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xfandomwritingsx · 3 years

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A Diamond Tint - Lee Christmas - Part Three

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Description: Learning Christmas is engaged was not part of your evening plans.

Warnings/Labels: None

Approx. Word Count: 3,700

A/N: Thanks for hanging in with me for this one. I had quite a bit of fun writing this. Now, there's a bit of Lacy being a bitch and I really don't portray her as a good person which I feel a little bad about but... I just didn't like her character and it was too easy to make her the "villain" of the story. So hopefully that doesn't turn anyone off too much.

Part One Part Two

It’s been a couple of months since that night at your apartment. Lee officially broke it off with Lacy and almost immediately after you were both pulled into jobs. You’d seen each other and talked since then, but you never had the privacy to actually talk about what, if anything, was going on with you two. It should have filled you with anxiety not knowing, but instead you managed to embrace it and just have fun.

Nights with the boys became a lot more charged than they ever had before. The flirtations were no longer hidden or masked, though you can admit you both turned it down when Barney was around. Lee used no subtlety in making sure he was seated next to you, even going so far as to tell another of the guys to move out of the way. You, in turn, weren’t subtle about always touching him. The team isn’t dumb. They picked up on it, but most of them kept their mouths shut or only made sly comments here or there which usually earned them a middle finger or an insult in return.

Honestly, you’re just enjoying the ride. There’s a rush of adrenaline when he sends a wink your way or when he leans into your touch that you can’t get enough of. There’s more than just a whisper of a dream behind everything either of you do. There’s hope, even a promise, of something more around the corner. It’s thrilling.

Tonight, you’re at the bar, gathered around a circular table just off the small dancefloor. The night is young and you’re not even a full drink in yet when the table goes quiet and stares at the trouble that just walked through the door. The way Lee grinds his jaw tells you exactly what you’ll see when you turn in your chair and sure enough, when you do, you see Lacy standing there in a short floral dress, eyes scanning the bar and very clearly looking for a certain someone. The moment she finds your table, her back straightens and she looks away quickly, acting as though she either didn’t see Lee or didn’t care.

You can see Lee’s pissed. You’re not a fan of her waltzing in here uninvited either, but you know there’s a better way to handle it than letting her get under his skin.

“Hey,” You nudge him with your foot underneath the table. It’s enough to pull his eyes from watching her strut up to the bar. “Don’t worry about her,” you tell him firmly before flashing him a flirtatious smile. “Focus on me.” You run your foot up the side of his leg and then back down. He doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t even crack a smile, but he holds your stare as he takes a drink of his beer and you know he’s in.

She sits her happy ass at the bar as if she belongs and appears to be oblivious to the questioning and somewhat hostile looks being thrown her way. This isn’t a bar you just stumble into and stay at. Lee waves off a couple of men, signaling to leave her be for now. No real reason to cause a scene. Let her have her fun and look like a fool.

Your pops hasn’t shown up yet tonight, so you don’t mind making a show of scooting your chair up next to Lee’s while Lacy orders a drink. Lee just smirks and throws an arm casually over the backrest of your chair. Some of the table shake their heads, others chuckle to themselves, but as always, no one outright says anything. You cross your legs under the table towards him and feel his knee nestle in close to yours.

Lee purposely keeps his eyes away from the bar and instead, lets you take the occasional glance her way, taking a bit of pleasure and humor at the way you smile knowingly back at him. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a thrill out of being so open with your flirting and when Lee’s fingers gently brush across your shoulder, you have a hard time not just leaning into his side.

You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline, the final swig of your current beer giving you some liquid courage, or just a bursting desire to take your game a little further, but you lean towards Lee and turn your head to whisper in his ear. His fingers pull on your shoulder just enough to encourage you closer.

“Dance with me,” you tell him. When you pull away, there’s a hint of hesitancy in his eyes, but it sinks away within moments and after taking one more drink from his bottle, it’s replaced with a flirtatious wink. He stands, prompting you to follow. Gunnar chuckles are gives you both an amused, crude smile. You consider flipping him off, but there’s a smile pulling at the corner of your lips and when Lee grabs your hand to lead you to the dance floor, you forget all about the table full of your friends entirely.

