#in the line of duty my bare arse

[morningmee]

Do yourself a favour and read the above mentioned explanation to Jack and Phryne's relationship by @precensinglife ❤️💋

“Now, tell me, Jack, does that new furrow in your brow have anything to do with kissing me the other night?”

Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries (2012-2015) ↳ 1x07 Murder In Montparnasse // 1x08 Away With The Fairies

[bamf-jaskier]

So I’ve been having a lot of thoughts about how imbalanced Geralt and Jaskier’s relationship is in the show and while I might make another post about it, I don’t think anything shows that better than by comparing the Djinn scene in The Last Wish vs the show. 

For the set-up to meeting the Djinn in the books, Geralt and Dandelion are fishing together. They are both holding onto a line in and manage to haul in a 12 foot long catfish by working together and on the other line they have in the river  Jaskier pulls out the Djinn’s amphora. In the show, Geralt is hunting the Djinn in an attempt to try and get some peace of mind. Jaskier happens to run into Geralt and watches as Geralt pulls out the Djinn. 

Scene from The Last Wish:

“Ha!” Dandilion exclaimed again, proudly. “Do you know what this is?”

“It's an old pot.”

“You're wrong,” declared the troubadour, scraping away shells and hardened, shiny clay. “This is a charmed jar. There's a djinn inside who'll fulfill my three wishes.”

The witcher snorted.

“You can laugh.” Dandilion finished his scraping, bent over and rinsed the amphora. “But there's a seal on the spigot and a wizard's mark on the seal.”

“What mark? Let's see.”

“Oh, sure.” The poet hid the jar behind his back. “And what more do you want? I’m the one who found it and I need all the wishes.”

“Don't touch that seal! Leave it alone!”

“Let go, I tell you! It's mine!”

“Dandilion, be careful!”

“Sure!”

“Don't touch it! Oh, bloody hell!”

The jar fell to the sand during their scuffle, and luminous red smoke burst forth.

The witcher jumped back and rushed toward the camp for his sword. Dandilion, folding his arms across his chest, didn't move.

The smoke pulsated and collected in an irregular sphere level with Dandilion's eyes. The sphere formed a six-foot-wide distorted head with no nose, enormous eyes and a sort of beak.

Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Jaskier: Wow. Wow. What is- What is that?

Geralt: [inspecting the stopper] It’s a wizard’s seal. The djinn.

Jaskier: Do you mind if I- [He grabs the pot.]

Geralt: Jaskier...

Jaskier: Take back that bit about my fillingless pie. Take it back and then you can have your djinny-djinn-djinn.

Geralt: Let go.

Jaskier: No! No, let go, you horse’s arse! [Geralt accidentally pulls out the stopper. Jaskier upends the pot, nothing happens.] Hm. That’s a bit of an anticlimax. [A sudden breeze ruffles their hair.] Or is it?

Now, it’s important to note that the dialogue is actually quite similar when Geralt and Jaskier are arguing about taking the jar and the seal. However, where it really differs is the context. 

In the show, Geralt finds the Djinn and Jaskier takes it from him without asking and Geralt is clearly annoyed by this. 

In the books, Dandelion finds the amphora and Geralt doesn’t believe it’s a Djinn while Dandelion does and Geralt tries to warn Dandelion of opening it because he considers it dangerous. 

It’s the difference between Geralt being genuinely annoyed at Jaskier vs Geralt being concerned for Dandelion’s safety. There is a weird amount of contention between Geralt and Jaskier in the show that makes their relationship feels honestly unhealthy in many ways. 

Scene from The Last Wish:

“Djinn!” said Dandilion, stamping his foot. “I freed thee and as of this day, I am thy lord. My wishes—”

The head snapped its beak, which wasn't really a beak but something in the shape of drooping, deformed and ever-changing lips.

“Run!” yelled the witcher. “Run, Dandilion!”

“My wishes,” continued the poet, “are as follows. Firstly, may Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, die of apoplexy as soon as possible. Secondly, there's a count's daughter in Caelf called Virginia who refuses all advances. May she succumb to mine. Thirdly—”

No one ever found out Dandilion's third wish.

Two monstrous paws emerged from the horrible head and grabbed the bard by the throat. Dandilion screeched.

Again, Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Jaskier: Djinn, I have freed thee, and as of this day, I am thy lord. Firstly, may Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, be struck down with apoplexy and die. Secondly, the Countess de Stael must welcome me back with glee, open arms, and very little clothing. Thirdly-

Geralt: Jaskier! [He grabs the back of Jaskier’s top and pulls him backward.]

Jaskier: Wha-

Geralt: Stop! There are only three wishes.

Jaskier: Oh, come on, you always say you want nothing from life. So how was I supposed to know you wanted three wishes all to yourself?

Geralt: I just want some damn peace!

Jaskier: Well, here’s your peace! [He throws the pot to the ground where it breaks. Geralt bares his teeth and growls before he bows down to collect the pieces, missing the fresh cut on his forearm. The wind intensifies and Jaskier raises a hand to his throat.] Geralt… Geralt… it’s the djinn! [Geralt casts a magical sign at the black, transparent smoke rushing by. Jaskier doubles over and clutches his throat.]

Geralt: Jaskier. [Jaskier vomits blood.]

Again, while the dialogue is very similar, especially in the case of Jaskier/Dandelion some of it being word for word in fact, Geralt in the books tries to protect Dandelion while the only thing Geralt focuses on is the wishes themselves. As well, in the books, Dandelion’s injury in the books is due to his own folly and arrogance while in the show, the writers make it indirectly Geralt’s fault. 

It’s another weird choice that seems to suggest a dislike and a hostility between Geralt and Jaskier. It seems that even subconsciously Geralt doesn’t want Jaskier around. 

Scene from The Last Wish:

“A troubadour,” repeated Chireadan, looking at Geralt. “That's bad. Very bad. The muscles of his neck and throat are attacked. Changes in his vocal cords are starting to take place. The spell's action has to be halted as soon as possible otherwise…This might be irreversible.”

“That means…Does that mean he won't be able to talk?”

“Talk, yes. Maybe. Not sing.”

Geralt sat down at the table without saying a word and rested his forehead on his clenched fists.

Again, Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Chireadan: His throat was attacked. If the spell’s action isn’t halted as soon as possible, that damage might be irreversible.

Jaskier: Wha- [vomiting more blood]

Chireadan: And the longer he goes untreated, the more likely it is to spread. He could die.

Jaskier: [gasps] Fuck! Geralt.

Geralt: Uh... Yeah, we won‘t let that happen. [pats Jaskier’s back]

In the books, Geralt shows genuine concern for Dandelion and is heartbroken by the idea that he might not be able to sing again. Remember, in the books, Dandelion’s injury is a result of his own folly and Geralt still feels this obvious and clear sadness. In the show--he just has this awkward grimace and pats him on the back. He almost seems to be there out of a strange sense of duty and doesn’t seem to feel too much guilt about his part in Jaskier’s injury. 

Even when they are reunited after Yennefer heals Jaskier, it is very different in the two mediums (I actually want to do another post about Yennefer in Bottled Appetites vs The Last Wish)

Scene from The Last Wish:

“Dandilion!” Geralt shouted, holding Krepp back, who was clearly getting ready to perform an exorcism or a curse. “Where have you…here…Dandilion!”

“Geralt!” The bard jumped up.

“Dandilion!”

Again, Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Jaskier: Oh, Geralt. Thank the gods. I might live to see another day. We need to go. 

Geralt: Jaskier, you’re okay.

Jaskier: I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.

Geralt: Let’s not jump to conclusions. What happened?

Geralt and Jaskier are overjoyed to see each other in the books meanwhile in the show Geralt is just...okay about it. 

And it’s really strange because Netflix!Geralt can show emotion when he wants to, he does with Yennefer in Bottled Appetites and Rare Species, he shows fear when she is with the Djinn and care when they are in the tent together and yet --- this emotion is not extended to Jaskier. This isn’t simply a difference of Geralt’s characterization.

In the show, the writers created an imbalanced relationship between Geralt and Jaskier where Geralt never asked Jaskier to be there. The bard is constantly inserting himself into Geralt’s life when he is not wanted and testing Geralt’s boundaries without permission. He almost seems like an invader in Geralt’s life and it makes it so that I honestly can’t believably see Geralt and Jaskier traveling together for 20 years. 

Dandelion and Geralt protect each other, care for each other and worry about one another. Even from the beginning of the Djinn incident, they were fishing together. Geralt and Jaskier on the other hand have a relationship where Geralt begrudgingly tolerates Jaskier while Jaskier plows along blindly. It’s not healthy on either side. Geralt is putting up with someone he doesn’t seem to have a genuine connection with and Jaskier is pushing boundaries and constantly talking to a man who has no interest in listening. 

There is no reciprocal relationship between Geralt and Jaskier and I think in the end that’s why there is this hostility between the two of them.

[honorhearted]

emcads​:

SHE FOUND HERSELF LAUGHING WITH HIM, a warm smile writ permanently onto her lips.  such a rare pleasure for one so long at sea ––  another’s hands at her cheeks,  their laughter in her mouth,  their promises in her ear.  could she help it if she was inclined to indulge herself with a bit of harmless PLAY ?  ( well, mostly harmless,  supposing this once-soldier knew more of the battlefield than the bedroll )  Esmeralda stepped back just slightly to survey him,  a hand lingering there at his chest and idly tracing its way down the swells and valleys of musculature,  the weave of fabric concealing just enough to strike her curiosity.  God,  forgive me.

 ❛❛   I suppose it does.   ❜❜  

her own smile turned wry and teasing, then,  with a glance to his foil that lay even now in the bush.  no doubt he had meant only innocence with his mock-vow   –– although what innocence to be had in a promise of dutiful penetration was suspect at best –– but Esmeralda could not let him off for such a line so easily.  not when he had kissed her like that,  as though he were VERY MUCH IMAGINING hands and bodies elsewhere. such manners were unthinkable even amongst pirates.

 ❛❛     am I to take that to mean you prefer when women give you the command to spear them ?   ❜❜

Her touch was...distracting, to say the least. Ben swallowed, his throat visibly bobbing due to foregoing neckwear that afternoon. Despite it being improper -- he could practically feel his dearly departed mother reeling from him being both bare and indecent around the fairer sex -- he'd found it far more preferable for their recreational play. But God, perhaps that had been a mistake...

Tremblingly, Ben caught her wandering hand and squeezed it between his fingers, resisting the urge to press a kiss to her knuckles, her palm, her wrist -- whatever sacred inch she would allow. But would she even allow it?

All at once, his eyes snapped up towards Esmeralda's face at such a declaration -- spear them? -- and unbidden, the heat in his cheeks burned impossibly hotter.

"I...uh..." Lips opening and closing, Ben's tongue acted before his brain and he boldly quipped, "I prefer to harpoon them, actually. It's far more in step with my seaside upbringing."

Stop. For the love of God, stop talking.

With a wince, he quickly amended, "Forgive me, that was incredibly uncouth. I would never..." He waved a hand. "W-well, I'm not saying I would never do that...uh..." Damnation. "I-I mean! I am amenable to requests, because I prefer to know that what I am offering is wanted. There's far too much taking in this world, wouldn't you agree?"

Unable to meet with her gaze, he softly added, "I like you. A lot. And although I could make some crass joke about partaking in the green gown, instead, I am wholly content to receive whatever attentions you spare...even if that attention is at the very end of a blade." He motioned toward their weapons with a shy smile. "And after this pitiful display, I would thoroughly accept being run through. In fact, I'm almost begging you. I've made a total arse of myself."

[forzalando]

royally screwed | fw | pt. two

pairing: prince!fred x princess!reader word count: 2.4k warnings: cursing, mentions of meals/food, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers a/n: hello friends! happy valentine’s day!!💛the long awaited part two is here and i hope you all enjoy!😊bonus points if you catch the subtle hp references in this chapter hahaha thank you to @spacexcowgirl​ for beta reading, i love you dearly!! you can read part one here

summary: Prince Frederick Weasley of Burrow was a twin, but unfortunately, at least in his mind, he was born the eldest twin, meaning it was his duty to inherit the kingdom. Since the young age of ten, Fred knew that he was to marry Princess Y/N Y/L/N of Diagon, and over the years they’ve both come to dread the day. With the eve of their wedding closely approaching, their disdain for each other begins to worry their respective families. However, there is a very fine line between love and hate.

Y/N awoke the next morning and immediately recounted the previous day’s events; she could feel the puffiness in her face and eyes from the tears shed after her Mother left her room. She had hoped that their conversation would go differently, but it was done and there was nothing left she could say regarding the matter.

A sharp knock on Y/N’s chamber door had her jumping up and crossing the room faster than her feet would carry her. She stumbled a bit, almost crashing into the door before pulling it open, only to see the most peculiar sight.

Frederick Weasley, with his siblings stood behind him, although George was standing rather close so that he could pinch his brother’s ear.

“Well,” Ginny goaded, “go on then, you arse.”

Fred turned swiftly to shoot his sister a glare, but George’s grip on his ear had him wincing in pain.

“You better get going or I swear I’ll rip it off,” George grumbled, struggling to hide the jesting smile creeping on his face.

“Fine, fine,” Fred huffed. “Princess Y/N, I would like to apologize for my behavior last night. It was entirely unacceptable and I hope that you can find it in your impossibly sma-”

Ginny quickly stomped on Fred’s foot, interrupting what Y/N was sure would be an insult.

“Pardon me, your impossibly large heart, to forgive me. I was also wondering if you would care to join me for breakfast in the drawing room.”

George promptly let go of Fred’s ear, but not without one final yank, and the entire clan of Weasley siblings looked at Y/N expectantly, awaiting her answer with fervor.

“You must be absolutely mad, Frederick Weasley,” she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest in defiance. “After your attitude last night, which you had for no reason, I might add, and you come knocking on my door to ask if I want to have breakfast with you? I don’t want to see your face unless I have to!”

“I’m trying, Y/N! You said that the least I could was try, so here I am, offering to spend time with you when I’d rather lick the floor in the foyer.”

“Well, then, feel free to go scrub the floors with your tongue because I will not join you for a meal today or any other day!”

Fred stalked away with no objections from his siblings, who were all laughing at Y/N’s quip. She had a satisfied smile on her face as well, but it quickly fell when she averted her gaze to the three other Weasley siblings.

“Now what exactly did you think that was going to accomplish?” Y/N spoke with a, mostly, playful glare to the three standing before her.

“Honestly, we were hoping a bit that you wouldn’t answer the door. Mum made us drag him down here,” George answered with a shrug of his shoulders.

“But, now that we are here,” Ginny said excitedly, “will you have breakfast with us?”

Y/N smiled softly; she could never say no to spending time with her only friends.

“Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you…where should I meet you?”

“The drawing room…” Ron mumbled, hoping Y/N wouldn’t recall that Fred wanted to take his breakfast there as well.

“You three are insufferable,” Y/N laughed, “however, I’ll be there in ten. Hopefully he will be gone by then.”

Y/N gently shut her door and quickly threw on a dress and her day slippers; her mother would absolutely have a fit if she saw the disheveled state she was in, but Y/N simply couldn’t care.

After a quick glance in the mirror, Y/N hurried through the castle corridors that she had come to know so well and made it to the drawing room in record time. To her delight, Frederick was nowhere to be seen.

“Good Morning, dear,” Queen Molly said warmly from her seat. “Have you by chance seen Fred this morning?”

Y/N heard the quiet snickering of Ron and George and then a hushed “shut it” that could only have come from Ginny.

“Oh, yes, Queen Molly, he stopped by my chambers to apologize. Very out of character for him, I wonder if someone slipped something into his morning tea.”

Molly Weasley hummed lightly, taking the slightly sarcastic tone of Y/N’s voice to mean that things hadn’t gone as she directed.

“That’s lovely, dear, maybe you’ll actually have a civil conversation in the gardens.”

Y/N set down her tea slowly, trying not to act shocked because she had no knowledge of a walk in the gardens.

“The gardens? I didn’t know anything about the gardens,” Y/N mused inquisitively.

“That’s where Fred is right now, I told him you’d be along in a few minutes. He even looked a bit excited,” Molly teased.

Y/N snorted inelegantly and immediately covered it with a cough; she rose from the table and looked pleadingly at George, hoping he could come up with some form of an excuse that would save her from time spent with Frederick, but George refused to look at her and continued eating his breakfast unbothered.

“I’ll go meet him now, Queen Molly. I’m sure he’s awfully busy so we can make this short,” Y/N said with a smile.

“Fred is free all day, I cleared his schedule, dear.”

“Brilliant,” she grimaced.

With a half-hearted wave, she left the drawing room and begrudgingly walked towards the gardens, smiling politely at each person she passed. Even if her future husband did not care for her, Y/N took comfort in knowing that his family and the people in the castle did; she hoped it would make the rest of her life tolerable.

All too soon, Y/N felt the sunshine on her face as she stepped into the magnificent palace gardens. She could spot Prince Frederick’s fiery hair a mile away; he was standing near the rose bushes twirling a yellow one between his long fingers.

The rustling of the grass between Y/N’s feet caused Fred to turn around to find the source of the noise.

He stalled a bit; even though he despised the Princess of Diagon, he could never deny that she was breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair was unkempt, a soft pink, cotton gown swished around her legs as she stalked toward him, and her face was set in a scowl but even the worst grimace could not distract from her captivating eyes.

It was entirely infuriating, and it made Fred want to hate her even more, but some intrinsic force wouldn’t allow him.

“What are you staring at?” Y/N asked, her eyebrow raising.

“Nothing,” Fred replied with a shake of his head. “I’m just thinking of all the ways I’d rather spend my morning.”

“Well, it seemed like you were staring at me. Do it again and I’ll push you into the rose bushes, I don’t care if you are the future King.”

Fred turned his head and tried not to crack a smile, but failed miserably as the corner of his mouth quirked up involuntarily.

“Let’s get this over with, Y/N, can your stubby legs keep up?”

“It’s not my fault you shot up like a bloody bean pole; you went from stumpy to looking like someone sewed tree limbs together and animated them.”

“Most women like tall men.”

