#be soft. do not let the world harden your heart – face iii.

[analyticallyminded]

tag drop 1/?

muse.

[analyticallymindedaa]

tag dropping bc tumblr ate my tags part 1

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 6

Masterpost

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: Post-wedding, and the crew heads into quarantine, so we'll be at launch day in a couple of chapters. It's kind of looking like this thing will be around 12 parts total for now, so this might be halfway, but we will just see how it goes! Thanks all for reading, I love hearing from you guys :)

---

October 12, 2025 Nassau Bay, TX

Bucky wakes in the early morning with his body cocooned around Gale’s, chest to back, his left arm protectively slung over Gale’s side, hand pressed right over his heart. He buries his nose in Gale’s soft, messy hair, breathes in the scent of him, presses his lips to the back of his head. How could there possibly be any universe where this isn’t what he wakes up to?

Gale looks so peaceful in his sleep, his lips slightly parted, his face soft and unworried. In so many ways, he looks like the exact same sweet, innocent boy that Bucky fell in love with in college. Tall and lanky with a shy, candy-sweet smile, shaggy blonde hair, and his pretty blue eyes set on the stars. A certified nerd with a rough edge from growing up too quickly. Bucky fell in love practically on the spot. 

He remembers nights spent crammed into a twin sized bed with no AC, tentative kisses and unsure hands. Hours spent laughing, blushing, talking in the hazy line between one day and the next. The feeling of tumbling, out of control, head over heels into a love that neither of them ever saw coming.

And yet, in so many ways, Gale isn’t that boy at all anymore. He’s stronger now, more hardened, more confident, less innocent. As is bound to happen in the military. An all-American southern flyboy with a can-do attitude. A space-traveling heartthrob, eyes still on the stars. He’s constructed a face that he lets the public see – someone who is unassailable, calm and collected, walls put up so no one can hurt him. Bucky is one of few who gets to see this version, the one that is vulnerable and soft. He’s one of the only people in the world who has watched Gale grow, change, and come into himself. One of few who still sees in him that shy, innocent teen.

They’ve been through so much together. They’ve loved each other. They’ve broken each other. They’ve lived and kissed and held on tight. They’ve cried and yelled and run the other way. 

Bucky can remember more than a few tough times, times when he was almost certain it would never work out. When he felt them crumbling, white flags waving. Hearts cracking. Hands grasping. 

But they’ve always, always come home. 

Half their lives is a long time to be in love. And the rocky water of coming into your twenties, and then your thirties, is an awfully rough ocean to navigate while holding on to someone else. Growing together can be painful; anyone who’s done it knows that. But it’s also the stuff that great romances are made of. 

Bucky’s always been a bit of a romantic. And holding on with all of his strength to Gale Cleven, no matter what kind of nasty curveball the world threw at them, was the best thing he could have possibly done. He would do it all again in a heartbeat, if it meant he’d end up right here, his hand resting over Gale’s beating heart.

If there’s a universe where he didn’t hold on, he doesn’t want to see it. If there’s a universe where they didn’t make it, he doesn’t think he still exists there. Because Gale is his home, and how can you exist in a universe where you have no home? 

Bucky can’t help but smile, feeling perfectly, unequivocally content. This is the only universe he wants. He pulls his left hand up to rest on Gale’s bare shoulder, admires the silver ring on his own finger. This is the kind of moment he’ll remember for the rest of his time on this Earth: the morning after their wedding, Gale sound asleep in his arms, sunlight coming through the window as the birds sing outside. Warmth wrapping around his soul as he realizes that this man is his. He always has been and he always will be.

Sleepily, Gale’s eyes blink open to the feeling of gentle lips kissing along his shoulder. He turns his head as much as he can without repositioning, not wanting to lose the warmth of Bucky’s bare chest pressed to his back. Propping himself up on his elbow, Bucky lovingly strokes the hair back away from Gale’s eyes, and he inhales deeply at the sight of his husband blinking sweetly up at him. “Morning, angel.”

Gale’s voice is rough with sleep when he says “good morning” and grabs Bucky’s hand, holds it firmly against his chest. He yawns and relaxes his head against the pillow again, looking out through the big window across from the bed. It’s just the two of them, Benny having taken Pepper for the night. And Gale could lay here, safe and sound in John’s arms, forever. 

But Bucky has other ideas. Squeezing Gale’s hand tight, he presses his lips delicately to his cheek, then his temple, then the top of his head. He blinks slowly and takes a deep, satisfied breath as he settles back down into the bed, spooning Gale from behind so he’s wrapped up in his embrace again. He nuzzles his nose against the back of Gale’s head and looks out the window, too. At the beautiful, blue-sky day welcoming their marriage into the world. He disentangles their fingers to stroke his hand up and down Gale’s side, rubbing soothing patterns into the warm skin with his thumb.

After a long few minutes of tranquil quiet, he grins against Gale’s hair and whispers, “Let’s go flying.”

Gale huffs sleepily. “You’re not supposed to do anything dangerous this close to the mission. NASA’s orders.”

Bucky kisses the back of Gale’s head again, unable and unwilling to keep his mouth to himself right now. “Is flying an innocent little plane really that dangerous with two Air Force pilots in the cockpit?”

“You know Harding doesn’t see it that way.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Gale feels Bucky shift behind him, and soft lips move to the back of his neck, then down between his shoulder blades, making him shiver. “Seems like there’s something else you’d rather do anyways,” he chuckles. 

Bucky laughs. Gale can’t see his face, but his heart skips a beat at the sound. The prettiest sound he’s ever heard. Another gentle kiss. Teeth biting gently at the back of his shoulder because Gale is just too perfect and Bucky can’t help himself. “Let’s go flying,” he says again. 

Gale’s never been good at telling John Egan no.

–

They don’t get a honeymoon, not in their line of work, not now. So instead, they simply disappear into the sky for a while.

Marge is the only one they tell, just so someone knows where they are, just in case. 

Gale insists on flying. It doesn’t really make sense; they’re both some of the best pilots around. But for some reason it makes Gale feel better to personally ensure the Artemis 3 commander’s safety if he’s going to insist on doing something he’s not supposed to be doing. Typical. 

Bucky’s fine with that. He’d rather have his own hands on the controls, feel the plane himself, but he’ll play passenger princess for a day. Really, he’s just thrilled to be in the air. To be soaring over the Earth. He feels at peace up here, like his mind can finally slow down now that all of his problems and worries are lost somewhere far below. 

They’d managed to save up their money for a while and buy the turboprop after they’d both gotten themselves stationed at NASA. Their time in the air, either for NASA or the Air Force, decreased significantly with that transition. When not training for a mission, they both still get to do test and training flights, but Bucky has spent the better part of the last four or five years prepping for missions, first for ISS and then Artemis. He needs this escape. They both need to fly like their lungs need air, like their hearts need each other to keep beating. They haven’t been up in a couple of months, and Bucky didn’t realize just how much he missed it. 

He has many fond memories of this plane, even in just the few years they’ve had it. It needed some repairs when they first bought it off of a friend at NASA, so it was Gale’s pet project for months. Bucky’s little aerospace engineer, always itching to do something with those pretty hands. He remembers long weekend days out here, watching Gale in jeans, a loose white tee shirt and aviators, his skin glistening with sweat as he worked on the thing under the Texas sun. “Yeah, you fix that plane, baby!” Bucky would call out as he sipped his coffee somewhere off to the side.

“Little help might be nice,” Gale would reply. 

“Nah, I like the view from here!” He, of course, was talking about Gale looking like a wet dream. Wondering what it would take to get him to take off that soaked shirt already.

“Fuck off!” Gale would call back, and Bucky would say “Can’t believe I let you kiss me with that dirty mouth.” 

Gale proposed to him in this plane. Proposed being a loose term. They took a spontaneous afternoon flight some late summer day a couple years ago, and they’d been in the air for about an hour already. Bucky had just learned that morning that he was going to the moon – “the fucking MOON, Buck” – and was yammering on about it all, his thoughts jumping this way and that as his mind just raced. 

Gale was being oddly quiet, but his mind was racing, too. He was thrilled, obviously. Beyond thrilled. It was absolutely everything his boyfriend had ever dreamed of. But flying to the moon. Let’s just say there are some risks associated with that. 

Bucky doesn’t even remember what he was going on about; it doesn’t matter. Something about the training he and Curt would be doing for the lander, maybe. But that was when Gale just cut him off out of nowhere. Staring straight ahead, not even sparing a glance over, he blurted out “we should get married.”

That had shut Bucky right up. He sat there, open-mouthed, frozen. His brain had to reboot. 

Gale had been thinking about marriage for a little while. He didn’t know if Bucky had. They never talked about it. It had always just been them, no need for it to be legal. So Gale just… never said anything. Could never quite figure out the how or the when or the why. But something was gripping his heart too tight at the idea of letting John fly some 239,000 miles away from the planet without a strict guarantee that they belonged to each other somehow. He didn’t dare put words to it, but what if something… went wrong? Selfishly, perhaps, he needed to know that John Egan was his, and he needed to know that, if necessary, he’d be able to make certain decisions, know certain things, be in the room for certain conversations.

That was what was spinning through Gale’s mind as he flew the plane, as Bucky went on so excitedly about this amazing opportunity. It’s not a very romantic reason to propose, but the idea had been pounding away in his heart for months now anyways, and it simply couldn’t be contained anymore.

“Do… do you not want to?” He asked after a too-long beat of silence, his hands clutching the yoke too tight. Because of course, this wasn’t it. This wasn’t the time. Gale screwed it up. Maybe Bucky didn’t even want to. They never really talked about it, after all. “I… it’s fine if you don’t. It’s fine. Sorry. That wasn’t… that-“

“What do you mean do I not want to?” Bucky had exclaimed, staring at Gale incredulously. And, yeah, Gale actually looked nervous. 

“Well, I understand if-“

How laughable. The mere possibility that John Egan wouldn’t say yes to Gale Cleven. He shook his head, looking at Gale with all the love in the world. “God, Gale,” he laughed. “Of course I want to marry you.”

He got a lunar mission and a fiancé in the same day. It was the best day of his life. 

And now here they are. Married. One last flight before Bucky goes to the moon. He runs his thumb over the ring on his finger and watches as Gale walks around the plane, inspecting it carefully. I am the luckiest fucking bastard on this planet. 

No matter how many times they fly, there’s always a rush when they take off. Bucky whoops loudly into the headset, like the true professional that he is, as they climb higher and higher, picking up speed. Gale laughs at him. This may not be a Houston-approved outing – and he may get chewed out for it if anyone finds out – but the pure joy it brings Bucky is worth it.

From the regional airport, they fly back out over Houston, watch Johnson Space Center pass by below them. Bucky leans forward and gives it the middle finger through the window. 

Gale glances over and scoffs. “Why?” he asks into the headset. 

“They don’t want me up here,” John says. “But I don’t give a damn, if I wanna fly with my husband I’m gonna fly with my husband.”

“It’s for your safety and the integrity of the mission. Not because they have something against you flying.”

“Yeah, but I’m still gonna stick it to ‘em.”

Gale rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning like a little kid. They fly together all the time, but it’s different today. Everything feels brighter. Everything feels okay. 

They head out towards the water, fly along the coast of the Gulf. Bucky points to a pod of dolphins that they can barely make out, their fins dipping up and down in the waves. When Gale looks over, about to say something, he stops short and just stares at this wonderful man who, for some reason, was dumb enough to say yes to marrying him. This image of John, his side profile, illuminated by sunlight as he looks out the window with the most joyous little grin, headset on over soft, dark curls, is how Gale will remember his husband until the day he dies. Perfect.

When the plane turns, there’s nothing but open water. It looks almost like the wing could dip right into the blue ocean. Bucky closes his eyes and breathes deeply, pretends it does, ocean water spraying up, splashing the window, white sea foam outlining the wingtip, glistening in the late morning sun. But when he opens his eyes, they’re still thousands of feet up. He can smell the salt in the wind. He looks at Gale, who’s looking back at him like he’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. The way you might look at the sunrise overtaking the Earth from your post on the ISS, or at the milky way spilled out across a star-filled night sky. He’s looking at Bucky like he can barely believe he’s real.

Bucky leans over and presses his lips gently to Gale’s. When he pulls away, Gale still looks dumbstruck, like his brain has simply stopped working. “Eyes forward, you dork,” Bucky laughs.

This, right here. Flying high in the sky with the love of his life. This is his home. 

–

October 22 Houston, TX

They don’t get a honeymoon. Instead, two weeks before launch, less than two weeks after the wedding, Bucky and the rest of the Artemis 3 crew start quarantine. Today they ship off to Cape Canaveral in Florida, where their ride to the moon awaits. 

Last night there was one last send-off party. Toasts and hugs and “good luck”s and “don’t fuck this up”s. One last drink (one last hangover). For the newlyweds, one last night of amazing, ‘please don’t die but just in case let me love you with my whole body’ sex. This morning, one last kiss goodbye through breath that smells like too-strong coffee. One last I love you that doesn’t have to be over the phone. One last look. One last touch.

They’ve done this before. They’ve been away for much longer, when they stayed on the ISS. But it’s different this time. The stakes are higher, down here and up there. They both feel it, but they don’t say a thing. 

Gale hugs his husband goodbye at JSC, and Bucky joins Rosie, Curt, and Alex so they can set off for the Sunshine State. They won’t see each other again until mid-December.

Usually this is when the spouse heads home, back to their life, their family, their job, thinking too much about all the what if’s and what then’s. But Gale Cleven isn’t just the husband of one of the astronauts. He’s an astronaut, too. And he’s got a lot to do for Artemis 4 in the next two weeks before Artemis 3’s mission control has to take up the majority of his time and brainpower. So he pretends he isn’t worried. Pretends it’s just another day, another standard mission. And he gets to work here at the space center.

–

October 26 Cape Canaveral, FL

Quarantine is not a vacation. It is not restful. Nothing about Artemis or the lead-up to it is restful. They still work 12+ hour days, it’s just that now the four crew members are basically the only company each other has. Early mornings start with athletic training. Late nights end with reviewing mission protocols. They’ve started pop-quizzing each other as they toss around a small rubber football on their downtime (it’s only had to be confiscated once so far). The in-betweens are filled with VR mission simulations, more review, meetings, and more athletic training.

This is a group of professionals. But they’re also a group of rowdy best friends who will go to great lengths to keep things interesting, and the small support team quarantining with them is far more likely to go insane being locked up in here with them than any of the crew is. 

After only a few days, the support team has had to put abrupt ends to multiple games of truth or dare, keep Curt from attempting to parkour his way around the common area (twice), prevent Bucky and Rosie from getting into a physical fight with Alex over a Yankees vs. Red Sox debate (all in good nature, right?), and repeatedly reprimand them for playing childish but increasingly elaborate pranks on one another. Repeat: it’s only been a few days.

“Bring back Marge!” Curt pleads to Dr. Huston, their flight surgeon, when he all but begs them to calm the fuck down and stop finding ways to somehow make quarantine dangerous.

“Yeah, bring back Marge!” Alex echoes.

“Marge can’t quarantine with you,” Dr. Huston states flatly. He loves these guys, but they will be the death of him. “She’s your Public Relations Officer, not your handler.”

“Well she does a better job than you lot,” Rosie mutters, and Dr. Huston can’t help but laugh because, of all the people to be giving him shit, it’s the crew physician.

Yes, NASA assures you, they are in fact professionals.

But other than the evenings that they spend trying to find ways to entertain themselves, they work diligently and collaboratively the entire day, with little room for distractions. If they’re really really good, sometimes they get to go outside into the little courtyard in the middle of the building. But for the most part, they are inside, working, waiting, hoping their medical tests continue to come back with no problems. No one is allowed to visit them in person at this undisclosed quarantine location on Cape Canaveral. Contact with the outside world is limited to phone and video calls. So around 9 pm one night, Bucky sits at a table in the common area with his laptop, talking to Gale about this and that, mostly just happy to hear his voice.

“Alright,” Gale says eventually. “Get around to what you actually want to ask me.”

“What, I can’t just talk to my husband?” Bucky asks. Gale sighs deeply and waits for Bucky to go on, so he does. “How’d the game go last night?” The World Series just started, and Bucky has made sure that the whole damn crew knows.

“This isn’t Apollo, John,” Gale points out. “You have internet. Look it up.”

“Haven’t had a chance. I’m spending my first free moment since yesterday with you,” Bucky smiles sweetly and Gale rolls his eyes. 

