,” Lexa laughs.

:::

The food, as it turns out, is notable.

Lexa orders chicken fried steak and eggs with chorizo gravy and griddled potatoes, immediately lulled into a state of happy sedation as she clears her plate.

Lincoln groans his satisfaction as well, leaning back into his stool when he’s finished. “Damn. That was so good.”

“I might nap on this stool. Your friend would be okay with that, right?”

“Yeah, obviously.” Lincoln stretches his arms over his head and folds his hands behind the base of his neck. “A good bartender is always looking to have her guests fall asleep at the bar.”

“Okay good,” Lexa answers with a sleepy smile and suppresses an actual yawn with the back of her hand.

“What are you up to for the rest of your day?”

“This meal has completely erased any prior motivation to workout. My couch sounds pretty nice right now.”

The sun is setting and the streetlamps have begun to flicker on along the cobblestreet outside the restaurant windows.

“Not gonna go lurking outside Dockside until Clarke gets out of work?” Lincoln prompts with a teasing wink.

“Why do I feel like this was an actual tactic used on Octavia?”

“An effective tactic, you might say.”

“No,” Lexa laughs. “I’m not planning to stalk Clarke at her place of business, you creep.”

“Suit yourself,” Lincoln shrugs. “If you need any tips, I’m just sayin’.”

Lexa’s laughter is more of a cackle, lost in the increasing din of the Sunday evening bar crowd. “I think I’m all set. Thanks.”

“Oh okay, here we go—two beers later, she is confidence personified.”

Taylor returns to collect their empty plates, and Lincoln, practically gleeful, seizes on an opportunity to embarrass Lexa in a public setting.

“Taylor, help me out here—first kisses with relative strangers versus first kisses with a friend-turned-something-more. Generally speaking, which one makes you more nervous?”  

“Why?” Taylor grins, bracing herself across from them with both hands grasping to the edge of the bar top. “Is one of you about to ask me to makeout?”

Lexa smothers a mortified oh-my-god against the palms of her hands where she has covered her face.

“No, no,” Lincoln laughs while shaking his head. “Like I would ever do anything to get Toni on my bad side—your girlfriend might be more intimidating than Octavia.”

“She’s gonna love hearing that,” Taylor smiles.

“The thing is, Lexa here—”

“Would love the check,” Lexa interjects, pinning Lincoln with her most threatening glare while her cheeks still burn warmly. “And, for reasons yet unclear to me, I’ll take Lincoln’s too. You can put us on the same tab.”  

“You got it,” Taylor chuckles, and strides off to the kitchen with their empty dishes.

As Lexa signs the tab, leaving an exorbitant tip to somehow assuage her own embarrassment as well as fulfill an unspoken creed between service industry workers, Lincoln warmly grabs her shoulder.

“Thanks. This was a great way to spend my otherwise very boring Sunday while O is stuck at work.”  

“Lucky for you, my Sunday plans were also foiled.”

“So glad we could be each other’s second fiddle,” Lincoln grins.

Lexa returns his familiar smile. “Anytime.”

They bundle back into their coats and hats and gloves before Lincoln waves and shouts a quick farewell to Taylor from across the bar. As they push through the front entryway back out into the cold and wind and lightly dusted snowy sidewalk, Lincoln wraps an arm around Lexa’s shoulder and hugs her closer.

“Thanks again—you didn’t have to pick up the tab, buddy.”

“Think of it as your belated Christmas present. Besides, you basically always pay whenever we hang out. I owe you.”

For the drinks and food, yes. But, Lexa also feels indebted to Lincoln’s unending kindness and patient listening as everything between she and Clarke has unfolded.

“You don’t owe me anything, but that food does make for a great belated Christmas present.”

“Well, it’s not pumpernickel bagels and pimento cream cheese, but,” Lexa shrugs, looking up to catch Lincoln’s eye just as his expression creases painfully.

“Aw man, did you have to bring up the pimento cream cheese?!”

