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cheschesterpossum · 7 hours ago

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Thinking about the creator scientist getting reborn in the pocket dimension they created. (But they're only physically the same person. Not like a straight up copy of the scientist, memories and all.)

And then winding up as the Lost Light Liaison when they're older. Imagine being Rung in this scenario. Your Creator (Friend/Technical Parent/Romance Partner/Whatever one would like their relationship to be, honestly.) is here in this dimension, but they're not the same person. Despite sharing similar personality traits, and quirks, of course. I mean, I imagine that either SG or regular Rung would probably freak out a little.

Especially bc the humans that are from the Pocket Dimension are a third of the average Cybertronian's height. The dimension is scaled weird. Either that, or the Groundbridge Emitter changes things about who it sends to match the dimension somehow. (In my head, I see the average height being roughly 17ft tall. But Cybertronians are suuuuper varied in size and shape so who can really say what's considered "average height" or not, you know?)

How do you think Rung would feel about the liaison? Even if he knows for certain that they're a whole entire other person. Does he try to behave like he hasn't already memorized their (slightly different than the "original's") behavioral patterns, and treat them like they aren't the spitting image of the one he'd lost?

Or. The sinister option. One that is probably reserved just for SG! Rung. Does he use what he knows about his creator, to play the Liaison directly into his hands? Even if what he knows about them isn't gonna be 100% accurate to the Liaison, who is a different person. How scary would it be for the tall, purple mech with clawed hands that turn into needles sometimes, to be laser focused on you and only you at all times? To know what you're going to say, or do before you even attempt it.

How much scarier would it be to know that there are less than five Cybertronians on the Entire Ship. That care about keeping you alive, and in one piece, and that one of them is obsessed with your strange doppelganger that probably doesn't even exist. (Someone who is almost just you, but from another dimension. Which means he's obsessed with you by proxy, and thus won't leave you alone. Ever.)

Like, not only is this guy The Literal Robo God of these giant, mechanical aliens. But that he also Knew You at some point even if he won't tell you how. He just predicts your every action, and delights in creepily finishing your sentences for you. Exactly how you would word it. (Regular Rung might also do the sentence one, but I don't think it'd be a conscious decision. He just kinda does it under his breath, realizes that he did it, and if you notice? He'll apologize. But not elaborate.)

SG! Rung will also hover nearby the Liaison whenever he gets the chance. Some trace of remaining personal space-type manners prevents him from just scooping them up, and running off with them. Perhaps to lock them in his room/office/both, so at least This version of them can't run away. But also.... He's too smart to reveal himself as a threat to their freedom just yet. Yes he's clingy, and weird, and creepy. But, he's also a source of support, and kindness on a ship full of outright hostile war criminals. (Even if his kindness is a paper thin facade that the Liaison will learn to see right through eventually. Whether they've managed to avoid being captured in the process, or not.)

I might write something about this. Probably will end up being SG! Rung again, bc the SpOoOoOoky angst potential is delicious. But! I might also write a shorter drabble about Rung being an awkward cutie patootie about seeing an alternate version of his creator.

-Perchance Anon

I love you please don't let an anvil fall on your head and comically squish you

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ctghost · 2 months ago

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a canvas of the the @cheschesterpossum 's CITF au primes

I love drawing alpha trion & zeta lol 😭🤍

They all have big bug ahh stares as sparklings also if you give only one of the primes a energon or regular lolipop (or a high five. Or helm pats.) It is now an obligation for you to give the rest one too (Blame liege maximo for starting this first)

Cough. Let's be a lil real. It's because the primes subconsiously inherited his own attachment too 👹

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zynari · 10 months ago

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hi! could you add me to the caught in the flash taglist? it looks super interesting and I love to support fellow scara smau authors <3

hello! ofc you can be added :)

and omg i love your scara smaus <3

#🎸citf taglist

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pawfulsofmischief · 3 years ago

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Corruption is the Flesh Ch6 Update

Dumbledore and Snape make their first move with the prophecy. James, Sirius, and Peter have a revelation. And a meeting with none other than Voldemort exposes something interesting in Harry.