There’s not many people in the empty space in the middle of the bar, but that doesn’t make either of you back down. If anything, it just spurs you on. It’s impossible not to notice the two of you which means Lacy is bound to turn her head from the bar and see you with Lee.

He spins you and pulls you close to him once you reach the floor. He purposefully positions the both of you so that while he faces the door, you face the bar. He releases your hand and slips both of his around your waist as he begins to sway with the beat of the song playing. You take the chance to slide your hands up the front of him, taking the time to really press your palms over his chest. There’s a heavy heat in his eyes when you look up at him.

You’re not sure how long you dance together. You lose yourself in the feeling of his hands on your hips and the heat of him. You don’t even spare a glance over his shoulder towards his ex that you’re purposely trying to make jealous. All you can focus on is the way his eyes shade over and the flutter in your stomach that urges you to press your hips forward.

Lee’s eyes flicker to the door and you feel him start to pull back. Not quite ready to let him go, you furrow your brow in question and twist your fingers into his shirt to keep him with you.

“Your pops just walked in,” he tells you quietly. While that would normally cause you to back off as well, tonight you don’t want to. Lee’s eyes are still trained on your father, no doubt having locked eyes with Barney giving a good ol’ fashioned glare. You reach up and with two fingers on his chin, pull his attention back to you.

“So what?” His eyes widen in surprise at your response, but he doesn’t oppose. “He might as well get used to it.” You give a small, coquettish shrug and run your fingers up along his jaw to the back of his neck. He lets you easily pull his head down to yours and presses his forehead against yours. “It’s just you and me.” He holds back a small groan in his throat and then his hands are sliding into your back pockets.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers huskily. “The things I would do to you if we were actually alone.” His voice sends a deep tingle down your spine and though you manage to stop yourself from pulling his lips to yours in that moment, you can’t stop slight the tilt of your head.

“Well if we’re lucky,” you whisper, voice dry. You lick your lips before continuing. “You’ll get the chance to show me some time soon.” He curls his palms over the curve of your ass while inside you back pockets and pulls you slightly, pressing his entire body against yours. You realize that at some point, the sway of your dancing stopped and now you’re just pressed against each other in the middle of the bar. You let yourself enjoy the feel of his arms around you for another moment before reluctantly starting to pull away. “How about I get us another drink before we get carried away?” He leans in and puts his lips next to your ear.

“Or we could get carried away,” he teases lowly. His breath tickles your neck and you have to lean away from him or you know you’re going to give in and despite how much you want to, this is not the place to do it. So instead, you give him a playful push.

“Lee.” You mean to say his name as a warning, but a breathless laugh comes with it. He chuckles, but lets you go and takes a step back.

There’s a smile on your face as he walks away back to the table, probably to deal with a little more than the usual flack from the guys. Your eyes follow him as he goes, not hiding how they linger on his ass, only to rise back up when he turns and gives you another wink. You feel like you’re walking on a cloud as you make your way towards the bar.

You’d honestly forgotten about Lacy, having not even thrown her a look while you were on the floor. The sight of her at the bar, looking over her shoulder at you with an annoyed and almost disgusted stare, threatens to put a dent in your smile and airy gait, but you don’t let it. You stand a few empty seats away from her and don’t meet her eyes as you grab the attention of the bartender.

“Two more, Axle,” you request. He’s a fairly new hire; a young guy with a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm. He’s a lithe looking man with little muscle definition, but you highly suspect he’s no stranger to throwing a few punches.

“Getting’ cozy tonight,” he comments with a smirk, reaching down to grab you two beer bottles. “And here I thought I had a chance with you.” You give a roll of your eyes and he laughs, popping the tops off the bottles.

“Keep dreaming,” you tease.

“Probably for the best,” he admits. “Barney would probably shoot my balls off.” You bark out a laugh and take the bottles from him.

“You’re not her type, kid,” Lacy chimes in, stirring her drink before bringing it up to her mouth. “She only goes for guys old enough to be her father,” she says snidely before sipping at the rim of her glass. Axle purses his lips and raises his eyebrows, but ultimately looks to you for a response before he steps in.

“What can I say?” you shrug. “I’ve got daddy issues.”

“Who doesn’t in here?” Axle plays along, more than happy to keep the drama and bar fights at a minimum tonight.