“I like tall men, Frederick, I just don’t like you.”

A stunned silence fell over the two royals, only the sounds of the rustling leaves and nearby animals could be heard.

“I suppose that’s why you like Prince Cedric, then?”

“Beg your pardon?” Y/N’s eyes widened, confused at the sudden interrogation.

“Your conversation with your Mother last night, how you begged her to marry him instead. Or my brother. Or that horrid Malfoy.”

“You had no right – that was a private conversation. How dare you eavesdrop on my personal business? Every time I think you have a shred of decency you prove me wrong, Frederick Weasley.”

Fred stepped in front of the Princess, blocking her path and preventing her from walking on.

“Prove you wrong? I had come to your room to apologize when I heard you plotting with your Mother to run off with someone else and disrespect my family.”

“I would never disrespect your family. They’ve never been anything but good and kind to me, the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt them. I haven’t the slightest idea how you’re related to any of them.”

“Oh, I know, you have them all wrapped around your little finger,” Fred scoffed.

“I’m not going to stand here and fight with you, Frederick, I don’t have the energy. Can we please just keep moving and we can tell your Mother we had a wonderful time and learned so much about each other.”

Y/N stepped around Fred, lightly grabbing his wrist to pull him along through the endless rows of flowers.

“She’ll probably quiz us and you don’t even know my favorite color,” Fred griped.

“It’s purple, I think,” Y/N blurted. “I overheard you telling your Mum years ago that you wanted purple frosting on some dessert. I figured that meant it was your favorite.”

“And you remembered?”

“There aren’t a lot of things I forget about the people in my life, Frederick. If it’s important to you, I’ll remember.”

“But you don’t care about me, why did you even bother?”

Y/N sighed and shook her head before turning to look at Fred, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t hate you. I don’t particularly like you, maybe in a different life we’d actually be friends, but I don’t hate you. I don’t hate anyone.”

Fred realized this was the longest they’d gone without arguing in years, and it was barely one tenth of a conversation. He turned his head slightly to watch Y/N, taking in the way she gazed lovingly at the surrounding flora, and noticed her eyes linger a bit longer every so often.

“Yellow,” Fred mumbled.

“What was that?” Y/N asked.

“You look longer at the yellow flowers. Yellow is your favorite color.”

Y/N smiled softly, the same smile she’d given Fred when she had arrived the day before but it was infinitely more sincere.

“If you were like this all the time, you wouldn’t be so bad Frederick.”

“Who says I’m not?”

Y/N rolled her eyes and this time Fred could not contain himself; he laughed loudly, and the sound triggered a fluttering of sorts in the Princess’s chest. They continued their walk, chattering idly and the Prince even picked a blooming yellow rose and delicately handed it to his Princess.

“I really did want to apologize last night, you know,” Fred assured. “I didn’t have any reason to be so rude when you arrived, I guess it was just…habit. We have a way of getting under each other’s skin.”

“Apology accepted, for your rudeness yesterday, of course. But, you owe me another.”

“Another?”

“Yes, for eavesdropping on me and my Mother.”

“That conversation involved me, I hardly think it’s one I shouldn’t be aware of if you’re trying to finagle your way out of our betrothal.”

“It may involve you, but it was a private conversation.”

“That involved me.”

“My God, I’ve said it before but truly every time I think you can redeem yourself, you do or say something completely asinine. Do you have any manners?”

“You were talking about me, I felt I had a right to listen!”

Y/N groaned loudly in annoyance, drawing the attention of the nearby guards.

“I don’t even believe you wanted to apologize, you had the chance this morning and just insulted me like you always do! Every decent part of you is nothing but an act!”

“You don’t even know me,” Fred seethed.

“No, I don’t, but it’s because you won’t let me!”

“You’ve never even tried, don’t attempt to play me for a fool, Y/N.”

“Well, I’m trying now. I’m trying now and still all we can do is fight.”

The two stood toe to toe, breathing heavily and staring into each other’s eyes. After a few moments, Y/N looked away and sighed deeply. It sounded almost dejected, Fred realized, rather than the anger he had expected.

“Go ahead of me back to the castle, please, I’d like to actually enjoy the rest of the walk.”

“I don’t have to take orders from – ”

“You’ll do as I say, Frederick Weasley,” Y/N snapped.

Fred wanted to argue; God, did he want to argue with her until he was blue in the face, but something about the tone of her voice frightened him a bit. So, he scoffed and stalked back to the castle, swinging his fists by his sides and gritting his teeth.

He passed by his twin, giving George a half-hearted wave before entering the castle. It wasn’t hard to sense the tone of what had transpired, and George shook his head and took off running towards the gardens to find Y/N.

“Oi! What did he do this time?” George shouted as he slowed to a stop in front of Y/N.

“Just the usual. Acting like a pompous prick that can do no wrong. He was nice for two minutes and then refused to apologize for eavesdropping last night on a conversation between me and my Mother!”

George rolled his eyes and raked a hand down his face, massaging his temples in preparation for the headache that his brother always managed to give him.

“Y/N, you know he’s not malicious, he’s just an idiot sometimes,” George offered.

“I appreciate you defending him but at the moment it’s going in one ear and out the other, Georgie.”

He laughed and slung an arm around the Princess’s shoulders, joining her on the remainder of her walk through the gardens. He noticed Y/N twirling a yellow rose around and every so often lifting it to inhale its sweet scent.

“Stealing flowers from our gardens, eh?” George jested, bumping his hip into Y/N.

“Frederick picked it for me, actually,” she mumbled.

“Well, that’s sweet. You two can get along, is what I’m seeing and hearing.”

“It was a momentary lapse of judgment,” Y/N sighed, before throwing the perfect rose to the ground and ensuring her slipper crushed the delicate petals.

When they were good and flattened into the Earth, she swore she felt an ache in her chest.

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[leiawritesstories]

Protector, Defender

Rowaelin Month, day 17. 

The story I had planned for this prompt decided to fight me. So, enjoy a snippet/first look type of thing. This may or may not become a multi-part fic.