Gaping, James couldn’t hide the shock or, well, annoyance that crept in when he realised Harry had, technically, just spoken rather than babbled. “Did- Did my son just say his first words in a language I can’t even understand?” “It would seem so, Potter,” Regulus said, watching James with a raised brow. He seemed to be the least phased out of it all, aside from Voldemort and Harry himself, and instead looked rather amused if anything. “At least you were present for it.” A laugh, though short and quiet, came from Voldemort, giving James yet another shock. Because who knew the man could laugh ? Apparently tonight was the night of trying to give James a heart attack it seemed. “You will be happy to know he called you Dada, even if it was in hisses.” Voldemort informed James, and surprisingly it did make him happy to know that.

New update for CitF!! I've gotten the next chapter started, and this one all edited, so I figured it was time to toss y'all another update <3 I hope you enjoy!!

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dreamwritesimagines · 11 months ago

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okay so I was just reading CITF and you said that Bucky left peaches a letter in his will. What does that letter say??

That he loved her ❤️ And that the money and the house outside the city that he left her is for her to get away like she had always wanted❤️

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enkelimagnus · 3 years ago

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A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 16, 3155

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

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Vex is standing at the lookout post when the lights turn on.

Suddenly, it’s like the sky is on fire. The sun sets early these days, and it’s been dark for a couple of hours now. She wasn’t expecting this sudden light coming from Whitestone, but here it is. How many lanterns does it take to light up the sky in such a way?

It takes her breath away. The beacon of light down where the valley breaks the Alabaster Sierras is reflected against the white of the mountains. It plays on the ridges of stone, dissipating some of the less stubborn shadows.

Vex only moves to go open the latch of the ladder and to shout to her brother to come up with her. He’s midway through cooking them dinner, a stew by the looks of it, with leftover deer meat from their last hunt and root vegetables they got at the market. He’s shuffling about, listening to the radio and humming under his breath and very begrudgingly agrees to put his coat on and come join her.

She helps pull him up to stand next to her on the narrow platform. She feels the brush of warm air by her ear when he exhales, when he takes in the lightshow.

When she was younger, she used to believe their hearts were beating at the same pace. It was a story their mother would tell, that the midwives could only ever hear one heartbeat when they were together in the womb, that they were always terrified that one of them had died in utero when they actually were both alive, in sync.

Vex never actually asked whether that was true or not. There was no one to ask anymore. There was only the phantom feeling that came with both of them inhaling the cold winter air at the same moment.

She leaves him to watch the lights without being observed for a while, as if it makes it more intimate for him, before she turns her head.

The cold made his cheeks and nose a little red, the lights shine in his eyes and as they play on his skin, he looks warmer and more alive somehow. This is what he’s always looked like to her, lit from the inside somehow. She knows it is a pretty lie these days, that he struggles so much. She wishes she could let him see, though, what he looks like to her.

She reaches for his hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezes. He squeezes back.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispers. The wind wraps around them and she’s afraid it took her words away before they reached his ears but he squeezes her hand again.

Soft, shapeless echoes of music from Whitestone proper play against the stone around them, carried by the same wind. Vax is silent for a long moment. And then, he smiles. She likes his smiles so much.

“Me too,” he says.

She wants to pull him in and hug him tight but it’s cold as all hell on the lookout post so they climb back down into the cabin, with the roaring fire and Trinket’s cuddles, and the stew that smells better and better every moment. Vex’s stomach rumbles.

“You should text Pike and Grog,” Vax offers. “And Cassandra. Maybe they want company for Winter’s Crest.”

We don’t need company , she almost says, but she doesn’t.

He was always the one to pull her out of the woods to see people, any sort of people. He would come and wait for her in a clearing, wait to take her home after they’d both escaped once again from the watching Syngornian eyes.

He was the one that surrounded himself with people. He was willing to take the judgment, in exchange for the companionship. All she ever wanted was him.

“I’ll do that,” she says instead. Vax is right. He always is. They’re all displaced orphans here, might as well do it all together. She’s slightly curious to see how Whitestone celebrates, and how Westrunn does too, through Pike and Grog.

They’ve only known Winter’s Crest in Byroden, really. And as such, Syldor Vessar had excised it from their lives when he’d gotten a hold of them. Just like everything else their mother had touched.

