I began my journey as a reader, immersing myself in the worlds others created. From there, I became an enthusiastic liker, appreciating and engaging with content that resonated with me. Soon, I found myself commenting on pieces I loved, sharing my thoughts and encouraging creators. Reblogging came naturally, as I wanted to share the amazing work I discovered from others.
I believe in the power of support and encouragement, celebrating the creativity of others while finding joy in my own creative way.
AN: for @societynsoelsscribbles June Jukebox Scribbles, day 9, “Like when you said you felt so happy you could die.” Divider courtesy of @saradika-graphics.
AN2: The people requested again and I answered! A continuation of Smile for the Camera,Fair’s Fair and For Your Girl.
Warnings: nothing explicit or graphic, but there are mentions of discussing sexual history and implied getting tested for STIs. Also explicit language.
You and Bucky had spent weeks talking and getting to know one another aside from you performing for him. You exchanged sexual history and testing results. All in the clear on both ends.
This was the night— the one you’d both been teasing and pining over for weeks. Meeting in person, no screen between you.
You went all out for the occasion. You bought a stupidly expensive lingerie set. It made you feel like pure sin wrapped in luxury. You fixed up your hair, put on a little makeup, dabbed your perfume on all the spots you wanted his mouth on.
The lights in your apartment were set to low and warm, a vanilla candle burning. You’re sipping wine when the knock finally comes — firm, three quick raps.
You pad over barefoot and open the door.
There he is. Bucky Barnes. In the flesh.
He is devastatingly handsome: dark hair still a little damp from a likely shower, red henley stretched across his broad chest, jeans hugging those thick thighs. The second his blue eyes land on you in that expensive little set, they go dark and hungry.
“Jesus fucking Christ, doll,” he breathes, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind him. His metal hand is already sliding around your waist like he can’t wait another second. “You really wore that for me?”
You nod and bite your lip.
“You have no idea how bad I’ve been aching for this,” he murmurs, voice rough and low against your ear before moving to your mouth, brushing his lips against yours.
You laugh softly, nipping at his bottom lip. “Now you’re here… so what are you gonna do about it, Barnes?”
i love how you strikethrough the admission that you know perfectly well we are going to request additional fics in this universe. I want to know what happens after the night. Does she continue camming?
AN: for @societynsoelsscribbles June Jukebox Scribbles, day 8, “I feel a premonition.” Divider courtesy of @saradika-graphics.
AN2: The people requested and I answered! A continuation of Smile for the Camera and Fair’s Fair. Smut below the cut.
Warnings: it’s camming, so NSFW for sexually explicit content including male and female masturbation, dirty talk, use of a sex toy.
“Show me how you’d take my cock.”
Your hands tremble with need as you slick the realistic silicone toy with lube. You position the camera lower, your eyes locked on the screen where Bucky’s sprawled in his apartment, metal arm gleaming as he fists his massive erection. Pre-cum beads at the tip, his strokes slow and deliberate, thumb circling the head on every upstroke. God, you’re already so wet. The sight of his cock makes your mouth water. You can almost feel the ache in your jaw trying to get all of him in.
You press the dildo against your soaked entrance, teasing your folds like he commanded. “Like this, Bucky?” you moan, pushing it in inch by inch. The stretch burns so good, your tits heaving as you arch your back. Your free hand rolls a stiff nipple, hips rocking to work the toy deeper.
“Fuck yes, just like that,” Bucky groans, pumping his cock faster now.
You’re fully seated on the dildo now. You smile wickedly, trailing a finger down your sternum. Your eyes lock on Bucky’s movements.
“Imagine it’s my tight, wet mouth sucking you down. Spit on it for me, Bucky. Get it nice and sloppy.”
He obeys with a filthy curse, spitting into his palm before gliding that slick grip up and down his shafts
His metal fingers tighten around the base while his flesh hand works the shaft, long, firm strokes that make wet, obscene sounds. His abs flex and clench, eyes hooded and hungry on your dripping pussy clenching around the dildo.
“Think about burying this fat cock in my dripping cunt instead of your fist. I’d ride you so good, squeezing every inch…”
“Ride it, sweetheart. Pretend it’s me splitting you open. God, look at that pretty cunt taking every inch.”
You obey, thrusting the toy in and out in time with his strokes, fast, deep, angling it to hit that perfect spot. Your other hand frantically rubs your swollen clit, thighs quivering, moans spilling louder.
“Bucky…fuck, I’m so close…”
He matches your pace, fist flying, veins standing out on his forearm. “Come with me, doll. Let me see you fall apart.”
“Come for me, Bucky,” you beg. “Stroke that cock like you’re fucking me raw. Do it, baby, let go. Explode for your girl.”
Bucky’s voice cracks into a filthy groan as his cock pulses, thick ropes of cum shooting across his abs and chest.
The sight sends you over, your walls clamp down hard on the dildo, back bowing as the orgasm rips through you. You cry out his name, juices soaking your sheets, body shaking through every wave while he milks himself dry.
Meanwhile Bucky keeps stroking through his own peak, eyes locked on you.
“Such a good boy,” you purr. “I feel a premonition… next stream, you’re coming over for the real thing.”
Warnings: Married fluff, interrupted intimacy, parenting chaos
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles connected to this and this
Prompt: June 9th - “Like when you said you felt so happy you could die.”
Bucky kissed you like the morning would go on forever. Slow. Warm. With just that little bit of hunger behind it, his hand holding your cheek and the other curled around your hip, dragging you closer under the blankets. His hair was sleep-mussed, his jaw rough against your cheek. But when he made that low, pleased sound when your fingers slipped into it, you almost moaned.
“Door’s locked?” he murmured against your mouth.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Kids still asleep?”
“Should be.” That was as far as hope got.
Something crashed down the hall. A small voice shouted, “I didn’t do it!”
A second voice immediately yelled, “YES YOU DID!”
You and Bucky froze, mouths still touching.
Then came a thump.
Silence….The terrible kind.
Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose. “Nope.”
“Nope,” you agreed, already laughing into his shoulder.
He rolled onto his back with the long-suffering sigh of a man denied by his own offspring far too many times. “Remember how excited we were when they were on the way?”
You propped yourself up on one elbow, grinning. “Like when you said you felt so happy you could die?”
“Yeah.” He stared at the ceiling. “Turns out that feeling isn’t infinite...” he joked
You smacked his chest, laughing. “Bucky.”
“What? I love them. I would die for them.” Another suspicious bang sounded. His eyes closed. “I just didn’t think it’d hoping death would be before breakfast.”
You kissed his shoulder. “We’ll be sorry when they’re older and don’t need us.”
His expression softened at that, even as another shout echoed down the hall.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We will.”
Then something shattered.
Bucky sat up quickly. “But today ain’t that day.”
You watched him grab sweatpants, grumbling as he went.
“Remember we love them!” You called as he went out the door.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x F!Reader
WC: ~2.5k
Warnings: MDNI | Established relationship | Domestic fluff | Cavity-causing Fluff | Language | Hot supersoldiers alert | Admiring Steve chopping wood | Shirtless Supersoldiers | Protective Supersoldiers| Threesome | A tad bit of smut | Poly relationship | Unbeta'd | Littleshit supersoldiers on the loose | Protective! Supersoldiers | Supersoldier Sandwich | Soft!dom Steve | Soft!dom Bucky | Lemme know if I'm missing anything.
A/N: Thanks for the ask, my love. For some reason, I'm unable to reply to your ask @anika-ann So here is what you kindled. You've unleashed my writing flow. Forever grateful for ya, my sweet. 💗😊 Writing my first fic after a looooooooooooong time. Good gosh it's been a year or so...Kindly bear with me! This is also my submission for Vivifying Valentine's Atelier | Prompt: Tease me and see where that'll get you. And, submission for Steve Rogers Bingo Round 5 | C-3 | @steverogersbingo
Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist
Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!
Indulge Away!
Stupid dumb dipshit!
It was near about an hour, and he was still going on.
Feeling trapped in a circular, exhausting debate that felt like it was draining the very marrow from your bones, you were screaming internally. The senior tech lead, a man whose ego was clearly larger than the size of the compound was currently dissecting your calculations for the thermal arrays.
As he spoke, you felt a hot, prickly irritation crawl over your skin.
Every time he said, "Well, actually, if you understood the dynamics..." a new knot of frustration twisted in your chest, teetering on the edge of a jagged explosion. You found yourself staring at the glass casing of the thermal cooler, genuinely wondering if you could shove his giant head inside it if he mansplained one more time.
You were tired AF.
Then, the heavy pressurized doors hissed open. You didn't even look up at first, assuming it was another intern bringing more bad news. But then, the room went unnaturally silent and you looked up.
Steve Rogers Captain America stepped in.
The tech lead actually took a physical step back, his bravado evaporating the moment Steve's shadow fell over him.
"Excuse me," Steve said. The frequency of his voice seemed to vibrate right through the frantic noise in your head, obliterating half of your stress instantly. He didn't even acknowledge the other man's existence. His blue eyes locked onto yours, softening with a look of deep, observant concern.
"Can I talk to you for a second?"
You blinked, your brain struggling to switch gears from liquid cooling to your man.
"Steve? I'm right in the middle of a…" You gestured vaguely at the mess of schematics. It was a damned meeting you'd been praying to escape for hours, but the professional guilt still clung to you.
"It's kinda urgent," he repeated, his eyebrows scrunched in a way that made your heart jump. You quickly gave a once-over. He looked alright. Your mind immediately went to Bucky…was he hurt? Was there a mission that you were not aware of? You'd been so busy you felt like floating through the days. Without another word to the stunned tech lead, you excused yourself and followed Steve into the hallway.
