#High-quality Lead Flashing Roll

[jjkamochoso]

Pretty as a Picture

Fluff

Levi Ackerman x gn!reader

When you’re exploring Marley with Levi and co., you find yourself enthralled with some new technology…

Warnings: slight cussing

When you and the others left for Marley, you had no idea what you were getting yourselves into. You were terrified that the outside world was going to be a vision of disaster and leave your high expectations completely unmet. However, when the boat began to dock at the port and you got a glimpse of the bustling city, you practically had stars in your eyes.

“Hange! This is so exciting! Look at all the new developments!” you gushed, taking in the foreign sights. They agreed wholeheartedly, rambling about certain things they had read about over the years that were going to be investigated today. Levi wanted to roll his eyes at your over the top excitement, but he had to admit he was very curious about life in Marley as well. As the boat started letting people off, you nervously ran your fingers over your outfit, desperately trying to straighten out the high quality fabric of your disguise.

“Are you trying to impress these people or something? Stop fussing. You look fine,” Levi said, leading the way off the boat without giving you a second glance. You looked at Hange, who just shrugged their shoulders and ran after Levi. You and the Survey Corps captain were in the newer stages of a relationship. You had known him for years, rising up the ranks together, and had shared a close bond for most of that time. Not too long ago, you both realized your relationship held the element of attraction for one another and after an awkward confession from the both of you, your deep companionship turned into a budding romance. It was all new territory for both parties, neither of you having much experience in the dating department, and the two of you were trying to figure out the right balance between your old selves and new title as lovers. You tried not to worry too much; Levi didn’t seem the type to break up with someone. If he chose to be with you in a romantic way after being your friend for so long, you’d most likely be together long after your bodies were consumed by the soil of your shared grave.

You hurried off the boat, your party waiting for you with anxiousness to get the trip started. On solid ground once more, Levi took his usual spot next to you. You smiled internally at the gesture. This relationship would have no hand holding (for the foreseeable future), but his closeness, akin to a guard dog, was better than that. Out of the corner of your eye came a flash and both of your heads whipped around to see what it was.

“Hange!” You pointed to the area from which it came, “What is that?”

“That’s a camera! It makes photographs like the one we saw in Eren’s basement,” they explained.

“So cool,” you breathed out. “What I wouldn’t give to have one.”

You suddenly found yourself being dragged over to the camera, Levi having an iron grip on the extra fabric of your sleeve.

“My partner wants one photograph, please,” he told the man working the contraption.

The man laughed a little, clearly figuring out you weren’t from the area. “One photograph, huh? That’s quite alright.” He turned to address you. “You can sit right here and pose.”

You nodded, slightly nervous but trembling with excitement as Levi handed the man the money.

“I’m going to count to three and when the flash is over, you’ll be good to go.”

You weren’t quite sure exactly what to do with your body as the man started his count but when you saw Levi watching you intently, you relaxed and broke out into the biggest smile. The flash went off and you were told to wait a few minutes for the photograph to be ready.

“Oh! Sir? May I please have one more? I would like one of my boyfriend,” you said, looking at Levi expectantly.

His eyes went wide, shaking his head. “No way. Your memory isn’t that shitty to where you’ll need one of these to remember what I look like, is it?”

You gave him the biggest puppy eyes and poutiest face you could muster. “Please, Levi? For me?”

He sighed, giving the cameraman more money. “Fine. But you have to be in it with me, brat.”

You cheered when he stood next to you, you on the seat once more, and you could tell he was nervous.

“Just relax and look at the circle in front of you. You don’t have to smile or anything if you don’t want, just think of a positive memory or place. That way it’ll look natural.”

As the man did his countdown, Levi frantically tried his best to look comfortable and right before the flash went off, he knew exactly what to do.

During your wait for the photos you heard commotion from the group about “ice cream” so of course you bounded over, Levi trailing behind you. When you got your hands on the treat, you took a big bite of it which was a huge mistake.

“It’s so cold! My teeth! Ouch!” you exclaimed, your mouth open as you tried to fan it out. Levi watched you complain to the teens that they didn’t give you a fair warning that it was freezing, a small smile on his face.

“Tch, give me that. You’re going to drop it,” he said, taking the cone from you. Learning from you the wrong way to eat it, he snuck a taste using just the tip of his tongue. It was cold, sweet, and a total waste of money—but if you liked it, he would gladly bring home the entire cart and the recipe. With plans to meet back up with everybody after you got your photographs, you and Levi headed over to the cameraman.

“That was very kind of you to let me get those taken,” you told him. “And I love that you did one with me. That means a lot, you know.”

“It’s no problem,” he muttered, eyeing every passerby so that they didn’t get any ideas of messing with you. His time in the Underground made it so that he hated being in large groups of people, crooks and crime always lurking about in those environments. He certainly didn’t want you to be swept up in any of it either, so his senses had been on high alert the entire trip. Thankfully that was the case or else right now you’d be splayed on the ground, grievously injured. Not from a criminal, but from some machine called a “car.” You two had to cross the street to get back to the cameraman but in your haste, you had forgotten there were technological advances you weren’t used to roaming around the city. You stepped off the sidewalk, chatting about something called a “balloon,” when a car came careening down the road, going much too fast for a busy pedestrian area. Levi had noticed it in the nick of time, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you out of harm’s way. He couldn’t even find it within himself to yell at the driver, too concerned for your well being.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hurriedly looking you over for injuries.

“Yeah, I’m fine, but,” you pointed sadly to the ground where your ice cream lost its life, “my ice cream isn’t.”

That earned a Levi eye roll. “Forget the food. If you keep up this carelessness, the photograph is the only thing I’ll have left of you after this trip.”

You sighed since he was right, as always. “I’m sorry.”

“Just pay attention. I’d hate for you to survive everything we’ve been through just to get taken out by some horse wannabe.”

You burst out laughing, Levi unintentionally lifting the mood. He never thought of himself as an overly funny guy but the way he had you gasping for breath after a hard hitting sarcastic remark would’ve made anyone certain he was a comedian.

The man with the camera handed you the finished products and you excitedly examined your solo one.

“Levi! Look! It’s my face!” You shoved the photograph toward him and he looked it over.

“It is, isn’t it?” he said, his voice laced with a hint of amusement and wonder. He tucked it into his hat for safekeeping (and he kept it on his person every day after that so you were always together; it had miraculously survived the blast from Zeke). When you saw the photograph of the both of you, you were at a loss for words.

“We look so… pretty. Happy. Normal.”

Levi caught a glance and hummed in agreement. He was ecstatic that his actions translated well through the camera.

Before the flash had gone off, he had put his hand on your shoulder.

“What?” you had asked him, turning away from the camera to look at him, thinking he had a question. Instead, you were greeted with steel blue eyes that were gazing lovingly at you, while Levi’s lips were curled into a soft smile. He was the epitome of handsome and you had practically melted, lovesickness etched all over your features and the camera flashed, capturing it forever.

“I’m keeping this one since you have the other one,” you said, tucking it in your chest pocket. “Me and my shitty memory want to make sure we remember this forever.”

You nudged Levi in a teasing manner and he just shook his head. Finding your way back to Hange, you felt a sense of peace wash over you that you didn’t think would be possible in foreign lands, and that was all thanks to Levi. Even if you didn’t always express your love in the most conventional ways, he proved his loyalty and trust in you time and time again. You hoped your photographs would be preserved and serve as proof that the so called island devils weren’t evil after all—they were people, too. People who could laugh and smile.

People who could love.

[tsunami-of-tears]

Sunny

Cassian x Reader

Reader has the best wingman

No warnings, just fluff

Wordcount: <550

Cassian was feeling very happy to be home in Velaris with his family. He had just returned from a mission that had gone much longer than initially planned. With a free afternoon, he was spending some quality time with Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx at a quaint cafe by the Sidra. 

The drinks had just been delivered to the table. Nyx clapped his hands together clumsily as Feyre held up a milkshake for him to try, while Rhys watched the interaction lovingly. The little babe always brought so much joy to their family. 

With all eyes on Nyx, no one noticed the golden blur bounding down the street. The dog came to a stop in front of the group and jumped up at Cassian, knocking the table and causing the drinks to spill. 

Nyx points at the dog and starts babbling, “Pup pup pup.”

It’s a big dog with long, well-groomed, golden hair. It’s on a lead though there is no owner in sight. The dog parts its mouth, appearing to smile, and wags its tail as it tries to lick Cassian’s face. 

“Hey buddy,” Cassian says, giving the dog a pat on its head. “Where’s your owner?” 

On cue, a gorgeous High Fae female bolts down the path, coming to a halt before the table. 

“Sunny, you bad boy!” She exclaims. The dog, Sunny, cocks his head in response before giving Cassian’s cheek a lick. 

Cassian lets out a deep laugh, both at the happy dog’s affection and his name, which is not very fitting for the Night Court. 

“I’m so sorry,” The female says to the group. “He pulled out of my grip and took off. I chased him all the way down the street. Can I please replace everything he knocked over?” 

“No real harm done, darling,” Rhys responds, before giving Cassian a pointed look.

“Are you sure?” The female questions, grabbing Sunny’s lead. “Sit boy.” Sunny obeys, still wagging his tail. 

Nyx interrupts with more babbling, “Pup!”

Laughing, the female asks, “Do you want to see him do a trick? Sunny, roll over.” The dog obeys again, rolling onto his back. Nyx lets out an elated squeal and claps his hands together. 

The female beams at the toddler, before turning her attention back to the rest of the group. “I’m so sorry, I’m forgetting all my manners. My name is Y/N.” 

Hearing her name is music to Cassian’s ears, it sounds so lovely that he forgets to respond. 

“I’m Rhys, this is my mate, Feyre, and our son, Nyx. That’s Cassian.” 

Rhys saying his name draws Cassian’s attention from the female, he notices Feyre wiggling her eyebrows at him and smiling cheekily. Rhys coughs, a blatant push to get Cassian to speak. 

Finding his voice, he turns to Y/N, “Actually Rhys, this has been quite inconvenient.” He flashes a smile that he hopes is charming enough, “I know how you can make it up to me though.” 

Y/N’s cheeks flush and she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “Oh, how?”

“Dinner. With me. Tonight.”

Y/N bites her lip, not breaking eye contact, “It’s a date.” 

[djarins-cyare]

Hi, thanks for checking out my writing!

I write purely for Din Djarin (though I read and rec other Pedro Pascal characters and other Star Wars media). Whilst not all my stories include smut, they usually contain adult themes and language, so they’re suitable for over-18s only 🔞

My writing is extremely detailed and character-oriented, and I research and proofread/edit thoroughly. I never start publishing something until it’s fully written. As a result, producing content takes me a while, but I hope this ensures that my completed works are high-quality, immersive experiences for my readers.

Please feel free to join my tag list.

**The emojis assigned to each fic below indicate moods rather than specific genres and are open to interpretation**

PUBLISHED WORKS:

🔷 Be-All And Endor [406,690 words]

My magnum opus; this is a novel-length slow burn set after season 2. Din has a bounty on Endor and gets more than he bargained for when Reader accidentally almost runs him down with her speeder in the forest. Over 1.6k kudos on AO3. [😍+🥰+🥵]

🔷 Never Look Down [13,160 words]

Two-part mini-series set on Nevarro after season 3, wherein Din falls for Grogu’s babysitter but resolves not to tell her… until a drunken misunderstanding results in some revelations. [😍+🫣 and a hint of 🥵]

🔷 Din Djarin: The Contractor [1,001 words]

An imagine-turned-one-shot that evolved from pics of Din holding a toolbox and the memory of Joel telling Ellie he used to be a contractor. Reader needs a repairman, and guess who shows up… [😡->😈]

🔷 The Long Goodbye [45 words]

Flash fiction in 280 characters or less. An examination of why Ahsoka came looking for Din in ‘Chapter 13: The Jedi’ rather than waiting for him in Calodan like he asked. [🥺]

CURRENTLY BEING WRITTEN:

🔷 Hush

[snippet 1] [snippet 2] I was assigned the genre ‘secret relationship’ in a roll-a-trope writing challenge, so this fic follows Din and Reader embarking on a clandestine liaison that they have to hide from Karga… because Reader is our favourite High Magistrate’s niece. Multi-chapter; features sneaking around, flimsy excuses, near misses, and furtive smut. [😏🤫🥵]

🔷 Held Is The Seed

[snippet] A four-part smutty series. When a guy in a cantina claims Mandos make poor lovers, Reader leaps to Din’s defence and lists several ways in which he could, in fact, be exceptionally talented in bed. Din overhears and later offers to prove her assumptions true one by one. [😍->🥵]

🔷 To See A Thousand Things

[details & snippet] [snippet - 1st one down] An extremely smutty, angsty piece based on five firsts and one last. Din has something casual going with a gun shop owner over the years, but they both discover that anything long-term will inevitably transform into something that runs deep. [🥵+😭]

🔷 Aruetiise

[snippet - 2nd one down] One-shot based on the idea of Din and Reader both coming up with reasons they can’t be together, none of which are the same and all of which are idiotic. An argument finally leads to a conversation about it. [🥺…🥹🥰]

🔷 Final Sanctuary

[snippet - 3rd one down] [snippet] Smutty one-shot (will be lengthy) based on a fantasy Din has when his shipmate spills white dip on her chin, and how he manages to figure out flirting and make his fantasy a reality. [🥵->🥰]

🔷 Din Djarin In Jarringly Domestic Situations

[details & snippet] [more details] Space romcom involving a series of encounters in which Din meets the woman of his dreams, but each time, it’s in an embarrassing or awkward situation. [😍😳🥴]

FIC REQUESTS:

I’m very open to requests because having a deadline and someone waiting on me often helps motivate me to finish!

I’m flexible in terms of content, but please bear in mind that smut takes me a lot longer to write, and I lean towards fluff rather than angst (though I’m not opposed to the darker end of the scale). I’m also not a fan of breeding kink (sorry, I firmly believe Din is a reluctant father who loves Grogu but would have to be brought around to the idea of one day having his own) or daddy kink. Otherwise, please feel free to suggest anything that takes your fancy!

Ideally, short prompts or ideas for one-shots are best because I’m the girl who got over 400k words out of “slow burn set on Endor”, so the more complex your request, the bigger the undertaking, the longer it’ll take me to research and write (and the longer you’ll be waiting).

HOW TO SUPPORT ME:

If you’ve enjoyed my writing, please consider heading over to AO3 and adding some kudos to my fics there. Also, please consider reblogging any of my fics/series masterlists here on Tumblr. Both these actions increase visibility and help new readers to find my work long after publication. I don’t have a Ko-fi because I value online encouragement and marketing assistance more than cold, hard cash.

I also see spinoff media as the highest form of flattery, so if you feel like doing anything creative based around the universes I write, rest assured I’ll be here cheering you on and crying over how much I love you! It’s my dream for my writing to inspire others, whether it’s playing in my sandbox with me or crafting something of your own.

Thanks for your support; it means the galaxy to me! 💙🩵

🌀 I do NOT consent for my stories to be copied/reposted on any other site, nor stolen, scraped or reworked by AI 🌀

[firerose18991]

Thinking about rich!boyfriend Gojo who is intent on having the strongest female jujutsu Sorcerer as his girl.

Minors DNI

Info: Jujutsu Kaisen, rich shenanigans, cunniligus, smut, thick reader, written with black readers in mind

A/N: unedited😘

Wrd cnt: 1,876

You were brought up in the Kyoto branch. After you graduated you were hardly ever around the school as you are always selected for their highest profile missions or representing the branch.

Naturally this would lead to you and Gojo crossing paths numerous times. You respected his work but not his ethics. Chatting up the women at every meeting like he was some prize. But you could tell it was all talk. High ranking clan men rarely wanted their equal when they married, otherwise the old clans would have been overturned decades ago. No, you could tell her was the type that was raised to marry an obedient housewife when the time came.

So when the two of you met at the latest meeting you weren't fazed at being his target for the evening. He claimed the seat next to you during the proceedings, chatted you up as the group moved to the dining hall, and sat overly close as late night drinks were served.

"Gojo this has been great but I need to head to bed." You spoke flatly, pushing him off your arm.

"This has been great" he held his head in his hand. The silver strands of his hair reflected the light into your eyes. "Let's hang out before the meeting tomorrow evening."

"Make it worth my while." You got up from your floor seat and headed towards the women's shared room.

The next day you hadn't expected much. You'd already been waiting for him for 20 mins. Why would you expect him to be on time?

He rolled up in front of the meeting hall in a maserati blaring his horn as if there were anyone else there.

"Hop in." he rolled up to you, flashing that same arrogant smile seemingly etched into his features.

"Where are we going?"

"Shopping district."

"For what? We have meetings about the state of the Jujutsu world and you want me to find a cute dress." You bent down to peek at him in the car.

"Can't be worse than the standard issue Jujutsu garb." He flung the passenger door open.

"Are you saying I look bad?" You glared as you stepped down into the car.

"Oh no honey, you make those uniforms work." He lowered his glasses to wink.

God you'd strangle him if you weren’t so busy feeling the heat swirl to your face. So the two of you headed to the city. Where you end up in front of this golden tower-like store that you didn't recognize the name(though to be fair you wouldn't know the names of most stores as you weren't a shopper, but you could tell this one was high class.) Instead of wasting your breath you let Gojo run his big mouth.

"Quality and style wrapped in one store. Figured we'd get something to wear for our date yeah?"

"Gojo?!" You stopped walking but he swooped behind and ushered you along.

"trust me it'll be 'worth your while'" god you were regretting that now.

He tugged you into the store under his arm. You were a bit embarrassed being dressed in traditional clothes while the rest of the store(staff included) looked red carpet ready.

"The sapphire suite." He said to the woman who greeted you at the door.

The two of you were brought to a giant space filled with clothing racks. The massive window at the end of the golden room looked out at the entire city and bathed the room in light. You were caught doe eyed at the sights.

"Would you care for champagne? "Another host said from the small bar in the room.

He nudged your shoulders and the two of you stepped further in. "Would you?"

"Oh! Okay…" The bartender presented your drinks and the bottle before excusing himself.

The manager had informed you that they have already filled your room with their latest pieces on the racks for men's and women but if you had any specific requests or styles you'd like to try they could have that brought to the up as well. When the shock had worn off and you took the time to examine the room it resembled a bridal outfit presentation stand.

"Where are the mirrors?"

Gojo fiddled with the remote from his place on the couch. Slowly portions of the massive glass showed your reflection.