Warnings: I actually don’t think this bit has any. Language maybe.

~~~~~

It is just past three in the morning. An icy breeze whirls through the streets, cutting into the man’s nondescript black jacket. He burrows himself deeper into his multiple layers of clothing, rubs his gloved hands together to keep them functional, wriggles his feet in his  sturdy boots. His eyes scan every angle at all times, alert despite the late hour and his constant suppressed wish to go to bed.

In his line of work, sleep happens only when allowed.

The barely-there scuff of a footfall in the January snow has him whirling with feline silence in the direction of the sound, finger instantly curling around the holster at his hip.

Fuego to Buzzard, Fuego to Buzzard. Stand down, I’m not a threat. He nearly jumps at the unexpected voice in his ear. 

Buzzard to Fuego, Buzzard to Fuego. I presume the footfall was you announcing your presence rather than appearing and giving me a heart attack?

Don’t be so put out that I’m the only human who can sneak up on you.

Status, Fuego?

All clear north and east, Buzzard. Status south and west?

No signs of activity.

Excellent. 

A new voice enters the comm channel. Lion to patrol. Taking north and east now.

Fuego to Lion. Stay awake.

And another. Hades to Buzzard. Taking south and west now.

Buzzard to Hades. Keep warm.

Lion to Fuego and Buzzard. Go get some sleep.

Roger that, Lion.

His relief offers a nod of camaraderie as he takes up the post, ever alert, ever on guard against all possible threats to the royal family.

Inside the security wing of the royal estate, he stomps the crust of icy snow off his boots, hangs up his winter gear and Kevlar layer. Impulsively, his eyes, a shock of forest green against the tan of his skin, scan the mudroom, landing on his shift partner removing her protective layers with efficient precision.

“There’s really no need to stare, Buzzard, you see plenty more than this during training,” Aelin teases in that throaty voice of hers.

“I’m not staring,” he blurts, his words too rushed to be true.

She chuckles, pulls a soft blue sweater over her dark thermals, pats his strong shoulder as she leaves. “Yes, you are. Means you’re tired, so go get some sleep before training.”

She’s out of the room before he can sputter a reply.

And what bothers him the most is that she’s right. 

So he trudges back to his room, flops onto his bed, and is asleep within minutes.

~

The alarm buzzes far too early for his liking. Goddamn Captain and his goddamn debriefings, he thinks as he hauls ass out of bed and into presentable clothing. On autopilot, he heads downstairs, taps his ID against the secure doors to the security complex, and enters the main conference area. The unit captain, standing at the head of the table, cocks a brow at him.

“Long night, Whitethorn?”

“And then some, but you damn well know it, Captain Schedule-Maker.”

Captain clicks his tongue, smirking. “Is that any way to address your superior?”

“Oh, piss off, Ilnair, you know I could take you any day.”

The captain chuckled. “All right, Rowan, I apologize for that shift, I know it was the worst to pull.”

“But you don’t see me complaining, and I pulled the shift too,” Aelin remarks.

“Ah, good morning, my favorite femme fatale.”

“Shut the hell up, Cass, it’s too early for your stupidity.” 

The captain pretends to look affronted, then he turns his attention to the room, where he and the fifteen members of royal security who aren’t currently on duty are gathered.

“Good morning, everyone. Just the usual today. I’ll wait no longer than five minutes for His Royal Tardiness to climb off his wife and get his royal arse down here before I actually go into today’s details. Anyone here think it’ll be five minutes?”

Not a single hand goes up.

Naturally, the king chooses that moment to enter the room, rumpled and half-awake as per usual.

The entire team smothers giggles as they stand in deference, as is protocol. 

“Sit down, sit down, you still don’t have to be suckups.” He waves a hand at the room, slumps into his chair at the head of the table. “Right, Cass, spill.”

“So terse today, Your Majesty.”

“I don’t pay you to be a smartass.”

Cassian snorts. “Let’s get started, people! Shift changes in three hours. I have Team Beta scheduled to go on outside rotation then. Team Delta, you’re taking audience hall duty. Team Alpha is currently outside. Team Gamma is monitoring the family and guest wings. As for the rest of you…what have I got in store?” A smirk slips across his face. “Cadre!”

“Yeah?” chorus eight voices.

“Y’all are pulling personal detail.”

The eight glance at each other. “Who’s with whom, Captain?” 

“Hades and Buzzard, you’re with His Royal God Complex here. Sunbeam and Moonbeam, you’re with Hera. Dwarf and Rover, you’re with Hercules. Lion and Fuego--” he shoots them a very large and wicked grin--“Deathless is arriving today. You’re with her.”

Gavriel raises his eyebrows at Aelin; she nods back. He grins a shit-eating grin. “We’ll take that assignment with pleasure, Cap. You just keep out of her pants and we won’t have any problems.”

Aelin slaps Gav a high five.

Everyone else is in various stages of laughter.

The king, meanwhile, just smirks at his head of security. “He’s not wrong, brother.”

“Rhysand Matthieson Selvari, need I remind your team what I regularly hear you call your wife?”

“You forgot my titles, Captain.”

The captain flips off the king, who chuckles and rises from his seat. “As fun as this has been, I’m afraid I do have a schedule to follow, and that schedule dictates that I primp for a good hour at minimum before holding court.” 

Everyone else stands, gathering into teams for the day. Rowan and Lorcan trail the king as he strolls out of the room, bracing themselves for whatever the hell might happen. 

After all, the life of a royal bodyguard is ever unpredictable.

[ragingbookdragon]

I couldn't help myself with this and I'm sure as shit not sorry. Enjoy the Batbrother fic! -Thorne

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

The entire mission in Costa Rica would’ve taken two days to complete with the final night being the perfect time to eliminate the militia and their leader. He gazed at the rural camp through the scope of his rifle, surveying the small but well-guarded church building and courtyard. Five camps were set up around the church itself in a star set, the main headquarters in the middle, and a barbed wire fence surrounded the entire operation.

Getting in wasn’t going to be any trouble, at least not for Walker and Gutierrez; shifting the rifle, he could see them creeping up the side of the hill, staying in the tall brush. They were about thirty meters from the side of the fence that would let them in undetected; he’d provide sniper fire for anyone nearing them that they couldn’t get to in time.

All at once, Walker stilled in the brush, grasping at Gutierrez’s wrist. When Walker didn’t start reporting, he frowned and hit the button on his gun, murmuring, “Talk to me, Walker.”

The former MI6 operative grunted. “Somethings fuckin’ with my radar.” He glanced back towards where he was camped in the sniper nest. “Tell Asghar to figure it out.”

A new voice came over the line, rather agitated. “I don’t work for you and telling me to figure it out, isn’t going to make me. Maybe you could ask nicely.”

“Well, you ain’t called the fuckin’ ‘Eye in The Sky’ for no reason. Use the IFF and figure it out.”

“Arse,” she retorted, then she hummed. “Captain, Walker’s right, there’s something entering the premises. But I can’t tell what—it’s cloaked.”

He hummed quietly. “Where is it, Asghar?”

“East-side. It’s pinging the radar, but I don’t have a visual on it. Lemme circle around again.”

Glancing into the scope once more, he watched the east side carefully, when one of the militia members suddenly grasped their throat, blood spilling between their fingers. There was a split-second flash of a white tactical cloak shimmering, and his eyes went wide. “Everyone pull back. Now.”

All of his squad reacted with shock, but he wasn’t going to hear it. “All of you. Get out. Now. I know what’s inside the perimeter. Asghar land the Hawkeye. Everyone get to it.”

“Captain, what is it?”

“Nothing good, Mikhailovna.” He replied to the assassin with an annoyed frown. “Goddamn motherfucking asshole.” He scowled and watched another militia member fall, then another, and another. All within seconds. “Fucker took our job out from underneath us.”

“Who did, Captain?” Walker asked.

“A Ghost I don’t feel like engaging right now.” He said. “I gave you all an order. Back to the plane. Double time.”

“What about mission?” Mikhailovna questioned and he could tell she was already pissed.

“Our little guest’s already claimed it as theirs. I’ll explain later. Just get back.”

A round of disgruntled replies came in but he paid them no mind, simply watching the shimmer of the tactical cloak every few seconds go out as the soldiers dropped, throats slit.

***

He hefted the duffel bag onto his shoulder, watching his squad boarding the plane. His pilot stood beside him. “You coming with us or staying?” she questioned, and he hummed.

“Planning on staying for a while.” His eyes drifted to the hotel in the distance. “Costa Rica’s got some nice sights and I’ll need to find us another job since this one busted halfway through.”

She nodded as if suddenly remembering. “Yeah, about that…I haven’t seen you that spooked in a while. Who was that?”

“I wasn’t spooked.” he griped. “But it’s a vigilante who’s not exactly good.”

Nadeen crossed her arms over her chest. “So, they’re like us?”

“No. He’s not even like me or Jason. When he fights, he views it as an art, not a duty. He’ll kill anyone he deems necessary.”

“Psychopath much?”

“Congratulations,” he quipped dryly. “You hit the nail on the head.”

“Oh my god, seriously? He’s a psychopath?”

“Full-fledged, no remorse or sympathy.” He glanced at the servicers finishing the fueling. “You should go start up the plane. I’m sure everyone’s ready to be back home for a while.”

Nadeen looked at him. “What are you going to do the entire time?”

“Hopefully find a job he won’t bud in on. Tell everyone they’ve got a month leave.” He held out his arm, elbow bent, and fist curled.

Nadeen placed the outside of her arm, held just like his, against the outside of his. “Happy hunting, Captain. Stay safe.”

“You too,” he smiled, pulling away to walk off the flight line.

***

He stepped out of the shower and wrapped the fluffy white towel around his waist. His eyes caught his reflection in the mirror and for a moment he simply stared at himself. All the scars that lined his chest, the bullet wounds, the stabs, the slashes, the burns. Each told a story of a time he escaped death’s clutches. Barely. But still alive.

He shifted the dog tags that at his sternum and looked at the cicatrix on his skin; he didn’t like the memory that surrounded it and he shook his head, letting the tags fall back into place before he walked out of the bathroom and into the master bedroom. He’d left a pair of fresh underwear on the bed, and he removed the towel, slipping them on.

Figuring since no one was going to bother him, he tossed the towel onto the sofa beside the window and walked through the living room into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and pursed his lips, wondering if he should cook or order room service; the Casa Del Mar Residence had fairly decent service.

Suddenly his muscles tensed and the hair on the back of his neck stood; he calmly grabbed an apple out of the refrigerator, then spun, throwing it with deadly aim and speed.

Unsurprisingly, the half-masked man leaning against the laundry room doorway caught it, smiling at him. “Well done, (Y/N). You knew I was here.”

He felt anger flush through him, and he pointed at him. “I knew it was you. Only you’d stick your nose in a SPECTRE Op and stick around afterwards to gloat about it.”

Chuckling, the man took a bite of the apple, chewing before murmuring, “Why so upset, (Y/N)? I took out the target for you.”

“Yeah, and you cost me and my squad a few million dollars of payment.” (Y/N) scowled. “The fuck do you want Ghost-Maker?”

Ghost-Maker smirked at him. “I’d pay you back but I’m sure you’d tell me to shove my money where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Again, what do you want?” he gestured around. “It sure as shit isn’t to mess up my vacation for a month.”

“I’m leaving in a few hours,” he shrugged. “New missions in Asia.”

(Y/N) looked him over a moment. “You know he told me the first letters of your name. ‘Kh’.” He hummed, leaning against the island. “There’s so many names it could be. Khalid. Khal. Khadim. Khai.” Eyeing the vigilante, he quipped, “I feel like I’ve already said it.”

“I’d tell you if you did.” He walked around the island and stood beside (Y/N).

“Really? You’d tell me?” he cocked a brow. “Can I call you ‘K’?”

“No.”

“Hmm…sensitive.” (Y/N) grinned. “C’mon K, lighten up a little you psycho.”

He rolled his eyes. “Anyone ever told you you’re hilarious?”

“Just a few people. One of those being my dad.” (Y/N) met his gaze. “So…why are you here if you’re leaving in a few hours.”

A smirk ghosted over the man’s face, and he took a closer step, now in (Y/N)’s personal space, in fact, standing just before him. “I haven’t meditated yet.”

He peered at him. “Something tells me you’re not talking about yoga.”

“No. I’m thinking something more carnal.” He murmured. “Seems like you could use some meditation too.”

(Y/N)’s eyes merely narrowed, and he glared at the man in front of him for a long while before sighing and grunting, “Fine. But if you tell anyone we fucked, I’ll kill you in your sleep.” He started towards the bedroom, listening to Ghost-Maker follow, chuckling behind him.

“I already told you, (Y/N). We’re going to meditate.”

“Meditate my ass,” he griped in return.

“Relax. We’re going to have some fun.”

“I’m topping.”

“We’ll see,” Ghost-Maker cooed, shutting the door behind them.

[drawlfoy]

Mirror, Mirror Finale P.2

masterlist  request guidelines

pairing: draco x ravenclaw reader

request: yes very highly requested lol

summary: despite never speaking before, y/n has a big crush on draco malfoy, a particularly broody and obnoxious slytherin. what will happen when they finally have to start associating? and what if they run into a certain mirror that shows you what you truly desire?

warnings: cursing!

a/n: so ik i said this was gonna be out later this week but i love you guys too much! here it is...the final part of mirror, mirror! it’s weird to finally finish a series like this but ohhhh boy here we are

taglist: @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @mey-rapp @kaibie @blackpinkdolan @the-wiener-soldierrrrr @sugarbby99 @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop

word count: 2.1k

“About time you got off your arse.”

“Hello to you too, Rena,” Y/N sighed as she dropped her satchel on her bed. Her roommate watched, bemused, as she began to unpack her things. 

“How are you?” she asked, her voice noticeably softer. “I really missed you. We were all worried sick, you know.”

Y/N snorted, tossing her wrinkled robes on the bed and making a mental note to spell them neat later. “I do know. Madame Pomfrey was going to kill me for how many times she had to tell you to leave me and let me rest.” 

Rena’s eyes sparkled.

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Y/N. “I missed you too.”

The two sat in silence for a bit as the cold afternoon breeze wafted into their room, carrying the smell of fresh snow in. 

“So, anything exciting happen? Did anyone tell you anything….interesting?”

“No.” Y/N was about to turn back to her work before she caught the mischievous expression on Rena’s face. “What? Why?”

“Nothing,” she sang. “I’m just wondering. I have to catch up with my best friend, you know. It’s been forever.”

“It’s been the whole of four days.”

“It’s been forever,” she restated, jumping up and spinning Y/N around (who couldn’t help but allow a slow grin to spread across her face). 

“I was going crazy in there.” Y/N’s voice was considerably more serious. “I never told you, but--” she chose to ignore the look of anticipation written all over Rena’s face, “--Malfoy talked to me. And he was so nice to me, it was we--”

“That COWARD!” 

The outburst started Y/N, who dropped her things on the floor in shock. “I’m sorry? Rena, what happened?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Rena, her tone dutiful and mournful. “It’s not my place. Anyways, what did that loser do?”

“Er,” began Y/N, “I don’t know how much of it was real or if it was because I was on pain potion, but he and I--I don’t know, flirted? There was a lot of banter, and before he knew it he pulled me off the ground--”

“You were on the ground?”

“--he pulled me off the ground and picked the gravel out of my palms.” Y/N swallowed as she recounted the instance. She’d never seen him look so soft before. “He said he had something he wanted to tell me, and his voice got all strange.”

“And then?” 

“And then Madame Pomfrey came to yell at me and basically--oh god, Rena, she basically told him that I dreamt of him!”

Rena snorted with laughter. “Shit, dude. I don’t think you should worry, though. You’d think any bloke with half a brain would’ve figured out that you were obsessed with him by now.”

“Shut up.” Y/N’s face was hot. “Anyways, I haven’t seen him since. I’d prefer if we could stop talking about this.”

“Sure, sure.” She took in a breath. “Wait, what about rounds? Don’t you still have to see him?”

“No. Flitwick told me I’m off. At least until next month.” If she sped through the thought, it didn’t hurt as much.

“Ending of a chapter, huh? How are you feeling about that?”

Y/N sighed. “Honestly, Rena, I love you, you know I do, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Okay? It’s over.”

If her words carried any deeper meaning to Rena, she didn’t show it. “Lighten up, girly. Maybe it’s not.”

“All I’ve done is make a fool of myself,” lamented Y/N, throwing her empty satchel in the closet and collapsing onto her bed. “I’m just going to go back to what everything was before. This hasn’t changed anything. Now, Rena, I have a Potions exam to study for.”

“Whatever floats your boat.”

~

Her interactions with Draco were few and far between in the following weeks. Sometimes she caught a few glimpses of a pale blonde head of hair as she walked down the halls to her classes, but nothing concrete, nothing even close to the amount of interaction they had while she was still bound to her rounds. 

It was certainly a punch in the gut--after all, she did spend a good portion of her academic career thirsting over him--but the sensible part of her knew that this was for the better. Her schoolwork became her top priority again, just like it had been the years before she was assigned to be his partner.

So, given this pattern of communication, it was fair to say that Y/N was completely and utterly flabbergasted when she saw Draco waiting by the entry of her common room at 11pm one night.

“Can I help you?” she asked as she shifted the books in her satchel to be secured over her shoulder.

“Yes, actually,” he said smoothly, not tripping over his words in the slightest. “I have rounds tonight.”

“I’m aware.” She hoped that he couldn’t hear her heart pounding the way that it was.

“And I’m out of Wide-eye potion.” 

“That really sucks,” Y/N said as she held up her hand on the door of the common room, uttering the riddle’s answer under her breath before she stepped in. 

“Wait!” His voice turned her around--it was pleading, almost desperate. “I have an exam tomorrow. No one in Slytherin has any. Snape would kick my arse for waking him up now. I know you have some left over since you never finished the rounds, and I--I understand if you don’t want to but it doesn’t have a very good shelf life anyways and I was hoping you’d...that you’d be alright with giving it to me.”

She paused, completely stunned. The most hopeful part of her wondered if he had made this up, but she squelched this with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of her. “Fine. Come with me, you must be freezing outside.” 

Y/N wasn’t wrong--the weather had taken a turn in the past few days to be bitterly cold--but it wasn’t like she’d object seeing him for any longer. She mentally cursed herself for being so weak-willed.

Draco looked pleasantly surprised at the suggestion and stepped into the common room with her, following her up until she reached the base of the stairs. “I’ll wait here.”

“If you’re comfortable,” she began, “I’d honestly prefer if you came with me. I don’t want to explain to anyone why I let you into our common room unsupervised.”

He looked like his mind was buffering the information for a second, standing with a glazed look in his eyes before he sucked in a breath and became the picture of confidence once again. “Want me in your room that bad?”

Yes.

“You wish.”

He scoffed as they climbed the stairs, Y/N a few steps above him. She thought that if she maintained the space he wouldn’t see how hard she was shaking and wondered where Rena was. Studying with Hermione like she told her she was? She hoped.

Y/N stopped in front of her door at the very end of the hall, decorated with a banner that had their names displayed in glittering bronze letters that moved in the light. “Ok. You can come in with me if you want--it might be a couple minutes since I don’t quite remember where it is.”

He looked amused with himself as she got out her wand and attempted to unlock her door with the specialized charm she and Rena had decided upon. Mortifyingly enough, her hand was too shaky to execute it.

“Hey, hey,” Draco tutted, holding his hand out. It enveloped hers and held her wand still as she muttered the incantation, unlocking the door and swinging it open. 

“Er...thanks,” she said. His hand was still over hers. 

Y/N broke the eye contact to dart through the door to a thankfully dark and empty room--if Rena had seen that, she never would’ve let her hear the end of that--and began rifling through her drawers as Draco shut the door and examined her room.

“You’re flustered,” he noted as she tipped over one of her candlesticks and just barely managed to catch it. “Is everything okay? Trouble in paradise, little Ravenclaw?”

“Like you care.” Y/N shut the desk drawer with an audible BANG. “And don’t call me that. Rowena Ravenclaw is rolling in her grave hearing you infantilize her good name like that.”

Draco laughed from his stance by her door--a sound that she hated to admit that she really missed. “I take back what I said. You certainly sound like yourself.”

Y/N’s fingers finally closed around the last bottle of Wide-Eye, which was quickly tossed to Draco. “Happy now?”

He sent her a strangely weak smile as he slipped the vial into his pocket, no doubt silk lined and expensive. “Sure. So this is goodbye? Actually?”

“I think...I think so.” 

Y/N had moved closer to him so only about a foot stood between them, a distance that felt like a mile from where she stood. 

This is goodbye.

Draco was making a motion to turn around and open the door when Y/N experienced the most severe lapse of judgement in the entirety of her 17 years.

She sprung forward, her fingers curling around the satiny soft fabric of his tie and pulling. Her motion was rough enough that he jolted forward, his eyes wide with surprise as Y/N closed in and pressed her lips to his in a very chaste and ungraceful movement. 