Fucking hypocrite. As if he didn’t fuck her in the first place. Children are rarely born without the parents’ presence and relative participation, even in this world of magic.

An old, comfortable anger rises within her, a companion almost as constant as Vax. Every time she thinks of all of what she’s lost, what they’ve lost, because of their father, her vision goes red.

She tries to distract herself with the thoughts of discovering what Winter’s Crest is like when it’s not just the two of them, when it’s also other people that are not related to them. It sounds almost pleasant.

Every bone in her fucking body is yelling at her not to call these people, the people who might just become her friends if she spends enough time around them. They don’t need people. It’s just the two of them, it’s always been.

She had enough of an issue with Gilmore, at first, even if he was far away, even if Vax barely saw him when she was recovering back in Syngorn and he spent every waking moment by her side.

She can’t lose Vax again, to Gilmore or to these people or to anything else. The idea of him leaving her opens a gaping hole in her chest. She thought she’d gotten rid of it. She thought that being out here alone would help, that she was stronger now, free of the horrifying pit of anxiety that follows her when her twin doesn’t walk in step with her.

But he’s going to go. In a few days, he’ll drive back down to Westrunn. She could keep him here with a clever lie, with a desperate plea for him not to abandon her, but that would be cruel. Vax loves Gilmore. He loves him, perhaps as much as he loves Vex. And she’s always been a selfish girl, that’s public knowledge, but she’s not cruel. Not that much, anyway.

Vex grabs her phone, before she lets herself chicken out, and texts them all. Tomorrow, for Winter’s Crest, they’ll all gather and spend the afternoon together. They’ll see what the city has to offer on a cheerful day. How the ghosts haunting it might be pushed back just for one day.

The stew is good. Vax is surprisingly good at cooking. They eat, feed Trinket, do the dishes and get the cabin back together. Vax can be a little messy, but she likes knowing where everything is. She puts the crate back under the bed, now that Trinket has outgrown in.

Vax’ eyes are heavy on her. They both know what’s also under the bed.

There’s no use in talking about it again though. She won’t touch it, not yet, she’s not ready. And he’s not going to push again, not after last time, where it all went so badly. They both mentally tiptoe around the landmine, and get ready for bed.

They curl up into each other on the narrow bed. It’s nothing new to them. In Byroden, they only had one bed. Their father’s house was ten times bigger than their mother’s had been, but they thankfully put them in close enough bedrooms that they could sneak to each other during the night.

Vex closes her eyes. Her brother’s breathing is steady behind her. Trinket is snoring lightly, the fire crackles in the fireplace and wind sometimes howls in the distance. The world isn’t exactly quiet, but it’s serene nonetheless.

She finds herself missing that serenity a dozen or so hours later, as they drive out from the cabin into Whitestone. It’s Winter’s Crest, so of course, it’s fucking packed. The driveway is jammed and it’s only because Vax is driving that Vex doesn’t turn back.

Maybe that’s why he volunteered to drive. Because he knew that, once they got into this nightmare of a road blockage, she would get frustrated and turn back, and they would never get the dose of socializing he’s desperately trying to ensure.

He’s tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with the mind-numbing Winter’s Crest song on the radio. It’s grating. Vex has almost screamed in frustration five times already. That, and they’re using so much energy just sitting in the traffic, the radio and heating on…

“This is why I hate cities,” she mumbles.

“Gods, a week ago, you were gushing about how nice and quaint this little place was, and now you’ve condemned it as just another of those horrible cities…” Vax hums, and keeps drumming his fingers on the wheel. “Just you wait, stubby. Perhaps you’ll have at least a little fun once we’re in there.”

How can he be so… cheerful? And calm. If it was her driving, she’d be yelling curses by now. Really, it’s best that she’s just on the passenger side, going slightly mad with frustration.

“Why are you so excited?” She asks after a moment, because she really needs to know. She can’t really understand it, despite her knowledge of her brother’s nature. “We’ve been stuck for thirty-five minutes.”

Vax shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s Winter’s Crest. I want… boozy eggnog and to see pretty lights,” he mutters. “I just want to have a good time with my sister, for once. Without… anything else hanging over us like a full Ruidus.”

“Father’s not going to start loving us because it’s Winter’s Crest, brother.”