"You can watch shows on it too but I think we'll have all the entertainment we need. " He got up and started sorting through the women's clothing. "How 'bout we start with this." He whistled holding up a strappy (like all straps) dress.

You walked down from the stage to look through the men's rack. You pulled out a bright pink pimp suit. "And of course you'll follow with this."

There were dressing rooms hidden in the corners of the room by crimson red curtains to compliment the gold. You stepped into one and tried to work out if you could even cover the most essential areas with the small pieces of fabric. In the end you stepped out with one arm braced to your chest and shorts beneath the piece.

"Hm I see what you're going with, leave a little to the imagination." Gojo was already sitting on the couch again, studying your look.

He was wearing the flamboyant suit like it was second skin, even popping the collar for excess asshole effect. You tiptoed over to where he was sitting.

"Looks great. Dress is nice too."

"Gojo, I feel like my time is being wasted." You rolled your eyes at him.

"Alright fine" he walked over to the rack. "You gonna pick something out or do I get the honor."

After the two of you sifted through the rack you'd found some options and went back to the changing room. Each time you'd come out and look at yourself in the now full screen mirror.

"Can I see the last one again?" Gojo laughed, he'd been watching try on each outfit as if you didn't look great in all.

"Gojo this isn't a fashion show.". You were checking yourself I'm the mirror once again. "I like this one but I don't know, what's this date you were talking about?"

"Just a lunch date" he shrugged.

"Gojo I'm not stupid don't walk me into some hair brained scenario." You picked out the last dress. "I don't like surprises." You called as you walked back.

He watched the gentle curve of your ass as you walked back through the mirror.

"Hey (Y/N) I think that one is good for where we're going." He leaned his head on the couch back board and sighed.

"You sure?" You peeked out from the curtain.

"Yeah, and whatever else caught your eye." He got up to finally pick out his own outfit which had been selected before the two of you came to shop in person.

You wore the dress out and gathered your clothing. From all the outfits there was only one other you couldn't bear to part with and took that one. As a jujutsu sorcerer you didn't have many casual clothes because you hardly needed them.

Gojo paid for everything to your surprise, you could never tell when to believe in him. So when he took you to a regular (for his standards) enjoyable lunch date you had started to go easier on him. He even managed to get the two of you back on time for the evening meetings. You thought after this debacle he'd be done though, he was never known to stay interested in others for long.

So imagine your surprise when you are transferred to the tokyo branch for "backup". As if Gojo wasn't the whole army.

But this is getting too long:

After a few months Gojo had pulled every favor to get as close to you as possible and you'd grown comfortable around him now (what choice did you have).

So after exsorcing a particularly tuff curse the two of you spend the night at a rejuvenating hot spring in the mountains. Each suite had a private hot spring to themselves so the two of you decked out in complimentary robes and the crisp wines provided, made use of it.

You rested your head on the edge of the tub feeling the night breeze compliment the steaming waters. Gojo had taken the chance to run his hands over your back as you rested. Of course he wasn't too drained by the mission.

Soon tender touches turned to the frost of his breath on your neck. You were willing to go as long as his little game would last.

"(Y/N)..." His hands firmly gripped your hips bringing them back to his erection.

You reached back to bring his lips closer to your flesh. He sucked on your neck, softly at first but growing more passionate and bold each second. You turned to face him, finally to claim his lips for yourself.

As you reached up the cold air perked your nipples causing them to make contact with Gojo's toned chest before the rest of you. He lifted your legs in a butterfly hold keeping your folds spread and stimulated by the heated water.

The kiss was sloppy as you were now relying on him to keep you in position. But the man wouldn't keep his hand still. He'd find a new hand hold on your butt or thighs each second and switch.

He pushed himself flush against you, steadying your bodies and allowing his dick to make perfect contact with your puffy clit. His hips began to hump against you to which you reciprocated. You soft mewls were drowned out by his heavy breathing.

As the two of you worked a good rhythm he snuck his thumb between the two of you to apply more pressure to your clit. You tightened your legs around him.

"We should get out." You whispered trying to compose yourself.

He climbed out on all fours with you clinging to him like a joey. He laid you out on the adjoined wooden deck to properly devour you. He pushed your thick thighs up giving them tentative squeezes. The mix of the cool air and the steam from his breath had your clit twitching for attention. Gojo had been taking his time letting you stew but you were having none of it. You grabbed his snow white locks and pulled his lips into contact with your pussy. He got to work, peeking up at you with his eyes. Watching you hump against the flat of his tongue before he moved to relish your core. You caged his head as he doted on your pussy. He'd switch from pumping his tongue to teasing your slit all the while rubbing your clit with his thumb.

He wouldn't deny himself much longer and mounted you. He's spent all this time breaking you down sufficiently and now you were his for the taking.

He thrusted so the two of you are flush at the hips, grinding down sensually on your sweet spot before he began fucking you proper. Your sweet nectar and voice made harmonies in his ears as the two of you went on.

"Fuck sweetheart, this was worth the wait."

~Fire Rose

[aph-america]

Inevitable Temptation: Chapter 2- A Step Closer

After years of bullying due to a disorder that leaves him infertile, Ivan swears to never marry an Alpha. But living in a society that leaves him with few freedoms, his father marries him off. His Alpha fiancé, Alfred F. Jones, is a charming fellow who seems to not have a reason to marry an omega like Ivan- or does he?

Knock Knock

“Hey! Ivan. Gotta surprise for you, meet me in the backyard.”

Ivan’s ears perked up to the statement. A whiff of sage hit his nose, stronger than yesterday. He shook his head to ignore it before he pondered. Still in his sleepwear, he changed into a simple pair of jeans and a turtleneck. Heading down the stairs of his new ‘home’, he went to the backdoor, leading him to the yard.

Looking ahead, he spotted a shirtless Alfred with a shovel, next to several rows of potted flowers. He pulled his scarf over his face as he came closer, entranced by the flowers.

“You like ‘em? I got them rushed over once you told me what you wanted yesterday. Was hoping that we could plant them today.” He flashed his bright smile.

Ivan blinked and grinned, overjoyed by the gift. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to appear too happy for the Alpha, so he held back his delight. Taking a deep breath, he stood up straight and looked around the yard. He pointed to an area that had plenty of sun. “I think a garden there would look nice, yes?” He told more so than asked.

Alfred nodded, an enthusiastic smile on his face. He pushed up his black sunglasses and started digging up the grass, without pause. Ivan kneeled next to the rows of flowers, inspecting their color and quality. Gentle fingers stroked the delicate petals. Ivan’s eyes traveled back to Alfred, watching him dig out the dirt. His gaze unable to pull away, he couldn’t help but take notice of his body. A built alpha, nothing new or surprising. However, the omega found himself watching the sweat drip down his chest and between his muscles. Almost in a daze, he snapped out of it by Alfred’s voice.

“I’m really glad ya’ like 'em!” He shouted in a happy tone, a proud grin on his face. He hadn’t noticed Ivan staring at him since he’d been hard at work pulling out grass for his crush's garden.

Ivan flinched, taking himself out of his daze. The hot sun covered up the flush that went to his cheeks. “Yes…Thank you…” He politely responded, attempting to not sound too impressed. His eyes flickered back to Alfred again. “I’m surprised an alpha like yourself is out here doing hard labor…I’d assume you would hire someone…”

Alfred snorted at the assumption. “What? You think ‘cause I got money I can’t get my hands dirty? I’m a country boy at heart. Pop’s always said an alpha who can’t handle shovels and some tools is an embarrassment…” He returned to digging.

"So you weren't spoiled as a child?" Ivan teased, prying to know more about Alfred's life.

"Nah. I'm what they call 'new money' is all. The cash didn't start rolling in until I was in high school. I wasn't raised to be a prissy alpha, who doesn't even know the basics of mounting." He snickered, wiping the sweat forming on his forehead.

“Prissy is not a trait I would associate with you.” Ivan replied, nodding. To Alfred’s defense, he appeared to not be completely helpless in terms of work, inside and outside the house. He had cooked for Ivan several times already. A kindness the omega had returned by making Alfred breakfast this morning.

Alfred boasted, offering a thumbs up, “Good! The traits I want you to associate with me are strong, handsome, an’ charming!”

Ivan could only roll his eyes. “More so, arrogant is a better word…”

Alfred pouted, bending down to clear out more grass. “You really think I’m arrogant? It’s something I’ve tried to work on about myself…” He confessed. Not feeling the need to hide his past with Ivan, he desired an emotional closeness that could only be achieved if he opened up as well.

Ivan could hear the sincerity in the alpha’s voice, a twinge of guilt settling in his mind. He didn’t like that this alpha had the ability to trigger such emotions. “... Maybe arrogant is a strong word. You are very confident, proud…Perhaps such confidence is a foreign concept to me.” Reeling back the criticism, Ivan glanced to the side.

Read Rest On Ao3

[random-mailbox]

Random-Mailbox's Favorite Sailor Moon Fics - Week 21 - Huddle for Warmth

This week’s post has a very loose interpretation of the theme of “Huddle for Warmth”, in actuality this is more of a “It is cold, there is snow, so this counts!” type of collection of stories - both multi-chapters and one-shots. Since it is the last week of January and it is below freezing where I am, this seemed fitting.

As always, my apologies in advance for spoiling some of these for you (Fic Titles are linked to either FFN or AO3 entries).

Icebreaker - @linlamont

Minako, being Minako, decides to “help” and sends Usagi and Mamoru to a secluded cabin in the mountains by themselves to try and figure out what they mean to each other, now that they have recovered their memories of the past life. As they work together to cook and keep warm, they try to find a new precarious balance, while dealing with their anxieties and insecurities. 

Chills - Secrets10

Serena can’t seem to warm up after getting hit with a Youma attack. This is compounded by her leaving her keys at home while her family is out. Darien finds her bawling outside the arcade and offers to take her to his place to help warm up.

Quality Time in the Cold - Prince_Endymion (Star_Bun)

In this cute one-shot, Usagi and Mamoru enjoy a walk in the first snow of the season in companionable silence.

Snow Bunny - @shnuggletea

In this non-senshi AU short story, a trip out to a ski resort orchestrated by Minako and Motoki forces Mamoru to confront his feelings for Usagi, with Seyia and Beryl acting as foils.

A Magical Boy in Maine - @caelenath

Disclaimer - this story is not complete (but a new chapter went up last week!) and I am making an exception in including it in the series for two reasons: the "huddle together for warmth" part is already published and the way @caelenath writes psychometry is probably one of my favorite interpretations across the fandom.

Mamoru gets invited to spend American Thanksgiving with his friend's family up in Maine. This leads to a weekend of food, cultural immersion, and letting people see glimpses of his alter-ego by being way too good at snowball fights. Except he keeps getting flashes of something, and he can't figure out if they are premonitions or visions of his past life. 

---

This is the last post for January, and when it came time to decide on themes for February, trying to sort it out by committee did not work as well as I had hoped. There are too many cute possible posts that could be done for the "month of love". After narrowing down the 2 weeks I wanted to do for sure, @caelenath suggested I put the rest of the possibilities that were discussed into a top hat and draw them at random (which I thought was super fitting for a Sailor Moon related fic rec list!). The only snag? I did not own a top hat. Cue googling, searching Amazon to see if I can get it delivered in time, going to multiple party / costume stores and making employees check the warehouse and tops of racks because the system said they have 23! (with my husband rolling his eyes at me the entire time but fully supporting my endeavor). Without further ado, here is what we are doing in February:

Here are the links to the previous Tumblr posts in these series to explore more amazing works based on different themes - make sure to check them out if you haven't had a chance! (Click on title name to go to the post) - I will keep updating the list every week as new posts come up:

Week 1 - Groundhog Day

Week 2 - Established Relationships

Week 3 - Sex Positivity

Week 4 - Unfinished Stories

Week 5 - Darker Stories

Week 6 - Potions 🧪

Week 7 - Reveals

Week 8 - 👻Halloween🎃

Week 9 - Wrong Perceptions

Week 10 - Non-Senshi AU

Week 11 - In-Progress Fics

Week 12 - Mutual Pining

Week 13 - Enemies to Lovers

Week 14 - Slow Burn

Week 15 - Christmas Part 1 - Ugly Christmas Sweaters and Santa!

Week 16 - Christmas Part 2

Week 17 - New Years

Week 18 - High School AU

Week 19 - Slice of Life

Week 20 - Coffeeshop AU

[ragequitezekielrants]

Suicide Squad: Kill it with fire

Alright, let’s get this over with. I just spent more time than I’d care to admit slogging through Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League, and let me tell you—this game makes me question not only the state of the gaming industry but also my will to continue existing. Rocksteady, what happened? You went from the Arkham series, which was legitimately great, to this? How does a studio go from delivering masterpieces to producing this colossal mess? It’s like watching a Michelin-star chef burn instant ramen.

Let’s start with the most egregious problem: the live-service, loot-shooter nonsense. Because apparently, we’re still pretending like these games aren’t already circling the drain of irrelevance. This is a Suicide Squad game, right? I’m supposed to be leading a group of misfit anti-heroes on a chaotic, high-stakes mission. So why does it feel like I’m playing a watered-down, paint-by-numbers, grindy loot shooter where I’m swapping out Harley Quinn’s baseball bat for a slightly better bat with +2 damage every five minutes?

And of course, they had to include the obligatory battle pass, microtransactions, and all that other corporate-approved garbage. Yeah, because that’s exactly what I wanted in my Suicide Squad experience—a bunch of cosmetics and power-ups locked behind endless grinding or a paywall. Nothing screams “immersive narrative experience” like buying Harley Quinn a new outfit with real money, right? I miss the days when you bought a game, and it came with everything. What a radical concept.

And the gameplay itself? Monotonous doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’m supposed to feel like I’m in control of some of DC’s most chaotic and dangerous villains, but instead, it feels like I’m playing a shooter where I can’t tell the difference between any of the characters. Harley, Deadshot, King Shark, Captain Boomerang—they might as well be the same person with different skins. The combat is boring, repetitive, and somehow manages to make shooting mind-controlled versions of the Justice League feel like a chore. How do you manage to make fighting Superman boring? That takes a special level of incompetence.

And don’t even get me started on the tone of the game. It’s like Rocksteady forgot how to do storytelling. The Arkham games were dark, gritty, and had this incredible atmosphere. This? It’s like they took the most generic superhero movie tropes, mixed them with some dollar-store Deadpool humor, and slapped the Suicide Squad logo on it. The story feels like it was written by someone who Googled “how to be edgy” and just went with the first result. It’s trying so hard to be funny and irreverent, but it comes off as cringey and forced. I found myself rolling my eyes more than laughing.

Let’s talk about the Justice League members you’re supposed to be hunting. Brainiac’s taken over their minds, right? Cool premise, I guess, but the execution? A train wreck. You’d think fighting corrupted versions of Batman, Wonder Woman, or The Flash would be epic. But no, it’s just the same recycled boss fight mechanics you’ve seen in every other half-baked live-service game. There’s no real tension, no clever design—just the same boring bullet-sponge battles that make you wish they’d just kill you and get it over with.

And the open-world? Oh man, don’t get me started. We’re in Metropolis, but does it feel like Metropolis? Not really. It feels like a lifeless backdrop to more grinding. I remember when open-world games used to be filled with interesting things to do, secrets to find, and genuine moments of awe. Now it’s just “run here, shoot that, collect this” in a dead, soulless city. It’s as if they spent all their time designing the buildings and forgot to fill them with any actual content. It’s not immersive; it’s just a checklist of uninspired objectives.

Even the visuals, which should at least be one of the game’s redeeming qualities, feel dated and generic. We’re talking about a game that was supposed to release on next-gen consoles, and it looks like something from the last gen with a slightly shinier coat of paint. I don’t need everything to be hyper-realistic, but at least make the art direction interesting. Everything in this game feels like it was put together by a focus group trying to appeal to the widest, most generic audience possible.

And you know what really grinds my gears? The fact that Rocksteady clearly has the talent to make something great. They did it with Arkham. But instead of giving us a character-driven, single-player Suicide Squad story that explores the psychology of these iconic villains, they gave us this soulless cash grab. It feels like a boardroom of suits sat down and said, “Well, the kids love Fortnite and Destiny, right? Let’s do that, but with Suicide Squad slapped on top.” And now we’re left with this Frankenstein’s monster of a game that tries to be everything to everyone and fails miserably at all of it.

Here’s the worst part: I wanted this game to be good. I like the Suicide Squad. I think they’re interesting characters with potential for a unique, chaotic, and fun game. But Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League just doesn’t deliver on any of that promise. It’s not chaotic; it’s not fun; it’s not even remotely satisfying. It’s just another shallow, repetitive, mindless grind that I’m sure will be abandoned in a year after they realize no one wants to pay for another “season” of pointless cosmetics and minor stat boosts.

So here’s my final word: Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League is a cautionary tale about what happens when you take a beloved IP, strip it of everything that made it interesting, and shove it into the soulless machine that is live-service gaming. It’s a game that could have been great but instead feels like it was designed by an algorithm and polished by a committee of people who don’t actually play games. If you value your time, your money, and your sanity, avoid this one like a plague.

Until next time, let’s hope Rocksteady figures out how to make games again.

And stop playing bad games.

– Ezekiel

[drainageteam01]

What is Waterproofing?

Waterproofing is a process that forms a barrier over surfaces like foundations, roofs, and walls to curb the penetration of water into building structures. It also protects against rusting and rotting.

Waterproofing also helps reduce the risk of mold spores and mildew entering a structure. This ultimately protects the building’s structural integrity, decreases property insurance claims, and enhances the aesthetic of a space.

Roof

Roof waterproofing services protect the structure of your home from water damage. Leaks and dampness can cause wood rot and decay, as well as lead to other problems inside your home, such as mould and mildew growth. These fungal organisms are unhealthy to live with, can lead to asthma and other respiratory conditions, and can also affect the quality of air you breathe. Roof waterproofing services can prevent these issues, resulting in a healthier living environment for you and your family.

There are several different roof waterproofing services available for homeowners, depending on their needs and budget. The most common solution is a liquid membrane that can be applied to the surface of your roof. This solution is very cost-effective, and it provides a complete waterproofing barrier for your roof. It is best suited for new construction, but it can also be used to repair existing roofs.

Before applying any roof waterproofing product, it is important to troubleshoot your roof and check it for leaks or damage. This will ensure that you are getting the most value from your waterproofing service. In addition, you should inspect the flashing, which is the metal seals that connect the roof to chimneys, vents, skylights, and other structural elements on your roof. These should be free of cracks and gaps, and you should replace them if needed.