“What makes you think I know anything about the game?”

“Cause I’m the most important thing in your life and you like to make me happy.” 

They both know this is true. So Gale gives in and starts relaying the highlights that he wrote down. Bucky nods along excitedly, asking questions here and there only to get a glare from Gale that says you're lucky I’m telling you anything at all.

“At the bottom of the ninth, Dodgers were up 6 to 2,” Gale says at the end. “Then Aaron Judge hit a home run with three guys on base. And Juan Soto hit another home run. Yankees win 7 to 6.” He recounts it all with so little emotion, save for a small smile at the end since he knows it’ll make Bucky happy, and Bucky will never understand. 

He leans back in his chair and throws his head back, arms spread wide in celebration. It’s only game three and only the Yankees’ second win of the series, but things are looking damn good. Then he sits up to look at Gale and shakes his head fondly. “How can you not be romantic about baseball?”

“Did you just quote Moneyball?” Curt calls from across the room. 

“Fight me!” Bucky yells back. 

“Whoa whoa, hold up,” Alex says, completely serious as he stares at Bucky. “Buck’s actually paying attention to baseball? Damn Bucky you really do have him whipped.”

“Have since day one,” he proudly replies. Gale blushes and rubs a hand over his face. 

“Wait what was the score?” Rosie asks urgently as he walks into the room, stopping beside Bucky. He waves at Gale through the camera and Gale waves back. 

“Yankees,” Bucky says. “7 to 6. Down by 4 in the ninth, but Judge hit a grand slam and Soto brought it home.”

“Fuck yeah!” Rosie holds a hand out for Bucky to high five. Alex, the Red Sox fan, says nothing, and Curt is glad of that because he can’t stand another heated argument about it right now.

As the others go back to whatever they were doing, Bucky picks at the hem of the faded old Yankees sweatshirt he’s wearing. It’s one of his favorite pieces of clothing. A comfort item. He pulls the neck up and presses his nose to the soft fabric before looking knowingly at his husband. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you stole this.” He’d noticed the moment he put it on the first night here, pressed the fabric to his nose and breathed deeply, couldn’t get enough. 

It smells overwhelmingly, amazingly, just like Gale. And Bucky could just drown himself in that scent. 

Gale shrugs. “Wanted you to think of me when you wore it. And how much I don’t care about that sport,” he jokes. He doesn’t say it’s your favorite, and I know you’ll wear it every night of quarantine, and I know it helps you calm down. And I wanted to bring you extra peace. 

He doesn’t say that, because Bucky already knows exactly what he means. He smiles at the thought of Gale wearing a damn Yankees sweatshirt around the house any time Bucky wasn’t there in the last week, making sure it would smell as much like him as possible. Just to make Bucky feel a little extra loved. It’s too big for Gale, he’d be almost swimming in it. What Bucky doesn’t know is how Gale wrapped himself right up in it, inhaled Bucky’s scent in just the same way, let it bring him peace, too. 

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers. “I miss you.”

“It’s only been a few days,” Gale reminds him.

“So? I still miss you.” 

“What are you gonna do when you’re on the moon, then?”

“Miss you more.”

Curt walks over to where Bucky is sitting and claps him on the shoulder. “You better get your head on straight, Egan.” Bucky shoves him off as Curt looks at Gale. “Don’t worry Buck, we’ll get your boy toy back home to ya in one piece.”

“Thanks Curt,” Gale says, almost sincerely.

Curt blows him a kiss. “Love ya babe.” Then he looks back at Bucky. “Now loverboy, either get a room or hang up. Just stop makin’ us listen to you two bein’ all cutesy an’ gross.”

“You’re just jealous,” Bucky grumbles.

They finally hang up after too many I-love-you’s, and Bucky can’t place the feeling that’s settled in his chest. He slouches down in his chair, pulls the neck of the sweatshirt up again, and breathes in Gale’s scent. He knows it’ll fade soon, the more he wears it. And after quarantine, he won’t even have this. 

He feels a sudden, sinking need to remember how it smells exactly.

But then he goes to sit with his crew, joke around for a while before they sleep. Before they wake up and start the whole busy day all over again.

T-minus 10 days.

…

…

Part 7

[analyticallymindedold]

tag drop 1/?

muse.

[analyticallyminded-a]

tag dump 1/???

ic

[kookiesandcreams]

STARE GAME - III

Summary: Jimin is framed. You know it. You believe in him. But how would you make the world believe that he is innocent?Pairing: Asylum Patient! Jimin × Visitor! Y/N

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut, thriller, psychological thriller, mild yandere.

Warnings: graphic murder description, asylums, implied smuts, lewd dreams, sick Jimin.

A/n: I'm really v sorry, I've been busy with college and stuff so I couldn't post much but I hope yall understand and support me <3 also it's unedited and I love you guys.

Check out my other work here.

Previous

"Ji-Jimin, please, touch me here," you draw his hand to cup your breast. His soft touch has you withering and wanting for more.

Placed on his lap like a doll, you bent to lick the insides of his mouth. Your saliva glosses his lips while you feel him harden under you. His hand are all over your body, greedily groping whatever it touches.

Lips like plum, trail a path of kisses down your neck when his sharp teeth nibble on your clavicle. Your fingers thread through his silky strands, pulling just enough to make him feel the slightest sensation of pain. He hisses, yanking your wrists and kissing your knuckles sloppily. 

Then you feel it, a safe pair of hands. Whose are they? But the feeling of Jimin's hands squeezing your waist intensified, the damp spot on your panties getting increasingly wetter.

"Y/n", a female voice, blurry but recognizable, draws your attention from the act.

You feel Jimin's figure fading aways, his touch getting bare and minimum. No pressure, just a voice pulling you out of your floating world.

What is it? You think.

"Y/n," it calls again, followed by a sudden jerk.

And up you are.

"Where's Jimin?" You strike the question like a thunderbolt.

"What?" Your mother's clueless. Only if she knew what her daughter was dreaming of.

"Get your ass up and come out," you mother announces leaving you alone.

The meal your mother makes are always delicious and nutritious. Thoughts of Jimin invade your mind in no time. "Hey, mom," you hear her mumble a 'yes'. "Do you think you could pack some for the patient?"

Soon her figure emerges, tall and straight, he hands on her hip and her face forbearing. "Look Y/n," she begins, her features softening, " I appreciate how I raised you to become a kind woman, but you cannot let others be your priority." The exasperated sigh that leaves her mouth says all, she is tired.

So, rather than being mad at her, you do what a wise person would do. "But mom, the food tastes so amazing that I really want the patient to try it. Imagine ready customers before you launch a restaurant!" Praises about her food were a get-to-go. The next thing you knew, she had a few containers packed and placed neatly in a pastel jute bag.

You go through the wide range of clothes you have only to settle on a baby blue frock which reaches till your knees. It has slightly puffed sleeves with a bow on the arms. Overall, it gives you a cute look. You apply faint make-up, expecting him to feel the feeling of lightness in that overly dull room. Smacking your lips after using the lip tint, you grab your bag along with the tiffin bag and leave wearing comfortable sneakers.

Once again, walking on the cold tiles, you register your information at the reception, stuff her purse with some cash and walk towards Jimin's room. You knock, once, twice, thrice; but no response. Your heart squeezes in your chest when you hear the clicking of boots on the tiles, approaching Jimin's ward.

Panic.

You clutch the bags and try to scurry, but too late.

"Excuse me? What are you doing there?"

Your eyes shut tight as you exhale the breath you were holding in. Biting your lip, your tongue sweeps on it. An act out of sheer nervousness.

"Hi doctor," you greet the man in a white coat, "I'm Y/n, and I'm here to see Jimin."

His hands drop to the sides, pen clutched in one and a writing pad in the other. "Who says you can just visit this ward, hmm?" He takes an eerily calm stride towards you.

No sooner, he grabs your shoulder, shaking you a bit. "Y/n, right?" He could see the fear in your eyes, "I am not interested in who you are, but sane people should not visit this floor. Trust me when I say this, I'm not trying to scare you," his voice come out softer now, "but I don't want more people here. And how is Jimin even related to you?"

You don't know why, but you think you can trust him. You sigh before speaking, "doctor—"

"Call me Namjoon," he interrupts.

"Dr Namjoon, I've been noticing him for months now, from my balcony parallel to his room. And I'm certainly sure he has been falsely accused."

He is taken aback by your confidence.

"And what makes you say so, Miss Y/n?"

The way he puts forth words carefully intimidates you. He looks taller when he is closer to you, so tall that you barely reach his chest. His hair was drawn back revealing his clean forehead. The dimple on his cheek was just a cherry on top and you fucking bet his voice would make girls weak in knees.

His ring-clad fingers are drawn back before he writes something on his notepad. "I don't think you have an answer to my question. Says all. Why don't you leave, Miss Y/n?"

He wasn't trying to be rude, you knew it but you were hurt. "Namjoon," you take his hand in yours and squeeze it out of desperation, "please, please let me meet Jimin, just once, please."

His eyebrows are up and you know he is going to deny it. So you fall on your knees but he is quick to hold you.

"What are you doing, Y/n?" His voice is laced with irritation. "Fine! Just this once, make it quick."

You happiness had no bounds when you heard him. You sprang up and thanked him before knocking again.

"He is not in there, wait for him." And he leaves.

You stood there, in the emptiness of the asylum. The atmosphere and feeling of loneliness creating a hollow in your heart. Not very long after that you heard the elevator ding and open.

The view only made your stomach churn. You wanted to get away. With him. Bugs crawling on your skin— this is how you felt. He was in a wheelchair. His eyes were like a dam barely holding back from bursting.

A single drop of tear rolled down his cheek when he saw you.

"Ji-Jimin, what happened to you?" You weren't sure he'd answer. Not that you cared. He is safety was first. But looking at his condition made you furious. Your fist balled up, ready to punch anyone and everyone who did this to him.

The nurses moved him to his room, his body as numb as a dead. You followed them in after showing them the note by Dr. Namjoon.

For a long time you both stared at each other, like you always used to. You were the first to break the stare game, as you got the tiffin out of the bag and opened them. The aroma of fresh food quickly spread through and you saw him tilt his head.

"Let's eat?" Your tone was playful but your voice was thick with pain and sorrow.

What was it that you felt for him? Why did he matter so much? Perhaps it was his numb face but the eyes full of emotion? Or the longing you felt?

Grasping his hand in yours, you squeezed it. "Jimin, I'm going to get you out of here, okay? So I need you to trust me with all you have." With that, you prepared his first bit and raised it to his mouth. His hesitation was visible but the warm smile you gave him made it easier for him to swallow the uneasy thoughts he had.

It was blissful, the taste, being taken care of, the warm touch. Jimin felt like he had a feast.

He lay on the bed when he was done eating. There was pin drop silence again. The air-breathing around you was the only sound you both could hear. You stroked his hair, helping him to sleep and so he did.

A deep slumber.

[fanfoolishness]

five denials and a truth (The Mandalorian)

Written for @fake-starwars-fan, who suggested this idea.  Five times Din Djarin denies he is a father, and one time he doesn’t.  Canon-compliant, spoilers for seasons 1 and 2, and gets angsty as hell. I’m so sorry, Din.  Featuring Din, Grogu, Omera, the Armorer, Peli Motto, Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, and Cara Dune.  3800 words.

***

i.

The sun fell beneath the crowns of the trees, leaving them awash in blues and golds, and the insects sang their chorus in the growing shadows.  Din Djarin sat at the edge of the fire, watching the child play with the other children.  Wariness hummed in the back of his mind, long years of training deeply entrenched despite the seeming peace of Sorgan.  Still, though, it was hard to remain battle-ready here, as the children laughed and played their silly games.

Omera sat on the log beside him, waving a hand to her daughter.  The girl took off eagerly to join the others.  Pinpoint flashes of light sparkled around the children as they played, the evening lightning-beetles taking wing.

“The children love your son,” she said, turning back to Din, her eyes aglow in the firelight.  “I’ve never seen a youngling like him, but they’ve truly taken to him.  My daughter’s quite envious of his frog-catching skills.”  She chuckled, voice sweet and warm.

“He’s not my son,” said Din in polite, careful tones.  He shifted slightly on the log.

Omera tilted her head.  He found her direct eye contact discomfiting, but he did not look away.  “Because he isn’t human?”

He shook his head slightly.  “No.  That has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what?  I see the way you watch out for him.  You’re watching him now, making sure he isn’t getting into trouble,” she said lightly.  “Every parent does it.”

“There are terrible people after him,” said Din, feeling uneasy in a way he couldn’t pin down.  Imps, bounty hunters, who knew what else?  The less said about it, the better.  “I’m just trying to protect him until I can find a safe place for him, that’s all.”

She arched an eyebrow as the child toddled over to them, holding a squirming lightning-beetle in his small hands, its green-gold light pulsing between his fingertips.  “Looks like he has something to show you.”

Din bent down, reaching out to take the child’s hands.  “You, uh, you caught this?” he asked gruffly.  “Huh.”  He’d seen the other children trying to do the same and failing, the agile beetles getting the better of them.  Despite himself, he was impressed.  

“Good for you.  Just don’t  -- no!  Drop it!”  He pulled the squirming beetle out of the child’s mouth and tossed it aside, watching it flash up into the sky.  The child looked at him with big eyes, ears sinking down to his shoulders.

“Oh, they’re perfectly safe to eat,” said Omera, laughing.  “We eat them now and then if things are lean.”

“Oh,” said Din.  He felt his mouth form into a smile, a reflexive action beneath the helmet.  “Uh, sorry,” he said to the child.  “Maybe next time.”

The child took another step forward, then leaned against Din’s leg, small arms curling around his shin.  Then he was off again, toddling back to the children and the waiting lightning-beetles.

“If you aren’t his father,” asked Omera, “what’s stopping you?”  She gazed at him, her face kind, her eyes questioning.  

“I’m not what he needs,” Din said.  He turned away from her, staring off into the forest, where the bandits waited.  “That’s all.”

***

ii.

The Armorer watched Din Djarin carefully, grateful that another member of the Tribe had survived.  Of course, he and his actions were the reason so many had fallen, but the Creed was unflinchingly clear.  Death in the service of protecting another Mandalorian or a foundling was the noblest end to a warrior’s life.  The price had been paid, and paid again, and she bore him no anger for it.

She asked to see the child, to see the one whose protection had merited the fragmentation and destruction of the Tribe.  The creature stared up at her, clearly tired and frail, but its eyes held a spirit she understood.  This one had seen suffering.  It was always written in the eyes of those who did not hide their faces.

She saw, too, the way Djarin angled himself toward the child.  She had heard of how he had protected it, blaster, body and beskar, against the storm that drove him from the planet.  And she remembered the tale of the enemy that had helped him defeat the mudhorn.  She began to understand.

She explained to Djarin what he must do, what the Creed demanded.  No matter that the child was linked to the Jedi, nor that Djarin knew not where to find them.  He was a resourceful man.  She had faith that he would fulfill the Creed.

The others pressed him to leave, their urgency clear.  The Imperials were coming, as they had come upon them before in the night, and she understood their fear.  They knew not the Way of the Mandalore, the honor of a warrior’s death.

Djarin dissented.  “I’m staying.  I need to help her, and I need to heal.”

His desire to assist was welcome, but she knew that this was not his path.  His path was clear. It lay in the child’s wide eyes, in his small hands, in the way Djarin spoke of the foundling with a measured distance she knew he did not keep.  The truth could not be hidden.  A Mandalorian could fool an outsider, but she was the Armorer, and the depth of his feelings toward the child was laid bare in voice and stance.

“You must go,” she said firmly.  “A foundling is in your care.  By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.”

You already are, she wished to say, but she did not.  He was not ready.  Not yet.  Denial showed plain in the set of his shoulders.

“This is the Way,” she said instead, voice brisk.  “You have earned your Signet.”  Her hands were swift and precise upon his pauldron, affixing the gleaming mudhorn to its rightful place.  

There it was, the emotion she knew lay deep within him.  “Thank you,” he said, and she saw the warrior’s heart within him gentled, humbled, made vulnerable.  “I will wear it with honor.”  

There were certain truths she had long known.  The best warriors did not harden their hearts.  Too hard, and they found their deaths too quickly, the potential glory of their sacrifice fading into a meaningless waste.  Yet those that succumbed to the pain of the world could be too soft, losing the will to fight and turning to the follies of pacifism.  