As soon as the doors closed behind you, Steve turned immediately, his large hand winding around your waist to pull you into his space. You stumbled slightly, steadying yourself with your hands flat against his firm chest.
"Steve, what's going on? Is everything…"
"You look like you're about to snap in half," he murmured, cutting you off. He reached up, his thumb grazing the pulse point at the base of your throat, feeling the frantic rhythm of your lingering adrenaline. "Bucky's downstairs. The car is packed. We're leaving."
"Steve, I can't," you protested, your hands flying up to gesture wildly at the door you'd just exited. "We're a week behind on the next design phase, and if I don't finish figuring things out, the whole project stalls…"
"You've got five minutes," he interrupted.
His voice dropped an octave, shifting into that 'Captain' tone, the one that had led armies. It wrapped around you like an unyielding vine. It was a gentle warning, but a warning nonetheless.
"Go back in there, tell them what they need to know for the weekend. If you aren't out by the time the clock hits five, I'm coming back in there and putting you over my shoulder. I don't care who's watching."
You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him about the deadlines and the arrays, but the steady, burning look in his eyes stopped the words cold. He wasn't joking. He was perfectly willing to carry you through a building full of high-ranking scientists.
"Five minutes," he reminded you, stepping back just enough to let you move, though his gaze never left your face. He leaned in one last time, a mischievous glint glimmering in his eyes. "Personally? I'd love an excuse to come back in and get you."
You rolled your eyes, a reluctant, exhausted smile finally breaking through the stress. You knew when you were beaten, and you were beaten long ago. Turning back toward the door, you prepared to give the tech lead the shortest briefing of his life.
Bucky was leaning against the driver's side door, looking far too relaxed in that blue Henley.
As you reached him, trailing behind Steve with your arms crossed and a pout that was mostly performative at this point, Bucky reached out. He cupped your jaw, tilting your face up.
"Thought for sure you'd be coming out over his shoulder," Bucky chuckled, as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss.
"I would've been if I stayed one second longer," you grumbled, though the fight was rapidly draining out of you.
Steve's grin widened, triumphant and impossibly bright as he tossed your laptop bag into the car. He looked back at Bucky, clapping a hand on the roof of the SUV.
"Told ya," he said, his voice brimming with that insufferable lift. "Five-minute warning worked like a charm. Didn't even have to break out the tactical carry."
"You need a break, sweetheart, and that's that." Bucky reaffirmed.
"I'm just outnumbered," you muttered against his chest as he pulled you into a quick, rib-crushing hug.
"Correct," Bucky murmured, already steering you toward the open passenger door with a smirk. "Now get in the car before Steve decides he wants to jog to the cabin and pull us there himself."
Steve scoffed, pulling you in for a kiss.
Charming idiots.
The transition from the sterile tension of the lab to the silence of the woods was almost jarring. As the SUV crunched over the last stretch of gravel, the cabin emerged from the treeline like something pulled from a dream--surreal, secluded, and perfect. Just stunningly perfect.
The structure was a beautiful contradiction of rugged timber and soft, inviting light. On the north side, the forest seemed to be trying to reclaim it; thick, ancient branches of hemlock and oak draped over the roof like a heavy green velvet cloak, shielding it from the rest of the world.
On the south side, the cabin opened up to a sprawling stone patio. It was laid with irregular flags of slate that still held the dying warmth of the afternoon sun. A set of Adirondack chairs sat perched near a fieldstone fire pit, overlooking a steep drop that revealed a breathtaking view of the valley below, now swathed in the purple haze of twilight.
Heavenly.
It was chilly, biting at your cheeks with a crispness that tasted of damp earth and pine resin. Every time you inhaled, the cold felt like it was scrubbing the scent of recycled office air out of your lungs. Your breathing finally leveled out, smoothing into a steady, deep cadence. For the first time in weeks, the only "thermal array" you had to worry about was the heat of the hearth waiting for you inside.
You gasped at the beauty of it all. As you looked around amazed at the scenary, Bucky decided to give you a piggyback ride and who in the right mind would say no to that.
As soon you stepped in, you were carried straight to the bedroom.
In no time, you were stripped and spread between your two men.
"One more, Plum, you can give us one more," Bucky groaned, his thrusts deepening.
You shook your head, whimpering in pleasure.
"She will, Buck," Steve rasped against your neck, pulling your thighs wider for Bucky to grind deliciously against you. With your back to Steve's front, he easily wrapped an arm around your throat, pulling your head up to give you a kiss.
You cried out loud as Bucky decided it was the moment to suck on your tit. In mere seconds, you were falling apart. Bucky groaned, pulling your face close to look you in the eye as he came.
"So pretty, babygirl," he whispered, tugging you into his arms and you let him. Their intoxicating smell wafting around you and the fire crackling in the hearth put you asleep in mere seconds.
You lay there, head smushed on Bucky's chest, limbs tangled between Steve's thighs, and fingers clutching onto Steve's hand, which was wrapped around your waist. They had cleaned you up and put on a soft, oversized t-shirt.
Steve waited a full five minutes after your eyes closed before he dared to move, gently tucking the edge of the blanket around your chin. "Look at her," he whispered, his voice thick with affection wrapped in worry. "You should've seen her in that lab, Buck. I thought she was going to bite that guy's head off."
Bucky let out a silent huff of a laugh, his chest vibrating against your back. He adjusted his arm protectively wrapping you more closer to him weight across your waist.
"Look at those eyebags, she's fucking sapped," Bucky whispered.
"Stubborn as a mule," Steve said, moving closer.
"You mean to say as stubborn as you?" Bucky raised a brow.
Steve rolled his eyes, scoffing weakly.
Bucky snorted, the sound raspy in the quiet room. "Don't you start, Punk. With all the 'I can do this all day.' Where do you think she learned that it's okay to run yourself into the ground?"
"I am not that stubborn," Steve countered, though his protest was weak.
"Right," Bucky whispered, his eyes gleaming with fond exasperation in the firelight. "Honestly, Steve, between the two of you, I'm the only reasonable one in this relationship."
Steve raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at Bucky, "Reasonable? You're the one who wanted to barge in and beat the shit out of the people worrying her."
"Hey," Bucky muttered defensively, his jaw tightening slightly before he softened again, looking down at you.
Steve reached over, his hand resting briefly on Bucky's shoulder, bridging the gap over your sleeping form. "Well, she's here now."
"Yeah," Bucky murmured, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cushion. "Mission accomplished."
Bucky had breakfast ready the moment you'd stepped through the door. You tried to sidestep him, your mind still buzzing with the phantom sleep and the orgasms, but Bucky was faster. With a low, rumbling hum of disagreement, he snagged your waist, his large hand anchoring you before he effortlessly pulled you back and settled you firmly onto his lap.
"I'm not hungry, Buck," you insisted, your voice small as you tried to wiggle away from the heat of his chest.
"Oh, I'm not asking, Plum," he countered, his voice a smooth, gravelly command that brooked no argument. He picked up the fork, his metal fingers glinting under the kitchen lights as he held a perfect bite toward you. "Now open your mouth."
Your protests were wild, a flurry of "I'm fine" and "maybe later," but he simply waited you out with that steady, unimpressed gaze until you finally gave in. You let him feed you, one bite at a time.
"Good girl," Bucky murmured with a soft, satisfied smile, leaning in to press a warm kiss to your cheek the moment the plate was clear.
"What's he up to?" you asked, glancing toward the empty hallway, curious about the sudden lack of your other man.
"He's outside," Bucky said, shifting his weight comfortably beneath you. "Chopping some wood."
Your eyebrows shot up instantly, a devious spark lighting up your eyes as you realized exactly what that entailed. "And we're sitting here and missing out?" you asked, a breathless chuckle escaping you as you started to scramble off his lap. "Absolutely not. Let's go."
Bucky let out a short, rhythmic snicker, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched your sudden surge of energy. "Yes, ma'am," he said, offering no resistance as you grabbed his hand and began dragging him toward the door, eager to find where the sound of the axe was echoing through the trees.
You and Bucky settled on the weathered, wooden porch stairs. You leaned into him, your shoulder tucking under his, and he didn't hesitate, draping his thick arm around you, his thumb tracing absentminded circles over your arm as he rested his cheek against the top of your head.
Steve stood planted, his legs set wide for stability, the heavy splitting maul resting momentarily on the block. His skin is already gleaming, a light sheen of sweat catching the warm light, accentuating the deep, familiar contours of his physique...the broad slope of his shoulders, the thick ropes of his biceps, and the V-taper leading to his waist.
Good lord!
With an easy grace, he hoisted the maul high. The muscles across his back bunched and tightened. Muscles so fucking defined that it made you want to climb him up. He paused for a heartbeat at the apex before unleashing the downward swing with smooth power.
The maul dropped with brutal speed, hitting the dead center of the log. There's a sharp CRACK that echoed off the trees, and the two halves of the log spring apart symmetrically, landing neatly at his feet. Steve barely broke the rhythm. Before the sound even faded, he'd bent down to hoist the next piece of oak onto the block. He took a breath, his chest expanding, a slight ripple passing through his abdominal muscles as he readied the maul once more. The fragrance of pine resin and freshly split wood drifted thick on the cool air, mingling with the primal scent of your soldier.
Fuckin' hell!
What did you do to deserve your godly men? You were a lucky bitch, alright.
"Here to help me?" Steve asked, his voice carried effortlessly through the clearing. He didn't stop his rhythm. He reached down, calloused fingers hooking into a fresh log of oak, and hoisted it onto the stump with a grunt of effort that made the muscles in his forearms cord like steel cable.