“Are you determined to be a bitch about this?” Vax asks, staring ahead at the road and the cars. His fingers are now clenched around the steering wheel, not drumming anymore.

Maybe she has stepped over a line. No, she definitely has. He doesn’t call her a bitch easily. Even if she can be, very often.

They fall into an ugly tense silence. The cars ahead of them finally move and they manage to drive for a couple minutes at slightly more than a snail’s pace.

She speaks up the next time they stop.

“I know… I know you’re just trying to have a good time, I’m sorry,” she says quietly. The radio is still spewing its plague of Winter’s Crest tunes. “I… I know you don’t actually believe that those things disappear.”

Vax turns for a moment, looks at her. His eyes are tired, incredibly tired. She can barely see the little fey specks in the iris. “Let’s just… have a good time. Or a pleasant time. I’m not asking you to be… cheerful, stubby, I’m just asking to put all this shit aside for once, for a couple hours. It’s all we talk about. It’s all we think about. The guy in the castle, our father hates us, your ex abused you, everything fucking sucks. I want to spend just… a few hours without any of this being a factor.”

She wants to tell him she can’t. That it’s too big, all of it, that it’s useless to try and put aside such major events and feelings. But Vax is tired. He’s tired of the pain, he’s tired of the horror, he just wants a good time. And he wants to share that good time with her, this time, not with Gilmore.

She knows Gilmore is probably much lighter on Vax’ nerves than she is. Their time together is probably much lighter than the one he spends with her.

She needs to make their time light too, sometimes. Or… she might just lose him. Vex takes a deep breath and nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry… Let’s try and have a good time.”

Unwanted daughter, selfish and cruel.

Words she hasn’t heard in months, in years, whispered in Elvish in her ears, resound as they finally, finally, make it to one of Whitestone’s parking lots.

They meet the others at the Broken Candle tavern in the center of town, the door opening on the Sun Tree Square. The streets are full. This might be the most people Vex has ever seen in this city. She dislikes it, but she says nothing. Vax is looking around, relaxed again. His quick eyes scan the crowd. Vex looks purposefully away. If he snatches any coin purse on the way, she’ll have plausible deniability.

One advantage of having an acquaintance - not a friend - like Grog is that he takes a lot of space. Space that can later be filled by yourself when you sit down at the table he’s saved for you. Pike and Grog both have ale in front of them, and soon, the twins join them.

Cassandra isn’t there yet. They don’t even know if she’ll come. She says she would, maybe, if she had time, and Vex recognized that excuse. Maybe it’s too hard to be on her own today, without her family.

Despite herself, Vex starts having a bit of fun. The ale is drunk and switched for eggnog, a troupe of bards start playing something that somehow isn’t Winter’s Crest music. They must be tired too, of weeks of singing the exact same shit around this time. She finds herself bobbing her head along to the music and humming under her breath when she recognizes a tune. It’s come a long way from the taverns on the edge of Syngorn, the ones she would wander into when she was a teenager running from home. She’s come a long way too.

Vax’ arm rests on her shoulders. He’s smiling, and sometimes, it reaches his eyes.

Somehow, the performers manage to sing a song so full of innuendos that the four of them start laughing until they cry. The gnome singer, dressed in what can only be understood as a noticeable outfit, keeps looking over towards Pike.

The afternoon draws on and the sun starts to set. It’s the middle of winter, the shortest day of the year, and it shows. By 4.30, the lanterns are providing enough light to feel like a summer’s day. That’s what Vex saw from the outpost the other day.

Cassandra comes when the sun sets.

They’ve moved on to one of the big, communal tables installed at the roots of the Sun Tree. The colored lanterns and the large fire pits burning around the square keep the air warm, for a Duscar evening.

Maybe it’s the alcohol too.

Cassandra joins them at the table. She’s smiling, but it’s not reaching her eyes yet. Yet, because if Vex knows her brother, the look on his face currently tells her he’s going to try everything to make sure it does, by the end of the evening.

She did dress up for the occasion though. She has her usual blue coat over a dark red dress. It’s a little old, perhaps, and it doesn’t seem like she’s very comfortable in the gown, but it suits her.

Maybe Vex should have dressed up too. When she looks around the group though, she realizes that they aren’t wearing anything different than what they usually wear.