Liquid membranes are easy to apply and can be used for both new and old roofs. They are also cost-effective and adhere well to most surfaces. They can be rolled or sprayed onto the roof, and they have a high tensile strength to resist tearing. They can also be cured to produce a rubbery coating that provides excellent protection against water.

A sheet membrane waterproofing system is another popular option for roofs. These sheets are laid over the roof and wedged between the rafters or planking, and they are then covered with shingles or other roofing material. These membranes are often made of polymer bitumen, and they have good abrasion resistance and flexibility. They are also able to withstand the weathering effects of UV rays, heat, and ozone.

Some roof waterproofing solutions, such as reflective coatings, can improve energy efficiency in a home by minimising heat transfer. This can help to reduce cooling costs and lead to savings on your utility bills. Waterproofing can also be used to create a more comfortable indoor climate by preventing condensation. This is especially useful for older buildings with insulation that has become saturated and ineffective.

Basement

Many homeowners hire waterproofing professionals to address problems in the basement. Depending on where the water is coming from, the solution may be as simple as a drainage system or it could include other preventative measures such as foundation grading and French drains, soil amendment, or interior basement waterproofing. The cost of these solutions can be a fraction of the price of repairing damage caused by water and moisture, or even replacing flooring and drywall.

One of the most common methods for waterproofing a basement is to install a vapor barrier. A vapor barrier is a plastic sheet that a professional installs on the walls and floor of your basement. This prevents any moisture from escaping through the concrete, reducing mold growth, mildew, and other issues related to condensation.

Another method that a professional can use is to seal hairline cracks in your concrete foundation using waterproof cement. This isn’t a standalone solution, however, since it doesn’t protect against hydrostatic pressure or deep moisture that can cause major structural damage to your foundation. For these reasons, a vapor barrier should be used in conjunction with crack sealant for complete protection against moisture.

Basement seepage is a common problem that can lead to serious and costly structural damage. It usually occurs through small cracks in your basement concrete foundation or extremely porous concrete blocks. When water seepage enters your basement, it can lead to flooding, mold and mildew, and other moisture-related problems. A professional can reduce the risk of seepage by installing a basement drain or a sump pump.

A professional can also help you reduce the amount of water entering your basement by changing the landscaping in your yard to improve runoff. A well-designed and properly maintained landscape can significantly decrease the amount of water that reaches your foundation.

Sodium bentonite is a clay-like natural sealant that can be applied to your basement exterior walls. This prevents water from absorbing into the walls, and it costs about $2 per square foot, including labor. Another option is a liquid membrane waterproofing that’s applied to your basement walls. This option costs about $4 per square foot, including labor and materials.

Unlike waterproofing, damp proofing is a preventative measure that keeps soil moisture or dampness out of a structure. This is done by modifying the construction of a building or home, such as by adding drainage systems, sealing cracks, or putting in a vapor barrier. This can be an expensive option, especially when it involves excavation work. However, this is a more permanent solution than simply sealing cracks or using a dehumidifier. Most contractors use damp proofing in combination with a vapor barrier for a complete basement waterproofing solution.

[batteryagentaus]

How to choose your car Battery

Let's say you and your friends are out having a good time and you all decide to stop for a photo op while you're driving the cool car you've always wanted. After shooting many selfies, you return to your car only to find that it won't start and the dashboard warning light is flashing. You recall the moment a few days ago when you went out to get a new car battery. Remember you need to choose car battery replacement in brisbane wisely.

Body: You can't simply go out and purchase any old battery and hope it will keep your car running smoothly since the battery is an integral part of a complex system designed and built to provide energy to your wheels. If you want to get the right battery for your car, you need to know the basics of battery terminology. There are four primary metrics: ampere-hour (Ah) rating, craning amps (CA), cold craning amps (CCA), and reserve capacity (RC). While 12V is the standard for cars' electrical systems, motorcycles' electrical systems aren't required to conform to this standard. Although 9V systems are still available for vintage motorcycles, 12V is now the standard. For that you can choose the best battery supplier in brisbane there.

You can find out how long the battery can provide a certain current by looking at its ampere-hour rating. The more ampere-hours (Ah) a battery has, the more energy it can store. In order to overcome the inertia of the stationary engine and get it rolling and firing while being rotated by hand, a quick input of high-amperage current is needed for a limited period of time.

Now that we have a working knowledge of the lingo, we can go on to picking out the right battery for your device.

Every car comes with an Owner's Manual that details how to do basic upkeep tasks like changing the oil and rotating the tyres. You may learn the battery's size, CA and CCA ratings, and ampere-hour capacity there. In the absence of the Owner's Manual, the existing battery's top or body may be used to ascertain all of the relevant ratings. As you choose the car battery Brisbane service you can expect the right quality there.

Never settle for a battery with a lower Ah rating than the one you're replacing it with or the one recommended in the handbook. Particularly if you try to start it when it's cold, you'll have a tough time. The battery life will also decrease because of this.

A battery with a higher Ah rating will function, but going with an even higher rating may slow down the charging process and put additional pressure on the alternator.

Pick a battery with a higher CCA rating if you reside in an area where the temperature may drop quite a bit.

If your car's alternator ever stops working, a large Reserve Capacity battery will come in handy for keeping the lights and car running for a while longer.

Make sure you check the battery dimensions twice. Despite the fact that the great majority of battery mounts and battery boxes are standardised, you need still make sure that the mount or box you choose is the right size for your car.

A battery with built-in grips or loops is the better option if you plan on doing your own vehicle maintenance.

Lead acid and dry cell batteries are the most easily available forms of batteries. Lead acid batteries are more expensive and have a shorter lifetime than their dry cell counterparts. In India, a car battery usually lasts between three and four years. If you buy a battery within the first six months after it was made, you may be certain that it is in good condition. Store the Warranty Card safely so that you can easily get a new battery if the original one fails to perform adequately during the warranty term.

Author Bio: For the battery suppliers in brisbane David is a professional writer having the specific ideas for the same.

[hgroogingsupplies]

HG Roofing Supplies are a leading supplier of roof insulation materials in the UK. Quality products for energy efficiency and comfort. Get a quote today!

[ithoughtbeethovendied]

watch your mouth

Prologue

Headache. Chunks like glass edges split my head and all I haze is the bright neon of last night, almost heaving my head. Phone buzzing like an alarm. I glance at the faint light peeping thru the curtains then at the digits on the watch by the bedside. 

10:00 am, Sunday 

Buzz

102 messages

“Fuck something happened”

I open the first dash 

“dude she’s crazy”

And it hits me like the red cup of beer from manicured long fingers.

~~~~~~~~~

“Do you really think that I care and cry about your new job, your new hair?” she’s yelling.

“I never said that” I didn’t. “You’re the one who got your new friends and your new guy”.

“You’re just jealous cuz you can’t keep a guy for more than two weeks”

“LEAH”

“WHAT!?” She slides the drink in her hand across the table and I watch it fall onto the ground creating a mess that the host of the party will have to clean up later, not like we’re already doing a great job keeping up the hype.

Leah snatches a cup of beer from a scared-looking freshman, downs it half down and throws it at me, the cup hitting me straight in the nose and pouring all over.

“OW” 

“Bitch you’ve been hurt worse” she scoffs.

“What the-“

Andrew

He’s in front of me, holding me back. 

“Oh look, the only guy that’s lasted and you won’t even fuck him.” Eye rolls followed.

“You-“

“Beth, don’t. You know how she’s like drunk.” Oh the hero, god he’s too good to be true.

“Leah you’re being a bitch” I counter unmovingly.

She throws a beer bottle on the ground, shattering it. Great, more shards. The crowd formed and moves back.

Andrew now his back facing me is hovering in front of me “Keep your distance, she’s unstable”

Black nails threatening to dig my eyes out “Watch your tone and watch your mouth”

~~~

And then I black out, pieces of me getting in And’s car and him leaving me at my place, that's all I remember.

10:00 am, Sunday 

“Dude she’s crazy”

I slide down the earlier comments. All I see are introverts talking shit. 

Someone posted a hazy bad quality video of the whereabouts of yesterday night on Instagram.

“This is bad, like BAD bad”

I slide up again and search for the likes - no.

Open my DMS and Leah’s account’s on the top. “Last online 10 hours ago”

Good, she’s not seen this. Yet.

I hurry and jump in the air forces left upturned on the carpet and see the mud stains leading to the gloss heels.

Well fuck.

I grab my keys and race down the flat, locking it in a frenzy.

Hop in my car and drive to Leah's apartment stopping at the local cafe to get two high-caffeine-level coffees. Sipping one I reach the third floor. 

The flats locked.

“Where the hell….?”

I slide open my phone and- yes there's a story on the private acc.

Records.

But she doesn’t keep records anymore.

Last year Leah fought with her parents and got an apartment in the legals out of it.

Her mother slapped her in the face and in a rebelling moment, Leah left all the records at her mother's place.

After 4 months they realised that Leah living away was actually a better thing and it worked for all of them. Better check your facts before you flip the page. The clan’s on good terms now but still rarely meets.

Leah’s at her mom's place.

“At least your Instagram is up to date”

Back in the car, driving east. Half an hour later, the city late morning breaks into town sunup. 

In the driveway flashes the blue Nissan.

Knew it.

Coffee precipitates all mossing the cup, I knock on the door. Brown cardigan wrapped around milky sheet-like skin.

“I didn’t mean it”

“So you saw it” I hand her the cup. 

“I didn’t mean it”, she repeats. “You know how I am after some in”

“You’re telling me? I'm the one who brought you the coffee.” I settle on the couch. Davy doesn’t seem to be home, no shit Leah came here.

“you’re never gonna be alone, ill always be there”

“I know Leah, I know” After 15 years of this, you get used to it. 

“Casy!!!” The beagle’s already scratching its back with my hand. “All you do is scratch and bite” I rub her belly. “I bet you never take the time to take her for a walk” I eye the owner.

“Well I’m never here” she makes a helpless face. “Doesn’t ease the fact of the adorableness” I scratch the dog's ears.

“Beth listen I’m not a waste of time ok,”

“Wha-“

“No listen, I’m sorry for all of it. I can never not care for you. You’re everything I have and I’m so so grateful. Please, I’m sorry. Throw all of it out. Take my love.”

It’s silent. That's all I hear after it. Pure. Bliss. Silence.

“So you really care?”

“I do”

And it never ever felt that good to have a cup dash into your face.

[nanagoswife]

Gojo and Nanami with a reader that's afraid of falling

A/N: So, fun fact, I have a HUGE fear of falling. I was specifically reminded of that as my friends were laughing at how I was freaking out on a Ferris wheel this weekend at the fair😅 Anyways, it gave me the idea of how these two jjk men would act with a s/o with the same fear. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Other than the fear of falling, not much. Pretty much just fluff and heights.

Gojo Satoru

You clutched onto Gojo so tightly you almost thought you’d crush him to death. Your head was pressed into his chest so you can’t see your surroundings while your hands clench the material of his clothing for dear life. If you could wrap your legs around him, you would. However, you’re scared that, if you move too much, you could possibly fall. 

Now, as Gojo holds you high in the air, it’s not the height you’re scared of. It’s not like you doubt that he’ll keep you safe and make sure you don’t fall. What it was was an inescapable fear you’ve had for many years now. 

The feeling of falling, at any height, is your biggest fear of all. You don’t really know why, but you just do.

“Afraid of heights?” Gojo teases when you bury your face a little deeper into him. 

You squeeze your arms around him tight as a part warning, part making sure you have a proper grasp. “T-that’s not what it is,” you mumble shakily. Even you can hear the pure terror in your trembling voice as you somehow clench onto your boyfriend just a bit tighter. Every bit of you was tense and you can’t help but dread how it’s making your muscles hurt this soon. 

One of Gojo’s arms, the one that was wrapped around your waist, squeezes you a little. His other comes to gently lift your head so that you’re at least looking up at him. 

“Don’t you want to see the view?” His tone is teasing, but it’s laced with genuinity. This may be the first he’s learning of your fear, but you know he’s determined to try and get you through it. It doesn’t matter if it’s the first time he’s doing this and you know it’ll be a beautiful sight. 

The fear of falling just while standing is bad enough, not to mention falling backwards. However, being this high, the thoughts of how that would feel, how it would all end, would intrude in a heartbeat. Well, they are intruding as you squeeze your eyes shut. So, you shake your head, burying your face back into Gojo’s chest. 

“We’ll work up to that, then,” he says with a suddenly soft tone. It surprises you. Yet, at the same time, you were expecting it. You may have been expecting some sort of sarcastic remark but this is genuine.You now know that, no matter how long it takes, he’ll do all he can to make you feel safe just because you’re in his arms. It doesn’t matter the fear or danger that lies ahead. He’ll make sure that he will never hear the same fear in your voice, just like a few moments ago, ever again.

Nanami Kento

It might not seem like it at the moment, but you dragged Nanami to the fair that rolled into town. This was one of his days off and, even though spending a day at home with your fiancé sounded amazing, you wanted to have some fun. 

Sure, you’ve gone to amusement parks together but those were pretty toned down visits. They weren’t really for thrills or too much excitement. More like quality time spent together on cheesy rides like the tunnel of love or simple things where you could pay more attention to one another rather than what’s going on around you. Of course to also enjoy the little treats that Nanami rarely indulges in.

Now, though, you were going for the exciting bit. You knew it was only a matter of time before Nanami was taking the lead, pointing out rides the two of you should go on. You indulged all of them, gripping his hand on fast rides and cuddling into his side on simple things like a Ferris wheel. 

On the Ferris wheel, you knew Nanami noticed that you were a bit more tense. Especially since you’d tense even more and a flash of panic would spread across your features when the seat would tip a little too far for your liking. 

However, it isn’t until he suggests the drop ride that he knows something’s off. You completely freeze when he points to it, his other hand linked with yours and therefore pulling him to a stop. His expression shows his concern as he steps up in front of you. 

“Everything alright?” he asks, his free hand cupping your jaw. His chestnut eyes search yours as you notice that he’s positioned himself so you can’t see the ride he suggested seconds ago. 

You look down at the ground, your face heating up in both embarrassment and warmth. This man is always so caring, a side of him that you only get to see. Yet, of the many years you’ve been in a relationship with him, you’ve never told him about this silly fear of yours.

“It’s stupid,” you mutter as you lean your head against Nanami’s shoulder. 

“My love,” he calls out, using the hand on your jaw to guide your face back to his, “I can assure you that nothing you’ve ever told me is stupid. Especially when it comes to fears.”

For a moment, you freeze up. How did he know what it was? Then again, he’s a very perceptive man and he’s also your fiancé. 

You sigh. “I… have a slight fear of… falling?”

A look of understanding passes over Nanami’s face at your admission. “I’m assuming that’s why you were a little on guard while on the Ferris wheel?”

You nod a little as you explain, “Yes. It’s not like it’s connected with heights, either. Even the thought of tripping and falling is enough to scare me. Not only that, but the feeling of falling is the worst. It feels as if my heart and lungs are being torn out of my chest if you…,” you pause your little rant, looking down to the ground before continuing, “If you get what I mean.”

With your admission, your cheeks heat up viscously. It feels so stupid saying it out loud but that doesn’t deter the man standing in front of you. Instead, he’s leaning in to press a kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his lips still against your skin, “I should’ve seen this sooner.”

Making sure not to break the connection of Nanami’s lips against your forehead as his arms pull you in closer, you shake your head. “There’s no way you could’ve known. I should’ve said something a long time ago.”

“No need to apologize, love. Let’s move on to something else, yeah?”You nod, hugging him tight before moving on to another ride with your hand still in his. It was a comfort you never knew you needed. Still, he made you feel safe even for the smallest reason. That's why you love him so much.

@fiona782

[blackkatmagic]

More AUs along that line? You’re trying to kill us with quality content, aren’t you?

It’s hard to find a dark corner on a cruiser built to make every inch useable, but after a week Jon's finally managed to pick a spot that’s out of the way, high up on a platform that was probably forgotten during construction or repairs. It’s more visible than he would like, but Jon is good at making himself small when he needs to. He wraps himself in his cloak, hunkers down with his back against the exposed pipes and his boots braced on a beam, and wraps his wounds in peace.

He shouldn’t have gotten wounded. He knows better, is better. Jon is fully aware of it, and that edge of grim-dark awareness makes each roll of the bandage a recrimination. Dark Woman trained him, honed him. He should be better.

No attachments, Jon tells himself, and pulls the bandage tight. Ties it off, then moves on to the next cut across his arm. The rest he healed, but—he’s tired. Too tired for the delicate, precise work of healing.

He shouldn’t be tired, either.

The sound of boots on metal makes him pause, and Jon tips his head. Clone troopers, he thinks, and doesn’t have to glance over the side to know he’s right. All different in the Force, but—uniform in their training, their discipline. He can pick a clone trooper out of a crowd just for that.

“Kriff,” a quiet voice says, and there's a thump, a helmet set down on the strategy table, then a creak of armor as the trooper leans next to it. “Hell of a fight.”

“Back at it as soon as the third sun sets, vod,” the other one says, calm, and Jon just catches a flash of orange paint below him. One of the 212th troopers, then, likely evacuated with the 501st when the planet’s temperature started to rise.

Jon almost stayed. He could have. He stares down at his bloody knuckles, breathing steadily, and tightens his fingers into fists. If he hadn’t had Kenobi yelling in his ear, that padawan half-collapsed from blood loss next to him, he would have stayed, kept chasing the droids, kept chasing Grievous.

Durge almost beat him. Compared to him, Grievous won't be a challenge.

There's a low groan, exhausted, and a thump as the trooper slides down to sit, head falling back against the edge of the table. The edge of armor Jon can see is blue, and he picks out the pauldron, the tally marks scratched into a vambrace. “Don’t remind me, kriff,” the 501st’s captain complains, stretching a boot out. His armor is stained dark grey with ash.

With a quiet snort, the 212thtrooper crouches down next to him. Jon studies him for a moment, picks out the edge of a scar curved around his eye—Obi-Wan’s commander, then. Jon hadn’t realized he’d gotten aboard the Resolute. But then, the retreat was chaotic, almost too late. The droids had held them on the planet too long, had sprung a trap that kept the transports from returning. Jon is going to hear the sound of those cannons in his dreams tonight, he already knows.