Show off.
"No," you said, a traitorous giggle bubbling up as you watched the way the rising sun caught the sheen of sweat on his shoulder blades. You tucked your chin closer to Bucky's chest, hiding a devious smirk. "We're strictly here for the entertainment. It's a very high-quality show."
Steve paused, the heavy splitting maul resting near his boots. He looked over his shoulder, squinting against the golden hour light, his hair tousled and damp against his forehead. "You coming, Buck? Or are you just going to sit there with our girl and objectify me?"
Bucky didn't move an inch. He just squeezed you a little tighter, his chest vibrating with a low, rumbling chuckle. "What she said," he jested, his voice raspy and relaxed. He tilted his head, eyeing Steve's form with an appreciative sort of mischief. "Besides, you look fine without my help. Real fine."
"Real fine," you echoed with a dramatic, dreamy sigh, letting your head fall back against Bucky's shoulder so you could take in the full view of Steve's V-tapered back.
Steve let out a huff. With one final, fluid motion, he brought the maul down, burying the blade deep into the heart of the last log with a final, echoing thud. He left it there, the handle quivering, and turned fully toward the porch.
He stood there for a moment, chest heaving with the exertion, hands settling on his hips. He was flushed from the work, his skin glowing in the amber light, but it was the stupidly cute, lopsided smile on his face that really did you in.
"Tease me and see where that'll get you," he declared, his voice dropping into that low, 'Captain' register that usually made people stand at attention, but here, it was a playful promise.
That, of course, was all the permission you and Bucky needed. The teasing only intensified as Steve finally bridged the gap between the chopping block and the porch, smelling of fresh wood shavings and salt. He didn't just give you a good time, he showed you a real fine time.
Well? 😏
Take a moment to reblog if you enjoyed reading it. 🥹
Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!
It's a bit short, and we are still moving in the story, but it's important for Alfie and his wife's family.
There was a very simple code between Thomas and Y/N when he called her.
If he asked how she was, if he mentioned a family meeting, if he seemed troubled, she could talk to her husband about it. If he announced that Ada had invited her for tea, it meant a private gathering, without Ada, or anyone else, whose existence Alfie mustn't know about.
Y/N had sighed when her brother had called.
She had hesitated to remind him that she was pregnant, and that it would be difficult for her to travel to Birmingham, not only because of her morning sickness, but because her husband would be completely against the idea.
The poor man lost all control the moment she sneezed, throwing himself at her feet and demanding a doctor, ready to give his life in exchange for hers.
Not wanting to lie, she had managed to find a compromise by arranging for Tommy to come to London at a time when Alfie was busy at the Bakery. The men watching the house would see him, but there would be nothing odd about her brother paying her a visit.
Explaining Aberama Gold's presence, however, would be more complicated.
She didn't know him well, Thomas had called him when he'd had some trouble with the Irish. She knew his son was a good boxer who had faced Alfie's nephew in a fixed match. If her brother had summoned him, it must be very important, but not dangerous for her.
In any case, the man seemed moved when he saw her stomach, congratulating her in Romanian and suddenly apologetic for her presence.
Y/N invited them to sit down, offering them a cup of tea. There was coffee or water if he preferred, but any other type of beverage had been banned from the house by her husband.
She then waited for Thomas to begin speaking, but he simply lit a cigarette while looking at Aberama.
"Perhaps we shouldn't have come." the guest muttered, wincing.
"You insisted, Mr. Gold. And as I told you, it would have been better to ask my sister, rather than Mr. Solomons directly."
"Can you explain ?"
"Mr. Gold's son is dead. Murdered."
There was so much sadness in Aberama Gold's eyes that Y/N had to restrain herself from hugging him and from crying. Stupid hormones.
She offered him her sincerest condolences. Bonnie seemed like a good boy who didn't deserve to end up like this. This, however, didn't explain what he was doing here, or what his connection to Alfie was.
"Do you know if he knows the Billy Boys ?" Thomas asked, seeing that the other man wouldn't dare go through with it.
"The Billy Boys ? I've never heard of them."
"A gang of Irish, wild, violent."
"I could try asking him discreetly, but he's mostly been doing business with the French and Americans lately. Too complicated to know who's Irish and who's Irish, as he likes to say. Were they the ones who killed Bonnie ?"
"Yes. Someone sold us out."
Of course.
It wasn't a secret, everyone knew that Alfie had sold the Peaky Blinders to the Italians. Once. He would have had many other opportunities to do so, but he had married Y/N, which had given him a good reason to be loyal to the whole family.
From what she understood of their conversation, Tommy knew the traitor wasn't his brother-in-law. The suspicions stemmed from Aberama, who, after accusing everyone in Birmingham, had turned his attention to those who remained and whom he barely knew.
Unable to take Shelby's word for it, he had wanted to confront Solomons directly. To avoid bloodshed, he was therefore turning to her.
"I should add that these Billy Boys often serve as bodyguards in the North for certain political rallies. Sir Mosley's in particular."
"Sir Mosley ? Oswald Mosley ?"
"Yes."
"… The fascist ?"
She apologized afterward, several times, but at that moment, when she turned to Alberama Gold, who was staring intently at her, she couldn't suppress her laughter. It made her brother smile too, even though he tried to hide it behind his hand.
Alfie. Alfie Solomons and Osward Mosley.
He could have come to this meeting, he could have laughed too, and he wouldn't have done any harm to this grieving father who hadn't taken the time to think before making accusations.
"Mr. Gold, I can assure you that my husband, the Wandering Jew, is in no way associated with the fascists."
"… Oh." was Aberama's reply, who then looked at his host with surprise and a touch of perplexity, because that simple sentence would have been enough to dispel all doubts. Thomas must have needed to amuse himself.
"However, Tommy, I heard you've had some meetings with this Sir Mosley. Well, Alfie heard it, and it's really upsetting him. I already have a baby in my belly, I don't need practice with an adult version. Tell me you're not doing business with him."
"Trust me, little sister. I think of you every time I have to talk to that individual."
Knowing her brother well, Y/N didn't press the issue, only getting up to kiss him on the cheek. He did his best not to smile, but she could see he was tired. Whatever was going on with this Mosley, it wasn't good.
Alfie didn't ask about the visitors who had dropped by during his absence, assuming she would tell him if it was important and when she was ready.
"My brother's a jerk."
"Ah. I didn't know that, treacle." he said, half-asleep trying to hear the baby move, his head resting on his wife's stomach.
"But he's a good guy at heart."
"I kind of suspected that, though he'd rip my eyes out if I dared say it in public."
He knew what she meant, what she was talking about, without saying a word. It was also a very simple code between Alfie and Y/N. They trusted each other completely, so there was no need to go into details unless the other was truly worried.
One small exception, of which she was unaware, was that this code no longer worked during her pregnancy, and Alfie called Thomas directly in case of any problem, so as not to stress her out.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader
Authors note: here goes my next entry for the June Jukebox Scribbles event.
June 4th June 4th - Right Place, Wrong Time - Dr. John / “But I'm having such a good time”
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Warnings: SMUT 18+
Word Count: 300
Summary: it's kinda my version of why it went poorly when Bucky spoke to Sam about the New Avengers 😅. Bucky thinks he can tease you during an important breefing until you find him during a video call with Sam...
“The extraction point is here,” you tap with your finger on your padlet, and an image appears on the screen at the end of the room.
All heads turn toward it. All but one. Bucky sits next to you, looking far too innocent for the way his metal hand is sliding up your inner thigh under the long table.
“There are several retreat routes…,” your voice suddenly takes a higher pitch and you choke as his fingers brush higher, teasing the edge of your panties.
Fuck, wearing a skirt to the breefing was definitely a mistake.
You glance at him with a pleading face. The smug look he gives you makes your hand itch to smack him if only the whole team wouldn’t be here to witness it.
You grab a scrap of paper, scribble something and slide it toward him.
Stop!
Bucky reads, writes something back and flicks the note your way.
But I'm having such a good time.
The video call has just started as you slip inside the small meeting room. Bucky raises his eyes from the screen and waves dismissingly.
You almost turn around to leave but then stop suddenly. There is just a moment of hesitation before you drop to your knees and crawl under the desk.
“It’s not really about the copyright, Sam, isn’t it…,” Bucky’s voice suddenly fades into a sharp gasp as you settle between his spread thighs and unzip his pants.
You smile wickedly as Bucky’s metal hand grips the armrest. He’s already half-hard when you pull him free.
“Stop it,” he hisses under his breath, muting his mic for half a second.
You look up at him through your lashes.
“But I’m having such a good time,” you whisper and drag your tongue slowly up the underside of his cock.
word count. 1032
summary. tangerine takes his family on a little holiday to the west country during a heatwave. he’s not one for hot weather and turns into a particularly grouchy lobster.
note. tan my wife!!!! didn’t realised how much I missed writing him. just had to include mandy as it’s been so long (btw if people don’t know, mandy is tangerines daughter) mandy is short for mandarin… mandarin… tangerine
requested by @kpopgirlbtssvt ask is at the bottom of the post.
Hot weather is something of a luxury in this country, though some would hardly call it a luxury — some would refer to it as a misery. Tangerine was one of those kinds of people. Whenever a blistering annual heatwave rolls around, he turns into that very same angry red lobster that cannot seem to regulate himself. You'd have thought that with these thirty-some years, he'd have learnt how by now. But that's just not the case.