The finest warriors, the truest, walked wounded through the world.  It was their battles that burned brightest in the minds of their people, their struggles that most honored the Way of the Mandalore.  

She watched Djarin and the child leave with the others, and she waited, her hammer at the ready.  She would protect the beskar and buy time for those of her Tribe to escape.  She knew she would not fall this day.  

Beneath her helmet, she smiled.  For she believed Clan Mudhorn would earn their place in legend.

***

iii.

Din returned to Peli Motto’s shop, laden with supplies from the market.  Ammunition, food and water for himself and the kid, a few more packs of bacta patches.  Wouldn’t do to head out into the deep desert unprepared, and he wasn’t sure this mining town Peli was talking about really still existed.  He unloaded the supplies onto the ramp into the Crest, and turned to look for the kid.  He’s fine, he reminded himself, but he still hated how hard it was to leave the kid sometimes, how he always felt like something was missing when the kid wasn’t in his sight.

As expected, Peli was in her office, the kid in her lap.  She was having an animated discussion with him, judging by the way his ears quivered.  As Din drew near he picked up some of their conversation.

“So there I was, fighting an infestation of womp rats the size of banthas, and this no-good nerfherder shows up wanting to know why his ship’s not ready.  I tried telling him the droids were overrun and that I’d already busted one blaster trying to shoot the damn things, and he had the nerve to -- Mando!  Back from the market, huh?” Peli asked, looking up at him.  

The kid let out an excited squeal and reached towards him.  Reluctantly, Peli lifted him up, and Din took him into his arms.  The kid settled down in the crook of his elbow like he’d been there all his life, and Din finally relaxed.

“Not the best selection I’ve ever seen, but I got what we needed,” he said.  “Thanks for watching the kid.  He’s gotten me into trouble with more than one vendor.  Sticky fingers.”  And having the ability to move things with his mind, while impressive, wasn’t exactly a good recipe when combined with a youngling who was hungry all the time.  Din tilted his helmet down to look at the kid, his mouth tugging invisibly into a grin beneath the beskar.

“This angel?” Peli scoffed.  “I don’t believe it.”  Din simply looked at her, and she relented, “Okay, okay, he ate half my lunch when I wasn’t looking, and tried to eat a sand roach when I was.  I get your point.”

“I told you to be good for Peli,” scolded Din.  The kid let out a small, sad burble, and he sighed.  “I know, I know.  You didn’t mean it.”  He reached up, fingers cuffing gently against the kid’s cheek.

“You guys should do more business on Tatooine,” said Peli, leaning back in her chair and taking a long drink of caf.  “Always a pleasure.  It warms my sandblasted heart, seeing you two.”

Din nearly choked.  “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean!” she said, waving her hands.  “Mos Eisley’s got some pretty nasty dealings in the back alleys.  Orphaned younglings, drunks, slavers looking for easy marks…   It’s just nice to see a dad actually taking care of his kid for once.”

Din was still.  The kid grabbed his thumb with one small hand, holding it tight, and reflexively he curled his hand closer to the little one.  He didn’t speak.

Peli raised her brows, looking concerned.  “Did I say something wrong?”

“I…”  He swallowed.  “I’m not his father.”

“Well, I don’t know what exactly you look like under that armor, but no shit, Mando,” she said.  “But dads aren’t just a blood thing.  I thought -- I mean, the way you take care of him, and all.  You’d do anything for this kid, or I don’t know a damn thing.”

“I would,” he said slowly.  “Do anything for him.”  The kid brushed his hand against his cuirass, his claws making tiny ting noises against the beskar.  

“But you’re not his dad.”

If you aren’t his father, what’s stopping you?

You are as its father.

“He’s a foundling,” said Din, and he fought to keep his voice steady.  “I would die for him.  This is the Way.”

Peli held out her hands skeptically, face shifting into clear confusion.  “And again, you’re not his dad?  I’m not getting the distinction here.”

He looked down at the kid, whose ears quivered with curiosity, his mouth slightly open as if asking a question.  

Red robes, blaster fire, the smell of smoke, the sound of screams --

Until it is reunited with its own kind --

“It’s complicated,” he said, turning away from her.  “Thanks again for watching him.  We’d better get a move on before it starts getting dark.”  

He headed back out toward the ship and the speeder, her indignant voice following him.  “It’s noon, but whatever you say, Mando!”

***

iv.

Mist lay heavy in the secluded forest, muffling the sounds of the grazing beasts in the distance, the township far away.  Din stared out at the falling darkness, his stomach twisting.  It was nearly time.  Time to fulfill his quest, to deliver the child.

Time to say goodbye to Grogu.

His feet felt heavy, so heavy, though the distance to the little sleeping area from the hold was only a few steps away.  He stood in the doorway, watching the child sleep in the small hammock.  He’d picked up the cloth in a small market on a forgotten world.  He remembered asking the shopkeeper if it was soft enough for a youngling, remembered taking his glove off to make sure the fabric wasn’t itchy.  He remembered the kid -- Grogu -- cooing to himself that first night in the hammock, remembered how well the kid had slept.  

He remembered how he’d laid awake half the night, missing the kid curled up on his chest.

Din raised his hands.  They trembled.  

This is what I came to do.  This is for him.

“Wake up, buddy,” he said, voice breaking.  “It’s time to say goodbye.”  He reached a hand into the hammock, brushing against Grogu’s chest.  The kid made a small, sleepy sigh, a sigh he’d heard dozens, hundreds of times now, a sigh that had become as familiar and homey as the engine’s hum.  He lifted him carefully out of the hammock, but Grogu just yawned, smacking his lips, and closed his eyes again.

Din sat down, leaning against the wall with Grogu on his knee.  He looked at him.  Really looked, though his vision blurred.  I have… I have to remember.    

He drank in the sight of those long, delicate ears, soft with thin white fuzz on the edges, the inner skin shell-pink rimmed with mossy green.  He memorized the curious ridges and bumps on his forehead, between his eyes, remembering how they crinkled when the kid was happy and flattened when the kid was being obstinate.  He looked at the mouth that had eaten a horrifying number of frogs and spiders, and nearly laughed despite himself.

Grogu’s hand twitched, curling over Din’s fingertip.  Din shifted his thumb to cover the back of his small hand, and the kid blinked sleepy eyes at him.  Those eyes, so wide, so curious, so expressive.  He would never forget them.  

“You’re gonna love being a Jedi,” Din whispered.  “You’ll learn how to use your powers.  You’ll get even stronger.  You’ll see.”  You won’t need me.

Grogu’s weight on his knee was so light.  

Funny, then, that Din felt so crushed.  

He bowed over the kid, arms curling around his small body.  Grogu leaned into him, and Din held him, and he told himself that it was time.

He was never sure, looking back, how he piloted the ship safely back to the town and landed it without a hitch.  He only remembered walking down the ramp, seeing the Jedi Ahsoka waiting for them, and going cold, cold, cold.

They regarded each other for a moment.  The Jedi’s eyes were sad and distant.  She gazed down at Grogu, nestled in Din’s arms.  

“You’re like a father to him,” she said finally.  “I cannot train him.”

His legs felt fuzzy and weak.  He straightened up, forcing himself to stand firm.  He had to try again, for the kid’s sake.  “You made me a promise, and I held up my end,” he accused.

The Jedi spoke.  Part of him held onto her words, kept them safe, directions to a planet, another option to find more Jedi.  He could do this.

The other part of him was dizzy, punchdrunk, even as he held the kid safely in his arms.  You’re like a father to him echoed, and somehow the words struck deeper than they ever had before.  He ached with them, ached for them to be real -- weren’t Jedi supposed to be noble?  Weren’t they supposed to tell the truth?

But he knew he couldn’t be that lucky.  

He thanked her politely for the information, and set a course for Tython.

***    

v.      

“We’re coming up on Nevarro,” came Fett’s voice in his ear, and Din jerked awake.

It took him a moment to get his bearings.  This wasn’t the Crest.  This was Slave I.  This was Boba Fett.  Fennec Shand was down below.  And Grogu was… gone.

His head reeled. Gone.  Not safe in the arms of a Jedi, no future secured and sheltered.  He’d been stolen, been lost.  Under his watch.

“You still asleep?” Fett asked, glancing back.  His helmet rested beside him, half-cleaned of its scorch marks and scars.  Fett had been busy while he was sleeping.

“No,” said Din, trying to clear his head.  He lapsed into silence.

“It’s a fair plan,” said Fett.  “I hope it works.  For the sake of the child.”

“You didn’t have to --” Din started.  They’d been through this already, though, and he knew it would be insulting to keep up his protests.  “I’m… grateful for the help.  Thank you.”

Fett shrugged. “We tracked you for a while, you know.  Before Tython.”

Din stared straight ahead.  He didn’t care about that.  But he realized in the waiting quiet that Fett expected an answer.  “I didn’t know.”  

There; the man should take it as a compliment.  Din knew he wasn’t easy to track.

“I saw how you were with the child.”  Fett’s scarred face was thoughtful.  There was something complicated there behind the older man’s eyes, but Din couldn’t read it, unsettled and numb as he was.

“I was to return him to the Jedi,” Din forced out.  “I failed him.”

“You took care of him,” Fett pointed out.  “I saw it.  That’s not nothing.”  

“He was a foundling,” he said mechanically.  “Any Mandalorian would have done the same.  The Creed demands --”

Fett sighed.  “You can keep your Creed.”  The words still sounded so wrong -- to view the Creed as a myth, it was sacrilege.  Still, though, he’d seen the chain code, and he knew Fett’s claim was valid.

Din watched the other man cautiously, but was taken aback by the next words Fett spoke.  “You were a father to him.  That much was clear.”

Din chuckled, a brittle, awful sound.  It hurt his throat.  “People keep telling me that.”

“Are they wrong?”

He thought of Grogu taken, held captive by droids’ arms harsh and cold.  He thought of him in a cell, thought of tests and needles and experiments, thought of the little youngling toddling after him and laughing sweetly about cookies.  He thought of standing there helplessly on the rocky slopes of Tython, watching the world end.

He was grateful, not for the first time, for the helmet shielding his face.  “Does it matter?” he gritted, and Nevarro loomed before them.

***

vi.

Cara Dune caught up to him, about six months later.

He’d been half-expecting her for some time.  Knew that rumors of his doings would reach certain ears.  Knew that she’d put two and two together.  Even if he no longer wore beskar, he knew the patterns would be noticed.

She found him in a scuzzy bar on an ocean moon, where the damp seeped into everything and the cold never faded.  She sat beside him, tossing a few credits onto the bar, and was rewarded with a sea-brewed ale.  She drank about half before she finally turned to face him.

“Hey, Mando.”

He didn’t look at her.  Didn’t want to see the pity in her face.  He could hear it well enough in her voice.

“I knew I’d see you again,” he said quietly.  “Galaxy’s never as big as it seems.”

“No,” she said.  “I guess it isn’t.”

In the silence, water dripped, dripped, dripped behind the bar, a constant rhythm.

“I know it was you,” she said presently.  “The Imperial bases on Corux and Raethe.  Two cruisers downed, the troops dead long before the ships crashed.  Imps dead in the streets of a dozen backwaters.  And a lot of high-ranking officers found in pieces.”

“A lot of people hate the Empire,” he said.  He took a drink of his ale.  He hated the taste, and hated the burn more.

“Not a lot of people hate them like you do.”  Lightning-fast, she twitched aside the cloak hanging over his hip, revealing the Darksaber hanging like an anchor at his side.  He ignored her, covering it again with his cloak.  “Let’s just say you have a signature style these days.”

Din glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.  She looked different, hair a little shorter, upgraded armor, a new insignia on her shoulder.  And sympathy etched in every line of her face.  He looked away, shaken.

“So what?” he asked.  “Don’t tell me the New Republic has a problem with fewer Imps running around.”

“They don’t.  They’d probably give you a medal, if they knew who was behind it,” said Cara.  She finished her drink.  “I have a problem with it.”

He nearly snorted into his foul ale.  “Really.  You’re worried about the Imps.”

“I’m worried about you, Din Djarin.”

He froze.  She’d never used his name before.  Slowly, he turned to stare at her, fully aware that his naked face was on display.  “Stop.”

Cara flushed.  “I was on the ground at that Maelstrom-class cruiser.  I saw what you did to them.  It wasn’t…”  Her mouth twisted.  “Killing Imps doesn’t bother me.  You know that.  But that was… brutal.”

“Again,” he said defensively, “you’re worried about them?”

“About what it’s doing to you,” she said, her voice flat.  “Mandalorians… I thought you were known for noble kills --”

“I’m not a Mandalorian,” he spat.

She pounded a fist into the table, a sharp crack that left a mark on the flimsy surface.  “You’re torturing yourself about letting him go.  This isn’t you, Mando.  And I think a part of you knows it.”

The weight of the last several months loomed.  It pressed.  It shattered, a shield failing, a dam breaking.  He saw the Darksaber flaring, scorching, searing, amputating, saw his bare hands on the hilt, saw the bodies piled.  He remembered enjoying it in a way that felt sick, felt dirty, an insult to the Way of the Mandalore, but he’d already burned that bridge, hadn’t he?  Already bared his face to the child, to the Jedi, to all of them; already desecrated his beskar; already severed his clan of two into one, alone --

“I know,” he said hoarsely, ashamed.  “I know it’s wrong.  I -- I broke the Creed --”

She reached up slowly, rested her hand on his shoulder.  She waited, her eyes soft.  

He bowed his head, shaking.  “And I gave him up,” he whispered, burying his damp face in his hands.  “I lost my son.”

My son.

The truth he’d hid from so long flared white-hot, burning through him.  Denial had done nothing for him; all it had done was rob him of the chance to tell Grogu how much he loved him before it was too late.  It hadn’t saved him from this agony at all.  The pain roared, a howling void opening up within him, a darkness he could never hope to see through.

“I was his father,” he choked.  “What am I now?”

Cara’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steady, kind; but she had no answers for him.  In the end, the only sounds were his broken breathing and the drip, drip, drip behind the bar.

[wayward-mikaelson]

I Still Want You, I Still Need You-IV. The Snap

Word Count: 3816

About: A fight is brought to Wakanda leaving you and many others devastated.

Characters: Bucky, Steve, T’Challa, Shuri, Natasha, Bruce, Rhodey, Thor, Thanos, Vision, Wanda, Okoye, and Sam 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Language, Sexual Content (Unprotected-wrap it before you tap it kids and Implied rough sex), Playful Teasing, Fighting, Injuries, Death, Heartbreak

A/N: These last few days I have been having internet trouble but I am back up and running. Also, this ripped my heart as I wrote this so have a tissue or tissue box at hand. I also tried to keep a few of the big IW events in this part.

*This contains content made for 18 and up crowd. Read at your own disrection

**Please do not copy and paste my work anywhere. Reblogs and sharing the link are okay.

***This work is also posted on Wattpad and Archive of our Own. Links can be found in the pinned post on my profile

****Go follow my other accounts. Links can be found in the pinned post on my profile

*****Currently NOT taking request

******Feedback is Welcomed!! 

Forever Tags: @hobby27 @donnaintx @myinconnelly1 @elansaidaris @magssteenkamp @440mxs-wife

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Story Tags: @cspr-2 @mysticalfestivalkoala @tanyaherondale @lilithknight1111 @lpzallana @snlsamantha @tomisagod @gloriouspersonbanditrascal @buckysgirl101

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The walk wasn’t long and the weather was perfect. It gave your time to think about what you were going to say to Bucky. Steve had called with his monthly check in, it had surprised you due to the hour he called. He knew the time here in Wakanda and he always enjoyed talking to the both of you. So when he called, you had wondered why.

You entered the clearing and got a good view of yours and Bucky’s home. The view of the tree covered mountain always put a smile on your face. No matter what kind of mood you were in. Movement from the corner of your eye caught your attention.

Bucky was playing with two kids from the Border Tribe. You knew these kids pretty well, their parents were hard workers. These boys must have gotten it from their parents because, they would help Bucky with just about anything. Bucky loved it and it made you fall in love all over again with him whenever you saw him with kids.

You continued to walk towards the house with that smile on your face. The days where you saw Bucky messing around and just being himself, God it made you want to give him a child right away. Even you wanted a kid, but in you one year of marriage, it was still you and Bucky. Then again, with how busy the two of you were, you guys never had that conversation.