The white hoodie Pike has on under her coat is the one Vex saw peeking out from under the plate mail. Grog… well, he never wore armor than she could see, but he just also goes shirtless.

Dressing up is not exactly difficult for him, just a shirt suffices. He doesn’t have one on.

Vax has his usual assortment of belts. Vex never actually figured out if those provided any protection or advantage, but they do look good, all buckled and stacked on top of one another around his waist.

So her lack of… pretty clothing isn’t unusual. Cassandra’s the one who dressed up.

She sits down on the bench by Vax’ side. Pike immediately shoves a cup of eggnog and a box of the fries smothered in meatballs, gravy and cranberry sauce they’ve been eating. Grog smiles, that big goofy smile of his that makes Vex breathe a little easier.

“You okay?” Vax asks Cassandra, and she nods.

“Yeah, sorry, I was…. I had to stop by the cemetery.”

Vex remembers the stories of Pelor planting the seed of the Sun Tree. The Dawnfather’s influence on Winter’s Crest is undeniable. And the de Rolo family crest has the Sun Tree right in the center. If there’s a day where Cassandra would give her respects to her dead family…. That would be it.

“Of course,” Pike smiles. “That’s a pretty dress!”

Cassandra smiles back, a little shy at the compliment. “Ah, thanks. It’s old but… we used to dress up for Winter’s Crest, before… I just thought it was appropriate.”

Ah, so the dress is the result of noblemen traditions of Winter’s Crest. Vex tries to imagine the person she saw in the castle, younger and less smokey, sitting around a table with a younger version of Cassandra, one without that sadness in her eyes.

A gaggle of children rush by with shiny baubles in their hands, chased by presumably one of their guardians. From the looks of it, they stole those from one of the cut trees that decorate the Whitestone homes.

The kids are cute, and innocent. Vex watches them run around the square, disappear behind the tree with the out of breath guardian still chasing them. They’re not running anymore, but they’ve settled for a determined walk. They’ll get their ornaments back eventually. The kids will be tired of the game.

The bards from the Broken Candle take center stage on a raised platform installed not far from them.

“Ooooh yeaaaaaaaah,” the gnome sings loudly, capturing everyone’s attention, raising his hand. As it comes down on the strings of his lute, the rest of the band starts playing.

One second, Vex is starting to bob her head to the rhythm. The next, she’s on her feet, being pulled by her brother towards the slowly growing crowd of dancers.

“Vax! No, come on,” she protests, pushing back at him slightly. She’s smiling though, and her cheeks are starting to hurt a little.

Vax’s smile is just as bright, for once. It’s so beautiful she feels like crying suddenly. Every complaint she has about dancing in the town square with her brother on Winter’s Crest disappears as he pulls her close. The music wraps around them and their eyes meet.

“I’ve missed this, stubby,” he whispers.

“Me too,” she answers in a breath, and they start twirling around, somehow managing to follow the rhythm of the song. Neither of them are listening, really.

When Vex can finally start looking away from her twin’s happiness, her eyes fall on Cassandra. Pike and Grog are talking, across the table from her, but she doesn’t seem to be listening. She’s staring at the two of them, dancing in the crowd.

And even from here, Vex can see the tears in her eyes.

#perc'ahlia #vox machina #critical role #vax'ildan #vaxildan #vex'ahlia #vexahlia #lovm #citf #fic #mine

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aphrodites-law · 2 years ago

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Clarke wakes up eight years in the future, where her college best friend happens to be her girlfriend. Part 5/? (Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4)

It was such a beautiful day that Clarke almost felt bad they’d sit in a dark movie theater for two hours. Lexa seemed happy to just hold her hand as they walked down the street, chatting about one of the business projects she was working on.

Clarke knew questions about Lexa’s work were like flirting with danger. There was no way Other Clarke didn’t already know everything about her girlfriend's career, while she could barely hold the conversation. Parks and the environment had never made her feel so dumb. Luckily, Lexa didn’t seem to notice any gaps in her knowledge — or lack thereof.