Every year around summertime, he and his would brother take some time off work — it'll always be a couple weeks booked off to spend with you, and more recently, your daughter also. And with Mandy failing to stay the same tiny two year old that she once was, Tangerine deems it now most important to cultivate memories. That's what the summer is about.
For the last few days, you'd all been staying at a quaint B&B in the west country, a cosy cottage to accommodate you all on your little beach holiday. You were nearing your last full day, and to say that Tangerine was putting on face, was an understatement. He was clearly over it, but pretended otherwise for the sake of his girls — both you and Mandy.
Though you know him well, you know he's grown tired of this trip. Nothing of a result of you, nor his brother, simply the fact that he could no longer take the heat. He had burnt a fair bit this week, his shoulders a shade of red that surely worried you. It's those very english genes of his.
You're all on the a near desolate, hidden beach set up under an umbrella. Mandy sits at the end of your lounger, her attention locked on the mechanics of your sunglasses — her focus opposing yours. You study the back of your husband, stifling a smile as you stare at the phallic shape his brother had branded onto him with suncream earlier this week.
"What?" Tangerine asks, feeling the weight of your eyes on him. He peers over his shoulder to look at you behind him, salted, beach curls framing his face in the most perfect of ways. "What's so funny?"
You stiffen your face, and straighten your lips. "Huh?"
"Ha," he laughs sarcastically. "D'you find that massive nob on my back amusing or something?"
"We have young ears present," you scold, eyeing your daughter who has since moved on to chewing at the corners of her armbands. "What'd we agree about using that word?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. The pasty white willy on my back," he exaggerates dramatically, eyes theatrical with their movement.
You chew on the inners of your cheeks so as not to acknowledge the amusement you found in his rewording. "That's better, thank you."
Tangerine turns his attention away and to his daughter, eyes leaving yours as they grow in further adoration at the spitting image of him that sits between your knees. "Why is your mummy always telling me off, huh, Mands?" he questions her, face playful to match that of your daughters.
"You can't bad mouth me to our kid. That's not how that works."
"Yeah well, I'm sweaty and annoyed, I can say whatever I want," he picks Mandy up and settles her on one of his knee, propping her up as he wipes in the suncream you had not long applied. "Can't I, poppet?" he coos at her.
Though Mandy turns to look back at you, and so you decide to speak to your husband through her. Just like he did a moment ago, only you're allowed to do such a thing — your body made her. That gives you the right, you believe.
"Looks like daddy's sleeping on the sofa tonight," your voice soft and playful. "Ain't that right, munchkin?"
The sunhat nearly covers the top half of her face, but still she giggles, finding entertainment your tone.
You scrunch your nose at her as you smile, giving her an enthused nod. "That's right," you turn to meet the displeased face of your husband and shrug playfully. "You can't argue with that face, love."
"Yeah, well," Tangerine scoffs, and shakes his head — trying to get the last word, only he had nothing to say.
Fortunately for himself, Lemon has begun to make his way over to you all from his extensive time in the sea — doughnut floatie around his hips, exotic and neon tropical shorts sat beneath. His taste far brighter than his brotherly counterpart of blacks and navies.
"Why aren't you fuckers in the sea?" he calls out, hands either side of his mouth as if to amply his already booming voice.
Tangerine sets Mandy aside, placing her on the sand in front of a shovel and bucket. "You'll get a slap for that," Tangerine warns, gesturing back to you with his thumb.
When Lemon finally reaches you all, he stops just beside his brother, standing over him almost menacingly. He taunts him for a moment, extending his dripping arm to hang over his brother — droplets of salt water falling from his fingers and atop Tan's head. Lemon then goes with his thoughts of impulse and shakes himself, flicking cold specks of water over his very burnt, very cranky brother.
Though your husband decides against retaliation and rejects a reaction — he's simply in no mood with the sun behaving the way that it is today.
Lemon instead chooses to prod, quite literally. He pokes at his brother's burns and snickers, finding humour in the drawing on Tangerine's back he's since forgotten. "How you liking that dick? Bet you're not used to having such a massive nob, hm?
You knew better than to react, knew it best to keep out of brotherly bickering; especially with these two. You instead reach into the cooler at your side and pull out a few drinks and sandwiches that you had prepared before leaving this morning. Food was a good deflection, you thought, rather, you hoped.
And so you pass around tin-foiled baguettes, handing them to either brother with contents of their preferred fillings. Like you'd planned it, they grow quiet — the squabbling ceasing as you all enjoy your lunch to the sounds of lapping waves.
Screaming and exploding with joy rn! THIS IS SO CUTE OMG. Dad!Tan my beloved omg 💗💗💗Everything about how domestic this is and also the humor???!!
The way you write Lemon is so great! He's so so so funny
"Why aren't you fuckers in the sea?"
^This moment had me laughing out loud lmao, I could hear it in my head.
Lemon instead chooses to prod, quite literally. He pokes at his brother's burns and snickers, finding humour in the drawing on Tangerine's back he's since forgotten. "How you liking that dick? Bet you're not used to having such a massive nob, hm?
word count. 1032
summary. tangerine takes his family on a little holiday to the west country during a heatwave. he’s not one for hot weather and turns into a particularly grouchy lobster.
note. tan my wife!!!! didn’t realised how much I missed writing him. just had to include mandy as it’s been so long (btw if people don’t know, mandy is tangerines daughter) mandy is short for mandarin… mandarin… tangerine
requested by @kpopgirlbtssvt ask is at the bottom of the post.
Hot weather is something of a luxury in this country, though some would hardly call it a luxury — some would refer to it as a misery. Tangerine was one of those kinds of people. Whenever a blistering annual heatwave rolls around, he turns into that very same angry red lobster that cannot seem to regulate himself. You'd have thought that with these thirty-some years, he'd have learnt how by now. But that's just not the case.
Every year around summertime, he and his would brother take some time off work — it'll always be a couple weeks booked off to spend with you, and more recently, your daughter also. And with Mandy failing to stay the same tiny two year old that she once was, Tangerine deems it now most important to cultivate memories. That's what the summer is about.
For the last few days, you'd all been staying at a quaint B&B in the west country, a cosy cottage to accommodate you all on your little beach holiday. You were nearing your last full day, and to say that Tangerine was putting on face, was an understatement. He was clearly over it, but pretended otherwise for the sake of his girls — both you and Mandy.
Though you know him well, you know he's grown tired of this trip. Nothing of a result of you, nor his brother, simply the fact that he could no longer take the heat. He had burnt a fair bit this week, his shoulders a shade of red that surely worried you. It's those very english genes of his.
You're all on the a near desolate, hidden beach set up under an umbrella. Mandy sits at the end of your lounger, her attention locked on the mechanics of your sunglasses — her focus opposing yours. You study the back of your husband, stifling a smile as you stare at the phallic shape his brother had branded onto him with suncream earlier this week.
"What?" Tangerine asks, feeling the weight of your eyes on him. He peers over his shoulder to look at you behind him, salted, beach curls framing his face in the most perfect of ways. "What's so funny?"
You stiffen your face, and straighten your lips. "Huh?"
"Ha," he laughs sarcastically. "D'you find that massive nob on my back amusing or something?"
"We have young ears present," you scold, eyeing your daughter who has since moved on to chewing at the corners of her armbands. "What'd we agree about using that word?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. The pasty white willy on my back," he exaggerates dramatically, eyes theatrical with their movement.
You chew on the inners of your cheeks so as not to acknowledge the amusement you found in his rewording. "That's better, thank you."
Tangerine turns his attention away and to his daughter, eyes leaving yours as they grow in further adoration at the spitting image of him that sits between your knees. "Why is your mummy always telling me off, huh, Mands?" he questions her, face playful to match that of your daughters.
"You can't bad mouth me to our kid. That's not how that works."
"Yeah well, I'm sweaty and annoyed, I can say whatever I want," he picks Mandy up and settles her on one of his knee, propping her up as he wipes in the suncream you had not long applied. "Can't I, poppet?" he coos at her.
Though Mandy turns to look back at you, and so you decide to speak to your husband through her. Just like he did a moment ago, only you're allowed to do such a thing — your body made her. That gives you the right, you believe.
"Looks like daddy's sleeping on the sofa tonight," your voice soft and playful. "Ain't that right, munchkin?"
The sunhat nearly covers the top half of her face, but still she giggles, finding entertainment your tone.
You scrunch your nose at her as you smile, giving her an enthused nod. "That's right," you turn to meet the displeased face of your husband and shrug playfully. "You can't argue with that face, love."
"Yeah, well," Tangerine scoffs, and shakes his head — trying to get the last word, only he had nothing to say.
Fortunately for himself, Lemon has begun to make his way over to you all from his extensive time in the sea — doughnut floatie around his hips, exotic and neon tropical shorts sat beneath. His taste far brighter than his brotherly counterpart of blacks and navies.
"Why aren't you fuckers in the sea?" he calls out, hands either side of his mouth as if to amply his already booming voice.
Tangerine sets Mandy aside, placing her on the sand in front of a shovel and bucket. "You'll get a slap for that," Tangerine warns, gesturing back to you with his thumb.
When Lemon finally reaches you all, he stops just beside his brother, standing over him almost menacingly. He taunts him for a moment, extending his dripping arm to hang over his brother — droplets of salt water falling from his fingers and atop Tan's head. Lemon then goes with his thoughts of impulse and shakes himself, flicking cold specks of water over his very burnt, very cranky brother.
Though your husband decides against retaliation and rejects a reaction — he's simply in no mood with the sun behaving the way that it is today.
Lemon instead chooses to prod, quite literally. He pokes at his brother's burns and snickers, finding humour in the drawing on Tangerine's back he's since forgotten. "How you liking that dick? Bet you're not used to having such a massive nob, hm?