The split second that it took for her to realize the consequences of her actions was enough for her to let go completely and jump away, apologies readily falling out of her mouth in disjointed and clumsy collections. 

“I’m so sorry...Oh my god...I have no idea what got into me...Draco, I--”

Before she could finish, his hands were already cupping her face, his frame bent down the slightest so he could be more level with her. And he was--oh--he was kissing her, actually properly this time, without the tense closed-offness of her first attempt.

When Y/N imagined what it was like to kiss Draco Malfoy, she didn’t imagine him to be so soft. Or warm. Or gentle, or pliant, or whatever other good things he was to her as he snaked her arms around her and held her tight to him.

His kisses turned feverish, almost desperate as he turned her so she was pressed up between him and the wall. Everywhere his hands touched felt charged with electricity and energy, and as his hands traveled up and down her spine she decided that this must be what it’s like to die of happiness. 

“Draco,” she managed in between kisses, pulling away for air for just a moment and sliding back down so her feet touched the floor again. “Can we talk? About this?”

“Thanks,” he responded, his eyes glittering with endearment. “I almost forgot you were a Ravenclaw.”

“Shut up.” 

He grinned but made no effort to step away from her, instead choosing to drag his fingers up and down the side of her exposed neck. “What’s there to talk about? I like you, you like me, there’s nothing we need to do to complicate this further.”

“You...you what?”

“Yes, genius, what else did you think I was planning on telling you that day in the courtyard,” Draco said. “I’ve been avoiding you because I thought you were over me. That was horribly embarrassing, you know. Had to nurse my ego for weeks before I could garner up the courage to speak to you again.” He stopped to gently press the pad of his thumb into the little dimple she had in her left cheek, smiling uncontrollably as he moved his hand back to cup her face.

“How was I supposed to know that?” argued Y/N. 

“Isn’t this supposed to be the smart house?” he teased. 

She slapped his shoulder. “Don’t make me decide I don’t like you anymore.”

“Oh, so you admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you like me?”

“I’m going to scream.”

“Just from kissing me? Wow, I must be good.”

“I mean it!”

“So do I!”

Y/N gazed up at the boy in front of her for a few beats, admiring how the moonlight bounced off the silvery strands of his hair and how his smile reached every corner of his face. 

“I take back what I said,” she told him.

“Oh, and what is that?”

“This isn’t goodbye.”

He smiled again, leaning in close so his lips barely brushed her ear. “No. No, it isn’t.”

[pandastern]

What’s Your Poison, Captain Levi

Part 1: Desire

Sub!Levi Ackerman x Dom!Reader

Warnings: explicit, mature content

Word count: 2989

Genre: romance

When Levi overhears a fight between Y/N and Erwin about their newest addition to the squad, his curiosity leads him to investigate. Little does he know that this decision will confront him with his deepest and darkest desires he had hoped to keep buried.

The castle fell silent after a long day of work, most of the cadettes were already asleep and those who weren't, better got to it before he found out. Levi sighed deeply and downed his last cup of tea. The fragrant blend had lasted him for almost 2 months, but as so many things in his life even this was coming to an end. 

Levi did not allow himself many luxuries. A clean space and some tea. That had always been enough for him. 

It had been a week since Eren had joined his squad. The boy was so lively, so full of life and determination. How many soldiers had he seen with the same kind of attitude. How many had died before his eyes.

Putting down the cup, he got up and rubbed his eyes. Levi couldn't tell how long he had been sitting there, contemplating so many things, he could barely remember what he had mulled over. Maybe he was just utterly sleep deprived. 

Yes, that had to be it. 

“Off to bed it is then…” He mumbled to himself, blowing out the candle on the table. The moon was shining brightly, the light coming through the windows illuminating his way enough to find his path without needing another light source. 

How eerie this castle could be at night. The creaking of old wood and the howling of the summer breeze almost sounded as if the building itself was breathing.

Halfway up the stairs that led to his quarters he suddenly heard a door slam in the hallways below him. The loud sound made him freeze. “This better not be one of the brats out of bed.” He grumbled and listened into the darkness.

“No Erwin! I dont give a flying fuck. That kid has been here for a week. A Week, Erwin! He's been in my office with burns, a bleeding nose, overexhaustion and oh, yes, snapped tendons! Ah! No! Close that mouth of yours I don't want to hear it! I don't care that he regenerates like some Lizard on drugs! Eren is 14!”

“He is a soldier and doing his duty. As should you. Eren is not a child and he knows the cost of his purpose! This young man has seen more than enough of the gruesome reality of this world to make his own decisions!” 

“Yes, Life is shit. Reality is cruel. Trust me, I fucking know that! It doesn't change the fact that you are sending children to die, asshole. And no excuse of yours makes it right.”

“Y/N, you-”

“No, fucking save it. I don't want to hear another word. I am not a soldier, nor a cadette, so you can shove your Commander bullshit right back up your arse.”

The sound of angrily stomping footsteps followed by a never ending string of curses echoed through the staircase. Levi rose a brow. He had recognized that voice. Y/N was one of the Medical staff they kept here to support the survey corps. Usually that woman worked under Hanji Zoe's Squad unless she had to take care of injured soldiers... Or Eren. 

He couldn't remember having ever heard her use that kind of tone before. He'd seen that woman pop a dislocated limb back into place while sweet-talking the whimpering soldier into a blush like it was nothing. Not much of a soldier herself, he had to admit, but she kept her medical office under strict rules that no one dared to break. Y/N was strict, but she was never harsh. Not like this.

He knew it was probably for the best if he just went to bed. It was none of his business. They weren't friends so he was probably the last person she wanted to talk to right now. Especially since he was also a reason why Eren was here in this castle. Granted, if he and Erwin had not intervened the boy would be dead by now. However that didn't change the fact that whatever argument Y/N had had with Erwin she would most likely have with him as well. And as someone who had seen what that woman was capable off, he'd rather not be on the receiving end of that.

After hesitating for a moment Levi sighed deeply and turned around and followed in the direction of where Y/N had stomped off to. Why, he couldn't say. Maybe it was that slight tremble in her voice when she had hissed at Commander Erwin, that he had never heard before. Maybe he was just...curious.�� 

It took a little bit of searching before he found her. Y/N was sitting outside in the grass, resting against a tree. When Levi approached her the scent of something sweet and burning wafted around him. 

“What the hell are you smoking?” he asked and wrinkled his nose. “Don't tell me you actually got your hands on tobacco. What merchant did you shake down for that?”

Taking a deep drag from the hand rolled cigarette in her hand she gave him a very calculated look.

“Isn't it past your bedtime Captain Levi?” Her lips curved into a smirk that made her look like a Cheshire cat. “Don't you know? To stay sane in this wretched world everyone needs a little pick me up. Some people like to fuck an excessive amount, some people drink alcohol till their liver burts like an overripe tomato. Others…”

She took another drag from the cigarette, the sweet musky smell getting stronger. “Others just know where the good stuff grows.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. Levi didn't reply to that. He could sense the frustration in her demeanor. “It's not like you to numb yourself with substances to escape whatever upsets you.”

Another dry laugh.

“I am not. This is St. John's wort and lavender. Helps me sleep. And considering you're up at  this ungodly hour I am guessing you could use one as well.”

Levi watched as Y/N softly patted the grass next to her, motioning for him to sit down. With a sigh he let himself fall into the grass. Silence spread between them and Levi just watched her carefully. 

“I heard your fight with Erwin.” He finally said.

Y/N clicked her tongue and shot him a glance through narrowed eyes.

“Oh? So you're here to...what? Scold me?”

“No. Not like a brat like you would listen to me.”

“It doesn't matter what I think anyway, does it?”

Levi sighed and stretched out his legs, leaning back against the tree. “You know that what we do here is necessary. You also know that Eren is not a child. No matter his age. It may not be pretty and it may not be what you want for him, but you can't forget that Eren killed twenty Titans by himself in his Titan form.”

Grinding her teeth Y/N pressed the cigarette bud into the ground and cursed again.

“Fuck you. Don't you think I know that?! I am fully aware that this kid can turn into a building sized naked killer man. Trust me, Hanji told me all about it in one of their ‘I am horny for Titans’ rants. It doesnt change the fact that he is a child. Just because he's seen some shit doesn't make him any less of a 14 year old kid. If you're sending soldiers to die, then at least make sure they are fully grown first.”

Her voice had gotten louder with every word she spat out before she cut herself off. Levi watched her take a deep breath and pull out a second hand rolled cigarette.

“We have no choice. Not when the survival of the human race is on the line.” he stated with a stern voice. It wasn't that he didn't understand where she was coming from but sometimes sacrifices had to be made.

“Spoken like a good little soldier. I know that of course. Doesn't mean I have to like that shit.” Y/N scoffed. “How far you've come from just a little underground street rat.”

Levi stiffened. It had been so many years since someone had brought up his origins. He wasn't ashamed of who he had been, but being confronted with it so suddenly still made him tense up.

“What, surprised? Of course I know. Where do you think I come from. You're not the only underground rat dwelling on the surface. Like you, Erwin was the one who pulled me up.”

Now she sounded almost bitter. 

“Now that you mention it, it explains a lot about you.”

Like that time when he had watched her knock a hysteric solder out cold with one brief move so she could treat them.

“I suppose it does.” Y/N pulled out a lighter and ignited her second cigarette, taking a deep drag. “I've always been good with herbalism. Drugs...Poison...Back then I used that knowledge to cater to Clients with a very particular taste of pick me ups.”

Another side shot glance and the smirk returned on her lips. “But enough about me. What is your preferred poison, Captain?”

The swift change of subjects did not go unnoticed to him. Not that he minded. He personally didn't much like to talk about the past. That, however, caught him off guard.

“What do you mean?” He asked carefully.

Y/N sat up, put out her cigarette and leaned closer, her eyes having a glint in them he had never seen before. “Like I said before. Everyone has that little something that keeps them sane. So what is it for you? And please don't say tea. That doesn't count.”

“Why wouldn't it count? Who gets to decide what keeps me sane if not me?” he huffed. Levi didn't like where this conversation was headed. As Y/N leaned a little closer, he instinctively leaned back but the tree trapped him in place. 

“Because I am talking about something more...decadent.” Her husky chuckle made him shiver, her face now so close to his, he could feel her breath on his skin. She smelled sweet, just like the herbs she had smoked earlier. To his surprise it wasn't unpleasant.

“So...tell me. What is it the Levi Ackermann, humanity's strongest soldiers desire? What is it that makes your fingers itch? You always seem so stoic but I know there's more. I can see it in your eyes”

Levi finally recognized the glint in her eyes. It was the same look a cat had that was playing with a mouse, ready to pounce. And he didn't quite know how to feel about that.

“I have no idea what you're going on about.”

“No?” Another soft chuckle that made the hair on the back of his neck stand. She was so close now, he could make out the soft dusting of freckles on her cheeks. Before he could stop himself he evaded her eyes to focus himself.

Soft fingers grasped his chin, forcing him to look at her.

“Y/N-”

“Do you think i haven't noticed? The way your eyes follow me the moment I step into a room?” She whispered.

Levi could feel his face grow hot. Had he really been so obvious? 

“I- wait, Y/N its not- “

Before he could answer, Y/N moved even closer, climbing into his lap. Levi stiffened, his eyes wide as her warm hands cupped his face. 

“It's okay, I don't mind. Not like I haven't done the same thing…”

Her body was pressed so flush against his, her body heat almost scalding him. Levi's breath caught in his throat. Their faces were so close, noses touching, breath mingling together and somehow the entire world started to fade away, leaving just the two of them together. His heart was beating so fast, he was sure the sound must echo through the entire castle, but he just couldn't push her away. He knew he should. He knew he couldn’t allow this. Knew this wouldn't end well for him.

But the look in her eyes told Levi, Y/N already had him in a trap he couldn't  escape. Not that he wanted to.

“Such pretty eyes you have, Levi.” She whispered in a low voice. “I’ve always wondered what's going on behind them.”

Keeping one hand on his cheek, Y/N gently brushed a strand of hair out of his face making him shiver. No one had ever touched him that way before. “W-what do you mean?” He managed to whisper hoarsely.

“What you crave of course. Everyone has something. Fantasies of pleasure and lust that keep playing in your head when you are all by yourself and need some release.” Y/N laughed softly, her thumb brushing over his bottom lip. Gods he was blushing like a boy but that look in her eyes kept him enthralled, unable to move a single muscle.

“I have two theories. Lets see which one hits the spot.” She purred. “My first theory is that you crave control. You are the captain after all. So what is it you think of when you watch me?”

Another shiver ran down Levi's spine, Y/n's feather light touches ghosting over his skin igniting his nerve endings in exhilarating sparks. Why was it so hard to breathe? 

“Do you think of me, naked? Tied up with ropes, suspended limbs hanging in the air like a doll...completely and utterly at your mercy as your wandering hands coax soft moans out of me? Do you dream about teasing me till I fully submit to your authority?”

Heat started pooling in his stomach and instinctively Levis' hands moved to her hips gripping them tightly. Y/N leaned in, softly brushing her lips against the corners of his mouth. Levi froze, his fingers digging into her soft, supple skin. “W-what?”

She was searching his eyes intently and it felt like she was stripping away every little layer of protection he had built over his lifetime. Dangerous. She was dangerous. He'd always known that. Hed known the moment their eyes had met for the very first time.

“No...no that's not it…is it?” A lascivious smirk spreading over those sinful lips of hers. “So I was right. See, my second theory is the one I find most plausible. It's human psychology after all…”

Her hands started to travel down his jaw before resting gently around his throat. Levi swallowed hard. He could feel himself tremble softly and that predatory glint in her eyes told him, she felt it too.

“You don't wish for control Levi, do you? You crave release. So much responsibility on your shoulders. Always having to be reliable. Humanity's Strongest. A leader in his own right. But what you really want is to let go. To give yourself into reliable hands that roam your body just the right way”

Levi could feel her lips on his ear, nipping at the soft skin. The gasp escaping his parted lips was almost treacherous and wrong. But dammit she was right. And he hated that she was.

“I am right, aren't I? I can feel you getting excited…”

As if to prove a point Y/N rolled her hips against him, coaxing a soft moan out of his parted lips. Levi's head fell forward against her shoulder, the scent of her herbs wrapping around him, more intoxicating than any booze he'd ever tasted.

“Please-” He rasped almost helplessly.

“Please? My, my, Levi...such beautiful sounds you make.”

More featherlight nips and kisses trailing down his jaw and neck, making him dizzy. She was toying with him.

“Your arms tied behind your back, maybe even on your knees. Helpless and taken care of at the same time. That's what you crave isn't it? That's the deep dark sinful little desire that's burning in your heart. Submission.”

Nimble fingers threading into his hair, gripping it tight before yanking his head back. 

“F-fuck!” The moment the groan left him Levi already knew he was done for. She was gonna swallow him whole.

“Say it Levi...is that what you want?” Y/N purred, her forehead touching his. It was an order. She was giving him an order.

Levi shuddered under her gaze, his throat so dry he barely resisted the urge to lick his lips. “Y-yes…”

“There we go...that wasn't so hard was it? Don't worry...I'd be more than happy to do that for you darling. I will keep you safe… take you apart piece by piece until you lose yourself in pleasure. Until you fall… and then I will put you back together.”

Her lips were hovering over his, a tease, an invitation. Why couldn't she just kiss him already?

“What...are you saying?” Levi whispered barely audible, his chest heaving with every breath. His lungs and all his senses already filled with her scent, her body pressed again so flush he could feel every curve through her clothing.

“I am making you an offer, Captain. And I want you to think about it before you answer. If that is what you want...come find me in my office. I'll help you fly in the best and worst way  possible...understood?”

Not knowing what to say or do, Levi just nodded. There was no way another word could make it past his lips. He wanted her. He wanted her so damn bad, the desire was burning him up alive.

Her soft chuckle echoed through the night.

“Good. I bid you goodnight then. Come find me when you're ready.”

Before Levi could process what she had just said, Y/N got off him and jumped to her feet as if nothing had ever happened. His body shivered at the sudden lack of heat, already feeling empty without her so close to him. 

Stunned, Levi watched her wink at him before disappearing into the night. What the hell had just happened?

[footballxwrites]

trent dating a supermodel is the best thing ever omg

can u please do one where she gets like a big cover or she launches a collection with a big designer and trent is so proud of her🥺 please 💞

It’s cutest lil series isn’t it 🥺

The pair of you were having a stay at home Tuesday, no work to get to, nothing on the agenda, it was bloody perfect especially since yous always seem to be busy these days. Your phone pinged but was quite a distance from you, lying on the coffee table, and seeing as you were currently entangled in his arms, comfy as ever under the blankets on the sofa, watching the newest line of duty series...you couldn’t be arsed to grab it. Well that was until it went off for a second and third time, making you intrigued to see who was after you the day.

“Can you pass my phone pleaseeee” you pouted, looking towards him as he reluctantly shuffled away from your body with a groan, passing it to you as you took a quick glance, expecting it to only be a text from someone or that.

“No way...” you nervously giggled, eyes wide as you opened the newly received email, “pause that tv right nowwww” you exclaimed in all seriousness, shifting from your lying position and jumping up and down as fast as your feet would allow you. “Are you gonna tell me what’s happened or do I have to guess” your boyfriend laughed back, narrowing his eyes to you as you could barely get your words out, your rapidly beating heart only letting you speak in little squeals, “I got it, you know the thing- look here”

You shoved the phone at him, instantly seeing his face light up as he unlocked it to be met with the email of “accepted” and a cover of you presenting your new collection you were starting in London, teaming up with various companies in various locations around the Uk, wanting to keep it all quite local rather than worldwide for once. “I can’t believe it” he softly spoke, lifting you into his arms as he securely gripped your thighs before planting a ton of sloppy kisses across your face and jawline, trailing down to your neck as you nuzzled your head into his shoulder, the smile not leaving your lips.

“I never had any doubts, you were always gonna get it love” he winked as your grin got even bigger, a sigh of relief leaving you, happy to know everything was going to plan for once, “my superstar”

“Oh behave” you replied in a giggle, throwing you arms around his neck as he gazed back into your eyes, the look of a proud boyfriend in front of you, “anyways...I couldn’t have done it without the support from my perfect fella so thank you”

“Ah ah this was all you, this was YOUR achievement...I think we should celebrate” he hinted with a smirk, raising his eyebrows at the hopeful idea as you laughed, finally able to relax now the deal’s done and you’re on your way to becoming your own designer, “how can I say no to that little face eh” 🤍

[captcas]

Worth Fighting For [12/?]

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2 / ch 3 / ch 4 / ch 5 / ch 6 / ch 7 / ch 8 / ch 9 / ch 10 / ch 11 [Chapter 12/?]

The three weeks between that and Killian’s fight flew at lightspeed. Between training (together), press conferences (together), and general life (also, together), Emma found herself spending almost every moment with Killian without really knowing what hit her.

He wove himself into her life with an ease she would’ve found scary if she wasn’t so damn happy.

After meeting, Killian and Henry begged to be together daily. It started with short bursts– lunch here, a trip to the park there– and eventually it became week long movie nights with the three of them cuddled up on the couch. Any thought she had of slowing things down was abruptly erased by Henry’s overall excitement just to be with Killian.

The night the two of them fell asleep together in Henry’s bed mid-bedtime story was the proverbial nail in the coffin.

That’s how she finds herself sitting outside the locker room killing time before Killian has to prep for weigh-ins. Henry was already in their seats, Ruby keeping an eye on him while he oogles at the stage being constructed. Emma has been able to mostly ignore the reality of tonight– and tomorrow night– by managing Killian’s social accounts and keeping Regina off her back. (Let’s just say her boss doesn’t know the full extent of their relationship and Emma would like to keep it that way at least until this weekend is over and not just because even she doesn’t know the full extent.)