“Could be worse,” you say, directing the conversation to only Axle. As much as you want to help keep his night an easy one, you just can’t resist making a jab. “I could be a total bitch to the men I date.” Axle’s polite smile shifts to one side and his lips purse again. “I could cheat on perfectly fine guys for cheap thrills.” You still don’t look at her, but you can feel her bristle beside you and hear her glass come back down to the bar top.

“Hope you enjoy my leftovers,” she says a little more quietly, but still plenty audible. You laugh ironically and pick up your beers, ready to leave before you make a scene.

“A bit of advice, Lacy,” you tell her as you back away from the bar top. “People who are over their ex don’t usually show up and act jealous. Finish your drink, go home, and get on with your life.” You manage to keep your lips upturned as she rolls her eyes.

When she doesn’t say anything further, you start to walk back to your table. As you walk past her, she sticks her foot out in front of your ankles, causing you to stumble a few steps before catching yourself. The beer sloshes out of the neck of the bottle, splashing onto your hands and the floor. The chatter around the entire room dies down and you don’t have to look up to know how many eyes are watching now.

“Sorry, sweetie,” she says with a sickly sweet tone. “You should watch where you’re going.” You pause to take a deep breath, calming the bubbling anger inside of you, and let it out in a sigh. You place your beers on a table nearby and take a napkin from one of the patrons there who is thoroughly amused with the situation and gives you a go get her look.

“You’re right,” you tell her evenly, wiping the beer from your wrists. “It’s important to be aware of your surroundings.” She spins on her barstool to face you, still smug about it. “For instance, you should take a look around and realize what kind of bar you’re in.” You keep your tone casual and throw the napkin onto the bar. “You’re actually lucky we were here when you strolled in because this place is full of people who wouldn’t think twice about putting you in the ground.” You watch the look of shock come over her face and twist into something defensive. “And that’s not me threatening you,” you tell her, cutting her off before she can even make the suggestion. “That’s just the honest to God truth.”

“Lace,” Lee speaks up behind you, having gotten up to interject, and speaks softly, but you can hear the annoyance in it. “I think it’s time you left.” Lacy finally takes the time to look around the room and realizing how many hostile eyes are on her, there’s a shade of fear that casts over her eyes. She straightens her back and raises her chin in an attempt to hide it.

She doesn’t say anything else, simply throws her purse strap over her shoulder and walks quickly to the door. Most of the patrons keep their eyes on her until the front door swings shut and then the typical bustle of chatter resumes as though nothing happened. You shake your head and retrieve the beers from where you’d left them while Lee gets his wallet out of his pocket and tosses some bills on the bar top.

“For the drink I know she didn’t pay for,” he tells Axle. Axle nods his head in thanks and sweeps up the money and the glass. You hand him the bottle with more liquid in it and clink the necks together with a smile, your anger easily disintegrating. “You know…” Lee slips between two barstools and rests his elbow on the edge or the bar. “When she tripped you, Barney told me I better go get a hold on my girl.” You take a long drink to avoid cringing. “I don’t think he was referring to Lacy.” You have to force yourself not to choke on your beer. It’s not as if you ever wanted or needed your pops’ blessing, and that certainly didn’t count as one, but a full-fledged acknowledgement is surprising. You both give a soft chuckle when you see Barney very purposefully not looking at either of you. “You wanna get out of here?” he offers. The hint of heat and excitement has risen back up in his eyes and makes your answer an easy one.

You leave the bar without saying goodbye to anyone and follow Lee out to his bike. You’d hitched a ride here with one of the other guys so you hop onto the back of his bike and wrap your arms around his waist. You’d been here before, getting a ride from him, but usually it was him taking you back to Tool’s or your pops’ and you’d relished being able to freely curl into his back. Now he’s taking the path back to his own place and while you still take pleasure in holding on tightly to him, it’s different. Now, you smile into his shoulder and see how low you can slip your grip on him before he revs the engine in warning.

“So tell me,” he says with a smirk, tossing his keys onto the little table by his door. “How bad did wish I’d bring you home one day?” You shut the door behind you and scoff at him, trying to hide the way his cocky tone sends shivers through you.

“I don’t know. How many times did you fantasize about bringing me home with you?” you counter, tilting your head at him. He turns to you and pokes his tongue to his cheek, contemplating how he wants to answer.