You knew better than to react, knew it best to keep out of brotherly bickering; especially with these two. You instead reach into the cooler at your side and pull out a few drinks and sandwiches that you had prepared before leaving this morning. Food was a good deflection, you thought, rather, you hoped.
And so you pass around tin-foiled baguettes, handing them to either brother with contents of their preferred fillings. Like you'd planned it, they grow quiet — the squabbling ceasing as you all enjoy your lunch to the sounds of lapping waves.
Screaming and exploding with joy rn! THIS IS SO CUTE OMG. Dad!Tan my beloved omg 💗💗💗Everything about how domestic this is and also the humor???!!
The way you write Lemon is so great! He's so so so funny
"Why aren't you fuckers in the sea?"
^This moment had me laughing out loud lmao, I could hear it in my head.
Lemon instead chooses to prod, quite literally. He pokes at his brother's burns and snickers, finding humour in the drawing on Tangerine's back he's since forgotten. "How you liking that dick? Bet you're not used to having such a massive nob, hm?
Summary: A long-awaited date finally gives Lisa and Carmy something they never really had the first time around: the chance to slow down and simply be together.
A/N: Hi, friends ❤️ First of all, I'm sorry for the long wait. I genuinely didn't mean to disappear for almost two months. Life got busy, writing got harder than expected, and this chapter took me much longer to figure out than I thought it would. I knew where Lisa and Carmy needed to end up emotionally, but getting them there in a way that felt honest took a lot of rewriting. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around despite the silence. Every comment, message, and bit of encouragement means more than you probably realize. I honestly don't know how many people are still following this story after such a long break, but if you're still here, thank you for caring about these two and their very complicated journey back to each other. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts, and I hope you're still interested in seeing where Lisa, Carmy, Ben, and the rest of this little family go from here. See you in Chapter 24 ❤️
The click of the deadbolt sounded unnaturally loud.
The door closed behind them, shutting out the howling Chicago wind, and suddenly, the silence of the empty apartment was deafening. No baby monitor static. No toys scattered on the floor. Just the two of them.
He didn't move away. He stood close—not touching, but close enough that she felt the immediate shift in gravity.
“Here,” he said, his voice dropping into the quiet as he reached for her coat.
Lisa turned slightly, letting him slide the heavy wool off her shoulders. His knuckles brushed the bare skin of her arm on the way down. Light. Quick. But it didn’t feel accidental.
“Thanks.”
He turned to hang the coats, but his attention didn’t really leave her. Even when he stepped away, moving toward the kitchen like he desperately needed a task to ground himself, the air between them stayed pulled tight.
Lisa set her purse and the brown paper bag from the bodega on the island. She leaned her hip against the counter, watching him without trying to hide it.
“I’ve got something,” he said, opening the fridge. “Guess it would be good with the wine.”
“What kind of something?”
He pulled out a small platter. Instantly, that quiet, intense focus dropped over him—familiar and absolute. Like flipping a switch.
“Been messing with this earlier,” he said, grabbing a spoon from the drawer. “Didn’t finish it, but—” a small shrug, “—it’s close enough.”
“What is it?”
“Custard. But lighter.” He glanced at her briefly, then back down, adjusting something microscopic on the platter. “Eggs, cream, a little citrus. Dark chocolate on top. Just bitter enough so it doesn’t get, you know —”
“Too much?”
“Yeah.”
Lisa smiled a little. “Sounds interesting, Chef.”
He huffed a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. He stepped closer, stepping directly into her space.
He didn’t hand her the spoon. Instead, he lifted it.
“Wanna taste it?”
Lisa blinked once, a sudden rush of heat flooding her chest.
“Sure,” she said, almost too shy.
She parted her lips. The taste hit first. Soft. Not too sweet. The citrus cutting through the richness perfectly.
Her eyes fluttered shut without her permission.
“Wow, okay,” she breathed out, barely above a whisper. “That’s—”
She opened her eyes.
He was close, inches away, watching her. Not the plate. Not the dessert. Her.
“What do you think?”
“It’s... very good.” Lisa let out a quiet, almost amused exhale, her heart hammering against her ribs. “And you are... very close.”
“Sorry,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to her mouth before coming back up. “Got a bit carried away.”
Something in her chest shifted. A sharp, dangerous kind of pull.
She reached for the brown paper bag, needing something to do with her hands. “Let me open the wine... before you burn a hole through me.”
“Go ahead.” He stepped aside, but not far. Still within reach. Still there.
She pulled the bottle out and grabbed the corkscrew from the drawer, working it loose. Beside her, Carmy turned his attention back to the small platter, leaning over the counter to carefully shave a final curl of dark chocolate over the custard.
They moved around each other in that quiet, unspoken rhythm that didn’t need explaining.
“Glasses?” she asked.
“Top shelf. Left.”
She reached up for them.
Carmy paused, his hands stilling over the plate as he watched her do it. The way she didn’t hesitate. The way she moved through his sterile, quiet kitchen like she belonged there. It did something to him. Something heavy that he didn’t quite have a name for.
“Can I put some music on?” she asked, setting the glasses down and glancing toward the speaker on the shelf.
“Yeah, sure. Put whatever.”
Lisa scrolled on her phone for a second, letting a low, slow beat fill the room. Soft drums, a little bass. Just enough to sit in the background and blur the edges of the heavy silence.
She poured the dark red wine, then picked up both glasses.
“Come with me,” Carmy said. He picked up the dessert and a couple of spoons, nodding toward the living room.
They didn’t bother with the dining table.
Instead, they sat on the floor, their backs resting against the base of the couch. It was easy. They sat close to each other, setting the dessert right on the rug between them.
“This is nice,” she said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She lifted her glass slightly, the dark red liquid catching the dim light. “We should probably do a toast.”
He leaned back, one arm resting on his knee, his intense blue eyes locked on hers.
“To what?”
Lisa hesitated for half a second.
Then, softer— “To us.”
He held her gaze. The corner of his mouth ticked up into a faint, real smile as he lifted his glass to meet hers.
“And to Ben,” he added quietly.
Lisa’s smile widened, reaching her eyes. “To Ben.”
The glasses clinked softly between them.
Lisa took a sip first, the wine rich and heavy on her tongue. She let her eyes flutter shut for half a second, exhaling slowly as the warmth spread through her chest.
“God,” she murmured, smiling faintly. “I missed this.”
Carmen glanced at her over the rim of his own glass. “The wine?”
“Yeah.” She laughed, curling one leg closer beneath herself. “The nine months of the pregnancy plus this year and half of breastfeeding basically killed my alcohol tolerance. Just a sip and I’m already feeling it.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Take it slow... We’ve got the whole night to finish this bottle.”
She laughed again, softer this time.
And somewhere after that, the rest of the tension began to loosen.
The dessert sat forgotten between them as the conversation drifted naturally from one thing into another. No awkward pauses. No careful searching for subjects. They already knew how to talk to each other.
Carmen told her where the custard came from—how he’d been trying to recreate an old dessert Michael used to love without making it feel too heavy for the menu. Lisa listened, her elbow propped on the edge of the couch and her head resting comfortably in her hand, watching the way his entire face changed when he talked about food and his brother. More open. More alive.
And in return, she found herself telling him things she hadn’t planned to.
He already knew her parents had passed in an accident when she was sixteen—she had given him the basic facts back in New York. But she had never really gone deeper than that. Never opened up about the messy, human aftermath of it with anyone.
But sitting there on his rug, anchored by the wine and his quiet, unwavering attention, it didn't feel heavy anymore. It just felt like a memory. Something safe to hand over, the same way he had just handed over his memory of Michael.
So she told him about Noah. About how her brother had suddenly been forced to step up, trying desperately to take care of her and keep them functioning as a family when it was just the two of them left. She told stories about Noah stubbornly attempting to keep their mother's Sunday dinners alive. About burned roast chicken and oversalted potatoes and the way grief had turned them both briefly incapable of functioning like normal people.
That was the one that finally got him.
Carmen laughed.
Not polite laughter. Real laughter. Head ducking slightly, shoulders shaking once beneath the soft dark navy shirt as he rubbed a hand across his mouth.
“Three weeks?” he asked.
Lisa laughed too. “Three consecutive weeks.”
“That's impressive.”
“That's exactly what I said.”
Another laugh escaped him, quieter this time.
Then he looked at her differently. Like something had quietly clicked into place.
Suddenly, Noah made a lot more sense.
Lisa stared at him for a second after the laughter faded. Because she realized, suddenly, that she had almost forgotten what he looked like relaxed.
The wine worked slowly through both of them after that.
Not enough to blur anything. Just enough to dissolve the last layer of self-consciousness still sitting between them.
Carmen’s posture loosened first. One knee angled closer until it rested lightly against hers. Then stayed there.
Lisa noticed.
He noticed her noticing.
Neither of them moved away.
And after that, the touches started happening naturally. Easily.
Her hand brushing his arm when she laughed. His fingers catching briefly against her ankle when she shifted positions on the rug. Small things. Tiny things. But every single one felt loaded anyway.
Because they were both aware now. Constantly aware.
And Carmen—God, Carmen watched her.
Not subtly, either.
He watched her over the rim of his wine glass. Watched her when she laughed. Watched her while she talked, like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of this version of her sitting in front of him now. Older. Softer in some places. Stronger in others.
There was something almost disorienting about being looked at like that for too long. Like she was the only thing in the room capable of holding his attention.
And maybe she was.
The dessert eventually disappeared. The wine bottle sat almost empty on top of the couch table. Outside, the wind rattled faintly against the windows, but inside the apartment everything had settled into something warm and suspended.