Emma hears the announcer call for fighters to the locker rooms and it snaps her out of her own thoughts. 

Killian has to go. They– mostly Emma– have been dreading this night since the moment they found out it was Neal. It was only three weeks ago, but somehow everything has changed and it feels like a different lifetime. Killian must have resigned to his fate as well, “Duty calls, love.” He kisses her on the forehead and she leans into the contact. Emma nods but is reluctant to remove her arms from their comfortable spot on his hips. She’s about to wish him luck when he pulls a long silver chain from his pocket. Dangling from the end is a beautiful ring– rubies set with diamonds across a twisted silver band.

Oh shit.

“Whoa. Whoa, whoa, wh–”

He rolls his eyes, “Calm down, Swan. I’m not proposing.”

She nods with a tight smile, ignoring the rush of disappointment that floods her mind. It’s barely been a month, she should not be disappointed. He smirks, probably reading her like a book per usual, but continues anyway, “You know I’m good at surviving the octagon, yeah? Well, this ring is why. I’ve had it for many years, it’s the reason I’m alive. The reason I’m here today.”

“Killian–”

“I want you to have it this weekend. Keep a piece of me with you. Tomorrow may be a bloody awful night for me but I can’t imagine the war raging behind those beautiful eyes of yours, love.” He brushes a small piece of hair off the apple of her cheek before placing the ring carefully in her hand. She clutches it tightly before pressing up on her toes to place a gentle kiss against his lips.

“Thank you.”

He smiles, something bright and happy that reaches his eyes but is reserved for her, “Don’t mention it, Swan. I’ve got all the luck I need right here.” He squeezes her waist, eliciting a small giggle as he focuses in on a slight ticklish spot. Killian kisses her temple once more before they finally part.

“Go get him, Jones.” She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face despite the potential danger Killian is walking into.

He turns back to respond, “Aye, love. Tomorrow night, that’s the plan. It’s only weigh-ins, what could go wrong?” With a wink and a smirk he heads into the locker room and Emma notices the ring still clutched tightly in her fist. Taking it gently, Emma places it over her neck, the weight of the ring heavy atop her chest.

It feels like a lifeline.

Emma takes a deep breath before cracking her neck and slipping into her very real position as Killian’s PR manager. Henry is here tonight, so despite her job, she figures she should check on him first– that is if he hasn’t already tried to come find her. As she walks out from behind the stage she bumps into someone solid. Nausea hits her like a freight train as a familiar scent takes over. The hands on her shoulders seer like fire and she looks up only on instinct.

She swears her blood runs cold at the sound of his voice, “Ems?”

Before she can react, another familiar voice cuts through blood rushing in her ears, “Mom?”

Emma can feel the indent of the ring carving itself into the palm of her hand as she realizes what’s about to happen. Maybe lifeline was an understatement? She reached for the ring instinctively as she realized the moment she had hoped would never come was hovering right in front of her.

She closes her eyes and hears Killian’s voice in her head, “ You can do this, Swan.”

Somehow that’s all the push she needs. Turning to Henry, she ignores the close proximity of his father. “Henry! You were supposed to wait by the seats.”

Her eyes never leave her son. “I was going to but Ruby said I could get popcorn and when I heard them call Hook back I figured you’d be coming out soon so I figured I’d wait for you.” He turns to Neal. “Oh my god, you’re The Fire !!!!”

Neal looks like he’s been tased. Emma pleads with him telepathically to ignore the fact that this is his unmistakably his son.

She never was good at telepathy.

“I am! And you must be Henry.” Neal smiles at him and then turns to Emma for confirmation– she nods slightly despite him barely deserving that. Henry’s eyes light up.

“Did Hook tell you about me?! Mom, do you know Neal Cassidy, too?!” Neal’s eyes turn from amusement to confusion before he turns to Emma.

“Hook?” The word sounds like poison as it cuts across the space between him and Emma.

Henry speaks before Emma can form an explanation, “Yeah! Killian is my mom’s client. She helps him run his Twitter and stuff. Does she do that for you too?”

Oh yeah, client, right.  

Neal gives her one more look before turning back to Henry, “Nope, not for me. Your mom and I are just old friends.” Acid. He sounds like he’s spitting acid. Emma has to choke back a scoff.

How did Emma ever fall for this shit?

“Oh, Killian and mom are friends too. He’s over pretty much every night. I think he likes me better though.” Emma can’t stop a smile from breaking out across her face. She grabs Henry and pulls him in for a hug.

“I think you’re right, kid.” Emma’s eyes meet Neal’s and he’s about to speak when a trainer comes up behind him and whisks him away. Something in his gaze tells her that this conversation isn’t over, but he says bye to Henry who waves before completely moving on to the veteran athletes he saw while waiting in the concession lines. Once he’s out of sight Emma takes a moment to focus her breathing— the cool temperature of Killian’s gift against her thumb effectively grounding her.

This ring really is a godsend– or maybe that’s just the man who gave it to her.

. . .

Killian is sitting in the middle of the sparring gym when he hears his moniker called by an unfamiliar voice. Whoever it is sounds angry. It’s weigh-ins so this level of hostility is usually a show for the cameras, but it’s also usually reserved for fighters who actually know each other.

“Killian Jones.” The use of his full name causes Killian to stand, coming face to face with Neal. He’s only seen him in photos and on tape, but he’d recognize him anywhere. Ice fills Killian’s veins before turning to white hot rage. He’s got half a mind to knock him flat on his arse but knows better than to fight outside the ring.

He opts for civility instead, “Ah, you must be Mr. Cassidy.” Killian squares with him, sizing him up. Despite his clearly trained stature, Killian knows Neal is a coward.

No man who gives up a boy like Henry could be anything less.

“Stay away from my son.”

That was not what Killian expected, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Neal is fired up for some reason or another. Killian can’t imagine why, unless– Emma .

Neal must’ve ran into Emma and Henry before coming back. Killian drops the niceties, “ Your son? I believe there’s a hefty packet of legal papers that says quite the opposite, mate.”  

He watches the rage fill up Neal’s face and his arm begin to form a fist. As Killian responds, Neal’s trainer is coming up behind him. “Not here, Cassidy. Save it for the octagon.”

As the trainer pulls Neal away, Killian doesn’t let the wash of relief exit in a sigh, but he feels it all the same. Neal turns to him once more,“We’ll settle this tomorrow, Jones. You don’t get to steal my life.”  He clearly has a compulsory need for having the last word.

Too bad so does Killian.

As Neal approaches the door separating their designated gyms, Killian calls out once more, “It’s not stealing when you give them up in the first place. Finders keepers, mate.” He winks as Neal crosses into the other room, his trainers keeping him pointed in the right direction.

That’s when Robin walks up behind Killian, “What the hell was that about? I thought you two didn’t even know each other.”

“A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets, Robin. It seems Mr. Cassidy is regretting his choice not to fight.” Killian turns to his best friend and finds only understanding in his eyes.

Robin claps his hand onto Killian’s shoulder, “Kick his ass, Jones.”

Nodding, Killian straps his gloves on. “My plan precisely, boss.”

...

@mariakov81 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @teamhook @bawley-bug @let-it-raines ​

[mehrto]

Of Interrupted Drag Shows and Failed Duck Walks

Anthony J. Crowley, a Mancunian drag queen, voguing pro, knitting amateur, and mother at the House of Gaia shares a tired cigarette with a hungry, snobby tailor whose shop is only just off Savile Row, thank you, one rainy night in Soho in 2008. They run into each other over and over again until they can't help but become friends and soft and each other's most significant other and a whole load of other things too, really.

About belonging and acceptance and figuring out how to make things work at a place in your life you never really thought you'd be at.

Featuring art by @mehrto, fic by @thyra279, and a whole load of softness and snippiness.

Rated E, first chapter coming on the 30th January!

Excerpt below the line:

"Hullo, Aziraphale." Crowley's long fingers trembled as they lit a cigarette, gave away the adrenaline still coursing through his body. He stepped up to the railing at the top of the half-stairs, leant over it almost casually with the first smoky exhale. The exhaustion set in as soon as he relaxed, ageing muscles finally allowing themselves to feel the strain.

He didn't let them for long, shifting his weight from one heeled boot to the other, settling one foot between two of the balusters. If it caused one of his long legs to peek out of the dress directly at Aziraphale, well. He was an old hand at this.

The bastard barely gave his leg a glance, looking up at Crowley’s face instead with that stupidly soft smile that always seemed so entirely, beautifully out of place in the thumping base and harsh lights of the club.

"You look wonderful tonight, my dear."

He forced himself to take a luxuriously deep inhale, exhaled just as slowly. Settled into his deeper, lazier off-duty voice. "See now, angel, you're saying that as if it's not an everyday occurrence."

A bead of sweat that made its way from his hairline down his cheekbone, clinging on for dear life at his chin for a moment before giving up, dropping on to the floor between them.

If it had fucked up his makeup, his perfectly pristine skin, he would bloody kill it.

Aziraphale merely smiled, taking the first step up towards him.

The bundle of roses crinkled in their paper wrapping behind Aziraphale's back as he did - they'd have given the game away if it wasn't blatantly obvious they were there, if it wasn't the hundredth time he'd brought him some. Red roses today, Crowley noticed with surprise, taking another drag.

"You were very good out there tonight. 'Fierce', I believe one might say?"

Crowley cracked a smile, couldn't help himself. "Sure. One might."

A cloud of nearly-white curls bounced gently as he nodded at his leg, now fully out in the open. Good. Half his arse was out on display at this point.

"How's your knee holding up, my dear?"

"Oh fuck right off. M'knee's fine."

Crowley hated the concern so obvious in the lines of Aziraphale's forehead, felt a mad urge to dab them away, drown them out with a good glue and plenty of foundation. Annoy him until he lost that soft, gentle hum in his voice, until the camp, harsh bastard emerged.

Of course, he had no such luck.

"Perhaps if you were to include fewer of those – those bouncy things… are they dog walks?"

Crowley blinked at him, sniffed. "Ducks."

"Duck walks. They can't be good for your poor knee."

A shrug. "They're integral, though."

Aziraphale ascended the rest of the stairs in his urgency, flowers hopping along down his side. "But you could include more of the other elements to make up for it? More hands might be very elegant, and you are so very good at those, so expressive."

"I can't just do hands, angel, 's not my style."

Aziraphale settled right beside him, gripping the railing tight. "Anthony, you must take care of yourself, we both know you aren't twenty anymore, it's been near-on thirty years since-"

"Alright alright, why don't you shout it a little louder Aziraphale, there's a guy in the basement loo getting blown who might not've heard you," he hissed.

He put his weight back on his dodgy leg to prove a point, sneering at him – and couldn't help but wince.

Aziraphale sighed beside him. "I'm only looking out for you."

Crowley softened. "I know. I do. I know. My guardian angel, always kindness itself." He gave his angel a little shove. Aziraphale stood quite firm, unsurprisingly, gave him a withering look from the step below that any old drag queen would've been proud of.

Aziraphale's beautifully intelligent eyes grew playful little by little, looking up at him.

"I brought you flowers."

"Oh, those for me?"

"Obviously."

"Red roses, Aziraphale," he muttered in a low voice, sidling just a little closer, not quite touching. "Trying to tell me something?"

The softly curl-crowned head looked straight ahead again. Crowley watched curiously as a blush crept from his curls all the way to his unusual, handsome, slightly arrogant nose.

"…Yes." He glanced at him quickly, couldn't help but smile at his expression. "I thought perhaps, if your knee is very bad this evening…" There was a maddening trill to his voice, low and intimate too. "I might carry you to your office upstairs. Take care of you…" he trailed.

Crowley managed nothing more than to close his mouth before his dramatic lips fell open again.

"Perhaps," he continued, sotto voce, brushing up Crowley’s hot, sweaty leg with his skilled tailor's fingers, "I could show you all the wonderful things one might do with one's hands?"

[caiminnent]

and you said, kiss me [kylux, rated M]

PROMPT(S): First Kiss (@kyluxpositivity, Day #: Past Prompts Revisited) & Surprise "Kiss a Ginger Day" Kiss (from YearofKylux on Twitter)

SUMMARY: The Master of the Knights of Ren shifts on his feet like a cadet. “I brought you a gift,” he says lowly, through a strange static. “One best enjoyed in private.”

Hux’s brain stutters.

“It’s food,” Ren elaborates before Hux’s overtaxed mind can conjure up any embarrassing ideas—around a mind-reader, no less. “Messy to eat. You would appreciate the ease of cleaning.”

Or: Ren returns from Gelda with a honeyfruit for Hux. Things get out of hand.

FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

TAGS: Kiss a Ginger Day, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, First Kiss, Hand Feeding, Insecurity, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Kylo Ren in Love, Love Confessions, If You Squint - Freeform

Photo by Alice Pasqual on Unsplash

3.5K || ALSO ON AO3

One last meeting and Hux can finally retire for the day.

With three dozen floors between him and Conference Room 11-E, he strides past the stairs without a glance, skimming the meeting objectives on his datapad on the way to the turbolifts. They will never cover all of these—not in the time they set. Sniping at each other and bickering make up half of every High Command meeting; they’ll be lucky to touch upon the important matters within the first hour.

How tragic, that the people tasked with deciding how to spend the First Order funds can’t even make effective use of two hours.

The turbolift finally stops on his floor. Hux puts his datapad away as the doors slide open, revealing only Ren inside.

Hux’s foolish heart soars. When the notification of Ren’s arrival wasn’t followed by a summons from Snoke, Hux assumed he would see Ren once—more likely, if—Ren deigned to write and drop off his mission report. After several weeks without even a status update, he will take thirty seconds in a turbolift.

“General Hux,” Ren says as Hux enters, dipping his head.

The button for the officers’ deck is lit. Hitting the one below it for level 47, “Ren,” Hux greets back. A fresh, light smell that reminds him of a forest hits him in the next breath. Odd. He’s more used to smelling ash and ozone on Ren after a mission. “I see you’ve returned.”

“Try not to sound so disappointed, General.”

The corners of Hux’s lips twitch, an errant smile quickly suppressed. “These missions of yours mean more work for me. How many of my troopers did you lose this time?”

“None.”

“Truly?” That must be a first.

“Yes,” Ren says, pride booming in his voice even through the vocoder. “The inhabitants responded favourably to a show of the Force. Your exceptionally trained men scarcely needed to fire a blaster bolt.” Arse. “The rest was ensuring a smooth transition of power.”

A smooth transition of power. Since when does Ren care about keeping things diplomatic and orderly when he could slaughter his way through a mission and call it done? Who is this man and what did he do with Hux’s co-commander?

Not that Hux is complaining. Any cause that means Ren will stop using his troopers as cannon fodder is good in his book.

In the small screen above the buttons, 45 flashes, switching to 46. “Well done, Ren,” Hux says with a nod as the turbolift slows around them. Ren straightens to his full height. “I’ll look forward to your report.”

Level 47 is a maze of offices and meeting rooms lined around endless corridors, which are empty enough this time of the day. The walk to 11-E stretches in Hux’s mind’s eye as he steps out of the ‘lift. Part of him wishes for Ren to accompany him to the meeting, to remain a solid presence by his side while Hux endures yet another bout of pointed looks and snide comments that all say he wouldn’t have been here if he weren’t Brendol’s son.

“I could brief you in your quarters,” Ren calls out after him.

His heart skipping a beat, Hux pauses mid-stride, glancing at Ren over his shoulder. Ren is keeping the doors open with a hand on the frame, one foot in the corridor. What Hux wouldn’t give to read his bare face right now.

“My quarters?” Hux asks carefully. In all their years of sharing the command, they’ve never done something so personal as to visit each other in their chambers. Does Ren even know in which section Hux resides?

The Master of the Knights of Ren shifts on his feet like a cadet. “I brought you a gift,” he says lowly, through a strange static. “One best enjoyed in private.”

Hux’s brain stutters.

“It’s food,” Ren elaborates before Hux’s overtaxed mind can conjure up any embarrassing ideas—around a mind-reader, no less. “Messy to eat. You would appreciate the ease of cleaning.”

Perhaps Ren has been replaced on Gelda after all. The idea doesn’t sound more far-fetched than Kylo kriffing Ren bringing Hux gifts and considering his comfort.

“Very well,” Hux’s mouth says with little input from his brain. “2100 hours. Don’t be late.”

-----------------

The meeting drags on.

Sixty-five minutes in, Hux caves and lets his attention wander. He’d calculated half the figures Lieutenant Mitaka is delivering anyway; he’s sitting at this table more out of duty than necessity—not to mention, to keep the High Command somewhat civil as they, quite inevitably, gripe about Starkiller Base. Simple-minded fools. Two more years—he will show the lot of them what his pet project can do.

As Captain Canady starts his own tirade about how strategically unsound putting such a sizeable portion of their resources into a single project is, Hux pulls up information about Gelda on his datapad. A tiny, nondescript system of no import besides falling on a trade route. Two high-ranking officers accompanied by three squads of Stormtroopers would have accomplished the same goal, freeing Ren up for matters which actually require his… unique skill set.

If only Canady knew how strategically unsound Leader Snoke’s missions can be.

Scrolling down, he reaches the Culture section—only to find it empty. Kriff. For the son of a kitchen woman, he’s woefully uncultured about galactic cuisine, much less that of a castoff planet in the Outer Rim. Although he doesn’t expect Ren to show up with a seven-course meal, the idea of being unprepared for the visit—which certainly isn’t a date, even if it carries the characteristics of one—leaves Hux cold.

It’s going to be all right. He’s survived countless diplomatic dinners at his father’s side, smiling politely as his throat swelled and the contents of his stomach threatened to rise; he can handle whatever Ren might bring.

-----------------

He makes it to his chambers with six minutes to spare. So much for changing into something casual and presentable before Ren comes.

Not that he’s sure he owns such an outfit to begin with. His few sets of civilian clothes were picked more for practicality than appearance. Although that green pullover and the dark pair of trousers that Phasma had wolf-whistled at should still be somewhere in his dresser, Hux doesn’t have time left to check thanks to Admiral Brooks’ desperate need to be the loudest person in every room.

Kriffing nothing goes according to plan today.

Exasperation pulling at his chest, he leans against the door and closes his eyes. There’s still time to salvage the situation. He’s lost his composure about this… private meeting; it’s his failing to face in due time. For now, he needs to make sure Ren won’t find out about the tizzy Hux worked himself into.

Taking a deep breath to ground himself, Hux pushes off the cold durasteel and goes about setting the stage. His greatcoat carefully draped over the coat hanger. His gloves carelessly thrown over the side table. While the water heater works, he unfastens the top handful of the hidden latches on his jacket and artfully dishevels his hair in the mirror. When the access panel chimes with a request for entry, everything around him communicates high-ranking officer unwinding in private after a long day.

As he opens the door, he can only hope it’s good enough to fool a mind-reader.

The ever-present helmet and gloves aside, Ren certainly pulled off casually presentable. Instead of his regular rags, he’s put on a shirt that outlines his form nicely and leggings, holding a bundle that’s tied off with an orange ribbon on one hand.

Relief courses through Hux at the sight. The fabric most likely holds a small fruit or vegetable. Unless Ren picked the weirdest harvest available to bring back, this should go without an issue.

Hux welcomes him, stepping aside to let him pass. Before closing the door, he checks for unwanted eyes in the hallway. All quiet, thankfully. An underdressed Commander Ren paying an after-hours visit to General Hux’s private rooms—Hux couldn’t hope to snuff out the rumours.

Ren is standing awkwardly in the middle of the living area, his free hand clenching and unclenching at his side. Gesturing at the sofa, “I was about to make caf,” Hux says. The water heater clicks off right then, as if backing him up. “Would you like some? I’ve only got the instant kind, but it works in a pinch.”

“Sure,” Ren says.

Hux doesn’t have a clue how Ren takes his caf, which matters little as he doesn’t keep milk or sugar in his kitchenette anyway. Palming two coasters, he brings the mugs to the living area. Ren, for his part, already made himself comfortable: unmasked, leaning against an armrest with an arm over the back of the sofa and a leg folded under himself. As if he belongsthere.

Hux knows, with the same certainty as the Starkiller’s future success, that he will make an arse of himself in front of Ren before the evening is out.

Talking about a planetary takeover with warm beverage in their hands and Ren’s gift on the table feels wrong somehow. Mirroring Ren’s position at the other end of the small sofa, Hux catches him up on what little happened in his absence instead. Shitting on the High Command and incompetent officers—which overlap—is always an entertaining pastime, and they do so unabashedly until the caf is gone and the conversation comes to a comfortable lull.