“’Least you’ve got a Jedi,” the 212th’s commander says ruefully, and Jon closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to hear this. For a moment he even thinks about teleporting away, folding himself back to the quarters assigned to him, but—

It’s a waste of his strength. Frivolous use of the Force when he’s going to need every ounce of his power later. Jon breathes, and rejects the urge. Dark Woman would have berated him for even entertaining the thought.

There's a quiet huff. “Do I?” the captain asks, and there's a grim edge to it. “Not a lot of leading happening down there.”

Jon stares down at the fraying bandage around his wrist, half-covered by his threadbare sleeve. Doesn’t move, doesn’t let himself have a reaction, just breathes.

[roswellwrites]

>posts for the first time in two years

>it's 5k words of the cowboy from dbd eating p*ssy

>refuses to elaborate

>leaves

Pairing: caleb quinn x reader

Tags: oral, fingering, some dirty talk. Relatively tame considering how overboard i went with this imo

Word count: 5052 but we don’t have to talk about it

When you opened your eyes to find yourself standing in the center of Glenvale’s dusty street, you huffed. 

You were used to it by now, the way the unsettlingly thick fog would seem to appear from nowhere, rolling unnaturally across the clearing as it picked and chose those who would be unfortunate this time.

You remembered holding your breath, your eyes squeezed shut and hands wringing anxiously on your lap, begging wordlessly for the Entity’s fog to pass you over.

And yet here you were.

Still, Glenvale was not the worst case scenario.

The old fort -while not exactly new territory in the Entity’s realm- was still relatively unfamiliar to you, unexplored, eerie and overgrown. 

The air was always strange here, imbued with an undercurrent of dark energy, thrumming heavy and electric as if alive with the misfortune that had befallen the small settlement.

You lazily kicked a pebble in your path, the action unsettling the dust in a way that felt dramatic, even by trial standards. 

You noticed your boots first, like nothing you owned in the real world but familiar to you in a way you couldn’t quite place. But it wasn’t just your shoes that were different. Some time between the campfire and the fog and arriving on the dusty streets of Glenvale, your outfit had changed completely.

The dress you wore was a new addition to your (very limited) wardrobe, short in the front and long in the back, layered but surprisingly light, contradictory to the material’s heavy appearance. The fabric itself was a deep maroon trimmed with black, matte with no hint of shine to it, unmistakably high quality though perhaps not quite authentic to the setting. The dress’s bodice was tight and low cut, flattering, you mused, if the eyeful of your own cleavage you got when you looked down was any indication.

You rubbed your gloved hands together idly, enjoying the smooth feel of the fabric and the small ‘swish swish’ of your fingers as they brushed against one another. 

Beyond that you wore stockings, the material closer to sheer than opaque, lacy bands fitting you snuggly slightly above your knee as they disappeared under the hem of your skirt.

Your boots had a small heel to them, laced tightly, the cuffs extending an inch or so above the natural curve of your ankle.

You clicked your heels together experimentally, more amused than anything else.

A saloon girl outfit.

Fitting.

You stopped in the dusty street, raising your eyes skyward in awe as you admired the beautiful swirling galaxies and twinkling stars, brighter and more defined than you had ever seen them before. You allowed yourself only a moment to enjoy the sight before hurrying along, side-eyeing a wayward buzzard as it screeched its displeasure from an overturned cart in the street.

You climbed the steps leading to the saloon’s main entrance, eager to get off the street and find somewhere a little less out in the open, your eyes scanning the establishment quickly as you crossed the threshold.

The inside of the old building was a scattering of overturned furniture, tables and chairs covered in a fine layer of dust and pockmarked by bullet holes.

You cast a cursory glance over the dead bodies, frozen permanently in the entity’s snapshot, no longer human bodies but now props to set a stage.

Your eyes lingered on the bar before passing over it quickly, knowing from experience that nothing of value would be found there. You had conducted a thorough investigation the first time you were here -a search for resources of course, nothing more- finding only shattered glass and a single unmarked bottle, the lone swig of alcohol inside burning your mouth in a way that had you tasting it for the rest of the trial no matter how many times you spit.

But off to one side rested the shining star of the old saloon, an old piano that had completely enthralled you the first time you saw it and every time since.

The instrument in question was the oldest piano you’d ever seen, exciting but not all that much of a surprise given the setting. You dragged the rickety chair from its place under the keybed and took a seat, ignoring the small screech of the chair legs on the old floor as you did so.

You spread your fingers over the keys, your touch feather-light, unbothered by the accumulated dust and grime on your pristine gloves as the piano banged out its own discordant tune.

There was the light creaking of worn floorboards behind you paired with the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps as they approached. Boots, you parsed easily. Definitely boots.

You felt a flash of fear, the feeling lasting only a handful of seconds before you forced yourself to settle again. You took a moment to think of the other survivors that had entered the trial with you. Too loud to be Ace’s loafers, the wrong sound altogether to be Yui’s sandals.

Jeff then.

You straightened in your chair, casting an excited glance over your shoulder. “Jeff,” you beamed. “Check this out-“

“Not Jeff,” the tall man rasped behind you.

Your blood ran cold, all traces of your smile vanishing and eyes widening in dawning horror as your entire body went rigid with fear.

The gunslinger’s hand was on your shoulder suddenly, his grip punishing, and you spun, your heart leaping into your throat at the sight of the man towering over you. Your mouth dropped dumbly in surprise as you moved immediately to stand, to run maybe, a startled noise instead tearing itself from your throat as the cowboy shoved you backwards so hard that the old wooden chair groaned in protest.

You noticed his grin before anything else, crooked and unkind as he looked at you. His eyes were intense, sharp and predatory, alight with the thrill of having caught you off guard.

‘My heartbeat,’ your brain supplied unhelpfully, gloved hand flying to your chest as your heartbeat suddenly roared to life behind your ribs. “Why...” you trailed off, tongue darting out nervously to wet your bottom lip. “Why didn’t I hear-“

His grin widened, strange eyes dragging leisurely and without shame from your face to trail the length of your body. “Reckon you just weren’t listening, girlie.”

You followed his gaze, puzzled briefly.

You could instantly feel the blood rush to your cheeks, fear pushed aside and replaced with embarrassment to find that your skirt had ridden up when he shoved you backwards, the already short hem pushed back enough to reveal the tops of your lacy stockings and garters, decorated with small, intricate bows.

You shifted in your chair, moving instinctively to press your thighs together and smooth the fabric back into place before you stopped yourself, a piece of advice given to you by another survivor ringing clear as a bell in your ears.

“Try to catch them off guard."

‘Sure,’ you thought. ‘Why not?’

You inhaled deeply, taking a moment to compose yourself under the man’s sharp gaze, lashes fanning against your flushed cheeks as you closed your eyes. When you opened them again, you tilted your head slightly, allowing a strand of loose hair to slip free from behind your ear and teasingly brush the tops of your breasts. You shifted forward in your seat, pleased to note the obvious way that the gunslinger’s eyes drifted to your chest again. You spread your fingers over your collarbone, making a show of it as you arched your back to give the man a better view.

“Ain’t above fightin’ dirty, I see,” the tall man scoffed.

You ignored the comment in favor of action. You reached towards him, willing your hands to steady themselves as you hooked pseudo-confident fingers behind the man’s belt and tugged him playfully towards you. “Reckon we might have gotten off on the wrong foot, Mister,” you drawled, tongue darting out to wet your lips in a way that you hoped read more sultry than nervous.

There was a moment where the man simply looked at you, head tilting slightly as if mulling the phrase over. He seemed to come to his conclusion quickly enough, perhaps deciding that your sudden exaggerated southern drawl wasn’t meant to offend or that this wasn’t some kind of trap he was about to fall into.

“That so?” The man grinned. He stepped forward into your space obligingly, seeming to humor the invitation of closeness. His eyes still held that unsettling glint to them, too bright and too shiny. Unnatural. Inhuman.

Regardless, you were pleased when he dropped his gaze again, his strange eyes focusing on the slight rustle of your heavy skirt as you spread your thighs wider to accommodate him.

This was easy. This was something you could do.

You felt your heart rate spike again when he shifted his weapon in his hands, your shoddily crafted facade dangerously close to slipping as you fought the urge to flinch. You allowed your eyes to linger on the gun for only a moment before sliding your gaze instead to his face, forcing an air of casualness. “I bet if you put that gun down, we could find a better use for those hands of yours, cowboy.”

You knew the gunslinger could end this little game right now if he wanted, could pick you up and carry you to a hook and there would be nothing you could do about it. But the thought of escaping the situation (or the trial, for that matter) was no longer at the forefront of your mind, a concept that emboldened but -more importantly- thrilled you in a way you couldn’t quite articulate.

That’s all this entire scenario was; just one big trust fall.

The gunslinger made a small noise at the offer, over exaggerated as if mulling it over. “Hmmm…” he said, stretching the sound long enough that you had to tamp down your fear again. After a brief pause,  there was the dull sound of steel meeting wood as the man reached past you to prop his gun in the corner where the piano met the wall.

All at once the tension seemed to leave your chest, like a bubble that had burst behind your rib cage. You exhaled softly through your nose, breathing a silent sigh of relief as you cast your eyes upwards to see now that the large man’s expression truly had shifted from ‘firmly murderous’ to ‘more than slightly amused.’

With his hands now free, the gunslinger reached down to cup your jaw, calloused thumb passing idly over your lips as if inspecting you.

“My, you certainly are a pretty thing, aren’t ya,” he mused. “Never woulda guessed what with all the blood yer always covered in.”

Without the immediate threat of death looming over your head, you allowed your shoulders to loosen. You shifted forward in your seat, one hand sliding from his belt to linger now on his thigh. Time to really go for it. “Maybe we could work out some kind of...trade.”

“Oh?” He asked, smug. “And what could you possibly offer me that I couldn’t just take?”

“Been told I’m pretty good with my mouth,” you said matter of factly, purposely ignoring the second half of the question. You tilted your chin upwards slightly, both hands coming up now to catch the gunslinger’s hand as his thumb lingered by your mouth. You parted your lips slightly, taking the tip of the aforementioned digit into your mouth and closing your teeth playfully around it.

The taste that hit your tongue wasn’t as unpleasant as you thought it might be, all dust and faded tobacco and some sort of bitter machine oil. Certainly not a deterrent. “Just say the word, cowboy, and I’ll get on my knees and take you for one hell of a ride.”

The gunslinger said nothing at first, as if processing the information he was given. Finally after a moment he spoke.

“I’ll do you one better, girlie,” he grinned. He moved quickly then, giving you only a few seconds to process what was said before he was lifting you out of your chair, settling you with ease on the dusty piano top. “Won’t even have to get on your knees for it.”

You froze at the suddenness with which he moved you, reminiscent of a deer in headlights. You regained your bravado quickly however,  lifting one thigh and then the other as you freed your dress from where it had become trapped beneath you. “Is that so?” You asked.

He watched the movement of the fabric with hungry eyes, his calloused hands moving from their resting position at your waist downwards, trailing your hips before settling firmly on your closed thighs.

Your heart leapt into your throat as exploratory fingers dipped below your skirt to find the top of one stocking, hooking a finger beneath the garter and snapping it lightly against your thigh. You squirmed, your eyes glued helplessly on his long fingers as he began to push the fabric up and out of the way.

“Reckon you’ll have to pardon my eagerness,” the man said, though the crooked grin on his lips and the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t as apologetic as he tried to appear. “Suppose if I was a gentleman I might be takin’ this a little slower,” he mused, meeting your eyes before continuing. “But it’s been a long time since I was a gentleman…and I’m in a mighty big hurry to get started.”

From here the gunslinger made quick work of your garter clasps, his deft fingers moving immediately upwards to catch the edge of your delicate ruffled bloomers.

You could feel yourself blushing heavily in anticipation, too warm, almost dizzying as the heat crept further into your chest and face.

The man paused, his predatory gaze finally straying from your lower half to meet your eyes. His lopsided smirk widened further as he seemed to catch sight of your frazzled expression. “You pick these out?” He asked teasingly, tugging playfully at the fabric.

You opened your mouth to speak, your long overheated brain struggling and failing to churn out a suitable answer. “No,” you said instead, decidedly less than intelligent.

He chuckled at this, seemingly amused as he worked the undergarments down your thighs and then over your boots with ease.

You inhaled sharply at the experimental prodding of his fingers at your entrance, the almost gentle way he pressed forward before withdrawing, spreading your growing slick in his wake.

The sounds of your wetness were already audible -embarrassingly so- even over your shaky breathing and the screech of the buzzards outside. You closed your eyes, attempting to ignore the lewdness of the sound but finding this only served to deepen your blush and make you wetter.

“This doin’ somethin’ for you, sweetheart?” The cowboy asked, entirely too self-satisfied for your liking. “Or are you just easily excited?”

You chose to remain silent, a futile attempt to preserve the small amount of dignity you had left.

When he placed his hand on your middle and guided you back gently, you took the hint, supporting your weight with your arms as you leaned backwards to give him better access. From here he bent forward to get a better look at you, large hands forcing your thighs wide, grunting in annoyance when the brim of his large hat bumped against your stomach.

“Damn hat,” he muttered, his tone edging on irritated as he all but snatched the offending accessory from his head and placed it swiftly on top of your own. “Hold this for me, would you?”

You reached up reflexively, grabbing the brim of the old hat and lifting it slightly where it had fallen into your eyes.

You jolted at the first touch of his lips, sudden and bold, cheeks flushed and eyes squeezing shut at the sensation of his harsh stubble on your delicate inner thighs.

“Christ,” you said, too caught off guard to say anything else.

“We’re just gettin’ started.”

His mouth was hot against you, impossibly wet, the movements of his tongue languid and unhurried, thorough as if he planned to explore every inch of you and thought himself to have all the time in the world. The gunslinger’s hands were fire where they met your skin, his calloused fingertips tracing the edges of your stockings with teasing almost feather-light touches.

You lost yourself in a sea of heat, nerve endings alight with pleasure as he really set to work. In the distance you heard a generator roar to life, so far away that you weren’t entirely sure you had heard it at all. How many was that now? Two? Three?

He flattened his tongue against you, the pressure suddenly merciless when combined with the chapped lips and the barest hint of the man’s teeth. You began to squirm, the noises now slipping freely from your lips before you could stop them. You reached for him, your shaking fingers grasping desperately at his coat collar to drag him in closer before you could think better of it.

The gunslinger shifted his weight from one leg and then the other, hooking his arms around your thighs and dragging you to the edge of the piano top and closer still to his mouth. He hooked one of your knees over his shoulder, grinning against your inner thigh as he found a new angle that seemed to please him.

You made a small noise when he pressed one of his long fingers inside of you unexpectedly, a whine slipping from between parted lips as he twisted the digit this way and that. Your hips jolted involuntarily, the action surprising you in its abruptness. Your roving hands flew from the uncomfortable hold on his collar to scrabble uselessly at whatever else you could find, settling eventually on the cowboy’s hat as it rested on your head.

You grabbed the brim with both hands, pulling it down to hide your embarrassment as the gunslinger worked you open with all the experience of a man who had done this many times.

“Now, now,” he chastised, one arm moving from where it curled around your thigh to reach up, pulling the hat from your hands easily and replacing it atop your head in its original position. He flicked the brim teasingly, knocking it upwards and away from your eyes. “No hidin’, girlie.”

You gasped when he added a second finger alongside the first, your body suddenly overwhelmed entirely by the sensation. You twisted in his hold, thighs quaking and toes curling in your boots as the man continued his onslaught.

He chuckled then, a deep rumbling sound that sent another wave of liquid fire to your lower abdomen.

“You’re a sweet little thing, ain’t ya? So warm and welcomin’ for me...squeezing my fingers like you ain’t got no desire to ever see me go,” he teased. His cheeks were flushed, obvious now where you weren’t entirely sure before, sun damaged face ruddy even beneath the thin layer of dirt that coated him. His breath was hot where it fanned against your inner thighs, something you were acutely aware of as he went on. “…and wetter than a goddamn thunderstorm already,” he continued with a grin, seeming to revel in your squirming. “You sure don’t disappoint, do ya?”

You could feel your face heat impossibly further under the scrutiny, shaking legs attempting and failing to squeeze shut subconsciously as the man’s words began to register in your delayed brain.

He gave another raspy laugh, as if amused by the halfhearted attempt.

“Aww, now don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he grinned, turning his head to deliver a playful nip to your inner thigh. You could feel his large hands on your trembling knees, spreading them to their previous positions and then a little beyond that, exposing you obscenely to his hungry gaze.

As he brought his mouth back to your heated flesh, you realized you had never felt like this before, so entirely overwhelmed and thoroughly devoured.

This was going to ruin you.

There was movement to your right, a flash of pink just beyond the window, and you shifted your eyes to it instinctively.

Ace’s eyes were unreadable behind his reflective lenses, his lips pressed into a tense line, more serious perhaps than you had ever seen him. He lifted his hand slowly, raising his thumb first in question before rotating his wrist nearly a full 180 degrees and giving the universal signal for thumbs down.

You blinked slowly in confusion, eyes moving from the man’s hand then to his face and then back again. You knew you were supposed to say something here, or maybe do something. Your thought process was slowed nearly to nothing as the cowboy fucked you mercilessly with his fingers and tongue.

You were surprised to hear the tall man speak suddenly, the sound all but snapping you from your trance as you continued to stare with unfocused eyes towards the newcomer.

“He’s askin’ if you’re alright,” the gunslinger said, finally dragging himself from your lower half as if that was the last thing he wanted to do. He sneered, shooting a scathing look towards the interruption, impatient in a way you knew would mean trouble for Ace later. “Reckon you should answer him so we can go about our business.” Here he paused, mischievous glint in his eyes as he tilted his head teasingly at you. “Unless yer lookin’ to give the man a show.”

You mulled this over for a moment, seconds stretching on, not so much entertaining the idea of giving Ace a front row seat to your escapade so much as trying to remember how to string together words to make a coherent thought. “Oh,” you said finally, licking idly at your lips. Right. “I’m…I’m good,” you called, your voice cracking under the strain.

“Just good, huh?” The gunslinger teased. His long, dexterous fingers crept back to their original positions on your flushed skin. “Thinkin’ we can do a little better than just good.”

In the time it took for you to realize what was about to happen, he was on you again, delving forward to press his tongue inside of you once more.

You arched in surprise, sitting completely upright now as opposed to your relaxed, blissed out posture from only a moment ago, your own fingers twitching restlessly against your thighs. You gasped softly, eyes darting towards Ace again to find that his expression had changed entirely, smirk curling his lips now where only concern had been before. He tipped his cap at you, head tilted in a small nod and his grin growing ever broader when you reached up reflexively to tip the cowboy’s hat in return.