Not rushed. Not fragile. Just… intimate.
The kind of intimacy they had never really known how to build in New York.
Lisa wiped her thumb absently against the edge of her spoon before setting it down on the empty plate between them. Then she leaned her head back against the couch and looked at him sideways.
“So... Was it that bad?”
Carmen frowned faintly. “What was bad?”
“The date.” A teasing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You looked deeply offended when I told you we had to go on one.”
A quiet huff escaped him through his nose. He looked down at his glass, thumb dragging absently along the rim.
“I wasn’t offended.”
“Mm.”
“I wasn’t.” He glanced sideways at her. “It just felt weird at first.”
“Weird how?”
Carmen shifted slightly against the couch, one knee angled toward hers now.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged once. “Just… asking you out. Planning shit.”
Lisa smiled into her wine. “Very traumatic for you, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, devastating experience.”
She almost giggled, and Carmen looked at her for a second too long before continuing.
“I think I just…” He exhaled. “I already knew I wanted you. So part of me was like—what’s the point?”
The honesty of it made heat rise slowly into her chest.
“But then we got there,” he said. “And it didn’t feel like I thought it would.”
Lisa’s gaze stayed on him, attentive and warm.
Carmen rubbed his thumb against the glass again, searching for the words.
“There’s stuff I forgot,” he admitted. “Little things. The way you are about certain things. What you like. What annoys you.”
Lisa smiled faintly. “I still hate raw onions.”
“Yeah, see?” he muttered. “That stayed.”
She laughed quietly again.
“But other stuff…” He shook his head once. “There’s a lot I don’t know anymore too.”
His eyes lifted back to hers then. Steady. Open.
“About you now.”
Lisa looked down at her wine for a second, smiling faintly to herself.
“Yeah,” she admitted softly. “I get that.”
She rolled the stem of the glass slowly between her fingers before glancing back up at him.
“I almost regretted asking you to do this, actually.”
Carmen’s brows pulled together immediately. “The date?”
She nodded once, a little sheepish now.
“At first.” A quiet laugh escaped her. “I thought maybe I was making things unnecessarily complicated.”
His gaze stayed fixed on her. Listening carefully.
“But then tonight happened and…” She shrugged lightly. “I don’t know. It made sense.”
Carmen didn’t say anything right away.
Lisa smiled faintly into her glass.
“And honestly?” she added. “I think I’m figuring you out again too.”
That finally pulled a small smile from him.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes drifted over him deliberately. “You changed.”
Carmen huffed. “That good or bad?”
“Definitely improved,” she said. “Thank God.”
That made him laugh properly. Short, warm, real.
He bumped his shoulder lightly against hers. “Alright, fuck you.”
Lisa grinned into her wine. “See? Emotional growth already.”
He shook his head, but he didn’t move away afterward.
If anything, he settled closer. His arm stretched along the edge of the couch behind her now, relaxed enough to look accidental.
It wasn’t.
Lisa felt herself becoming hyperaware of the warmth of him beside her.
“I think that’s kind of the point, though,” she said after a second. “Getting to know each other again.”
“Yeah,” Carmen said softly. “I think so too.”
Silence settled briefly after that. Comfortable.
Then Lisa glanced at him again.
“So that doesn’t freak you out?”
Carmen frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“This.” She gestured lightly between them. “Us doing this again.”
Her voice softened at the edges.
“The not knowing part.”
He looked at her for a second, and something in his expression shifted immediately when he heard the real question underneath it.
Lisa tried to hide it behind another sip of wine.
It didn’t work.
Carmen turned more fully toward her, his arm sliding a little closer behind her shoulders.
“No,” he said quietly.
Lisa looked back at him. “No?”
“No,” he repeated, lower this time. “It doesn’t freak me out, Lis.”
He let out a slow breath, his eyes dropping briefly to her mouth before lifting back to hers.
“If anything…”
Lisa swallowed.
“It just makes me more sure.”
“Sure of what?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
His gaze dipped again. This time he didn’t bother hiding it.
“Of how much I want this,” he murmured. “You.”
He lifted his free hand then, rough fingertips brushing lightly along her jaw before settling at the side of her neck. His thumb rested against her cheek. Warm. Careful.
Lisa felt her breath catch.
The room had gone completely silent around them. No music anymore. No wind outside. Just the heavy pulse of blood in her ears.
Carmy stayed there for a second, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her mouth but not closing the distance.
Giving her room. Always giving her room.
And somehow that almost undid her more than if he had just kissed her.
Lisa’s eyes flicked once to his mouth before she leaned in first.
The kiss started soft. Almost cautious. Like neither of them trusted themselves with more.
But the second Carmen kissed her back, the restraint cracked instantly.
His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head deeper into the kiss as he exhaled sharply against her mouth. Lisa felt herself melt toward him automatically, one hand catching against his chest to steady herself even as she moved closer.
The wine made everything warmer. Slower. The kiss deepened in careful stages until careful disappeared entirely.
Carmen’s arm slipped around her waist suddenly, pulling her across the small space between them.
Lisa barely had time to breathe before she was halfway in his lap, her knee sliding against his thigh as his mouth pressed harder against hers.
A quiet sound escaped her before she could stop it. That seemed to do something to him.
His grip tightened slightly at her waist, fingers spreading against the fabric of her dress like he was trying very hard to keep control of himself and losing the fight inch by inch.
And she felt it too.
Two years of anger and grief and wanting him anyway collapsing into this tiny space on his living room floor.
Lisa kissed him harder.
Carmy answered immediately, like he’d been waiting for permission.
His hand slid from her waist to her thigh, pushing carefully beneath the hem of her dress just enough to feel warm skin.
Not greedy. But not innocent either.
Lisa’s fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt as his mouth moved against hers again and again, deeper now, slower somehow despite the intensity building between them.
Everything about him felt overwhelming up close like this.
The warmth of his body against hers. The roughness of his fingers on her skin.
Lisa shifted instinctively in his lap, trying to get closer without even realizing she was doing it. The movement dragged her hips against his.
Carmen inhaled sharply against her mouth. And suddenly she felt it.
How much he wanted her.
Not subtle. Not imagined. Immediate. Real. Hard.
Heat rushed through her so fast it almost made her dizzy.
The effect it had on him was instant.
His grip at her thigh tightened hard enough to make her breath catch as the kiss broke abruptly, Carmen resting his forehead briefly against hers like he was trying to steady himself.
“Lis,” he whispered, her name sounding almost like a warning. Or maybe a plea.
He moved his mouth, pressing a light kiss against the corner of her jaw, then lower, breathing uneven now.
Lisa’s pulse jumped violently beneath his lips.
Because this was no longer flirting.
No longer tension. No longer almost.
This was real enough to ruin them if they weren’t careful.
And they both knew it.
Carmen exhaled slowly, one hand still spread against her thigh beneath the fabric of her dress while the other stayed firm at her waist, holding her close like he physically couldn’t make himself let go yet.
“If we keep going,” he murmured against her skin, voice rough and low, “I’m not gonna wanna stop.”
And the terrifying part was—she didn’t want him to stop either.
Lisa let out the smallest nervous laugh, breathless and overwhelmed all at once.
Not because it was funny.
Because she understood exactly what he meant.
The room stayed still around them. Neither of them moved away.
Carmy’s thumb stroked slowly once against her leg beneath the fabric of her dress, grounding himself as much as her.
Then, quieter this time:
“Which is probably not the point of this whole thing.”
Lisa looked at him for a long second.
Close enough to kiss him again. Close enough to keep going.
But instead she lifted her hand to his face, brushing her thumb lightly along his cheekbone.
“No,” she whispered. “Probably not.”
They stayed like this for another second. Unsure of what to do next.
Then Lisa let out a quiet breath and shifted slightly, starting to pull back just enough to climb out of his lap.
Carmen’s arm tightened around her waist immediately.
“Where’re you goin’?” he asked.
The question came out so fast it almost made her laugh. Lisa pulled back just enough to look at him properly.
“We literally just agreed we should slow down.”
His expression stayed completely serious for another second before something softer flickered through it.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But didn’t say you had to leave.”
The honesty of it hit her directly in the chest. Lisa smiled despite herself, shaking her head lightly.
“You’re making this very difficult.”
“I know.” He sounded almost unapologetic about it.
She laughed softly then leaned in, kissing him once before he could keep arguing.
It shut him up immediately.
His hand slid slowly from her thigh to her waist instead, holding her there while the kiss softened into something slower this time. Less desperate. More lingering.
When she pulled back again, she stayed close enough that their noses still brushed.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Carmen frowned slightly. “For what?”
“For actually trying.”
Something in his expression shifted immediately at that.
Lisa traced her thumb lightly along the collar of his shirt, eyes dropping there for a second before lifting back to his.
“I just…” Her fingers twisted slightly in the fabric of his shirt. “I wanna be careful with Ben.”
At the mention of him, the room settled again.
Lisa glanced away briefly before continuing.
“He’s little, but he notices everything.” A small breath escaped her. “And if we start doing this around him and then somehow…” She hesitated. “I don’t know. I just don’t want him confused.”
Carmen listened without interrupting, his hand moving slowly against her back.
Then, after a second:
“Okay.”
Lisa looked back at him. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” His thumb brushed once along her waist. “We keep it between us for now.”
No argument. No frustration. No defensiveness.
Just him meeting her where she was.
And somehow that affected her almost more than the kissing had.
Lisa stared at him for a second before leaning forward and kissing him again. Small. Warm. Grateful.