“More than you’re gonna hear me admit to,” he says. You think about playing coy, about tell him to show you around and ask for a beer, to draw everything out. But you’ve both danced around this for far too long. So, you walk up to him with slow steps and slide your hands underneath his unzipped leather jacket, loving the way he twitches under your touch.

“And what are you going to do now that you have me here?” You drop your voice down and flash your eyes up to meet his. He smirks at you again before grabbing your wrists. He pulls your hands off of him harshly and thrusts them up over your head and backs you into the hallway wall. He presses his body against yours and loosens his grip on your wrists to softly cradle them instead. He tilts his head and leans in.

“Whatever you fucking want.”

When he kisses you, a moan rises up, getting caught in your throat as your body tries to come off the wall and grind into him. He mixes gentle with rough in a way that makes your head spin. You’d always imagined him pinning you to a wall, but the way his fingertips trace down your arms and the softness of his kisses, surprise you and leave you wanting more.

“Lee?” Your voice is barely there. He moves his lips down to your neck and hums in response. “Take me to bed,” you tell him a little more firmly.

“Yes, ma’am.” His hands grip behind your thighs and suddenly pull your feet off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your hands wrap around his neck as he brings you away from the wall and starts to carry you towards his bedroom.

You wake up the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee and movement on the mattress. You stretch yourself out, enjoying the way the smooth sheets feel against your naked body. When you finally wake up enough to open your eyes, you see Lee next to you leaning back against the headboard, a cup of coffee in each hand.

“Morning,” he greets, motioning one cup to you. You smile and sit up, keeping the sheet close to your body as you leave the little warm spot you were in. You copy him, leaning back against the headboard before taking the cup from him.

“Good morning.” You take a slow drink, savoring the heat of it. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Lee watching you with a small smile on your face. “What?” you laugh, suddenly feeling self-conscious for the first time in years. He chuckles at you, smile widening.

“Nothing,” he assures you. “Just funny how things work out.” You smile back at him and take another drink, blaming the heat on your cheeks on the steam from the coffee. You both stay quiet for a few moments, sipping coffee and relaxing into the early morning feel. “You know…” he sighs and scrunches his face for a moment. “The bitch never even gave me the ring back.” Your mouth hangs open for a moment.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” He seems a little shocked by the small glare in your eyes.

“What?” he gapes. He shrugs and looks away from you while sweeping his hand over yours resting on the bedsheets. His thumb brushes softly back and forth over your ring finger. “I was thinking about rings. The mind wanders.” Your jaw falls again, but this time your body lightens with it. The implication is, admittedly, a little much for a first morning after, but you can’t even bite back the smile that rises onto your face.

“Thinking about rings, huh?” you tease, holding onto his hand.

“Yeah.” He shrugs again and takes another casual drink from his coffee.

“For the record,” you tell him. “You probably shouldn’t reuse engagement rings.” His face scrunches for the second time this morning and he turns his head to look at you, clearly offended.

“I would never!” he defends. “I was just saying the mind wanders!” Your cheeks are already starting to hurt from how wide your smile is. He’s always been cute when he gets offended, but seeing it in such a casual way lying in bed, just makes it better.

“Rings are overrated anyways,” you tell him, giving him a shrug of your own.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. “You ever wear one on a job? They get caught on everything. They can mess up the weight of your throw if it’s big enough. It can deglove your finger.” You both cringe. “Not sexy.” He raises an eyebrow at you and slowly turns back to his coffee.

“Never buy you a ring,” he mutters. “Got it.”

“You can buy me flowers,” you offer as an alternative. “If you’re into the whole romantic thing.”

“I’ll buy you a whole damn garden,” he says bitterly, as though buying only flowers is laughable. You squeeze his hand and laugh at him before leaning over and pressing a kiss to his unshaven cheek. His rigidness melts away and when you pull away, he looks at you softly. “The hell you doing with an old man like me?” he asks you.

“Well, right now I’m trying to see what all you’re going to buy me,” you tease, making him smile again. “But mostly I’m just enjoying the company of a really good man.” Something in his eyes softens and his smile falls away, taken aback by your words. Then he leans in and kisses you, soft and passionate and if you had any doubts about this being a one-time thing, they’re erased instantly.