“Ah, there she is,” Bucky sat up from the ground. “My beautiful and most gorgeous wife.” He stood up and made his way towards you. Soon, you were wrapped in his arm with your lips pressed to his. “I got a lot done today with the twins help,” He mumbled into your lips. “All there’s left is dinner and dessert.” Bucky’s hand slid down from to cup your right ass cheek making you squeal.

“Well,” you pulled back to stare into his blue eyes. The longer he stared at you the darker they got. “Why don’t we send the boys home with some food and we get to work on the rest of the evening.” You motioned the boys to follow you into the house. Soon, they were off with a basket of fruit, bread, cookies and soup.

“Thank you Mister and Missus Barnes!” They called over their shoulders as they walked away. Your cheeks tingled as they called your by Bucky’s last name. You still never got over that people called you Missus Barnes.

You and Bucky had a short ceremony a week after he proposed. Tony would have had a cow if he found out the you weren’t going to have a huge and ravishing wedding. You didn’t care, all that mattered was you and Bucky. Given the circumstances, the ceremony had to be small. T’Challa officiated the wedding, making legal in every binding way. Shuri and Okoye were the witnesses. You had worn a small, simple Wakandan gown while Bucky wore a button up shirt and pants.

While you watched the boys disappear over the hills, Bucky snaked his arm around your waist and pressed his lips to your neck. You closed your eyes, “Steve called earlier,” you said cutting off whatever Bucky was doing.

“Really? Why so early?” He had the same tone of confusion and wonder you had. Bucky had always loved talking with his friend.

You turned in his arm and stared up at him. “He wants us to meet him in Berlin tomorrow evening. He says he may have found a way to clear everyone’s names.”

Bucky took a step back. You immediately knew where his thoughts were going. “He want’s to run it by all off us and we have to let him know in the morning.” You closed the space between the two of you. You reached up to grab the collar of his shirt, “I did tell him that we made Wakanda our home so if his plan works we will be still be living here.”

Bucky smiled. “Good,” he slowly started to back you into the wall. “We can call him tomorrow and tell him we’ll be there. How we skip right to dessert?” Bucky’s chest gently pinned you to the wall and he trailed a slow kiss from the base of your neck to your lips and down again. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Do you want kids?” You blurted out.

Bucky pulled away, the lust disappearing from his eyes. “Yes, why? Are you…?”

You shook your head. “No. I just see how well you are with the kids that pass by through here. You’re so great with them and I just know that if we have a few of our own, you’ll make the perfect father.”

Bucky cupped your chin with his hand. “Are you wanting to try? Starting tonight?” There was small smile forming on his lips.

A smile plays on the corner of your lips as well.

Moments later, You laying on your back while Bucky hovers over you. You reach between your naked bodies and take hold of Bucky’s hardened cock. A small and almost silent moan slips from Bucky’s mouth. You give his cock two slow pumps before lining him up with your aching entrance.

Bucky slowly pushed into you, causing your eye to close and roll back. “Open those gorgeous eyes, Doll,” Bucky stated to thrust in and out of you at a decent pace. You opened your eyes and see Bucky staring down at you. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

“You tell me everyday, love,” You lifted your hips up to meet Bucky half way. Each time the two of your met, a soft groan escaped your lips. “Do you know how lucky I am to have you?”

Bucky chuckled. “Only when we’re having sex.”

You playfully smack his chest. “I was being serious.”

“I know,” Bucky laughed and dipped down to press his lips to yours. While pushing himself further into you, causing you to moan into his mouth.

“You know what,” you pushed Bucky onto his back and straddled him. “Screw the slow and sensual crap. I’m going to make tonight feel like this is going to be the last time we ever do this.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “In that case, Doll, get on all fours.”

***

The next morning you and Bucky are doing some work, when Bucky purposefully bumped into you spilling some water from the bucket he was carrying. You turned to him to see him laughing as he continued to walk away. You shook your head as you thought up your move.

You walked over to where he stood next to the compost pile. As you walked by, you bumped his hips with yours, causing Bucky to lose his balance and fall into the compost. You covered your mouth to fight the laughter.

Bucky sat up in the pile and stared at you. You dropped your hand while the smile was still on your lips. “Next time you’ll think twice about splashing me with water.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Bucky lunged forward. You tried to move away but Bucky managed to his hand on you and pull you back into the compost with him. “Now, I think we’re even,” Bucky’s hand trailed down to your thigh and gave it a small, little squeeze.

“I love you,” you pressed your lips to his before standing up. “I have to go help Shuri and make that call to Steve.”

The moment you stood on your feet and turned around, you wished you hadn’t. There, entering the clearing and walking towards you and Bucky was T’Challa and some of his guards. It wasn’t the guards that followed the King of Wakanda that bothered you, it was the big, narrow case that accompanied them.

You knew that case all too well. If the case was being brought, you knew something was going to happen.

You looked back at your husband, all smiles and playful behavior no longer painted his face. The look of dread and sadness had taken it’s place. It was almost similar to the look he had before going back on ice. It ripped your heart out to see that look on his face.

“I’m sorry to break up such a fun moment,” T’Challa sounded like he was talking to someone of a higher power than him.

He gestured to the guards to bring the case up. You held your breath as they opened it. There sat the black and gold metal arm you helped Shuri design. You watched as Bucky slowly approached the case to get a better look at the arm. You could see that part of him is excited about the arm, for you had told him all about it and what it could do. The other part is that he knows that he will have to put it on. Both of you knew it.

Bucky Barnes may have been tired to fight, but he would fight to protect the world. And you, you were his entire world. The one thing keeping him going and not just flat out giving up. He would do just about anything, even if it meant dying, to make sure you lived to see another day.

“Where’s the fight?” he asked in a hollow voice.

T’Challa looked between the two of you. He hated this just as much as you did. “On it’s way.”

***

You stood looking through the window and watched as your husband got his arm on. It looked painful in your opinion, but Bucky’s face made no indication that it hurt him. He just stared at the ceiling until the procedure was finished.

There wasn’t much said about why you guys were needed. Just that Steve was on his way here and would fill you all in when he arrived. You knew it must have been urgent if Steve wouldn’t give the full story.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice pulled your back from your thoughts. You turned around and immediately stared at the metal arm on your husband. Suddenly, you were having some very impure thoughts about it. Maybe you should have convinced Bucky to have the arm sooner. All you wanted was to feel those cool, metal fingers on your bare skin. Gripping every part of your body.

“Hi,” you breathed out. You had to shake your head to distract you from the dirty thoughts about that arm.

“How do I look?” Bucky held out both arms and did a small little spin.

You rose an eyebrow with a smile on your face, “Do you want the clean answer or dirty answer to that?” Bucky closed the space between the two of you. His metal hand gripped your hip and pulled your closer to him. He was on to your thoughts.

“That depends,” his voice was right against your ear. It sent instant shivers down your spine. Yep, he was one hundred on to you. “Do you want the clean answer or dirty answer to how you look? Cause this tight outfit you’re wearing is already doing something to me. Where has this been the whole time?” Bucky’s metal hand snaked to your ass and gave it a small squeeze before backing you to a wall.

“Packed away with that arm of yours,” You slowly wrap your arms around his waist.

Bucky nuzzled your neck, sending more shivers down your back. “How come? We could have had loads of fun with this.”

“The last time I wore this, I fell a good story out of a helicopter,” you answered.

Bucky pulled back and stared at you. “What?” his eyebrows furrowed. “How? What were you doing? How come I never heard about that?”

You dropped your arms, “Because it happened while you were still on ice and I was doing something on the side for T’Challa. Gathering information.”

“Were you hurt?”

You took a deep breath. “Yes and Shuri made some upgrades so if I were to fall a good distance, the suit would take most of the impact.” The look on your husbands face tugged at your heart. He looked hurt that he didn’t know about those few months where you went out and did small missions. “Look,” you took his face in your hands. “I wasn’t intentionally keeping it from you and I’m sorry I never said anything about it. Let’s talk more about this later.”

Bucky pushed your back against the wall. “Only if you wear this,” he said before pressing his lips firmly to yours. His tongue slipped passed your lips and explored your mouth.

“And only if you keep that arm for a while,” you smile against his lips.

The sound of an air craft was heard, making both you and Bucky pull apart and look out the window. A smile formed on your face when you recognized the air craft. Spinning on your heel you raced out to the front, with Bucky following after you.

You waited impatiently for the Quinjet to land. When the loading hatch opened you watched as not only Steve walk out, but more of your friends. They approached T’Challa and you saw only one of them bow. Idiot, you thought. Then you realized who that idiot was.

“Oh my god, Bruce!” You whispered. You hadn’t seen since Sokovia and a lot of your had long sense thought he had died.

Then you locked eyes with Steve. You and Bucky approached him and he gave the both of you the biggest hug ever. It was two years worth of hugs.

“How are you guys doing?” He asked as he pulled away from Bucky.

“We’re good,” Bucky looked at you and smiled.

“What’s going on?” You asked.

Steve looked around him and then placed his hands on his hips. “Bruce, wanna tell them?”

You looked at Bruce, who walked slowly towards you. There as look on his face that instantly made you worried for some reason. “Someone called Thanos, he’s after what’s called the Infinity Stones. Vision was almost killed for the Mind Stone. We’re seeing if it can be taken off and destroyed without killing him before Thanos get’s it.”

“What does he want with them?” Bucky asked.

“He wants to wipe out half of the worlds population,” Bruce looked towards Bucky. “Who are you?”

“Bucky,” Bucky answered. “Barnes. I’m also Y/Ns husband.”

Bruce looked back at you. “You got married? Does Tony know? Wait speaking of Tony.”

Your heart skipped a beat when Bruce said Tony’s name like it was some sort of taboo thing. Bucky noticed the change in your posture. He took a step towards you and placed his hand in yours. “What about Tony?” Your voice was hard.

***

You stood in the lab as you processed what was said about your brother. You didn’t want to believe it but then again it was Tony. He did just about anything. You were so lost in thought you didn’t know what was being said about Vision or the stone on his head. You walked to the window and looked out into the distance.

“You doing okay?” Natasha was standing beside you.

“As good as I can be,” You looked over to her. She had cute and died her hair blonde. You weren’t going to lie, you liked it a lot. “I just hope he’s okay.”

“We all do,” Natasha rubbed your arm. “Does Tony know you married the man that killed your father?” You shook your head. “You know he might not take it well, when or if he finds out.”

“Tony will just have to suck it up, Bucky’s fixed now and isn’t who he was when he worked with HYDRA.” You were aware of the ear piece in your ear linking you to the rest of the team. Bucky had one too. You knew he heard all that was said and you knew what was going on through his head.

Howard and Maria Stark were the biggest contribution to his nightmares.

“Hey guys,” Sam’s voice rang in your ears. “Um, somethings trying to get in.”

“They won’t be able to,” Okoye said.

“Are you sure about that?” You watch as something hit the barrier that surrounds Wakanda. Then another one and soon you’re able to see the barrier itself.

You turned to see everyone staring out the window. Poor Vision was laying on the table looking helpless. Wanda was hovering over him and staying close to him. You could read her body language well. Wanda loved him.

T’Challa and Steve exchanged a few words and it appeared they agreed on something. “How much time do you need, Shuri?”

“As much as you can give me,” Shuri didn’t looked up from her spot. She was too engrossed with what she saw.

“Y/N,’ Steve was approaching you. “It’s best if you stay up here and protect Vision with Wanda.”

“I agree, Doll,” Bucky’s voice was in your ear. “Whatever’s coming sounds nasty and I want you as far from it as possible.”

“And if the fight comes towards me?”

“Then kick their asses and show them some hell,” Natasha smiled.

***

Hell is what you gave when three creatures broke into the lab. You were quick on your feet but not too quick. One had thrown you off a landing right next to Vision. You got up and did the only thing you thought of.

“Get out of here Vision!” You helped Vision off the table until something crashed into the two of you sending the two of you through the window.

You slid the slanted roof trying to find something to grab onto. You called out for help only to not get a response back. The edge of the roof was quickly approaching and your hand missed the edge by centimeters. You were then falling three stories down to the ground. Even though your suit could take the impact, you weren’t so sure about your head. Then something grabbed you midair before setting your down. You looked up and saw Rhodey flying away back towards the fight. You made a mental note to try and thank him later.

“Guys, we got ourselves a Vision situation,” Sam said.

“Somebody get to Vision,” Steve yelled.

“Already on it,” You replied. You started to weave in and out of the threes looking for Vision. From a distance you heard a clap of thunder and soon saw a flash of lighting and you knew who just entered the fight.

Something crashed into you and sent you flying to a nearby three. Your head smacked against the trunk. You cried out and landed face first into the ground. Whatever threw you, picked you up by gripping a chunk of your hair. They were disgusting looking and part of you felt like that moment was it. You were a goner. Then they dropped you as they fell to their knees.

“You alright, Doll,” Bucky helped you up and looked you over.

“I think so,” you were breathing hard. “Not my finest hour.”

Suddenly there was gust of wind. Something was changing and it raised goosebumps on every part of your body. You looked around to see a cloud of blue burst and a purple looking thing walked out. One hand was covered in a gold glove with gems on it. Thanos, you thought.

“That’s him,” you heard Bruce say.

Then everyone was racing towards him. Anyone who got close to him was thrown back. Bruce was thrown into boulder. Natasha was pinned under earth that rose from the ground. Bucky was thrown into a three. You and Steve were the only ones who got close.

You slid in between Thanos’s legs and jumped onto his shoulders. You pulled the knife from your thigh holster. Before you could stab the knife into him, Thanos pulled on your leg and then gripped your neck with one of his giant hands. With each second it was tightening and you barely able to breath. You clawed at the giant hand but failed. The look on his face has a faint smile. He was taking pleasure in killing you.

“No!” Bucky’s voice was heard from someone.

The grip on your neck loosened some, giving you some breathing air. Thanos looked towards the sound and back at you. He looked you over and then flung you into a tree. You landed on the ground, the wind being knocked out of you.

You rolled over onto you knees to watch what happened next.

It all happened in slow motion. Wanda was holding off Thanos while destroying the stone on Visions head. You saw the heartbroken look on her face. She didn’t want to do it but she knew she needed to. Vision had closed his eyes and you knew that he made peace with what was happening.

Then Vision and the stone were gone.

But that isn’t what surprised you.

Thanos did something on that glove of his hand. All the while, he spoke quietly to Wanda. Green surrounded that area and suddenly, Vision was back. Wanda realized what was going to happen, so she jumped up and was thrown back by Thanos. Then Thanos had Vision by the neck and ripped the stone right off his head.

Vision was gone again.

Everything started to change when you saw and axe fly passed your head. Thor was then attacking Thanos and digging his axe deep into his opponents chest when Thor stopped. His head turned when he saw Thanos raise his hand up and snap the fingers that were in the gloved hand.

Everything, everywhere was silent and it sent chills down your spine. Something happened and you knew that something was bad and going to leave you heart broken.

“What did you do?” Thor yelled but Thanos disappeared leaving the group to stare at one of another.

You walked up to Steve who was a few feet from you and helped him up. He walked over to Wanda who was next to Visions body. The look on her face was pure brokenness.

Little did you know…

“Y/N? Steve?”

You turned and froze. Bucky had been making his way towards you when he started to turn to dust. You quickly ran over to him and right when you got within grabbing range he fell to the ground. Dust at your feet.

“No,” you whispered as your knees gave out beneath you. Your hand ran through what was left of your husband. You felt your entire world grow cold. You felt pressure on your chest as you covered your mouth to suppress the sob that took over your body. The of you were happy and talking about having kids and now, not even twenty four hours later, you were left alone looking at the literal ashes of your husband.

You let out a scream you didn’t know your body or vocal cords were capable of.

[sadaakirah]

Swelter : Rumour Has It

"I'll hold you to your promise, Mikasa."

Finally wrote Part 3. Thank you for reading parts 1 and 2 💗 I am terrible at summaries.

Part I / II / III

Levi wears something akin to worry on his visage when he takes in the indentations of the battle-hardened leather gear on her muscled arms slowly disappearing under white fabric.

Mikasa turns around to see her half-dressed Captain get up from the chair where she had been draped over not too long ago.

The large windows behind him usher in a cool breeze and show the crescent moon against a darkening sky.

He comes to a halt several steps before her with lighted lamp in hand; the fire flickers wildly against the cool breeze and the orange lights dance against his unreadable face.

Her calloused fingers graze over the worrisome folds between Levi's eyebrows, ironing them down into a peaceful expression placed on top of a strikingly more youthful man.