Lexa laughs and savors the warmth of Lincoln’s broad frame close beside her.

:::

Sometime between the distance of Lincoln’s apartment, where they had parted after a smothering hug, and Lexa’s front entryway, her phone buzzes from within her coat pocket. When she sees Clarke’s name as the incoming call, she removes a glove with her teeth and swipes to answer.

“Hey.” It’s so cold now that the sun has set, her breath is frozen in puffs, but the anticipation of hearing Clarke’s voice builds a warmth deep in her stomach. “How are you?”

“Oh my god, I’m so tired,” Clarke whimpers.

Always so dramatic.

Still, she has sympathy for Clarke’s long and tiresome hours of unexpected work over the weekend. Lexa shuffles across an empty crosswalk, hurrying towards her street as other pedestrians bustle past in bulky winter wear. “Sorry you’ve been stuck there for two days.”

“I was prepared for Saturday. Today has kicked my ass. Where are you? It sounds windy. Oh my god, please tell me you aren’t running in this weather.”

Lexa laughs as she reaches her apartment and searches for her keys while keeping her phone pinned against her shoulder. “I’m walking home from grabbing food and drinks with Lincoln.”  

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry, my brain is fried. Drinks and food sound so nice right now,” Clarke practically whines.

Lexa pushes into the warmth of the stairwell and begins to take the stairs to her apartment. “Seeing Lincoln was really nice, although it was you I was hoping to share a meal with today.”

“Were you?”

She can hear Clarke better now as she unlatches the locks of her apartment’s front door and steps inside a quiet, darkened room. She smiles shyly at Clarke’s surprised delight and lightly clears her throat.

“Yes.”

“And what did these plans entail?”

Lexa used to wonder constantly about Clarke’s intentions—whether or not she was consciously aware of the provocative ring to her voice. Presently, Lexa requires no translation: Clarke’s flirtation is unmistakable.

“I wanted to take you out for brunch.”

“I would have loved that.” Clarke sounds beyond charmed, and Lexa’s entire face warms.

“That’s—that’s good to know,” she responds, exhaling shakily at Clarke’s belated acceptance to a date they never got to have.

“I had brunch plans for us today too!”

“Oh yeah?” Lexa’s intrigue instantly distracts from her spike of nerves.

“Yes! They involved homemade waffles and really nice prosecco I absconded with the last time I left my mom’s and, most importantly, not being at work for over nine hours.”

Lexa clicks on a nearby lamp and shuffles out of her coat but does not bother to remove her absurd winter hat. The idea of Clarke making plans for them—specifically plans that involve home-cooked meals and sharing bubbly wine in Clarke’s home—sets Lexa’s stomach fluttering as she collapses onto her sofa.

“Well, for future reference, I’d be up for drinking prosecco with you any time, appropriated or otherwise.”

“This is good information to have.”

Lexa cozies into the couch cushions at the sound of Clarke’s laugh, wishing desperately that they were sat side by side, filling each other in on their day. She might weave her fingers into Clarke’s hair to help her relax or pull Clarke’s legs into her lap to massage her calf muscles after a long shift at the bar.

“How was your afternoon with Lincoln?”

“He was very upset about being excluded from the New York bagel delivery.”

More of Clarke’s laughter broadens the small smile on Lexa’s mouth. “They were indeed very enviable bagels.”

“I’m glad you liked them. We’ll have to get more sometime.”

A pregnant beat in which Clarke doesn’t immediately respond has Lexa’s heart racing. “In New York?”

The insinuation of taking Clarke to Brooklyn is lightyears ahead of asking her to brunch, and Lexa scrambles to backtrack her overzealous suggestion while pulling her stupid hat over her eyes. “I, um—I didn’t mean—”

“Lexa, I’m sorry—ugh,” Clarke grunts in frustration. “I have to go help one of our servers with something.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. I’ll let you go,” Lexa fumbles to say, grateful that Clarke’s endless string of responsibilities has saved her from more useless stuttering.