He waits for Ren to mention the gift first. Ren came here for a reason; now would be the perfect time to bring it up. Ren, however, is more interested in his own hands on his lap.

Hux suppresses a sigh. He’s got to do everything himself, as usual. “You mentioned a gift,” he says, tilting his head at it. “Am I to receive it before it spoils—or is it merely decorative?”

Face lighting up, Ren nearly knocks over Hux’s mug on the table in his haste to get to the bundle.

“There you go,” Ren says, offering it on two palms. It looks bigger in Hux’s hand; not big, but not as bite-sized, either. The binding unravels at the gentlest tug, the fabric falling away to reveal a round, orange fruit barely held within its tight skin, so bright it looks dangerous.

“I hope this isn’t an attempt to poison me in private,” Hux says, only half-jesting. He likes to think they are past the bitter rivals stage by now, but one never knows with Ren and his infamous mood swings. “That would make a poor end for our pleasant evening.”

Ren chuckles. Will wonders never cease? “Rest assured, General, I wouldn’t have resorted to poison if I wanted you gone.” He extends a hand for the fruit. “Here. I’ll help you with it.”

“I hardly need instructions on eating,” Hux points out, rolling his eyes. His curiosity is piqued enough to hand it over, though. Surely Ren doesn’t plan to play any Force tricks on it?

Appears not. Ren produces a pocket-knife like a regular person, flicking it open as he turns the fruit in his other hand. The skin parts easily under the sharp blade, a clear, glittery liquid oozing out of the thin cut and onto Ren’s gloves.

Ignoring the ruined leather, Ren cuts out a slice, offering it to Hux between the blade and his thumb. Hux reaches for it—Ren pulls it away, looking at him with open disapproval.

Hux pins him with a look of his own. “You can’t expect me to literally eat out of your hand, Ren.”

Ren gives the fruit a pointed squeeze. More liquid leaks out, dripping down the side of his hand. “Would you rather dirty your uniform?” he asks, catching a drop with the back of his other hand before it can fall on the sofa.

Absolutely not. The idea of dripping food all over himself with Ren watching turns his stomach. Still, letting Ren feed him feels shameful—in a thrilling sort of way, which only adds to the embarrassment. Tell-tale warmth has already spread across his neck, crawling up to his ears.

Ren extends the offering again, uncharacteristically patient. That alone should be suspicious where Ren is concerned. Nothing in his bare face hints at deceit, though; if anything, Hux reads nerves in the line of Ren’s shoulders, his sharp gaze walking the line between anticipation and trepidation.

Steeling himself for Ren pulling the fruit away at the last moment or mocking him for his eagerness, Hux leans forward, taking it with his teeth.

The fruit is predictably sweet, leaving a line of juice over his mouth as he sucks it in. Its flesh practically melts into a thick nectar on his tongue. Although he doesn’t normally prefer his food soft—if he can’t bite down on it, it’s not worth eating—he would gladly make an exception for this.

Resisting the urge to lick his lips, “What is this?” Hux asks. It reminds him of the birthday cake his officers tried to surprise him with once, creamy with a surprisingly dark aftertaste.

“Geldan honeyfruit,” Ren says. “It’s a rare harvest—takes nearly four standard years to grow. We were lucky to come across it.”

“And your infamous sweet tooth couldn’t resist it,” Hux throws back, mostly to see Ren pout.

Ren smiles instead, an unfairly appealing curl of lips. Curse him for making Hux feel like a cadet instead. “I don’t hear you complaining, General,” he points out. “Would you like more?”

Unwilling to seem too eager, Hux makes a noncommittal hum. Ren’s smile grows.

“On Gelda, honeyfruit is worth its weight in gold,” Ren says as he feeds Hux piece by piece, his naked voice washing over Hux. Hux keeps expecting the next piece to be one too many, for the light tingle over his skin to become overwhelming, for his pride to finally rear its head. “Their entire culture is based around it. The food. The folk tales and remedies. The calendar. Hell, if I don’t see another wedding in a forest for as long as I live, it will be too early.”

Ren places the last bite in Hux’s mouth with his fingers—that newfound, desperate part of Hux longs to chase after them, to lick Ren’s shining gloves clean.

What the everliving fuckis wrong with him?

Putting the knife aside, Ren strips his dirty gloves from the wrists up, rolling them inside out. Hux does not watch the obscenely slow reveal of skin. “And it might be just a superstition,” Ren adds, throwing the gloves next to Hux’s own pair on the table. “But Geldans strongly believe that not sharing a honeyfruit brings bad luck until the next season.”

The food sits heavy in the pit of Hux’s stomach.

Irritation rises in him, that pleasant stirring deep in his belly giving way to churning agitation in a heartbeat. Of course there was a punchline to this whole evening. “Ren, you kriffing—”

Ren slowly, purposefully, slides closer until his knees bracket Hux’s, a new weight to his dark gaze as he leans in. “Hux,” he mumbles, glancing at Hux’s mouth before meeting his eyes again. Hux feels a new tension coil between them, the air getting harder to breathe in. “May I have a taste?”

Words stuck in his dry throat, Hux nods.

The kiss is little more than a brush of skin, followed by a firmer peck on his lips. His lips stick to Ren’s as they part. Ren huffs out a low laugh before catching Hux’s bottom lip, sucking it between his own.

Hux flounders. There’s no kind way to describe it. He’s got a general idea what he should and shouldn’t be doing with his mouth, but reading up on the technicalities hadn’t prepared him for the kisses Ren peppers on and around his lips like straying too far would hurt him, mixing it up with the occasional nip. It definitely didn’t prepare him for the way Ren angles Hux’s face to his liking, parts his lips with a gentle tug and kisses him like he wants the air in Hux’s lungs.

The honeyfruit still coating Hux’s tongue is too thick to taste Ren through no matter how hard he tries. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Hux buries a hand in Ren’s hair—soft, how is it so soft—and slides the other underneath Ren’s shirt, just high enough to rest a thumb over the burning skin. Ren makes a sound low in his throat, palming Hux’s thigh and moving higher with that same, purposeful drag.

Stars. Stars, what are they doing?

Lightheaded, Hux pulls away, putting a hand on Ren’s chest to keep him from following. Ren stops without protest, sitting back far enough that they aren’t touching anymore and not an inch further.

“Is everything okay?” Ren asks, similarly winded. His hands are clenching and unclenching on his own spread thighs, his back a rigid line.

Hux nods again, focused on keeping his breathing regular and getting his heartrate back to normal. Some deep kisses, barely any contact and his body buzzes with want anyway, long starved for touch. He would have been ashamed of his enthusiasm, had Ren not been in the same state.

Once he can find his words, “That was… rather unexpected,” he says. Ren’s face falls. “I don’t mean unwelcome,” Hux amends, keeping his tone gentle. “I merely wonder, what brought this on?” Why now, after years of not even hinting at this sort of interest?

Ren runs his teeth over his bottom lip. “Are you familiar with Kiss a Ginger Day, General?”

Hux might as well have jumped into ice water for how effectively his leftover desire is doused.

Right. Right, it was today, wasn’t it. He hasn’t dealt with lewd remarks since he became a captain, long enough that he stopped dreading the date. How foolish of him to let his guard down. Of course Ren, the only one high enough in rank to dare, wouldn’t miss the chance to make a practical joke out of it.

The taste in his mouth turning bitter, “Leave,” he hisses.

Ren frowns, his expression caught between hurt and confusion. “General,” he says. “Hux. I didn’t mean to offend you, I was—”

“Let me guess,” Hux bites out. “You were trying to flirt with me.” It’s always one or the other. Does Ren think himself so clever, putting two and two together? Does he believe he’s the first person to make the connection?

A younger, softer Hux may have found the attempt endearing. Present-day Hux has been relocating obnoxious officers for calling him General Ginger behind his back since the effective day of his promotion. The attention stopped feeling flattering long ago.

“No. I mean, yes, I was trying to flirt, but your hair colour was irrelevant. Mostly.” Ren licks his lips. “Let me explain?”

Wasn’t that what Ren was trying to do? “You’ve got two minutes.”

Ren runs his fingers through his hair and grips it at the base, tightly enough that it must hurt. “I found out about this day last year,” he starts, the words practically tumbling out of his mouth. “Four days after the date. That was also the day where I realised, um. That I had feelings for you.” Breath catches in Hux’s lungs, his stupid heart quickening. “So I suppose I took it as, a sign? That I should do something about it. I swore to myself that I would, by that day next year.” He shrugs, stiff and jerky. “A year went by fast.”

A—small but loud—part of Hux can’t shake off the thought that Ren is having him on, that any minute now Ren will laugh at him for being foolish enough to think he might have any interest in Hux. The rest of him is captivated by the blush high on Ren’s cheeks, the way Ren keeps licking and sucking in his kiss-reddened lips.

“I didn’t come here expecting to kiss you, Hux. The fruit was just an excuse to be alone with you. If you regret it—” Ren takes a shuddering breath, gazing at Hux imploringly. No one deserves such earnest eyes. That’s simply unfair. “If that’s what you want, we can pretend it didn’t happen. It’s okay. Just don’t hate me for it.”

Hux’s heart clenches at the thought. “That’s not what I want,” he confesses, the words coming easier than he would’ve expected. He feels emboldened in the face of Ren’s evident uncertainty, of the hesitation colouring his words. “I want it to have happened—as long as this means it can happen again.”

“It can,” Ren says, a smile blossoming on his lips. Hux is quickly growing addicted to the sight of it. “Whenever you want. As many times as you want. And, um.” His smile turns wicked, a new glint in his eyes. “The honeyfruit. I brought back a small crate of it, if you wanted to try the other thing again, too.”

A small case, stars. Hux had never appreciated the man’s greedy nature until now. He will have to make sure they properly preserve it; four standard years is a long time. “You’re a menace, Kylo Ren.”

“That’s how you like me,” Ren says, a question lingering in his tone.

“Yes,” Hux admits. “Yes, I do.”

[whenimaunicorn]

Guard Duty

Charles Vane x f!Reader Smut

In temptation-laden fulfillment of @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen​‘s “locked in a room with Vane” prompt, I give you a fierce female pirate facing something that’s juuuuust a little over the top. This one falls closer to the fantasy side than the realistic side, I would say. Have fun with it. Warnings for explicit sexual activities, use of restraints, and general pirate-y lack of trust in negotiations. I also used as the opening line a dialogue prompt that @geekandbooknerd​ picked for me months and months ago:

“I can feel your breath on my skin.”

If your hands weren’t full of the rope, you’d press them right over your ears. Vane had been saying things like this to you all afternoon, low and raspy, whenever he knew no one else could hear. Trying to tempt you into helping him escape. You pull the bonds even tighter around him, securing each of his forearms to the sides of the chair. You can’t help it that you have to breathe so close to his bare skin while you make sure the knots won’t slip. Close enough to smell the entirely unique spice of him...

“You’re going to drive a man mad.” You’re not watching the way his muscles twitch under his skin as he tests the restraints, really you’re not. “You don’t want me to use my hands, I can work with that. Just bring yourself a little closer to my mouth.”

Billy Bones is watching from the doorway. Which is why Vane is speaking to you so quietly, from behind the curtain of his long hair that he’s let fall in front of his face. “He secure?” the boatswain asks you.

You step back from the captive captain. “Yeah, I’ve got him.”

“All right.” Billy looks up toward the deck. “Stay here, keep your eyes on him while we get underway. Anything happens, come find me.”

Then he shuts the door and leaves you alone with the temptations of the devil himself.

You expected him to run his mouth even more once there was no one to interfere, but Vane just gazes up at you, his beautiful eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief and smug pride. He knows how beautiful he is. More beautiful than you. You know that he’s only trying to seduce you into setting him free; he wouldn’t look at you twice otherwise. And you’re resolved to be smarter than that.

You cross your arms and lean against the bulkhead.

Vane’s eyes flit around the tiny room. “Kind of you to give me the only chair,” he observes. “Why don’t you come sit on my lap, and we can talk.”

You hear the shouts of the crew dimly above you. They’re all busy preparing to set sail; no one is going to come in here and interrupt for quite a while. And you’re even a little salty about being singled out for guard duty rather than pulling your weight alongside the men. As the only woman on board, it hurts your ability to fit in with the crew every time that happens. You need to be up there if you’re going to earn any respect. And yet Billy keeps condescending, finding ways to shelter you that he thinks are too subtle for anyone to notice. Arse-hole.

And so, in your pique, you decide to take just a little advantage. Take something for yourself out of this frustrating situation.

“All right,” you say, and strut over to Vane while he leans back with a smirk. Your face is an aggressive pout. Maybe you can steal just a little pleasure for yourself while calling his fucking bluff. You grab onto his shoulders, thrilling at the only tiny amount of give in that solid slab of meat, and swing your legs to straddle him in the chair.

Vane looks delighted as you challenge his eyes from only inches away. You try to search for his real feelings underneath, but detect nothing else.

“Talk.”

The corner of his thin mouth turns up. “Is that really what you want to spend our time alone down here doing?” He shifts underneath you, bouncing you and your open legs. You have to hold on to his shoulders tighter in order to keep your balance atop him.

“You see a woman, all you can think about is getting your cock wet, even when you’re surrounded by enemies, is that it?” Your words are sharp, but you’re also helping yourself to handfuls of his chest. He’s going to objectify you, then you deserve to pay him a little back in kind.

“I find it best to take life as it comes. Don’t you?” He thrusts his hips again. The first one didn’t feel like much more than a surprise; the second one ignites something closer to his intention, rubbing up against your more sensitive parts in an entirely too tantalizing way. You may have underestimated what Charles Vane could do to you here, even with his hands bound.

“Not usually.” You try to disagree with his point, but your voice comes out thinner than you’d like. “I prefer not to fall prey to short-sightedness. Momentary pleasures are rarely worth as much as they seem.”

“Oh no?” Vane murmurs, his eyes tracking your lips as you speak, which is disconcertingly intimate when scarcely more than a hand’s breadth separates your faces. His hips roll again, a smaller movement this time. One that feels more like lovemaking. Your thighs clench around him and you tell yourself it’s only to keep your balance.

“I find it’s always wisest to keep an eye to the long-term…” And yet, your blood starts singing as your palms slide across his muscled chest, guiding your fingers to dive inside the open collar of his shirt. It feels good to have power over someone so notorious, so dangerous. And so handsome. You play with the trinkets tied around his neck, so aware of his eyes on your face but refusing to meet them.

“Just let me kiss you.”

Damnation, he’s convincing. His scraping voice almost sounded needy. With the heat stoking up between your legs from his continued writhing beneath them, you convince yourself there’s no harm in indulging just a little bit more.

Your fingers curl down inside the edge of his shirt. You bend your head closer, watching his face as intently as he’s watching yours. His pupils are wide, his breaths coming full and deep, as if he really does want you. You drop your eyes to his lips and he strikes, lunging forward from the neck to capture your mouth with his.

It’s the noise he makes that does you in, just as much as the solid press of eager lips. Vane groans when he gets a taste of you, his tone a perfect mix of ecstatic relief and eagerness for more. You let your body press in closer, and fall into the play of his lips against yours, coaxing you to melt.

If anyone were to walk into this makeshift prison cell right now, you’d likely be thrown straight overboard. But no one is coming down here. They’ve all got their hands full, so you might as well get yours full too. While one palm slides up the side of Vane’s rugged jaw, feeling it work as he opens your mouth with his tongue, the other runs down his body, grasping at his flank and feeling his solid warmth.

You purr down into him and meet his tongue with the force of your own, rocking yourself into the rhythm of his hips.

How long do you carry on like this? You try and keep track of the time, but it’s difficult as the raw, masculine scent of him fills your nose, as the warmth of his body moves so tantalizingly beneath you. With his arms bound, he has no more advantage to press, and can only meet your movements with eagerness and hope for more.

Or so you think. Vane’s lips travel off the corner of your mouth and you indulge him, holding yourself close enough for him to kiss along to your ear, nipping at the shell of it and mouthing into the sensitive hollows of your neck. “The things I could do,” he rumbles into your skin while pressing his teeth in to scrape, “if I could get my hands on you.”

And though it thrills you to imagine the ways that Captain Vane might manhandle you, you find the strength to remain wise. “Is that so?” you tease, shifting in his lap. “Because I struggle to think of what your hands could do, that cannot also be accomplished by mouth or…” you bring one hand down to swipe lewdly along his crotch.

Your hand is met with an iron rod trapped down along one leg of his leather trousers, so large and stiff that you freeze in your tracks. You hadn’t… expected that. Assuming Captain Vane was faking this whole thing, you thought you’d find him half-hard at best, most of his thoughts occupied with readying to knock you out as soon as you’d let his hands free, and move on to escaping from the ship. And you had also not expected his size. Heat blooms in your face, and Vane stares up at you with answering fire. “It’s a fair point. You could ride me just like this. I would enjoy that very much. But you would be missing out on quite a bit of my”—he rocks himself right into your cupping palm—“creativity.”

It takes every ounce of willpower you have to squeeze that straining thickness, smirk, and then let him go. “You can’t think I’m that big a fool.” Indignation mixes with the lust already filling your body, pulling a wicked smile across your cheeks. You rise to your feet, and with one solid shove to his shoulder, knock Vane and his chair back onto the floor.

A stunned grunt wheezes out of his chest at the impact. His face is flushed and thick with conflicting emotions, his hair spread wide around his head against the deck as he lays helplessly, in a decidedly less dignified position. “You mistake me,” he rasps up at you.

You come to one knee beside him, your inflamed passions still begging you to bring your body close to his. You purse your lips against that lust and tilt your head at him in silent question.

“I want you.”

You laugh. “I think you’ve been making that terribly clear, Charles. But if you really want to prove it, perhaps I should take off my trousers and sit down on your face.”

The passions in his eyes burn harder at your filthy words. “By all means, indulge yourself. I’ll give you a ride you won’t soon forget.” Fuck, you didn’t expect him to be into that, either. “But what I meant was, I want you by my side. Not just today. You let me out of these bonds, help me steal Flint’s prize, and you’ll have a place on my crew. And in my bed. And whatever the fuck else you want, love, just name it.”

You’re still not sure it’s wise to believe him. But hell, what if it’s true. What Vane is promising is not momentary anymore. And it would be a hell of a lot better than what you’ve got going on the Walrus right now. Bedding Captain Vane, every night… That might be worth flipping sides.

Might. You’d be wise to test the merchandise.

“Pleasure before business?” You suggest as you peel at the buckle of your belt. “Perhaps we should seal our deal.”

Vane’s eyes flood with an eager darkness. “Whatever you need, love. I’m not going anywhere.” His shoulders flex and roll, but his wrists remain firmly bound down by his sides.

You kick your boots off. “I am going to need some convincing. Though so far you’ve proven to have quite the honeyed tongue.”

You expect him to say something seductive, especially with the opening you just gave him with the tongue remark, but he surprises you with a deeper look, rather than a grin. “I’ve watched you, fighting with this crew. You’re magnificent. Every time, I think, ‘she should be mine.’”

Your breath catches. “I’m not that beautiful,” you say, and immediately kick yourself for ruining what could have been a perfectly shallow little fuck by showing your insecurities to him.

“You have more than beauty,” he says smoothly, “though beauty you do have.” He tips his head closer toward you, making his words hit harder. “You have heart. Passion. Courage. Leave the girls that can call themselves nothing but ‘beautiful’ on the shore. I have no use for them.”

“But you have a use for me.” You let your eyebrow twitch, showing him nothing but coolness. Despite the tumultuous warmth spreading through your chest.

Now the playful grin is back, spreading across his face like melting butter. “Come on over here and find out.”

You let your baggy trousers fall in a pool around your ankles. “I think if I come over there, I will be the one finding a use for you.”

Vane’s eyes go hooded at the sight of your naked legs, and the mound between. “Use me, then.” He relaxes back against the deck. “Let me show you what this honeyed tongue can do.”

Your better judgment is drowning out in the buzzing of other needs and wishes. The sheer eroticism of standing over this pirate king with your bottom half completely bared to him overwhelms just about everything else.

It feels like you’re moving in slow motion as you step across Vane’s helpless body, then place your knees carefully to either side of his head. His face goes slack and dreamlike as you bring your cunt closer and closer to his face.