And then as quickly as the gambler appeared, he was gone, your attention shifting immediately back to the gunslinger as he pressed his fingers inside you again. You reveled in the delicious stretch, the digits thick and pleasant as he scissored them within you. Your legs shook, twinging muscles threatening to cramp as the gunslinger held them in their current positions, stretched too wide for too long.

Your hand dove to grab the edge of the piano top when his tongue found your clit, circling it first before beginning to lick it, all teasing thrown out the window now as he set to work in earnest.

“Quite the gentleman droppin’ in to check on you,” the cowboy sneered between punishing licks. His eyes cut suddenly towards the window, as if scanning for the other man. He gave a pleased hum to see that the other man had moved along, the noise vibrating deliciously against your skin. “Was wonderin’ when he was gonna make himself known,” the gunslinger grinned. “Been standing there an awful long time just a’watchin’.”

“If it was anyone else, I’d probably have the common sense to be embarrassed,” you gasped, head tipped back now as you lost yourself in the rhythm of his long fingers as they rocked in and out. “Ace…” you continued, breath hitching as the gunslinger picked up his pace. “Ace is Ace.”

“Not a fan of that one,” the cowboy said offhandedly. “Beat me in cards once. He cheats.”

“He’s just lucky.”

“He cheats,” the man said again, firm, the tone brooking no argument. The bottom half of the cowboy’s face was shiny and wet, and you found yourself distracted by his tongue as it slid from between his chapped lips to run his tongue through it.

“Okay,” you said dumbly. “Okay.”

There was the abrupt sound of a generator being completed, a sudden blinding brightness that shone through the windows and had you squinting your eyes.

“Ah,” the gunslinger said. “Reckon that’s my cue to finish this up.”

You nearly arched off the piano top when he dove back in purposefully, all tongue and lips and fingers that plunged in and out, in and out. He pinned you easily as you squirmed, movements becoming increasingly more wild as he continued his merciless assault. You could feel the build up in your lower stomach, nerve endings alight as your body struggled to process the gunslinger’s ministrations.

When had you started panting?

“Maybe if you ask real sweet, I’ll - “

“Please,” you said immediately, the word falling from your lips before he could finish his thought. You weren’t above begging. You were so close now, teetering on the precipice, any bit of hesitancy you had before completely thrown out the window in the wake of your impending orgasm.

You began to plead in earnest, the same word spoken over and over again -please, please, please- so many times now that the word began to lose its meaning.

You were beyond incoherent, you knew, entirely incomprehensible as the cowboy worked you so thoroughly that you could swear you saw stars. “Please,” you begged, desperate in a way that would surely embarrass you later. “Please, please.”

The gunslinger said something in his gravelly voice, his tone distinctly pleased but overshadowed by your shameless begging. When his thumb met your clit, you gave a sharp inhale as you were pushed over the edge, less a gentle step into the unknown and more a runaway train careening off the tracks.

Despite the build up, you were entirely unprepared for the orgasm that tore through you. It was all encompassing, intense in a way that you had never experienced. Your entire body shuddered, knees and thighs quaking on either side of the gunslinger’s head, thoroughly overwhelmed. You whined when he continued to lick into you despite the overstimulation, his long fingers still pumping in and out even as you squirmed and twisted.

Then all at once the stimulation was gone and you could breathe again.

The gunslinger began to pull away from you, his voice barely muffled against your skin as he spoke once more. His voice was deep, husky and too low to hear over the blood that still rushed loudly in your own ears.

“What?” You asked, flushed chest still heaving as your head continued to clear. You felt like you were underwater, like you could see the cowboy’s mouth moving but couldn’t make your brain understand what was being said.

The gunslinger straightened, finally returning to his full height as he wiped the slick off his face with one dusty sleeve. He opened his mouth again, a sudden sickening ‘pop’  filling the air as he corrected his crooked jaw. He gave a soft grunt of pain, one hand coming up to cup his face in a way that indicated that this was not an unusual occurrence.

“Said my jaw is hurtin’ like a sonuvabitch,” he repeated, grimacing as he shifted his jaw from one side and then the other as if trying to keep it from becoming stiff again. “I’ll be damned if you didn’t make it worth my while, though.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, overtly aware of the awkwardness as it began to seep back into the situation without his hands and mouth to occupy you.

You made a small noise of surprise when he grabbed you around your waist suddenly, lifting you from the piano and setting you down as easily as he had lifted you in the first place. Your legs felt wobbly underneath you, unsteady, a feeling you tried to brush away as you smoothed your skirt back into a position you deemed acceptable.

The gunslinger watched the movement of your skirt with rapt attention, much in the same way he’d watched it earlier when you were trying to tempt him.

”Nothin’ left to do but leave,” the tall man said idly. That strange glint had returned to his eyes, any warmth fading as he reached behind you for his weapon. “Reckon you oughta head out as soon as those gates are open if you want to make it out in one piece.”

Uh oh.

“Go on now,” he grinned, all teeth, unkind and dangerous in a way that sent a chill down your spine. He stepped into your space, standing nearly two heads taller than you as he plucked his hat from your head. “Trust me when I say you don’t wanna test me.”

You yelped when he delivered a sudden sharp slap to your rear, the contact finally spurning you into action. You stumbled down the saloon stairs and back onto the dusty street, one arm coming up to block the too-bright light as your eyes struggled to adjust.

Behind you, the gunslinger laughed, raspy and low. “Find me in the fog any time, girlie.”

You shot one last glance over your shoulder as you hurried along, making your way quickly towards the nearest gate as it loomed heavy and industrial at the end of the street.

In the distance you heard a scream, ear piercing and guttural. You sucked in a breath, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other as if debating what to do, the cowboy’s words from earlier echoing suddenly in your head.

‘Reckon you oughta head out as soon as those gates are open if you want to make it out in one piece.’

In the distance another scream rang out, echoing across the prairie.

You didn’t stick around to hear a third.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IX

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 14.3k

Warnings: timeskip, mutual pining, author doesn’t know shit about science subject matter, explicit sexual content, ass play, snowballing, tooth rotting fluff A/N: This is it, y’all. This last part was so much fun to write, I can’t even put it into words. The feedback on this has been incredible, so a big thank you for that, and before anyone asks, I have a handful of spinoff oneshots planned for this series. Enjoy~

- NINE YEARS -

“Hey, don’t forget about the meeting at three.”

 Mike glances up from his computer to find Henning leaning through his office doorway. It’s the first time Mike has looked away from the screen in at least an hour, and he blinks at his colleague several times in an attempt to get rid of the gritty feeling in his eyes.

 “Yeah, thanks,” he nods, rubbing a hand down his face. “Definitely would’ve forgotten about that one.”

 Henning leaves with one rap of his knuckles against the doorframe, and Mike checks his phone to see how much time he has before he has to make his way to the conference room. It’s twenty after two, so he spends a little while longer reading over the journal that had been sent to him, only tearing himself away when his alarm goes off at 2:55. 

 He waves at a few people as he passes, shows the reserved smile he’d mastered upon entering the corporate world, then walks into the large meeting space and sets his little notepad on the mahogany table as he sits down in a plush rolling chair. 

 This meeting has been planned for a few weeks now, a team of researchers contracted by the government to study Lake Sina and everything wrong with it. Its water quality is at an all time low, and it's up to Mike and his team to figure out a way to change that so it can be purified enough to distribute to the public. There are a few large cities close to the lake, all of lower income and all struggling with their water systems. If Sina can get clean enough, it would solve a huge crisis that most people don't even know is taking place. 

 Tomas, Henning, Lynne, and Nanaba are already in the room, and after a few minutes, another group of four walks in, all unfamiliar except…

 Mike’s eyebrows knit together as he stares. He can only see a profile from where he’s sitting, but it’s one he recognizes. The time he spent admiring it, mentally sketching every feature—of course he’d recognize it. Recognize you.

 There is a pounding in his chest that Mike hasn’t felt in years, and his palms are suddenly damp. The collar of his shirt is too tight around his throat, and he reaches up to undo the top two buttons so that he can fucking breathe, but Jesus Christ, he can’t believe it. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he last saw you. 

 He wonders if you’ll have the same reaction when you finally notice him, if you’ll gawk at him or grin or run away. He wouldn’t blame you if you tucked tail. That last conversation—if it could even be called that—is not one of Mike’s fondest memories, and he can’t imagine the toll it took on you, what you must have felt going into your final year of undergrad. 

 “Is there a remote for the projector?” You call out to the table, and your voice sounds exactly the fucking same. It makes Mike want to slam his head into the wood, but before he can, you zero in on him. 

 He watches as your eyes grow, jaw setting, shoulders rising with a deep breath, and oh, you’re panicking. You’re panicking just like he is.

 “Um,” you cough and shake your head, then lean over to speak to one of your people before basically jogging from the room.

 No one seems to think anything of it. Mike has to white-knuckle the arms of his chair to keep himself from getting up and following. There's no reason he should follow, though. The two of you haven’t spoken in almost a decade. He has nothing to share with you, no reason to talk to you on a non-professional level. You don’t know each other anymore, and that’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

 A mousy looking man starts passing out little binders to everyone at the table, then introduces himself as Moblit and the other two in the room as Hange and Abel. 

 "And, the other girl you saw is—"

 "I'm back, I'm here," you announce as you step into the room, closing the door behind you and introducing yourself with a wave. "Did we get the projector working?" 

 "Yes," Abel answers, passing you the remote that Nanaba had procured a few minutes ago. 

 Hange plugs a cable into a laptop and the white screen is lit up with the image of the well known lake, once beautiful, deep blue but now a murky brown. 

 Mike has been preparing for this project for a few months now, going to an off-site lab to look over the samples being sent in or dropped off. He knew there was a research team studying the lake, but… what are the odds that you would be part of that team? 

 He supposes your jobs could overlap just like your classes used to, but you had told him you wanted to go into natural hazards ("You're a natural hazard," he had replied with a snort). Of course, that had been a long time ago, but how had that dream morphed into hydrology? 

 Before the presentation starts, Mike's boss, Keith Shadis slips through the door and takes his seat at the end of the table. You're quick to grab one of the binders and walk it over to him, flashing a smile and never letting your gaze flit to Mike. 

 Hange does most of the talking, going over all of your findings while all of you "braved the wilderness". Moblit and Abel insert a few things here and there, and then Hange clicks to a slide with a graph on it and hands the remote to you. 

 "If you turn to page seventeen in the binders, you can probably get a better look, but this shows how much the level of pollution in Lake Sina has risen in the last year alone. We took samples over…"

 You keep talking, but Mike loses his focus, watching your hands move as you speak, the way you're rocking back on your heels, and how you look anywhere but at him. 

 Even though there's a tiny tremble in your voice, you sound passionate, and why wouldn't you be? Mike is passionate too. About the same god damn thing. 

 With a PhD in environmental science, his specialty is pollutants. It's something he's been interested in since grad school because the earth is beautiful but in an awful state, and Mike wants to fucking change that. He's written journals and articles, worked with leading experts, and it's what he's decided to dedicate himself to, so why is it that this life that he's built for himself is suddenly intermingling with yours? How—

 A hand comes to rest on Mike's and he startles at the touch, jerking his head upward to see Lynne with raised eyebrows. 

 "Mike, I get why you're lost in the pollution sauce, but if you click that pen one more time, I will throw you out of this high-rise."

 He stares at her for a second before chuckling and tossing his pen onto his blank notebook. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. It's a little embarrassing, actually. How many people noticed? Did you? 

 The presentation ends with Hange telling everyone that they're happy to be teaming up with the Corporation to work toward a solution and a plan to clean Lake Sina and possibly implement it into larger bodies of water.

 The planning stage of the project will more than likely last for a few months, meaning you'll all be regulars in the office which Mike isn't especially thrilled about, even if you will be sequestered in a little annex and spending a lot of your time in the lab. Mike will still have to see you and work with your team, god, probably have to talk to you. 

 The floor opens up for any questions, but Shadis is the only one who speaks, wanting clarification on some statistic that Mike is going to have to read over later. Once the boss is happy, he stands, then walks behind Mike's chair to slap him on the back and say the last thing Mike wants to hear.

 "This is Dr. Mike Zacharias. All of you should get familiar with him since he'll be heading this project."

 Mike sits up a little straighter and forces a tight-lipped smile that all of his colleagues know is fake. 

 "Happy to be working with you." 

 It isn't a lie. He's been excited about this project for a long time now. He just wasn't expecting such a massive wrench to get thrown right into the middle of it. 

 The four of you start packing up your materials. When Henning tries to hand you his binder, you tell him, "No, those are for you to keep. Just to get a real grasp on what we found out there."

 Mike knows he's staring, swiveling back and forth in his chair, twirling the pen he's picked up again, and he wonders if it would just be easier to rip the bandaid off. Exchange hellos, go over the bare minimum—how long he's been with the company, how long you've been researching. Just enough to appear casual, like you didn't break Mike's fucking heart in college. 

 And, then he thinks about just avoiding you altogether. There's always the chance your issues could come up in conversation, and it's so far in the past now, there's nothing either of you can say to make the other feel better. This can't be about closure. It's just a job. That's all. 

 "Wow, everyone really… cleared outta here."

 Mike's vision unfogs, and he glances around to find that yes, you're the only two left in the conference room. Fantastic. 

 You're wrapping a cord around your elbow then shoving it in a laptop bag, and he can tell you're moving as fast as you can, ready to get the fuck out of there. 

 "Uh, yeah," Mike agrees, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his notebook to curl in his hands. "Everyone's just ready to get back to work, I guess."

 "Yeah. You can only hold someone's attention with a PowerPoint for so long."

 Mike's mouth is too dry, and it feels like he needs to cough, but he doesn't want to startle you, so he just quietly clears his throat in an entirely ineffective way and tells you, "Good PowerPoint, though."

 You snicker, not loud enough to hear your real laugh, and Mike doesn't know if he's grateful for that or not. 

 "Thanks. Mobs made it."

 Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you finally look up at Mike—really look at him for the first time—and he sees your expression go soft, mouth twitching like you’re caught between smiling and frowning, and Mike is taken back to the first night he met you when he wanted you to shotgun that disgusting beer. 

 You blink at him, open and close your mouth, and Mike is waiting with baited breath for you to say something else, but all you do is hold your hand out for him to take the projector remote from you. 

 "Here."

 He grabs it with two fingers, careful not to brush your hand. Fuck, he wishes his heart would stop beating so hard, it's incredibly uncomfortable. 

 "I feel like I should say something," you murmur, "But I have no idea what, so I'm just gonna tell you I look forward to working with you, Dr. Zacharias."

 He grins. Widely. He doesn't mean to, but he does. It's been so damn long since anyone has said his last name like that. 

 "Do you, though?" He asks. 

 "Do I what?"

 "Look forward to working here."

 "Oh, uh…" You bite your lip, start rocking on your feet again, then shrug. "I guess? I mean… Big project."

 "Very big."

 "It's important to me. I can't say that I was expecting—"

 "Me?" Mike offers with a tilt of his head. 

 He's standing too close. It feels like he is, anyway, so he moves back to lean against the conference table. 

 "Yeah, pretty much," you laugh. "It's been a while."

 Mike wonders if you remember that night as well as he does. No matter how much he's tried to forget it, that image of you with fat years rolling down your face just will not leave him. Do you remember how it felt? Can you remember everything he said to you? 

 Before Mike can respond, you wave a hand. "Anyway, I need to go help set up our little area, so…"

 "Yeah, for sure. I'll be around."

 After powering through the last hour of his day, Mike bolts from the building. He needs to get home. He needs to get a drink in his hand. He needs to unwind and not think of you. 

 He needs to fucking call Erwin. 

 "Hey, bro, what's up?" 

 "Dude," is all Mike says at first. 

 "What?" 

 "You will never fucking guess who's on the team we’re working with on the Sina water project."

 Erwin hums in a sing-song sort of way, then chuckles. "Funny, I got a similar call about an hour ago."

 "You guys still talk?" Mike asks a little too loudly. 

 "Yeah, man. Not every day or anything, but—"

 Mike rolls his eyes. "You're unbelievable." He isn't mad, and Erwin knows this. He's just a little surprised. His friend hasn’t as much as uttered your name in the last ten years. 

 "Yeah, whatever. How'd it go from your perspective?" 

 "It—Wait, what did she say?" 

 "Oh, no no no," Erwin laughs. Mike here's a distant, "Hold that, please!" and figures he's making his way to the elevator to leave work as well. "I am not getting caught up in your bullshit again."

 Pouting, Mike finally turns on his car and pulls out of the parking lot. "Fine. It went… Well? I think? I mean, super awkward, but that isn't surprising."

 "No name-calling or confessions of undying love?" 

 "No, I'm not twenty-two anymore."

 "Could have fooled me," Erwin snorts. 

 "Fuck off. It was a good presentation, but she was nervous, and I couldn't tell if it was from having to speak in front of people or if it was 'cause I was there, and then we talked afterward—nothing important or anything, just, like, an acknowledgement. You know, you're here, I'm here, we have to find a way to co-exist, except neither of us actually said that," Mike has to take a deep breath. He's rambling, he knows, and Erwin is just listening, probably storing it all away to make fun of him about it later. "It was okay. It could've been worse."

 "Could have been better too."

 "What? How—"

 "Could have bent her over the desk and—"

 "Dude!"

 Erwin breaks into that deep laugh Mike is so used to, tells him, "I'm just saying! I know she's still cute. We have each other on Facebook."

 He's right. Too right. You are absolutely still cute, all dressed up in business casual attire, so different from the leggings and hoodies you used to wear. Your face has matured slightly—naturally—and your hair is different but still suits you. Mike has no idea how he's supposed to work with you for the next few months. 

 "I can't deal with you," Mike grumbles. "Why did I even call you?" 

 "Probably because I'm the only one who has an inkling about what you're going through right now," Erwin replies. "Aside from her anyway."

 "Yeah, yeah."

 They chat for a little while longer until Erwin gets to the bar he's apparently meeting some coworkers at, and Mike spends the rest of his drive listening to music too loud as he tries and fails to clear his mind of you. 

 *

 You're pacing. You have been for the last hour. The food you made for yourself went cold some time ago, but you're too busy whining into your phone to notice. 

 "Just—like—what the fuck am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to work with him like this? He's overseeing the whole fucking project! I can't just avoid him!" 

 "Okay, first thing's first," Hitch stops you. "I need you to take a deep breath for me."