"I'll be handing this over to Armin first thing in the morning, and I'll take the day off to check out the property," her gaze points to the piece of paper on his desk. "But I trust your choice nonetheless, Captain."

"Your decision on the matter is still important."

He leaves out to me but she catches it nonetheless and offers up a genuine smile in response. A myriad of visions of home surface into her mind.

"Tell me about the house again, Captain," she asks, bending down to slip a boot on slowly.

"Two storeys, two bedrooms in the top floor, large arched windows" Levi states concisely - she thinks of a home bestowed with her embroidery, her mother's and her grandmother's -"a garden in the back and a large tree overlooking a small lake. Right, that sounds perfect," she adds, stretching her toes out in her well-worn boots.

Levi hums his approval, low in his throat.

Blue specks in his gunmetal eyes measure this Mikasa before him - bathed in an afterglow, the embers of light reflected on the sheen of her forehead, with her loosened tongue, loosened limbs.

"Enough space for the beginnings of a humble tea shop downstairs, and there's a tea plantation nearby."

Just like the plans he had told her about 5 months ago, when they found each other awake after the nightmares failed to let sleep take them, right after she had divulged wanting to settle down far from the walls, with a small cottage and a flower garden and an aging tree to look over her aging self and her house.

It became difficult for Levi to reconcile the image of the better half of Humanity's Strongest leading a simple, predictable life, alone and with all the time in her world to ponder about the blood on her hands as her mind flips through well-archived nightmare fodder.

So instead of telling her that he cares too deeply to let her be miserable, one night under a full moon they had discussed the post-military benefits that would go into purchasing property, the climate perfect for growing tea and flora and everything under the sun except how much they would miss each other's ever-constant presence, the knowing lone figure knocking on the door at night that would keep the nightmares at bay after waking up, the cup of black tea that would appear at Levi's desk when he needed it the most, the clothes torn from training cadets that would end up magically sewn the next day when Mikasa had forgotten to take care of them.

Ever the pragmatic duo they finally settled on pooling their post-military funds together to look for a place of residence that would suit their shared needs.

"And if you do want to take responsibility, you'd be working for free for me in that teashop."

Despite herself, she looks at him, with apparent surprise that he had still been mulling over that word in his mind.

She wonders if he would name the shop Ackerman Tea and chuckles at the afterthought.

Too late in the effort of sobering herself from the afterglow, the words leave her mouth without being put through a filter first.

Her next words aren't loud, but they are true.

"I promise to take responsibility, Captain. For all my insubordination, the times you had to drag my stubborn ass away from danger, for all the times I injured you." She gathers her raven locks away from the back of her neck, where the strands clung uncomfortably, and into a small bun. "But working in your sweatshop without pay was not what I had in mind."

She pushes his soft hair back and places a tender kiss to his forehead- her lips cool againt his heated skin.

Levi's heart constricts momentarily - would he dare even think about it, the home and the peace she was offering him now?

He takes the letter into his hands again, and presses his lips together with the frustration he refuses to exhibit.

"You say that like you're the poster child of obedience now", he deadpans, instead.

This time, she tosses him an unimpressed glare, something she had picked up from years of training and learning under him.

"Could we hold a house-warming party?"

Levi shifts his gaze down to take a cursory glance at the paper, goes through the motions of reading, while Mikasa starts buttoning his shirt.

...15th Commander, Survey Corps, Armin Arlert

Levi grunts.

"I'd be more than delighted to celebrate the last day I ever have to see those brats."

She had never heard that term being uttered so affectionately by him before.

This letter is intended to serve as my official resignation...

"We can hold it under that tree. I could wear that blue dress Historia gave me."

Mikasa runs her hands over his buttoned shirt, smoothening away any creases from their bout of passion earlier today.

...two weeks from the aforementioned date...

Levi's eyes scan the slanted inked letters, till they begin to lose focus halfway down the crinkled paper.

based on my spotless record...receive an honorable discharge...

He hums his consent, but it's not a blue dress he sees.

He sees Mikasa clad in white and lace, the lights and the leaves playing with shadows across the angles of her face, while he reaches up to tuck in a lock behind her ear.

"Expect nothing less than the sharpest suit on me," Levi adds with mirth.

Mikasa thinks of her Captain, who took hold of her bloody, shaken frame, pulling her back to this world following Eren's inevitable demise, in the days when Armin and her had refused to look at one other; could not look at one another, knowing what they had done to their own family.

Mikasa thinks of the same strong arms, swaying her to the soft tunes at Armin's wedding, his muscles cascading under one of his impeccable dark suits.

She doesn't let herself think of worn-out memories spent on the coast during the war. She thinks of Levi's strong arms and Armin's softened smile and finds her own happiness in between. Those were happier days, and Levi had been there to see them with her too.

..been an honour and pride working alongside my brave comrades and superiors...

"We'll invite our closest friends and comrades."

Levi wonders if he could dance with her again, if she would let him.

He still recalls the coolness of her cheek against the crook of his neck, the gentle smile on her lips that day, as they danced with sand between their toes.

Would she wear that smile for him?

Would their comrades cheer and cause a ruckus like they had at Armin's wedding?

"Don't forget the wine."

Levi thinks of Erwin and the bottles of fine wine he had bequeathed upon him, aging away in the cellar.

Levi thinks of leaving two chairs empty - one at the head of the table and another at his left.

Mikasa's warm hand is on his hips now, as she gingerly pulls his belt through the loops, an act so affectionate, it should not have been.

He thinks of that same warm hand again, intertwined in his own, at his right side. She had always been his right hand.

He painfully wonders how many seats she would leave empty at the table if the thought had ever occurred to her, but decides to not dwell on that.

...Sincerely, Lieutenant Mikasa Ackerman.

In its stead, he thinks of a companionable silence between the two of them, one they had shared many years ago when she stopped trying to actively spite him. Mikasa humming a tune and working on her embroidery; Levi sewing the last cravat she ever ripped.

"Thank you for everything, Levi." Mikasa looks at him, setting the buckle in place.

Levi tilts his head. He's studying the number of her lashes, the seconds spanning between each blink, the quiver of her lip as she starts and stops to say something else.

The manner in which he studies her is so methodical she almost steps away.

He doesn't realize he's tracing heiroglyphs into her inner wrists until she shivers under his ministrations. It pulls Levi back to the moment.

For the first time, he decides to voice his thoughts honestly. When he speaks, he looks straight at her.

"I'll hold you to your promise, Mikasa."

Her breath hitches. Levi doesn't need to clarify which promise.

In response, she kisses him, gingerly at first, her lips molding onto his smile.

This kiss is different than before- it is softer, it is Mikasa hesitant but daring to ask for more.

Levi pulls her closer to him and pushes her against the desk this time, deepening the kiss.

Each of his touches is too deliberate, too sure and Mikasa feels her body aflame again. The kiss is now bruising.

Mikasa aligns herself to him. Her deft fingers start undoing the task they had been preoccupied with moments back. The buckle clatters and comes unfastened.

They make love slowly, cautiously.

After that they fuck at a pace so wanton, it is the second time that day that Levi screams her name without restraint.

Approved and signed...Captain Levi Ackerman.

_

The next morning the new cadets are unable to come to terms with Mikasa's sudden resignation notice, when they find themselves at the mercy of a balding subsitute, instead of their Lieutenant.

The next morning, Mikasa is surprised to find Levi taking the day off too. He says it is to show her around the property, to make sure she doesn't get lost as if she's some newborn babe.

But in all honestly, he wants to burn the image of Mikasa and him swaying across wooden floors, their only audience being the sunlight filtering in from the large, arched windows.

When they get back later that night, it is Armin who takes it upon himself to call Mikasa and Levi into his office, and tell them of the unsubstantiated rumours that have been making rounds among the cadets concerning Mikasa's pending resignation.

"Apparently you and the Captain fought - nothing new here - except the events concerning the incidence this time are alarming."

The Commander's grave gaze flickers from the duo in front of him, both wearing mirroring quizzical expressions of their own.

"Mikasa, some terrified cadets say they saw you throw Levi over his own desk! And Levi, another one swore she heard you screaming at Mikasa from outside your office. Is there something I should know?"

"Nosy, shitty brats", Levi mumbles under his breath.

"Pardon, Captain?"

"Nothing of that sort...happened. Unsubstantiated rumours from cadets in heat-stroke." Mikasa squeaks in, her face slightly reddening. Armin chalks that up to the summer heat.

"Alright then, I'll take your word for it."

Armin clears some documents away from his desk, and places Mikasa's resignation letter in front of the pair.

"Mikasa, you still need to submit an address before you are eligible to apply for the post-military funds."

Mikasa fishes a piece of paper containing the details of her, their, new residence, and hands it to the Commander.

Armin studies the address in his hand carefully. He looks up at her, with his features softened by a genuine smile.

"See you in Chlorba next week, Mikasa", She returns his gesture before shuffling out of his office.

"And your new address, Captain?"

Levi stalls for a second then taps his index finger twice against the paper Mikasa had left.

"Well, guess you're not carpooling with the rest of us next week, Captain".

Levi decides that leaving now would keep matters simple, and he closes the door to surface into the corridor, where he unsurprisingly finds Mikasa waiting for him.

Armin chuckles to himself slightly, happy that his best friend is in safe hands, happy that his Captain no longer keeps his own happiness at an arm's length away.

"Ah, rumours indeed."

----

Thank you so much for reading my first Rivamika fic. Your comments made my heart very happy. 💕

When and if I improve at writing, I plan on revisiting this and editing this fic a bit more.

Sure hope the Ackerman duo keep experimenting with their new dynamic from the last chapter 💦

[otonymous]

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part III: Near & Far

Description: Promising beginnings and a premature end throw you into a tailspin Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: depictions of mild PTSD symptoms, mentions of death of a close family member, disappearances, “breakups,” angst, profanity Word Count: 1882 words (~9 mins of falling in love and wallowing in angst 😱😂) Author’s Notes: If you’re still following this story, please accept a giant (virtual) hug from me to you!  Thank you very much from the bottom of my heart for supporting me and this piece of work! 💖 Without further ado, I present to you part 3 of my slow-burn Shaw fic, written for the lovely @op-peccatori​ as part of my follower milestone celebration.

As always, dear reader, please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and happy reading! 😊

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Four

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

“You can relax, you know.  I won’t try anything funny while you sleep, not my style.  Besides, isn’t this much better than camping out on the floor?”

Nodding your head before you realize that Shaw probably couldn’t see you in the dark, your “Yes” comes out in a mewl so pathetic you wished you could immediately take it back.

His snicker shakes the bed, reverberating across squeaky springs to where you lay beside him, right at the edge of the twin mattress as you tried not to let your hands touch.

No matter how much you wished for them to.

Beyond the window, a neon signboard paints electric shadows on your walls in splashes of pink, flashing in time to a rhythm Shaw tapped out with one foot beneath the covers.

“Is it cool if…if we didn’t draw the blinds tonight?  I can’t sleep in complete darkness.” He had asked you earlier that evening, towelling off his hair as he emerged from your bathroom wearing a shirt your ex had left behind along with your broken heart a year and a half ago.

Snoopy looked much better riding his skateboard across Shaw’s broad chest anyways.

And there, in the midst of an awkward arrangement where sleep would surely prove fleeting, the sounds of the night: the low hum of the refrigerator, the pawn shop’s sign buzzing just on the other side of the windowpane…the tick-tock of the clock on the wall, steady like Shaw’s breath beside you as it counts down precious time—

“I’ll be out of your hair first thing tomorrow morning.”  

Ba-bump.

“No, there’s…there’s no rush.  Honestly.”

“Can you really afford to miss more work because of me?”

Silence.  You couldn’t refute the truth.

“Tell you what, in exchange for putting up with me, you can ask me anything you want.  I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes; surely you must be curious about some things.  Might as well find out before I go.”

Your stomach knotted, clenching tight.  He was right.  For all you know, it was now or never.  “Why did you join?  The triad, that is.”

He is silent for a moment, as if trying to find the right words to piece together.

“I’m looking for my brother.”

Out of all possible answers, this wasn’t one you were expecting.  Turning onto your side, you study the handsome profile of his face — watching as pink mixed with lavender in the most ethereal way until you were overcome with the sense that in this vast ocean of life, you and him stood on very different shores.  Eyes still fixed on your ceiling, Shaw continues.

“He was an undercover cop, working to infiltrate the ranks of the group I’m currently a part of.  I only found out by accident, and he made me swear up and down not to breathe a word of it to mom.  Then one day…he was gone.  Just...disappeared off the face of the earth.  Mom and I went down to the station every day for months, knew the names and faces of everyone who worked in that building, but it was like Gavin never even existed.

“It was too much for her.  I came home late from school one day — found her on the floor, barely breathing.  It was dark in the apartment…so dark.  She had probably just drawn the curtains.  By the time the paramedics arrived, she was already gone.  Heart attack, they said.  

“I lie awake at night sometimes, wonder how I’m going to tell him that mom’s no longer here — go through the motions in my head, rehearsing every line.  ‘Cus I know that sooner or later, that day will come.  There’s no way he’s dead.  I know my brother.”

A glimmer at the corner of his eye catches yours.  Beneath the covers, your fingers inch towards his, finding courage in the darkness to brush against his pinky as if the sliver of warmth could express what words simply couldn’t convey.

“With mom gone, there was nothing to lose.  I joined the group, worked hard…did what they needed me to do to gain their trust, all while collecting scraps of info here and there — whatever I could get my hands on in the hopes that it’ll lead me to Gav.”

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

Tiny drops of rain speckle your windowpane.  And when Shaw’s finger hooks around yours as if in a solemn pinky swear, the tears burning your eyes finally fall.  You don’t ask him how many years it’s been, the dirty deeds he’s had to sully his hands with.  You don’t question him about the father he doesn’t mention.  All you can do is watch as a solitary drop rolls down the side of his face before soaking into lavender strands fanned out on the pillow, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows back bitterness only he knew.

In spite of it all, he is the one who chuckles when he turns towards you, eyes red rimmed even as his brows rise in feigned exasperation when he says, “Why are you crying?!  I’m the one with the tragic past here!”

And when you start to cry even harder, his soft hushes of “Shh, shh…I’m sorry, that last part was a joke.  It’s all right, everything will be okay, I promise,” burrows deep into your heart and you believe him.

Because when he reaches towards you — the thumb wiping the tears from your eyes calloused yet gentle — you are struck by a sense of overwhelming tenderness:

In the carefulness of his touch.

In the way he regards you with the sincerity of some unspoken emotion.

In the entirety of this man whom the rest of the world has already written off.

And that is when you know…

“I didn’t mean to make you cry by telling you all this, I’m sorry.”

…that you are in love with him.

“I’ll make it up to you.  Ask me another question.  Maybe something less depressing this time.”  

A smile spreads across his face.  You wished there was a way for you to keep the warmth of his hand on your cheek forever.  Sniffling, you try again.

“Wh-why did you keep coming in to my store everyday?  There’s a lot of other convenience stores in the area—”

A flash of panic in those amber eyes, and Shaw is turning over with lightning speed until all you can see is the smooth expanse of his back.

“Changed my mind.  A guy’s gotta keep some secrets!  Goodnight!”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

Wrap your arms around the pillow.

“Good girls shouldn’t concern themselves with bad boys.”

Bury your face into its cushiony fill.

“Or have you forgotten that I’m wanted by the police?”

And inhale deeply.

Shaw’s scent on your sheets is faint now, so much so that you can’t be entirely sure you’re not imagining it, having gone through this ritual countless times since the day Shaw left your apartment…

…and stepped out of your life.

                   *                                         *                                          *

“Is there…any way I could stay in touch with you?  I-I just…just want to make sure you’re okay…”

Voice trailing off, you watch as Shaw gingerly shrugs one arm then another through the sleeves of his leather jacket, still wearing the Snoopy t-shirt he had slept in the night before after you told him he could keep it.  His own was torn beyond repair, stubbornly dyed in blood regardless of how much you scrubbed at it.  And when he hesitated still, you said he would just be doing you the favour of taking out the trash.  

Smoothing down the front of his jacket, Shaw glances at the phone in your hands — eyes tracing along your eager fingers, poised to type.  The expression on his face is unreadable, as if the man you had spent the night sharing secrets with was nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

“It’s better if we don’t.  I’ll be fine, just laying low for the next while — boss’s orders.  And I don’t want the cops coming around to your place again.  Detective Whatshisname looks like he could be really good at hounding pretty girls like you.”