You are so aware of the air moving freely against your lower lips as you kneel down and spread your legs. Especially when you’re drawing near enough to his mouth for his comparatively hot breath to hit you. And he can’t touch you. Can’t grab you, can’t guide you; the commanding man is forced to lay there and wait for you to come to him.

You pause before you’re in his range, though when his breath comes steaming out in a lusty groan, the warning shot tickles your very center. His eyes flick up to your face. “Please.”

A word you never thought you’d hear from the likes of Captain Vane. Even if he’s faking it all, just that moment makes all of this entirely worth it. You bring your hips in closer, and he lifts his head to meet them.

You stop. He strains his neck, and all he can reach is the softest brushing against your sensitive lips. It’s like a kiss, and you let out a breath you did not realize you were holding. You lean into him a fraction closer, letting him touch more firmly, and he works his lips around the edges of your sex before bringing his tongue to bear.

He licks across you slowly, gentle enough not to scare you away, confident enough to entice you to sink down over his face more deeply. The tip of his tongue spreads you out wider, sliding between your folds with devilish audacity, already making you feel things you can’t remember ever experiencing before. You angle your hips in small movements, using the control you have to guide him toward the places that feel the best.

It’s not long at all before he finds your pearl, that nub of pleasure that burns brighter than the rest, and he thrusts his jaw up to wrap his lips around and suck at it. Your voice rings out in the little cell as you wail.

“Best be quiet, love,” he rumbles, pulling back just fractionally enough to be able to speak, his lips still sliding against your sensitive bits. “I don’t think you want us to be disturbed.”

Your fingers curl through Vane’s hair; you nod and press yourself against his mouth again.

He’s as good as he boasted. You find yourself holding your other hand to your own lips, the only way to stifle the cries that he keeps drawing out of you with lusty sucks and those rapid flicks of his tongue.

Your legs start to tremble at the overwhelming pleasure building up in your core. You worry you’re about to smother him but Vane seems to relish it, pushing back against you just as hard, eyes closed in concentrated bliss.

Your breaths stutter as you ride his face in an escalating rhythm, guiding the pressure of his tongue until your orgasm peaks and crashes down all over you. You don’t release him until the shuddering aftershocks stop coming.

Then you sigh and sit back, onto his chest, and gaze down at his rapt and wrecked face. His eyes meet yours, fire still blazing. Something more than words passes between you. “It’s not enough,” he says. It sounds more like an accusation than a confession.

And he’s right; as spectacular as that climax was, you’re still keyed up, and positively aching to get something of him inside you.

“Let me loose,” he urges. “I need more than just a taste of you.”

And with your bare legs wrapped over his upper body, your cunt still clenching and reeling and his beautiful eyes imploring and threatening in equal measure, you throw the rest of your caution to the wind.

You bend yourself double to kiss him, and he meets the savagery of your mouth with equal ferocity. If he’s a liar he’s a damned good one, and perhaps even deserves to win the play. You dismount and tug at the release loop twisted into the knot at his right wrist.

The first place his hand goes is to bury itself in your hair, fingers curling close to your scalp and tugging you back down to his mouth again. He kisses you long and deep before releasing you in the direction of his other bond.

He’s roaring up off the deck as soon as the rope goes slack. Suddenly you’re the one flat on your back on the boards, Vane’s considerable weight pressing down on top of you, with one leg pressed firmly between your bare thighs. His hands are everywhere; cupping your jaw, grasping at your breast, imprinting into the back of your thigh. Rough fingers slide between your folds and you don’t even care about the friction. His rumbly voice is burning against your skin. “I have to have you.”

You cry out, strangling the sound as quiet as you can manage, as Vane’s thick finger slides deep inside your body. It goes in so easily after the way he’s warmed and wetted you; after just a few pumps you feel the stretch of two, then three.

You had felt the size of him. He has to prepare you, to work you open, or he’d never fit. You open your eyes to see his, dazzling, staring down from just above and studying your face. His other hand has scooped around the back of your neck, and his thumb pets your jaw as he slows down the delicious assault of his fingers so deep inside you. “Are you ready for me?”

A purr rumbles up between your lips and you grind yourself further against his hand. “Yes.” There’s no reason for half measures at this point, is there? You deserve to get the whole experience.

Vane is loosening his trousers before you can even reach down his body to try and do it for him. You look down between your bodies just in time to watch his cock spring free, swollen with need. It feels so good against your palm as you reach down and wrap your fingers boldly around it.

Vane’s breath stutters, and his head drops to your shoulder when you stroke him. Then he’s reaching down, pulling your hand off his cock, and finding your other wrist somewhere near his hip. With a throaty noise, he pushes them both above your head, slamming your arms into the deck while his face looms close over yours.

For a long moment you worry the tide is turning, he’s escaping after all, but as you gaze up into his eyes you realize that this is not a threat, this is just him, and how he likes to do it. He’s lining his cock up without even using his hands, and you’re even more glad that he took his time to prepare his way in, because otherwise—

The shock of Vane’s thickness sliding home knocks any rational thought right out of your head. Your high-pitched noise brings a lazy smile to his face, and he kisses you to smother the sounds you can’t help but keep making as he works himself all the way inside. The pressure of him has you feeling stretched to your limit, and he just keeps coming, opening you up so satisfyingly deep that all you can do is wail and try to let everything within you let go.

And then, he actually starts thrusting. You hold your breath so not to scream, as wave after wave of searing pleasure rolls through your body in his wake. “Fuck, you feel better than I thought,” he murmurs, taking the pressure off your wrists to lift up and snap into you harder. His eyes are drifting closed now, getting lost in taking his pleasure. His hands slide down your body, and he pauses his rhythm to get his knees under him, coaxing your legs to wrap tight around his waist.

“Vane—” you start to say something, but you don’t even know what it was when he lifts your hips off the deck and slams himself into you even deeper. The man does not disappoint; you can already feel him ruining you for anyone else after this.

He’s filled you to the brim, the snapping of his hips bringing the most exquisite, delicious torture as you feel your body growing completely overwhelmed. You might orgasm again, in some new way that’s already making you feel like you’ve never actually come, for real, in your whole life before this.

A long, punctuated growl is simmering in the back of Vane’s throat, and from the grip of his hands ‘round your hips you assume, can only hope, really, that he is close too. You feel like you’ll shatter if this mind-numbing bliss is to carry on much longer. “Vane, I—” you hear yourself begging vaguely, not sure if you’re asking him to stop or to make sure that he drives you over the edge again, as fast as he can.

He shifts something and you are almost immediately obliterated. His pounding has become focused on some particular spot so agonizingly sweet that the rush extends to every muscle in your body, clenching you up in heat and joy in a peak that almost makes you black out before it’s over.

As the swirling ecstasy only begins to settle, you hear Vane groan your name, low and long, feel him bending over your body and holding himself deeply sheathed inside you as his cock jumps and twitches on its own. You squeeze your legs around him tighter, and he gasps and curses his way through the rest of his release.

Then he slumps on top of you, somehow flattening his body over yours without actually letting his cock slip out. He shudders every time you squeeze ‘round it, which you find to be an amusing payback for the way that his solid weight is only barely not crushing you.

When he’s caught his breath, he lifts his head and chest to look you in the eyes again. His expression is slack, unguarded, almost boyish as he gazes down at you, his smile sleepy and his big arms wrapping you up snugly. “How’s that for convincing?”

A smile tugs at your own lips, and you let it spread wide across your cheeks, enjoying the way it lights up his face like a mirror. “I am...quite satisfied.”

He scoops you up and rolls you with him as he lays onto his back beside you. “Then as soon as you think your legs will work, we can set about devising my escape.”

You hum a long sound of polite disagreement, rubbing your face into his shoulder and settling yourself snugly against his frame. “No, now’s not the right time to move. We’re in the middle of the ocean. I’ll tie you back up, and in a few days when we get to our destination, I’ll spring you then.” Vane lifts his head to look awkwardly into your face, and you lift your chin to meet his eyes. He seems a bit raw and unhappy. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re not suffering too badly down here. I’m a very good prison guard. We’ll… take care of each other.”

More Vane Action

Taglist is open if you want more Strong and Independent Lady Pirates Who Definitely Don’t Have A Thing For Vane: @acebreathesfire @kind-wolf @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Short Cuts

So the reviews for Rapunzel’s Return are taking longer then expected and due to real life complications I’ve now fallen behind in my intended schedule. So in order to catch up, I’ll be doing a series of rapid-fire mini reviews of all the official shorts that the series released in addition to the usual reviews. 

Summary: Ten shorts were released throughout the three seasons of the show detailing Rapunzel’s misadventures in Corona. 

 Check Mate

Pascal tries to get Max to play chess with him, but the horse is too busy with guard duty to play. Pascal’s antics wind up causing a fire and Max must save him. 

This short, plus the later Unicorn-y short, and the episode Pascal’s Story pretty much confirms that chess is pascal’s favorite game. Shame that’s the only idiosyncrasy that the series gives besides being the conscious of the group that sometimes gives the other characters guilty looks.  

I said it before and I’ll say again, the animal sidekicks in the franchise don’t have enough personality to carry whole episodes by themselves, but shorts like this are ok and where things like this should have stayed.   

Prison Bake

Attila recounts how he used his baking skills to break his fellow pub thugs out of prison back before they met Rapunzel. 

This just raises so many questions. Why were they arrested? What was their punishment besides jail? Why weren’t they just re-arrested later after escaping? If they were all wanted criminals before meeting Raps then why did they try to call the guards during the movie to collect the reward money on Eugene’s head? Do we really think “crack-down on crime” Frederic would pardon them before Rapunzel’s return? How do we know they weren’t just framed given how shitty Corona’s legal system is? 

Like I just need a tiny bit more context show. Two to three minutes isn’t really long enough to set up conflicts. These shorts should have been more like five or six minutes really. 

Also Ludwig the Castle Cook is also just wasted. They built a model for him and hired a VA and everything and all he does is appear in this one short and nothing else. Like I think he makes a non-speaking cameo in The Alchemist Returns or something, but that’s it. It’s a clear mismanagement of resources.  

Make Me Smile

Rapunzel tries unsuccessfully to make Old Lady Crowley smile, but it’s not until she holds an honest conversation with the woman does she find a solution. 

This is best short out of the bunch, and not just cause it stars the great Pat Carol either. 

This is how Rapunzel should have been handled in the main series proper. Which is why I screen-grabbed this whole convo. It’s perfect. 

Rapunzel spent 18 years lock in a tower. Of course she doesn’t understand different perspectives from her own cause her development has been stunted. She’s compassionate but lacks empathy. So she has a hard time connecting with others, but once she slows down an actually takes the time to listen to people she is capable of learning. 

We needed more of this; just on a larger scale. Have Raps make mistakes, have people be annoyed with her or right angry when she messes up, and then have her learn. 

Why the series thought it was a good idea to have everyone kiss her royal arse instead while she dug in her heels and consendinly took charge of everything even while still screwing up, I’ll never know. 

Hare Peace

Feldspar asks Rapunzel to take care of his “precious”. Rapunzel thinks he means a pet rabbit, and is run ragged trying to keep up with it, but it turns out he was talking about his prized cabbage instead. 

These shorts overall work a lot better than the main show. They know what they are and don’t try to be anything else. Therefore they deliver what is promised competently. They’re nothing amazing nor groundbreaking and in truth I wouldn’t want a whole series of them, but I get the feeling this is what the head executives at Disney were expecting when they signed off on the show and not whatever mess the main series turned out to be. 

Night Bite

Rapunzel, Eugene, and the animals are out camping for the night and Max gets irritated by all the bugs. 

What doesn’t work so well is the placement of some of the shorts. This particular short aired during season two and indeed that would make sense given that they are camping out here. Which why would they do that if they were still in Corona... 

Yet some of the later shorts, which also aired during season two, clearly do take place in Corona debunking that theory. Just some context would be nice show, that’s all. 

Also this short is meh.. not bad, not, good, just there.  

Hiccup Fever

Rapunzel gets the hiccups and everyone in Corona seems to have advice on how to get rid of them, but only Eugene has the solution. 

I’d argue that this is the funniest of the shorts. I legit laughed out loud at some points which is rare. 

However it does sadly prove on thing. 

Rapunzel was always a shit girlfriend, even before season three. 

Being a douche to your boyfriend isn’t funny show. 

Snowball

Rapunzel and Pascal plan to have some fun in the snow and things go awry.   

So where and when is this exactly?

Unlike the other shorts, the context and setting for this one is paramount to whether or not Rapunzel is a simply lazy or a an outright dick. 

For you see, Rapunzel had never been outside in the show before Queen for a Day. Ergo, this can only take place during the latter half of season one or during season two. 

Now season two makes a lot of sense. They’re at some cabin in the woods that was never mentioned are seen on screen before and this did air during season two anyways. If that is the case then Raps just avoiding her planned road trip like always. 

However, the last short and the next two also aired during season two and all of those do take place in Corona during season one and even the wiki states that they were all meant to take place during season one in original concept. 

Yet if that is the case then Rapunzel is ignoring Varian right now and playing around in the thing that almost killed him... 

Oh and that still doesn’t explain where this cabin is. Is it the mountain retreat that the King and Queen were going to spend their anniversary at? 

What’s really mind boggling though is that they made this short in order to reuse the character models from Queen for a Day in order to save money, but then went and built this whole set that’s never seen outside of this short. 

Like seriously who was on charge of the budget decisions in the series? 

Hairdon't

Rapunzel offers to cut Eugene’s hair but then messes it up. She spends all day trying to stop Eugene from seeing his new do, but turns out the hairstyle becomes a hit with the Corona townspeople. 

Rapunzel seriously lucked out here and it borderlines on the main series style levels of BS. She asks Eugene not to get upset before he sees what she’s done and, guess what, he is rightly upset. 

Honestly the series needed to let Eugene get angry at Rapunzel for stuff. That’s what happens in relationships, you will make your partner mad at times and that’s ok. It’s all about how both of you handle that. 

We never get to see how Eugene and Rapunzel would handle a real ordinary conflict and not just magic/ex girlfriend shenanigans that don't end with them putting off talking about it. 

Even their best episodes in season two still are over conflicts that don’t have any immediate impact on their lives and are mostly hypotheticals to them, like kids or how other people should approach dating. And of course by season three Eugene is just reduced to a doormat. 

Unicorn-y

Rapunzel tries to help Vladimir find his missing prized unicorn figurine in this spoof of old detective movies. Turns out Max and Pascal had found it and were using it to play chess. 

Ok, first off, Eugene has the patience of a saint and deserves so much better than Raps and her bullcrap here. Same goes for Lance who is tied up as well during this scene. 

But also this is another short that needed to be more than three mins long. The “mystery” is over before it even starts and the film noir parody only barely has time register in the viewer’s mind and then it’s over with. 

Shorty’s Theme Song Takeover! 

The last of the shorts aired after the show had ended as part of the Disney Channel’s on going promotional gimmick “Theme Song Takeover!” 

Shorty finds Rapunzel’s journal and sings his own version of the show’s theme song, “Wind in my Beard”. 

It’s ok. 

All of Disney’s animated shows for the 2019/2020 line up has done one and some are funnier than than this and others not so. The Shorty one is pretty middle ground but what makes it work is that Rapunzel is completely oblivious to what’s going on and only Shorty, always the anomaly of the series, can perceive the fourth wall. Thus proving he was never really human. 

As for placement, we know it’s season three cause of Rapunzel’s dress and they’re mostly likely inside the Snuggly Duckling right now. So just slot it in wherever you see fit. 

Conclusion 

That’s it for the shorts. The rest of Rapunzel’s Return should be up later this week and then hopefully I’ll be all caught up in time to cover the next episode next week. 

[scapegrace74-blog]

Now or Never Now

A/N  Really more of a PSA: drunkenness and unrequited (or unacknowledged) feelings for your roommate aren’t the best of bed fellows.

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here.

May 1, 2018, The Pride of Spitalfields, London, England

If he were forced to account for his twenty-eight years of life, he reckoned he’d made a decent start of things.  It helped to have been born into a loving, boisterous family, cradled in the bucolic nursery garden of the Scottish Highlands.  A good education, good values, a strong sense of duty: these he owed to his parents.  

Since moving to London at twenty-two, he’d begun to weave the advantages of youth into the intentions of adulthood, with varied results.  Failed relationships, the struggles of establishing a career in his uncle’s shadow and the cataclysm of his accident were setbacks, to be sure, but they forged his character in the blast furnace of adversity.  He enjoyed the comradeship of a tight-knit group of colleagues and friends.  Only three months ago, he’d been promoted to Crew Manager at the Bethnal Green station, and he had his eye on a Station Officer post before he turned thirty-five, his ambition to finally break free of Dougal’s influence.  And Claire.  He couldn’t count his blessings without numbering his Sassenach among them.

He performed this annual stock-taking as he walked to his local pub.  It was his birthday, and he was meeting some friends for a celebratory drink.  To absolutely no-one’s surprise except her own, Claire had finished her first year of medical school at the top of her class, and he’d convinced her to join them.

The air was warm and sweet with blossoms as he entered the pub to a rowdy cheer.  His mates had secured two tables near the tiny stage where a three-piece band were setting up.  The party was well underway, and a pint of lager was thrust into his hand before he’d even taken his seat.

He thought he’d been rather surreptitious in checking the door each time it opened, but Hamish slapped him hard on the back and commented in a voice the whole table could hear.

“Yer Sassenach missus willna get here any faster wi’ yer eyes glued tae the door, lad.  Christ, has she got ye whipped!”

He felt the tips of his ears grow warm as the rest of the table laughed and joined in on the good-natured ribbing.  When he looked back up, Claire was standing there shedding her coat.  He momentarily forgot to breathe.  She was wearing black tights and the jean mini-skirt from their first meeting in this very pub, along with a sleeveless, cropped, ruffled confection that he’d definitely never seen before.  She was, quite simply, stunning.  The momentary lull from the rest of the table told him he wasn’t the only one who thought so.  He stood and hastened to greet her with a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Jamie!” she cried.  “Happy birthday!”  Her arms wrapped around his neck and she leaned in to return his kiss, barely missing his lips.  He could smell whisky on her breath.

“Did ye get a headstart on yer celebratin’, Sassenach?” he asked, both amused and confounded.  Claire hadn’t mentioned any other plans, and it wasn’t like her to drink alone at their flat.

“Aye, I have,” she giggled. “I had a partner in crime.  Look who’s here!”

Claire gestured towards the coat check, where a familiar redhead was flirting with the attendant.  His wame plummeted towards his shoes.

“Geillis,” he greeted as she approached.  “Welcome back tae London.  I didna realize ye were visiting.”

“Aye, we just arrived yesterday.  Happy birthday, fox cub.  Ye look well,” she commented with a smirk.

“As do ye,” he replied politely, glancing quickly at Claire to gauge her reaction, but she was observing the band, who had just begun to play.

“Och, mince,” Geillis replied.  “My arse needed its own baggage allowance, but at least my tits are huge.  Ferget about the bairns, I hadta pry Juan Carlos off ‘em so I could join in yer wee festivities!”

It was comforting to see motherhood hadn’t dampened Geillis’ spirit in the slightest.

“I see the lads are all here,” Claire segued quickly.  “What are we drinking?”

Jamie slid his chair over to make room for the two newcomers.  Before she’d even sat down, Geillis bought a round of shots for the table, to the general delight of his mates.  It was going to be an interesting night.