 "Hitch—"

 "Breathe!"

 You inhale through your nose then blow out through your mouth, but that's obviously not good enough for Hitch because she demands, "And, again."

 "What are you, my therapist?" 

 "I mean, I usually act like one, so… anyway, while you're calming the fuck down, I'm gonna call for backup. Hold please."

 Dropping yourself onto the hotel couch, you try to relax even though you know it'll be impossible because—

 "You're working with Mike?" Rhi's shrill voice meets your ear, and you have to pull the phone away. 

 "Rhi, you're supposed to help me calm her down, not add to her panic," Hitch reminds her. 

 "Yeah, no, that's not gonna happen," Rhi tells her, and you laugh to yourself. 

 "Agreed."

 "Okay, so tell me what happened. Oh my god, did you cry? Did he cry? What'd Erwin say when you told him? You told him, right?" 

 You've gotten used to Rhi's rapid fire inquiries a long time ago, so you have no problem answering, "We walked in for the big Sina presentation today, and he was just there, and I was freaking out, so Hange had to do most of the work but still made me go over my findings 'cause I understand them better than they do, but anyway. I don't think he was paying attention at fucking all which is cool 'cause I wouldn't have been either, and then we talked for a second afterward, but there were no tears. There was almost vomit 'cause I felt like I needed to throw up, but I kept it together. I think."

 "Okay, and Erwin? What'd he say?" 

 You snicker to yourself. "He made fun of me for a little while and then he told me to talk to Mike once I calmed down just to catch up and then to—this is verbatim, by the way—to possibly have dirty sex in Mike's office."

 Both of your friends howl, Hitch being the first to gather herself enough to giggle, "He fucking would say that, oh my god, I hate him."

 "Same," Rhi drawls. "Okay, but is there the possibility of dirty office sex?"

 "Wha—That's what you're taking away from all that?" You splutter. 

 "Uh, yeah."

 "I'm kinda curious too," Hitch pipes up. 

 You wave your free hand around in confusion and tell them, "I—we—no! We don't even know each other anymore. We said, like, four words to each other today, and it was fucking weird, so no. Pervs."

 "Do you want to, though? Has he aged well?" Hitch asks in a low, sultry voice. 

 You click your tongue and pause, not wanting the first thought that pops into your head to be what comes out of your mouth because yes, holy shit, yes, Mike looks so fucking good. It was one of many reasons you were so tongue-tied in front of him. 

 He's still impossibly tall and broad, but in slacks and a button up. The beard he’s always had is short and rugged and a tad darker than the hair on top of his head that he's let grow out long enough to tie in a bun, and it fits him too well. You thought you were gonna start drooling on his fancy shoes. 

 "He's alright," you play. They see right through you, falling into another long fit of laughter until you admit, "Okay, okay, he's still stupid hot, alright?" 

 "God bless. I'm so happy to hear that. I'm so happy for you."

 "Why would you—"

 "Just promise you'll invite us to the wedding."

 "I think you guys are getting a little ahead of yourselves."

 "Oh my god, we have to call Marie."

 "And, Maddie."

 You shake your head as the other two start going back and forth, talking about you like you're not even there, bringing up college memories, old parties you'd all gone to. 

 "Hey, remember when you hated me?" Rhi questions, and both of you snort. 

 "And, you hated me right back. Stole your man or whatever."

 Hitch mutters a quiet, "Ew, fuck that guy."

 And, Rhi picks up, "Yeah, fuck that all-American, record-breaking pitcher."

 The three of you talk well into the evening, eventually switching to Zoom so that you can all see each other and add Maddie and Marie into the call. You and Hitch break open bottles of wine, but Rhi and Maddie don't drink, "Solidarity with this pregnant bitch," Maddie says, and Marie lifts her glass of water to cheers via internet. 

 Sophomore and junior year of college, you never would have expected to get close to anyone other than Hitch, but through a few shared classes and petty curiosity, all of you ended up seeking solace in one another and came out on the other side as best friends. Hitch was even Maid of Honor in Marie and Nile's wedding. Against all odds, everything turned out pretty wholesome. 

 "I genuinely hope it works out," Hitch says now, words long, lazy, and starting to slur together "Like, even if it's just you and Mike making up and being, like, cool with each other again."

 "Hitch, you're drunk, please go to bed."

 "I am drunk. But, I still mean what I said. I miss when you guys were just best friends."

 "Why?" You question with a head shake. 

 Hitch sighs, "'Cause you were so happy."

 "No, I—"

 "I mean, you were still all… weird and guarded, but that dude made you laugh and smile so much."

 "I daresay I even saw you giddy on a couple of occasions," Marie hums. 

 "Whatever. I just want it to be… not awkward."

 "Then, talk."

 "Mm, pass."

 *

 A light knock on the wall of the impressively large cubicle gets your whole team's attention, all of you glancing up to find Mike standing in the little entryway, hands in his pockets.

 "Hey, just checkin' in. Have you all gotten settled?" 

 "Yes!" Hange is up on their feet. "Great accommodations, and that lab you guys use?" They moan, and you can tell Mike is trying not to laugh because his mouth is twisting to one side like it always does when he tries to appear unaffected by something. However, you know well that it is very hard to remain unaffected by Hange Zoe. 

 "Yeah, we haven't had a lab that shiny in a long time," Moblit chuckles. 

 "Don't you work in government buildings?" Mike frowns. 

 "You ever seen the inside of a post office?" You question, immediately regretting it when those light green eyes land on you. 

 "Uh, yeah?" 

 Smirking through the butterflies, you tell him, "Those are government buildings too."

 "Don't mind her. She's just being a smartass," Abel says.

 Mike is really fighting that smile now. Even pinched to one side, you can see the way his lips are trying to curve upward, and you have to bite yours and look at the floor before you start acting like a god damn school girl. 

 It's nearing the end of the first week at your new location. It hasn't been terrible, and some of the strangeness is beginning to wear off, but it's still jarring to see Mike walk around or hear his voice carrying through his office door. 

 Neither of you have gone out of your way to talk to one another. Anything project related, Hange handles for the most part, and if anything is delegated to you, you try to pass it off to Abel because you're just not ready to be alone in a room with Mike. Your brain and your heart can't take it yet. 

 You can't deny that you're curious, though. You wonder what his life is like now, what his job is like outside of what you've seen (which, admittedly, is not much), what he does in his free time now, who he spends his time with. You couldn't help but notice (you made a point of looking) that there isn't any type of ring on his finger which is pretty fucking surprising since, well, Mike has always been a catch. How has someone not come around and swiped him off the market? Or, does he just not wear a wedding band at work? Or, does he just have a girlfriend and is waiting to take the next step? So many questions you have no business asking.

 Mike hums, rubs at something probably nonexistent on the carpet with the toe of his shoe, and mumbles a little, "Nothin’ I haven't dealt with before," that makes everyone look at him curiously. "With co-workers, you know. Lotta sass in the office."

 You stifle a laugh and stand up. There are a lot of sassy things you could say, but you figure none of them are actually appropriate, especially since Mike is technically your boss now—why is that so hot?—so you just slip out of the cubicle, doing your best to not brush up against Mike. He apparently doesn't care, though, because while he moves to the side, he does the thing that all men do, placing a hand on the small of your back as if to guide you past him, and it makes you burn. 

 "'scuse me," you squeak, relieved to be able to run to the restroom where you can sit in a stall and scream to Hitch through texts. 

 You are dying—mostly because you don't know what you want. Do you want to be friends? Do you want to seduce him? Do you want another nine years away from him? You have no idea. 

 You were sad for a long time after that holiday break. You trudged through your spring courses, took more classes in the Summer, then started all over. Hitch had to physically drag you out of your tiny apartment a few times but never to any parties, thank god. Just to lunch or the library, and eventually, Rhi, Marie, and Maddie came into the picture. Further into the picture, anyway. 

 While they got you laughing again, though, that ache didn't ever fade. Mike's words replayed in your head in a constant loop, day and night for months. I can’t do this anymore. Start fresh. Shouldn’t be hard for you. You were mad at yourself for a long time, for ruining everything and hurting him. If you could have gone back to the start of it all and done things differently, you would have, but you just had to sit with all your mistakes instead. 

 Then, your anger shifted toward him. Because you weren't the only one who messed up. You may have been the first one to, but he did some shitty things too. He's the one who didn't care even after finding out it was Zeke who blocked his number. He's the one who refused to believe that you and Erwin weren't actually a couple. He's the one who brought Rhi to the ranch house with the specific intention of hurting your feelings (and to wet his dick). 

 And, he's the one who didn't want to work things out. 

 You understand his frustration. You broke his heart, after all. But then, he turned around and broke yours too. 

 It was nine years ago, and you've moved on. You've dated people since then. You've fallen in and out of love. Mike wasn't even on your radar until Monday, but now… Now, there's no forgetting him. Old wounds get jabbed every time he peeks around the corner, any time you hear him laugh or see him smile, and when he actually looks at you, fuck, it's like someone is ripping stitches out of your skin.

 It is not a productive work environment. 

 Your team hasn't noticed much other than Moblit asking what has you so tense these days, but no one has made any connections, and you'd like to keep it that way. Hange would have a fucking field day if they found out. 

 There are many meetings to toss around ideas, plans and blueprints that get scrapped. You stumble through presentations, trying not to look directly at anyone as your cheeks heat up and your hands shake. 

 "You've never been nervous about stuff like this," Abel tells you in the conference room one day as everyone else files out. "What's up with you?" 

 "Nothing," you shake your head. "Don't worry about it."

 "Nothing my ass," he grumbles, walking out without you. 

 "You really should try to relax," Mike tells you from where he's still sitting at the table. "No idea why you're so nervous."

 Everyone else is gone which means you're free to squint at him, scathing retort on the tip of your tongue, but when you see that he's smirking at you, the words dry up. 

 "Don't play dumb, Zacharias."

 "I'm not playing anything," he tells you. "But, I do need to know how long we're gonna keep up this I don't know you-you don't know me thing."

 "You literally just said—..." Taking a deep breath, you look over your shoulder to, one, form a coherent sentence in your brain, and two, make sure no one is close enough to hear it when you say, "What would you prefer we do? Not like we can just pick up where we left off. Unless, you know, you wanna go back to being incredibly fucking pissed at me for months on end."

 "Man, you really are tense about this," Mike chuckles, and you're torn between slapping him and jumping his bones, so you do neither. Fuck, why'd he have to wear the purple tie today? It looks so good with his complexion and complements his eyes. A few strands of hair have come loose from the bun at the back of his head, and he shakes them out of his face like he used to shake his shaggy bangs, and all you can do is stare and squirm and tell him, "I have to go."

 "Go where?" He asks, standing from his chair. It feels like he towers over you even from across the table. 

 You hold your hands out and gesticulate a little frantically, "I don't know—work? Maybe?"

 He's extremely amused, even laughs as you make your way out the door, then calls, "Whenever you're ready to talk, just let me know! You know where my office is."

 "I don't wanna talk!"

 You really don't. But, you also really do. 

 *

 Mike starts having fun with his new department (you specifically) around the third week. 

 He's never seen you like this before, having to mentally prepare yourself before you walk into any room, like you have to be ready for him. You nibble on your lip and rock on your heels. Your hands shake in meetings when you have to point to pictures or graphs. 

 It’s just so unlike you. He got so used to the surly, uncaring girl in college, never happy to see Mike until you gave him a fair chance (and decided you enjoyed his cock). He expects everything to come out of your mouth to be sarcastic or suggestive, and when it's not, it takes him off guard.  

 Mike is nervous around you too. He can easily admit that. But, his neverending panic really just manifests in the form of nausea and heart palpitations which he thinks is better than trembling and stuttering, but it's still mildly distracting. 

 Every once in a while, he catches a glimpse of that old side of you, though, a mumbled smartass remark or an unimpressed expression, and he has to make a conscious effort to not grin like an idiot because he's still trying to decipher his actual feelings. 

 Is he supposed to act like nothing ever happened, or should he hold a grudge? What seems more natural? What feels more natural? 

 Mike knows the answer to that last question, but he hasn't fully accepted it. 

 "It's kinda cute, actually. Like, I walk into the room and she gets this little doe-eyed expression. Looks like she's about to run away."

 "You're kind of a sadist, you know that?" Erwin says. 

 "I mean, is it so wrong to get a little satisfaction outta this?" 

 "I think so, yeah. You're driving her crazy, dude."

 Mike smacks his lips and rolls his eyes. "Man, how would you know—"

 "'Cause she told me!" Erwin basically shouts like it's obvious. "The words came out of her mouth. Mike is driving me crazy. Just like that."

 Pouting, Mike takes another sip of his beer and lets his eyes travel to the bottom of the TV screen to check the score of the game he isn't watching. 

 "Well, it's not like I can really do anything about it. She'll only be here for a few months."

 "Do you happen to know how long it takes for a stomach ulcer to form?" Erwin asks. 

 Mike frowns. "Uh, no?" 

 "Well, neither do I, but I'm pretty sure it's not very long."

 Both of them laugh. Mike mutters something about Erwin being fucking stupid, and then Erwin sighs and speaks, "I am begging you, dude. Please just get a fucking drink with her or something."

 "We don't mix well with alcohol," Mike snarks. 

 "What's the worst that could happen—you end up in bed again?"

 "Well—"

 "Honestly, both of you could probably benefit from a good fuck, but what do I know? I'm just the guy both of you call for this shit."

 "Alright, I get it. I'll… see if she's up for something," Mike mumbles. 

 "I mean, I wouldn't open with sex, maybe start off with lunch or…"

 "I'm hanging up now."

 Mike doesn't actually know how to ask you, though. You're so fucking skittish around him, and you're obviously worried about people finding out you have a history, so he's gonna have to be strategic about it, maybe plant the seed a few days before or—

 "Hey, listen…" You appear in Mike's office doorway, long cardigan falling to your knees and swishing behind you even after you've stopped moving. "I know it's almost five, but I'm, like, right in the middle of mapping out a new plan, and I don't wanna lose steam, so is it cool if I stay late?" 

 "Yeah, I don't care," Mike answers, tacking on, "S'long as you're okay with being here late with me."

 "Oh, th-that's—" you splutter for a little while, and Mike raises his eyebrows. "That's n-not necessary. You don't have to, like, supervise me or anything."

 "I'm not supervising you," Mike snorts. "I'm trying to finish my piece for a journal."

 "Ah, right, that's… yes." You shoot off a half-hearted finger gun, and Mike wants to hop his desk to get to you. There you are. There are your dumb fucking mannerisms, please, just act like yourself, for the love of god. 

 "Okay, well if you need me, uh, I will probably be on the floor in the annex, so…"

 "We do have chairs, ya' know," Mike smirks. 

 "Yeah, but it's easier to just spread everything out so I can see it."

 "Want a corkboard? You can make it look like you're doing a murder investigation."

 "Hmm, might make it look more official," you muse, making a face of contemplation. 

 Before you can actually say yes, Mike pipes up again. "I don't actually have a corkboard. It was a joke."

 "Yeah, I know," you snicker. "Wouldn't be big enough anyway."

 Too many responses flood Mike's brain at once, causing him to bite his tongue because every last one of them is gross, but you must be able to read it on his face because you point and tell him, "Stop."

 "I didn't say anything!" He laughs. 

 "You don't have to. I know."

 Mike rolls his eyes, "Okay," and looks back to his computer, hoping the screen is high enough to hide his grin as you turn and walk away. 

 The next hour is spent editing the same paragraph over and over with no real motivation because everyone has vacated the floor except for you and Mike, and this could be a good time to talk to you, but he also doesn't want to disrupt your work. Just because he can't focus doesn't mean you can't. You'd only get upset if he distracted you from your work anyway—it's happened before—redirecting your attention from a textbook or study guide to… other things. 

 He goes down a rabbit hole, reminiscing on those occasions, then tweaking them just a little to fit into the current setting, and it's the absolute last thing Mike should be thinking about, but it's Friday, and you're slightly more casual in your flowy cardigan and tight jeans, and all he wants is to get one teeny tiny look at your ass in them because he knows your it’s perfect. He's seen it in leggings and cheeky little boy shorts and lacy thongs, and there is absolutely no way he can go out to talk to you now. 

 Also, he really needs to write at least one paragraph before leaving tonight. It's all about water and waste and pollutants which is the shit Mike knows like the back of his hand. He'd just rather have said hands on something else. 

 "Yeah, this isn't gonna happen," he mutters to himself, taking his hair down to scratch at his scalp. He's better off just going home. 

 Mike packs a few things up before stepping out of his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Half the lights are off, but the portion over the annex is shining brightly. Mike stares in that direction as he debates telling you he's leaving or bolting without saying anything. 

 It's the thought of you walking out to your car alone that makes his mind up, and Mike saunters to the annex and finds you on hands knees surrounded by several sketches, crumpled notes, and the set of blueprints that Mike is pretty sure got thrown in the recycling on Tuesday. 

 "Where'd you even find those?" 

 You don't look up when you answer, "Recycling comes every Monday."

 "So, you went… dumpster diving?" 

 Lifting your head, you squint up at Mike, tracking him as he squats on the other side of your organized chaos. 

 "Is it dumpster diving if it's all paper?" 

 Mike shrugs. "Dunno. How's it comin'?"

 "I'm comi—It!" You correct a little too loudly. "It's coming! It's coming along just fine."

 "Yeah?" Mike chuckles. "Cute Freudian slip there."

 "It was not—" You grit your teeth, fingers curling on the papers they're resting on, then question, "Did you need something?"

 "Just came by to say I was leaving," Mike tells you. Something catches his eye, though, some of your notes scribbled just big enough for him to read a few of the words from where he is, and he grabs the sheet to look it over more carefully. 

 Irrigation plans, specialized pumps, introducing new life into the lake, specifically filter fish…

 "I was just vomiting ideas out on paper, it's nothing important."

 Mike hums and reads further. Some of it is familiar because Mike has considered some of these himself, but while your engineering thoughts are a little vague, the ideas that lean more toward the biological side of things are pretty interesting, even if they're just sloppy bullet points and arrows. 

 "You wanna vomit on a person instead?" He asks, chuckling at the look you give him. 

 "Ew."

 "Just spitball. Throw it at me."

 "Oh, I'm gonna throw somethin' at you all right."

 Mike slips his bag from his shoulder and sets it down before sitting on the ground, picking up the papers closest to him. 

 "Tell me about the xylem tissue method," he prompts. 