“How about I make you breakfast?”

~~~

That wraps up this story! Let me know if you want to see more Christmas in the future!

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#lee christmas imagine #Lee Christmas #The Expendables #the expendables imagine

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xfandomwritingsx · 3 years

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In keeping with my sudden burst of writing motivation, I’m 3/4 of the way through finishing the final part of A Diamond Tint. It should be posted some time in the next few days.

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xfandomwritingsx · 3 years

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Hold Your Breath – Chapter Five: Helping Hands - Draco Malfoy

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Description: After decisions put you on opposite side of the war, returning to Hogwarts to finish your education proves to be challenging. Maybe closure isn’t the only thing you need from Draco.

Approx. Word Count:

A/N: Well…hello. Yes I’m still alive and working on this story. I had a hell of a time writing this chapter for no reason at all. Hopefully now that I’ve bitten the bullet and gotten it out of the way, I can get everything flowing more smoothly again.

Story Masterpost

December 1998

You arrive to Potions just a little before everyone else. The air around Hogwarts is brisk and chilled, just how you’ve grown accustom to enjoying, so you’d woken earlier than usual to take a walk around the grounds before your first class.

You take a seat at a middle table on the far side of the room. You’ve started to avoid the back rows as it feels too much like hiding but you don’t like being front and center in lessons, so you’ve found a comfort in middle and off to the side. Unpacking your bag, you take a look at the lesson board that Slughorn is still currently prepping.

The room slowly fills with more students, a slight bustle of movement and conversation coming with it. You keep your focus on the board, already pulling out a quill to jot down notes and pulling out your lesson book to flip to the correct page.

When the chair next to you is pulled from the table, you assume without looking up that someone is taking it to make a seat at another table. It’s not until there’s a body in the chair and the person is shuffling through their bag that you realize someone actually chose to sit beside you. Your confusion at this only rises when you turn your head to see the person is Draco. He doesn’t look at you or acknowledge you in any way, but you still feel a little pull in your chest as you watch him.

Then you cast your eyes around the classroom. There are still plenty of open seats which clearly means he’s purposefully chosen to sit next to you. Your heart beats a little faster and you find that pull in your chest to be a slight fear. Is anyone watching you? Do they notice him sitting here? Do they think you’re friends again?

You give a small shake to your head and face front again. What does it matter if anyone thinks you’re friends? Besides, you’re clearly not friends when there’s no greetings exchanged, right? You’re not friends.

Draco remains silent and unbothered by you when the lesson begins. Slughorn’s lecture at least takes your focus off of him and the rest of the students as you concentrate. It doesn’t take long for you to immerse yourself in the lesson and nearly forget about Draco’s presence entirely.

You’re jotting down notes, shifting your glance between your parchment and the blackboard. It’s nearly twenty minutes into the lecture when you notice words appearing on the margins of your page that you haven’t written.

Notice he said three sprigs and the book says two? Trust the book.

You recognize the handwriting immediately and you can’t help the way your head snaps to look at Draco who is still ignoring you entirely. He’s stoic enough that you second guess yourself. Maybe you’re imagining things? Curious and apprehensive, you look back to your notes. The extra bit of advice is still there, permanently inked into the parchment. You run your finger over it briefly and you’re sure it’s his.

It’s been over a year, but you still recognize it easily. Written notes had always been how you two had chosen to communicate when you were friends. You used to have books filled with notes exchanged between the two of you. Everything from jokes to flirtations to helpful tips for classes. You’re lost in thoughts and memories when more words start to fill in beneath the pads of your fingers.

Focus. He writes. No wonder you’re dreadful with potions. You’re not sure if it’s meant playfully or as a sharp jab. You used to be able to literally read his tone, but now you’re unsure and out of sync with him. It gives you a sinking feeling somewhere in your belly.

This time when you look at him from the corner of your eye, he looks back at you. He gives you a pointed look, baffled by your eyes on him. With a sharp, but subtle tilt of his head and raise of his brow, he indicates to you to face forward and listen to Slughorn’s droning. You straighten your back, clear your throat quietly, and refocus on the lesson.

Draco continues to help you throughout the lesson. He does it mostly silently through notes and small gestures, rarely actually speaking to you. The lack of spoken words makes it feel secretive, though you don’t truly believe you are meant to be hiding your interactions. It also makes it feel more personal. Understanding his directions and critiques without the use of words only serves to remind you how connected you still are with him.

He does things as small as raise an eyebrow or tap his finger onto the table and you understand exactly what he’s telling you. As he gives a stir to his cauldron, you wonder if anyone else can read him like you do. It’s not like he doesn’t have friends. You have to assume someone has picked up on his habits and behaviors.

You don’t like the way your stomach curls at the thought.

The feeling tightens and turns to a pleasurable heat as his knee knocks seemingly casually into yours beneath the table. It’s not subtle or soft and judging by the way he ignores the contact, you assume it’s an accident. But then you notice his knee barely moves away. It drifts just enough to no longer be touching you, but you can feel the edges of your pants brush against each other and it’s enough to leave you wondering if he did anything by accident.

The lesson ends just as quickly as it started, your mind having constantly run off on its own. With a swish of his wand, both his and your cauldrons are emptied as everyone around you starts to gather their things. You look once more to Draco and find him still avoiding your eyes, instead shuffling around his bag. You stand to leave, ready to go back to your room and study and try to forget about anything Draco Malfoy related.

Before you can even sweep your bag onto your shoulder, there’s a pale hand sliding a star chart across the table towards you. Surprised, you raise an eyebrow at Draco. He taps his fingers on the chart.

“I need this back by tomorrow,” he says. “Will you have enough time?” It’s not the most polite way to ask you to review his work and you have to bite your tongue to refrain from snapping back at him with a smart remark. He releases the chart and waits for your reply.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco,” is all you give him before rolling the chart up and putting it gently in your bag. You turn away to leave before he can say anything more, but you could swear there’s a slight upwards tilt in his lips.