That smirk again, so familiar to you by now.  And in the compliment that would’ve made you blush bright red before, nothing but a smokescreen.

“Shaw, I don’t mind—”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?" The force in his voice cuts, and you barely breathe to feel his finger curl beneath your chin, tilting up your face until you have no choice but to meet his gaze.  Those eyes are dull, like molten gold frozen beneath a layer of impenetrable ice.  “Good girls shouldn’t concern themselves with bad boys.  Or have you forgotten that I’m wanted by the police?”

The shiver that runs electric down your spine makes the hairs on your skin stand on end.  It was like looking at a stranger.  Heart racing, your palms grow clammy with sweat, unsure of exactly when your phone had dropped from your hands, slipping away like…

“I don’t care about the cops!  I’ll deal with them—”

“DEAL WITH WHAT?!  You think that just because you managed to turn them away at the door that it makes you a hardened criminal?!  WE are not the same, okay?  My life is worthless.  I’ve already signed it away a long time ago, I’m ready to give it up without a second thought.  But you…you’re different. Y-you’re kind, innocent.  You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.  One day, you’ll make someone the luckiest person in the world, be a beautiful mother to beautiful children.  Don’t sell yourself short…not for someone like me.”

The silence that descends is thick, suffocating.  You don’t speak, afraid to open your mouth because it takes all your concentration just to keep the tears from spilling from your eyes.

Finally letting go of your chin, Shaw reaches behind his neck to undo the clasp on the thin gold chain he wore, the jade disc pendant that hung from it still warm from the heat of his skin when he places it in the palm of your hand.

“It’s not much, but it was a gift from my mom and the most valuable thing I own.  You saved my life, so it’s yours now.  Maybe…maybe one day, you can give it to your own child.”

Lump in your throat, you can barely breathe, let alone tell him there was no way you could accept something that precious, something that priceless.  That you didn’t drag him home that night, broken and bleeding, in the hopes of gain; not for money, not for love.

He curls your fingers around the heirloom, gentle thumb pressing on index, middle, ring then pinky in turn before your fist finds itself held tightly within the press of his much larger hand for one…two…three seconds…

…before those purple Chuck Taylors take him to your door…

Slam.

…and just like that, the man with the lavender hair is gone.

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

Forgive me for trolling, but there really was only one bed LOL!  Hope you all enjoyed the latest chapter, and please stay tuned for what may be the final instalment in this Shaw saga! - XOXO

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Four

Thanks so much for reading! 💕 Check out more of my work here! 📚(Please do not repost/copy/alter my work.  Reblogs, on the other hand, are a-ok and much appreciated! 👍🏼💖)

[analyticallymindeda]

tag dump 3/???

ic.

[analyticallymindedaa]

tag drop 1/?

muse.

[langdxn]

salvation part i | outpost!michael x fem!reader

SUMMARY: An unexpected delivery of apples arrives at Outpost 3 — but why?

WARNINGS: Fluff, angst, pregnancy, sorta implied breeding kink, soft!Michael and a slight timeline meddle.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

A/N: Taking a brief break from the shameless smut in exchange for a little play on the original Outpost timeline. I apologise profusely if it’s absolute bollocks, I just liked the idea. Dirty Michael will be back very soon, I promise!

part ii // part iii // part iv // part v

A horse-drawn carriage burst through the sinister fog enveloping Outpost 3, triggering a perimeter breach that scattered Venable, Mead and the Fist toward the entrance. Crimson floodlights littered the bronzed corridors in a luminous panic as the women in power met in the corridors.

“Could this be an attack, like those other outposts?” Venable stifled a gulp. Mead shrugged cluelessly, sparking the group to head outside toward the deafening metallic cacophony.

In the shadow of the flickering blood red lights flooding his office, Michael perched studiously at his desk, staring blankly at his open laptop while silently rattling through his mind for explanations for the disturbance.

He knew there wasn’t a scheduled invasion or another Cooperative delegate due at Outpost 3, he was the last visitor expected there before their planned overrun. He also knew there was to be no intrusion while he carried out his interviews for the repopulation of the Sanctuary, his ‘cooperating’ procedures were not to be disturbed under any circumstances.

Wandering away from his work to follow his train of thought, he creaked open his office door to see the commotion for himself. Leaning against the doorway, he caught sight of Mead and Venable skittering down a far corridor, the shorter lady carrying a crate and the strict leader holding an apple in her free hand.

An apple?

———

“I’ve always loved apples,” Michael muttered into the peel, taking a deep sniff at its ruby red skin before taking a generous bite and talking through his furious chewing. “Ms Mead used to leave me the one she placed in the pig’s mouth for roast dinners on Sundays.”

You blinked your doe eyes at him across the picnic blanket, watching him drift off into his memories in the middle distance. Happy memories before Hawthorne, before the Seven Wonders, before he lost the only other woman he trusted. Apart from you.

You reached for an apple yourself, Michael’s gaze watching your hands intently as if your every move were a work of art. This intimate beachside picnic was your idea, a break from his incessant Cooperative meetings and outpost visits before the apocalypse initiation, scheduled in two weeks time.

“Then I guess we’d better plant an apple tree in the Sanctuary before this whole thing kicks off,” you suggested, taking a shallow bite of the fruit, “can’t exactly survive the end of the world without apples.”

Michael’s gorgeous azure eyes met yours as his free hand swooped towards your abdomen. Drawing a deep, sentimental breath, he spread his fingers to take in every inch of your flat stomach beneath your dress.

“Where we’re going, sweetheart, we won’t need apples. One day, you’ll be giving me the best gift imaginable.”

———

As Michael spun on his painfully expensive heels, his eyes drew towards his previously empty office chair, now occupied. A smooth black silk dress draped over a lithe female perched on the seat, legs crossed elegantly and hands resting on her knees.

Michael’s heart soared.

“Y/N?!” His jaw nearly shattered on the floor as he belted across the room to wrap his arms around you in a desperate haze of disbelief, you jolted to your feet to meet his embrace. Crashing into you, Michael peppered frenetic pecks over your cheeks and lips, his lovelorn eyes and warming heart betraying his stern exterior.

“I—I thought you were dea—gone, th—they told me our Outpost was overrun?” He stuttered into the shell of your ear, squeezing his arms around you so tightly he might cave in your ribcage.

“I got out before they got in, I had to see you again baby,” you brushed your hands up and down his velour-clad spine reassuringly as he dipped his head into your shoulder. You swore you could feel his searing hot tears peppering your collarbone, but he had never cried in front of you before, to the point you weren’t even sure he could cry.

Out of his line of sight, you smiled to yourself that you got away with sneaking in without him sensing your presence. Michael’s powers were always useless against you, as if a steel wall barricaded between you both and he couldn’t break through it no matter how hard he tried. He would question your status as a mere mortal if he wasn’t already acutely aware of the emotional power you held over him ever since you first met. All you had to do was smile and he was yours in a heartbeat.

You both stood in the middle of his room in total silence for what felt like hours, clutching onto each other and never wishing to let go. The weeks you spent apart as he travelled to Outpost 3 were the longest you’d ever gone without Michael Langdon by your side. You breathed in his deep, woodsy scent like it was pure oxygen, planting soft kisses on his flowing golden curls whenever one grazed your cheek.

The silence between you broke momentarily as you heard distant thuds, staccato and final crashes as if the weight of bodies hitting polished stone floors.

“D—do the others know you’re here?” Michael spluttered as he lifted his face from your shoulder to meet your gaze, his cerulean irises more vivid than you’d ever seen before.

“Mead and someone else were too busy inspecting my carriage to see me sneak past them through the doors,” you assured your lover. “I learned that from you, when you creep out of bed in the morning to get back to work, thinking you haven’t woken me.”

He chuckled gently and leaned in for the deepest kiss you ever shared, easily surpassing your first kiss -- a rushed, heated affair that you had no idea would outlive the end of the world. Leaning into you to hold you as close as he could, he felt your bump make its presence known between you. He lowered a hand to greet your swelling abdomen, his cool rings brushing the silk that billowed over your form.

“How are you doing down there, little guy?” He gushed as he consumed the sight of his unborn heir before him. Your eyes darted down to your bump, stifling a soft chuckle under your breath.

“You mean little lady,” you grinned, meeting his gaze as his pupils burst their oceanic banks when they met yours, stunned and overwhelmed.

“It’s a girl?!” Michael squealed, blissful tears flowing so freely down his face and racing towards his lips as they parted in sheer disbelief. Once again, his intuitive powers over his lady failed him, but this time he delighted in his new revelation, planting a haunting, grateful kiss on your lips.

“This beautiful missus will be making an appearance any day now,” you reminded him, placing your hand atop his on your bump as your rings clink together harmoniously.

“Then I’ll set up a birthing pool in my quarters. Keep it full at all times, just in case.”

Michael’s hand waved effortlessly in the air, leaving you to assume he had accomplished that task in a matter of seconds without even exiting the room. His powers and his tricks always caught you off guard, no matter how many years you had spent with him before the apocalypse.

Michael applied a gentle, reassuring pressure onto your baby’s home, reminding the life inside that she will be worshipped and adored when she arrives. A blindingly bright life born in nuclear darkness. He consoled himself that it was only fitting that his child comes into the world under Hawthorne’s roof just as the man Michael Langdon was destined to become was born in these hallowed halls a matter of years before.

In processing the joyful news you carried with you, Michael’s thoughts darted to the situation that lay in the Outpost in which his entire family were now stood.

“Something’s happening here, I can smell it,” he quivered with a distinct tone of uneasiness, his eyes darting down to his feet despondently as his rigid confidence cracked, only ever in front of you. “The witches aren’t dead, I’ve failed.”

“My darling, look at me,” you urged his face upward with two fingers under his chin, beaming your usual warm, comforting smile. “We’ll all be okay.”

“Nobody knows I’m here. If anybody attacks you, if the worst happens,” your voice broke softly, trying your hardest to maintain a steely facade for your man. You cupped his cheek with your hand as he turned gently to plant a kiss in your palm. “I’ll be here to protect you, Boy Wonder.”

A curt knock at his office door shattered the silence between you. Ominous. Urgent. Michael’s eyes darted around the room, formulating the next step in his hurriedly altered plan.

“That’ll be Venable and Ms Mead,” Michael announced, pointing at another oak door in the rear corner of his office space. “Go to my quarters, there’s a passage that’ll take you straight there through the library. Hide in there and whatever you hear, whatever you see, whatever you think you’re seeing, don’t come out until they make the signal, do you hear me?”

“The signal? Wh—what signal? Who’s ‘they’?” You shed your hardened exterior in a panic. Michael was speaking in riddles you didn’t have the answers to, or at least not yet. He kissed your lips deeply and urged you in the direction of the door before sitting at his desk and opening his laptop to look busy when the women entered.

“When you hear them say these words, I need you to fight. I need you to do whatever you can to stop the witches. I’m relying on you, Y/N.”

“What words, Michael?”

“Tempus infinituum.”

—————————————————————————————————

A/A/N: Let me know if you’d like to be on a tag list, I’ve never done one before and I don’t want to bother anybody who’s not interested! x.x

[wishingupontheskyandstars]

Title: Together, Always (Rated T) (Complete)

Fic Summary: In a new world and new life, Rey and Ben Solo, attend the same University and same class. They are drawn towards one another for reasons unknown and it's when they happen to touch that a part of themselves is revealed, from another life, another galaxy...

Part I Link

Part II Link

AO3 Link

 This was more of a unique story to write so hope you enjoy :)

                                                     Part III & Part IV

Rey clasped her hands and sighed before she said, "It's whenever we touch." She looked away from Ben, trying to figure out how to continue.

"You see something, don't you?" Ben asked. He looked at her as if he knew what she was going to say.

Rey turned to look back at him and nodded. "You do as well," she stated instead of asking.

"I do." He furrowed his brows.

"This has never happened before." She was relieved they were talking about this.

"Same," he said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I saw you wearing sand and white-colored clothing. I was following you in the woods as you were—" He grimaced. "Shooting at me with some sort of gun."

Rey's eyes widened. "I saw that too—you wore a mask and had some sort of red-colored sword."

"You had a laser sword too--blue," he said with certainty.

Rey looked puzzled. "Laser sword?" She chuckled. "Where would we get those?"

Ben shrugged. "No clue—wait." He smirked at Rey. "I was wearing a mask?"

Rey chuckled again. "Yes, and you looked pretty intimidating."

Ben frowned. "This is something else."

Rey remembered their brief conversation from the night before. Before they parted, they agreed to meet that following Sunday evening when both were free, at Ben's apartment. It was near campus, her dorm, and since he lived alone, there wouldn't be any interruptions. She was optimistic they would find out why they were having, what looked to be visions when they touched. She shook her head, thinking how bizarre this was and felt Ben had the same feeling. She returned to her studies at her small wooden desk.

She read Ben's story for class and found it to resemble a fairytale, which she immensely enjoyed. She got her notebook out from inside her drawer and wrote notes, wishing it was Sunday when she would next see him.

As Sunday evening came and after a stir fry dinner, Ben handed Rey a cup of tea before sitting down on the other side of the couch with his cup.

Rey smiled and looked around the room, admiring a large black framed mirror against the wall next to a window that looked out at the busy city. In front of them was a large stone-built fireplace with a fire crackling, and on the mantel, Rey spotted pictures she assumed were his family and something shiny, like gold, caught her eye. She couldn't make it out clearly, but she thought it looked like--dice? Rey placed her cup on the coffee table and leaned back into his comfortable chenille couch. "I read your story," she said.

"Ah," Ben said as he put down his cup and faced her. "And?" He moved his mouth, side to side, waiting to hear her thoughts.

"The ending where Bastila and Revan fought off the evil wizard together was magical and so right. There was hope at the end that even though they started at opposing sides, they were finally together as one." Rey crossed her arms and leaned into a comfy cushion. "I believe in the end as they both looked at the sunset together, they did have a happy ending." Rey happily sighed. "Your story made me feel good, especially at the end."

"Fairytales should have happy endings or what's the point?" Ben shrugged as he took a sip of tea.

Rey nodded. "Exactly."

"I appreciate your feedback, thank you." He gave her a half-smile.

Rey grinned in return and tilted her head. "We should probably..."

Ben nodded and gulped before he said, "Yes..."

Rey looked at the black framed mirror behind Ben and seeing them together like this gave her butterflies for some reason. She looked down and noticed Ben's stare. She gave him a small smile. "I thought maybe we could touch hands again and don't let go, okay? Let's just see what happens. Maybe those weird visions will go away, let's see?" She shrugged.

Ben nodded once. "Okay."

She scooted next to Ben. They faced each other and as their hands touched, they stared into each other's eyes and immediately saw visions, this time the same ones.

"I can show you the ways of the Force," Ben said to Rey as they saw themselves in the snowy forest with their laser swords touching as they were at the edge of a cliff.

"The Force?" Rey heard herself say in a soft tone as she closed her eyes.

Ben recognized his mom instantly as she said, "Rey, may the Force be with you." She wore a regal blue dress and a ring he knew she still wears. She was talking to Rey in a place filled with greenery, hills, and they were in front of what looked to be a space ship, a piece of junk, he thought. He began to wonder what the Force was and why they kept on hearing it? Rey didn't know who she was speaking to but she continued to stare into Ben's eyes as he did the same.

"Why is the Force connecting us? You and I?" Rey saw the other Ben dressed in dark clothing, but she could not see anything in his background; she found it curious.

"Murderous Snake!" Ben furrowed his brow, wondering what Rey in the green poncho meant by that. Rey's eyes widened as she gave a hardened expression to the other Ben.

The vision then changed to a darkened area where there was a bridge-- "Ben!" Ben instantly recognized his father's voice and saw he was wearing a familiar jacket. The other Ben wore the hideous mask and turn around, facing Han.

Rey observed Ben interacting with an older man with salt and pepper hair. "I know what I have to do but I don't know if I have the strength to do it," the other Ben said. He looked conflicted as tears threatened to fall down his face. He and the older man held on to what looked like the laser sword but—

Ben recognized his uncle's voice as he said, "Strike me down in anger, and I will always be with you—Just like your father." Then to both of their surprise, Rey and Ben saw his laser sword pierce the older man. Screams were heard including an anguished howl as the older man fell to an unknown place. The other Ben, in an instant, looked like he regretted what he just did.