 You don't speak right away, just chew on your lip while staring at the sketches on the ground, but then you nod and sit back on your heels. 

 "So, we know that white pine trees are a natural means of filtering, but there aren't any around here. I know it's more of a long-term plan, but we can't just go with a temporary fix, so I was thinking—"

 Mike listens. To everything. Everything you can think of. He watches too. You rub your hands over your jeans and flick hair from your eyes. You change positions, sitting on one foot while resting your chin on your knee as you think out loud, then move to sit cross-legged only to get up to pace the length of the cubicle, barefoot since your heels were kicked off long ago. 

 He asks questions or makes suggestions here and there, and soon it isn't just you who's brainstorming.

 It's easy. It's what Mike knows, and it's obviously what you know too, and a couple of hours pass before either of you realize it. 

 "Shit, it's almost ten," you state, looking at your phone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here so late."

 "It's fine. Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to."

 Mike stretches as he stands, twisting to crack his back and rolling his neck. You gather up all the papers, straightening them into a neat pile then putting them in a drawer at the bottom of your desk. 

 You walk out together, still chatting in the elevator and out to the parking lot, and Mike feels good. He feels like… He feels like he did in college. 

 "Please tell me that is not your car," you say, eyeing the boxy, white Mercedes that is, in fact, Mike's. 

 "What of it?" 

 "These fucking Jeeps are so ugly, I cannot believe—"

 "Uh, it's not a Jeep. It's a g-wagon, thank you."

 You roll your eyes. "I liked your Wrangler better."

 "I bet you fuckin' did," he mumbles, too lost in the memory of you riding him in said Wrangler to think about how you might take the comment. 

 "It was easier on the eyes," you explain. 

 "It was a frat boy car."

 "You were a frat boy!" 

 "And, now I'm a professional."

 "Are you, though?" You tease, expression skeptical save for your tiny smirk. 

 "Most of the time."

 The only other vehicle in the lot is a Land Rover, considerably larger than the little hatchback you used to drive but very fitting for someone in your line of work. Mike thinks about mentioning that it's basically the same as his Mercedes, just not as expensive and with rounder edges, but he knows you'll just get indignant and defensive. 

 He walks you over to your car, and you don't question it, just open the passenger side and throw your bag inside. 

 This is your chance, Mike realizes. Just ask. Ask her to go somewhere else and talk about something other than work.

 "Hey, uh, do you wanna grab a drink or something?" He tries, heartbeat picking up once again. His eyes are a little too wide as you regard him carefully, studying him like one of your samples.

 Then, you shake your head. 

 "No, Mike. I don't wanna grab a drink." His stomach opens up, the heat that comes with embarrassment creeping up his neck. 

 "Oh, sorry, I just—"

 "But, there's a breakfast place close to the extended stay they put us up in. I've been wanting to check it out."

 And, like that, his hope is restored. Hope for what, Mike doesn't know, but it's certainly there, blooming in his chest like unkempt wildflowers. 

 "Yeah?" 

 You nod. "Yeah. I'm still not really a morning person, but d'you wanna meet there at, like, ten or so?" 

 "Tomorrow?" 

 "I mean, if that works for you."

 "Yeah!" Mike clears his throat, lowers his voice so that he sounds a little less excited. "I'm usually up and moving by eight."

 "God, why do you hate yourself?" You cringe. 

 "I've always been an early riser."

 "Not from what I remember."

 Mike leans against your rover, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, maybe not when I was kept up into the early morning hours, but usually I was up before everyone else."

 You post up across from him, one hand on your hip, and Mike realizes this is gonna go on for some time. 

 "Kept up? Like you didn't wanna be?"

 He's fine with that. He'll stand out here talking with you until the sun comes up if you'll let him. And, maybe after that too. 

 *

 Breakfast is good. Breakfast is safe. Breakfast is the start of the day and free of alcohol. There is nothing suggestive about breakfast. 

 Except breakfast has become a habit. For the last three Saturdays you’ve sat at the little cafe next to your hotel talking with Mike for at least an hour. You’re kind of getting to know him again, but most of the conversation consists of stupid jokes or blatant deflections. 

 His parents are still doing well, both in their sixties now, but Scout, unfortunately passed away a few years ago. Hearing it makes your eyes burn, and watching Mike’s face fall actually makes you wipe at your own rapidly forming tears. 

 He still keeps in touch with several of his frat brothers—Erwin (obviously), Nile, Gelgar, and some of the younger kids, Jean, Marco, and Connie.

 “Yeah, I’m actually pretty close to Marie now,” you tell him. “And, Maddie, and Rhi.”

 “Rhi?” He looks incredibly surprised.

 “Yeah,” you laugh. “Bonded over the woes of college boys.”

 “Didn’t see that coming.”

 “Neither did I, honestly.”

 Working with him is easier now. The ice has been broken. The boundaries have been set even if they are unspoken. You still do your best not to touch him at all, never stand too close or brush against him in any way, but you’ve loosened up a lot, and your team seems to appreciate it. Unfortunately, they also start to notice the way you light up a little too much whenever you’re around Mike, and naturally, Hange just had to comment on it a few days ago. 

 “You have a crush on the bossman or somethin’?”

 “What? No. We just work well together, I guess.”

 You do not tell Mike about this exchange, in fear of him prying. Well, do you have a crush on the bossman? You’re not ready for that, probably never will be. 

 There are a few breakthroughs in the Sina project. The research team gets extra funding to run more trials, and you start to stay late more often, sometimes in the tower with everyone else and sometimes in the lab. Things are progressing nicely. 

 Eventually, breakfast turns to lunch, lunch turns to dinner, and then you find yourself in Mike’s apartment, sitting at his kitchen table while he cooks.

 “So, we talk every once in a while now, but it’s usually really awkward. Like, I still don’t ever know what to say to him.”

 “Do you find it weird that he reached out in the first place?”

 “Kind of? When I was younger, I always hoped he would, but now that he has, I almost wish he hadn’t. Does that make sense?”

 Mike shrugs as he pours noodles into a strainer over the sink. “I mean, he’s your dad, so yeah, it makes sense. What he did was super shitty, but I figure it’s hard to forget the good times and just abandon all hope.”

 “Yeah. On the bright side, he sends my brother money for commissary, like, every week, so that’s nice.”

 It took a little while, but you’ve let yourself open up to Mike much easier this time around. Whether it’s because you already know you can trust him or because you’ve gotten the closure you needed for so long, you’re not sure. You just know it’s been easy. 

 Unfortunately, with vulnerability comes feelings, and you are having a lot of those. Too many. You’re glad that it’s not debilitating dread and nervousness now, but the overwhelming affection isn’t any less distracting.

 Watching Mike move around his kitchen, though—clad in a t-shirt, faded jeans, and the dish towel thrown over his shoulder, you are painfully reminded of why you got so attached all those years ago. 

 It isn’t fair. You really didn’t want to fall back into this hole. You knew it was a possibility as soon as you saw him at that first meeting, but you were trying to put it off until you had to leave. 

 Because that’s the plan. You come in. You complete the project, get them started on a long-term plan for the lake, then head back to your home facility and wait for another job to be assigned. You can’t just stay here, even if the idea gets a little more tempting every day. 

 You’re just friends, though, just spending time together because it’s familiar. It’s nice being back on the same page, just letting the past stay there.

 “So, it’s been about two months,” Mike starts, and something about his tone makes your stomach drop. “I feel like that’s an appropriate amount of time to wait before finally addressing the elephant in the room.”

 So much for letting the past stay there. 

 Groaning, you rub your hands down your face. “Do we really have to?” Of course he would want to talk about it now that you’re comfortable.

 “I really think we do.”

 “Mike, that was so long ago. I was a dumb fucking kid. What do you need to know other than that?”

 He braces himself on his counter, face serious. “Nothin’ really. I just want you to know that I was a dumb kid too.”

 “Yeah, and we’ve grown since then and gotten over it, right?”

 He lets out a long sigh. “I had gotten over it, but working with you every day has kinda... brought some things back to the surface.”

 Staring at him, you swallow and try to stay calm. You know where he’s coming from, and it’s a little comforting to know that he’s been experiencing at least some of the emotions that you have been, but you don’t know whether or not it’s a good thing. 

 “I get it. I’ve been struggling too, but there’s nothing we can really do about it.”

 You’ve thought about just taking the plunge and sleeping with him again. It would be nice—really fucking nice—but it would only make things worse. 

 “I guess. It’s been cool to hang out again, but…” Mike chews on his lip for a moment before finishing, “We’ve never been good at just hanging out.” 

 The reminder makes your skin prickle with heat, and you shift in your chair, reeling in your thoughts before they run wild. 

 “Yeah. If it would be easier to just not hang out, I’d understand.”

 He turns back to the stove to stir something and turn on the vent then twists back around. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

 “Then, what are you saying?”

 Mike makes a little disgruntled noise, hanging his head like he’s getting frustrated. “I’m saying some days are hard. I tried to keep some distance, but that lasted for about a week, and now you’re here, and even though you’ve changed some, you’re still you, and I’m still me, and… Some days are just hard.”

 Some minutes are hard, you think to yourself. You can be going about your day like someone who isn’t completely fucking smitten, and then you see Mike, and he nods or grins and suddenly all you want is to be alone with him and trace over his lips with yours, feel his hands on you, run your fingers through his long hair. 

 “If I could take those feelings away from you, I would,” you tell him, and it’s apparently the wrong thing to say because he frowns.

 “Do you not feel the same way then?”

 Your reply is almost instantaneous. “Christ, Mike, of course I feel the same! I was in love with you! I didn’t know how to show it back then, but that’s what it was, so yeah, I feel it too, but there’s no point in—in analyzing it or turning it into something—”

 “You were in love?”

 “Dude. Yes. It took me a while to realize it—like, way too long—but yeah. Definitely love. Junior and senior year wouldn’t have sucked so much if it was just lust or infatuation or something.”

 “Sorry.”

 “Don’t be,” you wave him off. “I fucked up. You had every right to be pissed.”

 “I could’ve handled it better,” he mutters.

 You shake your head. “Dumb kids, remember?”

 Mike looks genuinely upset, and you don’t know what to say anymore, so you get up from the kitchen table and walk over to him. You have to physically urge him to turn and face you, but once he does, you wrap your arms around his torso and sigh. He immediately locks his wrists behind your back, resting his chin on your head, and it feels familiar and right and a little bit like home. You can smell the fabric softener that clings to his shirt and the fresh scent of his deodorant, different from what he used to wear, but that doesn’t make it bad.

 “Can we wait for a while longer before we decide to act like dumb kids again?” You ask.

 Mike chuckles above you. “You say that like you’re positive we will.”

 You’re just being realistic, and you tell him as much. The chances of you leaving the city without having sex at least once are slim to none. You figure the two of you will break and indulge in one of those ‘just for old time’s sake’ fucks, but if Mike keeps talking to you like this, admitting feelings and what not, you’re gonna lose it much faster than you’d originally planned. 

 “Yeah.” You feel him nod. “Yeah, we can wait.”

 When he kisses the top of your head, you almost give up then and there. 

 *

 This fucking sucks. Everything sucks. Mike was never one of those people who looked back on college as his glory days, never really had the desire to go back to it, but now he feels like he’s reliving them because he’s back to being twenty-one and obsessed with a girl—being obsessed with you. 

 It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t know that you felt it too, but you admitted it, so now the only thing that’s stopping the two of you from exploring that avenue is, what, fear? Again?

 He gets it. He does. You don’t want to fall into something serious only to leave, but it’s possible to navigate relationships like that. Long distance-works. There’s technology for that like phones and video chats and sex toys. Then, there’s always the option of just relocating. It would be drastic, but Mike isn’t against the idea. Arrangements would have to be made, but he could swing it. It’s a little crazy so early on, but...

 He’s not gonna push it, not in a blatant way, but he’s gonna try his damndest to make it harder for you to go. He grows bold enough to start touching you more. A hand on the small of your back as you leave a room together, an arm around your shoulders when you watch TV over dinner, tucking hair behind your ear (“God, that used to be Erwin’s, like, go-to move.”). It’s fucked up because he knows your colleagues are asking about it, that he’s subjecting you to their interrogations, but he can’t help himself. He can’t stop.

 It definitely has an effect on you. You get flustered every time, can’t look at Mike for a while, and he hopes it’s because you’re thinking about other ways he could touch you—has touched you—f you’d just give him the chance.

 He thinks he has the patience to keep it up, wind you up more and more every day until you spin out of control and into his bed. You’re still spending time with him outside of work, still sharing pieces of yourself, and you’re not stopping him from putting his hands on you. so it’s only a matter of time.

 It comes to a head in his apartment after dinner. It’s so simple, something Mike didn’t even do on purpose, but as you’re washing your hands, he comes up behind you and reaches past you for a paper towel. He puts a hand on your hip without thinking, and his chest presses against your back, and then you’re exhaling in one quick huff and squirming to turn around.

 “Okay.”

 “Okay, what?” Mike asks, confused as he takes a step back. 

 “Okay, I’m ready to act like a dumb kid.”

 You don’t even dry your hands, just curl your fingers into his shirt and gaze up at him with dilated pupils, and Mike is elated.

 “Oh, thank god, fuck, thank god.”

 He leans down, and you stand on your tiptoes, and when you meet in the middle and he feels your lips on his for the first time in almost a decade, he groans. 

 You pull him closer, tilt your head further back to give him better access, and Mike cradles it in his hands. He tries not to breathe too heavily, pant like a fucking dog, but he’s been waiting for this since he saw you again. Maybe before that. He thinks on some level he’s been waiting for this since he left you alone in the ranch house, a little voice nagging at him to go back, to fix things, and he just never did. 

 “This is stupid, this is so stupid,” you murmur against him. “Only gonna make things harder.”

 “Just stop thinking about it,” Mike replies, nipping at your bottom lip. He doesn’t want you to think about it because he doesn’t want to think about it otherwise he’ll blurt out everything he’s been stewing on for the last couple weeks, the possibility of a real relationship, of you staying or him going, and that's too much. 

 You both shed clothes on your way to the bedroom, a trail of shirts and pants until you’re naked and laid out for him, and Mike swears he just might cry because you’re so beautiful, just as he remembered with a little more meat on your hips and thighs, a new scar on your calf that he asks about before brushing his lips over it. That leg is already resting on his shoulder, and once he gets situated on his stomach, he throws the other one over himself.

 His mouth starts to water as he gazes at your pussy, so fucking pretty, hole fluttering when he spreads you open. You can’t answer his question about the injury as he lowers his face, pressing the flat of his tongue to the sensitive skin then dipping it inside of you. 

 “Oh, fuck.”

 You taste and smell and feel perfect, and the only thought in his mind is to devour you. He won’t stop until you’re crying, drool leaking from your mouth and your cunt. And, he knows exactly how to get you to that point. 

 Mike flicks over your clit until it grows firm against his tongue then sucks it into his mouth. The noise you make goes straight to his cock, and he starts to rut into the mattress to get some kind of friction. He can already feel precum dripping from his tip, knows you won’t be the only one getting messy tonight, but he doesn’t care. He’s never cared. 

 Mike only pulls away when your thighs start to tremble around his head, and it’s only to mark them with bruises. It reminds him of the last time, when you’d let him fuck you in a fit of desperation. It had been his undoing. He thought of that night for years, and now that he’s able to do it all again, he can’t help but confess, “Fuck, I’ve missed your pussy,” just before he spits on it. 

 Your chest is rising with every little whimper you release as your nails dig into your palms. He’s never been happier to have long arms, able to reach up and massage your tits, stretching his fingers out to span across your chest, thumb on one nipple, pinky on the other, and as he teases both of them, he moans at the fresh slick that coats his tongue. 

 “A finger,” you pant, “Give me a finger, fuck, at least one, please please please—”

 You’ve always been so cute when you babble. Mike can never say no when you talk to him like that, but after assessing and deeming you fit, he slides two fingers into you at once, still sucking your clit.

 You swear loudly, almost in surprise, but that doesn’t stop you from moving your hips, fucking yourself on every digit as your jaw drops open. 

 Mike wants to see your face—has to see it, so he licks up your body, stopping to tongue over your nipples as he goes. He never falters in his thrusting, still knows the exact angle he has to crook his fingers to hit your g-spot. Your back arches, and you plant your feet flat on the mattress to give yourself more leverage, more control. Mike smirks down at you, enjoying your euphoric expression as he grinds his palm against the bundle of nerves that is the key to making you fall apart. 

 “Oh my god—oh, god—fuck, Miche.”

 His breath catches in his throat. God, he hasn’t heard that in too long. He never told you, not that he ever had to, but hearing you call him that drove him crazy, made him fall further in love and lust at the same time, and hearing it now has the same effect.

 “Please,” you whine, then repeat it, spreading your legs to coax him deeper. “Fuck, I need you so bad, s-so bad.”

He’s in the perfect position to rub his cock over your stomach, smearing pre everywhere it touches. From the beginning, Mike has loved leaving traces of himself on you, always felt like he could almost smell it on your skin, like a sigil to ward off others.

 He places a soft kiss at the corner of one closed eye, then on the other, and when you open them to look at him, he sees that they’re filled with tears. 

 It makes him pause, but you keep riding his fingers and beg, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop, m’fine, just—”

 “Why're you crying then?" he grins, leaning down to lick your bottom lip. "Feel good?" 

 You nod, raising to your elbows to force your mouth against his, sliding your tongue inside then whining when Mike pulls away, but it's only to gather the spit in his mouth. When he kisses you again, he makes sure you take it all, pushing saliva past his teeth and onto your palette, and when you swallow, Mike makes a noise of satisfaction. 

 "That's my fuckin' girl."

 That wide, fuck-drunk smile he loves so much spreads across your face as you accept the praise you never would have when you were younger.

 Mike noses just under your ear then asks, "You ready for my cock?" 

 "Always,” you breathe. “Always ready for it."

 "Yeah?" You nod, face scrunching up, and Mike thinks there's a chance that you're—"Gonna come for me first?" 

 Your muscles are starting to tense, hips stuttering, and he can actually feel your pussy spasming around his fingers. 

 "Come on, baby, you can do it. Just—'

 Your eyes roll back as your body pulses. Mike's hand is coated with slick that he can't wait to lick off, and he fucks you with his fingers until you go limp. 

 He cleans his hand then slithers back between your legs to catch everything that's leaking from you. You release a pitiful moan when he traces a circle around your entrance then squeal when he rubs his beard over it. 

 "Jesus fuck!"