“Can I call you when I’m finished here? If it’s not too late?”

Lexa sits up and finally removes her hat. “Call me whenever.”

“Okay.” Lexa can hear the grin in Clarke’s response and indulges in one of her own. “Oh, and if the invitation still stands, I would go with you to New York any time, with or without the promise of bagels.”

Lexa cannot stop smiling. She doesn’t even try.

:::

[commie-eschatology]

Return to Redcliffe

particularly proud of this Solas + Trevelyan scene from “Return to Redcliffe” so gonna do some shameless self-promotion. Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538

When all her companions are asleep, Trevelyan leaves the Inquisition camp. She isn’t sure if she’ll come back. Someone is clearly following her, but she ignores that for now. The road back to Redcliffe stretches in front of her, but she hesitates. This is an extraordinary bad idea, she tells herself, but when has that ever stopped her? Lydia used to complain about her tendency to just act on desire alone. But Lydia is dead, she tells herself, you broke her head open with your staff until her brains spilled all over the floor. You killed the woman who raised you, only for the rebellion to sell themselves into slavery. ` In the woods, she stumbles upon a templar caravan. Very fortunate for her, very unfortunate for them. Their screams echo through the Ferelden forest; she imagines getting incinerated from inferno magic would hurt quite a bit, but it’s certainly not her problem. Trevelyan leaps onto the, now empty, wagon, and finds a crate of apples. She takes a few bites of one and monologues, “I rebel, therefore I am,” to the half eaten piece of fruit.

There’s groaning from underneath the wheels, and a jumble of words that vaguely sound like “what the fuck?” so she asks, “Sorry, are you still alive down there?” There’s no response, so in the interest of being thorough, she throws a fireball at the voice. The smell of burnt flesh follows, so she assumes it got the job done, but then again, Ferelden usually smells like that. Really not a terrible scent, she considers. Or perhaps she’s just gone mad.

Trevelyan looks at the Mark on her hand- staying with the Inquisition is the clever choice, she tells herself. Only she can close the rifts, after all. The rebels have been utterly defeated, the movement badly needs allies if it’s to survive. Still, her logic feels cold and hollow. The Venatori ships are already in Redcliffe harbor. She asks herself, how many will be shipped up to the Imperium in chains, in just the time it takes to travel between the Hinterlands and Haven?

Fire burns underneath the wagon. It’s always been fire for Trevelyan- burning the family manor during a childhood nightmare, cremating Lydia’s mangled corpse with her own spells, and, most recently, incinerating more templars than she can count. It’s the same fire that she could use to burn those Tevinter slave ships tonight- despite Fiona and Linnea’s betrayal, she has no doubt that at least a few of her people would join her.  

“Do you want to keep staring at me from the woods then?” she asks the person shadowing her. Solas steps out from the shadows, clearly surprised at being discovered, but he tries not to let it show. He’s usually far more subtle, she doesn't doubt she could be more stealthy if he wanted, but he clearly believes everyone around him is an utter idiot. Fair enough, she supposes. He gives a slight smile, the kind that might say “well done.”

As with everyone, Solas projects emotions into the Fade- but his are more tightly moderated than any other mage she’s ever seen. Now though, Trevelyan sees a wave of complex feelings she can barely sort through, radiating from him: rage at the Tevinters, intense all-consuming fear of something she can’t sense, great sadness for something lost, but all controlled, and directed by conscious purpose.

“These woods are dangerous,” he says, characteristically naming the obvious, “and you have the only means of closing the rifts.” He regards her for a moment. “I apologize if I intruded. You have proven yourself a capable fighter, but I have found it is far too easy to make rash mistakes when one is alone.” His actual meaning is not lost on her: don’t be an idiot and run, is what he wants to say.

He adds, “And in my defense, you did just eviscerate an entire troop of men.” She expects him to ask her why, but he doesn’t; apparently needing no explanation for her small act of rebellion.