~~~

The common room is dark and empty by the time you finish your work and pull Draco’s star chart from your bag. You had completed your assignments slower than usual, finding yourself purposefully waiting for everyone to disperse before you took it out. You choose not to examine the reasons that may be for. Maybe some other time. But not now.

His chart is almost accurate, an improvement from the last time you saw him draw one. Every time he used to bring one to you, it was always wrong. Stars were in the completely wrong quadrants. Sometimes he even had stars from the wrong hemisphere depicted. You wonder if without your aid in the subject, he’s actually started researching and learning. Either that or he found someone else to copy off of. Either is possible, you suppose.

As you mark some corrections with a colored quill, you admire his work. Draco may have been dreadful with accuracy, but his charts were always so elegant and that, you notice, hasn’t changed. His lines are graceful and effortless, varying in thickness from pressure on his quill as he no doubt flicked his wrist without thought or care. Your fingers trace the dried ink and a smile tilts at your mouth.

His natural artistry is not something too many people know about Draco. What he would call the equivalent of children’s stick figures, you’d call works of art. He used to doodle little images on his work, on your notes, even on your hand once or twice and you were always mesmerized by them.

Your fingers drift down from the dark quill strokes to a small blank corner of the parchment. The little white space of nothing gives you a little pang of nostalgia. You used to conceal little messages to each other, often on homework, that the other could reveal whenever they wanted. Occasionally, Draco would draw you a small image in the corner of the paper and while you always knew they were your favorite to reveal, you hadn’t realized how much you missed them until just now. Just another thing to add to your list of emotions when it comes to him.

You sigh and refocus on correcting his work, but when you’ve finished and his chart is filled with little bits of your handwriting to explain what you’d done, your eyes fall back to the still empty corner of the page. You look over your shoulder briefly, making sure no one is in the room and then before giving yourself time to think about you, you’re writing a small message in that corner.

The moment your quill lifts away from making the period at the end of your sentence, you feel a surge of regret. You should remove it. Use a quick charm and act like it never happened. Or you could conceal it. After all, what’s the harm in doing so? He would never see it because he’d never reveal it.

But what if he did? What if he pulls it out when he’s alone, much like you are now, and casts the same revealing charm he used to and sees your little message? The brief thought slips into a daydream. If he were to even think of using the revealing charm, it would mean he thought there was a chance you’d write something, that he was hoping for it, looking for it. You can see his little, hidden smile in your mind and the way his fingertips would dance over your writing much like yours had his chart.