***

“Com’ dance wit’ me!” Claire yelled in his ear louder than was absolutely necessary.  Several hours had passed, and he’d lost track of the number of pints and shots she’d consumed.  Realizing one of them would need to stay relatively sober, he’d been nursing the same ale for the past hour.

“Claire, I really dinna dance o’ermuch,” he stalled as she dragged him towards the small area between tables where a few other couples were rocking together to a slow ballad.

“Neveryouworry, lad.  I’ll lead.”  Of course you will, he thought fondly.

Instead of leading, Claire literally fell against his chest, allowing his bulk to catch her.  Chilly hands met behind his neck and began teasing his curls where they lay against his nape.  He couldn’t’ help it.  He shuddered.  Drunk, he reminded himself.  She is drunk, she is yer roommate, and she trusts ye.

“Are y’ havin’ a good birthday, Jamie?” she murmured into his clavicle, where her forehead was resting.  He couldn’t help smiling.  He’d once compared her to a lioness, but right now she was doing a fair impression of a dozy kitten, allowing him to sway their bodies side-to-side in complete contradiction to the music’s rhythm.

“Aye.  Aye, I am.  And ye, Sassenach?  Did I mention how proud I am of ye fer acing yer exams?”

The moist air of her chuckle seeped through his shirt.  “Only a dozen times.  Thanks for keepin’ me fed and caffeinated whilst I studied.  I couldinit have done it wi’out you.”

“Twas my pleasure, Sassenach.  We make a braw team.”

He said it offhandedly, but Claire stilled in his arms, leaning back to peer up into his face.  There was something there, behind her slightly glazed eyes, that he’d given up hope of ever seeing.

“We do, don’t we?” she whispered, gaze flitting between his eyes and his lips, before skittering away.  The humid air of the pub seemed to press in on him from all sides, making it difficult to draw a solid breath.  A warning bell began to peel somewhere in his mind, alerting him to the fact he was in very grave danger of making an ass of himself.

She’s no’ yours, lad, he coached himself.  No’ unless she wills it, and she canna know her own mind when she’s hammered.  He tried to divert the conversation to safer territory.

“Tis good tae see Geillis again.  Ye must have missed her somethin’ fierce.”

“Mmmm,” Claire hummed noncommittally.  One of the hands that had been resting behind his neck began to thread through his hair, fingernails scraping lines of pleasure into his scalp.  Christ, that wasn’t helping his cause at all.

“Claire...” he entreated into the scant space between them.  Her long legs had somehow become entangled with his own.  She was practically riding his thigh.  Another few inches, and she was going to come into contact with the only part of him that was enthusiastic about dancing with a beautiful lass.

“I think iz time y’ take me home, James Fraser,” the limpet formerly known as his roommate purred in his ear.  Thank Christ.  Another few minutes of that sultry upright writhing, and he might have taken her right there on the beer-stained table in front of the darts board.

Navigating Claire’s increasingly pliant body towards the door and the salvation of the cool night air, Jamie ran directly into the diminutive roadblock of her best friend.  Pulling him aside, she grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged his head down to her level.

“I ken she’s yer roommate and ye look at her as though she’s the sun after a thousand days o’ rain, but she’s my best friend an’ I love her.  She’s scared, but she trusts ye.  Dinna fuck it up.”

Without awaiting a reply, Geillis spun around and returned to their table.  When he turned towards Claire, she was giving him a peculiar look.  He shrugged it off as nothing more than inebriation, and started the short three-legged stumble back to their flat.

“Ye know, Sassenach, this is twa times I’ve had tae practically carry ye home from tha’ pub.  Ye’re a verra predictable drunk.”  They were navigating Brick Lane with a heavy list to starboard, where Claire leaned heavily into his side.

“First of all, milad, I am. Not. Drunk.  You canned be drunk if y’ can shtill walk upright.  Thas your rule, may I remind you.”  Mid-lecture, the heel of her boot caught between two cobbles. She would have gone down in a heap were he not already bearing most of her weight.  “Ooops!”

“An’ second of all,” she continued undaunted, “when didyu carry me again? Since? Fuck!  Before?”

He chuckled.  If nothing else, Claire was a very amusing drunk.

“Twas the first night we met, actually.  Ye were shipping out tae Afghanistan the verra next day.”

They’d reached their front door.  He was fumbling for his keys when he noticed Claire had gone remarkably silent.  Even in the yellow glow of the hallway, her face was incredibly pale.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?  Are ye gonna be sick?”

What came out of her mouth next was even worse.

“You fucked Geillis.  That night.  In our shower.”

Golden eyes interrogated him, tearing away any hope of evasion.  Gone was the cuddly kitten, and the lioness was on the hunt for blood.  Christ, he was going to kill Geillis for sharing intimate details of their one-night stand.  Assuming he lived to see tomorrow.

She trusts ye.  Dinna fuck it up.

His father had an aphorism he was fond of repeating.  Being an adult has little to do with your actions, he would say, and everything to do with living with the consequences of those actions.   Any callow lad could stick his cock in a lass, but it took a man to live up to his responsibilities thereafter.

“Aye.  I did. Twasn’t planned, nor somethin’ I’m particularly proud of, but thas’ the truth of it.  It didna mean anything, Sassenach.  Twas jus’ sex.”

They were inside the flat now.  He was mentally trying to evaluate whether it was safe for Claire to shower, or if he should simply tuck her into bed with a basin and some Gatorade.  She wasn’t moving, though.   She stood in the streetlight that illuminated their living space, a disheveled, beautiful mess.

“It’s my turn.”  She sounded sober, all of a sudden.  He poured a tall glass of cold water from the sink for her, regardless.

“Yer turn fer what, Sassenach?”

“My turn for you to fuck me.”

There was a hollow thunk and the cool splash of water against the cuffs of his trousers as the glass he had been holding hit the floor.  His chest felt like he was trying to suck cake batter through a straw.  To make matters worse, while he was in the kitchen she had shed her top and was standing in a sheer black bra, the peaks of her nipples cast in silvered shadow.

“Claire...” he breathed out.

She approached slowly, extending a hand to lay over his sprinting heart.

“Don’t you want me?”  Asked by any other woman, the question would be coy, but he heard the truth behind her query.  She really didn’t know.  Either he was a better actor than he gave himself credit for, or she was still seeing him through the filter of her past mistreatment.

“So much tha’ it hurts tae breath, lass.  But ye dinna want this, Claire.  No’ now.” His body was already protesting his declaration, a pulsing ache centered in his balls, but rooted in his heart.

“It’s now or never now, Jamie.  This is all that I have to give.  Isn’t it enough?”

She took his hand and placed it over the scalloped seam of her breasts.  Without volition, his fingers curled, testing the pliant firmness beneath them.  His muscles ached from holding himself in check.

“Tis far more than I deserve, Sassenach.  But the answer is no.” He pulled his hand away, his fingertips still tingling from the velvet of her skin.  “Ye should get some sleep.”

Her glass face showed every emotion, each more painful to witness than the last: hurt, anger, embarrassment, spite, and finally betrayal.  Mumbling a hasty goodnight, she practically ran to her own room.  He could hear her there now, sobs muffled by the wall he placed between them.

Dinna fuck it up.

He cradled his throbbing head in his hands.  How could doing the right thing turn out so horribly, spectacularly wrong?

***

May 21, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England

It has been twenty days since Claire’s drunken proposition, and they’d barely spoken a word to each other in that time.  As much as he was prepared for  awkwardness to descend upon their once-easy relationship, he was shocked by how much her avoidance pained him.  Couldn’t she see that he’d acted out of affection, and as her friend, ignoring the very great temptation she’d lain at his feet?

His first strategy had been to give her space.  He snatched at any excuse to be out of the flat: long runs, a pint after work with the lads, and even a long weekend with his family at Lallybroch.  Each day his phone was a constant weight in his hand, waiting for the moment she would text him about something bizarre she’d read, or call to ask where he’d hidden the olive oil.  She never rang.

Next he tried haunting their flat, planning to bump into her and force that first, clumsy conversation.  He was certain that once they got past that hurdle, they could begin to rebuild their rapport.  Almost certain.  Desperately certain.  She didn’t come home, working double shifts at the hospital and timing her visits for a shower, nap and change of clothes to coincide with his work shifts.  One night he fell asleep on the couch listening for the sound of her key in the door.  He woke the next morning covered in the plaid from his bed, but once again alone.

He sat in an outdoor cafe, watching London unfold under the warming sun like a rose, and considered what he knew about Claire that would help mend the breach.  She was stubborn.  The past twenty days were testimony of that.  She was proud.  She would sooner suffer than accept help.  She held herself to incredibly high standards, and hated to fail at anything.  She would have taken his rejection in the worst possible light.  She’d been badly hurt and deceived.  Their relationship had been one cautious step after another across the tightrope of trust strung between them.  Fueled by drunken emotion, she’d leapt forward, and he had not been there to catch her.

He opened his phone and stared at her photo in his contacts.  She’d been furious with him the day he snapped it.  He’d dragged her to a park on her day off to play rugby, only to find out the match had been cancelled on account of the heavy rain.  Heavy ringlets hung over a soaking jersey, and her glowing eyes promised swift revenge.

A dozen flowery or flippant texts were considered and abandoned before he opted for the simple and true.

I’m sorry.  I know I hurt you, and I want to make it better.  Please tell me how.

He pocketed his phone and crossed the road to the fire station for his evening shift.  If she hadn’t answered by the morning, he’d try again, and keep trying until she finally responded.

Twelve hours later, dawn was just cracking the sky as he prepared to walk home.  The station alarm rang out, but the day crew would take the call.  Even now, they were throwing on their gear and firing up the engine.  

“Corbet Place.  Isn’t that your neighbourhood, Fraser?” the driver commented as he hastened past.

Ice water flushed into his veins.  There were exactly two buildings on Corbet Place, and one of them contained a flat where a beautiful Sassenach was currently sleeping off a double shift.  A beautiful Sassenach who could sleep through a fire alarm.

He hoisted himself into the cab of a departing engine.

“Hey lad, this isn’t a taxi!” one of old hands joked, but sobered when he saw Jamie’s face.

The streets were empty.  They made the trip in record time that felt like an eternity to his racing heart.  As they drew near, the reek of a burning structure filled the air.  A half dozen other engines were parked haphazardly in the adjacent lot, their booms extending like insect antennae towards a cruelly familiar five-story brick building.  Flames licked the corner of one of the lower levels, punctuated by the pop of shattering glass and the skeletal groan of old beams giving way.

Grabbing a spare coat, hat and respirator, he ran towards his building, ignoring every professional protocol and ounce of common sense he possessed.  Claire was in their flat, and there wasn’t a power under the sun that would keep him from getting to her.

“Jamie!”

He spun towards her voice, thinking he might be hallucinating.  But no, sitting on a picnic table, wrapped in his Fraser plaid, was his beautiful Sassenach.   His knees turned to water and he sank to the bitumen at her feet.

“Claire...” he wheezed, adrenaline still coursing through his limbs.

“Were you on your...”

“How did ye...”

They both spoke, then lapsed back into stunned silence.

“Ye’re safe.” He said it as much to himself as to her.  “Ye’re here.  I thought.. when I heard the call... Christ, Sassenach.  I’ve never been sae scared in my entire life.  How did ye get out?”

“I got your text.  I was dozing on the couch, waiting for you to come home so we could talk.  The fire alarm woke me.  There was already so much smoke.  I used your plaid to cover my nose and mouth and ran down the fire escape.  Oh Jamie, I’m so sorry.”

Claire’s chin fell towards her chest, a lone tear streaking through the soot that marked her cheek.  He ran a shaking hand through her unbound hair.

“Why are ye sorry, Sassenach?”

“All your things.  Your memories.  They were all in that flat.”

He tilted her up by the chin.

“Claire, look at me.  There isn’t a feckin thing in tha’ flat that I care about that isna sitting in front of me right now.  Jesus, woman, do ye no’ ken the thought of losing ye tears out my guts?”

She looked deeply into his eyes, peering into his very soul.  For once, he did not think to hide behind a mask.  Let her see how she utterly destroyed and remade him.  All around them, the world faded to smoke.

“You... you love me?”

Nownownow.

“Aye.  I do.”

[studentville-struggles]

A Double Life

Chapter 4!

A self-indulgent Daniel Ricciardo fic.

Summary: Returning to old passions results in the start of chaos and living a double life. We say we hate chaos, but the thrill is unlike anything else.

Words: 1,709

Masterlist // Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

You may have been young but that did not mean a FIA gala wouldn’t result in a two day hangover. God bless past Rachel for booking the day after off. You couldn't actually communicate appropriately just how crap you were feeling and your film crew were loving it. They may not have been able to go into the gala with you but they did get to do a good before and after comparison. Unfortunately for you, you had to return to the lab on the second day of your hangover and your office mates were oh so giddy at calling out how deathly you looked.  

Despite the severity of your hangover, you could remember a surprising amount of the night. Although, you did wake up with a mysterious number texting you and didn’t remember giving it away so that might have been a lie.  

You remembered dancing with teammates new an old. You remembered collecting your award. You remember telling Lewis, Daniel looked fit as fuck. Oh shit. Damn that free wine. You remembered Lewis dragging you over to chat to Daniel and Max, disappearing as soon as you were chatting.  

You remembered rolling your eyes at something Daniel said, you remembered him taking your hand to twirl you around in your dress, complimenting the style. You remembered laughing. You remembered thinking he wasn’t a dick. You remembered him walking you to your taxi. You weren’t sure, however, how accurate your memory was of the feeling of his lips on your cheek as he said goodnight.  

What the hell happened and where the fuck was Lewis.  

Other than the whole Daniel fiasco, the night had been possibly the best of your life. Your friends in F2 were buzzing with team mix ups and a couple of you progressing up. The people you knew in F1 were lovely and very complimentary of your season. So many people were congratulating you on your new contract that you could barely stop smiling from thinking of the season to come.  

Dancing for hours on end, everyone seemed to be happy. The feeling of being overwhelmingly happy, nothing but joy and laughter, was one would could never forget.

However, despite the remaining headache to remind you of the night, you were back in reality, roasting in your lab. Happy with the explanation that you'd ‘had a big night’, your lab-mates were happy to joke and poke fun at your mis-fortune. With your office being on the 9th floor, and your lab on the 11th, it was always on the warmer side of things. You could definitely testify that a loud, warm environment was not where you wanted to be when you were hungover.

A couple of weeks after the gala you were fully into your newest off-season training programme, but with all the other drivers not having the limitations of a second job, they were feeling far more social than usual. There were more texts, more twitch streams, more fun. You were, however, in your final year of your PhD, drowning in lab work and data that needed analysing. You didn’t know if you could handle any more stress and yet life was continuously saying ‘lol sure’.  

Seeing the lighter side of your friends in the driving world was nice. You couldn’t wait to have that freedom after your PhD. You loved it, you truly did. You loved science; you loved the methodical nature of it, you loved the sample preparation – no matter how much you complained about do it. It was wonderful, but you knew your heart was truly in driving and you couldn’t keep up doing both. It was slowly taking its toll, you knew that. Burn out was inevitable really.

One more year. You just had to do one more year, and a little more because let's face it you were going to run over time on this... you worked three days a week instead of five or seven.  

Lewis was becoming an evermore important person to lean on and learn from. The odd weekend you spend with him when he was on his uncle duties brought you so much joy and reminded you of the need to spend time with family and friends and keep a social life.  

Sitting down with Lewis, one of the rarer times you allowed your mentor times to be filmed, you sunk down into the sofa and got comfy. You may have been in a reality show but the illusion that every waking moment is filmed, is in some cases, well an illusion. You hadn’t planned anything for this meeting so you had assumed this would be a more personal one. Though you couldn’t quite have imagined just how personal.  

“Heard you had a rough couple of days after the gala” You scowled at him

“You would know, you facetimed me every other hour to laugh at me.”  

Lewis had found your exceptional hangover hilarious. You did not appreciate that. Although now you were no longer hungover you could definitely see the funny side of things.  

The two of you sat and discussed your various plans for the off season; what family time you had planned and when you were hoping to go travelling and where. With the first race of the year being in Australia, you couldn’t wait to get out there and explore, as well as acclimatising as much as possible to give yourself the best possible start.

Somewhere deep in the back of your mind was a niggling thought, a small suggestion of ‘what if you bumped into Daniel when you were out there?’. You pushed that right back down as soon as it reared its head. There was no way you’d bump into anyway – Australlia is bloody massive! Also why Daniel? Ricciardo and yourself had only spoken a handful of times since the gala, although to conceded he was only a little bit of an arse now.  

Almost as if he could read your mind, Lewis dived right into the ‘any boys’ line of questioning.  

“I don’t exactly have time for a relationship right now; between the training, race prep and all my lab work I have to catch up on” You explained, a small amount of panic starting to rise as you began remembering all the work you have planned, papers your supervisor wants written.

As Lewis began shaking his head at you, a notification popped up on your phone.

“Heard you’re heading to Oz early.” Dan’s message caught you off guard. You’d only very loosely planned things with your family about travelling out. Although almost as soon as you’d finished reading a strange warm feeling was making itself known, a little lopsided smile gracing your cheeks.  

“What’s got you grinning like a school girl?” Lewis asked, leaning over to try and get a glimpse of your screen.  

“Nothing!” You locked your phone and tucked it under your legs, a guilty grin now facing Lewis.

Perhaps you wouldn’t have to bump into him after all.  

You didn’t know what was going through your head but you didn’t like it. You couldn’t be getting warm non usual feelings for anyone that was a competitor. Friendships were good, we liked those, until you sort through weird drunk gala memories, you were not okay with the weirdness stirring within.

After heading home a couple of hours later, you lay in the darkness of your room, tucked under the safety of your sheets, finding yourself texting back the one person who might cause you trouble this next year.  

Arguably the most intense and important year of your life, and what were you doing? Adding to the chaos.  

You did say you lived for the drama. All you would have to do is wait for the end of the off-season and see what Australia would bring for you.  

Australia brought a lot. Mostly heat, but a lot of other stuff too.

Australia was a stunning country, and having a local tour guide definitely helped. You knew how important family time was for Daniel when it was off-season, it was the worst kept season in F1. He very graciously offered to be your tour guide for the couple of days that you were spending exploring Perth.  

He took you around the local spots; the best shopping, the best food, the best bars and the best beaches. You couldn’t deny that there was a definite friendship blossoming between the two of you. Things just seemed to click, it was easy now.

Getting back into the paddock was a feeling you could never describe. It was relief, excitement, joy, nerves, it was a mix of everything. It was like a switch was flipped in your mind. You could feel the buzz of being back in the car again rushing through your veins.  

Although first; media.  

Being your rookie season, there was a lot of attention on you and what you could produce. A lot of people were excited by your arrival back on the racing scene. Some were pissed beyond belief. Some hated the fact you were a woman in F1; how dare you take a man's seat in this sport. It was safe to say a lot of people were expecting, if not hoping, you would fail and fail fast.  

Thankfully a good majority of the fans you met were lovely and put a huge grin on your face. Cheeks almost hurting from all the smiling you were doing.  

your favourite interview was with Sky Sports F1, a bit more informal as you were wandering around the paddock towards the end of thursday. It was just fun. They chatted about your comeback, how you seemed to be dominating everything you tried; they chatted about your budding friendship with Max and Lando on twitch; the importance of having a mentor like Lewis. It was everything you wanted in an interview. The last question you found the best.

“How are you finding the new media world and increased interviews. Does it feel weird having all the cameras around now?” You couldn’t help but smile. You turned ever so slightly and pointed off to the side where you could see some of your production team for the tv show.

“My life is already filmed 24/7; I am very used to it.”