Rey could feel Ben's hold on her hands tighten. As she stared into his eyes, she thought she saw a tear stream down his cheek and heard him whisper, "Dad..."

The vision changed to the woman Rey recognized from an earlier vision. Ben saw his mother sit down with her face down as he heard himself say, "You wanted to prove to my mother that you were a Jedi, but you have proven something else. You can't go back to her now like I can't."

Ben didn't miss the break in his voice when those last words were said. He gulped and felt he was unable to watch. He felt his hold on Rey's hands loosen, but in an instant, Rey tightened her hold on him. "We can do this, Ben," Rey whispered as she gave his hands a gentle and reassuring squeeze.

Ben then saw his parents embrace each other in front of the old-looking space ship. Rey saw an older couple hold each other, which made her slowly smile even though she didn't know who they were.

Next, a galaxy full of stars came into view as different voices were heard. Ben recognized most of them.

"I held out hope for so long, but I know my son is gone." Ben wanted to say he was right here. He made a mental note to call his parents after this, to make sure they were okay. He usually called them every week.

"No one's ever really gone." Rey didn't know who was speaking but he said naturally gave her hope.  

"Come home. We miss you," Han said. Ben thought a phone call to his parents was not enough. He had a sudden urge to visit them.

"Ben." He heard his mom's whisper and felt a pang to his chest, not knowing why but her tone made him melancholy.

"I saw darkness..." Ben furrowed his brows at what his uncle said and wondered what he meant. He thought, sure he had a little rebellion phase when he was younger—

"I have been every voice...you have ever heard...inside your head." Rey didn't understand why the voices sounded different and so menacing. Ben raised his brows at hearing three different voices. He noted the last voice sounded robotic. He closed his eyes and tilted his head as if diffusing an unpleasant memory.

"Ben, you okay?" Rey asked.

Ben opened his eyes. "Yeah, I'm good—I just thought—never mind it's nothing." Ben shook his head. For reasons unknown to him, he felt like he knew those voices, but he couldn't think how.

"I sensed it building in him...Snoke had already turned his heart..."

"Who the fuck is Snoke?" Ben asked out loud. "Is my uncle talking—"

Rey shushed him just as the other Ben's voice was heard, "Did you come back to say you forgive me? To save my soul?" Ben wondered if this was about his father as he sounded if he was in so much pain. How could this other Ben do this to dad? He thought. He knew they sometimes had their differences but he loved his father and mother.

"And for the briefest moment of pure instinct, I thought I could stop it. It passed like a fleeting shadow..." Ben wondered what his uncle meant and for some reason, feared the worst.

To Rey's surprise, she heard herself say, "You failed him by thinking his choice was made. It wasn't! ... Just now, when we touched hands, I saw his future." It was her turn wondering if she was talking to the man who spoke previously and if she was talking about touching Ben's hands, like what they were doing now?

A new vision came into view. The other Ben looked out at unsteady water with his hair wet. Rey noticed he had a revealing hole on his black shirt. She was heard saying, "Why did you hate your father? Give me an honest answer. You had a father who loved you! He gave a damn about you!"

They heard the other Ben say, "I didn't hate him." Ben thought that was right—he loved him.

"Hey, kid," At hearing Han's voice, Ben felt himself turn. He recognized his father wearing the same clothing from that other vision. Ben half-smiled, recognizing what his dad has always called him ever since he could remember. Rey looked carefully at the other Ben and the man she now saw as his father. Han walked towards the other Ben and said, "I miss you, son." Ben all of a sudden felt it again—that darn pang to his chest—as he felt Rey squeeze his hands, gently.

"Your son is dead," the other Ben said, looking broken as if trying to not accept his father's presence.

"No, Kylo Ren is dead. My son is alive," Han said. Ben thought, Kylo Ren? He recognized the first name as his own but didn't know where Ren came from.

The other Ben shook his head with doubt. "You're just a memory."

"Your memory. Come home." Ben saw his father's expression and saw hope.  

The other Ben gulped as if he had a hard time saying the next words. "It's too late. She's gone."

"Your mother's gone. But what she stood for, what she fought for... that's not gone." Ben's eyes instantly teared up, barely able to see Rey. He couldn't imagine a world without his mother, who he loved so much. He watched as the other Ben's eyes were watery.

"Ben."

"I know what I have to do but I don't know if I have the strength to do it." Both Rey and Ben recognized the repeated line.

They saw Han caress the other Ben's cheek as he did before on the bridge. He said, "You do."

The other Ben looked down at his laser sword then back at Han where his face crumpled as he finally gave in. His voice broke as he said, "Dad..."

Han smiled. Ben knew what he was going to say as his dad said, "I know." Ben squeezed Rey's hand just as she saw him give a half-smile. The other Ben threw his laser sword far away into the rough waters--signifying the end of Kylo Ren.

Ben Solo instantly felt a sense of relief as he watched the laser sword land into the ocean. He couldn't imagine what would have led him to—he shook his head. He thought of those voices being in someone's head. Were they talking about him? He sighed and started to close his eyes.  

"Ben?" Rey squeezed Ben's hands as she looked at him in concern.

He opened his eyes and saw the worry on her face. "It's just... a lot," he admitted.

Rey nodded. "It is." She drew a breath in then out. "We could stop if you want..." She started to let go of his hands but at the last second, he stopped her.

He shook his head. "We should see how this finishes...but if you want to...?" He moved his mouth around, hesitant in hearing her response.

"Let's finish what we started," Rey said. She nodded once, and Ben nodded back as they stared back into each other's eyes.

A new vision appeared of Rey with her hair down. She wore a gray-colored costume this time and looked emotional; tears ran down her face as they heard her voice from somewhere else. "I know all about waiting...for my family. They'll be back, one day." Rey drew her brows together, wondering what that meant.

"They were nobody," the other Rey said with a sniffle. Rey felt a tear stream down her cheek, thinking of how she never knew her parents--they were nobody to her. She instantly felt Ben caress her knuckles with his thumb, soothing her. Rey mouthed her thanks as Ben nodded back.

Then another voice was heard--someone Rey didn't recognize but made Ben raise his brows as the woman said, "The belonging you seek is not behind you... it is ahead." Before either could react—

The vision changed into an intimate place, with a sizeable hole in the background passing as a window where it was shown to be pouring rain. The only light was a fire crackling before the other Rey and Ben. They were not far apart as their hands found each other and they looked at one another intently just like what they were doing presently. Ben's voice was heard: "You're not alone."

The other Rey responded with, "Neither are you."

The visions came faster, along with different images. For minutes Rey and Ben saw people they knew and didn't know. There were robots and what looked to be others of different species. There were wars up in the stars between small and large space ships.

Rey was heard saying, "Ben, when we touched hands, I saw your future. Just the shape of it but solid and clear." A vision of Ben in a dark rocky place circled by others in dark clothing and masks was seen. The only visible light was the blue laser sword he suddenly retrieved from in back of him, shocking the others. Ben felt himself shrug as if to say 'yeah you saw right' as he raised the laser sword—

The vision was interrupted as the other Ben said, "I saw something too. I know that when the time comes, you'll be the one to turn. You'll stand with me, Rey." She and Ben were standing, side by side, each holding a blue laser sword ready to—

"Who is that?" Rey scrunched her nose in disgust as she saw an old man or what remained of a person being raised by what looked to be some sort of crane.

"The fuck," Ben said as he saw an old man in dark robes that looked to be clinging to life, and for some weird reason, he looked familiar to him. The image of this thing made him cringe.

The other Ben said, "What Palpatine doesn't know is we're a dyad in the Force, Rey. Two that are one."

"A dyad..." Rey said in awe.

"The Force," Ben whispered.

The vision of Rey in gray robes, emotional about her parents, came back. Ben's background was filled with an open area of stars and fire embers all around. He pleaded with Rey to be with him. Ben felt himself move his hand toward Rey as he said, "Please." He saw the other Rey look conflicted as he felt she wanted to take his hand.

The vision turned back to the dark rocky place with Rey and Ben looking exhausted but holding on to each other. Ben's voice was heard: "I offered you my hand once. You wanted to take it. Why didn't you?" Ben remembered himself saying this but it was--

Rey was then heard saying, "I did want to take your hand. Ben's hand." Rey gasped as she could taste water on her lips as she said those words originally. Wait, she thought.

Back in the rocky area, Rey smiled as she looked at Ben with genuine happiness. "Ben," she said. It was the happiest the other Ben had ever seen her, but it was too late for a reason this Ben didn't know yet as she kissed his lips. He held her, never wanting to let go--he knew that much as he felt her soft lips. Rey held onto him with all her strength feeling at ease, but something inside her knew something was going to happen. Their lips parted, and they looked at each other with loving expressions before—

Both gasped as the vision suddenly vanished, and more visions came: Family, friendship, love, hope, and war in a galaxy far, far away. Invisible energy swarmed around and through them. "What is—" Rey began to say as everything made sense again.

Recognition finally set in as if no time stood between then and now. It felt as if they were still in that moment when they first kissed.

Rey recognized him and Ben recognized her.

Rey gasped again as tears streamed down her cheeks. "Ben?" She whispered.

Ben squeezed her hand. He just stared at her in shock. He recognized her beautiful hazel eyes and sun-kissed skin he always wanted to caress. At that moment, he didn't know what else to say other than to whisper, "It is you." He looked at Rey with familiarity as his lips formed a smile, and he chuckled.

The sound of his chuckle sounded just like it did back then, Rey thought. She smiled effortlessly at him, looking down at their joined hands with clouded vision because of her tears. "How can this be?!" She asked with a look of astonishment. She noticed that they held hands normally without seeing a vision. She smiled.

He lifted a hand and with his thumb wiped her tears from her cheek then the other. He remembered the energy that swarmed through them. He felt it. "Did you feel it—The Force?" He said with a half-smile, his eyes filled with emotion.

She nodded her head. "Yes." She continued to stare into his eyes. It was him. Ben--the man she fell in love with, long ago.

He looked into Rey's eyes and before he could utter another word, she moved toward him and kissed his lips--surprising him again.

As their lips touched, they saw images of their future: Ben introducing Rey to all of his family, including his grandparents, Padme and Anakin Skywalker. Ben was seen hugging his mother with a tear running down his cheek. They saw Han and Ben sitting together, sharing a laugh. Ben recognized the shores of Chandrila as he and Rey embraced, looking at a sunrise. They saw their future graduations and their wedding in front of the waterfalls in Naboo. The last image they saw was of a young girl with dark hair in a familiar triple bun hairstyle. She was holding on to Ben's right leg and Rey's left leg looking ahead as Rey held a baby in her arms. Ben caressed his small cheek with the sunset in front of them.  

Rey broke their kiss, feeling their breaths come together. "Whoa." She kissed his lips again and this time no image nor vision came into view. She leaned back and said, "This is surreal."  

"That looked like a future this time," Ben remarked.

"Our future," Rey said.

"Something to look forward to," Ben said as he leaned forward, his nose touched hers. He breathed in her scent as he kissed her. Their mouths moved in unison. Rey finally ran her fingers through his hair as she continued to kiss him, felt him hold her close to him. He had one hand tenderly cup the base of her head and the other on her waist.

After a while, she smiled at him, a full smile he recognized from when they were on Exegol. It was a lifetime ago but he remembered it just as if it were minutes ago. Again, before he could say anything she pressed her lips on his.

He responded by kissing her deeper. He heard her moan, which made him grin. He leaned back and just stared at Rey in adoration. "The thing is, I remember this life just as much as I remember my past life...everything," he said the last word with despair as he looked down, in shame. He felt Rey lift his chin.

Rey looked at him with understanding. "I saw that last moment you had with your father." She gave him a sad smile. "You did have the strength to become Ben Solo, again." She remembered the look of relief he had on his face when he threw his lightsaber in the water. "The important thing is, you have both of them now. You have that second chance."

Ben nodded. "We have a second chance." He looked at her, waiting for her to respond.

"We do," she said in agreement. She leaned into him and immediately felt his arms around her. "I remember everything from my last life even...After you were gone," she whispered. She looked down then up at Ben and saw him look straight ahead with sadness. "I tried to find you--for years." She sighed. "I thought I would never see you again."

Ben moved his mouth to one side then the other. He said, "There was a brief moment...it was like I woke up from a long dream and you were older and looked asleep but then you were one with the Force. You looked just like you are now and I offered my hand..."

"And I took it." She then looked confused. "I don't remember what happened after that."

"Neither do I."

Rey raised her brows. "Huh, isn't it interesting we look the same? And everyone else we knew back then as well? When I researched reincarnation, it was suggested that we would look different but..."

Ben shrugged. "We might never know just like we might never find out what the connection between this world's galaxy and the galaxy we came from is but I'm thankful I'm with you, finally." He lowered his head until he felt his lips on hers as they intertwined their fingers. "I love you, Rey," he whispered between breaths.

She smiled against his lips and said what she wanted to say for a very long time, "I love you, Ben Solo." They kissed again, giving in to this new feeling.

Rey ran her hands through Ben's hair as he asked, "I'm thinking about driving to Chandrila tomorrow to visit my parents, do you want to come with?"

"I would love that," Rey said with all her heart. Even though they might not recognize her, she was happy to be with them again, this time with Ben.

"Technically, I did last see them a month ago but..." Ben stopped then sighed.

"I know," Rey said. She leaned into Ben and squeezed his hand.

He gently squeezed Rey's hand back, loving the feel of her warmth beside him. Ben half-smiled, feeling nervous yet he couldn't wait to go back. He looked over at the mantel and saw his dad's dice near a picture of the family. "Finally, their son is coming home," he said.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Hi sorry to be a pain but will the be more HRH ? Thank You

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations|Part VII: Magnolias| Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin | Part XVI: Market | Part XVII: Stables

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XVIII: Alarms

In the bounded sanctity of dreams, Fraser had free rein.

With his eyes closed and separated from the world, he could touch Claire freely. He could carefully catalog each reaction that his fingertips drew from her at his leisure, drawing each exquisite noise and breath and prickle of goosebumps into full relief.  

(The diamond-shaped parting of her bee-stung lips, dry from sleep, posed in an invitation.  

The catch of her breath, one that was always accompanied by her head tilting and her lashes pulsing together like they had a main line to her heartbeat.)

With his hand low on his belly and creeping lower (alone in the dark of his flat consisting of square rooms and artificial light), Jamie could taste her (the sea-salt spray of sweat and clean linen tang of a single dusky nipple as it hardened under his lips and a humid bath of his breath).  He could envision her (the almost invisible tenting of the bed sheet that just barely covered the other nipple as it beseeched him for a fair and equal treatment).  

Inhaling and then holding his breath, Jamie found that he could recreate for himself the improbable way Claire resituated herself onto her side when she was spent, her cheek pressed against her forearm.  He could feel the wisp of her breath as delicate as dangling wisteria as she grumbled quietly, somnolently, insinuating a single ankle between his legs.

“Ye look beautiful in the mornin’ sun,” he whispered in his mind’s eye as he traced a finger up her arm. Pulsing beneath his hand and led by imagination alone, he found that his fingertips followed an aimless road (a hearty green vein at the sweat-tacky inner crease of her elbow). His curiosity led him off a marked path and over the culvert between her arm and body to test the curving munros of her buttocks.

“What is that you think you are doing, Fraser?” she asked into the pillow, those well-trained lips heavy in a pout (sated and sleepy, but somehow still aroused).

“Nothing,” he said truthfully.

He had never felt so content to have not a thing to guide him, to limit him.

They had no curfew.

They had no prying eyes to find them.

They had no fear that loose lips would sink ships.

He found himself mesmerized by the silly bits of her – the pulsating, soft heat of her armpit, the mole at the base of her spine (one he suspected she barely knew was there) that grew a single jet-black hair, the almost invisible sliver of toenail on her strangely fat small toe.  

He scaled the soft curve of her breast and rappelled its opposing slope like a reckless mountaineer, and carefully walked his fingers across the stable bridge of her well-formed sternum.

“Are ye awake, my Sassenach?” he inquired vaguely, hand slipping beneath the sheet. He hated that she slept in this dizzy waking dream of his.  And so he ghosted across the gentle curve of her belly to the thatch of trimmed hair between her thighs and the heat that resided there like a siren song.  To wake her, to rouse her further.

“I am not even here, Fraser,” she said sleepily, “but you can touch me properly.”