When she pulled back, she let out a quiet, reluctant exhale. She dropped her gaze, her hand sliding slowly from the collar of his shirt.
"It's late," she murmured, the reality of the hour finally catching up to the quiet room. "I should probably get going."
Carmen's eyes closed briefly.
Like the sentence physically annoyed him.
Lisa laughed softly.
"What?"
He shook his head once.
"Nothing."
"Carmy."
Another sigh. Then finally:
"I just... liked this." His eyes lifted back to hers. "Having you here."
----
Eventually, they moved.
Slowly. Reluctantly.
Like separating was the hardest part of the entire night.
Lisa changed in his bathroom, washing her face with trembling fingers that still felt the imprint of his hands everywhere. By the time she stepped back into the bedroom wearing one of his old t-shirts, Carmy was already in bed, wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants, the covers pushed down to his waist. He was scrolling mindlessly through his phone, but the second he heard the door click, his head turned.
His eyes tracked over the oversized shirt, lingering for just a second on the expanse of her bare legs, before snapping back up to her face. He swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly in the quiet room.
Lisa tried to hide the soft, self-aware smile pulling at her mouth. She walked over to her side of the mattress and climbed in, slipping under the sheets.
The physical proximity felt entirely different in here. The mattress dipped slightly under their combined weight.
Carmy reached out, clicking off the small bedside lamp and plunging the room into total darkness.
For a second, Lisa lay on her back, wondering if the agreement to "take it slow" meant they were going to sleep on opposite edges of the bed like polite strangers.
She didn't have to wonder for long.
The mattress shifted. Carmy didn't even try to keep his distance.
He moved closer, reaching out in the dark to wrap a heavy arm around her waist. Without a word, he pulled her backward, dragging her across the sheets until her back was pressed completely flush against his chest.
Lisa let out a soft, surprised breath as his body heat enveloped her entirely.
His hand stayed spread against her stomach, keeping her tucked tightly against him, like letting go wasn’t even an option anymore. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his nose brushing her hair.
“Still think this was a good idea?” she asked quietly, trying for teasing and missing by a mile.
His arm tightened around her just a fraction more. Not sexual. Just a desperate, quiet need to have her as close as humanly possible.
“Go to sleep, Lis,” he murmured, his voice a low, heavy vibration against her skin.
Lisa let out a soft laugh that sounded suspiciously like relief.
The room went quiet after that.
Carmen didn't move away. He stayed exactly like that—tangled around her, breathing in the scent of her skin, holding her close enough that she could feel every slow breath leaving his chest.
Somewhere between the wine, the laughter, and his arm around her waist, she'd stopped waiting for the moment everything would go wrong.
Hiii! Firstly, I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOOOVE your writing-- I've basically marathoned your fanfics they're just too good! Secondly, I have a possible request regarding a certain Alfie Solomons 👀 Possibly a fic where Alfie is head over heels for reader from the get-go? Like, the Shelbys send reader to talk to Alfie because they know he'll respond to her better and he's all 'I'm gonna make you my wife' and she's like 'uh huh, that's great, anyways--' sort of 'one fell first, but the other fell harder' style? Idk if that makes aaany sense but I hope it does
Anyhoo, THANK YOU FOR THE AMAZING FICS~!! I hope you have a super lovely week! 💗
Hi friends! Long time no see, I know it’s strange coming back like this - but the sirens have beckoned me. And I am weak.
Dear Anonymous, thank you for this prompt and PLEASE forgive me for not coming to this sooner. But we are here now! I am so glad you like my stories. It’s so much better when I get to share with you guys.
I hope this delivers! It’s been a while for me 💕
Your Idiot
Alfie Solomons x Fem Reader
Warnings: None
What is the worst thing about the Shelby family? Is it their vicious cuts that blind? The brutal business practices?
Some would say it’s Shelby face itself. Hard and cold one minute. Warm and alluring the next. Intoxicating either way, all the time. While the Shelbys are terrifying and blood thirsty, it did not drive away the droves of lovers and hopefuls from those Shelby doorways. There should be a “Shelby Lovers Anonymous” for all the women that your brothers have seduced. Ada had broken many a heart before her marriage as well, but you - no one got even a toe in the door.
Not that you weren’t as beautiful as your siblings. Far from it. Your beauty and poise was well regarded. It was your public demeanor. They called you an Ice Queen. Which truthfully was funny, because you were the most gentle and affectionate one of the family. Sweet and tender to those who knew you truly. But that sweetness had a critical and assessing eye. You held a more ‘guilty until proven innocent’ mindset. Many had tried to win your affections; gifts, poems, outrageous declarations, one had even threatened a duel with Tommy if he could not have you. But much to the mirth of your family, nothing phased you. You were loving, and had love to give, but no man had truly swept you off your feet. You doubted that one ever would.
Saturday morning. 9am sharp, you were scheduled to meet in Camden with a certain Alfred Solomons. Rarely did you meet with “business” partners without Tommy. Only when the deal needed a special touch to seal it did you get sent in. A sweet smile (falsified or not), a gentle hand guiding the pen and promise. Allegedly Mr. Solomons had nearly put Arthur and John’s head through a window at the last business meeting, and you were deemed the most capable of smoothing things out with the big brute. Had you ever met him? No. But the fact that you were still deemed the best choice to make amends tells you that your brothers must have truly mucked it up.
So there you go, stepping oh so regally out of the car, clothes perfectly pressed and tailored, a right glittering star amongst the cosmos and chaos of Camden. A basket of gin and fine French wine under your arm as a peace offering. Solomons was said to be usually at home on a Saturday morning, so you had made the executive decision to go straight to his home. Optics of a young woman going to a bachelor’s home sans chaperone be damned.
A prim knock on the door brought forth a stout old woman with the sweetest face on earth, with a crisp floral print dress. Your heart ached, she looked like your primary school teacher. “Good morning ma’am, may I help you?”, she chirped.
You nodded, “Good morning, I’m here to see Mr. Solomons. I’ve been sent to deliver some goods to him. I believe he’s expecting me - I’m Miss Shelby.”
“Oh yes yes yes. The younger one aren’t you? Yes I have been expecting you. Come come.”
You were ushered into the fold by the older woman - the housekeeper Mrs. Fitz you would come to find out. Taking your hat and over coat, she beckoned you to the study on the second floor.
It was certainly a bachelor’s home, but kept tidy by the craftsmanship of Mrs. Fitz certainly. Books were piled in various corners, with notebooks and pens scattered throughout, “I do tell him to simply put things back where they were but… you know I think his mind moves faster than his body I really do. God forbid I touch some stacks because I ruin his ‘system’. Bless him. He’s strange but a lovely man. I wish he’d find a nice girl but he tells me he’s too busy and a woman would touch his things. I mean what nonsense truly…”
She prattled on but you could not help but laugh quietly. You loved it when the housekeepers gossiped. That’s where all the good information lay. But she didn’t speak of him like the wild animal she had always heard of. No she spoke of an… eccentric bachelor. She may as well have been paying a visit with the matchmaker and a new client.
The walls a wash of deep green, and dark wood flooring and crown molding. It felt deep and rich, like an expensive chocolate or your favorite dish on Christmas Eve. It felt luscious and hearty in the home. Making it difficult to keep your guard on full attention. Mrs. Fitz knocked on the second door you passed and announced, “Mr. Solomons sir, I have a Miss Shelby here.”
“Yeah alright.”, a voice rumbled through the door and into your chest.
Mrs. Fitz smiled and whispered, “He was raised in a stable so don’t be offended by his manners.”
You stepped through the door and were amazed. From floor to the ceiling were books tucked in shelves. On the floor there were several piles of various lengths. On the wall and opposing the desk was a large fireplace, lowly crackling but perfuming the air with its wood. In front were two plump seats, begging to be of use. Hulking over the desk on the other side, was your host.
Imposing. That’s what you would say. But it was more than that. As tall as Arthur, but where Arthur was wirey, this man was a solid brick wall. The muscles of his back undulating like the waves of the sea underneath a linen shirt. Arms filling out the sleeves that were pushed up to expose strong tattooed forearms.
But he looked a right mess. As he turned to you, it looked like he hadn’t had a proper haircut in months. His beard wild, and shirt half done. His eyes were vast and … just staring.
“Who the hell are you?”, his voice rumbled.
“…Miss Shelby?”
“Tommy’s sister? The unmarried one?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head, screwing up his mouth. “Nah that can’t be right.”
“But it is.”
“No it can’t you see because every Shelby I’ve met, instantly gives me an ulcer, even the Ada girl. The Shelbys got this little superiority complex that just right pisses me off - you… you don’t have that look so therefore you cannot be a Shelby.”
You stare at him as he rambles on in the strangest tangent you have ever heard. His bejeweled fingers catching and throwing the light all around him. You felt your eyebrows draw together as you were trying to figure out what he is saying.
Interrupting him you cut, “Mr. Solomons… that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life.”
Alfred Solomons breath caught in his throat and he nearly choked, “Did you just call me stupid?”
You nodded vigorously, “Yes because that sentence made no comprehensible logic. Do you talk like that all the time?”
“No one has ever called me stupid and lived darling.”
You stuck your arms straight out at your sides, spirits clinking in their bottles, “You going to shoot me then? Go ahead, then I don’t have to explain why your logic is absolutely ridiculous.”
Alfred turned in a circle, as if looking for someone to jump out and say this was some sort of prank. Because this woman came in - into the King of Camden’s study - and called him stupid. And was not afraid of consequences. No one clarified for him, but he did see the glitter of a bottle. With a thick finger he pointed, “What’s that in the basket?”