 "Sensitive?" He teases before crawling back up to kiss you. 

 Holding himself up with one arm, Mike takes hold of his cock, painfully hard at this point, and parts your wet folds with his tip. He slides it up and down, teasing both you and himself and gasping every time it just barely dips inside of you. 

 "Miche, please."

 "You sound good when you beg," he tells you. You've been doing an awful lot of that tonight. 

 "Good enough to fuck me?" 

 "Mm, maybe," he plays, but he's cut off when you lift yourself just enough to take his cockhead inside of you, squeezing it so that he swears. 

 It completely dismantles any self-control Mike thought he had, and he gives you everything he has in a single thrust that makes you scream his name. 

 "You asked for it," he tells you, starting to pull out. 

 You grip his biceps, shaking your head. "J-just stay still for a—oh god, oh god…"

 Mike doesn't move, lets you adjust while he enjoys the way your cunt clenches around his cock. You're panting, eyebrows knit together, and apologize, "Sorry, give me… a minute. Been a while since I've taken anything this s-size."

 It's juvenile, but Mike's chest still puffs a little when you tell him that, and that feeling only grows when you give him the go ahead to move and he pulls out to see that his cock is already covered in white cream.

 Breathing out a quiet, "Fuck," he slowly pushes back in, mesmerized by the way it creates a thick ring at the base. "So pretty," he mutters, rubbing a thumb over the skin that's stretched around him. "Such a pretty pussy."

 He lets a string of spit drip from his mouth and onto your clit then strokes the swollen bud in circles, the pad of his fingers brushing over the tiny hole that makes you twitch every time. 

 Mike falls into a very slow, deep rhythm, torturing you as he drags his cock over every inch of your satin walls. Tiny gasps are pushed from your throat with every thrust, growing louder when Mike sits back on his heels and pulls your hips up to meet his. It leaves you helpless, only able to claw at the blankets, but your efforts are half-hearted, the press of Mike's cockhead against your g-spot obviously making it hard to do just about anything. 

 "I—I—I—..."

 "You what, baby?" He coos while admiring how big his hands look where they wrap around your waist, holding you mostly still as he drives his cock in and out of you. 

 Your cunt is pulsing again, so tight around him as it drips with slick and cream. The sounds it's making, an obscene balance of suction and squelching, has Mike shaking over you because it's so lewd but so familiar, and god, he has missed this. 

 And, you're right. It's stupid because he's just putting himself in the same place he was in ten years ago, but now he's a grown fucking adult, able to handle himself better, communicate better, fuck you better. 

 Tears leak from the corners of your eyes when he picks up his pace, and he groans when he presses in just a little too far, cockhead nudging against the wall deep inside of you. Your eyelids flutter, toes curling where your feet dangle and shake on either side of Mike. 

 His hips start to snap against yours, his balls swinging every time, and Mike remembers how nice it felt when they'd slap against your clit, the way you'd sing for him, and well…

 "Turn over," he breathes, pulling out and helping as you get to your hands and knees. 

 He takes the time to appreciate the view, letting the weight of his cock settle on your back just to get a visual of how much you take of it, what it might look like deep in your ass and what it would be like to see your stomach bulge from it. 

 Another day.

 Not wasting any more time, Mike sheathes himself inside you once again, spreading your cheeks and spitting on your puckering hole so that he can press against it with a thumb. 

 Your pussy opens up for him, like your body is begging him for more, so Mike fucks you harder, faster, slipping the tip of his finger into your asshole so that you tense up and say his name drunkenly. 

 His heavy balls hit your clit over and over, making you squirm and swear, head hanging back in an invitation, so Mike uses his free hand to grab you by the hair, pulling and glancing at what he can see of your face to make sure he isn't hurting you too much. 

 That grin is back, crooked and shiny with drool you keep having to suck back from your teeth. Mike hasn't felt this good having sex in god knows how long (he knows exactly how long it's been), and he thinks out loud, "Always take my cock so well. Always been able to…"

 "Feels so good, Miche," you cry, "You feel so fucking good, oh my god."

 He takes you like this until you can't hold yourself up anymore, elbows buckling underneath you, and all he does then is fall onto his back and pull you with him, letting you ride him like this and dragging his nails down your spine. It curves under his touch, arching and bowing as you lean forward to plant your hands between his legs and bounce on him. 

 Mike has a perfect view from this angle, huffing at the way your puffy lips open for him, clinging to his cock and dripping gossamer strands. Pressure slowly starts to build in both his gut and his balls, a hot sensation that grows, making him feel full and swollen and fuck, he can't wait to fill you up, can't wait to see you sloppy with his cum again. 

 But, not yet. Not yet. 

 Pushing you until you move off of him, Mike grabs his pillows and shoves you down on them, kissing you again before burying his face between your legs. Your hands are immediately in his hair, and he smiles when you tug at it a little harshly, using the strands as a means to guide Mike right where you want him. Even though he's taking this little break to let himself calm down, he can't help but press his hips to the mattress. He's hot and throbbing and dripping pre, ready but not ready to unload everything inside of you. He doesn't want it to end too soon, wants to savor every second because you're here crying and pleading for him, pushing yourself against his face only to pull back when he sucks on your clit. 

 He's able to fit three fingers inside of you now, keeps licking and fucking you until you whisper a slew of curses and start to warn him, "You're gonna make me—" breaking into a high-pitched moan as you squirt into his mouth and all over his hand. 

 "Fuck yes, again, come on, baby, do that again."

 Mike coaxes another out of you, groaning at the feeling of you dripping down his face and chuckling at the way you shiver and sit up. Your eyes are barely open, head swaying back and forth, but you plant a hand on his chest with the confidence of someone who doesn't look like they're about to pass out, shoving him back until he lays down. 

Straddling him, you sink down on his cock and bite your lip as you rock back and forth for a few seconds. Mike can feel fluid dripping over his pelvis, murmurs, "So messy," while pulling you down for a lazy kiss. 

 He lets you ride him, lets you think you're in control for a while until your legs start to get tired, rhythm becoming slower, and then Mike takes over. He lifts and drops you to his content, hips meeting yours as he fucks up into you. Your own hands cup your tits, pinching your nipples and putting on a show as you bounce up and down. 

 "You're so good," you breathe. "So fucking good to me, god, Miche, right there."

 He's on the brink, so close to his climax, but he holds back, giving it to you just the way you want it until it starts to hurt, and then he grunts, "'m gonna come, baby, I have to. Fuck, please, please, let me—"

 "Yes, yes, wanna feel you…"

 Mike's head sinks further into the pillow as his hips move without any thought on his part. He spills inside of you, hot ropes of cum filling your cunt so that it starts to leak out around him, then shooting even more inside of you. 

 "Jesus fucking—"

 Your muscles clench, squeezing and milking him until Mike starts groaning and twitching from overstimulation. 

 He could die right here and now and be totally fine with it. He really could. But before he can let that happen... 

 Mike urges you back, letting you get situated on your pillows again as he gazes at your stretched pussy and everything dripping out of it. 

 As soon as you stop moving, Mike is working his tongue inside of you. He can taste both himself and you, feel it coat his tongue as he drinks in as much as he can before sliding up to your face and taking your chin so you'll open your mouth. 

 The first drop makes you open wider, sticking your tongue out so that Mike can fill your mouth with his cum and spit, and the fact that you let him is so incredibly arousing, he just might fuck you until he's coming dry. 

 The little pattern is repeated a few times, Mike licking your pussy then spitting everything into your mouth, but he leaves some for lubrication, shoving the last of his cum back inside you when he starts fucking you on his fingers. He keeps you pliant, sucking on your clit so that he can slowly ease his pinky into your ass, and it isn't long before you're letting out breathy little sounds and tensing underneath him. 

 He takes care of you through your orgasm, looking at your face from where he lays. You're so pretty when you come, mouth open, eyebrows high, the picture of ecstasy, and Mike wants to remember it forever. He wants to keep you like this forever. 

 You shudder when he pulls his fingers from you, whine when he slowly laves over your sensitive pussy with his tongue, but after several long licks, Mike crawls back up to lay next to you. 

 "God damn," you laugh. "I had almost forgotten how good you are."

 Mike smirks, kissing your temple and nipping the shell of your ear. "Almost?"

 You nod, a spent smile making your lips curl. "I don't think I could ever fully forget even if I wanted to."

 Humming, he traces fingers over your stomach, now sticky from the mess of precum he had basically slathered you with. 

 "Yeah, we were pretty good for each other when we weren't being stupid," he muses. 

 He should probably step away for a few minutes, hop in the shower and wait for the flood of chemicals in his brain to fall away. 

 "We were, weren't we?" 

 "Mhm."

 Mike dips to press his face into your neck. He just can't stop touching you, can't stop breathing you in. He needs to memorize everything about this—how soft you are underneath him, how you smell like sex and sweat and your perfume, how quiet your voice is when you speak to him. 

 He feels your body rise and fall with a heavy sigh, and he's about to ask if you want to rinse off, but you open your mouth first, thoughtful when you tell him, "I loved you so much, Miche."

 "I know," he replies. Even if he couldn't see it then, he can now. You may not have told him to his face, but if Mike had been just a little smarter back then, he would have realized you were telling him in different ways. "I loved you too."

 He feels you pet his hair, probably a tangled wreck from being pulled. "I, uh…" You swallow hard, and Mike rests his chin on the hand on your chest, your heart beating against his palm a little too fast. 

 "You wanna shower before you say whatever you're about to?" 

 He knows what you're about to tell him. He just wants to make sure you don't regret it when you come back to yourself. "Yeah, probably."

 Both of you leave the bed on unsteady legs, Mike leading you to the shower and setting it to your favored temperature. He stands under the spray with you, taking the brunt of the water while kissing you. You move slowly, tangling your tongue with his, mapping out his body with exploratory hands. 

Mike is the one to break away after several minutes, insisting on soaping you up and dragging his loofah over your skin. He even sinks to his knees, gentle as he cleans your thighs and between them, careful not to get suds anywhere they're not supposed to be. When he’s finished, Mike presses a kiss to your pelvic bone before standing again, grinning when you pull him back to your face. 

 He doesn't have the same, short refractory period he used to otherwise he'd fuck you against the tiled wall, but he's content to stay like this, sucking on your lip and pressing against you. 

 Even after you've been given the chance to get your thoughts in order, you still blink up at Mike, water droplets dotting and falling from your eyelashes as you tell him, "I love you. I still love you. I don't think I can stop."

 He holds your head in his hands, brushes his nose against yours as his chest swells with more emotion than he thinks he can actually handle, and his own confession is easy: "I love you, too." Another soft peck to your lips before he adds, "I think you already knew that, though."

 "Wasn't positive."

 Mike knows there are logistics to consider, but the two of you can work on that later. For now he just wants to finish rinsing off and crawl into bed with you. 

 He should probably change the sheets, though, and find you pajamas, so Mike does exactly that as you traipse back out to the kitchen for some water, wearing absolutely nothing and making him bite his lip. 

 He puts new bedding on the mattress, then digs through his dresser for a t-shirt and boxers. Something catches his eye, printed material that almost makes him laugh out loud. He doesn't know why he still has the shorts, especially since he ruined the shirt a long, long time ago, but he's so glad he does. 

 Pink and covered in palm trees, he can't even fit into them any more, but it's fine. He thinks he knows how he can repurpose them. 

 But first, he needs to call his mom. 

 *

 It's an easy fix, really. Before the Sina project even comes close to wrapping up, Mike finds a place for you in his department, something you hadn't thought possible, but apparently he's kind of a big deal in the field. 

 When he makes you the job offer in the conference room, he's able to keep it professional for a whole three minutes before you agree to the terms, and then he's out of his chair and picking you up to swing around. Just like that, the whole fucking office knows about the two of you. 

 "Ha! You owe me fifty bucks, Moblit!" Hange shouts for everyone to hear, and you shake your head as the quiet man asks if he can Venmo them. 

 "I fucking knew it! I knew there was something going on! God, that's so satisfying. I'm not even mad that you're leaving us."

 "It's been going on for a long time now," you snort. 

 Hange leans against the wall and wriggles their eyebrows, "Yeah, what, like, the whole three months we’ve been here?" 

 "Try ten years," Mike mutters, and the eyes behind Hange's glasses nearly roll out of their head. 

 You and Mike have to sign a few things, contracts and couples disclosures and what not, but you don't mind. 

 The first thing you do is ask for a few days off in order to move, and Mike naturally does the same to help. You live just over three hours away, but are able to recruit some help in the form of your old friends. 

 You let out a shrill scream when you see Erwin step out of his car outside of your apartment complex, all but throw yourself into his arms so that he laughs and squeezes you tight against him. It's been a couple years since you've actually seen him, the distance between you just a little too far, but it's so nice to stare at his stupid face again. 

 Nile is also there with a very pregnant Marie on his arm, and Hitch and Rhi arrive as all the guys are carrying down the first load of packed boxes. 

 "Damn, it has been a long time since we've all been together," you say, looking around at everyone and grinning after you tape up another set of cardboard flaps. 

 "Yeah, kinda weird how we all just get along now," Hitch giggles. 

 "It's almost like we're adults or something," Rhi adds. 

 You pass her the box, but she just groans and passes it to Erwin. 

 Everyone takes turns making trips to Mike's apartment, and the moving effort takes three days in total. You really need to find a way to repay all of them, maybe suggest a nice dinner. 

 "God, why do you own so much shit, babe?" Mike asks after loading the last shelves of a bookcase into his car (that you still hate). 

 "Because everything has sentimental value. Don't judge me."

 "Oh, I'm judging. When'd you get so soft?"

 You roll your eyes and reach past him to close the trunk door. 

 The others are all standing in the parking lot with you, antsy and excited for the two of you, or so you assume. 

 "I really can't thank you guys enough. You've made this so much easier," you tell them. 

 Erwin grins widely and pulls you into a hug, and to your surprise, Hitch slides around you to hold you from behind. It makes you laugh and call them dumb, but when they step back, you're hit with the realization that they weren't just being goofy; they were strategizing, keeping you shielded from Mike who is now kneeling on the asphalt and chewing on his bottom lip. 

 Your eyes grow wide, and you step back only to run straight into Erwin's chest. He puts two, grounding hands on your shoulders, and you can almost feel his smile as Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. 

 A small pink box. 

 A small pink box with pieces of fucking palm trees wrapping around it. 

 "Did you get that fucking upholstered?" You shout, and Mike lets out a giddy laugh, his eyes so narrow from grinning that you can barely see the green. "I don't even wanna open it. I cannot believe—"

 "Good thing you don't have to open it then," he chuckles. “I do.”

 "You are fucking impossible, you know that?" 

 "Yeah," he agrees before prying the ridiculous box apart and revealing a ring that makes you tear up. 

 It isn't huge, but it's far from plain, sparkling stones wrapping around it with a larger, round cut in the middle. It's extremely pretty and very you, and oh, you wanna put it on, you wanna put it on right now. 

 "Don't look too impressed. Mom helped me pick it out, and it’s all ethically sourced, of course," Mike says, and you wipe your eyes while giggling. 

 "Oh my god, she's crying!" Rhi yells. 

 "Shut up, it's because of that atrocious box."

 Mike looks behind you at Erwin. "I knew she'd love it."

 "Yeah, good call, bro."

 "I hate both of you."

 "Still gonna marry me, though, right?" Mike is still grinning, but you can see the barest hint of worry in his eyes, and you can't blame him because this is big. This is commitment. Marriage. He wants you to marry him. 

 And, some will say it’s too quick, that you’ve only been actually dating for a couple of months, but it makes sense because if you’re being honest, you never really fell out of love with Mike. He’s always been nestled deep in your heart.

 "Against my better judgement," you smirk. 

 He stands up quick enough to make himself dizzy, has to brace a hand on his car as he kisses you. 

 "Finally!" Erwin shouts, clapping his hands and being joined by the others. 

 Mike slides the ring from the terrible box, pushes it onto your finger with shaky hands, and when you admire it in the sun, you look at him and nod. "Very nice, Zacharias. Even in the parking lot setting."

 "I just wanted everyone to be here! If we went somewhere fancy, you would've figured it out."

 That's true. Going to some nice restaurant or quaint little park would have definitely tipped you off. 

 "Also, you know once we're married, you will also be Zacharias."

 "Yeah," you nod thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I will be. Hey," you look at him with raised eyebrows. "Wanna shotgun beers at the wedding?" 

 Mike laughs loudly. "That is how it all started, isn't it?" 

 "Yeah, this stupid frat boy in a Hawaiian shirt came up to me and demanded I shotgun a room temp beer."

 "Sounds like an asshole," Mike chuckles. 

 You shrug as he pulls you into his chest and sigh into his shirt, "He turned out alright, I guess."

[itracing]

Porsche Taycan Revealed as Formula E Safety Car

A Porsche with leadership qualities: When the distinctively designed Taycan pulls out of the pit lane and onto the racetrack in the ABB FIA Formula E World Championship, it will quickly take the lead. Porsche’s first all-electric sports car is the new safety car in the innovative electric racing series this season. The vehicle will celebrate its racetrack debut at the opening round of the Formula E season on 28/29 January in Diriyah, Saudi Arabia.

Designed to be more than just the Formula E safety car, the Porsche Taycan Turbo S striking paintwork flies the colors of all eleven teams competing in the Championship, as well as the colors of the FIA and Formula E. It symbolizes the commitment of everyone involved in Formula E and the common path towards the future of all-electric motor racing. At the same time, it gives a visual expression of social values such as diversity and community. The number 22 acknowledges the performance of the 22 drivers who contest the series this season.

Thanks to its driveability and safety as well as its output of up to 560 kW (761 PS), the high performance Taycan Turbo S is the ideal choice in the critical role of a safety car in the only all-electric motorsport World Championship, racing in the heart of iconic world cities including London, Mexico City, New York City, Berlin, Monaco and Seoul. With Launch Control, the flagship model of the Taycan range accelerates from 0 to 100 km/h in 2.8 seconds and reaches a top speed of 260 km/h. The conversion of the Porsche Taycan Turbo S into a safety car required the installation of a roll cage and racing bucket seats with six-point seatbelts as well as wire harnesses for the safety car lighting and the Marelli Logger System. Flashing lights were integrated into the bumpers. The new workplace of Bruno Correia (Portugal), the long-standing FIA Formula E safety car driver, was also equipped with a fire extinguisher and a high-tech communication system. As a result, the safety vehicle meets all requirements for service in a highly competitive series such as the ABB FIA Formula E World Championship.