If Clarke was still on edge about the whole situation, at least it would’ve been nice to have some advantages. Her memory being so selective was a thorn in her side. It was like she was forced to walk this future with horse-blinders on because she might break it irreparably otherwise. It was all so… careful, tailored, that Clarke was starting to reconsider her stance on dorky sci-fi. Maybe Raven had cobbled together some kind of monstrous time machine and then stored it in Lincoln’s basement.

“Do you want Milk Duds?”

Clarke tried to refocus. They’d arrived at the concession stand of the multiplex, where a teenager was shoveling popcorn in a paper bag. Clarke didn’t remember this theater in particular, but the buttery-sweet smell put her at ease. Lexa and her went to the movies whenever they could, treating themselves to sweets. It was familiar territory for once — there was nothing to worry about.

“No, you always hoard them,” Clarke replied mindlessly.

“Do not,” Lexa protested. “You just take forever to eat them.”

“You have to suck the chocolate first.”

“Here we go.”

“What kind of person just bites into them right away?!”

“I don’t know you and I don’t hear you.”

Clarke grinned, finding it so much easier to fall into their banter than more serious exchanges. When the teen set their popcorn on the counter, she reached for her purse to pay but heard a snort and the smooth swipe of Lexa’s credit card.

“Yeah, right,” Lexa said.

They made their way down the hall toward their screen.

“So I can’t pay for my own food at 30?” Clarke teased.

“Not the day of, grandma.”

“Wow, look who’s talking now.”

Lexa pinched her ass so fast that Clarke let out a startled gasp.

—

It was a coming of age story on the raunchy side, with loud scenes and moody visuals in nightclubs and college dorms. Clarke felt completely disconnected from the story, knowing she would forget it soon. The more obvious reason was that they were done with the popcorn and now Lexa had her hand on her bare thigh.

She wasn’t even… doing anything, but it was there, and Clarke didn’t care about any character or any damn plot point because her best friend’s fingers were touching her skin. She could admit that much.

The real mistake had been comparing how Lexa and her usually acted at the movies. Sitting next to each other, sharing food or candy, but never… touching with purpose. Inevitably, Clarke wondered how she would’ve reacted if her Lexa had ever attempted this. If she’d held her hand and made no move to let go. Clarke wanted to believe she would’ve been effortlessly cool about it, but her current state showed otherwise.

Breathing was a tall order and her hands felt clammy. There was no one behind them at least.

“Lexa…” she whispered, glancing at her.

Lexa had a small smile but seemed otherwise focused on the movie. Her hand inched up higher, beneath her dress, and then stilled again.

In the cover of darkness, Clarke realized her assumption she’d be safe from her own desires was a joke. The secluded but still public space made it worse – forbidden in the kind of way that made her ache. Now it made sense why Lexa had responded so positively to her movie suggestion.

From the way her body was reacting, Other Clarke clearly had a fantasy for this type of situation, and Clarke had tapped right into it. Which was unfair, because how could she know she enjoyed this before she even knew it!

“Fuck,” she cursed, her fingers digging into the armrest. With her free hand she reached for Lexa’s wrist, a weak attempt to stop her.

“Lexa,” she repeated quietly. “What are you doing?”

Lexa drew small circles on Clarke’s skin, like an apology. Only it wasn’t. “It’s okay, baby,” she murmured a few seconds later. “Sit back.”

There was… no way. Clarke couldn’t. She couldn’t. But her heart had started pounding and the heat in the pit of her stomach felt unbearable. She knew this feeling but never this intense. There was no scenario where she didn’t take care of this. And to Lexa, there was no scenario where she didn’t care of this.

Which was exactly why Clarke needed to choose her next words carefully: “Not here,” she pleaded, and then: “I’ll be too loud.”

It had the effect Clarke had hoped for. Lexa lost all semblance of control and looked at her, her mouth parted open and her expression unreadable. Yet in the dark room, Clarke could still see the change in her. Could feel how her hand’s soft touch turned into a possessive grip. Fingers pressing into flesh, then her thumb rubbing against the spot as if she worried she’d hurt her.

Lexa was quiet for a beat, then cleared her throat and gathered their belongings. “Come on.”

She’d entwined their hands without Clarke even realizing it, or maybe it was her who’d reached out first. Clarke wasn’t sure she could tell left from right anymore, or if she could even walk to wherever it was Lexa was taking her. They left the room discreetly, but the lights in the hall did nothing to snap Clarke out of her mounting desire.