Outside of the dream where his fantasy resided, he wrapped a careful hand around himself. He licked his lips as he tried to transform his calloused fingers and broad palm into her small, delicate touch.  Fingers sinking into bed sheets, he could not recreate the sensation of touching her “properly,” the bits as slick as waterweed and thrumming and begging to roar beneath his attentions.

But some things he could recreate with near one hundred percent fidelity.

Her breath.

Her smell.

Her intonation as her pupils went fathomless.

Her femoral pulse hammering away beneath his lips as he kissed her carefully with his chin clumsily (on purpose) brushing the heat of her.

Those were things that he had memorized.

Those were things that he could call to mind with the easiness of breathing or blinking, reaching to scratch an itch or drifting off to sleep.

He did not pause to entertain the threat that someday all he would have was the imitation of her.  (A memory as fine as could be, but ultimately only the forgery of a masterpiece.)  Instead, he gripped, tugged, let his mouth fall open as he set a rhythm, knowing that his wanting would always be just this way.

His alarm, though (the bloody thing), had a mind of its own.  The twin brass bells chattered and shook. The clock danced across his nightstand and clipped the edge of his water glass with a disconcerting ping, begging to be slapped into silence by his palm.  At the jangling announcement of another day, he groaned, fisted the bed sheets, and tilted his head back.  His fingers (the poor substitute for any lover, let alone one as perfect as Claire) released his cock, and he willed himself to think of something (anything) to make the bobbing, throbbing ache of arousal subside.

Friday.  It was Friday.  

Inhaling, he ground the heels of his hands into his eyes.  He wondered what kind of pressure it would take to make his eyeballs burst as he expelled the granules of his dream from the pinched pink corners of his eyes.

In ten hours they would be together.  In ten hours they could drift away together.

He rose from bed with a back that ached in the sweet way that brought a river’s torrent of recollection of the previous evening (Claire glowing on the hay in the stables, her cheeks pinked and glistening, her fingers trembling as she pressed them over what he knew was a hammering heart).  Colonel James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser smiled as he parted his curtains and looked out into the gray of early morning.

Another day.

Those ten hours passed like a century, and when they were reunited and riding north for his cabin from the city, she squeezed his side (quick, pulsing, seeking).  She may have screeched her request (stop!) into his ear, but it was unheard over the mechanical grumble of the motorcycle’s engine and the fierce whipping of the wind past their helmets.  He didn’t need her to say it, though.  From her touch, he knew to stop, and so they pulled into a dusty lay-by dotted with oily puddles and the orange butts of cigarettes.

“Ye okay then, Sassenach?” he asked once they were at a full stop.

“Never better, just seems a shame to let it all pass by at fifty-five miles per hour.”  She inhaled, wetting her lips (it was an unguarded instinct so easily obliged by her that he felt a tightening in his wame like a fist holding on for dear life). “It is truly a beautiful part of our country.”

She stepped over one of the puddles and hoisted herself up onto a great moss-covered rock, brought herself over a gap to another, and then another until she towered over him.

“I am sure you agree.”

“About?”

“That it is beautiful,” she sighed, a hint of faux exasperation shining through as she unfastened her helmet, tossed it to him without warning, and spread her arms out.  He fastened the helmet carefully to the handlebars, watching her tip her head backwards and inhale.  “It is exhilarating to think of land that no man, no woman has touched.  Where no feet have tread.  Where it is just open except for nature. Our kingdom is untouched.”

His voice was light as he teased, “It’s most certainly yer kingdom, ma’am.”

Humming, Claire tented her eyes with the palm of her hand and looked out at the landscape.  “It is yours, too, Fraser.  Maybe we could live here.”

This time (knowing that it was an impossibility - the idea of living here - and knowing that she knew it all the same), his lips released some combination of vowels, and he rose off of the motorbike.  He raked a hand through his hair as he approached her.  “My mam was a fierce nationalist. Didna want a thing to do with the commonwealth.  England was her main problem, no’ so much Wales.  Northern Ireland, weel, that was enough of a mess when she died that I dinna ken what she thought about that. But ye’ll see a white rose bush at the cabin.”

A poem rattled about in her swimming head –

The rose of all the world is not for me.

I want for my part

Only the little white rose of Scotland.

That smells sharp and sweet - and

Breaks the heart.

– and she inhaled, unsteady.

“That’s her doin’, her way of putting a middle finger up to… weel… yer family I’d suppose.”

Claire turned on the rock, the toes of her camel-colored oxfords collecting moss and smudging with grit in the process.  He was smiling at her, his eyes glowing under impossibly long lashes.  She fisted her small hands on her hips and gave him a smile that threatened to steal his breath. ‘Christ ye’re beautiful,’ he thought to say, his lips poised to set the compliment free. But she laughed, interrupting the sentiment, and said, “I am flattered she thought of us with such frequency.”

“Ye’re no’ concerned that she’d likely no’ approve of ye then?” he asked, voice full of mock reproach.  With a mind of their own, his hands fastened to her hips with his thumbs searching out the soft skin of her belly and fingers gripping her waistband.

“I have made a decision where it comes to all things involving you, Fraser,” she said plainly as she cupped one hand along his jaw and laid the other to rest loosely on his shoulder. “And it is that no one will stand in judgment of us.”

“No one?”

“No one,” her echo confirmed as she drew him close. His face was level with her sternum, and she sensed his reaction to the broadness of her statement in the marrow of her bones when his grip tightened.  And with a stunning amount of naieveté for someone so savvy (she was no fool, after all), she concluded, “We have some things to figure out, of course, but time is ours right now, Fraser.”

He kissed the center of her chest (a wayward kiss that was not symbolic as it did not land over her heart and one not meant to arouse; it was undesigned and merely the outlet of his affection for her). He sighed when she brought her fingertips to his hairline.

“We’ve an entire kingdom, Claire.”

“Aye,” she whispered, the affirmation coming from her like slanted cursive.  “That we do.”

After a not insubstantial bit of time there soaking in the pure silence of the place (of each other), they returned to the motorcycle and rode another twenty miles, slowing only for a wayward pair lambs unaccustomed to moving at the pleasure of a human (even for a queen).  At the front of the cabin, Claire took the key from Jamie as he juggled her small bag along and a larger one of his own (she had teased him mercilessly about the size of it before they departed, resulting in a pinch to her arse that made her squeak).

The interior smelled like their previous weekend.

Her perfume.  His aftershave.  Burnt sausage and tattie scones.

She stepped inside and turned to Fraser. She looked at him through the open door and quickly shed her clothes.  He dropped their bags on the front stoop and stuttered a step as he made it up the stairs with his trousers slipping to his knees. Freed of clothes, he lifted her, made a perch on the table behind the sofa where a week earlier their bodies had been joined again and again.  

“Take your kingdom, Fraser,” she whispered.  

And then her mouth absorbed his growls, his body joined her fully, and his lips procured unendangered moans that rolled from her belly and through her lips.  

Sixteen miles away Jenny Murray (wife of Ian Alistair Murray, mother of three - James Fraser Murray and Margaret Ellen Murray and Katherine Mary Murray – and sister of her son’s namesake – in that order, thank ye verra kindly) was sitting down for the first uninterrupted portion of her Friday afternoon.  Her lower body ached from carrying an angry, teething Kitty around on her hip all afternoon, and her eyes burned from the ceaseless exhaustion of merely having three children.  Her finger carefully holding the lid on her teapot as she poured, she let herself indulge in the almost-foreign quiet of her home and the lavender that rose in the steam.

And then the phone.

It rang once.

She cursed and considered not answering.

It rang again.

“Fuck,” she hissed, remembering her reluctantly slumbering and teething bairn only separated by twenty-two stairs and a half-closed door from the jangling phone.

It rang a third time.

She leapt up then, hissing a curse as her knee knocked into the side table and sloshed her tea onto its saucer.  

“Murray residence,” she said, her voice still slicing with its curtness despite her low tone.  Her brow furrowed, her fingers curling into the spiral of the cord. She swallowed, knowing the news conveyed to her by the primary school’s headmaster was true even as she asked for clarification. “Maggie brought what to school?”

The answer did not change.

But the world would.

ETA: The poem in the text is The Little White Rose by Hugh MacDiarmid. You can take a read through a short biography about him and his other work here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/hugh-macdiarmid.

[jojoreadwhat]

You are the best, please don't ever change on me. | p. k. x fem!reader

a/n; just a little something I thought up. nothing special, enjoy. x

prompt; messy breakfast fun with paul jason klein of LANY.

warnings; shower sex, strong language, lots of fluff, pancake batter.

inspiration;

+

It was little ways before two in the afternoon when you woke to the smell of coffee being brewed. Clinging the soft duvet closer to your bare skin. Smiling to the sweet bean as it continued to rejuvenate your senses. You sat up slowly, yawning off whatever slumber you had left. Before looking out the window glazed in a warm glow from the sun.

You met the rug with you feet when you adjusted yourself off to the side. Walking over to the bathroom, making yourself up. Nothing major, just a quick brushing and messy bun that was already coming undone. Pulling on fresh panties and finding a loose tee of Paul's on the floor. Slipping it over your frame as it rested over your thighs before heading through the hall.

You walked through your Malibu condo, greeting your dog Max. Before following the whistling melody coming from the kitchen. You smiled when you grew closer, noticing the back of a shirtless Paul, in joggers resting low along his waist. Going through the cabinets for something to make.

Paul and you had been together for a while now. You had met after a show a friend had dragged you to and instantly clicked. Recently you had moved in when he came back from tour. It's been one of the best decisions, nothing but fun and catching up from the time apart. Moments like this one, were just more of a reason to enjoy it more.

You crept closer towards an unaware Paul humming now before your arms made it around his waist. Slightly jumping from being startled by you till he relaxed. Grabbing your hands and you kissed the middle of his back. "You little creep" He joked, before turning around and facing you. Leaning down with his hands on your face, to give you a proper morning kiss.

"Morning, babe." He said again, his voice still raspy indicating he hasn't been up long. Moving some of his dark chocolate curls as you looked up at him. Leaning into him more from the touch of his hands on your waist.

You smiled, kissing swiftly again, "Whatcha doing?" You asked, noticing a box of pancakes mix and strawberries on the counter behind him. He looked in the direction you were staring in, "I was going to make you breakfast." He mentioned then, "Would you like to help?"

Your smile became brighter than what it was, "Absolutely!" Before going to grab the cutting board to work on the strawberries.

Paul put on some classic rock tunes, mixing up the batter and cooking them up. Giving you advantages of tasting all of what he was cooking first. As he snuck strawberries out of the bowl. From time to time mouthing to words. Pulling you into the middle of the kitchen whenever something slow played and kissing you too.

Not too long after, he fished out some plates for you both. Setting up a stack for each of you as you dropped the berries all over it. Topping the pancakes off with whipped cream.

You were watching the cream swirl out of the can when it hit an air pocket and sprayed erratically.

Landing on Paul.

Your hand immediately went up to your mouth as you gasped. Watching a closed eyed Paul wiping the cream from under one before his green eyes opened back at you.

"I'm so sorry!" You exclaimed, but kinda not meaning it because in all, it made you giggle. He smirked, deviously at you. "Was it funny?" He mocked, you bit your lip lightly. Shrugging, "Kinda?" You replied weary, hearing a soft, playful huff vibrate from his lips.

He wrapped his hand to the small of your back, pulling you closer. "That's cute." He spoke once more, your eyes to locked on his. Not noticing that he had other plans and his free hand was reaching for something next to you.

Whipped cream.

"Paul!" You cried when his hand met your cheek, now covered in it. Starting World War III between you in kitchen. Paul kept spraying the cream and you got away enough to grab the full can left in the fridge. Running around the island and ducking whenever you saw him press the nozzle.

Soon you had emptied the cans and were left with a complete mess, all over your kitchen and it's floor. All over Paul and you. You guys couldn't stop laughing as you sat on the counter. Watching Paul finish up wiping one of the cabinets.

"You look a mess." You had mentioned like he forgot, Paul flashed a smile. "Well you had to whip me first." Winking at you, you rolled your eyes. "But I said I was sorry!" You exclaimed, feeling your stomach flutter when he chuckled, moving between your legs and bringing your face to his.

He kissed you softly, his lips feeling divine against yours. Before pulling away to look at you sweetly, taking his index along your cheek, still covered and watching him taste the cream.

"Lets go get cleaned up." He finished then, you nodded. About to hop off the counter before Paul threw you over his shoulder. You complained but it became no use when he had you halfway near the staircase.

--

Feeling the steam of the shower nearby after Paul set up the temperature. Paul helped you undress in the middle of the bathroom. Giggling at his lips attacking your exposed skin and your hands untying his waistband.

Taking his hand into yours as you led him into the stand up, allowing the water to hit your body. You began with Paul first, taking his washcloth and squeezing body wash onto it. Moving your hand over his broad chest and shoulders. Down his torso and so on.

You got a little risky, moving the cloth around his shaft. Hearing a light hum and his eyes close shut when you grew closer and cleaned him up. It turned you on completely on what your touch could do, and he knew. Opening his eyes back down at you before his hand met your cheek and leaning down to kiss you. Slow, but hard, eager. His lips trailing to your jaw and let a breath from it.

"Your turn, baby." He said softly, turning you around with your back against his chest.

Paul stood behind you, reaching in front of you. Taking the loofah into his hands and putting soap onto it. Sweet vanilla soothing your senses along with Paul's gentle touch. As he ran the loofah across your shoulders, to your neck and over the beginnings of your chest. His other hand resting on your waist, as you sunk into him more and your head leaned onto his shoulder.

It exposed your neck to him, Paul taking advantage of this as his lips clung themselves to it. Kissing sweetly along the tender skin, pulling it between his lips, nipping too and you moaned into the sudden feeling. Giving him the go as Paul's exploration continued, no longer holding the loofah and running the foam further on.

His hands meeting your harden nipples, taking one between his fingers before the other and his hand then going over your stomach.

You were lost within his touch, your arm over your head and around his neck. Giving him all of you as he worked. Your breath picking up. His hand reaching over your area, before it lowered, finding your lips. You gasped lightly at his long fingers meeting between your folds, finding your pearl. Running slow circles as his free arm wrapped further around your waist. Holding you.

You moaned. Whimpering a little and your head falling back to his shoulder. "Does that feel good?" He purred against your ear, barely being able to reply but you nodded as your lips fell open again.

"Do you want more?" He asked again, as he rubbed harder against your clit. Not being able to reply at first, "Baby." His lips still at your ear, "Tell me what you need."

You moaned again, beginning to find the strength to answer. "Y-you." You shuttered, "You." Your heart raced even more at the sound of Paul's chuckle. "Good." Before his hand left you and he turned you around swiftly. Immediately meeting his lips with yours, his hands cupping your face and backing you up to the tile aligned the wall.

He toyed with for a little longer, his lips never leaving you. His hands all over you, pulling your hair slightly as he attacked your neck again. You enjoyed his moans as you stroked him your hand.

You couldn't wait to feel him as he built up your anticipation. It was growing close as his hands finding your waist, to your leg when he rested around him. You watched as you continued to run your hand over his shaft. Bringing him closer to you and feeling his tip nearing your entrance. Giving him the go to thrust into you slowly.

You gasped at the sudden shock to your core but it lessened quickly. His hand still resting on your leg wrapped around him. The other leaning above your head, beginning to gently hold onto your neck and jaw. Locking eyes with you.

Your moans and whimpers, cascaded against the sound of the shower. You were in love with the way he watched you. You were in love with the way the water covered his skin. The way he sounded along with you, how hot his breath felt when he got close to your neck.

You were in love with everything about him and how he was making you feel. How he picked up from time to time, but he was so sensual, so slow. Wanting nothing but for you to feel what he felt for you.

You were growing close to your peak, beginning to feel weak, dizzy. He noticed, picking you up now, your legs wrapped completely him and his head resting against yours. Pinning your hands above your head.

"Come for me, baby." Paul repeated into your ear.

Beginning to pick up erratically now, you moaned loudly, overwhelmed. The sensation building like electric waves, crying and calling out his name as you came. Riding out intensely as Paul hit his, releasing inside of you and his teeth gripping at the skin of your shoulder.

He never let you go once your feet hit the ground. Holding you, kissing you over and over as your fingers were wrapped in his damp locks. Trying to regain your breath back.

He smiled at your satisfied sigh, still in a haze by the euphoric comedown as he kissed the top of your hair.

“Pancakes all the time from now on.”