The draw of the possibility is too appealing in the middle of the night. You silently talk yourself into it, calling it a risk-free decision. Either he wants you to do it or he’ll never see it. You slip your wand out of the robes you’re still wearing and whisper the incantation as you press the tip to your written words. There’s a rush in your blood and a flutter in your chest as you watch the ink slowly disappear on the parchment.

When there’s no trace of the words anymore, you feel a mix of emotions; anxiety, release, anticipation. You’re committed now though. Before you can change your mind, you roll up his star chart and put it back in your bag and prepare to go to bed with the echo of your words floating through your mind.

I miss you.

---

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xfandomwritingsx · 3 years

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Hi... long time no talk.

So... I have a goal. I’m a few hundred words away from finishing the next chapter of Hold Your Breath. And I fully intend on posting it tonight.

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xfandomwritingsx · 3 years

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Shut Up and Kiss Me - Alex Karev

Description: One night, Alex asks you an unexpected question; "You still got a thing for me?"

Warnings/Labels: None

Approx. Word Count: 1,100

A/N: I'm not expecting this to be one of my greatest hits, but god damn do I love Alex Karev and I will always be bitter about what they did to his character. But anyways... I don't know when exactly in the series this takes place. I imagine a long history between these two.

“You still got a thing for me?”

The question takes the wind right out of you, air evaporating from your lungs and causing you to choke on nothing but the pure existence of your own throat. You try to cover it up and act as though you’d swallowed a piece of the carrot you’re currently chopping, but there’s that little smirk at the corner of his lips that implies he doesn’t believe your act.

“What?” you sputter between coughs, letting go of the knife and thumping your palm flat against your chest twice.

“That a yes?” he teases, taking the chance to reach over the island and steal one of the bits of carrot while you don’t have a hold on the knife. He tosses it into his mouth and slides off the stool to slip around the counter, giving you the opportunity to try to get your blush under control before he sees it.

Because this is a question you try very hard not to think about. Because you are, in fact, afraid of the real answer. Quite literally everyone knows you harbored a major crush on Alex for the first year or two of your internship. After turning you down on multiple occasions, you’d both somehow managed to stumble your way into an unbreakable friendship. You’d been his shoulder through his divorce with Izzie, the first person he asked for when he woke up after the shooting, the one person who could help soothe away or drink away his nightmares and he, likewise, became the same person for you. When someone can’t find one of you, they call the other because it’s almost guaranteed you’ll know where they are.

Through all of that, you’ve suppressed, and sometimes even managed to forget, the butterflies you feel deep down when he smiles at you. You drink enough black coffee in the mornings to wash away the dreams you still have periodically. You throw all of yourself into relationships you know probably won’t work out and refuse to even consider it’s because you need everyone, including yourself, to believe you’re not still pining. And most days, you’re not. Most days you’re happy for him with his many girlfriends as long as they’re healthy. Most days you’re happy with him being your best friend, the person you trust with anything. Most days you don’t even think about wanting him anymore.

But now, for the first time in a long time, you’re both unattached. And for the first time ever, his fingers have skimmed over yours with an entirely different energy than they used to. There’s been a look in his eye that stirs something, that makes the air thick and weighty. You can’t deny he’s been flirty, but you’ve been denying what it could possibly mean or why he’s suddenly dragging his eyes down your body as if he’s seeing you for the first time. No. You’ve done a hell of a job of not letting your mind wander and get carried away and think what if.

“No,” you say clearly, finally able to bring air back into your lungs. He’s somewhere behind you now and you try to track his movements, but he’s too quiet. “I do not still have a thing for you.” You scoff at him for good measure and put your hand back on the knife to try to resume making dinner. You only get about two more chops in before Alex interrupts you again.

“You sure?” he asks, a little too quietly and a little too closely. There’s a drop in his tone that nearly sends shivers down your arms and you let go of the knife again. You feel the tickle of fingertips on your hip and a short burst of adrenaline runs through you.

“Of course,” you insist, spinning around to face his smug face. “Why would you even-” Your words falter as his hand envelopes your hip and he leans in, coming to be much closer than you can ever remember him being. There’s no more humor in his eyes.