It felt like the fight had been lost the moment she’d suggested they go slow. Slow had meant eventually, and with Lexa, eventually seemed to only take a few hours.

—

The restroom was miraculously empty for now, but the toilet stall Lexa had dragged her in was a tighter space than expected. Clarke felt a thrill.

Lexa pressed her against the door with little restraint, hand cupping her cheek as she kissed her deeply.

Clarke pulled back and looked into her eyes, knowing she didn’t want to stop her. It wasn’t just how her body reacted to Lexa’s hands or mouth. Wherever they were, from the comfort of their apartment to the cramped confines of this stall, she felt home. Home with Lexa. Attuned to her touch, her smell and her taste. The most mind-bending, confusing event of her life was happening, yet she felt safe. Tethered to this new life as if it was her own. Or could be, at least.

Lexa rubbed their noses together. “Breathe,” she whispered.

Clarke tangled her fingers in her hair. “I’m okay. Just wondering… why the toilet is the romantic setup I get.”

“What do you mean?” Lexa replied with a smirk. “You love traditions.”

“Tradi-”

Lexa kissed her again, her full lips like warm velvet against hers. She kissed her until it almost felt silly that was all they were doing, and really, Clarke was sick of fighting this. She reached for Lexa’s hands and brought them to her breasts, where Lexa needed no further instruction to palm them.

“Fuck, Clarke, I can’t do the whole slow thing anymore.”

“You can’t?” Clarke repeated pointlessly, too lost in the feeling of Lexa’s hands on her body.

“It’s your birthday,” Lexa said against her neck, inhaling when Clarke tilted her head to the side. “And I have so many presents to give.”

Her hands went down to her waist, her ass, and then pushed her dress up. She never looked away from her, smile growing as Clarke’s eyes darkened.

“Lexa…”

It was all she could find to say. Just the name of the woman in all her thoughts. She felt so needy; a need to connect with Lexa in all the ways they never did in her time. She pulled her close and kissed her, chasing her tongue. When Lexa moaned, she was reminded of what she’d told her earlier – how her kisses felt different. Clarke thought, good, let them be different. Let Lexa be surprised too. It was only fair.

Lexa’s hand was beneath lace in a matter of seconds, fingers finally pressing against her.

“Oh, god,” Clarke breathed out, knees buckling.

“I’ve got you,” Lexa promised, firmly holding her thigh up with her other hand.

When she entered her, Clarke’s body felt so overcome with pleasure she briefly worried she’d come on the spot.

“So wet,” Lexa husked in her ear. “I wish I could get on my knees. But not yet.”

Fuck. Clarke closed her eyes, thankful for the small mercy. She wouldn’t have been able to stop Lexa from licking into her if she wanted. Not even for a second. She could only focus on her fingers filling her, harder and faster with every moan that slipped out of her.

Lexa took her quickly, like she worried someone would rob them of this moment if she didn't. Or couldn't wait to see her fall apart. Her eyes never looked away and her skin had a slight shine under the harsh light. She’d never looked more confident; more beautiful. And Clarke felt attractive too, though… with her tits nearly out of her dress, her leg hooked around Lexa’s waist and her fingers buried deep inside her, she should’ve felt dirty. And well, she did, but not in a way where she’d later feel empty. Where she’d be reminded she was someone you had fun with, but that was all. Lexa made her feel like a fucking bombshell. Was showing her that they were on the same page in every facet of this relationship.

Clarke wanted to last longer but couldn’t, needing release like she needed air. It hit her hard, just as Lexa found a different spot and adjusted her angle, because of course she knew every inch of her body. She muffled her moans in Lexa’s top, though she doubted it helped.

Lexa pressed small, tender kisses on her neck while she rubbed her clit in tight circles, whispering I love yous between Clarke’s sighs. For a moment they simply came down the same euphoric wave together, not in a rush to find the world again. When she finally pulled out, Clarke whined in protest. She couldn’t get enough, now wanting nothing more than to make Lexa feel the same.

She’d crossed the line, and there was no part of her that wanted to go back.

#clexa #clexa fic #w #well she lasted half a day it's not too bad #f: citf

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