“They were templars,” she explains anyways, “most are awful. The others just look away when the Circle rapes happen. Honestly, I’ve always preferred the former.”

“I can’t disagree with you,” Solas says, “my few interactions with templars have been... unpleasant. Either they are accustomed to following the worst orders, as you have said, or they just enjoy inflicting pain, especially upon those without recourse.” There is clear contempt and disgust in his voice, it’s as if he’s speaking from experience.

“That’s why we rebelled,” she says, taking another bite of the apple, “also,  I was hungry. Inquisition rations weren’t doing it.” Solas actually laughs. Trevelyan idly wonders when murder became so casual for her. Kill the woman who raised you, and everyone else becomes easy, she supposes.

There’s a short, but not awkward, silence between them. She knows exactly why he is here, to prevent her from defecting back to the rebels, but his presence is, surprisingly, not unwelcome. They haven’t had much time to talk like this; the conversations they’ve had have so far been in either the shadow of Haven’s Chantry, or on the road with Cassandra.

She motions to the adjacent seat on the wagon. To her surprise, he nods, and walks, or more accurately, struts over, butt wiggle and all. Like most mages, he usually makes himself seem as small as possible, scuttling rather than walking, but unlike the rest, it’s almost as if he has to consciously remind himself to do so.

Solas likes questions, she reminds herself, so ask one. He jumps up on the wagon, and she says, “do you like apples?”

Solas doesn’t even blink. “Apples were first domesticated in this part of the world.” How the fuck does he even know that, she wonders. “I saw a memory once, of a horde of human barbarians, desperately defending a part of these woods they held sacred, from the legions of the Imperium. When the barbarians were slain, the Tevinters marched forward, only to find a simple apple orchard, one which hundreds gave their lives to protect.” He takes one out of the crate, and takes a bite. “However, if you were asking about the taste- no, I detest apples.” He takes another bite. “This one in particular tastes sort of like burnt human flesh.”

“Dying for a lost cause. You really never miss an opportunity to make a point, do you?” she says, “also, how do you even know what burnt human flesh tastes like?”

Solas smiles mischievously. “I don’t like to waste words,” he says. The other point he is suspiciously quiet on. I don’t judge, Trevelyan thinks, you go eat as much flesh as you like, Solas.

His words are somewhat slurred, and she smells something in the air, besides the burning templars of course. She recognizes it as the unmistakable stench of peach whiskey, suspiciously similar to the bottle she had nicked from Dennet yesterday. Solas seems to notice and says, “Master Dennet had many such bottles wasting away on the shelf. He will not miss one, or two, I suppose.” He shrugs.

On the topic, she notices a small bottle of ale in one of the templar crates; the cork is stuck when she pulls on it, so she simply uses a bit of force magic to smash the top of the bottle off. It smells absolutely wretched, and tastes even worse, but she drinks it anyway. Solas watches her, possibly judging her, but he’s always hard to read. “Been a shit day,” she explains. Linnea said, go back to your templars. Fuck her. Tevinter apologist. Shockingly flat ass. Terrible kisser.

“Was today your first time in Redcliffe?” she asks. Solas chuckles softly to himself, apparently a joke only he understands.

“A long time ago, before your rebellion,” he says, “it’s changed since, of course. But I assume you’re asking my opinion on the rebel mages, rather than the settlement itself.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Despair sticks to most of the mages like gnats.” He’s right, during the retreat from the Free Marches, every morning some mages wouldn’t wake up, taken by Despair demons in their sleep. And the war has only gotten worse. She can’t even imagine. “Still, they endure. Their fight against oppression is admirable, and utterly hopeless.” , “Hopeless?” Trevelyan raises an eyebrow. She should be angry, but more than anything she feels exhausted. “You seem rather certain.”