With a roll of your eyes, you pulled out the two bottles, “Gin and French wine. Compliments of the Shelby family. I was asked to apologize and make amends for my brothers’ foolishness a few days ago.”
Something about your irritated face and pursed lips made Alfred want more. He wanted you to get angry again. “So your way of apologizing for your brother’s foolishness… was to come into my house and call me stupid.”
“You don’t want the apology and spirits, I’ll take them with me.”
Not what he wanted.
“No no darling you … damn… you sit down there and let me get us some glasses.”
“Mr. Solomons I really should be-“
“Alfie darling call me Alfie. And you must stay and take a drink with me. You’re apologizing to me now aren’t you?”
“Mr. Solomons it is 9 in the morning.”
“Perfect time to begin in getting to know each other better.”
He started with the wine, which is possibly the better of what he could’ve opened. As you sipped your wine, you tried not to notice how he was devouring you with his eyes, “Why haven’t we met before dear?”
You look at him through the wine glass. He looked like an absolute wild man. “I don’t typically go to the parties thrown by my family. And I haven’t needed to come to any business meeting.”
“I think I would’ve enjoyed the meetings more if you were there darling.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Something really good to look at. Especially when you get tetchy.”
You squinted your eyes. Who the hell did this man think he was? You allowed the silence to settle around you. The room was comfortably warm, and the fire continued to crackle and snap. You forced your heart to settle down, Mr. Solomons had launched your heart rate upwards as soon as you had locked eyes with his stormy eyes.
You weren’t able to meet his eyes right now. Which was unlike you. You prided yourself on being able to stare down men and keep them pinned. But with this Mr. Solomons, you felt a lurch in your stomach, and a desire to … run?… punch him? Punching him sounded good right now.
But Mr. Solomons, little did you know, had already decided that you would be his wife. One way or another. Even if he had to sign a shit contract or 10 with the Shelbys. From the moment you called him stupid and scrunched your nose at him, he wanted you. He wanted more than anything for you to howl and stomp your feet in anger at him. He wanted to kiss you fiercely, and dote on you. He wanted to watch you devour him whole.
And Alfie was a man of action.
“Just to let you know… I’m going to marry you Miss Shelby.”
You coughed on your wine, trying to catch your breath, but your brain was becoming scrambled eggs.
“I beg your pardon?”
Alfie smiled deliciously behind his beard. Sitting down his wine and leaning in his chair he repeated, “I’m going to marry you. I know quality when I see it.”
“Did you not just threaten to kill me moments ago?”
“No I said that no one had yet called me that and lived. But the way you threaten me… well I won’t get into that yet till you accept my ring.”
You stood up quickly, “Mr. Solomons you are the most brutish, uncouth, unmannered being I have ever met.”
He pointed at you with a wink, “You just said three words that mean the same thing.”
You felt your cheeks get hot. And when did the air leave the room? You stepped forward, “I should slap that hideous beard right off your stupid face.”
He just preened, “Oh darling please don’t tease.”
You turned swiftly, walking towards the door, “I assume the apology is accepted. Good day Mr. Solomons I hope to never see you again.”
As you walked down the wooden steps you felt his lumbering feet following you, “Ah Miss Shelby why are you running from destiny? I felt it, you felt it. Come now don’t run away from a good squabble.”
You grabbed your coat, and we’re about to grab your hat when it was so quickly plucked from your hands by his paw. As you turned you immediately ran into his chest. Soon you were pressed between the door and his strong body. He held the hat above your reach, “When can I see you again?”
“Give me my hat this instant.”
“You’ll get your hat when you tell me when I get to see you again.”
“Beast!”
“For you alone. Now… dearest tell me where to find you. Or I’ll have to hunt you down myself.”
You stared right into his eyes with fire, and his stormy eyes was molten with adoration. Pure adoration. It made you sick… you think.
You pushed his chest, to no avail, and spit out, “The Garrison tomorrow at 7. In the back room. Don’t annoy me by being late. And take a shower, you disgust me.”
He smiled warmly, placing the hat so gently on your head. “I’ll get a haircut this afternoon.”
You nodded. You hated his face. You hated his bushy beard and eyebrows. And his open shirt and tattoos. You hated those dark eyes with his long blonde lashes. You hated his mouth and that smile that just reeked of devotion. And most of all you hated that he was the only man who had actually made you feel something other than pity.
You fix your hat on your head, even though it was perfectly put on to your great irritation. And push him again with all your might, making Mr. Solomons chuckle. “Good try darling. I’ll see you soon.”
By the time you reach your bedroom that evening after dinner, there is a large bouquet of tropical flowers. The card, in quick and splotchy writing read,
For my rare flower.
I promise to behave.
Forever your devoted (soon to be) husband,
Alfie
You roll your eyes. Yet you keep the card propped on your vanity. As a trophy of another easily kept man you tell yourself.
So what if you spend more time on your dress when going to the Garrison?
Din Djarin doesn't remember the last time he felt the sun.
Sure, he can feel it through the suit in a way. It burns through the leather of his gloves, seeps between the gaps in his armor and leaves his skin damp beneath it. Heat latches onto beskar and builds on its surface until it's hot to the touch.
No, he doesn't remember the last time he felt it on his skin. The last time his eyes had to blink to adjust to its glare. The last time he basked in its glow and was completely vulnerable to its power.
He can almost take himself there, pull from memories of his childhood when he would lay against lush grass and soak in it's wonder. He can never quite capture it though, something is always missing. The warmth.
Nothing can manufacture it.
Not lowering the polarization on his visor. Not the relief that comes everytime he takes off his chest plate. Even in the rare moments without armor, when he turns the heat all the way up in the fresher and stands beneath it's wash until his skin burns. it still doesn't feel the same.
When he was a younger man, when he was most dedicated to his creed, he didn't think about it.
No, there was nothing he missed that couldn't be outweighed by a simple, self righteous reminder that this is the way.
The he met you, and for the first time he doesn't even know how many years, Din Djarin felt he Sun.
He met you almost a full orbit ago, a perfectly unremarkable engineer in need of a job. One Peli had vouched for over comms. Promising that while she wasn't around to help with his usual repairs, she trusted you enough to handle them.
'Handle you,' were her exact words. She'd laughed at the end, as if there was joke he wasn't privy too. He hadn't though much of it until he actually met you.
Until he landed in your port and watched as a pair of overalls and grease stains rolled out from beneath a speeder that's probably older than you are.
Until you approached him without hesitation, wiping grime from your palm before offering it in a fearless handshake.
Until you tilted your chin up and smiled.
Until you made eye contact without even trying, and Din finally felt it wash over him again.
That warmth.
It settles under his armor like a second skin, grows hotter when you kneel down to the kids height and coo something sweet.
Slowly, it festers.
A burning that covers every inch of his skin until it eventually becomes part of him. An ache in his stomach each time he finds you and the kid asleep in the copilots chair, big green ears fanned over your chest and both of your mouths open in a matching snore.
A sting in his chest when he catches your silhouette in the fresher door, frosted glass teasing him with curves he knows better than to covet.
A tightness in his pants when you use his blaster, a quick and precise hit after you realized someone was following the three of you on Canto Bight. You'd grabbed it from his hip without asking, stopped in your tracks and turned your body just enough to fire one devastating shot.
That last one haunts him often.
At night, when he's resting in the cockpit and you and the kid are downstairs. When his eyelids drift down and block his visor, so often he see it again. The scene replaying itself over and over.
So used to doing shooting Din can't seem to figure out what he's supposed yo do when someone shoots for him.
The next time he holds his blaster, he sees your hand around it, how you had to choke up towards the barrel to reach the trigger. He stares uselessly at it in his palm while his mind fills in the gaps. Quick math on how your hands would together clouding his better thoughts.
Din doesn't know why he asked you to travel with him. Sure, he can rattle of all the practical reasons until his modulator gives out. But none of them are enough, none of them erase the years of refusal and isolation. No matter how hard he tries, he can't find a reason why he needs you.
When he crawls down the ladder, finds you asleep on his cot with his son on your chest, he gets his answer.
SUMMARY: You and Steve have been close friends for most of your adult lives. Leading up to the wedding of two of your friends—one being your sister—combined with Steve breaking up with his longtime girlfriend, you and Steve give in to the loneliness and have a one night stand, one that ends with consequences you never saw coming. You’re determined to stay friends, but as the months pass, both you and Steve come to realize what’s been lying in wait all along.
SERIES WARNINGS: THIS IS AN AU; unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, language, angst, fluff, sexual content, pregnant sex, flashbacks, medical descriptions/procedures, emotional crap, labor, childbirth, postpartum depression, therapy
Read this series on Ao3 HERE.
*This series is complete.*
1. The One With A Secret
2. The One With The Red Sweater
3. The One With The Party
4. The One With The Appointment
5. The One With A Little Bit of Background
6. The One Where It Starts to Unravel
7. The One With the New Girl
8. The One With All the Cards on the Table
9. The One With A Whole Lotta Lovin’
10. The One Where They Dance Around It
11. The One Where They Almost Mess It Up
12. The One With the Big Reveal
13. The One Where the Past Comes Back to Haunt
14. The One With Some Revelations
15. The One With the Holiday Party
16. The One They Didn’t See Coming
17. The One Where They Finally Get It
18. The One Where They Almost Lose It
19. The One Where Everyone Pitches In
20. The One Where Y/N Is Late
21. The One Where the Baby Is Born
22. The One Where Six Becomes Seven
23. Epilogue–The One With Another Wedding
TIMESTAMPS:
1. The One Where It Storms
2. The One With a Fever