“I’m asking,” he says lowly, bringing his other hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Do you still like me?” Everything inside of you flutters and you open your mouth twice before anything comes out.

“Alex,” you whisper. He can see the answer, the truth, inside of your hesitation. He can read you like a book and every miniscule thing you do, from the way you shift your weight to the way you can’t look away from his eyes, tells him everything he needs to know. When you open your mouth again, he gives the smallest shake of his head.

“Just shut up,” he tells you before sweeping into you and pressing his lips to yours. He comes forward with enough enthusiasm to force you backwards, the counter edge now pressing into your lower back and your hands curling around it to keep yourself on your feet.

A million questions run through your head, but they’re all quieted by the sound of your heart seemingly stopping and restarting violently within your chest. That kick of adrenaline surges forth again and once your balance is found, your hands are in his hair, body arching forward to press back into his. There’s a low moan and for a moment you think it must have been you, but no. It’s him. Alex moaning at the kiss, the thing you’ve wanted for so long, with such a longing as though he’s the one who’s been craving it every night, gives you a rush of courage.

Your hands slip down over his face, then neck, then around his shoulders to his back where you grab at the fabric of his t-shirt and give it a tug upwards. He smirks into the kiss and one of his hands disappears behind your back. The knife, the carrots, the cutting board all get moved out of the way, some of it falling to the floor. He grips you underneath your thighs, right under your ass, and lifts you up onto the counter. Only then does he pull away from you, but only enough to remove his shirt.

In that short break, you realize how heavily you’re panting, how tingly your skin is. Your hands are on his chest before you can even think to stop yourself. The flutter of his eyes lets you know he doesn’t mind in the least.

“Alex,” you say again as he comes forward, the last bit of your logical side trying to get his attention. This time your voice is breathless and heavy and end in a moan when his lips connect to the side of your throat. He says your name in return, husky and muffled against your skin.

“Shut. Up.” His command is punctuated with kisses. As you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him ever closer, you decide questions can wait. Right now, you’re fine with giving into him and getting what you’ve longed for.

#grey's anatomy imagine #grey's anatomy #alex karev #alex karev imagine

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xfandomwritingsx · 3 years

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I love waking up to kudos and comments on AO3. Know what I don’t like? Waking up to a comment someone posted just to tell me they don’t like/agree with what I made a character do. “They would never do that!” Really? That’s what you want to comment? How about just move along if you don’t like it. That’s not the least bit constructive and I’m not here to argue the morality of fanfictional decisions made by a guy who canonically blew up a church full of innocent people. The fandom is vast. Go find something your speed so I can enjoy my morning.

Cranky ass morning rant over.

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xfandomwritingsx · 3 years

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New Chapter Up!

Alright, I know most of y’all aren’t here for Primeval but I thought I’d just give a shout and say I posted another chapter of my Becker/Reader fic on AO3!

Give it a read here!

#captain becker #primeval #Hilary Becker #becker/reader #captain becker imagine

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xfandomwritingsx · 3 years

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His Girl – Steve Rogers – Part 2

-gif source-

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

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

Approx. Word Count: 8,500

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

Part One

---

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

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

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

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

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

Think Al Capone would have survived the snap?

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

Who knows. How’s your night going?

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

Could be better. Finally relaxing now.

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

What are you doing?

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

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

What about you?

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

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

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

Missing home… Missing you.

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

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

Wish I could have come with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good thing I like you on top of me.

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

Oh yeah? Anything else in particular you like?

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

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

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

Want to know what I like?

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

Yes.

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

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

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

Send me another picture. Please.

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

Since you asked so nicely.

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

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

Another text comes through from him.

Was that too far?

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

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

Good. I was worried maybe you had second thoughts.

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

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

His response is quick.

Some things are better seen in person.

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

Is that an offer?

Absolutely.

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

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

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

Maybe one day you’ll find out.

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

Get your ass back home Cap.

You can almost hear his chuckle in your ear.

So needy babygirl.

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

Need you.

Say the word and you have me.

He follows up almost instantly with another text.

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

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

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

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

Goodnight, babygirl. Be home soon.

I can’t wait. Goodnight, Steve.

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

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

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

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

One unread text from Steve Rogers sent thirteen minutes ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you, Steve.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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