“Of course I am.” he says, matter of fact. Trevelyan picked up some dalish during the rebellion; she’s not ignorant as to the meaning of his name. “In my journeys through the Fade, I have seen countless rebellions rise up, confident in the just nature of their cause, only to be crushed mercilessly. Righteousness, unfortunately, is no match against steel.” Good poetry. She’ll give him that.

“And, yet, Recliffe is still standing,” she says, “for the first time in a thousand years, in this part of the world, mages govern ourselves. No templars. No Chantry. We built that. Isn’t that freedom worth defending?” Trevelyan spent most of her life in the Circle. No price can be too great, she thinks.

“You forget you aren’t speaking to Cassandra or Varric. We do not disagree on the necessity of rebellion,” he smiles, just a bit, mostly to himself, “but, in order for a rebellion to win its immediate demands, as well has change what it is possible in the long term, something you once told me that you seek to do, they must do one thing.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and honestly it works. “They must win.”  

“Even failed revolutions can teach lessons,” she says, the only dogma she’s ever needed to believe in, “no matter what Varric says, the mage rebellion didn’t manifest spontaneously.” She thinks of the thousand year struggle for freedom, and what feels like generations of the dead on her shoulders. In the distance, Trevelyan can just make out the flag of the Venatori, waving from the ramparts of Redcliffe. The ships are not far behind.

“No,” Solas says, suddenly melancholy, “or if they do, it is always the wrong lessons.” He’s silent for a long moment, staring into the ground. “I saw a memory once in the Fade. A man who sought to overthrow a tyrant. Then, a half-hearted assassination attempt, tailored for drama, instead of results. It of course failed. The man himself was burned alive, defiant at first, but when the flames reached his body, when his skin began to melt off, he screamed for mercy that never came.”

Trevelyan takes a long drink. Solas adds, eerily calm, “In the end, martyrdom is just melted flesh upon a wooden stake, and a name utterly forgotten.”  She drains the rest of the bottle.

“I killed my mother,” she says, suddenly, without really meaning to, “when the Circle was annulled, I tried to give her the courtesy of a quick spell, but the tower wards blocked magic so…” she makes a motion with her staff “I, well, had improvise.”

“Your first murder?” he asks. She shakes her head. Definitely not. “If you want absolution, I’m not the person to give it.”

“Oh fuck no, I’m not Andrastian,” Trevelyan scoffs, and Solas chuckles softly. The Andrastians think they can solve all the world’s evils, all their many personal failings, through a song. It’s childish. Besides, Trevelyan would rather hold onto her sins for now- keep them close like a badge of honor. She looks down at the dead templars, corpses bathed in green light from her Mark.

“I don’t regret it,” she says, and she thinks she means it, “not if it served a purpose.” Trevelyan looks again towards Redcliffe, and thinks, everything I am, I owe to them. “In just the time it takes to travel back to Haven, how many will already be on the ships?”

“Likely a few dozen,” Solas answers, “there will be far more, thousands, if these Venatori are not defeated, which is a battle only the Inquisition has the resources to win. It is fortunate, then, that you have a position where you can speak on behalf of the rebel mages.”

The sun begins to rise, bathing the forest in dim orange light. “We should get back then ,” she forces herself to say, though every word is like a block of lead. Solas exhales in relief.

“One final thing,” she says as Solas moves to get up. She looks at her counterpart, studying him best she can, sensing his projections into the Fade. He’s unlike any other apostate she’s ever met, and there’s something about him she can’t quite put her finger on, much less vocalize. “You know quite a bit about rebellions,” she says.

“I have seen much in my travels,” he says, pausing as he considers his next words, “and you could say I had a dramatic youth.”

“One I’d be interested in hearing about,” she says, genuinely. “Especially if it involves more surprisingly melancholy stories about apple domestication.” Solas seems taken aback for a moment, but recovers quickly, chucking politely at her joke. He then smiles quietly to himself.

The two apostates return to the Inquisition camp, though Trevelyan keeps Redcliffe in her sight for as long as she can.

Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538